Don't know if I'll continue with these characters in my further stories but, I have these 2 parts planned.
Next chapter ->
The late afternoon sun filtered through Yujin's floor-to-ceiling windows, casting honey-gold streaks across the worn hardwood floors of her Brooklyn apartment. The space still carried that familiar scent, vanilla candles mixed with the ghost of countless shared meals and spilled wine.
"Karina, you absolute slut!" Kimmy shrieked, throwing his arms around the brunette as she stepped through the door, Henry trailing behind her with a bottle of champagne. "A fucking movie! I knew you'd get it!"
Karina laughed, her cheeks flushing pink as she accepted the embrace. "It's just an indie film, calm down. I play 'Concerned Bystander Number Three' for like, twelve minutes total."
"Twelve minutes of pure Oscar-worthy suffering," Henry deadpanned, setting the champagne on the kitchen island. "I watched the audition tape. She cried actual tears about a parking ticket."
"Fuck you," Karina giggled, punching his shoulder. "Like you're one to talk, Mr. 'I got cast as Dead Body in that procedural last week.'"
"Hey, dying is an art form," Henry protested, collapsing onto Yujin's overstuffed couch. "I had to lie still for six hours while they pretended to investigate my corpse. My left ass cheek fell asleep. That's dedication."
Yujin emerged from the kitchen with a platter of cheese and grapes, her hips swaying in that unconscious way that still made Kimmy's throat go dry after all these months. "Okay, okay, enough competing over who has the more humiliating gig. We're celebrating Karina today. Where's the wine?"
"I think we're out," Kimmy said, popping a grape into his mouth. "Jim, don't you have that case of red you were bragging about? The one from your sister's vineyard?"
Jim looked up from where he'd been scrolling through his phone on the armchair, his wire-rimmed glasses catching the light. "Yeah, it's at my place. On the TV shelf, actually."
"I'll get it," Sana offered, already sliding off her stool at the dining table. Her sleek black dress rode up her thighs as she stood, smoothing down the fabric. "I could use the stretch anyway. Ralph Lauren has me sitting twelve hours a day sketching necklines."
"Near the TV shelf," Jim called after her, his voice carrying a strange tightness that nobody noticed. "Can't miss it."
The door clicked shut behind her.
Twenty minutes passed. Henry regaled them with a story about his agent trying to convince him to do a commercial for hemorrhoid cream ("It's method acting, Henry! You could really FEEL the discomfort!"), and Yujin had just refilled everyone's water glasses when the door burst open.
Sana stood there, but she wasn't holding wine.
The VHS tape gleamed dully in her trembling hand, the label facing outward, scrawled in Jim's messy handwriting: "PRACTICE."
The room went silent.
Jim's face drained of color. He stood up so fast his phone clattered to the floor. "W-what...?"
"Yes, Mr. Taper," Sana's voice was dangerously soft, her eyes glittering with something between fury and hurt. "Do you recognize this tape?"
Jim's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for water. "What-what-why are you holding that tape?"
"Seriously?!" Sana's voice cracked, rising an octave. "Oh! Jim, I hate you!"
"Wait-I can explain-"
But she was already gone, the door slamming so hard the walls shook. The sound of her heels stomping down the hallway echoed back at them.
Everyone froze. Karina looked at Henry. Henry looked at Yujin. Yujin looked at Kimmy. Jim stood frozen, his hands shaking at his sides.
Kimmy broke the silence first, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "Okay, what the fuck was that? Jim? What is on that tape?"
"Nothing," Jim said quickly, too quickly. "It's just... it's personal. Private practice stuff. For my lecture next week."
"Private practice stuff that makes Sana say she hates you?" Yujin raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Come on, Jim. We've known each other five years. That wasn't 'I hate you because you used my shampoo.' That was... something else."
"Did you two sleep together?" Karina asked bluntly, taking a sip of her water. "Because that energy was very 'you didn't call me back after we fucked' energy."
"We did NOT sleep together," Jim snapped, then immediately regretted his tone. He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling the neat professor aesthetic. "I mean... not exactly. It's complicated."
"Complicated how?" Kimmy pressed. "Jim, you moved out because you were tired of walking in on me and Yujin fucking on every surface in this apartment. You can't suddenly be shy about sex."
"Speaking of which," Henry interjected, "I still don't understand why you didn't just join in. Yujin's kitchen table is sturdy. I've tested it."
"Henry!" Karina swatted him, but she was grinning.
"Focus!" Yujin snapped her fingers. "Jim. The tape. What is it?"
Jim sank back into the armchair, his head in his hands. "It's... it's all your fault!" He suddenly pointed at Henry, his finger trembling.
Henry blinked, clutching his chest dramatically. "Me? What did I do? I wasn't even here two days ago! I was at that cattle call for the deodorant commercial!"
"I'll explain!" Jim stood up again, pacing now. "Just... wait. Let me think."
Two days back, the afternoon light had been different, greyer, threatening rain. Henry had burst through Jim's apartment door without knocking, the way he always did, carrying a bulky black camera recorder under his arm like a football.
"Hey! You'll need this," Henry announced, dropping his leather jacket over the back of Jim's couch.
Jim looked up from his laptop, his reading glasses slipping down his nose. "What's this? A recorder?"
"Yeah!" Henry said, setting his coat down and rubbing his hands together. "Remember, you asked me regarding the presentation you have next week? The one about Victorian literature and sexual repression?"
Jim groaned, closing his laptop. "Yes. And I asked you to stay by me while I talk, give me feedback. But you said you were busy with auditions."
"Yeah, I am, so I brought this. This is what I do with my script dialogues." Henry moved to the coffee table, clearing away Jim's stack of graded papers. "I place this recorder, recording myself while I say my script. So, " He positioned the camera on a stack of books, angling it toward the couch. "Speak all you want by recording yourself and you can review it yourself instead of asking anyone else."
Jim leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. "Oh really? You just... talk to the camera?"
"Exactly. It's like having an audience that doesn't judge. Well, it judges, but silently." Henry made Jim sit on the couch, adjusting the camera to face him properly. "Speak all you want by recording yourself and you can review it yourself instead of asking anyone else."
"Oh that helps! Thanks man!"
"Yeahh! I know right, okay, then I'll leave." Henry grabbed his jacket, already halfway to the door. "Break a leg with your repressed Victorians!"
Jim arranged the camera carefully, hitting record and settling back against the cushions. He shuffled his notes, clearing his throat with professorial authority. "The suppression of desire in Victorian literature served not merely as social commentary, but as a mechanism of control..." He gestured broadly, trying to project confidence. "The female body became a site of contention, a battleground where-"
The knock at the door made him jump.
Sana stood there, her usually impeccable bun coming undone, strands of dark hair framing her face. She clutched a stack of papers to her chest like a shield, her eyes red-rimmed.
"Jim... I need help."
He ushered her in immediately, concern overriding his preparation. "What happened? Are you okay?"
"My assistant," Sana spat the word like a curse, dropping onto the couch and letting the papers spill across the cushions. "She took emergency vacation. Emergency! Her cat has a 'stress rash.' And I have to submit the spring line sketches in two days. Two days, Jim. I can't do this alone."
Jim sat beside her, gathering the scattered papers. "Of course I'll help. What do you need?"
Sana finally looked at him, really looked at him, and something in her expression softened. "But before that... have you got any wine?"
He laughed despite himself. "Yeahh, sure." He got up and retrieved a bottle of Cabernet from his small kitchen, along with two glasses. "Red okay?"
"Red is perfect."
They settled back onto the couch, papers spread between them, wine glasses filling and refilling. Sana explained the concepts—flowing lines inspired by water, colors that evoked dawn without being cliché. Jim offered suggestions, his literary mind finding metaphors that translated surprisingly well to fashion.
"This one," he said, pointing to a sketch of a backless dress, "it reminds me of that line from Whitman. 'I am large, I contain multitudes.' It looks simple from the front, but the back is... complicated. Unexpected."
Sana stared at him, her wine glass halfway to her lips. "That's exactly what I was going for. Jim..." She set the glass down. "I love you."
He froze. "What?"
"I love you," she repeated, and tears welled in her eyes, spilling over her lashes. "Thank you for helping me out. I don't know what I would've done without you." She lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder.
Jim's hands hovered in the air before settling carefully on her back. "Hey, this is a small thing. You don't have to cry for this."
She pulled back, her face inches from his, her breath warm and smelling of cherries and alcohol. "Have you ever..." She stopped, searching his eyes.
"Have I ever what?"
"Have you ever thought about..."
And then they were kissing. It wasn't gentle or tentative—it was hungry, desperate, months of tension finally snapping like a rubber band stretched too far. Sana's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and Jim's hands found her waist, gripping tight as if she might disappear.
They fell back against the couch, papers scattering to the floor, forgotten.
Back in Yujin's apartment, Jim finished his explanation, his voice hoarse. "That's what happened. That's what's on the tape. We kissed, we... we got carried away. I didn't even remember the camera was recording until today. Until she found it."
"So you made a sex tape," Kimmy said slowly, a grin spreading across his face. "Professor Jim. You dirty dog."
"We didn't-it's not-" Jim stammered.
The door burst open again. Sana stood there, her eyes wild, her chest heaving. In one hand she held the tape. In the other, she gripped a hammer she'd clearly grabbed from the hallway maintenance closet.
"You-" She stared at Jim, her voice trembling with rage. "I'm gonna destroy it."
She strode into the center of the room and dropped the tape onto the hardwood floor. The hammer rose above her head, glinting in the sunset light.
"Nooo! Don't do it!!" Four voices shouted in unison except Jim.
Sana froze, the hammer hovering. "Why? Why shouldn't I? This is... this is private! This is humiliating!"
"Did you watch the whole thing?" Yujin asked carefully, stepping closer.
"No," Sana admitted, her arm lowering slightly. "I just saw up to the... the kiss thing. Then I panicked."
"So you don't know what happens after?" Karina asked, exchanging a glance with Henry.
"That's what we're saying," Kimmy interjected. "If you didn't watch it all, you don't know if it's... you know. Compromising. Or just kissing."
"Or maybe it's hot," Henry added, then winced when Karina elbowed him. "What? I'm just saying!"
Jim stepped forward, his hands raised in surrender. "Sana. Please. If you're going to destroy it, at least... at least watch it first. See what we're dealing with. Then decide."
"Watch it together," Yujin suggested, her eyes gleaming with that mischievous curiosity they all knew well. "All of us. Then if it's too much, we destroy it. But if it's just... if it's just a moment between two people..." She shrugged. "Then maybe it's worth keeping."
Sana looked around the room, at five faces watching her with varying degrees of concern, curiosity, and barely concealed excitement. Her grip on the hammer loosened.
"Fine," she whispered. "But if I hate it, I'm smashing it. And possibly your face," she added, pointing at Jim.
"Fair," Jim breathed.
They moved like a procession, filing across the hall to Jim's apartment. The space was neater than Yujin's, more sparse, academic, with bookshelves lining every wall and a single framed poster of some obscure Russian film above the couch.
Jim's hands shook as he set up the TV, slotting the tape into the old VCR he'd inherited from his mother. The screen fuzzed blue, then cleared.
There was Jim, sitting alone, looking earnest and slightly ridiculous in his button-down shirt. "The suppression of desire in Victorian literature..."
"Fast-forward," Sana commanded, her arms crossed tight across her chest.
Jim hit the button. The image blurred, then cleared again.
There they were. On the couch. The wine glasses still on the table, the papers scattered.
"Oh god," Sana whispered.
On screen, Jim set down his glass. On screen, Sana leaned in. The kiss looked different from the outside, slower, more cinematic somehow. Their mouths met, and the sound was audible, a soft wet collision that made Henry shift uncomfortably in his seat.
On screen, Sana's hands moved to Jim's shirt, unbuttoning it with surprising dexterity. His chest was revealed, pale, lean, with a smattering of dark hair. She ran her palms up his sternum, breaking the kiss only to trail her lips down his jaw, his throat.
"Fuck," Kimmy muttered. "They're not stopping."
"Should we... should we keep watching?" Yujin asked, but nobody moved to stop it.
On screen, Jim groaned, his head falling back as Sana's mouth found his collarbone. His hands found her hips, pulling her onto his lap so she straddled him. The camera caught her dress riding up, exposing her lace-clad thighs.
"Jesus," Henry whispered. "That's... that's the Ralph Lauren lingerie, isn't it? The new line?"
"Focus!" Karina hissed, but she was leaning forward, entranced.
On screen, Sana reached behind her back. The dress loosened. She pulled it over her head in one smooth motion, revealing a cream-colored bra that contrasted beautifully with her olive skin. Her breasts heaved as she breathed, nipples visible through the thin lace.
Jim's hands came up to cup them, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks, making her arch against him.
"God, look at her back," Yujin murmured. "That curve..."
On screen, they kissed again, rougher now, teeth clicking, tongues visible as they devoured each other.
Then, slowly, Jim stood, lifting Sana with him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her skirt bunched around her hips, revealing that she wore matching lace panties, already darkening with arousal at the crotch.
He carried her toward the bedroom door.
"Wait," Karina said, standing up. "They're going into the bedroom?"
"Do it in front of the camera!" Henry shouted at the screen, as if they could hear him. "Come on, don't be shy!"
"Henry!" Yujin laughed, scandalized.
But the bedroom door closed on screen. The image showed only the empty couch, the scattered papers, the two abandoned wine glasses.
"That's it?" Kimmy demanded. "That's the end?"
Jim cleared his throat, his face crimson. "The camera was in the living room. It couldn't see... what happened in the bedroom."
"And what happened in the bedroom?" Sana asked, her voice barely audible.
Jim looked at her, really looked at her, and something passed between them, a secret, a shared memory, a heat that hadn't dissipated in two days.
"Only two people know that," Jim said softly.
Sana held his gaze for a long moment, the hammer still dangling from her hand, forgotten. Then, slowly, she set it down on the coffee table.
"I think..." she said carefully, "I think maybe we should talk. Alone."
"Finally," Henry groaned. "Can we at least watch the couch part again first? For research purposes?"
"Get out," Jim and Sana said in unison, and for the first time that evening, they smiled at each other.
"Get out!" Jim and Sana said in unison, their voices overlapping with urgent desperation.
"Get out! This is my apartment..?" Yujin blinked at them, confusion knitting her brow before understanding dawned in her dark eyes. A slow smile spread across her face. "Oh. Ohhh. Right. My apartment. Yes."
"Okay, then we'll get out..." Sana's fingers found Jim's hand, her grip tight and possessive. She bent down and yanked the VCR from the TV stand, cords trailing like mechanical entrails.
"Wait, not the VCR!" Henry protested, reaching out. "We were going to watch it again! For educational purposes!"
"Forget the tape," Karina laughed, pulling Henry toward the door. "Live entertainment is better."
"Come on, Sana, leave the video," Kimmy wheedled, but she was already moving, her heels clicking against the hardwood as she dragged Jim behind her.
Sana didn't halt. She strode through Yujin's doorway, Jim stumbling after her, the VCR clutched against her chest like a trophy. The others followed, protesting and giggling, until they reached Jim's door across the hall.
"Goodnight, children!" Yujin called out, her voice rich with amusement. "Be safe! Or don't!"
Sana fumbled with Jim's keys, her hands shaking so badly he had to take them from her. His fingers brushed hers, and they both froze, electricity arcing between their palms.
"Jim," she whispered, her breath coming fast.
"Yeah?"
"Kiss me before we get inside."
He didn't hesitate. He pushed her against his door, the VCR wedged awkwardly between their bodies, and crushed his mouth to hers. It was nothing like the tentative exploration on the tape, this was carnal, desperate, two weeks of pent-up longing exploding into motion. His tongue swept past her lips, tasting wine and want, and she moaned into his mouth, her free hand tangling in his hair.
"Inside," she gasped against his lips, rolling her hips against his. "Now. Please."
He managed to get the door open, and they stumbled through, still attached at the mouth, kicking the door shut behind them. The VCR clattered to the floor, forgotten.
"Bedroom?" Jim mumbled, his hands sliding down to cup her ass through her skirt.
"Too far," Sana breathed, walking him backward. "Couch. Now."
They navigated the short distance blindly, lips never parting, hands roaming frantically over clothes that suddenly felt like prisons. Jim's calf caught the edge of the sofa and he tumbled backward, pulling Sana with him. She landed astride his lap, her knees bracketing his hips, her skirt riding up to expose her thighs.
"Fuck," Jim groaned, his head falling back against the cushions. "Sana, you're-"
"I'm what?" She grinned down at him, wicked and wild, nothing like the composed fashion designer who sketched elegant lines by day. She reached down and grabbed the hem of her shirt, pulling it up slowly, teasingly, until-
"Holy shit," Jim breathed.
She wore nothing underneath. Her breasts swung free, heavy and perfect, nipples dark and already stiff from arousal, poking out like they had been beneath her shirt all evening, begging for his mouth. They were larger than he'd imagined, with rose-hued areolas that tightened as the cool air hit them.
"See something you like, professor?" she purred, tossing her shirt aside.
Jim didn't answer with words. He surged up, his hands spanning her waist, and buried his face between her tits. He nuzzled the soft valley there, inhaling her scent, jasmine and sweat and something uniquely Sana, before turning his head to capture one nipple in his mouth. He sucked hard, drawing a cry from her throat, then released it with a wet pop only to lavish attention on the other.
"Jim, oh god~" Her fingers dug into his scalp, holding him there.
He dragged his tongue upward, tracing the line between her breasts, up her sternum, to the hollow of her throat. He licked the fluttering pulse there, feeling her heartbeat against his tongue, then continued upward until he found her mouth again. They kissed messily, all teeth and tongue, and she moaned his name into his mouth like a prayer.
"Jim... Jim... please..."
He needed no further invitation. She rose up on her knees, her breasts swaying inches from his face, and he watched with rapt attention as she turned around. The sight of her back, smooth, muscled, the line of her spine disappearing into the waistband of her skirt, made his cock ache against his zipper.
Sana hooked her thumbs into the band of her skirt and pushed it down over her hips, the fabric pooling at her knees. Then, agonizingly slowly, she pushed her panties down, bending forward as she did so, presenting her ass to him like a gift.
"Christ," Jim choked out.
Her ass was magnificent, round and firm, the kind of ass that filled out designer dresses to perfection. The cleft between her cheeks led down to glimpses of her pussy, glistening and swollen, peeking out from between her thighs. She looked back over her shoulder, her hair falling in a dark curtain, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire.
"You like what you see?" she asked, her voice husky.
Jim reached out with both hands and squeezed her ass cheeks, kneading the firm flesh, spreading them slightly to reveal the tight pink bud of her asshole and the wet slit below. She pushed back into his grip, whimpering.
"Beautiful," he groaned. "You're fucking beautiful, Sana."
She turned back around, her movements fluid and deliberate. She sank down, her knees hitting the floor between his spread legs, and leaned forward. Her breasts pressed against his thighs, soft and warm through his trousers, her nipples dragging against the fabric as she reached for his belt.
"Lift," she commanded.
He raised his hips, and she worked his belt free, tossing it aside. His button came next, then his zipper, the sound loud in the quiet apartment. She tugged his pants down, and he lifted again to help, until they were bunched around his knees. His cock strained against his boxer briefs, the outline thick and obvious, a wet spot already forming at the tip where precum had soaked through.
Sana paused, looking up at him with those dark, devastating eyes. Then, with deliberate slowness, she leaned in and caught the waistband of his underwear between her teeth. She pulled down, her nose brushing against his lower belly, her breath hot against his skin. The elastic stretched, then gave way, and his cock sprang free, thick and veined and throbbing, slapping against his stomach with an audible sound. His balls followed, heavy and tight beneath.
"Fuck," Jim gasped, his head falling back. He ripped his shirt over his head, buttons popping, and threw it aside. Now he was naked from the waist up, his lean chest heaving, his professor's pallor contrasting with the ruddy darkness of his engorged cock.
Sana wrapped her hand around his shaft, her fingers not quite meeting around his girth. She pumped him once, twice, spreading the bead of precum over his swollen head with her thumb. Then she leaned in and took him into her mouth.
"Oh god-Sana~" Jim's hips bucked involuntarily, but she held him down with a hand on his thigh, her nails digging in.
She worked him with lips and tongue and throat, taking him deep until her nose brushed his pubic hair, then pulling back until just the head remained between her lips, sucking hard. Her tongue swirled around his frenulum, that sensitive spot beneath the crown, and he groaned long and low, his hand finding her hair and tangling there, not pushing, just holding on for dear life.
She bobbed her head, her breasts swaying against his legs, her nipples hard points of contact that drove him wild. The wet sounds of her mouth on his cock filled the room, obscene, delicious, filthy. She took him deeper, relaxing her throat, and he felt himself slide into that tight, hot channel, her muscles contracting around him.
"Baby, I'm gonna~if you don't stop~" He tugged gently at her hair, warning her.
She pulled off with a wet gasp, a string of saliva connecting her swollen lips to his cock. "Not yet," she breathed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I want you inside me."
She rose up, her body unfolding like a flower, and climbed back onto his lap. She positioned herself above him, her hand guiding his cock to her entrance. He could feel her heat radiating against his sensitive head, could feel how wet she was, her arousal coating him.
"Look at me," she commanded, her hands finding his face, pressing his cheek against her breast. "Look at me while I take you."
She sank down, and they both cried out. She was tight, impossibly tight, her pussy gripping him like a velvet fist, sucking him in. He filled her completely, his cock bottoming out against her cervix, and she paused there, fully seated, her tits crushed against his face, her nipple brushing his lips.
"Move," he begged, his hands finding her hips. "Please, Sana, move."
She began to bounce, her thighs flexing, her ass slapping against his legs as she rode him. She held his face pressed to her chest, her fingers threaded through his hair, keeping him there against her heartbeat, her breast filling his mouth. He sucked her nipple, drawing hard, and she cried out, her rhythm faltering.
"Yes, yes, just like that, fuck, Jim~you feel so good.."
She rode him harder, faster, her tits bouncing with every downward thrust, her pussy making wet, squelching sounds as she impaled herself on his cock again and again. He could feel her muscles fluttering around him, could feel her getting closer, her movements becoming erratic, desperate.
"Flip me," she gasped. "I want you on top."
He didn't need to be told twice. He lifted her, still buried inside her, and laid her back against the couch cushions. He hooked her legs over his shoulders, folding her nearly in half, and drove into her with a force that made her scream.
"Yes! Yes! Fuck me, Jim! Harder!"
He pistoned his hips, his cock sliding in and out of her slick heat, the sight of her tits jiggling with every thrust driving him mad. Her hands found her own breasts, squeezing them, pinching her nipples, and the sight was so erotic he almost lost it right there.
"Touch yourself," he commanded, his voice rough. "Touch your clit. I want to feel you come on my cock."
Her hand slid between them, her fingers finding her swollen bud, and she rubbed herself in tight circles as he fucked her. Her moans grew higher, sharper, her walls clamping down on him in rhythmic pulses.
"Jim, Jim, I'm gonna-"
"Come for me, baby. Come on my cock."
She shattered, her back arching off the couch, her pussy gripping him so tight he saw stars. He kept fucking her through it, prolonging her pleasure, until she went limp beneath him, gasping, her chest heaving.
But he wasn't done. He pulled out, his cock glistening with her arousal, and flipped her over. "On your knees," he growled. "Ass up."
She scrambled to comply, presenting herself to him, her pussy pink and swollen and dripping. He gripped her hips and slammed into her from behind, the new angle making them both cry out. Her tits swung beneath her, heavy and full, and he reached around to cup them, pinching her nipples as he drove into her.
"So deep," she moaned, her face pressed against the couch cushions. "Oh god, Jim, you're so deep~you're hitting my spot~yes~yes~"
He pounded into her, his balls slapping against her clit with every thrust, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. He could feel his own orgasm building, his spine tingling, his balls drawing up tight against his body.
"Where do you want it?" he gritted out, his rhythm faltering. "Tell me where~"
"Inside," she begged, looking back at him over her shoulder, her eyes glazed with pleasure. "Come inside me, Jim. Fill me up. I want to feel you~"
That was it. He slammed into her one final time and erupted, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself into her, rope after rope of hot cum flooding her tight channel. She came again with him, her pussy milking him dry, her walls contracting around him in waves that seemed to go on forever.
He collapsed forward, his chest against her back, both of them slick with sweat, breathing hard. He slipped out of her, his cum already leaking down her thighs, and pulled her down with him onto the couch. They lay there, tangled together, naked and exposed and utterly spent.
"Jim?" Sana whispered, her head on his chest, her fingers tracing lazy circles through the sparse hair there.
"Yeah?"
"That was... that was better than the tape."
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Yeah. Way better."
"I love you," she said softly, looking up at him with those dark eyes, no longer wild but soft, tender. "I meant it. When I said it before. I wasn't just grateful. I love you."
He tilted her chin up and kissed her, slow and sweet, tasting himself on her lips. "I love you too," he murmured against her mouth. "I've loved you for months. Maybe years. I was just too stupid to say it."
"Professor Jim," she teased, her hand sliding down to cup his softening cock. "So articulate in the classroom, so tongue-tied in love."
"Shut up," he laughed, pulling her closer.
They lay there on the couch, uncovered, the autumn chill raising gooseflesh on their naked skin but neither of them caring. She draped her leg over his, her breast pressed against his ribs, her arm wrapped around his waist. He held her tight, his nose buried in her hair, inhaling the scent of jasmine and sex and sweat.
"Stay tonight," he whispered into the darkness.
"Try to make me leave," she whispered back.
They fell asleep like that, tangled and naked and finally, finally together, while across the hall, their friends probably placed bets on whether they'd emerge before morning. But for now, in this moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, the warmth of skin on skin, and the promise of many more nights exactly like this one.
Word Count: 11.4k
Genre: Poly, Romance, Fluff with Smut
The first hour of the drive was quiet. Not peaceful quiet. Company-mandated quiet.
There was a difference.
Jihyo had said assigned silence until the first checkpoint, and somehow, by sheer force of Park Jihyo existing, everyone had obeyed.
Mostly.
Ryujin had obeyed in spirit, which meant she had not spoken but had communicated several criminal thoughts through facial expressions alone.
Yuna had lasted eleven minutes before silently writing activity notes in her vacation notebook with the intensity of a woman planning a government program.
Lia had watched her do it, sighed once, and taken the pen away twice.
Chaeryeong had spent most of the drive making sure the snack bags were evenly distributed, which became less about logistics and more about survival once Momo’s van pulled beside ours at the first stop and Momo looked through the tinted window with terrifying food awareness.
Yeji sat beside me. Her hand had found mine ten minutes after we left the parking level. No one commented. That was how I knew they were tired. Or plotting. Possibly both… definitely both.
By the second hour, the silence order had dissolved into low conversation.
By the third, Ryujin had fallen asleep with sunglasses still on, which somehow made her look more suspicious.
By the fourth, Yuna had renamed the retreat six times.
By the fifth, Lia had threatened to throw the notebook out of the window if the phrase “Hostile Wellness” appeared one more time.
“It’s not a title anymore,” Yuna protested from the back.
“It is on the page.”
“It’s a concept.”
“It’s a felony with spa access,” Lia said.
Ryujin, without opening her eyes, raised one hand “I vote felony with spa access.”
“No one asked you,” Yeji said.
“I live here emotionally.”
“You live everywhere emotionally,” Chaeryeong murmured.
Ryujin opened one eye “That was sharp.”
Chaeryeong immediately looked down “Sorry.”
“No, keep going. I like vacation Chaeryeong.”
Chaeryeong hid behind a snack bag. I looked toward Yeji. She was trying not to smile. I noticed. Of course I noticed. She noticed me noticing “Don’t,” she said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was about to say you look happy.”
Her expression softened before she could stop it. Then she looked out the window “I am.”
That stayed with me longer than it should have.
Outside, the city had thinned into long roads, guarded turns, and stretches of coast that looked too clean to be casual. Eventually, the vans turned away from the public highway and onto a private access road lined with tall trees and security posts so discreet they looked decorative until you noticed the cameras. Yuna leaned forward “Are we arriving or being abducted luxuriously?”
“Both can be true,” Ryujin said.
Lia looked out the window “This is… really private.”
Chaeryeong shifted closer to the glass “There are no other cars.”
“Good,” I said.
Yeji looked at me “That sounded expensive.”
“Privacy usually does.”
“That did not make me feel better.”
“It was not meant to.”
The first gate opened before our vans fully stopped. Then the second. Then a third, hidden behind a curve of palm trees and stone walls. By the time the resort finally appeared, even Ryujin sat up properly. The place did not look like a hotel. It looked like someone had taken a private beach, erased the rest of the world from around it, and built a quiet kingdom along the water.
White villas sat apart from each other along the coastline, spaced far enough that no balcony looked directly into another. A private road curved through landscaped gardens toward a central pavilion of glass, wood, and stone. Beyond it, the beach stretched out in pale sand and blue water, empty except for staff preparing shaded lounges beneath the trees.
No crowds, visible guests, camera flashes, distant fans, or noise— except the ocean.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Ryujin whispered “Okay. This is rich-rich”. Yuna pressed both hands to the window “This is not a retreat. This is where villains recover after losing the first movie”. Chaeryeong’s mouth opened slightly “Is this all for us?”
“For two weeks,” I said. The van went quiet. Yeji turned toward me slowly “Ben”. I looked out the window “Yes?”
“How expensive is this?”
“That depends on how you define expensive.”
Lia closed her eyes “Bad answer.”
Yuna pointed at me “That is a tax bracket answer.”
The van stopped near the private reception pavilion. The doors opened. Warm air, salt wind, and sunlight spilled in. TWICE’s van had arrived just ahead of us, and they stepped out one by one into the brightness.
Nayeon took off her sunglasses and stared.
Sana clasped both hands in front of her chest.
Dahyun looked around like she was searching for the hidden production crew.
Jeongyeon crossed her arms, suspicious.
Momo looked toward the dining pavilion first.
Tzuyu looked at the beach quietly.
Chaeyoung smiled to herself.
Jihyo stepped out last, already assessing the entire venue like a leader who did not believe in relaxing until the building had earned her trust.
Mina stood beside her, calm as ever.
That was unfair because this was partly her fault. John got out of the van looking like a man who had survived a long drive only to be financially attacked by architecture. He looked at the resort. Then at me. Then at Mina “No.”
I frowned “What now?”
“This is not a wellness retreat.”
Mina looked at him “It has wellness facilities.”
“This is a private country with towels.”
Nayeon walked closer, eyes still moving across the resort “So… nobody else is here?” A staff member approached at a respectful distance but did not stare. That helped. A little.
Sana’s smile softened, but her eyes stayed careful “No guests?”
“No public bookings,” Mina said.
The group turned toward her. Mina adjusted the strap of her bag “This resort does not operate through normal channels. There are no public listings, no standard reservations, no casual walk-ins, no press access, and no guest overlap unless approved in advance.”
Dahyun lowered the invisible microphone she had almost raised “That sounds illegal.”
“It is not,” Mina said.
I added, “It is just expensive.”
John looked at me “That is not a defense.”
“It is often the explanation.”
Jeongyeon looked toward the beach “And staff?”
“Vetted,” I said. “Rotations locked. Phones restricted on working areas. Social posting prohibited by contract. Security handles perimeter access. Internal routes are separated.”
Jihyo’s eyes narrowed “That was too detailed.”
“Privacy requires detail.”
Yeji stepped closer to me. Her voice dropped just enough “Ben.”
I looked at her “What?”
“Invoice.”
I immediately looked away “No.”
Jihyo turned toward Mina “Invoice.”
Mina looked at Jihyo, then at me. Then calmly opened her phone “Mina,” I said. She ignored me. John exhaled “I knew it.” Yeji held out her hand “Show me.”
“It is already paid,” I said.
“That is not what I asked.”
“Technically, Mina paid half.”
Mina nodded “Split evenly.”
Jihyo took the phone first. She looked at the screen. Her face did not move. That was worse than screaming. Nayeon leaned over her shoulder. Then froze. Sana looked. Her smile dropped. Dahyun looked. Her imaginary microphone slowly lowered to her side. John saw the number and made a sound like someone had unplugged him from life support. Yeji took the phone last. She stared. Then stared longer. Then looked at me “Benjie.”
I stood straighter “Yes?”
“This is the price of every seat in an arena concert.”
Ryujin’s mouth dropped open.
Yuna turned toward the resort “We are sleeping inside a sold-out concert?”
Chaeryeong whispered, “For two weeks?”
Momo looked concerned “Is food included?”
Everyone turned toward her. She blinked “What?”
I nodded “Yes. Food is included.”
Chaeryeong visibly relaxed.
Mina added, “Food, staff, security, medical standby, private venue access, route control, and emergency contingencies.”
Jihyo handed the phone back to Mina slowly “Emergency contingencies?”
“Standard,” Mina said.
John pointed at her “For who?”
“For people like us,” Mina said.
He stared “That did not help.”
Yeji looked at me “There are staff bonuses on here.”
“Yes.”
“Why are there staff bonuses?”
“So they remain happy.”
Jihyo closed her eyes “You bribed the resort staff into emotional loyalty.”
“I prefer incentivized discretion.”
“That is bribery with better lighting,” John said.
Mina looked at him “It improves retention.”
John looked physically pained “Why do both of you have the same money disease?”
I frowned “It is not a disease.”
Yeji looked at me I corrected myself “It is a condition.”
“That is worse,” Lia said.
Yuna looked around the resort again, this time with a different kind of awe “So we can really… relax?”
The question softened the air. Because beneath the jokes, there it was. The thing none of them wanted to ask too loudly. Can we stop watching ourselves? Can we stop checking the corners? Can we laugh too loud? Can we walk outside without calculating exits? Can we exist without being consumed?
The ocean moved quietly beyond the pavilion. I looked at Yuna first. Then at Lia. Chaeryeong. Ryujin. Yeji. Then at TWICE “Yes,” I said. “That is the point.” Mina’s voice came softer beside me “For two weeks, this place is yours. Not publicly. Not symbolically. Functionally.” Jihyo looked at her. Mina continued “No press. No guests. No overlap. No staff access beyond assigned areas. If anyone tries to breach the perimeter, security sees them before they see you.” That helped more than the luxury did.
I saw it happen. Not all at once. Not completely. But enough. Nayeon’s shoulders dropped. Sana looked toward the beach like she was letting herself believe in it. Dahyun tucked her phone deeper into her bag without being told. Jeongyeon exhaled. Tzuyu smiled faintly. Ryujin pulled off her sunglasses. Yuna lowered her notebook. Lia looked at the water and said nothing. Chaeryeong held the snack bag a little tighter, but her face softened. Yeji stood beside me. Like the room inside her had finally opened a window.
A resort manager approached and bowed “Welcome. Your villas are ready.” John muttered, “Of course there are villas.”
“There are multiple groups,” Mina said.
“I understand the concept. I’m reacting to the price.”
The staff led us down a private stone path toward the villa cluster. The resort opened wider as we walked. Private pool. Beach access. Outdoor dining pavilion. Spa building. Training room. Cinema lounge. Garden paths. A kitchen large enough that Chaeryeong made a small noise under her breath. Momo heard it. Momo looked at the kitchen. Then at Chaeryeong. Something like alliance passed between them.
Jihyo noticed and immediately looked concerned “Do we need kitchen rules?”
“Yes,” John said.
Momo blinked and Chaeryeong looked down “Maybe.”
The room assignments became a separate diplomatic event.
Jihyo wanted structure. Nayeon wanted chaos. Sana wanted “organic bonding.” John said the word organic had become dangerous. Mina provided a villa map. Yuna immediately tried to improve it with activity zones. Lia took the pen away again. Eventually, the arrangement settled into something survivable. TWICE had one large villa wing closest to the garden path. ITZY had the connected wing facing the beach. John had a separate manager’s suite near the central office, which he claimed was for operational oversight.
Nayeon called it cowardice. Jihyo called it practical. Mina had a quiet villa near the end of the path with the best view and enough distance to make John suspicious. I had a room in ITZY’s wing. That alone should not have been a problem. Naturally, it became one. Ryujin looked at the room list. Then at Yeji and then at me. Slowly. “You two are sharing?” Yeji’s face changed by one degree. Leader mode tried to save her. It failed “For logistics,” she said.
Yuna leaned in “Logistics.” Lia closed her eyes “Do not.” Chaeryeong looked down, already smiling. Nayeon appeared behind Ryujin with terrifying timing “Honeymoon logistics?”
Yeji turned pink “No.” Sana appeared beside Nayeon “Wife privileges?”
“No.”
Dahyun lifted one finger “Room assignment confirms ongoing title dispute.” Jihyo pointed at her “No reporting.” Dahyun lowered her hand. I took the key card from the staff member.
“There are enough rooms for everyone to be comfortable. Yeji and I can switch if needed.” Yeji looked at me. The room went quiet. She took the key card from my hand “No.” Everyone froze. Yeji held the card, face warm but voice steady “It’s fine.” Nayeon smiled. Ryujin’s eyebrows rose. Yuna covered her mouth. Lia looked away to hide a smile. I looked at Yeji. She did not look back immediately. That was how I knew she knew exactly what she had done.
Jihyo, mercifully, clapped once. “Unpack first. Meeting in the dining pavilion in one hour. No wandering alone until security finishes the final perimeter confirmation.” Ryujin raised her hand “What if wandering is emotionally necessary?”
“Then wander with witnesses.”
Yuna raised her notebook “What if I need to inspect activity zones?”
“Later.”
Momo raised a hand “Food?”
Chaeryeong lifted her bag “I can help check the kitchen.”
Jihyo looked between them, then sighed “Thirty minutes. Supervised.”
Momo smiled. Chaeryeong looked like she had been given a sacred mission. The group scattered in pieces. Laughter down one path. Bags rolling over stone. Staff moving quietly around us. The ocean following everything. For the first time, the noise did not feel trapped in a room. It had somewhere to go.
Yeji walked beside me toward our assigned villa. Neither of us spoke at first. The path curved past low greenery and opened toward a private terrace facing the water. Our room sat at the edge of the ITZY wing, close enough to everyone to be reachable, far enough to feel separate.
Yeji unlocked the door. The room opened into warm light. Wide bed. Soft curtains. Private balcony. Ocean view. A couch near the window. A bathroom too large to be reasonable. Fresh flowers on the table. Our luggage already placed neatly near the closet. And silence. Actual silence.
The door clicked shut behind us. For the first time since morning, there was no one else. No paperwork. No John suffering in the corner. No Ryujin listening through the walls. No Nayeon weaponizing the word ‘wife’ from ten feet away. Just the room. The ocean. Our bags by the door, and Yeji standing very still in front of me.
I looked around “Not bad,” I said. “Does my wife approve?” I meant it as a joke. Mostly. Yeji turned around slowly. The look on her face made every surviving thought in my head stop moving “Say that again.” I blinked “What?” Her eyes stayed on mine as she stepped closer. Close enough that I felt the shift in the air before I felt her hand against my shirt “You keep doing that,” she said softly “Doing what?”
“Calling me that”. My throat went dry “Jokingly.” Yeji’s mouth curved. Not quite a smile or a warning. Something worse. Something private “Do you know how hard it was for me not to pounce on you every time you called me your wife in front of everyone?”
The room went quiet. Or maybe I did. Because Yeji had stepped fully into my space now, one hand resting against my chest, close enough to feel the temporary ink beneath the fabric “And then you had the nerve,” she whispered, “to put my name here.”
I looked down at her hand. Then back at her “You chose the font.”
“I know.”
“You chose the hearts.”
Her fingers curled into my shirt “I know.”
“Yeji.”
Her eyes lifted to mine, steady and bright and dangerous “You kept making me blush in front of everyone,” she said. “So now you can deal with me without an audience”. I swallowed. “Is this leader mode?”
“No.” She stepped closer “This is me, making good use of wife privileges.”
The silence of the room didn't just feel like a lack of noise. It felt like a vacuum, pulling the air out of my lungs until the only thing left to breathe was the scent of Yeji—something like vanilla, salt, and a sudden, electric heat.
She didn't give me a chance to answer. She didn't give me a chance to joke. Yeji stepped forward, her movements devoid of the hesitation that usually governed her public persona. She didn't just enter my space; she annexed it. Her hand, which had been resting on my chest, suddenly tightened, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt with a strength that bordered on desperation.
"You think you're so clever," she whispered, her voice dropping an octave, vibrating against my skin. "All those little comments. All those looks. Do you have any idea what it does to me? To have to stand there, the leader of the group, pretending I'm not vibrating out of my skin because you're treating me like I belong to you?"
I opened my mouth to say something—probably a joke about how she seemed to be enjoying it—but the words died in my throat. Yeji’s eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide, swallowing the iris. There was a hunger there that I had only ever seen in flashes, hidden behind the professionalism and the poise. Now, it was a wildfire.
"I spent the whole drive thinking about this," she murmured, her breath hot against my lips. "Thinking about a place where I didn't have to be the one holding everything together. Where I could just... take."
Then she kissed me.
It wasn't a gentle invitation. It was a collision. Her lips slammed into mine with a ferocity that knocked me back a half-step, her tongue immediately forcing its way past my teeth to claim my mouth. She tasted like the mint she’d been chewing and a deep, visceral need. We exchanged saliva in a messy, desperate rhythm, the sound of our mouths meeting—a wet, slapping noise—filling the quiet room.
Yeji’s hands didn't stay still. While her mouth worked mine, her fingers flew to the buttons of my shirt. She didn't unbutton them so much as she ripped them, a couple of small plastic discs pinging off the wall as she tore the fabric open to get to my skin. I groaned into her mouth, my hands finding her waist, pulling her flush against me. She was relentless, her nipples peaking through her clothes, pressing into my chest.
"Clothes," she breathed, breaking the kiss for a split second, her voice a jagged edge. "Get them off. Now."
She didn't wait for me to comply. She pushed me backward, her kisses migrating to my jaw, then my neck, biting down on the sensitive cord of muscle there. I stumbled back, my heels catching on the edge of the luggage, but she used the momentum to keep me moving. We drifted across the room in a chaotic dance of limbs and friction. Yeji was a whirlwind, her hands diving into my waistband, shoving my trousers down with a frantic energy.
I managed to kick my shoes off, one of them hitting the nightstand with a thud, while she worked on my underwear. She didn't just slide them off; she peeled them away, her eyes never leaving mine for more than a second. When I was finally standing there, completely naked and shivering despite the warmth of the room, Yeji stepped back.
She didn't look away. She looked at me—really looked at me—from the line of my shoulders down to the heavy, pulsing length of my cock, which was already leaking a bead of pre-cum.
"Finally," she whispered.
With a sudden, forceful shove, she pushed me down onto the bed. I hit the mattress with a soft huff, the white linens cool against my back. Yeji stood over me, her silhouette framed by the golden light filtering through the curtains. Slowly, with a deliberate, erotic precision, she began to strip.
She reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head in one fluid motion, tossing it blindly toward the corner of the room. Her breasts were perfect, small and firm with aroused nipples. I reached up, my fingers itching to touch her, but she stepped back, a small, commanding smile playing on her lips.
"Wait," she commanded.
She slid her trousers down, the fabric whispering against her skin. She stepped out of them, leaving her in nothing but a pair of lace panties that left nothing to the imagination. The sight of her—the curve of her hips, the softness of her belly, the way her thighs trembled slightly—made my blood roar in my ears. She reached back, hooking her fingers into the lace and sliding the fabric down her legs.
She stood there for a heartbeat, completely nude, her skin glowing in the afternoon light. She looked like a goddess, but the expression on her face was entirely human. She looked hungry.
Before I could even reach for her, before I could utter a single word of praise, Yeji climbed onto the bed. She didn't crawl; she prowled. She moved over me, her knees flanking my hips, and then, with a sudden shift in weight, she pivoted.
She lowered herself directly onto my face.
The air left me in a rush as the wet, hot folds of her pussy pressed firmly against my mouth and nose. The scent hit me instantly—musk, arousal, and that singular, intoxicating Yeji-smell. I could feel the heat radiating from her, the slickness of her juices already soaking into my skin.
She gasped, her voice strained as she shifted her weight, sliding down my body until her face was positioned perfectly between my legs. "I've wanted this since the moment we left the city." The world narrowed down to the sensation of her. I pressed my tongue upward, finding her clit, swirling around the tiny, engorged bud of pleasure. Yeji let out a loud, guttural moan that vibrated through my entire skull. At the same time, her mouth closed around me.
She didn't just suck; she worshipped. Her tongue wrapped around the head of my cock, swirling in a tight, rhythmic circle before she slid her mouth down the shaft. The suction was intense, a vacuum of heat and saliva that made my toes curl. I could hear the wet, shlicking sounds of her tongue working against my skin, the squelch of saliva as she took as much of me as she could handle.
I responded by burying my face deeper into her. I used my tongue to part her lips, delving deep into the creaminess of her center. She tasted sweet and salty, a flood of arousal that coated my tongue. I flicked my tongue rapidly against her clit while sucking on the soft flesh of her inner thighs.
Yeji’s breathing became a series of erratic, high-pitched whimpers. She was shaking, her hands gripping my thighs so hard her nails dug into my skin. The rhythm intensified. Her mouth was a furnace, her tongue dancing over the frenulum, while I worked my way deeper into her, my tongue mimicking the thrusts she would eventually want.
"Ben... Ben, I'm... I'm close," she wailed, the sound muffled by my lap.
She shifted suddenly, pulling away from my cock and sliding back up. She didn't move off my face; instead, she sat directly on it, her weight pressing her pussy firmly against my mouth, sealing us together. She arched her back, her chest thrusting toward the ceiling, her head falling back as the first wave of orgasm hit her.
I could feel her muscles contracting against my lips, the rhythmic pulsing of her walls as she came. A flood of hot, thick juices drenched my face, the taste of her climax filling my mouth. Yeji screamed—a raw, unfiltered sound of release that echoed through the room.
The sight and feel of her coming on my face, the sheer vulnerability and power of it, snapped something inside me. The tension that had been building for months, the longing, the frustration—it all converged into a single point of explosion.
I bucked upward, my hips surging with a violent force. I came with a power that felt like a physical blow, my cum spraying upward in thick, hot jets. Because of the angle, the force sent the white fluid flying, splashing across Yeji’s stomach and chest, and spraying directly across her face.
She gasped, her eyes snapping open as the warm liquid hit her cheeks and forehead. We stayed like that for a moment, locked together, breathing in sync, the room smelling of sex and salt.
Yeji didn't move for a long time. Then, slowly, she shifted, sliding off my face and rolling onto her side. She looked at me, her eyes hazy and pupils still wide. She raised a hand, her thumb wiping a streak of my cum from her cheek.
She didn't wipe it away in disgust. She looked at the white fluid on her thumb, then slowly brought it to her lips and licked it clean, her eyes locked on mine with a predatory intensity.
"Stay still," she whispered.
She moved with a purpose now, her movements slower but more deliberate. She guided my cock, which was already beginning to stir again, toward the entrance of her pussy. She didn't just slide on; she teased the head against her folds, rubbing the slickness of her own juices and my cum across her lips.
"It's time for the wife to give her husband what he deserves," she murmured, her voice a low, sultry purr.
She lowered herself slowly, the friction causing a wet, squelching sound that echoed in the quiet room. I felt my head disappear into her, the tightness of her walls gripping me like a vice. Yeji let out a long, shaky breath, her eyes closing as she settled fully onto me, her cervix meeting the head of my cock.
"Oh god," she whimpered. "You're so... you're so deep."
She began to move, her hips rotating in a slow, grinding circle. I reached up, my hands finding the swell of her breasts, squeezing them as she rose and fell. The sound of our bodies meeting—the slap of her ass against my thighs—became the only rhythm in the world.
Yeji was vocal, her moans turning into passionate, loving declarations.
"I love you," she gasped, her voice breaking. "I love you so much, Ben. I've wanted this... I've wanted you inside me for so long."
She increased the pace, her movements becoming more urgent. She wasn't just riding me; she was claiming me. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against my chest, her sweat mingling with mine. I could feel her internal muscles clamping down on me with every downward thrust, drawing me deeper into her heat.
As she approached her second climax, she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned down and captured my lips in a kiss that felt like a seal of ownership. She put both of her hands on my face, framing my jaw, her fingers digging into my cheeks, refusing to let go. She held me there, her gaze locked on mine, as the orgasm ripped through her.
I felt her walls spasm violently, squeezing the life out of me. My own hand slid down, gripping the curve of her ass, pulling her down hard against me, while my other hand stayed at the back of her head, holding her close. We rode out the wave together, the intimacy of the moment far outweighing the physical pleasure.
When she finally collapsed against me, her breathing ragged and her skin flushed a deep pink, she stayed there for a long time. She felt soft, spent, and completely satisfied.
"I'm... I'm done," she whispered into my neck, her voice trailing off into a contented sigh. "I think... I think the wife has made the husband happy. Maybe we should... go meet the others for dinner."
I felt a shift in my own chest. Watching her like this—undone, vulnerable, and utterly devoted—flipped a switch in me. The softness was gone, replaced by a sudden, towering hunger. I didn't want to stop. I wanted more. I wanted to see her break again.
"Not so fast," I whispered, my voice sounding deeper, even to my own ears.
Yeji blinked, looking up at me with a confused smile. "What?"
"You used the wife card to get your way," I said, my hand sliding from her ass to her waist, gripping her firmly. "Now it's time for the husband card. The wife deserves more pampering after all that hard work she's done."
Before she could protest, I gripped her hips and flipped her over. She let out a small, surprised yelp as I moved her onto her hands and knees. I didn't stop there. I guided her further, pressing her chest down into the mattress while keeping her hips high, her legs spread wide.
I entered her from behind, but I didn't just slide in. I angled my body, lifting one of her legs up and over my hip, creating a steep, deep incline. This was a variation of the *Indrani* position from the Kama Sutra, designed for maximum depth and contact.
As I thrust forward, I felt myself hit her G-spot—the sensitive area that had become hyper-responsive after her previous orgasms.
Yeji’s reaction was instantaneous. She let out a scream that was barely human, her back arching violently.
"Ben! Oh my god, Ben!"
The pleasure was too much. She began to shake, her movements mirroring the overstimulation Ryujin often described. Every thrust felt like an electric shock, a wave of intensity that threatened to drown her. She was moaning loudly now, the sounds raw and desperate, her fingers clawing at the sheets.
"Too much... it's too much!" she wailed, but she pushed her hips back against me, demanding more.
I didn't let up. I hammered into her, the sound of our bodies colliding filling the room with a rhythmic, visceral thud. I could feel her internal walls fluttering, pulsing around me in a frantic attempt to absorb the pleasure. She was hovering on the edge of a third, massive climax, her voice reduced to fragmented whimpers.
"Please... please, Ben... give it to me... all of it!"
I felt the pressure building in my gut, a tidal wave that I could no longer hold back. With one final, deep surge, I buried myself as far as I could go, pinning her against the mattress.
I came inside her with a force that made my entire body shudder. I could feel the hot, thick pulses of my seed filling her, the warmth spreading through her core. Yeji let out a final, long moan, her head falling forward as she collapsed into the bed, her body still twitching from the intensity of the release.
We lay there in the wreckage of the room, the curtains fluttering in the breeze, the ocean calling from the balcony. The silence returned, but it was different now. It wasn't a vacuum; it was a sanctuary.
Yeji shifted, rolling over to look at me. Her hair was a mess, her lips were swollen, and her eyes were filled with a softness that made my heart ache. She looked embarrassed for a fleeting second, remembering how aggressive she had been, but then she smiled—a real, genuine smile—and pulled me close.
"I think," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "I really like these wife privileges."
For a second, I forgot how to answer. Not because I did not have a joke. I had several. All of them terrible. All of them dangerous.
But Yeji was looking at me with her hair ruined, her lips swollen, her skin still warm against mine, and that tiny embarrassed smile caught between pride and disbelief. The kind of smile she only gave when she had surprised herself first.
So for once, I did the smarter thing. I kissed her. Softly this time. No urgency. Just my mouth against hers, slow enough that she melted into it instead of trying to win. Her hand slid up my chest, fingers brushing over the place where her name was still hidden beneath my shirt somewhere on the floor, and she laughed quietly against my lips.
“What?” I asked. Her cheeks colored “I’m thinking.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It is.”
I smiled “About?”
She hid her face against my neck “No.”
“Yeji.”
“No.”
“Wife privileges?”
Her hand hit my chest weakly.
“Don’t ruin it.”
“I’m not ruining it. I’m appreciating the policy.”
“There is no policy.”
“There are clearly benefits.”
She groaned into my skin “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Her silence lasted too long. Then, very quietly, she said, “No. I don’t.” That did something to me. More than the teasing. More than the way she had said wife earlier like it belonged in her mouth. More than the tattoo. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her closer until she was lying half on top of me, her cheek against my chest, one leg tangled between mine. The room had gone still again, but this time it did not feel empty. It felt protected.
Outside, the ocean moved beyond the balcony.
Inside, Yeji traced idle shapes against my skin. For a while, neither of us spoke. That was new. Not because we had nothing to say. Because for once, nothing needed defending. Her breathing slowed first. Then mine followed. I pressed a kiss into her hair, and she made a small sound like she wanted to complain but did not have the strength to commit to it. “You okay?” I asked. She nodded against me.
Then, after a pause, she lifted her head “You?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes narrowed “That was too fast.”
“I’m very okay.”
“Ben.”
I smiled “I am happy.”
That softened her. She looked down, embarrassed again, but this time she did not hide. “Me too.” I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear “You were very scary.” Her eyes flicked back to mine. “You deserved it.”
“I did.”
“You kept calling me your wife.”
“I did.”
“In front of everyone.”
“I did.”
“And then you put my name on your chest.”
“You chose the hearts.”
Her mouth twitched “They were artistically necessary.”
“Of course.”
“And private.”
“Apparently not, since John betrayed me with documentary evidence.”
Yeji covered her face “I still cannot believe he showed everyone.”
“I can. John is a wounded animal. He wanted collateral.”
She laughed. Soft and happy. Then she kissed me again. That one lasted longer. It started gentle, but Yeji had a way of making even softness feel like a decision. Her fingers found my jaw, holding me there as if I might escape, even though both of us knew I had nowhere else I wanted to be.
I kissed her back until she sighed into my mouth. Until her shoulders loosened. Until the leader finally stopped standing guard behind her eyes. When she pulled away, she stayed close enough for our noses to brush.
“For the record,” she whispered, “I am still your girlfriend.”
“I know.”
“Not wife.”
“I know.”
She stared at me. I stared back. Then she added, quieter, “Yet.”
The word barely existed. But I heard it. My heart stopped so violently that it should have triggered the resort’s medical standby. Yeji realized what she had said and immediately tried to roll away. I caught her “Nope.”
“Ben.”
“No. Come back.”
“I said nothing.”
“You said theology.”
“I said one word.”
“One devastating word.”
She buried her face against my shoulder “I hate this room.”
“This room has done nothing wrong.”
“This room has heard too much.”
“The walls signed an NDA.”
She laughed again, and I felt it against my chest. For a while, that was all we did. Cuddle. Kiss. Talk in fragments. Pretend we were not both trying to memorize what it felt like to be this quiet together. Eventually, Yeji’s hand drifted lower and found my wrist. She turned it slightly, checking the time.
Then went still.
I felt it before I understood it “What?” She lifted my wrist closer. Then her head snapped up “Ben.”
“What?”
“We’re late.”
I blinked “For what?”
“Dinner.”
The word landed like a siren. We both moved at once. Badly. Yeji sat up too fast, winced, then pointed at me before I could comment “Do not.”
“I said nothing.”
“You thought something.”
“That is not illegal.”
“It will be if you smile.”
I did not smile. Technically. She scrambled toward the edge of the bed, then stopped when she looked around the room. The room looked like it had lost an argument. Clothes on the floor. One of my shirt buttons near the curtain. A pillow halfway off the mattress. The blankets destroyed beyond reasonable explanation. Yeji stared. Then slowly looked back at me.
“We need to get clothed.”
“We need to be at dinner.”
“We need all three.”
She closed her eyes.
“We are doomed.”
“Probably.”
“Benjie.”
I got up. She grabbed a pillow and threw it at me. We managed to shower, dress, and make the room look less like a crime scene in record time. Not clean, but survivable. Yeji fixed her hair in the mirror with the focus of someone preparing for a comeback stage instead of dinner with women who already knew too much. I buttoned a fresh shirt all the way up because I had learned at least one lesson in the past twenty-four hours.
Yeji noticed.
“Good.”
“I can behave.”
“No, you can be managed.”
“That sounds like wife work.”
She pointed the hairbrush at me “Do not start.” I smiled. She tried not to, she failed. We were twenty-three minutes late. Which was not ideal. But also not catastrophic. Until we reached the dining pavilion and the entire table went silent. That was catastrophic. Every head turned. ITZY. TWICE. John. Jihyo. Mina.
Even Momo stopped eating.
That, more than anything, told me we were in danger. Yeji straightened beside me. Damaged, but functional “Sorry we’re late.”
No one spoke.
Then Ryujin leaned back in her chair and smiled. Slowly “Oh?”
“No,” Yeji said immediately. Ryujin’s smile widened.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
Yuna looked between us, eyes bright with the kind of joy only danger could produce “You both look very… rested.” Lia closed her eyes “Yuna.”
“What? I said rested.” Nayeon leaned forward, chin in her hand “Rested is generous.” Sana smiled sweetly “Glowing?” Yeji’s face turned pink “We lost track of time.” John stared at me “You lost track of dinner?”
“Apparently.”
“You?”
“I was busy.”
The table inhaled as one organism. Yeji’s head whipped toward me.
“Ben.”
“What? With unpacking.”
Dahyun lifted her imaginary microphone “Breaking news: local couple claims unpacking after arriving twenty-three minutes late to dinner.”
“I did not claim couple,” Yeji said.
Mina looked at her plate “You did not deny unpacking.”
Yeji turned toward Mina, betrayed “Mina.”
“It is a factual gap.”
Ryujin pointed at the two empty seats “Sit down before this gets worse.”
“That sounds merciful,” I said.
Ryujin smiled “It is not.”
We sat. Unfortunately, sitting did not help. Because the silence kept smiling at us. Chaeryeong, who had clearly been trying very hard not to participate, looked at Yeji with gentle concern “Unnie, are you okay?” Yeji froze. The table froze with her. I looked at my water. Cowardly, but necessary. Yeji cleared her throat “Yes.”
Ryujin’s eyes sharpened “Physically?”
“Ryujin,” Lia warned.
Yuna leaned forward “Private resort does not mean subtle resort.”
Yeji closed her eyes. I stopped breathing. Jihyo slowly lowered her utensils “What does that mean?” Lia looked at Yuna “Do not.” Yuna looked at her “They were not quiet.”
The table detonated.
Yeji covered her face. I stared into the middle distance and accepted death. Nayeon slammed both hands on the table “I knew it.” Sana gasped like she had just witnessed romance itself walk into the room. Dahyun’s imaginary microphone returned instantly “Breaking news: honeymoon logistics confirmed by acoustic evidence.”
“It was not honeymoon logistics,” Yeji said through her hands. Ryujin leaned toward her “Unnie.”
“No.”
“You screamed.”
“Ryujin!”
Momo blinked. Then looked at John “Is that what we heard?” John choked on his drink. Jihyo closed her eyes “Do not answer that.” Nayeon turned to John anyway “Manager-nim.”
“No.”
“You never did that when we arrived somewhere.”
“I am begging you not to compare arrival protocols.”
Sana tilted her head “Why not?”
“Because that phrase already sounds illegal.”
Jeongyeon crossed her arms “Ben arrives at a resort and immediately treats his wife properly.”
Yeji’s face went fully red “I am not his wife.”
Tzuyu looked at her calmly “But the room heard otherwise.”
The table exploded again. I covered my mouth. Not because I was embarrassed— because if I laughed, Yeji would kill me. Lia, somehow, tried to restore dignity “Maybe we should let them eat.”
“Thank you,” Yeji said weakly.
Lia nodded, then added, “They probably need energy.”
Yeji stared at her. Lia took a sip of water, expression perfectly calm “Traitor,” Yeji whispered. Ryujin looked delighted “Vacation Lia is dangerous.” Yuna nodded “She has timing.” Nayeon pointed at John “See? Even Lia understands the standard.” John looked betrayed by the entire world “I drove for hours. I handled logistics. I survived Ben. I deserve peace.” Jihyo looked at him “You also streamed his tattoo video to everyone.” John paused and then nodded “I deserved that part.”
Dahyun lifted her imaginary microphone again “TWICE files formal complaint: lack of honeymoon-grade welcome treatment.” John pointed at her “No filing.” Sana smiled “Just verbal complaint.” Momo raised her hand slightly “Can dinner still continue during the complaint?” Chaeryeong immediately nodded “Yes.”
“Good,” Momo said, and returned to eating. Mina looked toward me “Was the room satisfactory?” Yeji made a strangled sound. John put his head in his hands. I stared at Mina “The room was excellent.” Mina nodded “Good.” Nayeon grinned “Apparently.” Yeji grabbed her glass of water and drank like it was the only thing keeping her alive. I leaned closer to her, lowering my voice “You okay?”
She did not look at me “No.”
“Do you want me to stop them?”
“You cannot stop them.”
“That is true.”
Her eyes flicked toward me. Then down to my shirt. Still buttoned. Still hiding everything. Her voice dropped “If you show even one letter at this table, I will push you into the ocean.” I smiled faintly “Yes, my dear wife.”
She kicked my ankle under the table. Hard. I deserved it. Unfortunately, Nayeon saw “She kicked him.” Sana gasped “Domestic.”
Dahyun lifted the microphone “Breaking news: wife disciplines husband at dinner after honeymoon scandal.” Yeji pointed at Dahyun “No more breaking news.” Dahyun lowered her hand “For now.” Jihyo finally clapped once “Enough. Let them eat.” The authority in her voice worked… Mostly.
People returned to their plates, but the table stayed lighter now. The kind of laughter that did not need to be loud to keep circling back. Yuna kept smiling into her food. Ryujin kept glancing at Yeji like she had discovered a new favorite weakness. Lia looked too pleased with herself for someone who had pretended to be the voice of reason all morning. TWICE, meanwhile, continued punishing John in smaller ways.
Nayeon asked if he needed “arrival training.”
Sana suggested a retreat workshop.
Dahyun offered to document improvement.
Jeongyeon said he could start with eye contact and work his way up.
Momo said dinner first.
Tzuyu quietly added that expectations had now been established.
John looked at me across the table “I hate you.” I lifted my glass “You should have taken notes.” The TWICE side erupted. John pointed at me “You are the problem.”
Yeji, still pink, still embarrassed, still glowing in a way everyone could see, reached under the table and found my hand. No one saw that part. Or if they did, they were kind enough not to say anything. For once.
Yeji’s fingers threaded through mine. I looked at her and she did not look back. But her thumb brushed once over my knuckles. A private answer in the middle of a public execution. The first dinner of the retreat continued around us. Too full of people who knew too much and somehow, for the first time since we arrived, it felt exactly like what we had come here for.
It wasn’t peace, not yet. But release. A place where embarrassment could become laughter. Where privacy did not mean silence. Where Yeji could be late to dinner, red-faced and furious, and still have her hand in mine beneath the table.
Across from us, Ryujin leaned toward Yuna and whispered something. Yuna’s eyes widened. Lia immediately said, “No.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Ryujin replied.
“You were about to.”
Chaeryeong smiled into her plate. Momo reached for another serving. Nayeon started bothering John again. Jihyo pretended not to enjoy it. Mina quietly checked the dessert options. And Yeji, my not-wife girlfriend, the leader with wife privileges, squeezed my hand once more. I smiled into my glass. Dinner was late and the vacation, apparently, had started properly.
Dinner lasted longer than it should have. Not because anyone was still hungry. Momo was, obviously, but that was a separate condition.
Dinner lasted because nobody wanted to be the first one to admit they were tired. The first night of the retreat had settled over us slowly, warm and salt-heavy, with the ocean breathing somewhere beyond the lights of the dining pavilion. The staff had cleared most of the plates. Dessert had appeared without anyone asking. Mina had approved the plating with one quiet nod, which somehow made the chef look more relieved than when Jihyo thanked him.
Eventually, the table broke apart into smaller pieces. Not groups exactly. More like currents.
Momo and Chaeryeong drifted toward the kitchen with a seriousness that suggested diplomatic negotiations over breakfast. Yuna cornered Dahyun and Sana with her activity notebook, which immediately made Lia stand up with a sigh and follow them like a woman trying to prevent a recreational felony. Ryujin and Nayeon had started whispering again, and John noticed too late. “No,” he said from across the table.
Ryujin looked offended “We have said nothing.”
“That is usually when the damage starts.”
Nayeon smiled “Manager-nim, you wound me.”
“I am trying to prevent being wounded.”
Jihyo stood, folder tucked beneath one arm, and looked toward Yeji “Can I borrow you for a minute?” Yeji looked up from beside me “For logistics?”
“For logistics,” Jihyo said. Sana appeared behind Jihyo, smiling too brightly “And wife privileges.” Yeji’s face went red immediately “No.” Nayeon lifted one hand “Emotional logistics.” Dahyun raised her imaginary microphone “Breaking news: senior leaders convene to discuss honeymoon noise policy.” Jihyo pointed at her without looking “No.” Dahyun lowered her hand “For now.”
Yeji turned toward me, still pink, still trying very hard to look like this was a normal dinner and not a public trial “I’ll be back.”
“I’ll survive.”
Ryujin snorted “Barely.” Yeji gave her a look, then leaned closer to me just enough for only me to hear “Behave.” I smiled “You first.” Her eyes narrowed. The wife voice almost came out. Then she seemed to remember where we were and only shook her head, but her fingers brushed mine under the table before she let go.
It was small, private, more importantly— enough.
Then TWICE took her. Not aggressively. Worse, playfully. Nayeon hooked an arm through hers. Sana took the other side. Jihyo walked ahead like this was an actual strategy meeting and not Yeji being escorted to a tribunal. Mina followed behind them, calm as ever, and said something about the morning schedule. Yeji glanced back once. Not worried. Not possessive. Just checking. I gave her a small nod. She rolled her eyes like I had done something annoying. Then smiled before turning away. That smile stayed with me after she disappeared down the garden path with them.
For a while, I remained at the table. John sat across from me, watching TWICE drag Yeji away “That,” he said, “is how it starts.”
“What?”
“First they ask for logistics. Then they ask for feelings. Then somehow you are apologizing for things you did in a hypothetical future.” I looked at him “You speak from experience?” He stared into his drink “I speak from survival.”
Across the pavilion, Ryujin laughed too loudly at something Nayeon said from a distance despite not even being part of that conversation anymore. Yuna was arguing that “optional midnight bonding” was different from “mandatory midnight bonding.” Lia had taken the notebook and was holding it above her head while Yuna tried to reach for it.
Chaeryeong returned from the kitchen with Momo beside her, both looking strangely satisfied. The first night was loosening. The kind of loosening that came from realizing nobody had tried to take a picture of them for hours.
Nobody had shouted their names from beyond a barricade. Nobody had watched them eat through a screen. I stood before the feeling could get too large. John noticed “Where are you going?”
“For air.”
He narrowed his eyes “No cigarettes.”
I looked at him “Yeji said the same thing.”
“Good. I like being alive.”
“I’m not smoking.”
“Good.”
“If I was, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“Bad.”
I left before he could continue. The path beyond the pavilion curved toward the beach. Lights were hidden low among the stones, soft enough not to ruin the night sky. The resort was quiet in a way the Top Floor never could be. The Top Floor had silence, sometimes. But it was city silence. Elevator silence. Glass-wall silence. Money pretending to be peace.
This was different. This was ocean and darkness and distance. I stopped near the edge of the sand, where the stone path gave way beneath my shoes. The wind moved warm against my face. For the first time that day, I did not immediately think about logistics.
Then a voice behind me said, “You really didn’t smoke.”
I turned. Lia stood a few steps away, holding two cups. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, her expression quiet in the way it became when she had decided to say something before she was ready. I smiled faintly.
“Were you checking?”
“Yes.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“I brought tea as a cover story.”
“That is more suspicious than just checking.”
She looked down at the cups. Then back at me “It’s good tea.” I accepted one “Thank you.” She moved beside me, leaving enough space that it did not feel accidental, but close enough that it did not feel distant either. For a while, we watched the water.
The sound of the others drifted faintly from the pavilion behind us. Laughter. A muffled shout from Yuna. Jihyo’s voice cutting through something with leader precision. Yeji laughing after that, small and embarrassed and happy.
Lia heard it too. Her eyes softened “She sounds different here.”
“Yeji?”
Lia nodded “Lighter.”
I looked toward the lights “She deserves to be.”
“She does.”
The words were simple. But the way Lia said them was not. I looked at her. She was still watching the water, both hands wrapped around her cup. “And you?” I asked.
Her mouth curved faintly “I knew you would ask that.”
“Should I not?”
“No.”
She took a breath “You should.”
The wind moved between us. Lia looked down into her tea like it might offer instructions.
“I thought coming here would make things quieter,” she said.
“Has it?”
“A little.” Then she smiled, but it was tired “Also no.”
I waited. That was something I had learned with Lia. If you filled the silence too quickly, she would let you. She would nod, soften, make room for everyone else’s words. But if you waited, sometimes she gave you something real.
She did this time “I have feelings for you,” she said quietly.
I did not move. Not because I was surprised. Because I knew this sentence had cost her more than she wanted anyone to see. Lia’s fingers tightened around the cup “I know that’s not new. Not exactly. I think I’ve known for a while. I think everyone else probably knew before I wanted them to.”
A small laugh escaped her. Embarrassed and soft “But knowing and doing something about it are not the same.”
“No,” I said. “They’re not.” Her eyes lifted to mine. That was the dangerous part. Not the confession. The looking. Lia could hide in careful words if she wanted to. But her eyes had always been worse at lying “I don’t want to be left behind,” she whispered. My chest tightened “Lia.”
“I know no one is doing that to me.” she shook her head gently, stopping me before I could reassure her too fast.
“I know. That’s not what I mean.”
She looked back toward the pavilion. Toward the people laughing under warm lights. Toward the life that had somehow become too complicated to name simply “I just mean… everyone is moving. In their own way. Yeji knows where she stands. Ryujin acts like fear is something she can flirt with until it gives up. Yuna is scared and still jumps anyway.”
Her voice softened “And Chaeryeong…” She paused. I watched her. Lia did not finish that thought. Instead, she looked at me again “I’m not like them.”
“You don’t have to be.”
“I know.”
But again, her voice trembled enough to reveal the problem. Knowing was not believing. Not fully. Lia set her tea down on the low stone wall beside us. Then she stepped closer. Not much. Enough that I noticed. Enough that she noticed me noticing. Her breath caught, and for one second, I thought she might step back. She did not.
“Can I try something?” she asked. My voice came out lower than I expected. “Yes.”
She searched my face “You don’t know what it is.”
“I trust you.”
That almost broke her.
I saw it in the way her eyes softened too quickly, in the way her lips parted around a breath she did not release. Then Lia reached for me. Her hand touched my arm first.
Careful. Testing. Then slid down to my wrist, like she needed something smaller than my face to hold onto before she could be brave enough for the rest. I stayed still. Lia stepped closer again. Then she kissed me.
It was not like Yeji. Not collision. Not fire finally finding air. Lia’s kiss was quiet. Deliberate. A question asked with trembling courage. Her lips touched mine softly, then pressed a little firmer when I did not pull away. Her fingers tightened around my wrist. For one second, she seemed to freeze inside the decision she had made.
Then I kissed her back. Carefully. Slow enough that she could stop me. Soft enough that she could stay. Lia made a tiny sound against my mouth. Not surprise, it was relief.
That sound nearly undid me more than anything else could have. Her other hand lifted, hovering near my chest. For a moment, she almost touched me there. Almost pulled herself closer. Almost crossed from kiss into something larger.
Then she stopped.
Her fingers curled in the air before they reached me. Not away. Just short of more. I felt the hesitation like a held breath between us. So I kept still. Careful “Lia.” Her eyes opened. Soft. Startled. Like she already knew what I had seen.
“You don’t have to force yourself.”
Her hand lowered slightly “I know.”
But her voice said she was trying to. Not because she did not want this. Because she did. Because wanting it made her feel like she had to keep proving she was ready for all of it at once. I covered the hand holding my wrist with mine. Not to keep her there. Only to let her feel that she could let go without losing anything.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Lia looked at me for a long moment. The ocean moved behind her. The pavilion laughter carried faintly through the trees. Then she exhaled, almost laughing. Almost breaking.
“That’s the problem.”
I smiled faintly “Is it?”
Her eyes dropped to my mouth again. Then back to mine.
“No,” she whispered. “Not anymore.”
But she did not move further. And I did not ask her to. For tonight, this was enough. Her choice. Her kiss. Her stopping point. And the first time she did not run from wanting more. Lia leaned forward after a moment and rested her forehead lightly against my shoulder. It was so gentle that it almost hurt “Is this okay?” she asked.
I looked down at her “With me?”
“With Yeji.”
The question was quiet. Important. I turned my head toward the pavilion lights. Yeji was still somewhere beyond them, probably being emotionally tortured by Nayeon and Sana while Jihyo pretended not to enjoy it.
I smiled softly “She knows you matter to me.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is.”
Lia lifted her head. I met her eyes “And if you need to hear the other part, I will talk to her. Properly. Not because this was wrong. Because you deserve not to carry uncertainty by yourself.”
Lia’s face changed. Not fully relieved. But steadier.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
She nodded. Then, after a second, she leaned in and kissed me again. Shorter this time. Still soft. But less afraid.
When she pulled back, her cheeks were pink “That’s enough for tonight.”
I smiled “Okay.”
“Don’t sound proud of me.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I am a little.”
She groaned and looked away “That is embarrassing.”
“It is also true.”
Lia picked up her tea again, but her hand was steadier now. We stood there for another minute, shoulder to shoulder, watching the water. Just letting the first step be exactly what it was.
From the pavilion, Yuna’s voice suddenly rose “Lia?” Lia closed her eyes “I am going to throw that notebook into the ocean.” I laughed “She found you.”
“She always finds me when she needs supervision.”
“Do you want to go back?”
Lia looked at the water. Then at me. Then she smiled, small and tired and real “In a minute.” So we took one more minute. The retreat continued behind us. But out here, beneath the night air, Lia had crossed the smallest line in the quietest way. And somehow, that made it feel larger than if she had run.
By the time I returned to the villa, the resort had gone quiet in pieces. Not asleep. Not fully. Somewhere beyond the garden path, I could still hear faint laughter from the pavilion. Yuna’s voice rose once, immediately followed by Lia saying something that sounded like a warning. Ryujin laughed after that. Then the ocean swallowed the rest.
Our room was dim when I stepped inside.
Only the balcony light was on.
Yeji sat outside with one knee drawn up beneath her, wearing one of my shirts like she had every right to steal from my suitcase. Her hair was loose now, brushed soft over one shoulder. The night wind moved through it gently.
She did not turn around immediately. That was how I knew she knew. Not everything. But enough. I closed the door behind me. Yeji looked over her shoulder.
“Hi.”
Her voice was soft. Not suspicious. Not angry. Just awake.
“Hi.” I said back.
I walked toward the balcony, slower than I needed to. Yeji watched me the whole way.
“You were gone for a while.”
“I know.”
She turned back toward the ocean. I sat beside her, leaving a careful space between us at first. Yeji noticed. Of course she did. After everything that had happened today, she still noticed the smallest distance.
“Ben.”
I looked at her. Her expression was calm, but her eyes were too clear for me to pretend badly.
“What happened?”
I exhaled.
“Lia kissed me.”
Yeji did not move. The ocean filled the silence for a few seconds. Then she nodded once. Small. Controlled.
“Okay.”
I waited. Because okay did not mean finished. It meant she was making room for the rest.
“She found me by the beach,” I said. “I went out for air after dinner. No cigarette.”
Yeji glanced at me.
“Good.”
“I thought you would ask.”
“I was going to.”
That almost made me smile. Almost.
“She said she has feelings for me.”
Yeji’s face softened by a degree.
“She said it?”
“Yes.”
“That must have been hard for her.”
“It was.”
Yeji looked down at her hands.
“Did she force herself?”
That question hit me harder than jealousy would have. Because of course that was the first thing Yeji asked. Not whether Lia touched me. Not whether I kissed her back. Not whether she should be upset. Whether Lia had pushed herself past what she could handle.
“No,” I said quietly. “But she almost tried to.”
Yeji’s eyes lifted to mine.
“She kissed me first,” I continued. “I kissed her back. Carefully. She reached for more, then stopped herself.”
Yeji listened without interrupting.
“I told her she didn’t have to force herself.”
Her shoulders loosened. Just slightly.
“That was the right thing to say.”
“I hoped it was.”
“It was.”
The certainty in her voice settled something in me. I leaned back against the balcony chair and stared out at the dark water.
“She asked if it was okay with you.”
Yeji looked at me. I turned back to her.
“I told her I would talk to you properly. Not because it was wrong, but because she deserves not to carry uncertainty by herself.”
For a while, Yeji said nothing. Then she reached across the small space between us and took my hand. Her fingers slid between mine, warm and steady.
“Thank you for telling me.”
I looked down at our hands.
“I always will.”
“I know.”
Her thumb moved once over my knuckles.
“But I still appreciate it.”
That somehow hurt more than being scolded. Yeji looked at the ocean again.
“I’m not angry.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I looked at her. She smiled faintly, but it was tired.
“I wanted to know,” I admitted. “Not because I thought you would be cruel. I know you wouldn’t. But because this is… a lot.”
“It is.”
“And it keeps getting bigger.”
“Yes.”
“And somehow I keep standing in the middle of all of you, trying not to ruin something I don’t even fully understand yet.”
Yeji’s grip tightened.
“You’re not standing in the middle alone.”
I looked at her. She looked back. In that way that still felt too undeserved to name carelessly.
“You came back and told me,” she said. “That matters.”
“I will always come back and tell you.”
“I need that.”
“I know.”
“No.” Her voice dropped softer. “I need you to know I need that. Not because I don’t trust you. Not because I think Lia did anything wrong. But because silence makes stories when people are scared.”
That line stayed in the air between us.
“Then no silence.”
“No silence,” she repeated.
I lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. Yeji watched me do it, expression softening despite herself.
“She has been standing at the edge for a while,” she said.
“Lia?”
Yeji nodded.
“I think she knows what she feels. She just doesn’t know how to move without feeling like one step means she has to take all of them.”
“That’s what it felt like.”
“Then don’t pull her over.”
“I won’t.”
“Let her step.”
“I will.”
Yeji turned her face toward the water again.
“She deserves that.”
“She does.”
“And if she stops, let her stop.”
“I did.”
“I know.”
Her voice gentled “That is why I’m not angry.”
I looked at her for a long moment. Then something in me broke open quietly. The kind of feeling that arrived without asking and sat directly in the center of my chest.
“You know,” I said, “every time I think I understand how much I love you, you make it worse.”
Yeji blinked. Her cheeks colored “Ben.”
“I mean it.”
She looked down, but I did not let myself stop. Not this time.
“I don’t know how to explain this without sounding insane.”
“That has never stopped you before.”
I smiled faintly “Fair.”
Her thumb brushed my hand again. So I tried. “Everything around us is complicated. Everyone matters. I care about them. I don’t want to lie about that. I don’t want to diminish it because that would be unfair to them, and it would be unfair to you too.” Yeji stayed quiet. Listening. “But my heart keeps finding you first.” Her breath caught. I looked at her properly. “No matter how loud the room gets. No matter who needs me. No matter what happens with anyone else. I come back to you in my head before I even know I’m doing it.”
Yeji’s eyes softened. “You’re the place I return to,” I said. “Not because you demand it. Not because you hold it over anyone. Because you keep choosing me even when you could make this harder. You keep choosing honesty over jealousy. You keep choosing kindness toward them when it would be easier to make everything smaller so it hurts less.”
Her eyes shone now. She looked away quickly, but I saw it. I always saw her. “That does not make me perfect,” she whispered. “I don’t need perfect. I need you.”
She turned back to me. The words had landed. I could see it in the way her face changed, embarrassment and tenderness fighting for space. “I love them in the ways this life has made possible,” I said quietly. “But I love you like home.”
Yeji’s mouth trembled slightly “Do not say things like that if you don’t want me to cry.”
“I can stop.”
“No.”
I smiled “No?”
She shook her head once “No.”
So I leaned closer “I love you, Yeji.”
Her eyes closed for a second. Like she needed to hold the words somewhere safe before answering. Then she opened them and looked at me “I love you too.”
Simple. Barely above a whisper. Enough to undo me. I cupped her cheek. She leaned into my hand without hesitation. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then she said, very softly:
“I’m still your girlfriend.”
“I know.”
“Not your wife.”
“I know.”
Her eyes narrowed faintly “But…”
I waited. Her cheeks turned pink again “But if you keep being honest with me like this, I might keep letting you get away with calling me that.” I smiled slowly “That sounds like a policy.”
“It is not a policy.”
“Wife privileges?”
She groaned “Do not ruin the emotional moment.”
“I would never.”
“You are actively doing it.”
“I love you.”
She tried to glare. Failed immediately. Then she leaned forward and kissed me. Loving in a way that made the rest of the night quiet around us.
I kissed her back with both hands careful at her waist, not pulling too hard, not asking for more. Just holding her there. Letting the kiss be what it needed to be after everything else the day had carried.
When she pulled away, her forehead rested against mine.
“I’m glad you came back,” she whispered.
“I always will.”
Her eyes stayed closed “Good.”
“Because my wife would be annoyed if I didn’t?”
Her eyes opened. She stared at me. Then, despite herself, she smiled “Yes,” she said. “Very annoyed.” I laughed quietly. She kissed me again before I could make it worse.
Eventually, we went back inside.
The room was still softly lit, the bed still imperfect from earlier, the ocean still moving beyond the balcony doors. Yeji turned off the light while I pulled the blanket back. She climbed in first, then immediately reached for me like the conversation had left her too tender to pretend she did not need contact.
I joined her.
She settled against my chest, one arm across my waist, her leg tucked between mine. I wrapped myself around her and pressed a kiss into her hair. For a while, she traced lazy circles against my side. Then her hand drifted to my chest. To the place beneath the fabric where her name still rested in temporary ink.
She did not say anything. She only left her hand there. I covered it with mine. Yeji exhaled softly “Tomorrow,” she murmured, half-asleep already, “no chaos.”
I closed my eyes “Of course.”
A pause. Then, from somewhere deep in her fading consciousness
“That sounded fake.”
“It was a little fake.”
Her tired laugh warmed my chest.
“Good night, Benjie.”
“Good night, Yeji.”
She shifted closer. Still mine. Still herself. Still choosing me. And for the first time since the retreat began, the silence did not feel like something waiting to be broken.
You've never been much of an "alpha male", and frankly, you're fine with that. Your childhood is a classic tale: always last picked in school sports, struggled to make many guy friends, called every homophobic slur under the sun just for having basic hygiene. Despite it all, you ended up in an alright place—a quiet and unassuming existence.
Then, you met Kazuha, and your quiet and unassuming existence turned upside down.
"He ordered the chicken sandwich, not the burger," she scolds, dropping the tray of food onto the counter with enough force to send a couple fries flying.
You meekly tug her sleeve. "It's fine, really—"
"Hush, baby." In an instant, she shuts you up with a quick glance with those piercing eyes. "Let momma handle this."
"I'm so sorry, ma'am," the cashier says with his squeaky, prepubescent voice. "I'll have the kitchen put a rush on his chicken sandwich right away. Uh, may I interest you in a free dessert for your troubles?"
Kazuha turns to you, patiently waiting for your answer.
"Uh, I guess a vanilla milkshake wouldn't be so bad—"
"Vanilla milkshake," she repeats, leaning against the counter. "And no cherries. My boyfriend doesn't like cherries."
The cashier gulps, his Adam's apple practically disappearing in sheer terror. "U-uh, yes ma'am. No cherries. Understood."
"Good." Kazuha shoots him one final glare before taking your hand and leading you back to your booth.
"You didn't have to do that," you mutter. "I would've been fine with the burger."
She slinks into the seat across from you with a huff. "It's not what you ordered though. And I know how much you like the chicken sandwich at this place."
You shrug. "The burger isn't that bad."
"Then why didn't you order the burger?" She raises her brow in that "I'm right and you know it" kinda way that you're all too familiar with.
"Well…"
Kazuha reaches across the table and lifts up your chin, forcing you to meet her eyes. "Repeat after me: Thank you for fixing my order, Kazuha. You're the best," she says in a high-pitched voice.
You chuckle softly. "I don't sound like that."
"Say it."
"Thank you for—"
"Do it in the voice."
"Wha—I'm not gonna do t—"
"Do it!"
Her outburst attracts some unwanted attention from other tables, making you shrink in your seat. "Kazuha, people are looking…"
Her lips curl into that smirk—the one that never fails to make your heart do a somersault even after eight months of dating. "Aw, sorry," she brushes her thumb against your bottom lip, "did I embarrass you, baby?"
"W-whatever." You pull away before you do something that'll get both of you kicked out for overt PDA. "Thanks for fixing my order. You're the best," you utter flatly.
Kazuha sits back, arms behind her head and chin held high like those cool kids in old movies. "I know. I'm pretty fuckin' sick."
"And humble too."
The cashier from earlier drops off your food, making an effort to avoid looking Kazuha in the eye. "Here you go, is there anything else I can get you two?" he asks.
Kazuha looks over at you for an answer. "No, thank you," you say. You swear you see him breathe a heavy sigh of relief as he walks away. Poor guy.
"I feel bad," you unwrap your chicken sandwich, the one you ordered initially. "He's probably got enough things going on without us giving him grief."
"Relax babe, we're doing him a favor. Now he knows not to mess up people's orders," she points out, coolly tossing a fry into her mouth.
"Still," you linger on the flakes of salt on her lip for a second too long, "you know how badly service people are treated on the daily. I don't wanna add to that."
"Then don't. I'll do it for you," she smirks.
"Kazuha, that's not funny."
"What, I didn't laugh."
"Yeah, but you're smiling."
"I'm smiling because you're cute."
You bite your tongue, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of a grin. Unknowingly or not, she sets her food to the side and leans forward, eyeing you like a piece of art.
"Ugh, I hate when you do that," you mutter.
"Do what? I'm just lookin' at ya." Her eyes trace over your lips, and you wonder if she'll like the taste of that new chapstick you just bought.
"I'm trying to eat."
"Am I disturbing your eating?" You feel her foot press against your calf, drawing slow lines with the toe of her boot.
Trying to win against Kazuha is a sisyphean task. She does what she wants, and you follow her around like a loyal puppy. Behave well enough, she'll give you a treat—and just like any puppy, you like your treats.
"Not here, at least," you pout. "I haven't had a single thing to eat all day."
"Aww." She gives you one last drag against your leg before settling back into her seat. "Okay, I'll let you eat."
"Thank you."
Even then, you find your foot gently rubbing against hers as you eat. You can act annoyed all you want, but face it: you're completely smitten with Kazuha.
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"Baby?" Kazuha grabs a leather jacket off of the rack and holds it up to her torso. "What do you think?"
"I think," you sigh, "you have way too many leather jackets."
"What's wrong with that? I'm a collector."
"That looks exactly like the one you bought last week." You take a closer look at the oddly familiar looking tag. "I'm pretty sure that is the exact same one."
"Oh." She takes one last look at it before putting it back. "See, this is why I like having you around. I've probably saved, like, a billion dollars thanks to you."
"Whatever," you chuckle, linking your arm with hers. It's just common sense, you think, but the warmth of her compliment is leagues better than being right.
The two of you pass by racks and racks full of the new wave of summer trends. Personally, you've always been a fan of the fall—cardigans, sweaters, the ability to wear jeans without your legs feeling like tinfoil-wrapped burritos. You and summer are just a match made in Hell. Inevitably, it comes around to torment you for three months out of the year and you're forced to scramble for a wardrobe that won't burn you alive.
"See anything you like?" Kazuha asks.
You scan the men's section, grimacing at the typical suspects that plague the shelves—tank tops, cargo shorts, ugly graphic tees with abominations like "summer vibes" written all over them. "Not really."
"You sure?" She grabs a simple black tank top off the rack. "This one seems pretty nice."
You physically restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. Something like that would only look good on her, with her pretty arms that are deceptively strong, and when she flexes, you can see the shadows dance around her biceps, which reminds you of that one time she put you in a chokehold as a joke and you could feel her muscles pushing against your throat, and you were so mesmerized by the feeling that you forgot to fight back, and—
"Baby?" Kazuha shakes you out of your trance. "You okay?" she chuckles.
"I-I'm good." You wipe away the droplet of drool that almost leaked from your lips. "Let's keep looking."
Deeper and deeper through the men's section you go, yet nothing seems to tickle your fancy. Go figure. You knew looking for clothes this time of year would be futile, but Kazuha wanted to hang out and you already said yes before realizing how much of a waste of time this would amount to.
"Ugh, these all suck," you groan.
"Maybe we'd have found something by now if you weren't so picky," Kazuha points out, brow raised at you.
"Not all of us were born to look good in just about anything," you bite back with a cheesy grin. "Some of us have to put effort into looking nice."
"Hey, don't blame me for being sexy." She drapes her arm around your shoulders, and for a split second, you think she's going to put you into another chokehold. So close. "I don't want you overheating just because you're being stubborn, baby."
"I'm not being stubborn, I just—"
You glance over at the women's section and stop at one of the mannequins. It's wearing a simple outfit, fitting for the weather, but what catches your eyes is the skirt—floor length and ruffled, made of a pure white cotton that seems to dance, even on the still mannequin.
For one reason or another, you can't take your eyes off of it. It wouldn't be too hard to fit into your current wardrobe, and it's a much nicer alternative to the dull beige of all the cargo shorts that seems to infect every corner of the men's options. But, it's just—you're a guy, and Kazuha, well—you already wonder why she even likes you, and—
Kazuha follows your gaze. "Are you getting the hots for the mannequin?" she teases.
"W-what? No, I just—maybe we can find somewhere else to—"
She grips your hand before you have a chance to escape. "Hey, be honest with me." Her voice turns softer, more sincere compared to her usual mischief. "What's going on?"
"Nothing, I—" You peer into her round eyes. They're void of any kind of judgment or disgust, the usual reaction you expect when girls you're interested learn of your 'peculiar tastes'. "I just thought the skirt was pretty. That's all."
"Pretty on me, or pretty on you?"
"Well, of course you'd look pretty in it—"
"Hey." She tilts your chin up, the tip of her thumb pressing your bottom lip. You practically sink into her touch. Never have you felt a presence safer than Kazuha's.
"I… wanna try it on," you admit shyly. "Is that okay?"
She bares her pretty white teeth at you before pressing a soft kiss onto your lips. "Of course you can, baby. You don't need my permission to wear whatever you want."
Heat creeps up your cheeks like lava bubbling to the top of a volcano. "Thanks," you utter, biting back your excitement at the thought of looking pretty.
The second your staring at your reflection in the dressing room mirror, the ruffled skirt in your hands, it all starts to feel a little too real. Your first ever skirt. The thought has crossed your mind a handful of times before, but you never thought you'd actually get to this point. If it weren't for Kazuha and her charming eyes, this moment would just be another figment of your imagination.
You take a deep breath, and you put it on—it fits. Your reflection doesn't look half bad either. The breeze between your legs will take some getting used to, and you'll need to be wary of what color underwear you wear with these, but for now, you're just in awe of how good it looks. How good you look.
You do a little twirl for fun, giggling at the way the dress flows like petals on a blooming flower. Kazuha knocks against the dressing room door. "Did you try it on yet? I wanna see."
"Yeah! Come in."
As soon as Kazuha sees you, her expression drops. In that moment, worry starts to creep into your mind.
Does she not like it?
Does she not like you?
Will she leave just like the rest of them?
All your anxieties are laid to rest as Kazuha envelops you into a tight squeeze. "Holy fuck, my boyfriend is so pretty," she breathes, rocking you back and forth in her arms. You immerse yourself in her warmth, the kind of warmth that steadies your heart and quiets your mind; the kind you want to feel every day until you die.
"Does that mean you like it?" you ask.
"I love it," she says, pecking your lips. "I'm totally buying you every single color they have."
You chuckle at her enthusiasm. "Maybe we can just stick to this one for now? Until I get used to it, at least."
"That's fine with me." Her lips find yours once again, this one a little longer, a little more tender. "It really suits you, baby."
This kiss leaves you wobbly-kneed and blubbering, reduced to a puddle of lovestruck goop in her arms. Her strong, toned arms that you somehow fit perfectly in between.
"Let's hurry up and pay for it so I can take it off you later tonight," she winks, shutting the door behind her and leaving you to feel like the luckiest boy on the planet.
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The two of you kick off your shoes by the front door of your apartment, tossing the shopping bags haphazardly on your coffee table. Those will be for future you to deal with; right now, your feet are dead from all the walking and your body is in desperate need of a bed to collapse on.
"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," Kazuha urges, dragging you to your bedroom. In there, she collapses back onto your bed, arms above her head and her eyes staring you down like a hawk to a little mouse. "Hurry up and take me, pretty boy."
"O-oh." You gulp. "You mean, like, right now? Um—"
"What's that?" Kazuha asks, a smirk growing on her lips. On your usually tidy desk, a small pile of crumpled tissues sits next to your closed laptop, and the memory of what you did last night hits you all at once.
"W-wait, it's not what it looks like—!"
"You little freak!" Before you have a chance to explain yourself, Kazuha jumps to her feet, grabbing at your laptop with the cunning of a fox. "Ooh, let's see what kind of perversions you were watching!"
"Kazuha, don't—"
She flips open your laptop, and on the screen lies a still of the last scene you had watched—a boy with cerebral palsy and his grandma overlooking the edge of a mountain.
"What?" Kazuha asks. "Where's the porn?"
"I wasn't watching porn," you sigh in embarrassment, "I was watching a movie."
She gasps. "An adult movie?!"
"No!"
Kazuha falls into a fit of giggles. Real mature of her.
"I was watching a… sad movie." You point at the pile of tissues. "I was crying…"
"Aw." She holds your head to her chest, kissing the top of your scalp. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make of fun of you for crying."
"It's fine." It's impossible to be upset with her when she feels this nice.
"Was it good? Can I watch it with you?"
"You want to? What about the whole, um, 'taking you' thing?"
She chuckles softly. "Maybe some other time. Walking around all day has got me feeling lazy." Kazuha crawls into your bed, cozying up under your covers. "C'mon, I wanna watch!"
You relent, following her onto your bed. "I might cry again."
"That's okay," she wraps you in her embrace, "mama's here."
You drag the little red dot all the way to the beginning and hit play, safe and sound in her arms.
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"Grandma?" Chunhe utters, cradling the box of his beloved cat's ashes in his arms.
"Hmm?" she replies.
"After you take me to school, I'll buy you a meal at the cafeteria."
His grandma smiles at him. "All right."
"And then," Chunhe continues, "Buy yourself a train ticket and go wherever you want. Go look around. Go have some fun. Let me walk the rest of my path my way. All right?"
His words may be slow or clumsy, but his sincerity cuts through like the sharpest blade, and his grandma knows this. No more is Chunhe the helpless little boy he once was; now, he stands tall against the prejudice that the world throws at him.
Even after knowing how it ends, it doesn't get easier the second time around.
She holds you to her chest, letting you sob your little heart out for what feels like forever. For every tear that falls, Kazuha is there with a brush of her thumb or a comforting kiss to pick up all the broken pieces that the movie left you in.
It feels unfair, undeserved, you think, to know such tenderness like it's home. In the original script, the roles would be reversed—Kazuha sobbing into your arms while you comfort her.
But they aren't. And even in this tenderness that you cherish so deeply, inklings of insecurities that you've long held still manage to seep through.
"Can I ask you something?" you say, wiping away at the last of your tears.
"What is it, baby?"
You breathe, slowly. "Why do you… why do you like me?"
She leans into you, the soft weight of her cheek resting on your head. "Hmm… Well, other guys just suck," Kazuha answers simply.
"Don't you ever wish I was more, uh, 'manlier' or something?"
"Hell no," she grimaces. "Those kinds of guys are the worst. I say one funny thing and they're all like 'Damn, your energy is different, for real!' and it's so annoying! I just have a personality!"
Kazuha holds you tighter, and it becomes clear just how much she wants you over any other guy. "Besides, I like my boys on the softer side." She kisses your damp cheek. "It means they have a soul."
The two of you share a chuckle, holding each other underneath the covers until the fatigue of today catches up to both of you. Your insecurities quelled, body warm, and heart undeniably owned by this miracle of a woman; for the first time in your quiet and unassuming existence, you feel like you're right where you belong—wrapped up in Kazuha's arms.
The GPS had led you through winding, tree-lined roads for the last twenty minutes, each turn taking you deeper into a neighborhood that didn't feel like Seoul anymore. The mansions here didn't even try to blend in, they announced themselves with wrought-iron gates and stone walls, with security cameras that tracked your car's movement like predator eyes.
Your hands were slick against the steering wheel.
Senior Park had called this morning, his voice crackling through the phone with that particular brand of amusement he reserved for special assignments. "New client. Young. Recently married." A pause. "You've seen her face before."
You'd seen her face everywhere. Billboard in Gangnam. Subway advertisement for soju. The thumbnail of every third video on your YouTube feed. Karina. Yu Ji-min. The face of AESPA, the woman whose wedding had crashed three different entertainment news sites, whose husband, some shipping magnate's son had apparently decided that a wife was something you acquired, not something you maintained.
"That's the job," Senior Park had said. "She called us. Not the other way around. Remember that."
And now here you were, sitting in your Hyundai at the security gate of a house that looked more like a modern art museum, trying to remember how to breathe normally.
The gate buzzed before you could press the intercom.
A woman's voice, softer than you'd expected. "Come in. The front door is around the fountain."
The gate swung open.
The walk from your car to the front door took exactly forty-three steps. You counted them. Anything to keep your mind from spinning out. The fountain in the driveway was one of those minimalist things, a black stone slab with water sheeting down the sides. Classy. Expensive. The kind of thing you could stare at and feel nothing about.
Your professional training ran through your head like a checklist Senior Park had drilled into you months ago. Posture. Eye contact. Don't stare. Let her set the pace. The first meeting is always about making them comfortable enough to admit what they want.
But none of the training had mentioned what to do when Karina opened the door.
She wasn't wearing makeup. That was the first thing you noticed, not what you'd expected. Every image you'd ever seen of her was polished to a high gloss, stage-ready, camera-ready. The woman standing in the doorway had her dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping at the temples. She wore an oversized gray sweater that hung off one shoulder, black leggings, bare feet on the marble floor.
And her face. Jesus Christ, her face.
The bone structure that launched a thousand fan edits. Lips that were slightly chapped, slightly parted. Eyes that held yours with something between curiosity and exhaustion.
"Come in," she said, stepping aside. "Take off your shoes."
You did. Brain on autopilot. The foyer was all white marble and indirect lighting, a staircase curving up into shadow. The house smelled like fresh laundry and something floral… lilies, maybe. A bouquet sat on a console table near the door, still wrapped in cellophane, the card unopened.
"I'm…" you started. "I know who you are." She was already walking toward what looked like a living room. "The agency sent me your file. Do you want something to drink?"
The living room was vast and somehow still felt empty. A sectional sofa big enough for twelve people. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a garden you couldn't see in the dark. No photographs on the walls. No magazines on the coffee table. It looked like a showroom, like no one actually lived here. "Water would be great," you managed.
Karina gestured toward the sofa. "Sit." She disappeared through an archway. You heard water running, the clink of glass. Your heart was doing something ridiculous in your chest—not racing exactly, more like it was trying to relocate to your throat.
The file Senior Park had given you was thin. Married eight months. Husband's name was Lee Joon-ho, heir to Lee Shipping & Logistics. According to the tabloids, he'd been spotted at clubs in Gangnam with actresses whose names you didn't recognize, while Karina attended industry events alone. The word "lonely" appeared in a lot of the articles, usually paired with photos of her looking wistful at award shows. "Here."
She was back, holding two glasses. One water, one something amber. Whiskey, maybe. Your eyes tracked the movement of her bare arm as she set the water down on the coffee table between you. "You're nervous," she said, settling onto the opposite end of the sectional. Not a question.
"A little."
"Why?"
Because you're Karina. Because every man in this country has fantasized about you. Because I'm sitting in your mansion and you're wearing that sweater and I don't know what I'm supposed to do with my hands. "New clients are always nerve-wracking," you said instead. "For both of us."
Something flickered in her expression. Amusement, maybe. Or skepticism. She took a sip of her drink—whiskey, definitely—and let her head rest against the back of the sofa. The movement exposed the long line of her throat, the delicate architecture of her collarbones where the sweater had slipped. "How long have you been doing this?"
"A year."
"And before that?" You hesitated. The training said honesty was valuable, but only in measured doses. "I was a personal trainer. Senior Park recruited me. Said I had the right… temperament."
"Temperament." She said the word like she was tasting it. "Is that what they call it?" The silence stretched. Outside, wind rattled something against the glass—a branch, probably. The house was so quiet you could hear the refrigerator humming from two rooms away.
"Why did you call the agency?" you asked. Karina's gaze slid toward you. "Aren't you supposed to know the answer to that?"
"I'd rather hear it from you." Another sip of whiskey. Her throat moved as she swallowed. "The agency brief didn't tell you?"
"It said you were recently married. It said your husband travels frequently for work."
"Travels." A short laugh, not especially warm. "Is that what they're calling it now?"
You didn't answer. Sometimes silence was the best tool you had. Karina set her glass down on the coffee table with a little more force than necessary. The sound echoed in the cavernous room. "He doesn't travel. He's in Seoul. He just doesn't come home." She was looking at the windows now, at her own reflection in the dark glass. "Three months. I've seen him three times in three months, and each time it was for less than an hour. Photo opportunities, mostly. His PR team coordinates them."
"That sounds lonely." Her jaw tightened. "Don't."
"Don't what?" "Don't do the sympathetic thing. I'm not paying for sympathy."
You shifted on the sofa, turning to face her more directly. "What are you paying for?"
The question landed differently than you'd intended. Karina's eyes snapped to yours, and for a moment the mask slipped—the idol mask, the one she wore in every interview and variety show appearance. Underneath it was something rawer. Something hungry and furious and so tired of pretending. "I want to feel something," she said. "Something that isn't…" She gestured vaguely at the house around her. "This."
"This?"
"Empty." The word came out smaller than the others. She picked up her whiskey again, took a longer drink. "Everything in my life is scheduled and managed and presented to the public in exactly the right light. My marriage. My career. My face." Another drink. "I wake up in this house and I feel like I'm already a ghost. Like I'm haunting my own life." You watched her fingers tighten around the glass. The knuckles went pale.
"So when you ask what I'm paying for," she continued, "I'm paying for something real. Something that isn't polite. Something that doesn't treat me like I'm made of glass." The air in the room had changed. Thicker, somehow. Charged with something you couldn't name.
"Have you done this before?" you asked. "With anyone from the agency?"
"No."
"And you understand how this works? The boundaries, the rules—"
"I understand." She cut you off with a look that was almost defiant. "I read everything. I know about the safeword protocols. I know I can stop anything at any time. I know this isn't…" She paused, searching for the word. "Conventional."
"It's not," you agreed. "Which is why I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me."
Karina raised an eyebrow, and for a second you caught a glimpse of the stage persona, the one who commanded thousands with a single glance. "Ask."
"Are you sure you want this?" The question hung between you. Outside, the wind picked up again, and somewhere in the house a door creaked—settling, probably, or the air pressure shifting. Karina didn't look away from your face.
"Do you want me to prove it?" she asked.
"I want you to tell me." She was quiet for a long moment. Then she set her glass down again, stood up from the sofa, and walked toward you. Her bare feet made almost no sound on the marble floor. The sweater slipped further off her shoulder as she moved, revealing the strap of something black and lacy underneath. When she stopped, she was standing directly in front of you, close enough that you could smell her perfume—something light, citrus and white flowers—and underneath it, the clean scent of her skin. "I've been thinking about this for three weeks," she said. "Ever since I found the agency's number in a forum I wasn't supposed to be reading. Ever since I realized that the only person who's touched me in eight months is my makeup artist." Her voice was steady, but there was a tremor underneath it. "So yes. I'm sure. I want this."
She held out her hand. "I want you to make me feel something. I don't care if it hurts. I don't care if it's ugly. I want to stop being Karina for a few hours and just be… a body. A woman. Whatever is left of me when all of this"—she waved at the house, at the empty walls, at the unopened flowers—"isn't here anymore." Your pulse was a drumbeat in your ears. Her hand was still extended, palm up, waiting.
"Tell me your safeword," you said.
"Red."
"And if you can't speak?"
"Three taps. Anywhere you can feel them." You'd said the same words to half a dozen clients before her, but something about the way Karina recited them back—steady, rehearsed, like she'd practiced them in front of a mirror—made your chest tighten.
"Okay," you said. And you took her hand. Her skin was warm. Soft, the way you'd imagined, but there was strength in her grip too—the hand of someone who'd spent years in dance studios, who'd trained her body to do exactly what she wanted it to. She didn't flinch when you stood up, which brought you close enough that you could see the individual lashes framing her eyes, the tiny mole near her left eyebrow, the way her lips had parted slightly.
"Before we do anything," you said, "I need you to understand something."
"What?"
"This isn't about your husband. This isn't about revenge or filling a void or proving something to yourself." You kept your voice low, even. "This is about what you want. Right now. In this room. Nothing else exists." Karina's eyes searched your face. Whatever she was looking for, she must have found it, because something in her expression shifted—a loosening, a letting-go.
"Nothing else exists," she repeated.
"Good girl." The words slipped out before you could stop them, but the effect was immediate. Karina's breath caught. Her pupils dilated, just slightly. The hand in yours tightened its grip.
"That's what you want?" you asked. "To be good?"
"I want…" She swallowed. "I want to stop thinking. I want someone else to be in charge. Just for a while." You lifted your free hand and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. The movement was gentle, almost reverent, and it made no sense with the things you were about to do—but that was the point, wasn't it? The contrast. The collision of tender and brutal that would short-circuit her brain and give her exactly what she was asking for.
"Your bedroom," you said. "Take me there."
She led you up the curved staircase, her hand still in yours. The upstairs hallway was lined with doors, all of them closed except one at the far end. Soft light spilled out of it, and as you got closer you could see the corner of a bed—a huge bed, king-sized at least, with white sheets and too many pillows. The master bedroom. Karina's bedroom.
The room that her husband had probably not set foot in for months. She paused at the threshold, and for a moment you thought she might hesitate. Might change her mind. Might realize what she was about to do and decide it was too much, too fast, too far outside the carefully constructed image of Yu Ji-min, beloved idol, perfect wife.
Instead, she turned to face you. "What do you want me to do first?" The question was genuine. Not a test. She was waiting for you to take the reins, willing to hand over control before you'd even started.
"First," you said, stepping into the bedroom and pulling her gently after you, "I want you to take off that sweater." Karina's hands moved to the hem of the gray wool. The fabric lifted, revealing the black lace you'd glimpsed earlier—a bralette, delicate and expensive-looking, the kind of thing you wore when you wanted to feel beautiful even if no one else would see it. The sweater came over her head and dropped to the floor.
Her skin was luminous in the low light. Pale and smooth, with the kind of muscle definition that came from years of dancing—toned arms, a flat stomach that tensed as she breathed, the curve of her ribs just visible beneath the skin. "Now the leggings." She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and pushed them down, bending at the waist. The movement was efficient, not seductive, but it didn't matter—the sight of her body unfolding as she straightened up, the black lace of her underwear matching the bralette, the long lines of her legs.
You circled her slowly. She stood very still, the way she'd probably been trained to stand for fittings and stage checks, but there was a tremor in her thighs that she couldn't quite control. Anticipation. Maybe fear. Probably both. "Lie down on the bed," you said. "On your back."
Karina did as she was told. The mattress barely dipped under her weight—memory foam, probably, the kind that cost more than your monthly rent. She arranged herself in the center of the white expanse, arms at her sides, looking up at the ceiling. "Close your eyes." Her lashes swept down against her cheeks. The room was silent except for her breathing, which had gone shallow and quick. You stood at the foot of the bed and watched her. The rise and fall of her chest. The way her fingers curled against the sheets. The faint flush spreading from her neck to her collarbones.
"How do you feel?" you asked. "Exposed."
"Good." You moved to the side of the bed and sat down on the edge, close enough that your hip nearly touched hers. Karina's breathing hitched at the proximity.
"Do you know what I'm going to do to you?"
A pause. "No." "I'm going to use you." The words came out rougher than you'd intended. "I'm going to take everything you're willing to give me, and I'm going to make you feel every second of it. Your body belongs to me tonight. Do you understand?"
Her voice was barely a whisper. "Yes."
"And you want that?"
"God, yes."
"Look at me." Her eyes opened. They were glassy already, the pupils blown wide. The composed idol from five minutes ago was already starting to dissolve, replaced by something more vulnerable and infinitely more real. "Your husband," you said. "Does he ever look at you like this?"
Karina flinched—a tiny movement, but you caught it. "No."
"Does he touch you?"
"No."
"Does he make you feel anything at all?" A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, tracking down her temple and into her hair. "No." You leaned closer. "Then forget him. Forget all of it. Right now, there's only me and you and what your body can take. Nothing else. No Karina. No Yu Ji-min. Just a woman who needs to be fucked like she matters."
The tears were coming faster now, but she wasn't sobbing—just leaking, silently, the release of pressure that had been building for months.
"Please," she said. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Make me forget." You stood up and began unbuttoning your shirt. Karina watched you through blurred vision, her chest rising and falling with breaths she couldn't seem to control. The black lace of her bralette had shifted, revealing the upper curve of her breasts, the skin there flushed and warm.
"Last chance to change your mind," you said, pulling your shirt off and letting it fall. Her eyes traveled over your chest, your arms, the line of your stomach. When she spoke, her voice was steadier than it had been.
"I'm not changing my mind."
"Good." You unbuckled your belt and pulled it free from the loops with a single smooth motion. The leather whispered against the fabric of your pants. "Because I'm just getting started." The belt was still in your hand. Karina watched it loop between your fingers, the leather dark against your palm. Her tears had left shiny tracks down her temples, disappearing into the hairline, and her breathing had gone shallow again—not from crying now, but from something else. Something that made her thighs press together on the white sheets.
“Sit up,” you said. She pushed herself upright, the bralette shifting as she moved. One strap slipped off her shoulder. She didn’t fix it. You folded the belt in half and ran your thumb along the smooth side. “You said you wanted to stop being Karina for a few hours.”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m going to take away your sight.” Her lips parted. A micro-flinch—not fear, not exactly. More like the body’s instinctive response to a cliff edge. The moment before the jump. “The blindfold,” you continued, “stays on until I take it off. If it becomes too much, you use the taps. Three of them. Anywhere you can reach me.”
“I know the rules.”
“I know you do.” You stepped closer, until your knees touched the edge of the mattress. “But I want to hear you say it. What happens if you need to stop?”
“Three taps.” Her voice was steadier now. “On you. Anywhere.”
“And what’s your word?”
“Red.”
“Good.” You reached down and brushed your knuckles along her jawline. The contact was feather-light, almost accidental. “Lift your hair.” She gathered the dark strands and held them up, exposing the nape of her neck. The movement arched her back slightly, pushed her chest forward. The black lace strained against her breasts. You brought the belt around her head. The leather was cool, supple from use. You positioned it across her eyes, careful not to catch her hair in the buckle, and pulled it snug against her temples. Not tight enough to hurt. Tight enough that she wouldn’t see anything but darkness.
“How does that feel?”
Karina exhaled. “Dark.”
“Can you see anything?”
“No.”
“Good.” You fastened the belt at the back of her head and let your fingers trail down the side of her neck as you withdrew. Her pulse hammered against your fingertips. “Now lie back down.” She lowered herself onto the mattress. The movement was different now—less controlled, more tentative. Without her sight, every shift of her body became a negotiation with the unknown. Her hands found the sheets and gripped them. You stood at the edge of the bed and looked at her. The idol that half of Korea fantasized about. The face on every billboard. Reduced to a blindfolded woman in black lace, her chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid cycles, her lips slick where she’d licked them.
“Spread your legs.” Karina’s thighs parted. The movement was slow, almost reluctant—but she did it. The matching black panties were cut high on her hips, the fabric thin enough that you could see the suggestion of her underneath. A dark shadow. A slight dampness already bleeding through.
“Wider.” She obeyed. Her knees fell open, exposing the full length of her. The panties pulled taut across her cunt. The outline of her lips. The little seam where they parted.
You didn’t touch her there. Not yet. Instead you climbed onto the bed, positioning yourself beside her. The mattress dipped under your weight, and Karina’s body shifted toward you instinctively—gravity pulling her toward the heat of your skin. “You’re going to use your mouth now,” you said. “And while you do, I’m going to play with these.” Your fingers found the strap of her bralette. You pulled it down. Then the other strap. The lace caught on her nipples for a moment—already peaked, already hard—before you tugged it free and let the fabric pool around her waist.
Karina’s breasts were full and pale, the nipples a dusty rose color that darkened at the tips. They stiffened further in the open air, and she made a small sound—something between a gasp and a whimper. “You like that.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“You like being blindfolded. You like not knowing what’s coming next.”
“I… yes.” You traced a circle around her right nipple with your fingertip. The skin puckered. Karina’s back lifted off the mattress.
“Don’t move,” you said. “Stay still and let me touch you.” She forced herself down. The effort was visible—her abdominal muscles tensed, her hands fisting in the sheets. You circled the nipple again, closer this time, and then you took it between your thumb and forefinger and squeezed. The sound she made was not a moan. It was a broken exhale, a noise that started in her chest and caught in her throat. Her hips bucked once—an involuntary spasm—and then she forced them still. “That’s it,” you murmured. “Let your body react. Don’t fight it.”
You rolled the nipple between your fingers, working it slowly. The texture was fascinating—the way it tightened and pebbled under your touch, the way the areola crinkled around it. Karina’s breathing had gone ragged. A flush was spreading down her chest, past her collarbones, toward the swell of her breasts. “Does your husband ever touch you like this?”
“No—” The word came out strangled.
“Does he know what your body does when someone pays attention to it?”
“He doesn’t… he never…”
“He never what?”
“He never touches me.” The confession was barely a whisper. “He never—ah—” You’d switched to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. Roll. Squeeze. A gentle twist that made her gasp and arch before she remembered she was supposed to stay still.
“Then he’s a fool,” you said. “Because your body is extraordinary.” You leaned down and took her nipple into your mouth. Karina cried out. The sound was sharp and sudden, echoing in the vast bedroom. Your tongue laved across the tight bud, traced circles around the areola, and then you sucked—a long, pulling pressure that made her whole body go rigid.
“Oh—oh god—” Her hands came up, flailing in the dark, and found your shoulders. Her nails dug in. You didn’t tell her to stop. Instead you sucked harder, pulling the nipple deep into your mouth while your other hand continued working its twin—rolling, pinching, tugging in counterpoint to the rhythm of your tongue. She was making sounds now that had no words in them. Just vowels. Just broken, desperate vowels that rose and fell with the movement of your mouth. You released her nipple with a wet pop.
“Hands down,” you said. “We’re not done.” Karina’s fingers uncurled from your shoulders. She lowered her arms back to the bed. Her chest was heaving, both nipples now slick and swollen, darker than they’d been before. The blindfold had shifted slightly—just a millimeter—but she hadn’t tried to remove it. “Good girl. Now.” You unfastened your pants and pushed them down. Your boxers followed. “I want you to sit up. I want you on your knees. Can you do that?”
She nodded. The belt bobbed with the movement. Getting her upright was an exercise in trust. She couldn’t see the edge of the bed, couldn’t gauge the distance. You guided her by the shoulders—first into a sitting position, then turning her so her legs hung off the side of the mattress. “On your knees,” you said. “On the floor.” Karina slid off the bed. Her knees hit the hardwood with a soft thud. The position put her face level with your hips, and even though she couldn’t see you, she must have sensed your proximity, because her breath quickened. “You’re going to use your mouth now,” you said. “The way you’ve been thinking about since you first called the agency. The way you’ve imagined in this empty bed at night while your husband was god knows where.”
Her lips parted. Her tongue darted out, wetting them. “But you don’t get to use your hands. Not yet. Just your mouth. And while you work, I’m going to keep playing with your nipples. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” You guided yourself toward her mouth. The head of your cock brushed her lower lip—just a touch, just enough for her to feel the heat. Karina’s whole body shuddered. “Open.” She did. Her jaw dropped, and you pushed forward, sliding the tip past her lips. The inside of her mouth was hot. Wet. Her tongue met the underside of your shaft, tentative at first, then bolder—flattening against you, tracing the ridge of the head. You groaned. The sound was involuntary. “That’s it. Take more.”
She did. Her lips stretched around your girth, and you watched her jaw work as she accommodated the intrusion. There was no hesitation now—the blindfold had freed her from something. From the performance. From the expectation. From Karina Yu, the idol, and all the ways that identity constrained her. The woman kneeling on the floor was just a woman. A woman who wanted to suck cock. You reached down and found her nipples again. Both of them this time, one in each hand, rolling them between your thumbs and forefingers as she began to move.
Karina moaned around your shaft. The vibration traveled through you, up your spine, into the base of your skull. “Mmm—”
She pulled back, let her tongue swirl around the head, then pushed forward again—deeper this time. Her throat flexed. A gag reflex triggered, and she choked, but she didn’t pull away. She held herself there, breathing through her nose, letting her throat adjust to the intrusion. “Fuck,” you breathed. “You’ve done this before.” She couldn’t answer—her mouth was full—but the way she moved said everything. This wasn’t practice. This was muscle memory. Somewhere in her past, before the fame and the management and the carefully curated image, there had been a girl who knew exactly what to do with her mouth. You pinched her nipples harder. She whimpered. Bobbed her head. The wet sounds of her mouth filled the room—the slick slide of lips on skin, the soft suction when she pulled back, the obscene little pop when she reached the tip and let go for just a moment before diving back down.
“Look at you.” Your voice had gone rough. “The most famous woman in Korea. On her knees. Blindfolded. Choking on a stranger’s cock.” Karina’s response was a moan that vibrated through your entire shaft. She sucked harder. Faster. Her tongue worked the underside of your cock with the kind of precision that spoke to experience—flicking against the frenulum, tracing the vein that ran along the length, pressing flat and wide when she reached the base. You tugged her nipples in rhythm with her bobbing. Pull when she went down. Release when she came up. The coordination turned her body into an instrument—you played her nipples, and she played you with her mouth. Saliva dripped down her chin. It pooled in the hollow of her throat, ran in thin rivulets toward her collarbones. She was messy now. Undone. The composed idol from an hour ago was dissolving into something rawer and infinitely more beautiful.
“Deeper,” you said. “Take it deeper.” She pushed forward. Her throat constricted around the head of your cock—a tight, hot pressure that made your vision swim. She gagged again, harder this time, and you felt her throat spasm around you. “Stay there.” She held. Her shoulders trembled. A tear leaked from beneath the blindfold—not from crying, but from the physical reflex of her throat trying to expel the intrusion. The tear tracked down her cheek and mixed with the saliva on her chin. You released her nipples and cupped her face instead. Your thumbs traced the stretched line of her lips, the bulge of your cock visible through her cheek.
“You’re perfect like this,” you murmured. “Blind. Choking. Desperate. This is what you needed, isn’t it? To be used. To be nothing but a mouth.” Karina made a sound—half moan, half sob—and nodded as much as she could with your cock buried in her throat. You pulled back. Let her breathe. A thick strand of saliva connected her bottom lip to the tip of your cock.
“Don’t swallow yet,” you said. “Let it drip.” She obeyed. The saliva pooled and spilled, running down her chin and onto her chest. It made her skin glisten in the low light.
“Now use your hands. Both of them. Show me how you touch yourself when you think about this.” Her hands came up immediately—eager, almost frantic. One wrapped around the base of your shaft while the other cupped your balls. Her fingers were cool against the heat of your skin. She squeezed gently, testing the weight, and then her mouth was back on you—lips stretched wide, tongue working, throat opening. The blindfold was soaked now. Tears and sweat had darkened the leather around her eyes. You reached down and found her nipples again. Plucked them. Rolled them. Pinched them until she keened around your cock, the sound high and desperate. “You love this. You love being on your knees for a stranger. You love not being in control.”
“Mmmhmm—” The affirmation vibrated through your shaft.
“Say it. Pull off and say it.” She let you go with a gasp. Her lips were swollen, the color darkened to a deep rose. “I love it. I love being on my knees. I love—” She swallowed, her throat working. “I love not being in control.”
“Why?”
“Because…” Her blindfolded face tilted up toward your voice. “Because for once I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to be Karina. I can just be… this.”
“A mouth.”
“Yes.”
“A set of holes.”
She shuddered. “Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I’m a mouth.” Her voice cracked. “I’m a set of holes. I’m just—I’m just a body that wants to be used.” You stroked her cheek. “Good girl. Now open up.” She did. Her jaw dropped, tongue extended—a gesture of pure, shameless submission. You guided yourself back into her mouth and this time you didn’t let her set the pace. You fucked her throat with slow, deliberate thrusts, watching her lips stretch around you, watching her chest heave as she struggled to breathe through her nose.
Your hands never left her nipples. They were dark now, engorged, slick with the saliva that had dripped down from her chin. You twisted them in opposite directions and Karina screamed around your cock—a muffled, desperate sound that was swallowed by the column of flesh filling her throat. “Again.” Twist. Scream. Her thighs squeezed together, and through the thin black panties you could see her cunt clenching on nothing.
“You’re getting wet from this. From choking on a stranger’s cock while he twists your nipples.” She couldn’t answer. Could only whimper and bob her head and take it. You pulled her off again. She gasped, coughed, and then immediately tried to lean forward—to get you back in her mouth. You held her by the hair. “Not yet. I want to look at you.” Karina knelt there, chest heaving, lips swollen and slick, chin dripping. The blindfold was a dark slash across her face. Her nipples jutted out from the flushed mounds of her breasts, hard and dark and wet. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” you said. “And I mean that. Not Karina the idol. Not the image. This. Right here. A woman who finally stopped pretending.”
Her lips trembled. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please let me finish. Please let me taste you. Please—I need—I need to feel you—”
“You need to feel me come down your throat.”
“Yes.” The word was a sob. “Yes. Please. Use my mouth. Use my throat. I don’t care if I can’t breathe. I just want to feel it. I want to taste it. Please.” You guided her back onto your cock. She took you deeper than before—no hesitation, no slow build. She swallowed you whole, her nose pressing against your abdomen, her throat working around the intrusion like it was made for this. Made for you. Your hands found her nipples one last time. You pinched them hard—the hardest yet—and held the pressure as she sucked. Karina’s whole body convulsed. Her thighs pressed together so tightly that the muscles in her legs stood out in sharp relief. A muffled, keening sound escaped from somewhere deep in her throat. She was close. Even without touching her cunt, even without any stimulation below the waist—she was close. The nipple play and the blindfold and the degradation had wound her up to a breaking point.
You felt your own climax building. A tightening at the base of your spine. A coiling pressure that radiated outward. “I’m going to come,” you said. “And you’re going to swallow every drop. Do you understand?” Karina’s response was to suck harder. Her tongue worked the underside of your shaft, pressing and stroking in time with her bobbing. Her hand cupped your balls and squeezed—gently, then harder—and that was it. The orgasm hit like a punch to the spine. You groaned—a deep, guttural sound—and your hands tightened on her nipples as the first pulse of cum shot into her mouth. She swallowed. You felt her throat work around the head of your cock, milking you, drawing out every pulse. The second shot. The third. She took them all, her lips sealed tight around your shaft, not letting a single drop escape.
“Fuck. Fuck, Karina—” She pulled back just enough to let the last pulse land on her tongue. Then she closed her mouth and swallowed again, her throat moving in a long, deliberate gulp. When she finally released you, she sat back on her heels. Her chest was still heaving. Her nipples were dark and swollen. Her chin glistened. A single drop of cum had escaped the corner of her mouth and was tracking slowly down toward her jaw. You reached down and wiped it away with your thumb. Then you pressed your thumb to her lips. She sucked it clean.
“Thank you,” she whispered. You crouched down in front of her. The blindfold was ruined—soaked through with tears and sweat, the leather darkened to near-black. You reached behind her head and unbuckled it. The belt fell away.
Karina blinked. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, the pupils so dilated that her irises were barely visible. Tear tracks striped her cheeks. Her lips—swollen, bruised-looking, the lipstick she hadn’t been wearing long since replaced by a deeper, more honest color. She looked wrecked. She looked free. “How do you feel?” you asked.
A long pause. Then a smile—small, fragile, but real. “Like I’m still here. Like I’m actually… in my body. For the first time in months.” You brushed the hair away from her face. “We’re not done.” Karina’s smile widened, just a fraction. “I know.” “Lie back down on the bed. On your stomach this time.” She rose on unsteady legs and climbed onto the mattress. The black panties were soaked through now—a dark, wet patch that spread from the gusset all the way to the waistband. She arranged herself face-down on the white sheets, her arms stretched above her head, her legs slightly apart.
The position made her ass look incredible. Round and full, the cheeks peeking out from beneath the lace.
You climbed onto the bed behind her. Your cock was still half-hard, already stirring again at the sight of her. “I’m going to take these off now,” you said, hooking your fingers into the waistband of her panties. “And then I’m going to find out just how wet choking on a stranger’s cock made you.”
Karina’s voice was muffled by the pillow. “Yes. Please. Touch me.” You pulled the panties down. And stopped breathing. The panties slid down the curve of her ass, the black lace peeling away from skin that glistened with moisture. The gusset left a shining trail across the backs of her thighs—a snail's track of arousal that caught the bedroom's low light. You stopped breathing.
Karina's cunt was laid bare before you, the lips puffy and flushed a deep rose, parted just enough to reveal the darker, wetter flesh within. Her arousal had coated everything—the inner thighs, the neat strip of dark hair above her mound, the puckered swirl of her asshole that winked at you as she shifted on the mattress. The scent hit you next: salt and musk and something sweeter underneath, the raw perfume of a woman who'd been sucking cock while her nipples were tortured and had loved every second of it.
"Fuck," you breathed. Karina's response was muffled by the pillow. "What? What is it?"
"You're dripping. You're actually—" You ran one finger along the seam of her cunt, not pushing in, just gathering the slick that had pooled there. The touch made her whole body jolt. "You're soaked. All the way down your thighs."
"I know." Her voice cracked. "I could feel it. While I was—while you were in my mouth—I could feel myself getting wetter and I couldn't do anything about it."
"Did you want to?"
"Yes. God, yes. I wanted to touch myself so badly. But you told me not to move. So I just… leaked." You brought your slick-coated finger to your mouth and tasted her. Salty. Slightly bitter. Clean. The flavor bloomed on your tongue, and something in your chest tightened—not just lust, though there was plenty of that, but something closer to awe. The most famous woman in Korea was face-down on her marital bed, her cunt drooling onto the sheets, waiting for a stranger to decide what to do with her.
"Please," Karina whispered. "Please touch me. I've been waiting. I've been so patient. Please."
"How long has it been since someone touched you here?"
"Eight months. Since before the wedding. He never—Joon-ho never—" She choked on the name. "He never wanted to. Even before we got married. He said it was… messy. He said he preferred—"
"Preferred what?"
"His hand. His own hand. While I lay next to him pretending to be asleep." The confession hung in the air. You looked at the perfect curve of her ass, the trembling muscles of her thighs, the slick heat of her cunt that some man had decided wasn't worth his time. "His loss," you said. "Don't move." You positioned yourself behind her, kneeling between her spread legs. The position gave you a view of everything—the long line of her spine, the flare of her hips, the dark cleft of her ass, and at the center of it all, her cunt. Swollen. Wet. Waiting.
"Two fingers," you said. "I'm going to put two fingers inside you. And you're going to scream into that pillow." Karina grabbed the pillow and pulled it to her face. You pushed your middle finger into her first.
The heat was staggering. Tight—god, she was tight—but so wet that your finger slid in to the second knuckle without resistance. Her inner walls clenched around the intrusion, a rippling squeeze that traveled from base to tip. Karina's back arched. A strangled sound escaped the pillow.
"One," you said. "Here comes the second."
Your index finger joined the first. The stretch made her gasp—a sharp intake of air that she cut off by biting the pillow. You pushed both fingers deep, curling them upward, searching for the rough patch of tissue that would make her see stars.
You found it.
Karina screamed.
The sound was muffled by the pillow but still loud enough to echo in the vast bedroom. Her hips bucked backward, driving your fingers deeper. Her cunt clamped down with a force that made your knuckles ache.
"There it is," you murmured. "That's what you needed, isn't it? Someone to find it. Someone to touch it. Someone who isn't afraid of a little mess."
"Don't stop—please don't stop—"
You didn't stop. You fucked her with your fingers in slow, deep strokes, curling them against that spot every time you bottomed out. The wet sounds were obscene—a slick, squelching rhythm that filled the room. Her juices coated your hand, dripped down your wrist, pooled on the sheets beneath her.
"Listen to yourself," you said. "Listen to how wet you are. You sound like a—"
"Like a whore." The word came out muffled but clear. "Say it. I want you to say it."
"You sound like a whore. A dripping, desperate whore who's been neglected for eight months and finally has someone's fingers in her cunt."
Karina moaned—a long, wavering sound that rose in pitch as you increased your pace. Her fingers clawed at the sheets. Her ass lifted higher, presenting herself more openly, and you watched her cunt stretch around your fingers, the lips clinging to your knuckles every time you pulled back.
"More," she gasped. "More. I need more. I need—"
"You need what?"
"I need to come. Please. Please let me come. I've been so good. I swallowed everything. I didn't spill a drop. Please."
You slowed your fingers. Stopped them entirely, buried to the hilt inside her.
Karina whimpered. "No—no, why did you stop—"
"Because I want to hear you beg properly." You leaned down, your lips brushing the shell of her ear. "You're not Karina right now. You're not an idol. You're just a wet hole that wants to be filled. So beg like one."
A shudder ran through her body. Her voice, when it came, was smaller than before—stripped of the polish, stripped of everything except raw, naked need.
"Please fuck me with your fingers. Please make me come. I've been empty for so long. I've been so empty and so lonely and the only thing that's made me feel anything in months is your cock in my throat and your fingers on my nipples and now I need—I need you to let me finish. I need to feel something break inside me. Please. I'm begging you. I'm begging like the desperate slut I am. Please."
"Good girl."
You resumed fucking her with your fingers. Faster this time. Harder. The curl against her G-spot became a pounding rhythm, and Karina's whole body began to shake. Her thighs quivered. Her ass clenched and unclenched. The pillow was soaked with saliva and tears.
"I'm close—I'm so close—"
You pulled your fingers out.
"No!" The word was a howl. Her cunt gaped for a moment, empty and clenching on nothing, and then she collapsed forward onto the mattress. "Why? Why did you—I was right there—"
"Turn over."
She rolled onto her back. Her face was a wreck—eyes wild and glassy, cheeks blotchy with tears, lips still swollen from the blowjob. Her chest heaved. Her nipples stood out like dark berries against the pale swell of her breasts.
"Spread your legs."
She did. Her cunt was even more obscene from this angle—the lips engorged and spread, the inner flesh a slick, vivid pink, the hood of her clitoris pulled back to reveal the pearl beneath. Everything glistened.
"Touch yourself."
Karina's hand flew to her cunt. Her fingers found her clit and began rubbing in tight, frantic circles. Her other hand grabbed her breast, squeezing, pinching the nipple.
"That's it. Show me how you make yourself come when you're alone in this empty house."
"It's always you," she panted. "Not you—not you specifically—but someone. Someone who isn't him. Someone who wants me. I imagine—I imagine being taken. Being used. Being ruined." Her circles grew faster. "I imagine a stranger's cock. A stranger's hands. I imagine being bent over and fucked until I can't walk. Until I can't think. Until I forget my own name."
"And does your husband ever make you come?"
"Never. Not once. Not even—not even when we—ah—"
"Don't stop. Keep rubbing."
Her fingers were a blur on her clit. Her hips lifted off the mattress. The muscles in her stomach stood out in sharp definition. She was close again—you could see it in the flush spreading across her chest, the way her mouth fell open, the frantic, jerky movements of her hand.
"Please," she gasped. "Please let me—"
"Stop."
Her hand froze. A sound came out of her that wasn't human—a guttural, animal keen of pure frustration. Her clit twitched visibly, denied its release. Her cunt spasmed, squeezing around nothing, gushing a fresh surge of fluid that soaked the sheets.
"Fuck!" She slammed her fist against the mattress. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"
You grabbed her wrist and pinned it above her head. "Look at me."
Karina's eyes met yours. They were wet and desperate and furious and grateful all at once.
"You said you wanted to be ruined. Ruined doesn't mean easy. Ruined doesn't mean I let you come the moment you ask nicely. Ruined means I take you apart piece by piece until there's nothing left but the animal underneath. Do you understand?"
"Yes." The word was barely a whisper.
"Do you still want this?"
"God, yes. Yes. Ruin me. Please. I want to be ruined."
You released her wrist. "Then get on your hands and knees. I want to see all of you."
Karina scrambled into position. The movement was ungraceful, uncoordinated—the idol's dancer precision abandoned in favor of pure, sloppy need. She presented herself on all fours, her back arched, her ass lifted high. The position opened her completely—her cunt a dark, wet gash between her thighs, her asshole a tight pink knot, everything glistening with the evidence of her arousal.
"Spread your ass cheeks."
Her hands reached back. Her fingers dug into the full flesh of her buttocks and pulled them apart, exposing herself more completely. The vulnerability of the gesture made your cock throb.
"Wider."
She stretched herself open until the pink of her cunt gaped slightly, until you could see the dark entrance of her body, the place where her wetness pooled and dripped in a slow, viscous thread onto the sheets.
"Please," she breathed. "Please ruin my pussy. I need your cock. I need it inside me. I've needed it since you walked through my door. Since before that. Since I first saw your picture in the agency file. Please. Fuck me. Fuck me like you hate me. Fuck me like I'm nothing."
You positioned yourself behind her.
Your cock was fully hard again—thick and veined, the head an angry purple, a bead of precum already forming at the slit. You gripped the base and ran the tip along her slit, coating yourself in her slick. The contact made her shudder.
"Is this what you want?"
"Yes—"
You pushed the head against her entrance. The heat of her cunt kissed the tip of your cock.
"Say it again. Louder."
"YES. Fuck me. Please fuck me. Ruin my pussy. I want to feel you in my womb. I want to feel you for days. I want to walk into my next schedule and still feel where you've been. Please—"
You thrust forward.
One motion. No gradual entry. No easing her open. You buried yourself to the hilt in a single, brutal stroke, and Karina's plea dissolved into a scream that had no words in it.
Her cunt was impossibly tight. The wet heat of her gripped every inch of you—a clenching, rippling pressure that traveled from base to tip. You felt the head of your cock butt against her cervix, felt the resistant give of that deepest barrier, and then you pushed past it.
Karina's scream pitched higher.
"Oh fuck—oh fuck, you're so deep—you're in my—"
"Your womb. I know."
You stayed there for a moment, buried to the root, letting her body adjust to the intrusion. Her inner walls fluttered around your shaft—spasms of sensation that were half pleasure, half shock. Her fingers were still digging into her ass cheeks, holding herself open, and you could see exactly where your bodies joined. The stretched ring of her cunt. The way her lips clung to the base of your cock. The shine of her fluids on your skin.
"You're taking all of it," you said. "Every inch. You feel that? Feel how deep I am?"
"Yes—yes, I feel it—I feel you in my stomach—"
"Good."
You pulled back. The drag of her walls against your shaft made your vision swim. Then you slammed forward again, harder than before, and Karina's head dropped between her shoulders, her whole body rocking forward from the force.
"AH—"
"Again."
Another thrust. Harder. The sound of your bodies colliding was a wet slap that echoed off the bedroom walls. Her ass rippled with the impact. Her breasts swung beneath her.
"You wanted to be ruined," you growled, gripping her hips. "So I'm going to ruin you. I'm going to fuck this tight little cunt until you can't remember your own name. Until you can't remember his name. Until the only thing in your head is my cock and how deep it is and how hard I'm using you."
"Yes—yes—fuck—harder—"
You gave her harder.
The rhythm you set was brutal—deep, driving strokes that bottomed out against her cervix with every thrust. The wet sounds of her cunt filled the room. Your balls slapped against her clit. Sweat dripped from your forehead onto her back, tracing rivulets down her spine.
Karina was making sounds that didn't belong to any language. Guttural moans. High-pitched whines. Broken syllables that might have been words if she'd had enough control to form them. Her fingers had released her ass cheeks and were now fisting in the sheets, knuckles white, arms trembling.
"Look at you. The most famous idol in Korea. On her hands and knees. Getting her pussy destroyed by a stranger. Moaning like an animal. This is what you needed, isn't it? Not the fame. Not the money. Not the perfect husband and the perfect house. This. Just this. Just a cock in your cunt and someone who knows how to use it."
"YES—YES, THIS—THIS IS WHAT I—OH FUCK—"
You reached around her body and found her clit. The bundle of nerves was swollen and slick, hard as a pebble under your fingertip. You pressed down and circled—not gently, not teasingly, but with the same brutal intensity as your thrusts.
Karina's whole body convulsed.
The orgasm hit her like a wave breaking against rocks. Her cunt clamped down on your cock with a force that almost hurt—a rhythmic, pulsing squeeze that traveled in waves from her core outward. Her back arched impossibly. Her head flew up, mouth open in a silent scream, eyes rolled back so far that only the whites were visible.
Then the sound came. A wail. A keening, animal cry that started low in her chest and rose to fill the room. Her arms gave out. She collapsed forward onto the mattress, but you followed her down, never stopping, never slowing, fucking her through the orgasm with the same relentless pace.
"Thaaaat's it—don't stop—don't stop—don't—I can't—it's too much—"
"You can take it. You wanted to be ruined. You're going to take every thrust until I'm done with you."
"It's too much—it's—oh god—OH GOD—"
A second orgasm crashed over her before the first had fully subsided. This one was stronger—violent, almost. Her cunt gushed around your cock, soaking your thighs, soaking the sheets. Her screams dissolved into sobs. Her body shook with a force that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than muscle, somewhere primal.
"Please—please—I can't—I can't take any more—"
"One more. Give me one more."
"I can't—I can't—"
"You can. Feel that? Feel how deep I am? Feel how full you are? That's what you needed. Not his empty house. Not his empty promises. This. A cock that fills you up. A body that knows how to use yours. Come for me again, Karina. Come on this cock like the desperate whore you told me you are."
Her response was unintelligible. A stream of syllables that might have been Korean, might have been English, might have been neither. A confession. A prayer. A surrender.
You drove into her harder—deeper, if that was even possible—and pressed your thumb against her clit. The stimulation was merciless. Her cunt seized around you. Her sobs pitched higher.
And then she shattered.
This orgasm was different from the others. Quieter. Deeper. Her body went rigid for a long, suspended moment—every muscle locked, every breath held. Then the release came, and it came with a flood. Her cunt gushed around your shaft—not just wetness this time, but a clear, copious fluid that sprayed against your thighs and soaked into the mattress beneath her.
Karina's voice broke on a single word: "Fuuuuck—"
Her body went limp. Completely limp. She collapsed into the wet sheets, her chest heaving, her limbs twitching with aftershocks. Her cunt still pulsed weakly around your cock—little flutters of sensation that traveled up your shaft.
You slowed your thrusts. Eased to a stop. Buried yourself deep inside her one last time and held there, feeling the heat of her body, the slick grip of her cunt, the violent thudding of her heart that you could feel through the walls of her core.
The room was silent except for her breathing—ragged, broken gasps that gradually slowed to something approaching normal.
"Are you still with me?" you asked.
A long pause. Then, muffled by the mattress: "I don't know. I think so. I think… I think that was…"
"That was what?"
"That was the first time. The first time anyone's ever—" She swallowed. The movement traveled through her whole body. "The first time anyone's ever made me come. Not just during sex. Ever."
You pulled out slowly. Her cunt made a wet, sucking sound as you withdrew—reluctant, almost, as if her body didn't want to let you go. A gush of fluid followed, clear and viscous, pooling on the already-soaked sheets.
Karina whimpered at the emptiness.
"Turn over," you said. "Look at me."
It took her a moment to find the strength. When she finally rolled onto her back, the sight of her made your chest tighten.
She was wrecked. Absolutely wrecked. Her face was blotchy with tears, her eyes swollen and glassy. Her lips—still puffy from the blowjob—were parted, a thin trail of drool connecting the corner of her mouth to her chin. Her nipples were dark and angry-looking, surrounded by faint marks where your fingers had been. Her thighs were slick with her own fluids. Her cunt gaped slightly, the lips engorged and spread, still pulsing with aftershocks.
She had never looked more beautiful.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"You don't have to thank me."
"I know. I want to." Her voice was hoarse—fucked raw, used up. "I've been numb for so long. I didn't even realize how numb until… until you made me feel all of this. The pain. The pleasure. The—the shame. The humiliation. I felt all of it. I'm still feeling it."
"And right now? How do you feel?"
Karina's eyes found yours. The glassiness was fading, replaced by something clearer. Something almost peaceful.
"Full," she said. "And sore. And wet. And tired. And…" A pause. "Alive. I feel alive."
You reached down and brushed a strand of sweat-damp hair away from her forehead. The gesture was gentle—a stark contrast to everything you'd just done to her body.
"Good," you said. "Because we're still not finished."
Her eyes widened. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her wrecked face—small and fragile and utterly genuine.
"I know," she said. "I was counting on it."
The shower was a rainfall fixture, wide enough for two, the water coming down in a steady, warm curtain. Steam fogged the glass enclosure. You stood behind Karina, cupping water in your palms and letting it run down her back. The rivulets tracked the geography you'd already memorized—the dip of her spine, the flare of her hips, the twin dimples just above the swell of her ass.
She leaned against the marble wall, forehead pressed to the cool stone.
"I can't feel my legs," she mumbled.
"That's normal."
"Is it?" A laugh, breathy and exhausted. "Good to know."
You reached for the body wash—something expensive, sandalwood and bergamot—and worked it into a lather between your hands. When you touched her shoulders, Karina sighed. The sound was different from the ones that had filled the bedroom an hour ago. Softer. Quieter. The sigh of a body that had been wrung dry and was finally allowed to rest.
Your hands moved down her back in slow circles. Over the faint red marks your fingers had left on her hips. Across the small of her back where sweat had pooled and dried. Down to the curve of her ass, where you kneaded the muscle with careful pressure.
"You're going to be sore tomorrow," you said.
"Good." Her voice was muffled against the marble. "I want to be sore. I want to remember."
"Remember what?"
She turned around. Water sluiced down her front, plastering her hair to her neck and shoulders. The mascara she hadn't been wearing was long gone, but her eyes were still rimmed with red, still slightly swollen. The marks on her nipples had darkened. Her lips—still puffy, still that deep bruised rose—curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"That I'm a real person. That someone wanted me. That for a few hours, I wasn't just a photograph."
You cupped her face. Your thumbs traced her cheekbones. "You were never just a photograph."
"You know what I mean."
"I do." You leaned down and kissed her forehead. Then the bridge of her nose. Then each eyelid, feather-light, the way you'd close a book you weren't finished reading. "But you need to hear it anyway. You're not what he made you feel. You were never what he made you feel."
Karina's breath shuddered out. Fresh tears mixed with the shower water—silent ones this time, not the wrenching sobs from before. She didn't answer. Didn't need to. You held her there in the steam until the water started to cool.
Later, wrapped in a robe that probably cost more than your monthly car payment, Karina walked you to the front door.
The foyer was different now. Less cavernous. The unopened flowers still sat on the console table, but something about them had shifted—they looked less like an accusation and more like a relic. A fossil from a life she was leaving behind.
She pressed a small folded paper into your palm.
"My real number," she said. "Not the one the agency has. Not the one my manager screens." Her fingers lingered on your wrist. "Call me. Or text me. I don't care which. Just… don't disappear."
You unfolded the paper. The handwriting was neat, precise—idol training, probably, years of signing autographs until every stroke was perfect. Ten digits. No name. She didn't need one.
"I won't disappear," you said.
"You say that now."
"I mean it." You caught her hand and lifted it to your lips. Kissed her knuckles. Then the inside of her wrist, where the skin was thin and the pulse still fluttered. "You survived eight months of being invisible in your own house. The least I can do is answer a text."
She laughed—a real one this time, short and surprised. "That's a low bar."
"I'm a simple man."
Karina pulled her hand back, but slowly, the way you set down something fragile. "Go. Before I ask you to stay."
You didn't say goodbye. The training had taught you better than that. Goodbye implied an ending, and endings were the one thing clients like Karina didn't need more of. Instead you stepped out into the cool night air, the paper clutched in your hand, and let the door click shut behind you.
Three weeks passed.
Senior Park called on a Tuesday.
"New client," he said, the way he always did—like he was offering you a gift and daring you to guess what was inside. "Young. Married. The usual story."
"The usual story" had become a kind of shorthand between you. Rich husband. Neglected wife. A mansion full of expensive things and no warmth. You'd heard it so many times now that the details blurred together—only the faces changed, and even those were starting to feel familiar. Actresses. Idols. The wives of men who'd acquired beauty like a stock portfolio and then forgotten to check on it.
"Who is it?" you asked.
A pause. Park was savoring this.
"Jang Wonyoung."
The name hit you like a bucket of cold water.
"Wonyoung? From IVE?"
"The one and only." You could hear the grin in his voice. "Married at twenty-eight. To Kim Seok-joong. The producer. You know him?"
Everyone knew him. Kim Seok-joong had produced half the hits on the charts for the last five years—a genius behind the mixing board, a tyrant in the studio, and, according to every rumor mill in the industry, a man who treated marriage vows like a suggestion. The tabloids had run photos of him leaving clubs with trainees young enough to be his daughters. Wonyoung's name always appeared in the same articles, usually paired with words like "humiliated" and "trapped."
"She called us directly," Park continued. "Apparently she heard about us through a mutual acquaintance. Someone who spoke very highly of your work."
You thought of Karina. Of the paper still folded in your wallet.
"Mutual acquaintance?"
"I don't ask. I don't want to know. I just make the arrangements." The rustle of paper on his end. "She's in Hannam-dong. The penthouse. Tomorrow night, nine o'clock. Don't be late."
The line went dead.
Hannam-dong at night was a different kind of wealth than the gated mansions of the suburbs. Here the money went vertical—glass towers that stabbed into the sky, each floor a monument to someone's ambition. The penthouse elevator required a code, which Senior Park had texted you an hour earlier along with a single line: She's nervous. Go slow.
The elevator ascended in silence. No muzak. No mirrored walls. Just brushed steel and the soft hum of hydraulics. You watched the floor numbers climb and tried not to think about the fact that Jang Wonyoung was waiting at the top of this building. Jang Wonyoung, who'd debuted at fourteen and been famous before she could legally drive. Jang Wonyoung, whose face had sold a million magazines. Jang Wonyoung, who'd married a man twice her age and apparently regretted it before the ink on the certificate was dry.
The doors opened onto a private foyer.
The penthouse was smaller than Karina's mansion—everything in Seoul was smaller than Karina's mansion—but it made up for it in verticality. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the Han River, the city lights reflected in the water like scattered coins. The furniture was minimalist: a low white sofa, a glass coffee table, a single orchid in a concrete pot. No photographs. No personal touches. It looked less like a home and more like a hotel suite where someone had been staying for too long.
Wonyoung stood at the window with her back to you.
She was taller than you'd expected. Taller than she looked on stage, where the camera angles and the choreography and the other members had a way of shrinking her. In person, barefoot on the marble floor, she was statuesque—long legs, a narrow waist, the kind of proportions that designers fought to dress. She wore an ivory silk robe that fell to her ankles, her dark hair loose and straight, still damp at the ends as if she'd just showered.
"It's a nice view," you said.
She didn't turn around. "I used to think so."
Her voice was different from Karina's. Lower. Flatter. Where Karina's words had crackled with suppressed fury, Wonyoung's came out like the air leaking from a tire—slow, deflated, resigned.
You stepped further into the room. "Senior Park said you wanted to meet me."
"Meet you." A short laugh. "That's a polite way of putting it."
"I can leave."
"Can you?" Now she turned. The sight of her face hit you like a physical force—the kind of beauty that felt almost aggressive, all sharp angles and full lips and eyes that were too big for her face. But there was something hollow behind them. Something that had been scooped out and never filled back in. "You can leave. You can stay. You can do whatever you want. I'm just… here."
"How long have you been 'just here'?"
Wonyoung crossed her arms over her chest. The robe was silk, thin enough that you could see the outline of her body beneath it—the curve of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach, the long lines of her thighs. She wasn't trying to be seductive. She wasn't trying to be anything. That was the most unsettling part.
"A year," she said. "Maybe longer. I stopped counting."
"A year of what?"
"Of waiting. Of pretending. Of showing up to award shows on his arm while everyone in the audience knows he fucked one of his backup dancers the night before." Her jaw tightened. "Do you know what that's like? To smile for cameras while your husband's mistress is standing ten feet away, adjusting her earpiece?"
You didn't answer. You'd learned with Karina that sometimes the best response was no response—just the space to let the words hang in the air until they lost their poison.
Wonyoung uncrossed her arms. Let them fall to her sides. "I'm not looking for sympathy."
"Then what are you looking for?"
"The same thing everyone who calls your agency is looking for." She met your eyes, and for a moment the hollowness flickered—replaced by something harder. Something almost defiant. "I want to feel like I exist. Like I'm not just… a decoration. A trophy. Something he acquired and then forgot about."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-nine."
"And how old is he?"
A pause. "Fifty-two."
You let the number sit there. Fifty-two. Older than her father, probably. Old enough to know better. Old enough to treat a twenty-eight-year-old bride like a collectible—desirable right up until the moment the paperwork was signed, and then irrelevant.
"What does he say when you confront him?" you asked.
Wonyoung's laugh was empty. "He doesn't. He just… leaves. Goes to the studio. Comes back three days later smelling like someone else's perfume. And I'm supposed to pretend I don't notice. I'm supposed to be grateful. He made my career, after all. Half my songs were his. Half my image. Half my life." Her voice cracked on the last word. "I was nineteen when I met him. I didn't know anything. I thought it was love."
"What do you think it was now?"
"Ownership." The word came out flat. "He didn't want a wife. He wanted a muse. Something beautiful to inspire him. And now he's inspired by someone else, and I'm just… here. In this penthouse. With this view. Waiting for him to come home and pretending I don't know where he's been."
You moved closer. Not close enough to touch—not yet—but close enough that she had to tilt her head slightly to keep meeting your eyes.
"What do you want from tonight?"
Wonyoung held your gaze. The defiance was back, stronger now, warring with the exhaustion. "I want to stop waiting. I want to be touched by someone who actually wants to touch me. I want…" She swallowed. "I want to feel like a woman instead of a photograph. Does that make sense?"
"Perfect sense."
"And you can do that? You can… give me that?"
"I can give you whatever you're willing to take." You held out your hand, palm up, the same way you had with Karina three weeks ago. "But I need to hear you say it. I need to know you're sure."
Wonyoung looked at your hand. The hesitation was visible—the same hesitation every client had, the moment before they crossed the line from thinking about it to doing it. The moment where the life they'd been living warred with the life they wanted.
Then she took it.
"I'm sure," she said. "I've been sure for six months. I just didn't know who to call."
"Your safeword?"
"Red."
"And if you can't speak?"
"Three taps. Anywhere you can feel them."
Her palm was cool against yours. Her fingers were long and slender—pianist's fingers, though you knew she didn't play. The silk of her robe brushed against your wrist.
"Before we start," you said, "I want you to know something."
"What?"
"This isn't about your husband. This isn't about revenge. This isn't about making him feel what you've been feeling." You squeezed her hand gently. "This is about you. Right now. In this room. Nothing else exists. Do you understand?"
Wonyoung's lips parted. For a moment she looked younger—not twenty-nine, but nineteen again, standing in a studio somewhere and believing that the famous producer who'd noticed her was offering her the world.
"I understand," she said.
"Good. Now take off the robe."
She released your hand. Her fingers went to the sash at her waist, the silk loosening with a whisper. The robe slipped off her shoulders. Pooled at her feet.
Underneath she wore nothing at all.
Her body was long and lean, with the kind of proportions that seemed almost impossible outside of a magazine spread. Small, high breasts with nipples the color of pale tea. A waist that nipped in dramatically before flaring into hips that had launched a thousand fan cams. Long legs, smooth and toned, the muscles of a dancer visible beneath the skin. A dark triangle of hair at the junction of her thighs, neatly trimmed.
But what struck you most wasn't the beauty. It was the stillness. Karina had been trembling with suppressed energy, her body practically vibrating with need. Wonyoung stood completely motionless, her arms at her sides, her expression unreadable. She looked like a statue—beautiful and cold and utterly detached from the body she occupied.
"You're very beautiful," you said.
"I know." Not arrogant. Just… factual. "People tell me that a lot."
"Do you believe them?"
A flicker of something—surprise, maybe, or confusion. "What?"
"Do you believe them? When they tell you you're beautiful. Do you feel beautiful?"
Wonyoung's brow furrowed. "I don't… I don't know what you mean."
"I think you do." You circled her slowly, the way you'd circle a sculpture in a gallery. "You've been told you're beautiful your whole life. It's on every magazine cover. Every comment section. Every introduction. But when you look in the mirror, what do you see?"
Her voice was quieter now. "I see what everyone else sees."
"That's not what I asked."
You stopped behind her. The view from here was just as striking—the sweep of her back, the curve of her ass, the way her hair fell in a dark curtain between her shoulder blades. She hadn't turned to follow you. She was still facing the window, still looking at the river and the lights.
"I asked what you see," you continued. "Not what they see. Not what the cameras see. What you see."
The silence stretched. Outside, a boat moved across the Han River, its lights reflecting in the dark water.
"Nothing," Wonyoung said finally. "I see nothing. I see a body that exists to be looked at. A face that exists to be photographed. When I look in the mirror, I don't see a person. I see…" She trailed off.
"A product."
"Yes." The word was barely audible. "A product. Something that was packaged and sold before I understood what I was agreeing to."
You stepped closer. Close enough that the heat of your body registered against her bare back. Close enough that if she leaned back even an inch, she'd be touching you.
"That ends tonight," you said. "Tonight, you're not a product. You're not a photograph. You're not what your husband neglected or what the cameras captured. You're a woman. Just a woman. And I'm going to make you feel like one."
Wonyoung's breathing had changed. Shallower. Faster. Her shoulders rose and fell in the window's reflection.
"How?" she asked.
"First, I'm going to touch you. Not the way a photographer touches you. Not the way a stylist touches you. I'm going to touch you the way a man touches a woman he wants." You raised your hand and let it hover just above her shoulder—not making contact, but close enough that she could feel the heat of your palm. "And you're going to stand right here and let yourself feel it. All of it. Every sensation. Do you understand?"
Her voice was a whisper. "Yes."
"Good."
You let your hand settle on her shoulder.
The contact was light—just your palm against her skin, your fingers curving over the ridge of her collarbone. But Wonyoung's reaction was immediate. Her breath stuttered. Her spine stiffened. The muscles beneath your hand went rigid, then slowly, gradually, began to soften.
"When's the last time someone touched you?" you asked.
"I don't…" She swallowed. "I don't remember."
"Months?"
"Longer. Before the wedding, maybe. He was… interested then. Before he had me. After that…" She shook her head.
You moved your hand down her arm. Slowly. Deliberately. Letting your fingers trace the curve of her bicep, the dip of her elbow, the smooth skin of her forearm. Goosebumps rose in the wake of your touch.
"Close your eyes," you said.
She did. Her lashes swept down against her cheeks, dark against the pale skin.
"Now I want you to focus on what you're feeling. Not what you're thinking. Not what you're worried about. Just the physical sensation. My hand on your skin. The heat of my body behind you. The cool air on the rest of you. Can you do that?"
"I can try."
"Don't try. Just do."
You brought your other hand to her waist. The silk of the robe had been thin, but her bare skin was thinner—softer, warmer, alive in a way the fabric never could be. You felt the slight give of flesh over muscle, the delicate architecture of her ribs. Wonyoung's lips parted. A tremor ran through her.
"Good," you murmured. "That's it. Stay present. Stay here."
Your hands moved together now—one sliding up to cup her breast, the other tracing the curve of her hip. The contact was gentle, almost reverent. You weren't trying to arouse her yet. You were trying to wake her up. To remind her body that it was capable of sensation beyond the clinical touches of stylists and makeup artists and the indifferent hands of a husband who'd long since stopped seeing her as anything but an acquisition.
Her breast was small and firm, fitting perfectly in your palm. The nipple was already tightening—an involuntary response, the body's language for yes, this, more. You circled it with your thumb, not quite touching the peak, letting the anticipation build.
"Oh," she breathed. Just that. Just the single syllable, but it was the most human sound she'd made since you'd arrived.
"You feel that?"
"Yes."
"What does it feel like?"
"Warm. It feels… warm. And tingly. Like—like pins and needles, but soft."
"That's your body waking up." You brushed your thumb across her nipple, finally making contact. The peak was hard now, pebbled and tight. Wonyoung's breath caught. Her hips shifted—an instinctive movement, barely conscious. "That's your body remembering what it feels like to be touched."
"Don't stop," she whispered.
"I'm not stopping. I'm just getting started."
You turned her around to face you. Her eyes were still closed, her lips slightly parted, a flush spreading across her chest. The cool, detached statue from five minutes ago was already beginning to thaw.
"Open your eyes," you said.
She did. The hollowness was still there, but it had receded slightly—pushed back by something warmer. Something hungrier.
"Lie down on the bed," you said. "On your back. I'm going to touch every inch of you, and you're going to stay present for all of it. No disappearing. No retreating into your head. You're going to feel everything. Do you understand?"
Wonyoung's voice was steadier now. "Yes."
"Good. Then let's begin."
She walked toward the bedroom—the same statuesque stride, but looser now, less guarded. The ivory robe stayed in a puddle on the floor behind her, already forgotten.
You followed her. The penthouse bedroom was all windows on one side, the city lights glittering below like a mirror image of the stars. A king-sized bed dominated the center of the room. White sheets. Too many pillows. The same story, different setting.
Wonyoung lay down in the center of the mattress. Arranged herself with her arms at her sides, her hair spread across the pillow, her legs slightly apart. The position was almost clinical—like she was posing for a photograph. Muscle memory.
"Relax your arms," you said. "Above your head."
She lifted them. The movement pulled her breasts higher, flattened her stomach.
"Close your eyes."
Her lashes swept down.
You knelt on the bed beside her. In the silence, you could hear her breathing—quicker than before, but still controlled. Still holding onto something. You would need to break through that control. Not with force. With patience. With attention. With the kind of touch she'd been starved of for years.
"Now," you said, letting your hand hover over her stomach. "Let's find out what Jang Wonyoung feels like when she stops being a photograph and starts being a woman."
Your palm settled on her skin.
And Wonyoung began to tremble.
Your palm settled on Wonyoung's stomach.
The trembling started small—a flutter of muscle beneath warm skin—then spread outward, rippling through her thighs, her belly, the flat plane of her chest. She kept her eyes closed, arms still arranged above her head in that posing-for-a-photograph way that had become second nature.
"You're shaking," you said.
"I know." Her voice was thinner now. "I can't seem to stop."
"Don't stop. Let it happen."
Your hand moved in a slow circle, tracing the faint definition of her abdominal muscles. The skin here was softer than you'd expected—yielding, warm, the kind of softness that came from being young and healthy and well-cared-for in every way except the one that mattered. Wonyoung's breath stuttered when your palm grazed the bottom of her ribcage.
"What are you feeling?"
"Your hand." A pause. "It's… warmer than I expected."
"What else?"
"I don't know. It's been so long since—" She swallowed. The movement traveled down her throat, a subtle ripple. "Since anyone touched me without an agenda. My stylists touch me to adjust my clothes. Photographers touch me to fix my hair. Seok-joong…" The name came out like a curse. "He doesn't touch me at all."
You traced the lower curve of her breast. Not the nipple—not yet—just the swell where her chest began to rise. The skin was impossibly smooth, pale as cream in the city light streaming through the windows.
"When's the last time you touched yourself?"
Wonyoung's eyes opened. The question had surprised her. "What?"
"You heard me."
"I don't…" Her brow furrowed. "I don't do that."
"You don't masturbate?"
The word made her flinch. A tiny recoil, barely visible, but you caught it. "That's not something I—I mean, I've never really—"
"Never?" You kept your hand where it was, still and warm against the curve of her breast. "You've never made yourself come?"
Wonyoung closed her eyes again. A flush was spreading from her chest up her neck, blooming across her collarbones like spilled wine. "Once. Maybe twice. A long time ago. Before I debuted. Before everything got so…" She trailed off.
"So controlled."
"Yes."
"Show me."
Her eyes flew open. "What?"
"Sit up." You withdrew your hand and sat back on your heels. "I want to watch you touch yourself. I want to see how Jang Wonyoung pleasures her own body when no one else is looking."
The hesitation was visible—a war playing out behind her eyes. The trained idol, the curated image, the woman who'd spent her entire adult life being looked at without ever being touched. Then something shifted. A crack in the facade. Her lips parted.
"Okay," she whispered.
She sat up slowly. The movement was graceful despite her trembling—dancer's muscle memory, the body knowing what to do even when the mind was unmoored. She propped herself against the headboard, the white sheets pooling around her hips. Her breasts were small and high on her chest, the nipples still tight from your earlier attention.
"Lie back," you said. "Spread your legs. Let me see all of you."
Wonyoung arranged herself against the pillows. Her thighs parted with visible reluctance—not resistance, but the shyness of a woman who'd been taught that her body was a commodity, not a source of pleasure. The dark triangle of hair between her legs was neatly trimmed, the lips beneath barely visible in the dim light.
"Touch your breasts first," you said. "The way you like it."
Her hands lifted. The movement was hesitant, almost clinical, like she was examining herself rather than pleasuring herself. Her fingers brushed her nipples and she gasped—a sharp, surprised sound.
"That's it. They're sensitive, aren't they?"
"Yes—I didn't know—no one's ever—"
"No one's ever played with your nipples?"
"No." The word came out strangled. Her fingers circled the tight peaks, tracing the areolae with tentative strokes. "Seok-joong said breasts were for—ah—for looking at. Not for—"
"Not for touching."
"Not for touching."
You watched her hands grow bolder. The circles became pinches—gentle at first, then harder, the way you'd done earlier. Her back arched slightly. Her mouth fell open.
"Good girl. Now move one hand lower. Touch yourself between your legs."
Wonyoung's right hand slid down her stomach. The trembling was worse now—her whole body vibrating with a tension that had nothing to do with cold and everything to do with the forbidden nature of what she was doing. Her fingers reached the dark curls and stopped.
"I don't know if I can—"
"You can. Part your lips for me. Show me your cunt."
The vulgar word made her gasp. But her fingers obeyed—they slid through the trimmed hair, parted the outer lips, exposed the pink flesh within. Even from where you knelt, you could see the gleam of moisture. The way her inner lips clung together, then separated with a wet, sticky sound.
"You're wet," you said. "You're wet and you haven't even touched your clit yet."
"Is that—is that normal?"
"It's more than normal. It's beautiful. You're beautiful." You leaned closer. "Now find your clit. The little pearl at the top. Touch it."
Wonyoung's middle finger found the swollen bud. The contact made her whole body jerk. A sound escaped her—half moan, half whimper—and her thighs snapped shut around her hand.
"Keep them open. I want to watch."
"I can't—it's too—"
"You can. Open your legs, Wonyoung. Let me see what your body does when you stop being a photograph."
She forced her thighs apart. The effort was visible—muscles trembling, breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts. Her finger began to circle her clit in slow, tentative strokes. The hood pulled back with each pass, revealing the slick pearl beneath. Her other hand stayed on her breast, pinching and rolling the nipple in counterpoint.
"There," she breathed. "Oh—there—that feels—"
"What does it feel like?"
"Tight. Hot. Like—like something's building. Like I need to—" Her circling grew faster. "Like I need to—"
"You need to come."
"Yes." The word was a sob. "Yes. I need to come. Please. I've never—not with anyone watching—not with anyone—"
"Come for me, Wonyoung. Let go. I've got you."
Her body seized. Her back arched off the mattress, her head thrown back, her mouth open in a silent scream. The hand between her legs moved frantically—rubbing, pressing, chasing the climax that was crashing over her. A keening sound escaped her throat, high and desperate.
Then she collapsed.
Her chest heaved. Her thighs quivered. The hand on her breast fell away, and the other remained pressed against her cunt—not moving now, just holding, as if she couldn't bear to let go of the sensation.
"That was your first orgasm with an audience," you said.
Wonyoung's laugh was breathless, almost giddy. "That was my first orgasm. Period. I don't think the other times—I don't think they were real. Not like that."
"Not like that."
"No." She opened her eyes and looked at you. The hollowness was gone—replaced by something brighter, something almost hungry. "I want more. I want—" She swallowed. "I want you inside me. But I want to be in control. Just this once. I want to decide."
You raised an eyebrow. "You want to ride me."
"Yes." The word came out stronger now. "I've spent my whole life being positioned. Being told where to stand and how to pose and what to wear. I want—just this once—I want to be the one who decides. Does that make sense?"
"It makes perfect sense."
You stood up from the bed and unbuckled your pants. Wonyoung watched with open curiosity—the way her eyes tracked the movement of your hands, the way her lips parted when you pushed your boxers down and your cock sprang free. She'd seen it earlier, of course, but now she looked at it differently. Like she was sizing it up. Like she was planning.
"It's thicker than I thought," she murmured.
"Is that a problem?"
"No." A small smile played at the corner of her mouth. "It's just… I've never seen one this close before. Not like this. Seok-joong and I—the few times we—it was always in the dark. Always over quickly. He never let me look."
"Look all you want."
She did. Her gaze traveled the length of your shaft—the vein that pulsed along the underside, the ridge of the head, the way the skin pulled tight when you were fully hard. Her tongue darted out and wet her lips.
"Lie down," she said. "On your back."
You obeyed. The sheets were cool against your shoulders. Wonyoung rose on her knees and swung one long leg over your hips, straddling you. The position put her cunt directly above your cock—you could see the pink of her inner lips, still slick from her orgasm, still parted and ready. A drop of her arousal fell onto your stomach.
"Like this?" she asked.
"Reverse."
"What?"
"Turn around. Face my feet. Reverse cowgirl."
Wonyoung blinked. Then understanding dawned, and with it came something you hadn't seen on her face before—a flicker of genuine excitement. "I've seen this position. In… things I've watched. When I was alone."
"Then you know how it works."
She turned around. The movement was awkward—she had to lift one leg, then the other, bracing herself with a hand on your thigh—but the awkwardness was part of the appeal. She wasn't performing. She wasn't posing. She was just a woman figuring out how to take what she wanted.
When she settled into position, facing away from you, the view was spectacular. The long sweep of her back. The curve of her ass, round and firm. The dark cleft between her cheeks, and below that, her cunt—still wet, still open, positioned directly above your cock.
"Reach back," you said. "Take hold of me."
Her hand fumbled behind her. Fingers brushed your shaft, then your balls, then closed around the base. Her grip was tentative—too light, too careful—but she guided the head to her entrance anyway. The contact made her gasp.
"Oh god. You're so—I can feel how big you are just from this—"
"Take your time. You're in control."
Wonyoung lowered herself an inch. The head of your cock pressed against her opening, parting the slick lips. The heat of her was incredible—wet and tight and pulsing with the aftershocks of her orgasm. She stopped there, breathing hard, her thighs trembling on either side of your hips.
"I don't know if I can—"
"You can. Slowly. Just a little at a time."
She sank down another inch. The head slipped inside her, and Wonyoung cried out—a sharp, startled sound that was half pain and half pleasure. Her inner walls clenched around you, a rippling squeeze that traveled from tip to base.
"Fuck—fuck, you're stretching me—"
"You're doing so well. Take what you need."
Another inch. Then another. Her cunt was impossibly tight—tighter than Karina's, tighter than anyone you'd been with in recent memory. The walls gripped you like a fist, hot and slick and pulsing. Wonyoung's breathing had gone ragged. Her head dropped forward. Her hands braced on your thighs, nails digging in.
"I'm only halfway—oh god—I'm only halfway and I already feel so full—"
"Keep going. You wanted control. Take it."
She took it. Her hips dropped the rest of the way, and your cock buried itself to the hilt inside her. Wonyoung screamed. The sound was raw and uncontrolled—nothing like the polished idol voice, nothing like the careful, measured tones she'd used earlier. This was pure animal. Pure sensation.
"Oh fuck—oh fuck—you're in my stomach—I can feel you in my stomach—"
"Good. Now move."
She lifted her hips. The drag of her walls against your shaft made your vision swim. When she dropped back down, the impact sent a visible ripple through her ass. The cheeks jiggled with the force of it.
"Yes—" She did it again. Faster. "Yes—this is—this is what I wanted—this is what I needed—"
"Tell me what it feels like."
"Full. So full. Like—like I'm being split open. Like I'm being—ah—like I'm being claimed." She was moving faster now, finding a rhythm, her hips rolling in a way that spoke to years of dance training. The muscles in her back flexed and released with each stroke. "But I'm the one claiming you. I'm the one—I'm the one in control—"
"That's right. You're in control. Take your pleasure, Wonyoung. Take all of it."
Her pace quickened. The wet sounds of her cunt filled the bedroom—a slick, rhythmic slap every time she bottomed out. Your cock was coated in her arousal, glistening in the city light. She reached back with one hand and grabbed your chest—not for balance, but for leverage, pulling herself harder onto you with each stroke.
"Touch my—touch my breasts—please—I need—"
You reached up and cupped her breasts from behind. The position was awkward but the effect was immediate—Wonyoung's rhythm faltered, then resumed faster than before. You pinched her nipples and she sobbed.
"Yes—yes—harder—"
You twisted. She keened. Her hips became a blur—up and down, up and down, fucking herself on your cock with a desperation that bordered on violence. Her head was thrown back now, her dark hair cascading down her spine, her whole body sheened with sweat.
"I'm close—I'm getting close again—I can feel it building—"
"Look at you. Jang Wonyoung. The nation's sweetheart. Riding a stranger's cock in her marital bed. Moaning like an animal. Dripping down my thighs."
"Yes—yes—I'm dripping—I'm making a mess—Seok-joong would hate this—he'd hate how wet I am—he'd hate how—how much I love it—"
"How much do you love it?"
"So much—so fucking much—I love being full—I love being stretched—I love being in control—I love that you're letting me—" Her voice cracked. "I love that you're letting me take what I need—"
The tears started then.
They came without warning—a sudden spill from her eyes, tracking down her cheeks and dripping onto your thighs. Her rhythm faltered. Her breathing hitched and broke into sobs.
"I'm sorry—I'm sorry—I don't know why I'm—"
"Don't stop." You squeezed her breasts gently. "Don't apologize. Keep moving. Let it out."
"I can't—I can't stop crying—" But her hips kept moving. Slower now, but still moving. "It's just—it's been so long—I've been so alone—"
"I know."
"No one touches me. No one looks at me. No one wants me. I'm just—I'm just a thing he bought and forgot about—"
"You're not a thing. You're a woman. A beautiful, passionate woman who deserves to be touched and wanted and pleasured. Keep moving. Let yourself feel it."
The sobs grew louder. Her hips moved faster, chasing the release that was building despite—or maybe because of—the tears. Her hand tightened on your chest, nails digging crescents into your skin.
"I want to come—please—please let me come—"
"It's yours. Take it. Come on my cock, Wonyoung. Come while you're crying. Come while you're in control. Show me what you look like when you let go."
She shattered.
The orgasm hit her like a wave—a convulsive, full-body spasm that made her back arch and her thighs clamp around your hips. Her cunt seized around your shaft, a rhythmic pulsing that milked you from base to tip. The scream that tore from her throat was wordless and raw, echoing off the penthouse windows.
And then she squirted.
The fluid gushed around your cock—a hot, copious flood that soaked your thighs and the sheets beneath you. Wonyoung's hips kept moving through it, grinding down onto you, drawing out every pulse of her climax. The squelching sounds were obscene. Her sobs mingled with moans.
"Oh god—oh god, I'm still—it's still going—I can't stop—"
"Don't stop. Take everything."
She rode the orgasm until her thighs gave out. Then she collapsed backward, her spine landing against your chest, her head falling back onto your shoulder. Her cunt was still spasming weakly around your cock. Her chest heaved. Her face was a wreck—tears and sweat and smeared mascara that she hadn't been wearing.
You wrapped your arms around her waist and held her.
The silence stretched. Outside, the Han River glittered in the darkness, indifferent to everything happening in this penthouse. Wonyoung's breathing gradually slowed. The tremors in her thighs subsided.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"You don't have to thank me."
"I know. I want to." She turned her head, her cheek pressed against your chest. "No one's ever… I've never cried during sex before. I've never cried at all. Not since the wedding. I thought I'd forgotten how."
"Tears are just your body's way of releasing what you've been holding too long."
She laughed—a small, wet sound. "You sound like a therapist."
"I've had practice."
Silence again. Then, quieter: "Will you stay? Not—not for more sex. Just… stay. Until I fall asleep. I don't want to be alone tonight."
You pressed a kiss to her damp temple. "I'll stay."
Wonyoung sighed. The sound was different from before—not resignation, but relief. The relief of a woman who'd finally let go of something she'd been carrying for years.
"Good," she murmured. "That's good."
She closed her eyes. In the penthouse bedroom, with the city lights glittering below and your cock still half-hard inside her, Jang Wonyoung finally stopped trembling.
You held her until her breathing evened out. Until her body went slack against yours. Until the tears on her cheeks dried to salt and the wetness between her thighs cooled on your skin.
Tomorrow, you'd leave. Tomorrow, she'd go back to being Jang Wonyoung, idol-turned-trophy-wife, and you'd go back to whatever Senior Park had lined up next.
But tonight, she wasn't a photograph. Tonight, she was just a woman who'd remembered how to feel.
And that, you'd learned, was worth more than any paycheck the agency could offer.
Waking came in stages.
First, the soft gray light of early morning pressing against your eyelids. The penthouse windows had no curtains—Wonyoung liked to wake with the sun, you'd learn later—and the Han River was a sheet of hammered silver outside the glass.
Second, the weight. Or rather, the absence of it. Sometime in the night she'd shifted off your chest, and now the mattress beside you was warm but empty.
Third, the sensation.
Wet. Hot. A rhythmic pressure that started at the base of your cock and traveled upward in slow, deliberate pulls. Your hips stirred before your mind caught up—an instinctive response, the body recognizing pleasure before the brain had finished booting up.
You opened your eyes.
Wonyoung was between your legs.
Her dark hair spilled across your thighs in a tangled mess, still sleep-mussed from the night before. The sheet had slipped off her shoulders, leaving her bare—the long sweep of her spine, the curve of her ass, the soles of her feet crossed at the ankle behind her. She'd positioned herself on her stomach, propped on her elbows, and her mouth was wrapped around your cock.
She was still learning. The technique was messier than Karina's had been—more enthusiasm than skill, more eagerness than precision. Her tongue moved in uncertain patterns, tracing the ridge of the head, then the vein underneath, then back again as if she couldn't decide which part she wanted to taste most. Saliva pooled at the corners of her lips and dripped down your shaft, slicking her fingers where they curled around the base.
But what she lacked in experience, she made up for in something else. Something rarer.
She was happy.
You could see it in the way her cheeks bunched—the muscles straining to smile even with her lips stretched wide. In the little hums that vibrated through your shaft every time she took you deeper. In the way her hips wiggled slightly, a tiny dance of satisfaction, like a cat kneading a favorite blanket.
You chuckled. The sound was rough with sleep.
Wonyoung's eyes flicked up to meet yours. They were clearer than they'd been last night—the hollowness replaced by something bright and mischievous. She didn't stop sucking. If anything, she redoubled her efforts, her head bobbing faster, her tongue working the underside of your shaft with renewed determination.
"What a cheeky girl," you murmured.
Your hand found her head. Your fingers threaded through the dark tangles of her hair, not pulling, not directing—just holding. Just letting her feel the weight of your palm against her scalp. Wonyoung's eyes fluttered closed. The hum she made this time was different—softer, more satisfied. A sound of pure contentment.
She pulled back until just the tip remained in her mouth. Her tongue circled the head—once, twice, a slow figure-eight that made your breath catch. Then she pushed forward again, taking you deeper than before, and you felt the head of your cock bump the back of her throat.
She gagged. Coughed. Pulled back with a wet, gasping laugh.
"Too much?" you asked.
"Not enough." Her voice was hoarse—fucked raw from the night before, from the screaming and the crying and now this. "I wanted to… I woke up and you were still here and I just wanted to…"
"To what?"
"To taste you. Before you left." She rested her cheek against your thigh, her breath warm on your damp skin. "Is that weird?"
"No." You stroked her hair. "It's not weird."
"I've never done that before. The morning thing. I've never woken up next to someone and thought… I want to make them feel good. Just because." Her fingers traced idle patterns on your hip. "I've never woken up next to anyone, actually. Seok-joong never stayed the night. Even when we were engaged. He said he couldn't sleep in unfamiliar beds."
"His own bed was unfamiliar?"
Wonyoung's laugh was bitter. "I was the unfamiliar part."
You sat up. The movement dislodged her from your thigh, and she rose with you—sitting back on her heels, her hair a wild curtain around her shoulders, her lips swollen and slick. The morning light caught the angles of her face, the sharp cheekbones and the full mouth, and for a moment she looked exactly like the magazine covers. The nation's sweetheart. The girl who'd debuted at fourteen and never stopped smiling for cameras.
But the smile she gave you now was different. Smaller. Realer. A smile that belonged to her and no one else.
"Come here," you said.
She came. You gathered her in your arms and lifted her—bridal style, her long legs draped over one arm, her head cradled against your shoulder. She was lighter than you'd expected. All those years of dieting for comebacks, probably. All those years of being told she needed to be smaller, thinner, more perfect.
"The shower," you said. "We're both a mess."
"Your fault." But she was grinning as she said it.
"Entirely."
The bathroom was all white marble and chrome fixtures, with a rainfall showerhead even larger than Karina's. You set Wonyoung down on the heated tile floor—her bare feet made a soft sound against the stone—and reached into the glass enclosure to turn on the water. Steam began to fill the room almost immediately.
She stepped into the shower first. You followed.
The water was hot but not scalding, beating down on your shoulders and back in a steady rhythm. Wonyoung tilted her face up into the spray, letting it run over her closed eyelids and down her throat. The mascara she hadn't been wearing was still absent, and without it she looked younger. Not twenty-nine. Not the weary trophy wife from last night. Just a woman in the morning, clean and bare and unguarded.
You reached for the body wash—something floral, jasmine maybe—and worked it into a lather between your palms.
"Turn around," you said.
She did. You started with her shoulders, the same way you had with Karina. The same ritual. The same aftercare. The same reminder that what happened in the bedroom wasn't just about sex—it was about being seen. Being handled. Being treated like a body that mattered.
Wonyoung sighed as your hands moved down her back. "You do this for all your clients?"
"The shower?"
"The… gentleness. The talking. The staying until morning."
"Most of them." You worked the soap into the dip of her spine, the curve of her hips. "The ones who need it."
"And how do you know which ones need it?"
You turned her around to face you. Water sluiced down between you, washing away the suds. Her eyes were level with your collarbone; she had to tilt her head back to meet your gaze.
"Because they're the ones who cry," you said. "And you cried."
Wonyoung's expression flickered—something passing through it too fast to name. Then she reached up and took the body wash from the shelf behind you. Poured some into her own palm. Worked it into a lather.
"Your turn," she said.
Her hands on your chest were tentative at first—the same hesitance from last night, the same uncertainty about what she was allowed to do. But as she grew bolder, her touch firmed. Her palms traced the lines of your pectorals, the ridges of your abdomen, the V of your hips. She was washing you, but she was also learning you. Mapping the geography of a body that wasn't hers.
"You're different from what I expected," she said.
"Different how?"
"I don't know. Less… transactional." She rinsed her hands under the spray. "When I called the agency, I thought it would be like ordering room service. Something mechanical. Something I could pretend didn't happen afterward. But this is…"
"This is?"
She looked up at you. The water had plastered her hair to her skull, darkened it to near-black. Droplets clung to her lashes.
"Real," she said. "This feels real."
You cupped her face in your hands. Your thumbs traced the sharp line of her cheekbones, the soft skin beneath her eyes. She leaned into the touch—pressed her cheek against your palm like a cat seeking warmth.
"It is real," you said. "Whatever happens in this room, whatever you feel—it's real. The pleasure is real. The tears are real. You're not pretending anymore. You're not performing. You're just… here."
"Just here." She tested the words. "I like that. I've never been 'just here' anywhere. There's always been a camera. Or a manager. Or a husband who wanted me to be somewhere else."
"Not here."
"Not here." She rose on her toes. Her lips brushed yours—soft, tentative, a question more than a statement. "Thank you."
"You already thanked me."
"I know. I want to do it again. Properly." She kissed you again, deeper this time. Her lips parted, and her tongue traced the seam of your mouth—asking permission, not demanding it. You opened for her, and she made a small sound, something between a sigh and a hum, as her tongue met yours.
The kiss was different from the ones last night. Last night had been hungry. Desperate. A woman starving for contact and finally given permission to eat. This kiss was slower. Sweeter. A kiss of gratitude rather than need.
Her arms wrapped around your neck. Your hands found her waist. The water beat down on both of you, and the steam rose around you like a curtain, and for a long moment there was nothing in the world but this—the heat and the wet and the soft pressure of her mouth on yours.
When she finally pulled back, her lips were pinker than before. Kiss-swollen. The color had risen in her cheeks.
"I put my number in your phone," she said.
"You what?"
"While you were sleeping. Earlier. Before I…" She gestured vaguely downward, toward the general vicinity of your crotch. "I wanted to make sure you had it. In case you wanted to call. In case you wanted to…"
"To what?"
"To see me again. Not as a client. Not through the agency. Just… me." Her voice had gone smaller. The confidence from moments ago was fading, replaced by the same vulnerability you'd seen last night. "Is that allowed? Is that something you do?"
You considered the question. The agency had rules about this—Senior Park was very clear about keeping things professional, about not blurring the lines between service and relationship. But Senior Park wasn't here. And Wonyoung was looking at you with those too-big eyes, the ones that had been empty last night and were now full of something fragile and hopeful.
"It's allowed," you said. "But I should warn you—I'm not a boyfriend. I'm not going to be. Whatever this is, it's not going to become something else."
"I know." She didn't look disappointed. If anything, she looked relieved. "I don't want a boyfriend. I don't want another man who owns me. I just want… someone who sees me. Someone who touches me like I'm real. Someone who'll answer when I call." A pause. "Will you answer?"
"Every time."
She kissed you again—quick and fierce, a press of lips that was more gratitude than passion. Then she stepped back, out of the spray, and reached for a towel.
"You should go," she said. "Before I ask you to stay again."
The elevator ride down was quiet. No muzak. No mirrored walls. Just brushed steel and the soft hum of hydraulics and the memory of Wonyoung's voice: Please… call me again.
You checked your phone in the lobby. There it was, in your contacts, added sometime in the early morning hours while you were still asleep: Wonyoung ♡. The heart was a nice touch. A little cheeky. A little hopeful.
You smiled despite yourself.
Three days passed.
Senior Park called on a Friday.
"New client," he said, the same way he always did—that particular lilt in his voice that meant he was enjoying himself. "Actress. Very famous. Very married. Although her marriage is…" A pause. "Complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"You'll see. She's been asking for you specifically. Apparently your reputation is spreading."
"Who is it?"
"Moon Ga Young."
The name made you stop walking. You were on the street in Gangnam, the afternoon sun beating down on your neck, and for a moment you just stood there with the phone pressed to your ear.
"Moon Ga Young? The actress?"
"The one and only. Star of True Beauty. The Interest of Love. Half a dozen other dramas I've never watched but my wife loves." The rustle of papers on his end. "She's staying at the Signiel. Suite 2704. Tonight, eight o'clock."
"Wait." You stepped into the shade of a building, out of the flow of pedestrian traffic. "Moon Ga Young is married? I didn't know that."
"Neither did anyone else. She kept it quiet. Very quiet. No press, no announcement, no wedding photos in the tabloids." Park's voice had gone sly. "The husband is some finance executive. American. Works in New York. They've been married for two years, and in those two years, he's been in Seoul for a total of six weeks. You do the math."
Six weeks out of a hundred and four. You did the math.
"Same story," you said.
"Same story, different window. The view from the Signiel is nicer, though. She's booked the suite for the whole weekend. Says she wants to take her time." Another pause. "She also said—and I quote—'Tell him I'm not fragile. Tell him I don't need the gentle version.' End quote."
You raised an eyebrow. "She said that?"
"Word for word. I think you're in for an interesting night."
The line went dead.
The Signiel Seoul occupied the 76th through 101st floors of the Lotte World Tower. It was the kind of hotel where the lobby was on the 79th floor and the elevator ride up made your ears pop. The kind of hotel where the staff wore suits that cost more than your monthly rent and the vases in the hallways were probably worth more than your car.
Suite 2704 was at the end of a quiet corridor. The door was a slab of dark wood with a brass number, and when you knocked, the sound was swallowed by the thick carpet.
"Come in. It's open."
The voice was lower than you'd expected. Smokier. The kind of voice that belonged in a noir film, all shadows and secrets.
You pushed the door open.
The suite was magnificent. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the Seoul skyline, the city lights glittering below like a spill of diamonds. The furniture was modern and understated—a low gray sofa, a glass coffee table, an abstract painting that was probably worth more than everything you owned. The bedroom was visible through an open doorway, the bed enormous and white and untouched.
And there, on the balcony, stood Moon Ga Young.
She was smaller in person than she appeared on screen. The camera had a way of adding presence, of making actors seem larger than life. In reality, she was petite—barely over five feet, with delicate wrists and a narrow frame that made her look almost breakable. Her hair was long and dark, falling past her shoulders in loose waves. Her face was the same one you'd seen in a dozen dramas—the wide eyes, the full lips, the delicate bone structure that made her look younger than her thirty-something years.
But the robe she was wearing was anything but delicate.
It was silk, pale champagne in color, and almost entirely transparent. The fabric clung to her body like a whisper, revealing the outline of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the dark triangle between her thighs. She wore nothing beneath it. The robe was held closed by a single sash, loosely tied, and as she turned to face you, the front gaped open slightly—just enough to confirm that yes, she was completely naked under there.
In one hand, she held a flute of champagne. The liquid was pale gold, the bubbles rising in lazy spirals.
"You're punctual," she said. "I like that."
"Senior Park said you didn't want the gentle version."
"Did he?" A smile played at the corner of her mouth. "I said I didn't need it. There's a difference." She raised the champagne flute to her lips and took a sip. Her eyes never left yours. "Would you like a drink? There's a bottle on the minibar. It's not cheap—I made sure of that."
"I'm working."
"So am I. Or at least, I'm about to be." The smile widened. "One drink won't hurt. Consider it part of the negotiation."
You crossed to the minibar. The champagne was vintage, the label one you recognized from a previous client's penthouse. You poured yourself a glass—not because you wanted it, but because refusing would mean ceding the rhythm of the encounter to her. And Ga Young, you were already beginning to understand, was someone who was used to setting the rhythm.
She joined you at the sofa. The robe gaped further as she sat, revealing the pale curve of one breast. She didn't bother to adjust it.
"So," she said, settling back against the cushions. "You're the man who made Karina cry."
You paused with the glass halfway to your lips. "She told you?"
"She told someone, who told someone, who told me. The idol world is small. Smaller than you'd think." Ga Young swirled her champagne. "The rumor is that you were… thorough. That you gave her exactly what she needed. That you didn't treat her like glass."
"I don't treat anyone like glass."
"No. I don't imagine you do." She leaned forward, setting her glass on the coffee table. The movement made the robe fall open completely, exposing the full length of her body. She didn't seem to notice. Or if she noticed, she didn't care. "Here's the thing. I've been married for two years. In those two years, I've had sex exactly four times. All of them on our wedding night. After that, my husband decided he preferred New York to Seoul. He calls me once a week, usually from his office, usually while he's doing something else. Reading emails. Checking stocks. He's never once asked me how I'm feeling."
"Does he know you're here?"
"He knows I'm at a hotel. He doesn't know why." Ga Young's smile was sharp. "He probably thinks I'm having a spa weekend. That's what he'd do, if he thought about it at all. 'Ga Young's having a spa weekend. How nice for her.'" The mimicry was cruel and precise. "He doesn't know me well enough to suspect anything else."
"And what are you looking for tonight?"
She leaned back. The robe fell open completely now, pooling on the cushions around her. She was leaner than Karina, leaner than Wonyoung—the body of a woman who'd spent years in front of cameras, who'd been told she needed to be thinner, always thinner. Her breasts were small, the nipples a pale pink. Her stomach was flat. The hair between her thighs was dark and neatly trimmed.
"I'm not looking for therapy," she said. "I'm not looking for someone to hold me while I cry. I'm not looking for validation or reassurance or any of the things your other clients probably need." She uncrossed her legs and crossed them again. The movement was deliberate. Performative. "I'm looking for a good fuck. That's it. That's all. I want to be fucked so hard I forget my own name. I want to walk bowlegged tomorrow. I want to feel like a woman instead of a mannequin. Can you do that?"
You set your champagne glass down next to hers. "Safeword?"
"Red."
"Tap-out?"
"Three taps. Anywhere." She cocked her head. "You're very professional. I like that too."
"Part of the service."
"Then let's get started." She stood up. The robe stayed on the sofa, a champagne-colored puddle of silk. "The bedroom's through there. I want you to use every inch of that bed. I want you to use every inch of me. And I want you to stop treating me like I'm going to break." She walked toward the bedroom, her bare feet silent on the thick carpet. At the doorway, she paused and looked back over her shoulder. "I'm not going to break. I promise."
The bedroom was all windows on one side, the city lights spread out below like a circuit board. The bed was king-sized, the sheets white, the pillows arranged in a perfect geometric pattern. Ga Young climbed onto the mattress and positioned herself in the center—on her back, her arms above her head, her legs slightly apart. The pose was deliberate. A parody of submission. The same way she'd done everything so far—with a wink, with a smirk, with the implicit understanding that she was playing a role.
"The last time I had sex," she said, "was my wedding night. He was drunk. I was nervous. It lasted maybe six minutes. He fell asleep immediately afterward, and when I woke up the next morning, he was already on a plane to New York." She looked at the ceiling. "I didn't have an orgasm. I've never had an orgasm with another person. Not once. I'm thirty-four years old, and I've been faking it since I was twenty."
You unbuttoned your shirt. "You don't have to fake anything tonight."
"I know. That's why you're here." She watched you undress with open appraisal, her eyes tracking the movement of your hands. "I've done my research. I know about the agency. I know about Senior Park. I know about the other women you've been with. The idols. The heiresses. The wives. I know you're discreet. I know you're skilled. I know you're exactly what I need."
"Which is?"
She met your eyes. The smirk was gone. For the first time since you'd walked through the door, her expression was completely serious.
"Someone who isn't afraid of me," she said. "Everyone's afraid of me. My husband's afraid of me. My managers are afraid of me. The directors I work with are afraid of me. I'm Moon Ga Young. I'm the nation's sweetheart. I'm the girl next door who's been in a dozen dramas and never had a scandal." Her voice was flat. "People think I'm delicate. They think I'm fragile. They think I need to be protected. No one's ever looked at me and thought—she wants to be destroyed."
"Do you?"
"Yes." The word was barely a whisper. "God, yes. I want to be destroyed. I want to be ruined. I want someone to look at me and see what I really am, not what the cameras see. Not what my husband sees. Not what the public sees." She swallowed. "I want to feel something real. Even if it's pain. Even if it's rough. Especially if it's rough."
You finished undressing. Your clothes made a pile on the floor—shirt, pants, boxers. Your cock was already half-hard, responding to the challenge in her voice, the directness of her gaze. Ga Young looked at you and didn't flinch.
"Good," she said. "Now come here. I've been waiting two years for this. I'm not waiting any longer."
Moon Ga Young watched you undress with the eyes of a woman who'd spent two decades being looked at and had finally decided to do some looking of her own.
"On your knees."
The command landed in the space between you. Her lips curved—not quite a smile, more a recognition. This was what she'd asked for. This was what she'd been waiting two years to receive.
She slid off the bed. The movement was liquid, all those years of dance training and red carpet practice translating into something that looked effortless. Her knees met the carpet with a soft thud. The city lights through the window painted her bare skin in shades of amber and gold.
"Hands behind your back."
She complied. The position made her small breasts lift, the nipples still pale pink and tight. Her eyes stayed on yours. Defiant. Hungry. The smirk was still there, but it had thinned—become something sharper, more expectant.
You picked up the champagne-colored robe from where it had fallen on the sofa. The silk was cool and slippery in your hands. You pulled the sash free with one sharp tug, and the fabric whispered against itself as it came loose.
"Wrists."
Ga Young's smirk flickered. "You're going to tie me up?"
"I'm going to do a lot of things." You crouched behind her, looping the silk around her wrists. Not too tight—you knew the difference between restraint and injury—but snug enough that she'd feel the pull every time she moved. "You said you wanted to be destroyed. Destruction requires surrender. You can't be in control and be ruined at the same time."
"I know." Her voice was quieter now. The bravado was still there, but something else was bleeding through. Something that sounded almost like relief. "I know. That's the point."
You tied the knot. Tested it with two fingers. "Too tight?"
"No."
"Good."
You stood and walked around to face her. From this angle, with her wrists bound behind her back and her knees pressed into the carpet, she looked smaller than before. More vulnerable. The nation's sweetheart, stripped of her armor, kneeling naked in a hotel suite with her pulse visible in her throat.
"Open your mouth."
Ga Young's lips parted. Her tongue was pink, wet, waiting. You took hold of your cock—fully hard now, thick and veined, the head already slick with the first bead of precum—and guided it toward her waiting mouth.
"Wider."
She stretched her jaw. The corners of her lips went taut. You pressed the head against her tongue, and she made a sound—something between a hum and a whimper—as the taste of you filled her mouth.
"Good girl. Now take it. All of it."
You pushed forward.
The first few inches slid in easily. Her tongue moved beneath your shaft—uncertain at first, then finding its rhythm, tracing the ridge of the head, the sensitive spot just beneath. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked. The suction was strong, practiced, the muscle memory of a woman who'd done this before even if it had been years.
Then you pushed deeper.
The head of your cock hit the back of her throat, and Ga Young gagged. The sound was wet and sudden—a choked, spluttering cough that made her whole body convulse. Her bound wrists strained against the silk. Her eyes watered. A thick string of saliva dripped from the corner of her mouth and landed on her chest.
"Don't fight it. Relax your throat."
She tried. You could feel her trying—the way her muscles fluttered around your shaft, the way she forced herself to breathe through her nose. But the gag reflex was strong, and when you pushed another inch deeper, she convulsed again.
"Fuck—" The word came out muffled, garbled around your cock.
You pulled back. Let her gasp. A bridge of saliva connected your shaft to her bottom lip, stretching, then breaking.
"I can't—" She coughed again. "I can't take it all. It's too thick—"
"You can." You grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back. Her throat was exposed now—a long, pale column, the skin delicate and unmarked. "You said you wanted to be ruined. Ruined means taking cock down your throat until you can't breathe. Ruined means gagging and choking and still pushing deeper. Do you understand?"
Ga Young's eyes met yours. They were wet now, the first tears clinging to her lashes. But behind them, something was blazing. Something that looked almost like joy.
"Yes."
"Then open your mouth."
She did. You pushed inside again, and this time you didn't stop. Your cock slid past her tongue, past the soft palate, into the tight grip of her throat. Ga Young's whole body seized. A guttural, choking sound vibrated through your shaft. Her bound hands clawed at the air behind her back. Her throat muscles clamped down around you—spasming, fighting, then slowly, gradually, yielding.
"There you go. Take it. Take all of it."
Your hips met her face. Your cock was buried to the hilt in her throat, and Ga Young's nose was pressed against your pubic bone. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. Could only gag and choke and let the tears stream down her cheeks while you held her there, impaled on your length.
You held the position for a count of five. Then ten. Her face was turning red. Her body was writhing—not fighting, not trying to escape, but writhing with the sheer overwhelming sensation of being so completely filled.
You pulled back.
Ga Young gasped. The inhale was ragged and desperate, followed by a coughing fit that made her whole body shake. Saliva dripped from her chin. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks blotchy, her carefully arranged hair a tangled mess.
"More," she rasped. "Give me more."
You slapped her.
The crack of your palm against her cheek echoed through the suite. Ga Young's head snapped to the side. A red mark bloomed on her pale skin—the shape of your hand, stark and undeniable.
"Did I tell you to speak?"
She shook her head. The defiance was still there, but it was muted now—submerged beneath something deeper. Something that looked almost like peace.
"Then don't speak. Your mouth has one purpose right now. Do you understand?"
She nodded. Her cheek was still red. The tears had multiplied, tracking mascara-less lines down her face.
"Good. Now show me you understand."
She opened her mouth. Leaned forward. Took your cock between her lips with a hunger that bordered on worship. This time, when you pushed into her throat, she didn't gag. She swallowed around you—a deliberate, rhythmic clenching that traveled from her throat to the base of your shaft. The sensation was electric. Your vision swam.
"That's it. That's my good little throat-whore."
She moaned. The vibration traveled through her throat and into your cock, and the pleasure was so intense that your hips bucked involuntarily. You grabbed her head with both hands—fingers tangled in her hair, thumbs pressed against her temples—and began to fuck her face in earnest.
The rhythm was brutal. Deep, driving strokes that bottomed out against the back of her throat with every thrust. The wet sounds were obscene—squelching, choking, gagging, the slap of your balls against her chin. Ga Young's bound hands clenched and unclenched behind her back. Her body swayed with the force of your thrusts. Her eyes were squeezed shut, tears streaming freely, but she never pulled away. Never tapped out. Never gave any signal that she wanted this to stop.
"You love this. You love being used like a toy. Tell me you love it."
She couldn't speak—not with your cock buried in her throat—but she moaned again. The sound was desperate. Affirmative. Broken.
"Then take it. Take every inch. I'm going to come down your throat, and you're going to swallow every drop. Do you understand?"
Another moan. Higher-pitched. Almost frantic.
You fucked her throat faster. The tension was building—a coiling pressure at the base of your spine that spread outward, downward, gathering force with every stroke. Ga Young's throat muscles were fluttering around you now, spasming in rhythm with her muffled moans. Her body was trembling. Her bound hands had gone limp behind her back, all the fight drained out of her.
"I'm close—fuck, I'm close—"
You slammed into her throat one last time and held there. Buried to the hilt. Her nose crushed against your pelvis. Her throat working desperately around your shaft, trying to swallow, trying to breathe, trying to do everything at once.
The orgasm hit you like a freight train.
The first pulse of cum shot directly down her throat—thick, hot, copious. You felt her swallow reflexively, the muscles of her esophagus contracting around your shaft. The second pulse followed immediately, and the third, and the fourth, each one painting her throat white with your seed. You kept your grip on her head, holding her in place, making sure she couldn't pull away until every last drop was drained.
"Swallow. All of it."
She did. You felt her throat constrict again and again, gulping down your cum with an eagerness that bordered on desperation. When you finally pulled back, a thick string of saliva and semen connected your cock to her bottom lip. Ga Young's mouth hung open. Her tongue was coated white. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, staring at something only she could see.
She swallowed once more. Licked her lips. The taste of you was still on her tongue, and she savored it—closing her eyes, letting out a small, satisfied hum.
"Thank you," she whispered.
The words were hoarse. Fucked-raw. Barely audible. But the gratitude in them was real.
"We're not done."
Ga Young's eyes opened. The smirk was back—smaller now, more fragile, but still there. "I know."
You untied her wrists. The silk sash left faint red marks on her skin—nothing that would bruise, nothing that would last, but enough to remind her tomorrow of what had happened tonight. She rubbed her wrists absently. Then she looked up at you, and the question in her eyes was clear: What now?
"Against the wall."
She rose. Her legs were unsteady—the long minutes of kneeling had left her knees red, her thighs trembling. She crossed to the floor-to-ceiling window and pressed her palms against the glass. The city lights glittered below, indifferent to the scene unfolding above them. Her reflection stared back at her—naked, disheveled, marked.
"Spread your legs."
She did. The position opened her completely—the long line of her spine, the curve of her ass, the dark cleft between her cheeks. Her cunt was visible from this angle, the lips swollen and glistening. She was wet. Had been wet since the moment you'd pushed into her throat, probably. Maybe since the moment you'd walked through the door.
You stepped behind her. Your left hand found her throat—not squeezing, not yet, just resting there, a reminder of who was in control. Your right hand slid down her back, over the curve of her ass, between her cheeks. You spread her open, exposing the tight pink knot of her asshole, the darker, wetter flesh of her cunt below.
"Look at you. Moon Ga Young. The nation's sweetheart. Bent over against a hotel window with her cunt dripping and her throat full of cum. What would your fans think?"
"I don't care." Her voice was raw, almost defiant. "I don't care what they think. I don't care what anyone thinks. Just fuck me. Please. Fuck me like you mean it."
You tightened your grip on her throat. Not enough to cut off air—just enough to make her feel the pressure. Just enough to remind her that you could.
"Beg."
"Please." The word came out strangled. "Please fuck me. I've been waiting two years. Two years of empty beds and empty phone calls and pretending I'm fine when I'm dying inside. Please. I need this. I need you. I need your cock inside me. I need to feel something real. Please—"
You thrust into her cunt in one brutal motion.
Ga Young screamed.
The sound was raw and animal—nothing like the polished, controlled voice she used in interviews. This was a scream torn from somewhere deep inside her, a scream that had been building for two years and finally found its release. Her cunt was tight—tighter than you'd expected, the walls clenching around your shaft with a force that made your breath catch. She was soaked, though, and the slick heat of her made the brutal entry possible.
"Oh fuck—oh fuck—you're so deep—"
You didn't give her time to adjust. You pulled back and slammed forward again, harder than before. The impact made her palms squeak against the glass. Her breasts pressed against the window, leaving smears of sweat on the pristine surface. Your left hand stayed on her throat, your right hand gripping her hip, and you fucked her with a rhythm that was punishing.
"This is what you wanted. This is what you begged for. To be fucked like an animal. To be used like a toy. To be ruined."
"Yes—yes—harder—"
You gave her harder. The wet sounds of her cunt filled the suite—squelching, slapping, the rhythmic thud of your hips meeting her ass. You could see her reflection in the window—her mouth open, her eyes half-closed, her cheeks flushed and tear-streaked. The idol image was gone. Completely obliterated. What was left was just a woman, raw and desperate, taking cock like she'd been starving for it.
You tightened your grip on her throat. Squeezed. Not enough to cut off her air entirely, but enough to make her lightheaded. Enough to make the edges of her vision go dark. Ga Young's eyes rolled back. Her mouth opened wider. A strangled sound escaped her—half moan, half gasp.
"That's it. Feel that? Feel how deep I am? Feel how full you are? This is what you needed. Not the fame. Not the money. Not the perfect husband who never touches you. This. Just this. Just a cock in your cunt and someone who knows how to use it."
"YES—YES—THIS IS—"
You released her throat. She gasped—a huge, ragged inhale that made her whole body shudder. Then you grabbed her hips with both hands and fucked her even harder. The pace was brutal now—piston-like, relentless, each thrust driving her against the window with a force that made the glass vibrate. Her ass rippled with every impact. Her breasts bounced. Her reflection stared back at her with wild eyes and a slack mouth, and she looked at herself like she didn't recognize what she was seeing.
"Look at yourself. Look at what you've become. You're not an actress right now. You're not a wife. You're just a wet hole. A set of holes. A body that exists to be fucked. Do you see her?"
"I see her—" Ga Young's voice was broken, sobbing. "I see her—I see myself—"
"And what do you see?"
"A whore." The word came out on a sob. "A desperate, dripping whore who's been neglected for two years and finally has a cock inside her. I see a whore. I see a whore. I see—"
You felt her cunt seize around you. The orgasm was sudden and violent—a convulsive, full-body spasm that made her back arch and her legs give out. You caught her before she collapsed, pinning her against the window with your body, and kept fucking her through it. The clenching of her walls was rhythmic, almost painful in its intensity, milking your shaft from base to tip.
"That's it—that's it—come on my cock—come while you're watching yourself—"
"I'm coming—I'm coming—oh god, I'm—"
She squirted. The fluid gushed around your cock, soaking your thighs, splashing against the window, dripping down the glass in long, obscene rivulets. Ga Young's scream was wordless, primal, a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than her throat. Her body convulsed in your arms. Her cunt pulsed and fluttered around your shaft, and the sensation was so intense that you felt your own orgasm building—a tightening pressure at the base of your spine.
But you weren't done.
You pulled out of her. Ga Young whimpered at the emptiness. Her cunt gaped for a moment, then clenched around nothing, gushing another pulse of fluid onto the carpet. You turned her around—roughly, hands on her shoulders, spinning her like a doll—and pushed her back against the window. Her shoulder blades hit the glass. Her eyes were wild, unfocused, still hazy from the orgasm.
"Hold onto me."
Her arms wrapped around your neck. Her legs wrapped around your waist. You gripped her thighs and lifted her, positioning her cunt above your cock, and thrust inside her in one smooth motion.
Ga Young's head fell back against the glass. "Oh ffffuuuuck—"
"You wanted to be ruined. I'm not finished ruining you."
You fucked her against the window. The position was different—deeper, somehow, the angle letting you hit spots inside her that you hadn't reached before. Ga Young's moans were continuous now, a stream of broken syllables and guttural sounds that didn't belong to any language. Her nails dug into your shoulders. Her heels pressed into the small of your back. Her cunt was a mess—slick and swollen and pulsing, still gushing intermittently with the aftershocks of her orgasm.
"Harder—please—harder—"
You slammed into her. The window rattled. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered that there were probably people in the building across the street, people with binoculars, people who might be watching. Let them watch. Let them see what Moon Ga Young looked like when she was being fucked properly. Let them see the nation's sweetheart with her legs wrapped around a stranger, her cunt dripping down his thighs, her mouth open in a scream that had no end.
"Look at me."
She forced her eyes to focus. They were glassy, tear-filled, but they met yours.
"You're going to come again. You're going to come on this cock while I'm choking you. And you're going to watch yourself in the reflection while you do it. Do you understand?"
"Yes—yes—"
Your left hand found her throat again. Squeezed. Harder this time. Ga Young's face began to flush. Her lips parted. Her eyes rolled back. But she didn't tap out. Didn't signal. Didn't do anything except moan—a thin, wheezing sound that vibrated against your palm.
"That's it. Let go. Let yourself fall."
You fucked her harder. The rhythm was punishing—deep, driving strokes that bottomed out against her cervix with every thrust. Your right hand found her clit, the swollen bundle of nerves slick and hard under your fingertip. You pressed down. Circled. Ga Young's body convulsed.
Her orgasm hit like an explosion.
This one was different from the first—quieter, deeper, more devastating. Her cunt clamped down on your cock with a force that almost hurt. Her whole body went rigid, every muscle locked, every breath held. Then the release came, and it came with a flood. Her cunt gushed around your shaft—not just wetness this time, but a clear, copious fluid that sprayed against your thighs and soaked the carpet beneath you.
"Fuuuuuuuck—"
Her voice broke on the word. Her body went limp. Completely limp. She collapsed against you, her head falling onto your shoulder, her arms sliding from your neck. Her cunt was still pulsing weakly around your cock—little flutters of sensation that traveled up your shaft.
You released her throat. She gasped—a huge, ragged inhale—and then she started to laugh.
It wasn't a happy laugh. It wasn't bitter, either. It was the laugh of a woman who'd been holding something inside for years and had finally, finally let it out. The laugh turned into sobs, and the sobs turned into silence, and through all of it you held her against the window, your cock still buried inside her, your hands gentle on her back.
She kept saying it. Over and over. Like a prayer. Like a confession. Like the only words she had left.
You carried her to the bed. Laid her down on the white sheets. Her body was marked—red impressions of your fingers on her throat, faint bruises already forming on her hips, her cunt swollen and gaping and still leaking onto the mattress. She looked up at you with eyes that were clearer than they'd been all night.
"Stay," she said. "Please. Just until I fall asleep."
You climbed into the bed beside her. Pulled the sheets over both of you. Ga Young curled against your chest, her face pressed into the hollow of your throat, her breath warm on your skin.
"I haven't felt this alive in years," she murmured. "I haven't felt anything in years."
"Feel it now."
She did. Her breathing slowed. Her body relaxed. The tension that had been coiled in her muscles since the moment you'd walked through the door finally, fully released.
Outside the window, the city glittered on, indifferent and eternal. Inside the suite, Moon Ga Young closed her eyes, and for the first time in two years, she slept without dreaming of being somewhere else.
The morning light through the Signiel's floor-to-ceiling windows was the color of honey. It pooled on the white sheets, caught the edge of the champagne flute still sitting on the coffee table, painted Ga Young's bare shoulder in shades of gold.
She was still asleep.
Her breathing was slow and even, her face half-buried in the pillow, her dark hair fanned across the cotton like spilled ink. The marks from last night were already fading—the faint impressions on her throat, the bruises on her hips. In sleep, she looked younger. Softer. The sharp, sardonic edge that had defined her when you'd walked through the door had melted away, replaced by something unguarded.
You slid out of bed carefully. The sheets whispered against your skin. Ga Young stirred but didn't wake—just shifted, her hand reaching out to the empty space where you'd been, her fingers curling around nothing.
You dressed in silence. Shirt. Pants. Belt. The routine was automatic, muscle memory from a dozen similar mornings. The suite was quiet except for the distant hum of the HVAC system and the soft shush of traffic eighty floors below. Your shoes were by the sofa where you'd kicked them off. You bent to pick them up.
"Where are you going?"
The voice was sleep-roughened but still unmistakably hers—that smoky, noir-film cadence that made everything sound like a secret. You turned.
Ga Young was sitting up in bed. The sheet had fallen to her waist. Her hair was a tangled mess, her eyes still puffy from sleep and last night's tears. She looked nothing like the polished actress from the dramas. She looked like a woman who'd been thoroughly fucked and had slept better than she had in years.
"Home," you said. "You were asleep. I didn't want to wake you."
She laughed. The sound was low and warm and entirely unselfconscious. "Nuh uh." She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, crossing the room toward you with the sheet still trailing behind her like a train. "I'm still your client. The weekend, remember? You're not going anywhere."
She reached you and wrapped her arms around your waist from behind. Her cheek pressed against your spine. Her bare breasts flattened against your back, and the warmth of her body seeped through your shirt. She smelled like sex and sleep and the faint floral remnants of whatever expensive soap the Signiel stocked in its bathrooms.
"Ga Young—"
"Shh." Her arms tightened. "You're not leaving. Not yet. Not until I say so."
The suite door clicked open.
You heard it before you saw it—the soft sound of the electronic lock disengaging, followed by the whoosh of the door swinging on its hinges. Two voices drifted in from the hallway, mid-laugh, the kind of easy, familiar laughter that came from years of friendship.
"—and then he said, 'That's not a prop, that's my actual—'" The voice cut off.
Karina stood in the doorway.
Wonyoung was right behind her.
They were both carrying shopping bags—the discreet, expensive kind that came from boutiques in Cheongdam-dong, the logos embossed in subtle gold foil. They were both wearing black outerwear—Karina in a long trench coat, Wonyoung in a cropped leather jacket—and they were both staring at you with expressions that shifted from surprise to recognition to something else entirely.
Something hungrier.
"Unnie!" Ga Young's voice was delighted. She released you and stepped around, completely unbothered by her nudity, the sheet slipping from her shoulders and pooling on the floor. "You're early. I thought you weren't coming until noon."
Karina's eyes flicked from you to Ga Young and back again. A slow smile spread across her face. "We wanted to surprise you." She stepped into the suite, and Wonyoung followed, closing the door behind her. "But it looks like you're the one with the surprise."
"Wait." You looked at Ga Young. Then at Karina. Then at Wonyoung. "You three know each other?"
"We're best friends." Wonyoung's voice was light, almost teasing. She set her shopping bag down on the console table by the door. "We've been best friends for years. Since trainee days. Did you really think it was a coincidence that we all ended up calling the same agency?"
"We talk," Karina said. She was still smiling, but there was something sharper beneath it—a blade hidden in silk. "We talk about everything. The husbands. The loneliness. The emptiness." She paused. "The men we hire to make us feel alive again."
Ga Young had retrieved her robe from the floor—the champagne-colored silk, still wrinkled from last night—and was tying it loosely around her waist. "When I heard that Karina unnie had found someone who actually made her come, I had to see for myself. And then Wonyoungie called me the next morning, practically glowing, and I knew." She turned to you, her eyes bright. "I knew I had to book you. And I knew I had to make it a weekend."
"A weekend?"
"Senior Park didn't tell you?" Karina's trench coat was already unbelted. She shrugged it off her shoulders, and it slid to the floor in a whisper of black fabric. Beneath it, she was wearing lingerie—not the practical black lace from your first encounter, but something deliberately chosen. A deep burgundy set, the color of aged wine, the bra cupping her breasts in a way that made them look fuller, the panties high-cut and sheer. "This booking is for all three of us. The whole weekend. Friday to Sunday."
Wonyoung was unzipping her leather jacket. Her movements were slower than Karina's, more deliberate, but no less confident. The jacket came off, and beneath it was a pale lavender set—the color soft against her skin, the fabric delicate, almost bridal. The contrast between the innocent lingerie and the knowing look in her eyes was intentional. You could see it in the way she tilted her head, the way she watched you watching her.
"Three clients," she said. "Three women who need to be reminded what it feels like to be touched." She stepped closer. "Three women who've been talking about you for weeks."
On the coffee table, you noticed for the first time a folded piece of paper. It was propped against the champagne bottle, your name written on the front in Senior Park's precise, old-fashioned handwriting. You crossed to it and picked it up.
Your client for this weekend is the three of them. They've been planning this for a month. Don't disappoint them. — SP
You swallowed.
The sound was audible in the quiet suite. Ga Young heard it and laughed—that same low, warm laugh from before. "Nervous? The man who made me come twice against a window is nervous?"
"Not nervous." You folded the note and tucked it into your pocket. "Just… recalibrating."
"Recalibrate faster." Karina had crossed the room to stand beside Ga Young. The two of them together were a study in contrasts—Karina's burgundy against Ga Young's champagne, the idol's sharp, aggressive beauty against the actress's delicate, knowing allure. "We've been waiting a long time for this. All three of us. We've been planning it ever since Wonyoungie called me the morning after your session."
"I didn't just call her." Wonyoung had moved to your other side, bracketing you between the three of them. Her lavender lingerie made her skin look luminous, the pale tea-colored nipples visible through the sheer fabric. "I told her everything. Everything you did. Everything you said. Every way you made me feel." Her voice dropped, became something softer, more intimate. "And she told me what you did with her. And then Ga Young unnie said she wanted to find out for herself, and we decided—why not all three of us? Why not a weekend?"
"Because none of us has ever had this." Ga Young's hand found your shoulder. Her fingers traced the line of your collarbone through your shirt. "None of us has ever had a man who knew what he was doing. Who cared about making us feel good. Who looked at us like we were women instead of objects." She paused. "We wanted to share you. Just for a weekend. Just to remember what it feels like."
"To be alive," Karina said.
"To be wanted," Wonyoung added.
"To be fucked properly," Ga Young finished.
The three of them were close now. Close enough that you could smell them—Karina's perfume, something floral and expensive; Wonyoung's shampoo, jasmine and vanilla; Ga Young's skin, still warm from sleep, still carrying the faint musk of last night's sex. They were looking at you with the same expression. The same hunger. The same desperate, aching need that you'd seen in each of them individually but never all at once.
"Take off your shirt," Karina said.
The command was soft but firm. The same voice she'd used when she'd first welcomed you to her mansion, but stripped of the nervousness now. This was a woman who'd spent three weeks waiting for this moment. This was a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.
You unbuttoned your shirt. Slowly. Deliberately. The three of them watched every movement—the slide of each button through its hole, the parting of the fabric, the reveal of your chest. When you shrugged the shirt off your shoulders, Wonyoung made a small sound—a quiet, involuntary hum of appreciation.
"His body is different in the daylight," she murmured. "I couldn't see it properly last time. It was dark. I was…" She swallowed. "I was distracted."
"You were crying," Ga Young said. Not unkindly. Just matter-of-fact. "You told me you cried."
"I did. I cried a lot." Wonyoung's eyes met yours. "But I also came. Twice. The first real orgasms of my life."
"Mine too." Karina's voice was quieter now. "The first real ones. The only real ones."
Ga Young's hand slid from your shoulder to your chest. Her palm was warm against your skin. "And I came twice last night. The first time I've ever come with a partner. The first time I've ever come without faking it." Her fingers traced the line of your pectoral, down to your abdomen. "So you see, we have a lot to thank you for. And a lot more we want to experience."
"Together," Karina said.
"Together," Wonyoung echoed.
The word hung in the air between you. Together. Three women who'd spent years being neglected, being ignored, being treated like accessories to their husbands' careers. Three women who'd found each other in the loneliness and decided to do something about it. Three women who were looking at you now with the same expression—expectant, hungry, alive.
"Are you going to be able to handle all three of us?" Ga Young's voice was teasing, but there was a genuine question beneath the playfulness. "We're not going to be gentle with you. We've been planning this for a month. We have… ideas."
"Three days," Karina said. "Three women. One man." She stepped closer, close enough that her breasts—still encased in that burgundy lace—brushed against your arm. "Think you can keep up?"
"Senior Park seemed to think so." You looked at the note still folded in your pocket. "He wouldn't have booked me if he didn't."
"Senior Park is a smart man." Wonyoung had moved behind you. Her hands found your shoulders, her fingers pressing into the muscle, kneading gently. "He told us you were the best. He told us you could handle anything. He told us you wouldn't break."
"I won't break."
"Good." Ga Young's hand was still on your chest, her thumb tracing idle circles over your sternum. "Because we're not going to break you. We're going to use you. All three of us. However we want. Whenever we want. For the whole weekend." She looked up at you, and her eyes were dark and serious despite the smile playing at the corner of her lips. "Is that understood?"
"Understood."
"Good boy." She patted your chest and stepped back. "Then let's get started. The bedroom's big enough for all four of us. I checked."
She turned and walked toward the bedroom, the champagne robe trailing behind her like a whisper. Karina followed, her hips swaying with that dancer's grace she'd never lost despite years away from the stage. Wonyoung released your shoulders and moved around you, her lavender lingerie pale against the gray walls of the suite, and when she reached the bedroom doorway, she looked back over her shoulder.
"Are you coming?"
The question was simple. The answer was simpler.
You followed them into the bedroom.
The bed was still rumpled from the night before—the sheets twisted, the pillows scattered, the faint impressions of Ga Young's body still visible on the mattress. The morning light was stronger here, flooding through the windows, making everything look clean and bright and new. The three women arranged themselves on the bed with the ease of long practice—Ga Young in the center, propped against the headboard; Karina on her left, sitting cross-legged with her burgundy lingerie stark against the white sheets; Wonyoung on her right, her long legs stretched out in front of her, her lavender set a soft contrast to the sharper colors around her.
They looked at you. Waiting.
"Clothes off," Ga Young said. "All of them. We want to see what we're working with."
You unbuckled your belt. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Three pairs of eyes tracked the movement of your hands—the slide of leather through the buckle, the pop of the button, the hiss of the zipper. Your pants fell to the floor. Your boxers followed.
Your cock was already half-hard. Responding to the attention, the anticipation, the sheer overwhelming presence of three beautiful women watching you undress. Ga Young's eyes flicked down, then up again. The corner of her mouth twitched.
"He's bigger than I remembered," Karina murmured.
"He's thicker than I remembered," Wonyoung added.
"And he knows how to use it." Ga Young's voice was satisfied. "He used it in my throat last night. And in my cunt. And against the window." She gestured at the glass, still faintly smeared from where her body had pressed against it. "I left a mark."
"So did I." Wonyoung's voice was soft, almost wistful. "At my penthouse. On the sheets. I haven't washed them yet. I keep thinking I should, but I can't bring myself to do it."
"I know what you mean." Karina's eyes met yours. "I still have the sheets from my first time with him. They're in the back of my closet. Joon-ho never goes in there. He never goes anywhere in that house except his study and his bedroom." She paused. "He has his own bedroom. We've always had separate bedrooms. He said it was better for his sleep."
"Seok-joong has his own apartment." Wonyoung's voice was flat. "He lives there with his current girlfriend. A trainee. She's nineteen."
"My husband has his own continent." Ga Young's laugh was bitter. "He's been to Seoul for six weeks in two years. Six weeks. He's probably slept with half of Manhattan in that time."
The three of them were quiet for a moment. The morning light poured through the windows, and the city glittered below, and the three women on the bed were looking at each other with an expression that was part grief and part fury and part something else—something that looked almost like hope.
Then Ga Young shook her head. "No. No more talking about husbands. That's not what this weekend is for." She looked at you, and the fire was back in her eyes. "This weekend is for us. For pleasure. For release. For everything we've been denied." She patted the mattress beside her. "Come here. It's time to earn your paycheck."
You climbed onto the bed.
The mattress dipped beneath your weight. The three women shifted to accommodate you—Ga Young making room in the center, Karina and Wonyoung flanking her on either side. You ended up face-to-face with Ga Young, close enough to see the faint lines around her eyes, the small scar on her chin from some childhood accident, the way her pupils were already dilating with anticipation.
"Kiss me," she said. "Kiss me, and then kiss them. We've been waiting. We've all been waiting."
You kissed her.
It was different from last night's kisses. Last night had been about dominance—the rough press of lips, the battle for control, the assertion of power. This kiss was slower. More deliberate. A kiss of greeting rather than conquest. Ga Young's lips parted beneath yours, and her tongue met yours with a soft, exploratory touch. She tasted like sleep and champagne and something indefinably her.
When you pulled back, she was smiling. "Now Karina."
You turned. Karina was watching you with dark eyes, her burgundy lingerie stretched tight across her breasts, her breathing already uneven. She didn't wait for you to lean in. She closed the distance herself, her hands coming up to frame your face, her kiss hungry and urgent and full of three weeks of waiting.
"It's been too long," she whispered against your mouth. "Three weeks. Three weeks of thinking about you. Three weeks of touching myself and pretending it was your hands."
"And now?"
"Now I don't have to pretend." She kissed you again—quick and fierce—then pulled back. "Wonyoung's turn."
Wonyoung was the shyest of the three. She'd been hesitant last night, tentative in the penthouse, uncertain about what she was allowed to do. But now she leaned in with more confidence, her lips brushing yours with a gentleness that was almost teasing. Her hand found your chest, her palm flat against your sternum, feeling your heartbeat.
"I've been thinking about you too," she murmured. "Every night. Every morning. I've been thinking about what you did to me. What you made me feel." She kissed you again—longer this time, deeper. "I want to feel it again. All of it. Everything."
"You will."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
She smiled. The expression transformed her face—made her look younger, lighter, more like the idol she'd been before the marriage and the neglect and the loneliness. "Good. Then let's get started. Ga Young unnie's been waiting the longest. She should get the first turn."
"Agreed." Karina was already shifting on the bed, repositioning herself to give Ga Young more room. "We've got three days. We can take our time."
"Three days," Ga Young echoed. She was lying back against the pillows now, her champagne robe falling open, her body bare and waiting. "Three days, three women, one man." She looked up at you, and her smile was sharp and hungry and full of promise. "Let's see what you're made of."
"It’s fifty-fifty. It either happens or it doesn’t."
You set your glass down on the table so hard it nearly cracks. "It is not fifty-fifty."
She shrugs—Chaewon’s quintessential uncaring attitude about anything you say—as she falls down into the couch. "But it is, though." She pops open another beer like she hasn’t had enough to drink already.
She always does this. Chooses some ridiculously wrong position to dig her heels in. Like if she just believes it to be true, the universe will bend to her will out of sheer exasperation. You should just ignore it, and just let her believe what she wants to believe. There really is no point to it with her. You drag a hand down your face, because you've been here before. You’re always here. There is a universe where you’ve been having this argument since the dawn of time. Monty Hall sits upon his cosmic throne and watches you suffer.
"You pick a door," she says, holding up one finger like she's making a serious mathematical point and not actively committing a war crime against logic. "And then Monty—whoever the fuck he is—opens another door. And now there’s two left. So, you know. Fifty-fifty. You either win the prize or you don’t win shit."
“You’re a fucking idiot.”
And she still doesn’t care. If anything, she revels in your frustration, grinning and taking a lazy sip from her beer.
“I thought you liked your girls a little stupid,” she muses. You like Chaewon. Always have; since before her rejection and until now.
She might be onto something.
“That’s what I saw earlier at the club, anyway,” she mumbles, and it’s pointed, a sharp dagger concealed by a hushed voice.
You pay it no mind. It’s just Chaewon being Chaewon. Doing everything in her power to annoy the fuck out of you. You shake your head. “I like my girls with a basic understanding of probability.”
She hums, her gaze dragging over you, and it lingers. Long. Too long. So long it’s causing the alcohol induced haze to retreat from your brain. Then she just smiles again, takes another sip, and the buzz is back.
Chaewon stretches, arms flexed into a peak above her head, sliding against the backrest of the couch, her head landing against the armrest of the couch opposite of where you're sitting. Her legs stretch out off of the floor, her dress riding up, clinging to and stretching on her hips.
It’s a performance, designed to squeeze out resistance from any sap that would dare defy her. It’s impossible to tell if this is just Chaewon’s purest form, her instincts kicking in to naturally make any man submit, or if it’s a carefully crafted weapon, deliberately utilised and aimed with immaculate precision. Either way, it’s fucking lethal.
Lace-trimmed thigh-high covered feet land in your lap, crossed. You glance down at them. Stifle a thought of fucking the exposed part of skin right below her dress and above her socks. Breathe out through your nose, annoyed.
She sees. She was waiting for you to see, to be more exact.
“What?” she asks, but she knows the answer. Feigning innocence, but the chances of it convincing you are slim. “Is the view not to your liking?”
You flick your eyes up to meet hers. Flat. Unamused. Stern. “Jesus, Chaewon.”
She cocks a half smile, hands up in the air like she’s being put under arrest but confident she can flirt her way out of it. “Relax. It’s just a joke.‘
Right. Just a joke. One she’s been playing at for far too long now. One you’re absolutely not in the mood for tonight. One that is quintessentially Chaewon. Mean. Sloppy. Reckless.
That’s what alcohol does to her. She gets all handsy and touchy and feely, disregarding any feelings or reservations you’d have about being touched meaninglessly by the girl that didn’t want you.
And the joke is not exclusive to you either. You’ve seen her like this before, with other guys. Hands on their shoulders and theirs on her hips, leaning in too close, laughing too loud. It’s just her usual mess. It doesn’t mean anything.
She’s warm, just warm enough that you can feel her through your clothes. But warm enough to make you fear the sparks could ignite something that shouldn’t be. Before you can have any more prohibited thoughts, you shift, trying to nudge her legs off of you.
She doesn’t budge. Deliberately. Straight up refuses to even acknowledge the attempt.
You sigh. “Get your legs off of me.”
Chaewon blinks at you, lashes fluttering faster than your heart can beat, her lips pouting— a poor substitute for saying she can’t believe you’d say that to someone this cute. She chuckles, transforms it into a smirk, and tilts her head.
“Make me.”
She presses the arch of her foot against your crotch. It’s right on target. Light. Testing. Provocating.
It’s impossible not to react. You could sit here, not do anything, let her rub your hardening cock through your pants a bit, enjoy the feeling of her getting you worked up. But that’s not what this is about. You know this pattern. As soon as you acknowledge it, it stops, and even if it didn’t, it would all be meaningless.
So you react. You grab her ankle, and shove her legs off of you.
She lets out a soft “oh,” before laughing, low and amused. She works herself back up right, shifting her legs underneath her, but she doesn’t look the slightest bit deterred.
“Wow,” she mocks. “Sensitive.”
You roll your eyes, reaching for your drink. It’s water. Unlike Chaewon, you know when to quit, much to her annoyance. “Stop being weird and focus.”
“I am focused!” she retorts, all tension and energy. “Are you focused?” she says finally, slow, saccharine, like honey that's taking its sweet time to drip from a spoon into your mouth. “Not too distracted by how fuckable I look in this dress?”
You don’t acknowledge it. Again, no point. You set your glass down with a deliberate clink— any noise to replace what she just asked—then reach for three random objects on the coffee table; her phone, a book, and a coaster.
“We’re settling this tonight.”
She puts her beer back on the table, folds her hands in her lap, and sits with her whole body pointed at you. She shakes her body loose with slight movements. Then, slowly, she smiles.
“Please,” she says, voice sultry and teasing. “Teach me a lesson, professor.”
You’ve probably explained the theory to Chaewon more times than there are episodes of the show that inspired the discussion. It’s time for a practical run-through. You grab the three nearest things you can find and leave standing upright to function as make-shift doors—your phone, your glass of water, and a book Chaewon has been quipping from for the past month, How to Date Men When You Hate Men—and you form a neat row of three. “Let’s drill it into your skull. Three doors. One has a prize. Pick one.”
And for all the effort you put in, she barely looks. Eyes on you, finger pointing in a different direction. “The book.”
“Right, and that was a random choice out of three, meaning—”
“That I was either right or I was wrong. Fifty-fifty.” She shrugs, and shuts the door on this method of having her understand.
She’s perfectly frustrating. “it’s not fifty-fifty—”
She shifts the opposite way from her previous slide, her head landing in your lap. Her cheek rests against your thigh, and her provocation pokes at your heart. She gazes up at you, lashes fluttering a hypnotic rhythm. “This is more comfortable. Keep going.”
How could you?
“Chaewon.”
She hums, but she doesn’t acknowledge your protest. “What? Does having a cute girl’s face this close to your dick make you nervous?”
Ignore it. If you acknowledge it, it only gets worse. You push it down, she’ll eventually grow bored, and as long as the boulder doesn’t slip from your hands, you’ll be done with this forever. “Okay, so now, Monty—”
“You’re looking a little serious,” she muses, herself looking anything but. “Would you look like that while getting head? All furrowed brows, all focused?” Her lips curve deviously like the curveballs she’s throwing you. “Or would you be more relaxed? I can go deep, you know. No need to worry about me.”
Every cell in your body is telling you to push back, take her up on what she’s offering, and let her ruin this night. But you know. You’d get your hopes up, but she’d just call it a silly joke. Keep ignoring it. She’ll get bored.
You take a slow breath. Slow down your rhythm. “Are you done? Monty opens a door that isn’t the prize. That leaves two doors with potential. Your first pick was only right one-third of the time, so if you switch—”
“Aaaah.” Her mouth opens, tongue peeking out like a landing strip, eyes fluttering shut like she’s waiting for you to shove your cock inside.
That’s it.
You shove her off, not rough, but firm, standing up from the couch you might have sunk in immediately. “Can you cut it the fuck out?”
She’s back upright, giggling, back landing against the couch, legs curled beneath her. “What’s wrong? Blood rushing away from your head?”
“Do you ever stop?”
Her arms stretch over her head again, and you’re starting to see a pattern with the way her dress is stretching against her hips. “Not when I’m having fun.”
It’s maddening. Talking with Chaewon is selecting a door, continuing to talk with her is being shown the wrong door and choosing to take it willingly. “You really don’t care how frustrating you make the Monty Hall problem, do you?”
She smirks. She must think she has it all figured out. “I already told you. Either something happens, or it doesn’t. Fifty-fifty, dude.”
“That’s really not how probability works.”
“That’s how life works.”
You shake your head, and accompany it with an equally disappointed sigh. “You just don’t want to admit when you’ve made the wrong choice.”
She stills, and it’s eerie. It shouldn’t have happened. Then, like a mask slipping back, she recovers with a sly grin. “Or maybe I just like my way better.”
Before you can argue, she makes her move, getting up, pressing against your arm, chest squishy, warm and deliberate against you. “But you can explain it to me as many times as you want.”
She’s impossible. “Chaewon—”
And she leaves no room for response. “Go on,” she purrs, pushing her tits smush against your bicep, molding around the way your muscles tense. “Teach me.”
Your patience and her dress have one thing in common. They’re both razor-thin. “I mean it.”
She hums, and she smiles, and she’s convinced you’re going to give in any second now. “Not a fan anymore of me touching you?” Her voice drops, all warmth and provocation. “Would you rather reverse the roles, have you touch me? Be careful. I’m sensitive.”
Your fingers wrap around her wrist, pulling it high with a firm and stern motion. “Cut it out.”
She clicks her tongue, and scowls in return. The joke is over, and you ruined her fun. “You liked it plenty when that slut at the club was all over you.”
“That’s different,” you say, your jaw tightening up. She knows it is, and it’s not fair. Does she think she can get away with it just because you’ve got a thing for her? Or, used to have, you try to convince yourself.
She’s so clearly unimpressed it’s almost hurtful. It wasn’t a lie though. It was different, that girl at the club never tore your heart out. But none of that matters when Chaewon wants to have her fun. She scoffs. “Must’ve been nice. You didn’t even flinch when she touched you. Just leaned into her, didn’t push her away like you do with me.”
You don’t answer. You let go of her wrist, sit back down, unsure what to make if anything yourself. You could have gone home with ‘that slut’. Had a great evening. Instead, you’re here, keeping your promise to Chaewon that you’d make sure she got home safe, wasting another night on a girl that should have long been in your past already.
That same girl plants both her knees next to yours on the couch, dress creeping above her hips, exposing the slightest hint of black and lace panties straddling your lap, settling against you.
You hate how right she feels here.
She rocks her hips down, just slightly, just testing the waters. And like an experienced professional, the joke’s back on. “You sure you don’t want to have a little fun?”
Your hands clamp around her waist—not pulling her closer. Pushing her off.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t resist. Just concedes as the distance grows.
“Come on,” she murmurs, trying to make sense of it all. “You used to love looking at me.”
Your arm extends fully, pushing her as far as your body allows. “That was a long time ago.”
She lets out a small scoff, more hurt than the lost one, finally relenting and shifting off your lap. The joke is no longer fun for anyone in this room.
You just have to bite the bullet. Separate her from yourself, let the alcohol fade from her system and figure out what to do after that. “Go to bed,” you exhale sharply, a forced sense of finality in your voice. “I’ll sleep here, and be gone before you wake up.”
Chaewon stares at you like you just suggested the unthinkable. Her eye twitches, a habit you’ve long learned to associate with her being so upset that something is going to break. Then, she exhales sharper than you did, standing up. “Fine. Whatever.”
She turns, stomping toward her bedroom, her pumps exploding with sound every step of the way. “It’s still fucking fifty-fifty, by the way!” she yells, right before she slams the door.
It’s suddenly silent. Silent enough to hear your heartbeat going crazy.
She’ll calm down soon enough. Hopefully.
The heat of her body still burns against you, scorching where she was pressed against you. But if you ran after her now, you’d get burned alive. You rub your hands down your face, sinking into the couch, staring into the ceiling as you mentally prepare for what’s bound to be a sleepless night. There’s no escaping those as long as Chaewon is a part of your life.
----------------------------------------
Sleep doesn’t come.
You want to blame it on the horrible way this couch is digging into your back. Or the sounds of the city being ever present. Or the dim glow of some street lights seeping into the living room through Chaewon’s curtains that never managed to fully close. But comfort isn’t the issue.
It’s your damn mind, that can’t shut the fuck up.
Too many thoughts, all tangled together like a string of memories that wrapped around itself far too many times. Her hands, her voice, her weight in your lap. Her unusually prickly temper, and her enhanced sloppiness.
It all feels too fucking familiar, and the moment you admit that, there’s no holding it back.
It started as a night much like this one. You and Chaewon, at her place, sitting too close for friends but too far apart for lovers. Laughing at everything and nothing. Drinking just enough to make the lines blur. You had thought—maybe. Hopefully.
And for a moment, you know, you had been right. It seemed like the kind of night you’d eventually be able to tell your kids about. An edited version, to cut out the once-in-a-lifetime pounding you intended to give her, but still, magical in its own way.
The way she let you kiss her. The way she kissed you back. The way her eyelashes fluttered to pull you into the kiss. How her left thigh rode up yours. The way her fingers locked behind the nape of your neck. The way you told her you liked her.
Then the way she pulled back. The hesitation in her eyes. The way her voice broke when she said “I don’t think we should do this.”
The way a crack formed on your heart, barely being pushed together by the rest of your more logical organs as you forced yourself to nod and agree, to act like it was fine. Like you were fine. Like you hadn’t just managed to secure the right door, only to be forced to step into the wrong one.
And the way your heart formed a second crack when you saw her again. She was still the same. Still Chaewon. Like nothing had happened.
But something did happen to you.
Your phone buzzes.
It’s not easy to ignore. Chaewon is an addiction to you, the next hit of this sweet obsession entering your veins as your screen lights up.
Chaewon: You awake??
You know you should just be failing at sleeping again. This can only lead to misery.
You: Yeah.
It’s quiet for a bit, but a new message makes its way to you all the same.
Chaewon: Cant sleep
If only she knew how she cursed you with the same fate. If not for her you’d be sound asleep in your own bed right now, or even better, in the bed of that chick you met at the club. What did she say her name was again? Kazuha? Instead, you’re here, repeating old patterns with exhausted probability.
You: That sucks.
Your answers are curt. Too perfect with punctuation for your usual back and forth. She doesn’t respond right away. She might be stubborn and annoying about things she’s convinced she’s right about, but she’s never been oblivious.
Then:
Chaewon: Are we okay?
You’re upset, but not heartless. It tugs.
You: We’re fine, Chaewon
Chaewon: Thats not a yes…
You might just scream out of frustration, your phone dropping on your chest, but obviously you can’t. She’d hear. She’s impossible. So fucking stupidly impossible. And yet, you find yourself typing anyway.
You: Do you want me to lie?
The pause is longer this time. Should you feel bad or just so tired that it doesn’t matter anymore?
Chaewon: No
Chaewon: Idk
Chaewon: I just get nervous when ur like this
You: Like what??
Chaewon: Distant
Chaewon: Careful
Chaewon: Upset with me
Your fingers hover over the keyboard without action. She’s not wrong. You are being careful. It’s her fault. She’d break your heart a second time in less time it took for it to beat. That’s dangerous.
You: Idk what you want me to say Chaewon
Chaewon: Idk either…
Chaewon: But I miss how we used to talk
The memories flood in of the two of you just shooting the shit, countless evenings. Still…
You: We’re talking now.
Chaewon: U know thats not what i meant
And she’s right. You do know, but this is just easier. For you, for her. For the both of you.
Chaewon: Cant you just come over here and talk w me?
Chaewon: I miss you…
And before you can even overthink it—
You move.
----------------------------------------
There is a thought that creeps into your mind as the door creaks open and you step into her room. Something about a lion’s den, and then another one following it up about it actually being the lionesses that do the hunting. There’s no point to it. They all fade in an instant. She’s no huntress right now. She’s vulnerable, like prey, enticing you to be the hunter, looking so ready to be pounced on; curled up beneath her blankets, only the soft shape of her against the sheets to lure you in.
“Hey.” It’s a solid way to start a conversation, but you can’t help but expect more from her after calling you in.
You nod, eyes fleeing from hers, shifting awkwardly by the door. “Hey.”
It takes a while before you move. The same goes for her. She’s squinting, her eyes getting used to the darkness. She’s always been stubborn about letting you help her get a blue light filter on her phone.
She finally stops, and for a moment, your eyes meet hers. She carries a soft smile, the kind that made you fall for her in the first place. But there’s a difference in it; barely perceptible; most definitely flown under the radar by people not so obsessed with her face. There’s precaution sewn into it. The sides of her smile are constantly shifting and trembling, like she doesn’t know whether to keep it there or to switch to a more neutral expression. Then, she shifts, her left arm pulling out from under the cover and tapping the sheets next to her, an unspoken invitation.
You sit down with a sigh, back turned towards her. You’re not far, but you’re not close either. A safe distance, you think to yourself. The mood isn’t tense, but also not comfortable. Just… unsure.
You can hear her laps part, exhale, almost say something, and then close again a couple of times. It’s not until you finally turn to face her that she speaks.
“Do you remember that summer at the beach?”
Your eyebrows raise on instinct, disbelief unmistakably painted across your face, impossible not to notice, not even in this darkness. “How could I forget?”
The muscles on her face relax as her eyes drift away from your eyes, seemingly getting lost into her pillow, which she clutches tight. “You remember how you were so worried about me you gave me a piggyback ride back to the house?”
“No,” you scoff, “I remember you guilt tripping me into carrying your soaking wet ass across the sand.” Your face turns away from her again, hands clutching the side of the bed as your eyes veer off into the distance past the window; letting the glass serve as a canvas to project your memories onto.
You hear the sheets rustle behind you as she works herself upright, before reminding you exactly why you helped her back then in the first place. “You weren’t complaining back then! You were way too busy copping a feel of my ass.”
“Okay, now that’s not fair,” you snap back much too fast, much too flustered. “I wasn’t copping a feel, I was keeping you from falling. And besides, you weren’t helping either! Just hanging there all limp, mumbling you’d never be able to walk again.”
“I mean, it just hurt so bad. That jellyfish really fucked me up,” she chuckles back, and you can feel the pressure of her back leaning against yours.
There’s a soft silence, the one drenched in feelings you’d much rather stay in, instead of moving on to an uncomfortable reality. So you keep painting, hoping the window holds your memory-scape just a little longer.
“Do you remember what we kept talking about? To keep your mind off of the pain?”
You can tell she knows in the way she responds with an “Oh my god.”
Both of you say it at the same time.
“The fucking Monty Hall problem!”
There’s a beat of silence. First it’s a chuckle. It turns into laughter, and it quickly grows uncontrolled, unstoppable. The kind that makes the memories seem brighter, makes your body feel lighter, the kind that makes you throw your head back as she does hers. You both open your eyes staring at the roof, now sharing the same canvas to display footage of past days.
“God,” you breathe, your head locked in place but your eyes drifting over towards her face. “I miss those days.”
She giggles, nose scrunching. “I don’t miss what that jellyfish did to me.”
The laughter fades, and you think that maybe, just maybe you could forget about earlier and go to bed without feeling like shit. You shift, and she does too, turning towards her as she moves back to her original spot, leaning against the headrest, crawling underneath the blankets with her legs.
Your breath catches as you look at her. Your stomach turns. “Chaewon.”
She blinks, glancing up at you. “Hmm?”
“Did you—” You inhale sharply, but you can’t afford to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Did you seriously invite me in here just to talk un-dressed like that?”
Her brows furrow. Then she follows your gaze, shifting slightly, and—
Fuck.
Black lace, delicate, thin. Your favorite.
She freezes. "Oh."
Oh? Fucking oh?
“Why the fuck are you like this?” you explode.
Her eyes widen. "No! I—" She scrambles, tugging the blanket back up over herself. “I wasn’t—”
“You said you wanted to talk, Chaewon.”
“I do!” Her voice pitches up. She’s pulling the sheets up hurriedly, using them as a shield from you, all you can see is her cheeks changing color ever so slightly. This time because of the embarrassment instead of the alcohol. “I promise… I do…”
It’s hard to believe that. It’s all so familiar, and all so fucking frustrating. “You know, this is just like you to do,” you ramble, and it’s hard to stop once you get going. “Always so fucking obsessed with getting a reaction out of me, never stopping to think for a second about how I feel!”
Her face softens, and the way she looks at you makes you sick. Like she thinks you’re right. “That’s not—”
“Isn’t it?”
“I swear!” She shouts, looking panicked and it’s enough to finally get you to shut up. “I was still out of it all, too mad and too drunk when I got back here. I just wanted to sleep. I didn’t—” and a big, shallow breath interrupts her, the kind that just appears and leaves you with less air than before. “I wasn’t thinking, okay?”
You want to believe her. But tonight has been too much. Too many provocations, too many lines blurring that she would turn back from, and in turn, you would let form scars.
Then you sigh, sitting back down. “Okay.”
“Are you…” her voice trembles as she tries to figure out the specifics of your answer. “You’re shaking. Are you mad?”
Your mind is still trying to slow down, and answering gets forgotten. She takes that as an answer, obviously. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not so mad that I’d be shaking, you idiot.” Your voice is quiet. “It’s just way too fucking cold in here. And I was thinking.”
There’s no hesitation, because that’s just how Chaewon is as she shifts, making room. “Get under the covers.”
“Chaewon, please—” you start, but she’s not having it.
“I won’t try anything, okay? I promise,” she interrupts you, sounding calmer already. There’s a touch of pleading in it, but not the whiny kind she uses to get you worked up. It’s more desperate, more real. “Just give me a chance to prove I’m being serious.”
You don’t move at first. Stubbornness is inherent to both of you, after all. She tugs on the sheets impatiently. You sigh, but it’s obviously performative, a last jab at her to let her know you’re only doing this just because you’re cold. And she wasn’t lying. She properly keeps her distance, just sharing the warmth of the bed. It’s immediate and comforting, but you don’t allow yourself to sink into it.
“See?” she murmurs. “Not a trap.”
Not yet. You don’t dare say it, but you don’t have to. She sees the thoughts in your eyes. So she shuffles, turning away from you.
The silence stretches so long you start focusing on the noises it can’t beat into submission. Your breathing. Her breathing. The creaking and crumpling sound of the bed and the sheets as you move.
“I wanted to talk, and we talked so… that’s—that’s good. I guess,” she whispers. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind talking some more.” She lets a little space in between for you to insert yourself into. You never do. “But if you’d rather pretend like I’m not here, I get that too. I’ll shut up.”
It’s endearing, and your response is a little mean, letting her wait in silence for just a little longer before replying.
“I’m not pretending. I need somebody to blame the lack of space I have in this bed.”
She smiles, soft. You can’t see it, obviously, but you feel it. Somehow. She shifts under the blanket, closer but not touching. She’s apprehensive. And she meant what she said.
“Is this the first time we’ve slept in the same bed?” she asks, but she masks her tone enough that she could play it off as talking to herself if you decided to not respond.
“Nope,” you correct her. “There was that one time in sophomore year. You showed up at my door at, like, three in the morning. Absolutely shitfaced, mind you.”
She lets out a small, embarrassed groan, and you know you’re on the right track.
“I remember that,” she mumbles. “Barely.”
“You couldn’t figure out how to get to your dorm. Said not even Monty Hall could help you find the right door.”
“How do you remember all that?” Chaewon questions, like you had no right to have that memory.
“Are you kidding me? How could I forget? I told you to take my bed, and that I was gonna crash on the couch,” you continue explaining, your lips curling upwards.
“But I didn’t let you?”
“Nope. You didn’t trust my roommate worth shit. Which, fair.”
She doesn’t say anything. You keep going though, less for her alone or you alone, both for you both.
“You grabbed my wrist when I tried to walk away. Looked me dead in the eye and said, and I quote, ‘Don’t leave me alone with that guy here, he smells like crusty socks and assault.’”
Chaewon lets out a strangled sound that’s half mortified laugh, half groan. “Oh my God.”
“So I gave in. Got in bed next to you. Fully clothed. On top of the covers. Like a gentleman.”
“You didn’t sleep for a second that night, did you?”
“Of course not. You starfished. One arm across my chest, one leg thrown over me like a fucking seatbelt. You had me trapped, dead to rights. Didn’t help you made me paranoid that my roommate was actually going to do something.”
She laughs—really laughs. Warm, unguarded. Then she rolls onto her side, facing you again. Her eyes search yours. "It was easier, wasn’t it? Back then. In college. At the beach. You carrying me like an idiot, me acting like I couldn’t walk, and you trying to turn probability into a personality trait."
You laugh, but it’s not really a laugh. More like one of those nose breaths that accompanies an abbreviated text. “Because it was.”
Her smile fades. “You never needed me to ask. You always just… stayed.”
You shift slightly, your fingers brushing the edge of the blanket. Her eyes drop there, then rise again.
“I think I’m a leaver,” she says. No warning. No lead-in. Like she had to say it fast before she lost the nerve.
“What?” It leaves your mouth before you can even blink.
But Chaewon swallows, her eyes retreating downwards. “I think that’s just who I am. Some people stay, and some people leave. You’re the kind of person that stays, and I’m a person that leaves. Because if I go first, I don’t have to wait until you become a leaver just like me.”
She looks at you like she’s afraid you’ll flinch. Like she’s already bracing for the recoil.
“I know it’s selfish,” she adds quickly. “But that night… when you kissed me, and then said you really liked me—I panicked. I did what I always do. You were giving me a choice, and that scared the hell out of me. So I picked the choice I always make.”
She breathes in. Exhales slow. Really takes her time, her eyes drifting slightly upwards now.
“And for a while, I told myself it was just another fifty-fifty. You know? Just a game of chance I lost. You either leave or get left. You either lose something or end up lost. And I thought—" she breaks off, swallowing again, part of her voice getting swallowed with it, "—that it would go away like the rest. That I’d forget. That it’d stop mattering."
You stay quiet.
“But it didn’t. It stuck. You stuck.”
She shifts again, knee brushing against yours beneath the blanket. Her voice cracks a little.
“And I started noticing things,” she says. "Little things. Like the first time you didn’t wait for me to text goodnight. Or when you were with someone else and you had that smile that I thought was reserved for me. Or when you stopped arguing with me about dumb shit just to keep talking."
Her voice wavers.
“And then I realized I didn’t just pick wrong. I watched the right door shut. And then I heard it lock. And that’s why I know your stupid fucking Monty Hall problem is wrong. I should’ve had another shot. Another choice. But life didn’t open a wrong door—it just took the right one away. And that’s why I know it’s just fifty-fifty. And I lost my coin toss at happiness.”
There’s a second of silence where your brain short circuits.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” you mutter.
She blinks, but it helps her to finally look at you. “Ouch?”
You sit up, tossing the blanket off like it offended you. “No, I’m serious. You think my door shut? You fucking locked it.”
She opens her mouth, but you cut her off, your pace quickening. “The fact that I stayed around all this time is proof enough that my door is still unlocked. It wasn’t up to me to reopen that door.”
“I—”
“But you had to try.”
Chaewon’s eyes flicker—not away, but deeper. Her breath hitches, and you swear it’s the first real sound she’s made in a while that didn’t have a smirk behind it. She shifts forward just slightly, only enough that her leg brushes against yours again, like she’s testing if the signal’s still green.
“You’re saying… it’s still open?”
You drag a hand through your hair, eyes rolling ceilingward before locking onto her again. “It was never fucking closed.”
Her lips part. They’re trembling now. She’s not teasing this time. “Then why—why didn’t you ever—”
“Because I’m not gonna beg,” you cut in, sharper than intended. “I’m not gonna crawl through the fucking keyhole when you slammed the door in my face.”
She flinches. Just barely. But enough.
“I didn’t need you to beg, just…” she says, softer, like she’s going over the math again in her head. “I don’t know… I—” Her voice dips, trails, then steadies. “I’m here now. I’m trying.”
You look at her. Clear as day in the middle of the night. She's curled up next to you, defensive and ashamed and stubborn all at once. Her eyes are too glossy, her hands fidgeting with the edge of the comforter like they’re looking for somewhere to hide.
And then she breathes, and her voice breaks.
“I just wanted you to want me still.”
And that? That fucking cracks something open.
You reach for her—no grand gestures, no cinematic swoop—just firm, necessary motion. You cradle her jaw, fingers sweeping her hair back, and when you speak, it’s low and final and absolutely everything you’ve been holding back.
“I never fucking stopped.”
There’s no pause this time.
No “but what if—”
No “are you sure—”
No more fucking Monty Hall.
Just her lips crashing into yours, messily, hungrily, like the apology she couldn’t say and the forgiveness you weren’t ready to offer have decided to cancel each other out with tongue.
It’s not careful. It’s not gentle.
It’s honest.
She’s on your lap again, only this time it’s not a joke. Her knees bracket your thighs and she grinds down with purpose, gasping when she feels you through your boxers. Her hands slide beneath your shirt, nails catching skin, and you curse under your breath as heat swells in your gut, undeniable and urgent.
You break the kiss, forehead against hers. “Still cold?”
Her laugh is shallow, much too distracted with making sure she can properly share in your body heat. “Yeah. Make me warm.”
“And here I was thinking you were hot enough as is.”
She smirks, and it’s real this time. Like the one you saw when you barely knew her, but knew enough already. Not a mask. Not a trap. Just her.
And she whispers, “Don’t stop this time.”
Like you could. Besides, you’re not even sure it’s only meant for you. With the way she’s tugging and removing your clothes, kissing your shoulders and pulling you tighter, it’s like she’s making up for lost time. For every second spent being careful. Your hands trace her body, taking your time to really make sure every curve and beauty mark is stuck in your mind forever.
“God,” you mumble under your breath, pressing your lips to her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, working your way down until you’re kissing the edge of a black lace bra that was almost the reason you stormed off earlier. “I can’t believe how beautiful you really are.”
Her breath hitches. “I know.”
And you’ve missed that, too. Her confidence. The way she can say things like that without irony, because she knows exactly what she’s worth—she just never thought she’d be worth it to you once more.
You kiss her through the black lace, and she shivers when you nip at the edge of her bra, as close to her nipple as you can get. She doesn’t waste any time herself flicking open the button of your jeans. You’ve always thought she needed a helping hand, both of yours pushing your pants further down. They’re not even off properly when she pauses, eyes blown wide, honing in on the tent in your boxers leaving little to imagination.
“Wow,” she says, and it’s almost weird to hear her say it without sarcasm.
“Wow?” your voice is rough, coming out in a single breath.
She nods, and her lips part as she yanks your boxers down, eyes almost dazed as she takes you in. “Wow.”
It’s a reverent look. It’s a look that suits her as long as it’s directed towards you, you think. Her fingers reach out like she’s about to wrap them around you, but she stops right before she makes contact, and the look in her eyes changes. Smug now. Knowing.
“I need a moment,” she says, and you know she’s up to no good. “You can’t just swing that in a girl's face and expect me to make it easy for you.”
A throb shoots through your cock, hips twitching without your consent. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
But she just smirks.
“Chaewon.”
“Shhh,” she says as she shuts down any and all protest, and her voice is the perfect combination of exasperating and enticing. “I’ve got my own Monty Hall problem lined up for you.”
You groan, but it’s more of a plea for mercy than a protest. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m serious,” she purrs, fingers grazing the base of your cock before pulling back again, making you hiss.
“Three doors,” she says, and the way she looks at you is obscene. “My front door, my back door, and my... ehm... mouth door?”
You’re gone. You’re fucking gone. “You are so lucky you're fucking hot.”
She keeps going, relentless. Her grin is pure mischief. “Which one have I imagined you fucking me with the most?” She rolls her hips, testing you. “Pick right, and you get to fuck it.”
“And if I guess wrong?” Your voice is rough, needy, everything you never let her hear before tonight.
Her eyes burn. “Then you eat me out first.”
It’s a rigged game and you both know it, but you play along anyway, letting her set the rules and stack the deck and deal each card. You lean forward, drag your lips up the line of her jaw. “That’s an impossible choice. You want all of them.”
She moans, a hiccup of laughter and want, and the weight of her shifts in your lap, urgent. “You wish. You only get one.”
But her hips are grinding now, a rolling, deliberate pressure that tells you exactly what her body needs. The answer is and always has been: every option, at once, and all of them leading back to you.
You palm her ass, fingers splaying underneath the lace edge, and the way she shivers tells you she wasn’t expecting you to touch her with that kind of certainty. For all her bravado and gamesmanship, this is how you win: you move first, and you don’t hesitate.
“Let’s see,” you murmur, mouth against the shell of her ear, making her gasp. “Back door—” a squeeze, a knead that pulls a little yelp from her, “—doesn’t seem like your style. At least not as a first move.”
“Don’t count me out,” she breathes, and you hear the competitive edge in her voice, the same edge that made her stay up all night just to prove you wrong about some irrelevant, beautiful, dumb thing.
You laugh, slow and low, and she shakes against you. “Mouth door,” you say, and you can’t help but grin at the way she’s already licking her lips, hungry, needing to prove something. “Obvious contender. But I think you want it right here.” Your hand finds the heat between her legs, cups her through those ridiculous panties, and her eyes go wide, her breath gone.
You wait a beat. She’s never been great at waiting, but she’s trembling now, lips parted, waiting for your verdict.
“And if I told you it’s definitely not the back door? Does your answer change?” she pants.
You consider your odds. “I think—” you start, but she interrupts.
“Actually,” she says, and the way her voice drips with satisfaction is almost enough to make you lose. “I don’t give a fuck. I want your cock. Right here.”
She grinds against you, and you can’t help but think you’re never spending another day without that feeling.
“Fuck,” you groan, because she won this round, and she knows it. “You don’t play fair.”
She bites her lip, smiling, then reaches between you, fingers wrapping around you with a perfect, firm pressure. “And that’s why you love me.”
She’s right. She’s wrong about so many fucking things, but she’s right about this.
You thrust up into her hand, and she moans, her body arching, her hair falling down her back. You reach for her hips, hooking your thumbs under the lace, and she lifts herself up, letting you pull it down, off, away. She doesn’t care where it lands; she’s already lowering herself back onto you, and you’re closing the distance, guiding your cock to her needy cunt.
“Fuck you,” you breathe, so close to her you can taste it, the subtext of admission against her skin. “I’m not saying it first. I’ll force you to.”
She rocks her hips, taking you deeper, her breath catching with a shudder. “Yeah? You think you can make me?”
You grit your teeth, the friction of her tight around you making it almost impossible to think. “I know I can.”
“Big words,” she gasps, riding you faster, harder. “Think you can back them up?”
You reach between you, your thumb finding her clit, and she cries out, her whole body shaking, her walls clenching around you. “You first,” you growl, and you can tell she’s sensitive. “Say it.”
Her eyes roll back, her lower lip caught between her teeth. You know it, you have her dead to rights, this is your win, and then—”Nuh-uh.”
You thrust up into her, relentless, and the pressure builds, mounting, and she’s so fucking tight around you, and you want her to say it, need her to say it.
She grinds down harder, her nails dragging your shoulder blades, and it’s too much. Too good. Too fucking hot. “You’re gonna say it,” you gasp, your thumb circling her clit faster. “I know you.”
“And I know you,” she pants, her head falling back as she rides you with abandon, her whole body trembling, her breath hitching with every thrust. “I know—oh fuck—you.”
You watch her face as she rocks against you, her lips parting, her eyes wide and desperate and defiant. She’s so close. So close you can feel it, the way she’s fighting it, wanting to hold out, wanting to win.
“Say it,” you growl, thrusting up into her again, harder, not easing up on her clit.
She gasps, and this has to be it. She’s trembling, tightening, drowning in ecstasy and she’s— “I’m—Fuck, I’m cumming, you fucker,” she manages to choke out, and she cums hard. Her head drops forward, no further admission, still no winner as her whole body shudders, her walls clenching around you like she’s weaponizing her orgasm against you, trying to pull the words from you.
You swear, a rough sound that’s almost a surrender, and she laughs, breathless, smug, still shaking in your lap. “You first.”
Your grip tightens on her hips, and you’re so fucking close, but you hold on, hold out, your breath ragged. “I’m not going to give up,” you groan, thrusting up into her in a wild frenzy, loud clapping of flesh colliding now strangling the room. She lets out a strangled sound, and her eyes go wide letting you know she didn’t expect this.
Didn’t expect you to only go harder, to keep fucking her through her orgasm, keep pushing her over the edge again and again and again until she might pass out. You thrust harder, deeper, and her voice breaks, her body wild against yours.
You hold on, and she holds on longer. She’s so tight, so wet, and the heat is building, and you feel her clench around you, feel her mold to your shape. Her mouth opens, and you can’t tell if she’s about to say it or if she’s too far gone, and then—
She pulls off of you. You watch, stunned, as she drops to her knees and wraps her mouth around your cock, and the sight alone is enough to make you lose it. You groan, a deep, ragged sound, and she moans around you, the vibration pushing you over the edge. Your hands tangle in her hair as you come, hot and hard, spilling ropes of cum into her mouth.
“Fuck, Chaewon,” you choke out, the last of your breath leaving your body as every drop of cum you had does the same, her lips still tight around you.
Then she pulls back, and her eyes are on you, wide and bright and triumphant. She cups a hand beneath her chin, opens her mouth, and—
“I love you,” she says, letting your cum spill out over her lips, and there’s a laugh behind it, a tremor of amusement, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Like she knows she just won all over again. She wipes her mouth, cum streaking her chin, her neck, her chest, and she looks so absurdly beautiful you can’t even be mad.
“Chaewon,” you breathe. It’s exasperation and wonder, the way you’ve said her name so many times before. “You’re fucking impossible.”
“Really?” She bats her lashes with a coy look, licking her lips like she’s savoring every last drop of the chaos she’s caused. “Aren’t you supposed to say it back?”
You grab her by the waist, pulling her back up to straddle you past your softened cock, and she giggles, squirming in your lap. “You’re such a fucking brat.”
“And you can’t get enough of it,” she teases, her smile widening,
You stare at her, chest heaving, the words settling into the spaces that were empty for so long. Then you let out a breathless, helpless laugh, pulling her face up to yours, kissing her despite all the filth she let drip out to cover her sweetness.
“Fuck you,” you say between kisses, but there’s no heat behind it, just the weight of relief and joy and everything else you’ve been holding back. “How do you win even when you lose?”
She smiles against your mouth, and you feel it in every part of you. “I guess I’m just smarter than you.”
You do. You say it like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like you’ve spent the last year waiting for your chance.
“I love you, you idiot.”
She makes a soft sound, and for a second you think she might cry, but it’s just a laugh, bright and giddy and so fucking happy. “I’m glad you do.”
“You’re a fucking nightmare,” you say as you shake your head, trying to hide the cartoonishly large smile she forced upon your face.
“And you’re stuck with me,” she says, kissing you again, her body melting into yours, all softness and satisfaction. Her voice dips, teasing, warm. “Or did you forget?”
“Never,” you murmur, and you mean it. Hell, you’d bet on it.
Her body shifts in response, her being melting into you, her skin sticky but hot against yours. “So,” she says, and it’s light and breezy like that summer day still stuck in your memory, like you’re somehow back in a familiar rhythm, but new nonetheless. “You really think you can handle me?”
You laugh, wrapping your arms around her. “I’ve been handling you for years without the benefit of getting to fuck you.”
She pinches your side, but it’s playful, and you can tell she’s trying not to smile. “Asshole.”
“Yeah,” you say, kissing her forehead. “But I’m your asshole, now.”
She nods, and that alone was worth all the suffering. Because it’s honest.
“Shit,” Chaewon breathes, your skin stuck together with dried cum, pulling loose from you. “We’re a fucking mess.”
“Yeah, well, it’s your fault for trying to be funny,” you say like you’re not covered in it too.
She shakes her head, and it’s like she’s saying it’s your fault for not being the first to say you love her. “We can’t go to bed like this,” she proclaims, trying her best not to get too much filth on her sheets. “C’mon. Shower.”
“Together?” you ask, and she just rolls her eyes like that was the stupidest fucking question you’ve ever asked.
You follow her to the bathroom, the air chilly and the tile cool underfoot. She turns on the water of her shower, letting it heat up as she looks back over at you, one eyebrow lifting like she’s pondering if she should just keep it to showering or not.
“Get in,” she says, pushing you towards the shower. “I’m not letting you sleep until you’re clean.”
She’s already stepping toward the shower when she realizes you’re still standing there. Her eyes narrow, but her lips curve. “What? You’re dawdling now?”
You shrug, and she laughs. It’s not the sound she makes when she’s trying to get under your skin, but the one you’d almost forgotten she could make. Uncomplicated. Real.
She starts taking off the only thing she still has on—her thigh high socks that were the main culprit in why you failed to pick up a girl earlier tonight. You were way too busy admiring how good Chaewon looked, and it didn’t go unnoticed.
“Don’t tell me you’re expecting me to do it for—”
You catch her hand, stop her from peeling them off. She freezes, looks at you like a deer caught in headlights.
“Let’s pretend I lost your three doors challenge,” you murmur, and you hear her breath catch. “It’d be a shame not to eat you out with how good you look in those.”
“So you were staring! I fucking knew it,” she shouts gleefully.
You don’t give it a response. You just hoist her up, and she wraps her legs around you like it’s instinct, gasping, more eager than surprised, as you let her ass meet the bathroom counter. You spread her thighs open to admire, sink to your knees in between them, and look up, getting lost in the way she looks down.
“Oh my god,” she sighs out. “Are you really—”
You don’t let her finish. You drag your tongue up her slit, and her head falls back, the sound of the shower almost drowning out her moan. Almost, but not quite.
“Fuck,” she gasps, the first of many. “Right there. Oh, right—”
You swirl your tongue around her clit, and her hips buck, her whole body trembling. She’s close already, too close, and you know you could end this in seconds, but you don’t. Not yet.
Your hand slides up her thigh, and she shudders as you press a finger against her asshole, teasing, gentle. Her breath catches, and you feel her body tense, then relax, opening for you.
“Shit,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”
You don’t stop. You don’t even slow down. You work her with your tongue and your fingers and your everything, and she’s shaking.
“Holy fuck,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “You’re—shit—you’re better at this than explaining math problems.”
You groan, a low, rough sound, and the vibration makes her shudder. “Careful, I might bite.”
She laughs, knowing you’re all bark, and her fingers tangle in your hair, not quite pulling you closer, but not allowing escape either. “Don’t stop,” she begs, and she wears it so well that ideas flood your mind. “I’m so fucking close.”
feel her body tense, tight and perfect around you. “Right there. Oh—” You curl your finger, the final bit of tension she needed to release, clenching hard, her hands in your hair, her body on fire. “Oh God, oh—”
She cums hard, her body arching, her legs closing around your head as she cries out, the sound raw and desperate and so fucking good. Your finger slips out but keep your mouth on her, not letting up until she’s shuddering, breathless, her hands tensed up tugging at you.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she gasps, and you feel the last tremors of her orgasm as they ripple through her. “How did you—I can’t—” She’s lost for words, and it’s ammunition for next time you fight over something stupid.
You don’t move until she tugs at you weakly, pulling you up, and the look in her eyes is almost enough to make you drop to your knees again.
You grab her hand, pulling her toward the shower, but she doesn’t budge. Instead, she drops to her knees, fingers splayed on your thighs. “I’ll admit, you’re pretty fucking good,” she says, her eyes gleaming with challenge. Everything’s a competition with this girl. “But I’m better.”
You don’t have time to respond. Her mouth is on you, hot and wet and perfect, and you groan, your head falling back. She works you with a skill you didn’t think she had, her tongue swirling, her lips tight, and all you can do is hold on.
She pulls back, and the sudden loss makes you gasp. “Feel free to cum wherever you want,” she muses, and your mind floods with options. All too enticing.
Her pace is relentless, precise, and you feel her smile around you, a smug curve against your skin. She’s rapidly proving her point.
“Chaewon,” you groan, and you’re not sure if you’re leading into begging or commanding. “Fuck, that feels—”
She hums, a low, teasing sound, and the vibration makes you curse. Her fingers slide down, cupping your balls, and you feel yourself throb against her tongue.
You’re close, too close, and she knows it. You can tell by the way she pulls back again, her lips glistening, her eyes wild. “I’m not done with you,” she says, and you swear you might die.
“Fuck my face,” she says, and you tremble, your whole body going tight.
“Chaewon,” you gasp, but she’s already got you begging for more, her hands on your thighs, guiding you inside.
You thrust, and she takes it, takes you, her mouth so fucking good you can’t believe this is real. She moans and gags around you, and it’s a sound you’ll hear in your dreams for the rest of your life.
She looks up, her mouth full, and the sight is obscene, incredible. She’s not stopping, not giving you a second to catch your breath, just letting you use her, and it’s all too fucking much.
You’re so close, the heat building, your control slipping. You fuck her face, your hands tight in her hair, and she’s caught between you and the counter, letting you use her, letting you lose yourself.
“Oh God, Chaewon,” you groan, your thrusts erratic, desperate. “I’m gonna—”
She pulls back, and you gasp, her lips getting pressed against the tip of your dick. She strokes you, her lips swollen and wet, and—
“Do it,” she commands, tilting her head back, presenting her face and her tits and her abs and every target you could choose, her eyes pleading to cover not one but all. “Come all over me.”
That’s it. That’s fucking it. You cum hard, your whole body tensing, and she moans as your release hits her face, her lips, her cheek, her chest.
“Fuck,” you groan, and she smiles, licking her lips, and you’re so spent you almost collapse right there.
Then she’s pulling you down, kissing you, and you taste yourself on her tongue.
“At least I was worth the wait, right?” she murmurs, and you pull back just far enough to see the way she’s grinning, the way she’s looking at you like she thinks she won. If only she saw herself right now, you’re clearly the winner.
“Think I’m ready for that shower now,” you say, and you can’t help but smile back, because you’re a mess, and she’s a mess, and you came into this room specifically to be less of a mess; and you love it. You love her.
The water is still running, heating up the room, and you both stand up. She pulls you with her, and the water makes quick work of the art you just made. What a waste, but a waste you love to spend with her.
She notices your face change as the cum disappears from her visage, and chuckles lightly. “You’ll get plenty of other chances.”
You wash her and she washes you back, and it’s slow and easy and comfortable. Like you never thought it could be again. But better. No rush, no desperation. She works the shampoo into your hair, but you can’t stand to not annoy her for another second, pulling her under the spray and rinsing her off.
“Hey,” she protests, but she’s smiling, her eyes bright.
“Hey yourself,” you say, dragging your thumb across her cheek, her lips, her collarbone. “Think I like you like this.”
“Wet?” she asks, and she’s teasing, but there’s a softness behind it.
“That too. But no. Mine,” you say, and her expression shifts, her eyes going soft, her hands coming to rest on your chest.
“You know,” she says, her voice quiet, thoughtful, “That makes you equally mine.”
You tilt her chin up, kissing her, and she melts into it, into you. “I guess that means we both won today.”
She laughs, and it’s the best sound, the best feeling, the best everything. “Guess I can get used to it if it’s with you.”
Eventually you turn off the tap, and she shivers as you wrap her in a towel, pulling her close. “Bed?” you ask, and she nods, simple and easy.
She helps you dry off, and you help her, and you just can’t let each other be right now. She tugs at you, at your hand, constantly leading you, hair still wild and just damp enough to be okay going to bed with. She slips beneath the covers fully naked, but it’s too cold to worry about any of that, so you follow.
You pull her against you, or she pushes herself into you. It’s hard to tell who’s more desperate. Point is, her back is against your chest, and it fits perfectly. Like she was made for it.
“So,” she says, her voice a sleepy mumble, “are you gonna lose your shit if I say it’s fifty-fifty again?”
You groan, exasperated and affectionate, and she giggles, burying her face in your neck.
“Chaewon,” you say, and she turns just enough to look at you.
“Hmm?”
You wrap your arms around her, holding her, holding everything. “You’re fucking annoying. Never change.”
She smiles, soft and genuine, and you know this is the real win. Not the game, not the challenge, not the give and take of a thousand heated mathematical arguments—but this. Her. You. Together.
“Promise,” she whispers, and you feel her breath slow, feel her body relax, feel the unlikeliest odds settle in your favor.
You hold her tighter, and the silence this time is comfortable, a weightless, blissful quiet that lulls you both toward sleep. You barely hear her next words, but they seep into you, the last sweet, stubborn thing you need to know.
3.6k words | tags: smut, quickie, just some filthy stuff
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You didn't know who she was. You didn't know who she was with. You didn't know where she was from. You knew practically nothing about her.
Except her name was Lily and she had the most stupidly sexy Aussie accent you'd ever heard.
You had met her that same day, around noon, during the set of a Tech House DJ you were a fan of. She turned out to be in the same area of the audience that you had come to in search of getting a little closer to the stage, near the middle. The click was instantaneous.
At first you had been at a considerable distance from each other, only giving each other discreet glances between drops. That's where you noticed how hot that woman was, with those damn tight latex pants and that perfect belly. Her bust was moderate, but she didn't need much more. Not with that sexy look and that damn attractive nose.
The interest had been mutual; it had been evident by the way she looked back at you, subtle checks up and down, lip bites and small winks. By the time the set was over, she had already stood on her back right in front of you so you could dance with her, her lascivious ass against your bulge, her sweaty back against your chest.
The advances were constant, one after another. Light touches at first, then firmer grips, then caresses, then more brazen movements on her part to tease you. When you had least expected it, you had already kissed her with such fierceness that you had her moaning into your mouth.
Now, you knew it was serious when she started squeezing your cock through your pants. She did it at the most unexpected moments to catch you by surprise, and your way of responding was always to grab her ass. But she wanted more. You wanted more.
So there you went, straight to your festival tent, located rather towards the back, almost bordering on the forest beyond. It was one in the morning, and you both had a good amount of beers in your system. She was carrying an unopened one in her hand, in fact. You weren't surprised; the little you knew about her was that she was quite the party girl.
You walked in with her hand in hand and zipped up the tent behind you. Lily soon threw her arms around your neck and pressed herself against you, the cold beer can pressed against your upper back. In contrast, it was hot in there. Largely because of how horny you both were.
"Mmm, fucking finally huh?" she murmured hoarsely before crashing her lips against yours.
You immediately wrapped your arms around Lily's curvy, slightly fleshy body, one around her waist and the other across her back, accepting her lips in a desperate, disastrous kiss. The tent was large, with a padded floor and a high ceiling, allowing you to move comfortably with her to the center, near the mat where you later hoped to sleep with her.
A moan escaped Lily's mouth as you brought your face to her neck and, without a second thought, gave a long upward lick to her soft, sweaty skin, your hands gripping her waist tightly. Normally, at a festival, after hours and hours of sun and heat and sweat, you would be smelly and sticky. Not Lily. She continued to give off the same pleasant and addictive lavender aroma.
"My god, you're so fucking hot," you growled between kisses and hickeys on her neck and jaw. Now you had her by the ass, with strong grips that made her push against you. "You don't have a boyfriend, do you?"
"Of course not, idiot," she grumbled, reaching a hand inside your sweatpants to pull out your erect cock and stroke it. It was the hand she held the beer with, so it was cold and wet to the touch, the sensation amplified by the cold metal of his rings.
"Great" you returned to her lips, a few more slobbery kisses before looking into those deep black-lined eyes. "Although if I'm honest, if you had I wouldn't have given a damn."
"What a jerk."
"I'm serious," you now moved down her neck and collarbone, avoiding her choker and the gold necklace she was wearing. When you were on your knees in front of her, both hands on her wide hips, you looked into her eyes. "You could be wearing an engagement ring right now, woman, but I'd still fuck your brains out."
“Shut the fuck up and worship me,” she demanded, cupping your face with the same icy hand, her nails digging into your cheeks. "You've been pawing at my belly all day and drooling over it, haven't you? Fucking kiss me there. Go on."
Lily released your face with a gentle nudge, letting you bury yourself fully against her abdomen. So perfect. So soft. So deliciously gifted by the gods. You showered it with kisses, every single inch: her sides, right along her Adonis belt; her lower abs; all around her navel. Even the flesh of her waist, on either side, ended up soaked with your saliva.
With both hands on her hips, you spun her around abruptly so that her ass was now what lay right before your face. Your fingers worked quickly on the button of her latex pants and on her zipper, which you pulled all the way down before giving a sudden yank downward. The pants were already stupidly tight to begin with, but, compounded by the sweat, they clung so tightly to her skin that you had to pull them down inch by inch, hard, until they bunched up right at the tops of her thighs, forming a sexy ring of soft flesh spilling over the latex.
You left them right there. It was exactly what you needed, nothing more. Her ass lay exposed just inches from your face, round and lovely. She wore a pair of pretty black lace panties that left almost her entire buttocks bare. Before doing anything else, you gripped her thighs and let your lips roam over the soft flesh of her ass. Lily, watching you over her shoulder, lips parted and a faint blush rising in her cheeks, gasped with every little kiss.
"This is what you’ve wanted all day, isn't it?" Lily asked. The question made you smile as you slowly slid her panties down. "You haven't stopped staring and grabbing it all fucking day."
"And you haven't been able to stop rubbing it against my dick," you retorted. Lily’s panties ended up bunched around her thighs, sitting at the exact same level as her pants. She was soaked down there, you could tell even in the dim light of your tent. "We'll see how you get when I shove it in your mouth and fuck your throat."
"We're not talking about me, you punk."
As soon as she finished that sentence, Lily grabbed the hair at the back of your head and buried your face deep between her ass cheeks. Your mouth found the soft flesh of her slippery folds, slightly salty to the taste. The moan she let out was enough to drive any man wild. You explored her slit, thirsty. Your heavy breathing and hot breath warmed against her skin. There wasn't a single part of her pretty pussy that your tongue didn't stimulate.
You heard the unmistakable gaseous hiss of a beer can popping open.
You looked up.
"Fancy a coldie, party boy?"
You smirked. Just how freaky were you feeling on this particular day? Lily’s gaze, heavy with lust and a faint spark of mischief, gave you the answer: pretty damn freaky.
"Go on."
Lily didn't wait; she brought the beer can down to her lower back and poured the cold liquid right between her ass cheeks. The steady stream, cascading down her crack and dripping over her buttocks, met your lips. You lapped it up as best you could, all while your tongue worked away at her pussy. The tent floor was going to be a total disaster, but it was going to be worth every damn second.
Still not satisfied, Lily kept pouring the beer down her ass crack. With both hands cupping her ass, you devoted yourself completely to the task, drinking up as much as you could while squeezing and massaging her buttocks. It was a bit of a waste, considering the vast majority of the beer just ended up on the floor. But seriously, who the fuck cared?
The beer can went empty; you heard Lily toss it into a corner of the tent.
"I hope that was delicious, you bastard," she growled. Her grip remained on the back of your neck, tighter now. Her fingernails dug into your scalp as you continued to devour her. "I could have just drunk that myself."
"You’ve already had like six of those. One more wouldn't make a difference."
You spread Lily's ass cheeks apart and, with determination, let your tongue work faster. Your focus was her clit. Lily squealed with pleasure, and it wasn't long before she thrust her hips against your face as she reached her climax.
"Ohhh shit!" Lily moaned, smothering you with her ass, her thighs trembling. "You really were hungry for that pussy, huh?"
You pulled away and sprang to your feet, grabbed Lily by the waist, and delivered a stinging slap to her right ass cheek. The red mark appeared instantly.
The truth was, you were horny as hell. You weren't even thinking straight when, with a single yank, you pulled your sweatpants and boxers down to your calves, spat in your hand to lube up your cock, and buried it deep inside the best pussy you’d ever had in your damn life.
"Nnnngh, you son of a bitch!" she growled.
Lily, still with her knees slightly bent, instinctively bent her upper body downward, desperately searching for something to grab onto while you remained buried inside her, balls-deep. She only managed to find one of your wrists. Her other arm hung limply beneath her.
The lascivious, wet sounds of sweaty flesh slapping together took over the tent. Your thrusts were wild, each one sending your glans slamming against her cervix and making that sexy flesh jiggle like jelly. She was wet as hell. Every inch of your veiny cock slid slickly in and out of her. Lily struggled to keep her balance amidst all the shaking, the movement of her legs restricted by the way her pants remained (and would continue to remain) bunched up around her thighs. Her moans, more screams than anything else, vied for acoustic space.
You gave her no respite, not even for a second, blinded by lust and perhaps a little by the eight beers coursing through your blood. With a growl, you grabbed her by the forearms, yanked her arms back, causing her back to arch, and pumped your hips in an animalistic frenzy until Lily came with a sharp, strangled cry.
"God! I drive you fucking crazy, don't I?" Lily looked back at you over her shoulder, her face twisted in pleasure, her thighs and hips still writhing. "Is that why you're fucking me like a filthy whore?"
You yanked yourself abruptly out of her, released her arms, and let her drop to her knees. Lily followed you with her eyes as you circled around her, grabbed a handful of her long platinum hair, and forced your cock deep into her mouth. She sucked you hard, tasting her own pussy through you, slurping up the very saliva she left behind.
"Oh yeah, be a filthy whore and suck that cock," you growled, your grip firm on her hair.
Lily wrapped three fingers around the base, holding your cock straight as she diligently pumped the head at a steady rhythm, gagging each time her lips brushed against her own fingers. You landed a sharp slap against her cheek, making her moan with your flesh still inside her, then grabbed your cock and pulled it out of her mouth.
"Mmm, how would it bother you to smudge that pretty eyeliner just a little bit?" you asked, tapping your cock against her outstretched tongue.
"Minus fucking two," she said, rubbing herself against your shaft, using her beautiful aquiline nose to trace its length. "You can throat-fuck me, spit on me, slap me, choke me. Fuck, get me pregnant if you feel like it."
"Alright, well, we'll draw the line at that last one."
Lily laughed, maintaining an amused expression even as you shoved your cock back into her mouth. You thrust straight down to the bottom, both hands cupping the back of her head. The teasing smirk vanished from her face. She scrunched up her nose and gagged around you. A trickle of saliva spilled down past her lower lip.
"That's it, choke on it, bitch," you growled through clenched teeth, driving her head against your pelvis.
More saliva dripped onto the floor. You held her there for several long seconds, and then, instead of letting her breathe, you started pumping your hips. Fast, deep thrusts. Your balls slammed against her chin with every stroke. More and more saliva. Lily locked eyes with you as tears began to well up in her own. These soon slid down her cheeks.
It took a good number of thrusts to keep her crying. With a triumphant smile, you finally stopped when the black eyeliner ran beneath her eyes, merging with her tears. You pulled out of her mouth with a sharp tug. Lily gasped for air, a complete mess; her entire mouth and chin were smeared with thick saliva, which dripped straight down into the cleavage of her top and onto her thighs.
You delivered a sharp slap to her cheek just as she was trying to catch her breath. A moan escaped her lips.
"Happy?" you asked.
Lily raised her eyes and met your gaze.
"Not until you make my pussy absolutely dripping wet," she declared in a faint voice. "And when I say dripping... I mean really dripping. I want to turn your damn tent into a swimming pool."
Fuck.
You immediately dropped to your knees and laid her flat on her back. She couldn't spread her legs, not even a couple of centimeters. Your only option—and one you didn't complain about in the slightest—was to press both of her knees up against her torso. Lily held her legs in place, gripping them behind the knees with both arms. Her pussy, squeezed tight between her thighs, made your mouth water.
You drove your cock inside her with a forceful thrust. Her pussy was so slick that the smooth motion made you gasp.
With your hands on her thighs, fingers digging firmly into her soft flesh, you began to fuck her pussy with deep, reckless thrusts. Lily’s back arched. With her eyes closed, she parted her lips, doing nothing but panting. Every now and then, a sensual moan escaped her.
"Fuuuuck!" Lily growled, her fingernails digging into the latex of her pants so hard that she actually punctured it slightly. "So fucking good, oh my god... oh my god, oh my god!"
You leaned forward, bracing your fists against the tent canvas on either side of her arms, and transitioned into an up-and-down motion, slamming her pussy against the floor. Lily lost her breath with the first few thrusts, but then managed to regain her breathing and looked up at you. Her smudged eyeliner had left dark streaks across her cheeks.
"Yes, yes, yes," she moaned. "Pound me, you fucking punk. Pound me hard!"
Lily came with a primal growl just seconds later. As her thighs trembled, her pussy made a soft squelching sound with every one of your thrusts. You felt a tiny spurt of warm liquid splash against your shaft. It wasn't enough, and you knew it. You continued, relentless. You moved her arms away from around her legs and replaced them with your upper torso, pinning her between yourself and the ground.
Finally, you were forced to pull out of her when she came so hard that, this time, a jet of fluid shot upward, splashed against your abdomen, and trickled back down.
"Just like that, fuck!" Lily shrieked, so ecstatic that her cheeks were flushed with a blush that spread all the way down to her chest. "You’re a fucking marvel!"
The way she said it burrowed into your brain and sent tingles through you. With that sexy accent of hers. That alluring way she rolled her R’s and emphasized her L’s.
God, you were starving for her.
You laid her down on her side and kept fucking her, her knees pressed against her torso, one hand on her fleshy waist, and the other right where the latex bunched up against the flesh of her thighs. You brought her to climax two more times like that, resulting in two more spurts of squirt. The first one stronger than the last.
True to her word, Lily had turned your tent into a goddamn swamp. The entire floor between your legs was soaked. Little rivulets branched out from the main pool, spreading toward the sides. She was breathing in ragged gasps, completely overstimulated. Her long, platinum hair was a total mess. There were fresh tears in her eyes. She was just as sweaty as you were.
"As obsessed as I am with how you look trapped inside those pants, I’m starting to want to see a little more of you," you said.
"I couldn't agree more," Lily panted.
It was a struggle to get her pants off, given how tightly they clung to her skin, but within a few minutes, you managed to strip her completely naked. You undressed yourself as well. Then, you climbed on top of her and spent a good while just kissing her, letting your hands explore every inch of her body until she guided you back inside her.
You fucked her missionary-style, then on your sides, sucking and licking her modest yet full breasts, and you even let her ride you. The mess from a moment ago didn't repeat itself, but you could tell from her gaze that each orgasm was triggering an increasingly severe short circuit in her brain.
About half an hour later, when you felt you’d reached the point of no return on your way to climax, and just as Lily was riding out another orgasm, she grabbed your chin and made you look her in the eye.
"Fuck my ass," she murmured. "Raw. I don't care if it doesn't fit all."
"Are you sure? Have you done this before?"
"I didn't ask you to interrogate me about my sex life. I asked you to fuck my ass." Lily turned around and got onto her hands and knees, her ass thrust up toward you, mere centimeters from the ground. "Now."
Well, who were you to refuse?
You quickly rose onto your knees behind her, placed a hand on her waist to steady her, and, after a bit of preliminary lubrication courtesy of your own saliva, pressed your glans against her asshole. Lily hissed in pain at first, but her walls eventually yielded. Only partially, though; you only managed to get about half your shaft inside. Any deeper became painful for her.
It was perfectly enough for you. You planted a foot on the ground, gripped her by the hips, and began thrusting up and down. You both had an absolutely fucking amazing time, moaning almost in unison against the backdrop of the festival’s roar and the activity in the surrounding tents. Lily’s ass ended up bright red with hand marks. Her hair? A tangled mess. Her body? Dripping with sweat.
You had her held fast by her choker, pulling back and half-choking her, when you felt the tingling sensation in your lower body.
"I'm going to cum inside you," you growled, clenching your teeth. You were certain the veins were bulging in your temples. "I'm going to fill your fucking ass."
"Then fill my fucking ass," Lily growled back, the right side of her face pressed against the bottom edge of your mat, her arms tucked underneath it. She was already melting with pleasure; her brain must have felt like mush, her head clouded by lust. "That is, after all, why I’ve been messing with your head all day."
"Would you have done this with just any other good-looking guy?" you asked.
"Why lie to you?" A mocking smile formed on her face. "Probably. You were just in the right place at the right time."
"What a fucking bitch." You yanked harder on her choker, making her gasp for air. "Fuck, mmph!"
Lily laughed faintly again, closing her eyes as she felt the first thick gush of semen flood her tight cavity. She tried to moan, but only a soft breath escaped her lips. You filled her up like a goddamn cream pie, throbbing deep inside her. Before long, the cum began to spill over the edges.
You released the choker, allowing her breathing to return to normal. Very slowly, you pulled out of her, stepped back, and admired your handiwork: her dilated ass, brimming with thick whitish fluid that trickled down her cleft, ran through the folds of her pussy, and dripped onto the floor.
You delivered one last hard smack to her ass, sending her tumbling onto her side. Lily looked up at you.
"Don't take that last thing I said to heart..." she murmured. "My expectations were actually pretty low. I actually like you."
"...Thanks?" You went to lie down beside her, sweaty, exhausted, and with aching knees. "Shall we sleep?"
A dry, sharp laugh made you look at her with a frown. She met your gaze.
"Sleep?" Lily raised an eyebrow. "Not a chance. I’m going to call my girls and tell them I found the perfect little toy. You thought I’m freaky? Wait till you meet them."
You have a crush on Seol Yoona, let's start with this fact first.
She's deadly gorgeous — her eyes, her nose, her lips. You're as tall as she is, but the aura she emanates makes you feel like you're five centimeters shorter. She's a year above you, and that just makes the entire ordeal better for you. It's your thing — being dominated at everything by a woman. Therefore, Seol Yoona, or Sullyoon, is just flawless in your eyes.
You don't even dare to look at her when you walk past each other in the hallway. You just hide behind your friends cowardly, and you hope that she'd notice you amongst the crowd one day. There's a conflict between your actions and your desire, apparently, but you just can't help getting flustered and becoming mute when she's in your proximity.
The chance presents itself eventually. It can't be more of an open chance than this one.
"Have you seen the pair list for the trip yet?" Taesan asks you. His hands are on the steering wheel, driving you to the faculty as usual. You help him with fuel costs from time to time.
"Not yet. I probably got paired with someone I don't know." You shrug, scrolling through your Reddit feed. There are a few memes and a few posts about the games you're still playing in your freshman year. "We'll forget each other in a week, so, like, what's the appeal of knowing it now?"
"You're fucking pessimistic, dude. Maybe you have one of those pretty sophomores as your partner!" Taesan encourages you as the car enters the campus. "What's her name again? Yoon?"
"Sullyoon, and what's the chance? Two? Three percent? What's one hundred divided by thirty-eight—"
"Sometimes you just gotta believe, man," Taesan cuts you off cleanly. He's like a lighthouse for your sailboat in a thunderstorm. "And it's over ten percent. If you get one of the dance club members, they might help you get to Yoon as well!"
"Sullyoon. Yoon is the debate club president," you correct Taesan, though you're opening the group chat now. The trip's main document is the latest message.
"Yeah, Sullyoon," and he pauses to make a turn before continuing. "Anyway, the key point is: you have to trust your luck. I'm sure you'll—"
"Holy fucking fuck."
"Told ya, is it one of the—"
"It's Sullyoon!" you shout into the small confines of Taesan's car, seeing your name to the right of Seol Yoona on the list. You examine again to make sure that you didn't hallucinate, and it's really you and Sullyoon! You're being paired together for the trip this summer break!
You can barely comprehend the notion of you actually conversing with her — the topic, the tone, the personality, her eyes, her nose, her lips. Fuck, even the idea of you being close to her felt so far-fetched just mere minutes ago, and now, you're finally going to get to know her!
"I'm gonna cum."
"At least get out of the car first."
---
"Aren't you gonna go sit with her?" Taesan asks you, and you open your eyes from the attempt to get a pleasant sleep on the way to the destination. "The middle of the bus is also, like, the safest place?"
You blink a few times to get yourself back to your senses before replying, "We die together!"
Taesan gives you a look that makes you rethink your decisions, and the courage starts to flow in, even if it's just a bit. "That's probably the worst excuse you could've given me. I'm kicking you out of this seat."
"No, you can't."
"Your loss, then," Taesan scoffs, and he gives you another decision-altering look.
"What if she says no? That's gonna ruin the whole trip for me!" you whine, and you know that you're just delaying the inevitable of actually talking to her for the first time at this point.
Taesan purses his lips for a while before answering, "You don't know the outcome yet." He shrugs, looking for Sullyoon, who's still sitting by herself in the middle row. "Don't live to regret this."
You look at Sullyoon sitting a few rows in front of you like Taesan does, and to be frank, his words are pretty damn reasonable here. It's a slim chance against no chance at all to sit next to her for the first half of the trip.
"Fine," you concede, and you get up from your seat.
Each step feels too heavy than it should be. Your eyes lock onto the back of Sullyoon's head. Her hair is done in a ponytail today. She looks pretty like this. In fact, she looks pretty in every hairstyle. You trudge towards her row slowly, trying not to let her out of sight. Each second feels awfully long and tormenting, and you just reel through the possibilities of your first conversation with her. You keep reminding yourself that you have to ask for the vacancy of the seat beside her.
Until you're right beside her.
"Uh," you manage with all of your consciousness and energy. Sullyoon turns to you. "Hey, Miss Seol."
"Hey!" she greets you with a polite smile. "What's up?"
"I was gonna ask," and a pause. You can't believe you're having a conversation with her like this. With sheer willpower, you continue, "If I could sit here, since we're partners for the trip."
Sullyoon's eyes widen. "Oh, you're my freshman! Sure!" and she pats the seat beside her invitingly. "I'll tell Bae to sit somewhere else."
"Oh, I can just—"
"Please, and we've never talked prior to this, right? We can get to know each other here!" Sullyoon persuades, and her eyes give the impression that she wants your company. You just cannot decline the heavenly offer granted by the stars.
"Uh, okay." You settle yourself beside Sullyoon cautiously, trying not to humiliate yourself with your awkward movements. "Can Miss Bae sit with my friend?"
"Sure thing! Where's your friend?"
"Uh," and turn back to Taesan, who's watching your shenanigans happily. "He's there." You point at him.
"Alright, I'll message her."'
You keep thinking of ways that you can fumble this, and you just can't seem to stop it. Still, having Sullyoon this close to you after just a few words makes your heart flutter, and you have to hold back your smile for the entire trip.
---
"What's that on your phone?" Sullyoon asks. It's about half an hour into the ride. You appreciate the fact that she takes interests about your phone's background.
"The wallpaper?" and you tilt your phone to her a bit, making sure that she can see your screen.
"Yeah. Is it a movie poster?"
"Aftersun, yeah. I watched it a few years ago, and it just stuck in my head ever since."
It's an honest answer. Aftersun is an influential film to you. You saw it at a theater when it was initially released, and you just can't get it out of your brain somehow. It's a five-star film, really.
"Never heard of it before," Sullyoon says with a chuckle. "I'm not good at movies, to be honest."
Bravely, you reply, "I can help you with that if you want," and you chuckle a bit, diluting the seriousness of your words. You're trying not to look too cocky with your cinema knowledge here.
"I'd say yes if I had time," Sullyoon answers. "Please don't take it to heart. It's just that: I have so many fucking things going on in my life."
"Sorry to hear that," you respond in an attempt to empathize. "I don't take it personally, don't worry."
Sullyoon smiles before showing you her wallpaper. There are some Japanese letters that you can't translate and a few cars that you find cute. The overall image looks rather green-tinted. "I took this myself."
"With, like, a camera?"
"Yeah, it was from my trip to Tokyo," and Sullyoon pulls her phone back, seemingly searching for something. "Let me find the album, uh, here!"
You look at a bright image of the buildings of Tokyo. The composition and the lighting look good to you.
"Wow," you utter. "It's gorgeous."
Sullyoon smiles again. "Thanks. This is one of the better ones. I'm, like, really proud of it."
You can't help but smile along with her. Sullyoon continues to show you the images from her trip, and they truly are eye candy. You shower her with praise for her photography skills. You learn about the camera she uses. She learns about your love for Aftersun a little more. The conversation goes back and forth throughout the ride, and you're so fucking proud of yourself that you asked for this seat in the first place.
You're winning Seol Yoona's heart.
---
The bus stops at the mandatory resting point for lunch. You've been here a few times with your family before. It looks a tad different from what you've remembered, though you appreciate the fact that you get to use the bathroom and have a few pieces of pizza.
"So, how do you guys know each other?" Bae asks, biting off a piece of pepperoni she's holding. Sullyoon is sitting beside her, munching on a piece of double cheese.
"We live in the same dorm. He was searching for someone who lived there in the group chat, and I contacted him," Taesan answers, and you're nodding along with his words to confirm the legitimacy of the story. "And I drive him to campus on the days that we don't skip our classes," he continues with a chuckle, earning a boisterous laugh from Bae.
"You're skipping classes as freshmen?" Sullyoon quizzes.
Not wanting to look like a pair of irresponsible students in Sullyoon's eyes, you hastily refute his claim, "No, no, no, he was just joking."
Sullyoon nods approvingly before biting off her double cheese again. "I wish I had the fire like you guys," she says. "You kinda lose the energy with time, you know."
Not knowing how to answer, you just smile back at her. Then, you go back to the piece of pepperoni in your hand again, hoping that when you and Taesan become sophomores, you can be good examples for the future freshmen.
"Taesan, you have a, uh, sauce?" Bae starts, then she pulls a piece of paper out of a box for him. "Left side."
---
"So, why do you like photography?" you start at some time into the second half of the ride. It has been a while of silence playing on your phones, and you don't want to look too antisocial here.
"It's my mom," and Sullyoon looks up from her phone. The afternoon light from outside the bus is making a good angle with her face. She just looks gorgeous like this — her brown hair, her eyes, her voice. "She's a photographer, and she taught me about cameras and how to take photos."
You nod along with her words. "Cool. My mom is a chef."
"That's cool, too. Does this mean you can cook well?" Sullyoon asks. Her head is tilted a little in curiosity.
"I can make a Thai omelette. Is that enough?" you joke back, eliciting a chuckle from Sullyoon.
"Not a very suitable set of skills for today's dinner, I'd say," Sullyoon says, and she leans in closer to you. Your heart races at the unexpected proximity, and you use all your willpower to stay still. Though it turns out that she's just whispering you a spoiler for today's dinner. "I'm not supposed to tell a freshman, but we're having barbecue tonight."
You can smell her perfume — summer.
Your muscles relax once Sullyoon pulls her mouth away from your ear. You take some time to process her words. It's a barbecue. There'll be a grill. There'll be fire.
"Will there be beer as well?" you ask, only to realize how much of an alcoholic you're being in front of your crush. Fuck.
Sullyoon laughs. Her voice dips a tad deeper than usual, but it's devastatingly attractive to your ears. "Isn't that, like, the whole point of this trip? Getting wasted together and floating around in a pool?"
"Fair point," you reply, and the image of a drenched Sullyoon plagues your mind in an instant — clothes clinging to her skin, wet hair, her curves. Maybe you'll be making out with her in the water with your breath smelling like wheat and rye. You'll hold her close to your body as you kiss her with need. You'll—
"I still have to make sure of your safety, though, so don't drink too much. I can't deal with the faculty and your parents," Sullyoon half-jokes and half-pleads, pulling you away out of the fantasy. You understand her burden, of course, and you're going to be taking care of a freshman next year as well. You don't want physics-bending karma to come back and bite you in your ass.
"Sure, Miss Seol."
"Please, just call me Sullyoon," she urges. "Seriously, I feel like a fucking historical artifact being called Miss Seol, and I think I trust you enough now."
You get confused a bit at the idea of Sullyoon trusting you. Alas, it has been only a few hours since your first conversation. Nonetheless, you can jump out of this bus onto the road and ruin a car's windshield with this level of ecstasy. Seol Yoona trusts you, and that's probably another quest completed on the way to being her younger and slightly shorter boyfriend.
"Yeah, uh, okay, Sullyoon," you manage, doing your best to hide the joy inside your heart. It works for a while. At the moment Sullyoon turns away, you ball your hands into fists to celebrate the worthwhile event quietly out of her sight.
---
After a while, your view of the side of the bus becomes stores and houses planted along the road. There are some traffic lights on the way to your accommodation, as opposed to none on the highway earlier. You've just entered the metropolitan area of the town.
It doesn't take long before the bus turns into a small street. In the front, there are a bunch of rest houses sitting beside the alley. You see pools behind the wall of a house. Your bus stops eventually, and being nearest to the exit, you're the first to get off the vehicle.
"Hey," Sullyoon calls, and you turn back to her, not forgetting to leave the walkway space for a few people to walk past you towards the exit. "Can I have your number?"
Your mouth hangs open slightly in shock as Sullyoon locks her doe eyes with yours. Seol Yoona just asked for your number, and you can't fucking believe this. Your hands are still operating, at least, as you just whip out your phone from your pocket and touch the top of it with Sullyoon's.
Your phone vibrates slightly as her contact appears on your screen. The profile picture is her ID picture, you think. It looks so formal, with Sullyoon as her display name.
"Great, I'll message you when we're ready," Sullyoon says with a nod. "Or you can just come by and hang around first. Either way works."
"Sure, I'll put my stuff in my bedroom and go to you guys," you assure her, and she seems to be happy with that.
---
Sullyoon's house looks just like yours. It's not even mirrored. There's a pool table on the left side of the entrance. You can walk into the house a bit to find a pool filled with water on the right. The television is in the same position. There's a fridge beside it. The clock says that it's about four in the evening. Still, Sullyoon is nowhere to be seen, so you just settle yourself on the couch in the middle of the room meekly.
After a while, a door beside the television opens, and someone comes out of it.
She's not Sullyoon, though — a bit shorter, sharper face. It's Oh Haewon, still in her bus clothes of a Hawaiian shirt and jeans.
In Sullyoon's social circle, she spends most of her time with five women: Lily Morrow, Oh Haewon, Bae Jinsol, Kim Jiwoo, and Jang Kyujin. They're in the engineering dance club together, after all. You've seen their performances at a number of events: the orientation day, the international night, and now, the house trip. In your humble opinion, they're deathly beautiful in their own styles, and in reality, so many people have crushes on them. Though none of them have ever made a single move out of fear and anxiety.
In the group, Sullyoon is the most popular, with Haewon coming in a close second ranking. It's more of a preference whether you prefer the cute, innocuous vibe of Sullyoon or the tomboyish, vulgar vibe of Haewon. You find yourself more fitting to Sullyoon's energy, though it's not that you find Haewon any less gorgeous.
"Hey," Haewon greets you with a small nod. "Sullyoon's partner, right?"
You gulp. "Yeah, I, uh, she told me that I can be here, so I'm here."
Haewon nods again receptively before walking towards the couch. She sits down not too far from you, and she grabs the remote to play something.
"Oh, there's Netflix," Haewon mutters, and she clicks on the icon. It brings her to a login screen, however. "Damn."
"I have Netflix," you blurt out in an effort to help Haewon.
"Aren't you staying at that house?" Haewon asks, pointing back to your villa. "What? Are you and Sullyoon secretly fucking or something?" She shoots you a suspicious look, seemingly piqued by the notion of your trysts with her friend.
You can't say a word as your eyes widen and your mouth hangs open. Your body freezes in your seat, unsure of how to respond to the fuckery Haewon just uttered. It's as if your heart just stops for a few seconds just to process Haewon's awfully forward question.
"What?" you manage, utterly and completely shocked. "We're not—"
Suddenly, Haewon bursts out into a boisterous laugh, moving from side to side in her seat. "Fucking hell, I'm sorry," and she reaches out towards you, pacifying the situation. "I know you guys just met. I was just fucking with ya, sorry again."
Your expression dissolves into a shy laugh along with Haewon. "Oh, well," you mutter between chuckles. "That's quite a welcome."
"Yeah, I shouldn't, no, I wouldn't do it if I had known," Haewon says as her laugh softens into a smile. She then hands you the remote in her hand. "Here, log in with your Netflix."
"Thanks," and you take the remote from Haewon. Your heartbeat slows down a bit, and you start working on logging into the pool villa's Netflix with your account that you're sharing with Taesan and a few of your friends.
"Well, with that out of the way," Haewon restarts the conversation. She scoots a little closer towards you, and you tense up again. Your fingers tremble slightly on your phone while trying to access your Netflix account. "Do you like Sullyoon? Like, as your senior match or whatever."
"She's wonderful! I like her vibe," you answer honestly, alternating your eyes between Haewon, your phone, and the television. It's quite a sensory overload here. "She's so kind to me."
"Yeah, she's lovely all around. It's her expertise," Haewon says, sinking herself into the cushion of the couch. "You two will get along, don't worry."
"I hope so."
You finally link your account to the television, and Haewon claps merrily at the success. The screen shows a few algorithmic suggestions, and it's clear that you're a film buff.
"Do you have any hate-watching suggestions while we're drunk?" Haewon asks.
"The Room, I think?"
"I believe you," and Haewon does a finger gun pointing at you. You just smile at her.
---
The sizzling from the grill fills the night air along with the splashes of water in the pool. The outdoor area of Sullyoon's house smells of cooked meat and beer. You're sitting in a chair shyly, scrolling Twitter as alcohol begins to set in. There are a few freshmen, including Taesan, and sophomores, including Bae, playing in the pool together. You and Sullyoon remain on the land still, talking about tedious topics and interests that become interesting just because it's Seol Yoona you're talking to.
"How has your freshman year been?" Sullyoon asks, swirling the contents of her can around a bit, and she takes a sip.
"It's fine, I guess," you respond without looking up from your phone. "Took some time before I settled in, even with Taesan."
Sullyoon chuckles. "I get it — new environment, new friends, yadda yadda." She takes a bite off her barbecue stick — green pepper — and Sullyoon asks you more with her mouth full of food, "Did anyone come with you? Like, from the same high school."
You look up from your phone to meet Sullyoon's eyes before answering, "Nope, I'm alone here. Was really lucky I met him in that dorm group."
Sullyoon nods at the same time a splash of water lands on her feet, and she flinches a little. You look at the pool to find Bae and Taesan smiling apologetically.
"Sorry," Bae says from the water. Sullyoon just accepts her apology with a nod.
"Anyway," Sullyoon restarts, turning back to you. The can of beer is still staying in her hand, and she takes another swig. "Let's talk about something more personal."
You look at her, puzzled by her statement. "Wasn't that already personal?" and you let out a chuckle to lighten the seriousness of the statement. You don't want her to feel intimidated by your words.
Sullyoon laughs, seemingly a little drunk now. "There are more personal things than you settling into college life, you know?"
You're still too shy with two cans of beer in your veins. However, you really want to get to know Sullyoon better than this. You can feel your vision getting a tad blurry, but she remains as gorgeous as ever — her eyes, her hair, her lips. God, you just want her to pin you against the wall and start whispering dehumanizing insults into your ear.
"I don't have a girlfriend or a boyfriend, if that's what you wanna know," you declare, picking up the can to take a sip out of shyness. You wonder how and why the hell you said that. It's not like you look good enough to have a romantic life.
Sullyoon chuckles, fidgeting with her almost-empty can. "Me too." You register the intoxication in her eyes and tone, eventually. Her off-the-perfect-cadence giggles ring in your ear canals against the noise from the pool and the grill. "I've been on a few dates in college, and they're all just fucking boring."
"Boring?" you probe her a bit.
Sullyoon stands up from the opposite seat, and she sashays towards another chair next to you. The act makes your inhibitions drop slightly — proximity and all. She reaches for the can of beer back at her seat, and you see how defined her arm muscles are — curves, veins, and strength. You'd really like her to lock your head with that.
"Yeah, they're" — she takes another sip — "they always try to please me, and I can see through that."
"Like, uh, what usually happens?" you ask more questions without much self-doubt. The tendency to second-guess your words seems to disappear bit by bit.
Sullyoon scoffs, then there's another sip before she answers, "They act weird. I don't know how to describe it." Sullyoon looks up into the sky, reiterating her thoughts, and you follow her vision to see the stars flickering on the pitch-black blanket of the nocturne. "They just don't stay true to themselves! Yeah, that's the word."
You ponder her words. Not staying true to oneself is something that you oppose, obviously, but you also have some concern if you're falling into that category by falling for her as well — agreeing to everything she says and pretending to be someone else.
"Do you think I act weird?" you blurt out in your drunken stupor. You're a tad concerned about dishonesty, and maybe you'd get a free compliment from her for being yourself for the last 12 hours since the first encounter.
"Do you have a crush on me or something?" Sullyoon teases, looking at you with playfulness in her eyes. That smirk is killing you. "Why the fuck would you even ask that?" and she chuckles lightly.
Your eyes widen as you regain your senses for a few seconds. Her words are powerful, and you just can't answer the question she's using to interrogate your heart. All that you can do is take a sip from your can to hide the color on your cheeks.
You don't register Sullyoon's hand on your shoulder for the first second of contact. Again, the alcohol is setting in hastily. Still, your heart beats faster when her body scent reaches your nose — sweat, perfume, and some beer — and you almost choke on your drink. Your hands tremble under the weight of reality and closeness. Her mouth is agape, as if ready to do something unpredictable. You look into her eyes. There is a lot that's going on in her pupils — energy, mischief, and perhaps some desire.
You stammer out, "Come, come again?" She smells so fucking wonderful, and you wouldn't mind one bit if she calls you weird as an answer.
Then, Sullyoon just chuckles in front of your face, and you just look at her, confused.
"Just messing with ya," she utters with a smile before pulling herself away from you. Sullyoon then clinks her can with yours gently. "I'm drunk as hell now, so please excuse me."
Shakily, you bring the can to your mouth again for another sip while chuckling awkwardly.
"And no, I don't think you act weird around me," Sullyoon says.
Your heart flutters at her answer. The urge to jump into the pool out of joy is strong, but you remain mostly still as you ask her, "Really?"
Sullyoon shrugs. "Yeah, at least from what I see, I think you're often honest."
"Often?"
Another splash of pool water finds your feet and Sullyoon's. Both of you jump at the coldness, and Sullyoon goes a little further than you by hissing at the swimmers.
She turns back to meet your eyes. "I think we're gonna get all wet by the time I finish explaining this frequency adjective to you," Sullyoon states, tilting her head slightly towards the sliding doors, and you get the notion in that instant.
"We're just gonna sit on the couch and watch The Room, right?"
"What the fuck is The Room?"
"I did not hit her, it's not true! It's bullshit! I did not hit her!" Tommy then throws his water bottle away. "I did not. Oh hi, Mark."
"Oh, hey Johnny, what's up?"
Sullyoon nods beside you on the living room couch, a different can of beer that's almost full in her hand. "I see the appeal now."
"There are a bunch of weird dialogues like this, by the way. This is just one of them," you add, taking a chug off your can. "It's a fucking goldmine."
Sullyoon smiles back at you. "Splendid."
---
"Do you actually smoke?"
"This is Haewon's."
"Where are yours?"
"I don't smoke."
There are two cans of beer sitting idly on the marble sink. The area of this room is generally too small for two people, but with this amount of distance, you're fitting into it perfectly. There's the smell of scented candles that reminds you of serenity, but again, the ecstasy you've been chasing is already in front of you.
"I'm not trying this," you decline with a profuse shake of your head.
"Weren't you chugging beer like crazy earlier?" Sullyoon scoffs, breath smells of fermented wheat. She picks up a lighter to ignite the cigarette in her hand. A line of smoke rises from the opposite end from where her fingers are holding it.
"It wasn't that crazy, to be fair," you whine back. "This is, like, my, uh."
Sullyoon laughs in your face with visible signs of late-stage intoxication: lack of balance, unfocused eyes, shaky hands. "It's your eighth can tonight, by the way," and she points her thumb to the side, to the cans on the sink.
She keeps track of your beer consumption history, apparently, and you tease back, giggling, "You like me enough to count?"
"What do you think?" she plays coy, bringing the stick closer to the mouth. She doesn't take a drag yet, and you just observe the light at the end of it flickering in a slow rhythm. "Am I being a responsible sophomore, or am I having a crush on a person whom I've just met this morning?"
And you're snapped back into reality for a heartbeat. Within that timeframe, it's clear that you need more time and familiarity with Sullyoon to build her trust. You're a bit gutted that it's not so soon, to be honest, but you just hide any trace of that feeling with a small laugh.
"A person can dream, I guess," you blurt out, so unaware of how cocky you look.
"Yeah, I know I'm hot," Sullyoon scoffs, and her lips finally touch the cigarette. You watch her suck in air through her mouth. It's devastatingly attractive. Then, a puff of smoke hits your face, eliciting a few coughs from you, and you wonder how the hell she doesn't struggle with taking a drag.
"That wasn't" — and there's another cough — "hot."
"You're being obtuse," Sullyoon scoffs again. You're irked by her confidence a bit, but a part of you also finds that, in a sense, hot.
"I don't wanna get cancer," you deflect, trying your best to look strong in front of Sullyoon. Still, with this shorter height and younger age, you probably look deathly cute to her instead of intimidating. To make matters worse, she's ruffling your hair with a smile that's just making your muscles go wobbly against the bathroom door.
"You're a terrible liar," Sullyoon jokes. "I'll show you something."
Sullyoon takes another drag — soft, awfully quiet, glittering at the tip of her stick. She brings her other hand up to your mouth, and you flinch a bit out of the last remnants of your humility. Still, Sullyoon's thumb chases your lips and pries your mouth open gently. You loosen your jaw as her face moves closer towards yours.
A puff of white cloud leaves her mouth with a small push of air from her lungs, and you close your eyes once it reaches you. You block your trachea. The gust just rages in your mouth, and you let it stay there for a bit. You think you've seen this before — Joachim Trier's lens. And if your memory isn't too fuzzy and altered, what Sullyoon is doing to you right now looks stunningly ethereal.
Her breath is hot against your face. Her thumb burns your lips. Her smoke scorches the inside of your cheeks. It's one chillingly gorgeous spectacle if someone happens to stumble into this bathroom — the closeness, the white curls, the cadence of her chuckle afterwards. Seol Yoona is blowing smoke from her mouth into yours.
And you're pretty sure that Renate and Herbert are going to be ecstatic seeing you and Sullyoon reenacting their image.
A few heartbeats later, you blow a gust out of your lungs and open your eyes again. You're greeted with the sight of the dissolving vapor in front of Sullyoon's angelic features. She chuckles heartily, and she doesn't make a scene of brushing the cloud away. Her thumb is still on your lips, prying your mouth open with minimal force. She looks dreadfully pretty under the bathroom light and a layer of white puff.
"It's called shotgunning, I think," Sullyoon finally breaks the silence, and you just hum back at her as an affirmation. "I like it when we just stay like this."
"Like what?" you utter dumbly. Your brain seems to be completely fried from that puff, and you can only repeat her words and express agreement at this point.
"Close, but not too close," Sullyoon huffs before taking another drag, then there's another shotgunning. The cloud spins in your mouth, and you push it out softly. The whiteness dissipates into Sullyoon smiling in front of you and continuing her answer, "It's thrilling."
You're all dazed and enchanted by her spell — smoke and perfume. Your heart is yearning for more of her touch than just the thumb on your lips and the white puffs. You want to chase her lips, but the threat of losing her wholly looms over you. This entire thing is a thriller, honestly.
You gulp. "We're going to do this until—"
"It burns out, yeah," and Sullyoon winks. "Fun, isn't it?"
You rest your back against the door. "Then what?"
Sullyoon scoffs, and she ruffles your hair again tenderly. You just melt without an ounce of resistance — wobbly legs, slack arms. Her other hand is still holding the stick between her fingers. There's a line of smoke floating from the bright end.
"I don't know, really," Sullyoon answers your question, hand leaving your hair and reaching for her beer on the side. Your eyes are locked on the light from her cigarette, only to be told, "Look at me, pretty boy."
The name sends a shiver down your spine, obviously, and you shift your gaze back to her. She looks gorgeous as always: eyes, nose, lips. Now, with the label, you'd really love to just let her do whatever the hell she pleases with you.
"You look like a delicacy," Sullyoon says, and she takes another sip off her can. The alcohol helps your heart from beating too fast from the notion of you being her metaphorical dinner to satiate her apparent lust. "I wanna fucking devour you, to be honest."
Her eyes are still locked on yours. The duration of the prolonged eye contact should make you feel uneasy under sobriety, but you're leaning in closer towards Sullyoon as she puts her can away from her mouth. You're met with the sight of her wet lips glistening in the low light of the bathroom. Suddenly, however, Sullyoon pushes you back with her beer can against the door, eliciting a moan out of your mouth, knocking the air out of your lungs.
"Do as I say, pretty boy," Sullyoon commands, moving so awfully close to you that her lips almost touch yours. She doesn't make a show of smoking into your mouth anymore. The distance is gnawing at your heart, but with that assertion, you don't dare closing that gap.
You smile weakly with the surmounting excitement running in your veins. It's really happening right now — the golden, clear-cut chance with your crush. Your heart is hammering inside your chest. Your fingers quiver incessantly. Your pupils are certainly dilating.
Still, the playful edge in you emerges for a bit. "What if I don't?"
Sullyoon smirks, and a scoff leaves her mouth. "I'm sure you're not that stupid, right?"
"Definitely," and you chuckle in her face. It's disgustingly brave. "Maybe."
Sullyoon tilts her head a bit, then she faux begs, "Take off your shorts, pretty please?"
There's a certain kind of teasing in your movements as you remove the garments from your waist. It's to your best knowledge from being an engineering student. It's to your utmost ability to move when having a beer can on your chest and the bathroom door on your back. You don't really expect her to be more aroused by the swaying of your hips or the sultry-drunk expressions from you.
Sullyoon smiles at your enthusiasm, at least. You're elated with that. Then, she peers down to see your lush hair seeping from under the shorts.
"You don't even trim it," she states, still pinning you against the door with her beer can. The force lessens a bit, though. "Fucking disgusting," and she completes her insult with a devilish smile.
You push your boxers and shorts down further, lifting your legs to help with the removal. At a certain point, your cock springs out with eagerness, spreading precum over her casual clothes. Your body is shivering with anticipation and anxiety, while Sullyoon observes the entirety of you, taking a few drags and blowing the smoke onto your face.
Eventually, your bottom half is free of clothes. The vulnerability is terrifying under Sullyoon's impish expression. Her eyes scan all over your exposed body just to elicit some more goosebumps on your skin. You're smiling weakly out of intoxication, regardless. Your affection for her is running deadly deep.
She takes a drag, removing the can from your chest. You feel you can breathe properly again. There's this slightly numbing pain in your ribs, but you're too drunk and lusted-out to give any fucks about that. She's taller than you are. She's older than you are. She's stronger than you are. This is nauseatingly perfect.
"Go to the toilet," Sullyoon issues another order, and she moves out of the way to let you walk with boxers and pants on your ankles.
You take a few clumsy steps to the toilet, feeling Sullyoon's eyes on you. It's probably the natural response for you to feel the need to pee upon seeing the ceramic bowl. So, you aim your hard cock towards the water body. It's difficult with an erection, but—
"I've always wanted to do this." Sullyoon's chest is pressed against your back. Her left hand slides all over your abdomen, while the right is still holding the borrowed cigarette and the beer can. Of course, you moan with pleasure and her warmth. She stops around your lushness above your cock, eventually, and she gives it a soft press.
"Fuck," you whine whorishly. She gives it another press, and the tingle in your bladder becomes stronger. You can barely stand right now.
"Piss for Mommy, pretty boy, piss all that beer out," Sullyoon coos, and you feel her chin on your right shoulder. She takes another inhale of the nicotine, and you can only watch the smoke flying out of her mouth from beside you. Her left hand moves down a little more to help with the aim under the state of erection. She wraps her hand around your cock, bending it down a bit more.
That's when it starts for you.
There's the sound of your fluid hitting the water body in the toilet — slightly yellowish. Your body loosens up a bit. Sullyoon hums approvingly as a response, then, "It's so hard. I'm sure it's because of me, right?"
"Yes, Mommy," you speak, the moniker slipping out too easily. Your eyes are locked on your firmly held shaft that's still leaking.
Sullyoon takes another drag, blowing the smoke below her. The cloud envelops your cock, and you find the image somewhat cinematic, to be honest. You keep your piss consistent, forcing it out of the bladder in a powerful stream against the ceramic and the toilet water.
"Mommy's pissy boy," Sullyoon whispers, prompting a moan out of your mouth. Your pliability has never reached such high, and it's Seol Yoona — your crush — who helps turn your brain into a mush. "You're such a nasty little slut."
You repeat mindlessly, "I'm Mommy's pissy boy. I'm Mommy's little slut."
Sullyoon puts the cigarette into your mouth, blowing a puff into your right ear. The cloud is warm on your lobe. The drag is warm between your lips. "Take a drag, pretty boy."
You're too stupid and wasted right now to resist. There's a cough when the smoke hits those tiny bags in your lungs, and puffs leave your mouth. The stick doesn't fall, still. That's your first time smoking, and being held by the cock by your crush while pissing does elevate the experience by a margin.
Down below, your stream goes down in its intensity. A straight line becomes a curved one, and a curved one becomes droplets. The noise coming from the ceramic becomes quieter, and Sullyoon helps you shake the last few beads out of your slit. Your body can barely stand up now. You can just collapse within Sullyoon's embrace, really.
She holds you like that for a while, letting you bask in her warmth and your own vulnerability. You let out a few whines from between your lips as the drag remains in your mouth. Every breath is punctuated with a puff leaving with the moans. Then, Sullyoon sways from side to side languidly, and you follow promptly. She's humming some tune that you don't recognize — perfect cadence, almost somber tone.
"Such a good boy for Mommy," Sullyoon praises you, chin still on your right shoulder. Your heart jumps at the compliment, obviously, as you dance along with her.
"Thank you, Mommy," you say feebly, a bit muffled by the cigarette. Sullyoon reclaims it from your mouth with her fingers, eventually. Another puff is blown out of her mouth.
"Almost burned out," Sullyoon says.
Your eyes are still looking into the wall in front of you, mostly thoughtlessly except for the movements and her care. "What's burning out?" you ask, shifting your weight between the legs for the nocturnal waltz.
Another exhale, another white gust, another hum — Sullyoon answers, "The drag — this is my only one."
"Ask for one more from Haewon, Mommy."
But Sullyoon just stays there, hugging you from behind, lingering with you. Her left hand is still on your hard cock. A few more puffs pass by your ear as you two move from side to side. The room smells of scented candles.
"I wanna stay like this," Sullyoon finally says, and she presses the cigarette against the wall in front of you. There's an inky mark on the vast whiteness of the bathroom wall. "You smell like beer, by the way," and she finally takes a deep breath from something that isn't a cigarette: you.
The exposure to Sullyoon's proximity just pierces all of your defenses. Just this morning, if someone told you that you'll be in this situation — your crush holding your dick while you're peeing — you'd tell them to fuck the hell off. Right now, you don't know if it's the alcohol that's doing the talking, but you think it's real — her affection, her body against yours, her words.
Within her embrace, you've never felt weaker than right now.
Word Count: 12k
No smut content, purely plot (Part 2 of Damage Control)
By the time the elevator chimed, the Top Floor had never looked cleaner. Which was impressively suspicious. Because six emotionally compromised adults had tried to prepare a luxury floor for the arrival of nine senior idols, one exhausted manager, and whatever psychological weapon Park Jihyo had decided to bring with her.
The result was less “prepared” and more “crime scene sanitized by guilty people.” Ryujin had hidden anything she personally considered embarrassing. Unfortunately, Ryujin’s definition of embarrassing was deeply unreliable. Yuna had spent twenty minutes asking if certain things counted as evidence. Lia had told her that if she had to ask, the answer was yes. Chaeryeong had focused on food, because apparently she was the only person here with survival instincts. Yeji had tried to keep everyone calm. I had tried to help, nobody believed me.
“You are pacing,” Lia said from the kitchen island.
“I am assessing the room.”
“You have assessed the room nine times.”
“Then the room should feel grateful.”
Ryujin leaned against the counter with a bottle of water in hand “You know, for someone who owns this entire floor, you look like a man waiting for his landlord to inspect the apartment.”
“TWICE is coming here.”
“Yes.”
“All of TWICE.”
“Yes.”
“And you think that is normal.”
Ryujin took a sip of water “No. I think it is funny.” Yuna appeared from the hallway holding a throw pillow “Where do we put this?” I looked at it “On the couch.” She looked down, then back at me “But what if Sana unnie touches it and somehow knows?”
“Knows what?”
“I don’t know. That’s the danger.”
Lia closed her eyes “Please put the pillow down.” Yuna placed it on the couch very carefully, as if the fabric had legal consequences. Chaeryeong walked in with another tray of snacks “Do you think this is enough?” I looked at the table. There were already enough snacks to sustain a small diplomatic summit “Yes.” Chaeryeong frowned “But Momo sunbaenim is coming.” I paused “Good point, get double— no triple the amount.” Chaeryeong immediately turned back toward the kitchen. Ryujin pointed after her “See? That’s leadership.” Yeji looked toward the elevator doors “She’s not wrong.” I rubbed my forehead “Outstanding. We are preparing for TWICE like a siege.”
The elevator chimed again. This time, the doors opened and the siege arrived.
Jihyo stepped out first. She entered like a person who had already read the room, judged the room, and decided she could manage the room before her second foot crossed the threshold.
John followed behind her carrying a folder, looking like a man who had been warned about danger and still walked into it for love, employment, or stupidity. Possibly all three.
Mina came next. Calm. Elegant. Quiet. Her eyes moved across the Top Floor once, then again. Not like someone admiring luxury. Like someone evaluating asset value, security lines, privacy vulnerabilities, and whether the lighting choices were tasteful enough to survive wealth. That honestly made me uncomfortable.
Then came Nayeon. Smiling. Which meant one thing… incoming damage.
Sana appeared behind her, already looking around with delighted curiosity.
Jeongyeon followed with the dry expression of someone expecting nonsense and being disappointed only by how quickly it began.
Momo entered and immediately looked toward the food.
Chaeyoung’s eyes widened as she took in the lounge.
Dahyun looked like she was already preparing commentary.
Tzuyu stepped in last, quiet and composed, then looked through the glass wall toward the city view.
For a moment, everyone simply stood there TWICE looking at the Top Floor. ITZY looking at TWICE. John looking like he wanted hazard pay. Me looking for exits in a floor I owned. Then Nayeon smiled wider “So this is where you’ve been hiding them.” I sighed “Good afternoon to you too.”
Sana moved past her with sparkling eyes “This is so pretty.” Dahyun looked around slowly “Pretty? This is not pretty. This is expensive with emotional intent.” Ryujin pointed at her.
“I like her.”
“I like me too,” Dahyun replied immediately.
Yuna leaned toward Lia and whispered, “I fear her.”
“You should,” Lia whispered back.
Jihyo looked at the lounge, then the kitchen, then the hallway “The entire place is bigger than I expected.” John snorted. “You expected modesty from Ben? I looked at him “You live with TWICE.”
“That is unrelated.” Mina finally spoke “It’s well-designed.” Everyone turned toward her. Her tone was calm, almost neutral but somehow, it felt like passing an exam. I nodded once “Thank you.”
Ryujin leaned toward Yuna “Rich people just communicated in furniture language.” Yuna whispered back, “I think that was intimacy.”
“It was not,” I said. Mina sipped from the bottled water Chaeryeong had handed her without anyone noticing “It was not.” Ryujin pointed between us “That’s what rich people would say.” John rubbed both hands over his face “We have been here for THIRTY seconds.” Momo, meanwhile, had reached the snacks. Chaeryeong appeared beside her almost instantly “I made more, just in case.” Momo looked at her. Then at the food. Then back at her “You are very thoughtful.” Chaeryeong turned pink.
Ryujin whispered, “Chaeryeong has secured Momo.”
“Good,” Lia said. “That may save us later.”
Yeji stepped forward, leader smile firmly in place “Welcome to the Top Floor.”
Jihyo smiled at her “Thank you for having us.” Nayeon’s eyes moved from Yeji to me. Then back to Yeji. Then to my hand, which Yeji was not holding. Her smile sharpened “So this is a wellness space?”
“Yes,” Yeji said carefully. Nayeon looked around “With private rooms?” Yeji’s expression did not change. Ryujin choked on her water. Yuna immediately stared at the ceiling. Lia closed her eyes. I looked at John. John looked at me. We both understood that the first shot had been fired. Jihyo turned toward Nayeon.
“Nayeon.”
“What? I’m asking about the facilities.”
Jeongyeon crossed her arms “You are asking about the facilities like a criminal.”
Dahyun lifted one finger “For accuracy, some criminals have more subtlety.”
Nayeon looked delighted “I missed this.”
“You were with them this morning,” John muttered.
“And I missed this version.”
Sana looped an arm through Nayeon’s “Can we have a tour?”
The question sounded innocent. It was not. But refusing would be worse so I glanced at Yeji. Yeji looked back at me.
Her expression said, You caused this.
Mine said, I know.
So we gave TWICE the tour. The lounge went first. Then the kitchen. Then the gym. Then the recovery room. Then the massage room, which Ryujin tried very hard to walk past too quickly. Unfortunately, Sana noticed “Oh?” she said. Ryujin froze. Yuna made a tiny delighted sound. Lia muttered, “Here we go.” Sana looked from Ryujin to me. Then smiled “Useful room?” Ryujin turned toward her with impressive speed “For recovery.”
“Of course.”
“Physical recovery.”
“Of course.”
Nayeon leaned in from behind Sana “Why are we saying of course like that?”
“Because Ryujin is lying badly,” Dahyun said.
Ryujin pointed at her “You are dangerous.”
Dahyun smiled “So I have been told.”
Yeji cleared her throat “This room is mainly for stretching, therapy, and post-practice recovery.” Jihyo looked at the equipment “Actually, this is impressive.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Mina looked at the room. Then at me. “Imported?”
“Mostly.”
“Custom?”
“Some.”
“Hmm, you have good taste.”
Ryujin whispered to Yuna, “They’re doing it again.”
Yuna nodded solemnly “Furniture language.”
Mina glanced at both of them. They immediately stopped whispering.
John leaned toward me “I enjoy when other people experience Mina’s quiet intimidation.”
“It is not intimidation,” Mina said from across the room.
John closed his eyes “See?”
The tour continued. The more TWICE saw, the more the jokes sharpened. The private dining area became “Ben’s idol bunker”. The lounge became “the world’s most expensive emotional support room”. The city-facing balcony became “where rich people stare dramatically after making bad decisions” I did not deny that one.
Then Nayeon saw the private suite hallway. She stopped. Looked at the hallway. Looked at Yeji, then at me. Her entire face lit up.
“Oh.”
“No,” I said immediately.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
She turned to Jihyo “He built Yeji a honeymoon suite.”
Yeji’s face went red instantly “I— That’s not—”
Ryujin appeared behind her “It is emotionally a honeymoon suite.”
Yuna nodded “With witnesses.”
Lia sighed “Why are we adding witnesses?”
Dahyun placed a hand over her heart “For the documentary.”
“No documentary,” Jihyo said.
Chaeyoung looked around “Honestly, this whole place does feel like a secret married-life set.” Yeji made a small helpless sound. I stared at the wall. John patted my shoulder “Congratulations.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Mina looked toward Yeji, then me. Her expression remained unreadable. But her voice was soft “It suits you.” That quieted the hallway more than the jokes had. Yeji looked at Mina. Then nodded “Thank you.”
For half a second, the room breathed. Then Sana smiled “Still honeymoon suite.” Yeji covered her face. The tour ended in the main lounge. Everyone settled into scattered seats across couches, armchairs, and stools. TWICE took over the space with a kind of terrifying ease. ITZY looked both overwhelmed and fascinated. Jihyo waited until everyone had drinks. Then she placed her cup down.
The sound was soft. But it changed the room. I noticed first. Then Yeji, John, and Mina. Jihyo looked across the room “This visit is not only social.” There it was. I leaned back slightly. John avoided my eyes. Ryujin looked between us “Oh no.” Yuna straightened, Lia’s expression sharpened, Chaeryeong went still. Jihyo continued “If TWICE and ITZY are going to be involved in the retreat Ben proposed, then everyone in this room needs to understand the risk of being honest.”
I frowned “Jihyo.” she looked at me “You called me.”
“I called for advice.”
“And received structure.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It is better.”
John muttered, “She has you there.”
I glared at him, the Jihyo lifted the folder John had been holding. My blood went cold.
“No…”
Ryujin’s eyes widened “What is that?”
“Paperwork,” John said gravely.
Yuna gasped “Ben predicted her.”
“I feared her,” I corrected.
Jihyo opened the folder “These are NDAs.”
The air shifted. Not badly, but seriously. ITZY looked at the papers. Then at TWICE. Then at me. Yeji’s posture went still. She knew enough to understand why.
Lia was already watching the wording from where she sat. Chaeryeong’s hands folded in her lap. Yuna’s playfulness dimmed. Ryujin leaned forward, quieter now. Jihyo noticed the change and softened her voice “This is not to silence you.” She looked at each of them “It is so everyone can speak honestly without endangering anyone else”. That mattered and the room held onto it.
Jihyo continued “TWICE knows the general shape of what has been happening with Ben and ITZY. Ben and Yeji know the general shape of what has been happening with John and TWICE. But general shapes are not enough if both groups are about to share space privately for a week or more.” Yuna glanced at me. Lia glanced at Yeji. Chaeryeong looked down at the papers.
Ryujin exhaled “So this is mutual.”
“Yes,” Jihyo said.
Nayeon leaned back, less teasing now “We are not here to expose you.”
Sana nodded “Or judge you.”
Jeongyeon added, “We are here because secrets are dangerous when people keep tripping over them.”
Dahyun lifted her hand slightly “And because Jihyo said we were coming.”
Jihyo looked at her. Dahyun smiled “Respectfully.”
Mina spoke quietly from her chair “Protection first. Explanation after.”
That settled the room more than anything else. Yeji reached for the first copy. She did not rush. She’s already done this before to understand, then signed. Simple. Steady, leader first.
Ryujin watched her. Then picked up a pen “This covers emotional crimes too?” John looked at her “What?”
“Just asking.”
Jihyo did not blink “Unfortunately, no.”
“Shame.” Ryujin signed.
Yuna took hers next. She scanned the page, lips pressed together in concentration. Then signed with more care than her jokes would have suggested.
Lia read hers fully. Twice. Then she looked up. “This protects both sides equally?” Jihyo nodded “It does.” Lia signed.
Chaeryeong held hers the longest. Not because she was resisting, but because she was careful. She looked at Jihyo. “If someone becomes uncomfortable later?” Jihyo’s face softened “Then they can say so. The NDA protects information. It does not force participation.” Chaeryeong nodded. Then signed.
The pens sounded louder than it should have when everyone finally set them down.
Jihyo gathered the papers. John placed them back in the folder and suddenly, the room felt different. Not safer exactly. Just more honest. Jihyo looked toward me briefly. I did not like that look. It was the look of a woman about to push the next domino. She turned back to ITZY “Now we can speak properly.”
Nayeon sat up. Sana’s hand found Jihyo’s arm for a second.
Jeongyeon leaned back, watching ITZY carefully.
Momo stopped eating.
Dahyun’s expression settled.
Chaeyoung looked thoughtful.
Tzuyu’s gaze moved toward John.
Mina held her tea with both hands.
Jihyo spoke first.
“TWICE has an arrangement with John.” No one interrupted. That alone said everything. Jihyo continued. “It started messy. Not because anyone wanted to hurt each other, but because care became complicated before any of us had language for it.”
My eyes shifted toward Yeji. She was listening closely. So were the others. Jihyo glanced at John. He did not look away “There are boundaries,” she said. “There is consent. There is rotation. There are rules we built because without them, someone would eventually feel forgotten, or guilty, or responsible for too much.”
Ryujin’s eyebrows lifted “Rotation?”
Nayeon smiled faintly “There it is.”
Ryujin looked at her “So you have a schedule?”
John closed his eyes.
Ryujin leaned forward “Like an actual romantic calendar?”
Dahyun coughed into her hand.
Yuna whispered, “She means horny calendar, we told her to be polite.”
“Yuna,” Yeji said weakly.
“What? She did.”
Jihyo sighed, but her mouth twitched “In less… Ryujin terms, yes. We have a system.” Lia’s question came quietly “And everyone agreed?”
“Yes,” Jihyo said with no hesitation “That is the only reason it works.” Chaeryeong looked toward John “How do you handle it?” John exhaled “Badly at first.” Nayeon snorted “Still badly sometimes.” John pointed at her “Thank you for the support.”
“You’re welcome.” Jihyo continued before they could spiral “John does not belong to a schedule. The schedule exists so none of us hurt each other by accident.” That landed. Especially with Yeji and me. Yuna leaned forward “So nobody feels left out?” The question was too soft to be a joke. Nayeon’s smile gentled “Sometimes feelings still happen.” Sana nodded “But it helps when nobody has to guess where they stand.” Tzuyu spoke quietly. “And when no one is punished for needing reassurance.”
The room went still. Yuna looked down. Ryujin stopped moving. Lia’s fingers tightened around her cup. Chaeryeong looked at the floor. Yeji’s hand shifted beside mine. Jihyo looked at ITZY with the calm of someone who knew exactly where the sentence had landed “That is why I wanted this conversation before the retreat,” she said. “Not because you need to copy us.” Her eyes moved to Ryujin. Then to Yuna. Then to Lia. Then to Chaeryeong. Then to Yeji. And finally, to me “Do not copy us just because we survived our version.”
“Build what fits you.”
“But build it honestly.”
That sentence settled into the room like a rule nobody had to write down. Ryujin leaned back. “So TWICE built rules first,” she looked at all of us “And we built emotional chaos first.” Dahyun nodded. “That is a very accurate meeting summary.” Lia sighed “Unfortunately.”
Yuna glanced to both me and Yeji “So we are not broken.” The sentence was almost too quiet. Jihyo looked at her “No. God no.” Mina spoke next “You are unfinished.”
Yuna blinked. Mina’s expression remained calm. “There is a difference.”
For some reason, that hit harder. Yuna nodded slowly. Chaeryeong looked at Mina too. So did Lia. Ben and Mina communicating in wealth language had been strange. But Mina communicating in quiet precision was worse. It landed cleanly.
Jihyo let the silence stay for a while. Then John, because he was John, ruined it with mercy. “For the record, the rotation system also prevents Nayeon from starting coups.” Nayeon gasped “Excuse you?” Jeongyeon looked at ITZY “He’s not wrong.” Sana nodded “Sometimes coups are romantic.” Dahyun lifted a hand “Depends on the branding.” Tzuyu nodded seriously “Some coups need better scheduling.” John stared at all of them “This is exactly why we needed rules.”
Ryujin smiled “I respect this group deeply.”
“I fear them,” Lia said.
“Both,” Chaeryeong whispered.
The room laughed. Not because everything was simple now. Because for the first time, the impossible thing had been said out loud and nobody had shattered. That mattered. Then Jihyo turned the conversation toward the retreat “We still need to make this approvable.” Everyone groaned at the same time. Jihyo ignored it. “Publicly, this becomes a senior-junior wellness retreat. TWICE and ITZY. Recovery, mentorship, bonding, privacy.” Dahyun lifted a hand “Can the official name be less boring?”
“No.”
“Cruel.”
John leaned forward “It gives JYP a clean reason to approve schedule movement.”
“And it prevents speculation,” Lia said.
“Exactly,” Jihyo replied.
I nodded “I’ll cover the retreat.” The room went silent. Not because they were surprised. Because everyone had been waiting for me to say something financially irresponsible. Jihyo looked at me like she had expected it. John looked tired because he had expected it too. Yeji looked like she wanted to argue but knew the argument would be pointless. Mina, however, simply lifted her tea “Half…” I looked at her “Excuse me?”
“Half,” Mina repeated calmly. “You cover ITZY. I cover TWICE.”
“That is unnecessary.”
“So is most of what you do.”
The room went quiet. Ryujin slowly leaned toward Yuna.
“Are rich people allowed to talk to each other like that?”
Yuna whispered back, “I think this is flirting in tax brackets.”
“It is not flirting,” I said.
Mina sipped her tea “It is accounting and logistics.”
John rubbed both hands over his face “I hate when wealthy people argue. It sounds like two countries negotiating borders.”
Nayeon leaned forward with interest “Wait. Is this how rich people fight?”
Dahyun nodded thoughtfully “It’s quieter than expected.”
“Usually we pay people to fight to the death for us as we watch” I added in as a joke.
Mina cut me off “Shush, we don’t discuss that outside the walls, Ben.”
And honestly, I don’t know what scares me more, Mina making a joke or if that wasn’t a joke at all. I wasn’t going to poke that bear ever again, though. Chaeyoung looked at me, then Mina.
“Are we witnessing the beginning of a secret takeover of JYPE?”
Mina blinked “Secret?”
I frowned “Takeover?”
John pointed at both of us “That response was somehow worse.”
Ryujin slowly sat up “Hold on. You both objected to different parts.”
Yuna’s eyes widened “Oh my God.”
Lia closed her eyes “Please do not encourage this.”
Ryujin ignored her completely “Mina unnie objected to it being secret. Ben objected to it being called a takeover.”
Dahyun gasped softly “That means they’ve considered a non-secret non-takeover.”
I stared at her.
“That is not what that means.”
Mina took a calm sip of tea “A takeover implies disruption.”
The room went silent. John’s head slowly turned toward her. Mina continued, serene. “Poor management creates disruption. Good management creates continuity.” I looked at her. “That is true.” John stood halfway from his seat “No.” I frowned “What?”
“You agreed too fast.”
“Because she is correct.”
Mina nodded once “Under better management, costs would be cleaner, staff retention would improve, artist wellness would have actual infrastructure, and food quality would apparently become a measurable morale factor.” Momo nodded seriously “It would.” Chaeryeong whispered, “It really would.” I leaned back, considering it despite myself “Scheduling inefficiencies would need work too.” Jihyo slowly turned toward me “Ben.”
“What?”
Mina looked at me. “Security structure as well.”
“Obviously.”
“Privacy leaks.”
“First quarter priority.”
“Artist recovery spaces.”
“Non-negotiable.”
The room went so quiet that even Ryujin looked concerned. John pointed between us with both hands “This is what I mean. This is terrifying. You two are planning corporate reform like normal people discuss lunch.” Yuna leaned toward Ryujin “This is flirting in tax brackets again.”
“It is not flirting,” I said.
Mina said, “It is governance.”
John looked physically unwell “That is worse.”
Nayeon raised her hand “As a future beneficiary of improved snack policy, I support the polite coup.”
“It is not a coup,” Mina said.
I added, “It would be an acquisition of operational influence.”
Jihyo closed her eyes “You are both making it worse.”
Dahyun looked delighted “Can the documentary be called Hostile Wellness?”
“No documentary,” Jihyo and I said at the same time.
Chaeyoung pointed at us “That sounded like management alignment.”
John stood fully “Nope. Private meeting. Now. Before the two economic superpowers draft a five-year plan on a napkin.” The room exploded. Jihyo stood as well, already composed “Ben. Yeji. John. Mina. With me.” Ryujin raised her hand “Why not me?” Mina looked at her “Because this part involves money.” Ryujin lowered her hand immediately “Valid.” Yuna raised her hand “What about me?” Jihyo smiled “You would make it worse.” Yuna nodded “Also valid.”
Lia leaned back “I will stay here and monitor the damage.” Dahyun smiled at her “That implies you can stop it.” Lia looked at TWICE. Then at ITZY. Then sighed “I cannot.” Yeji squeezed my hand once before standing. Her touch said what her face did not… survive.
We moved into the smaller conference room near the back of the Top Floor. The door closed behind us. The private meeting was exactly as exhausting as I expected, maybe worse. Jihyo laid out the cover story. John handled scheduling optics. Mina handled privacy logistics with terrifying calm. Yeji explained why ITZY needed the space in a way that made the whole room go quiet. Not because she dramatized it. Because she did not “They can keep working,” Yeji said. “We all can. That doesn’t mean we’re okay.” That one sentence made Jihyo stop writing. John looked down. Mina’s expression softened by half a degree. I looked at Yeji. And for a moment, I remembered again why she was the one I came home to. Then the meeting became numbers.
Schedule movement. Staff compensation. Security shifts. Media cover. Travel routes. Possible venues. Medical access. Emergency exits. Vehicle swaps. Privacy clauses. JYP objections. JYP counter-objections. JYP emotional grievance fees.
That last one was John’s idea. Jihyo told him not to call it that. Mina suggested “disruption compensation.” John said that sounded less fun. I agreed with Mina. John called me a traitor. It was productive. Unfortunately. By the time the private meeting ended, my brain felt like it had been folded into a spreadsheet.
Vacation logistics. JYP approval. Schedule compensation. Security rotation. Privacy clauses. Mina and I politely arguing over money while John looked like he wanted to walk into the sea.
It should have been the dangerous part of the afternoon. It was not.
The dangerous part was the silence that greeted us when we stepped back into the main lounge. Not true silence. Way worse. The kind of silence that followed laughter too quickly. John stopped beside me. His eyes moved across the room. Nayeon was smiling. Ryujin was smiling. Yuna was sitting with her knees pulled up on the sofa, looking entirely too proud of herself. Sana looked delighted. Dahyun looked like she had just witnessed the greatest variety show segment of her career. Lia was staring into the middle distance like she had survived information she did not ask for. Chaeryeong looked like someone had gently handed her a grenade and called it friendship.
John inhaled slowly “They talked.”
“Obviously.”
“About us?”
I looked at Ryujin. Ryujin smiled wider. I looked at Nayeon. Nayeon smiled wider than that. “We’re dead,” I said. John nodded “Historically, yes.”
Jihyo stepped in behind us, took one look at the room, and immediately closed her eyes “What did you do?” Nayeon pointed at herself innocently “Why are you looking at me?”
“Because I know you.”
“That is profiling.”
“That is experience.”
Ryujin leaned back on the couch, arms folded behind her head “In our defense, nobody told us we were not allowed to compare notes.” Lia turned toward her “We absolutely did not need to compare notes. Sana lifted a hand “I disagree. This was very educational.” Chaeryeong’s voice came faintly from the edge of the sofa “I learned things I did not know could be discussed during daylight.” Yuna nodded solemnly “I also learned things.” I looked at her “You contributed things.” Yuna blinked at me with perfect innocence “It only happened yesterday. I still have fresh perspective.” Yeji made a small sound beside me. Mina, calm as ever, looked from Yuna to Ryujin to Nayeon. Then she took one careful sip of tea “I see we left the wrong people unsupervised.” John pointed at her “Thank you.” Nayeon gasped “Excuse me. We were bonding.”
“You were exchanging classified trauma,” John said.
“Classified?” Ryujin repeated. “We signed the NDA.”
Yuna immediately pointed at her “She’s right.”
Dahyun nodded with frightening seriousness “Legally, the gossip was protected.”
I stared at the ceiling “Fantastic. Wonderful. The law betrayed us.”
Nayeon crossed one leg over the other, looking far too pleased “Honestly, Ben, you should be proud. ITZY speaks very highly of your dedication.” Ryujin nodded “Very dedicated.” Yuna nodded too “Extremely committed.” Lia covered her face. Chaeryeong whispered, “Why are we like this?” Sana leaned toward her. “You get used to it.”
“No, she won’t,” Mina said quietly.
John looked at Nayeon “What did you tell them?”
Nayeon smiled “Only what was relevant.”
“That means everything.”
“Not everything.”
Jihyo opened one eye “Nayeon.”
Nayeon sighed dramatically “Fine. Some highlights.”
John took one step back “No.”
Ryujin’s eyes lit up “Oh, highlights is a good word.”
That was when I noticed the couch cushions. One had been flipped forward. Another had been pushed against the armrest. A third was somehow on the floor. I looked at Ryujin. She smiled.
“No.”
“What?” she asked sweetly.
“You demonstrated.”
Ryujin’s smile widened “I clarified.”
Lia made a pained sound “She clarified too much.”
Chaeryeong nodded faintly, still staring at the floor “I understand angles now.”
I closed my eyes “Outstanding.”
Yuna lifted one hand “For the record, my contribution was tasteful.”
Yeji turned toward her “Yuna.”
“It was! I told it like a story.”
Ryujin snorted “She narrated it like a coming-of-age drama with suspiciously detailed pacing.”
Yuna looked offended “It was my first time. I’m allowed to have narrative structure.”
Sana clasped her hands together “It was actually very moving.” Dahyun nodded “And then immediately not moving.” Nayeon leaned toward John “TWICE also provided balance.” John stared at her “What does that mean?”
“It means we shared too.”
His face went blank “All of you?”
Jeongyeon shrugged “It seemed fair.”
Momo nodded “They had questions.”
Tzuyu added calmly, “Some of them were practical.”
John looked at Jihyo.
Jihyo did not meet his eyes.
John’s jaw dropped “You too?”
Jihyo cleared her throat “I couldn’t control damage I wasn’t there for.”
Nayeon nodded solemnly “Leader duties.”
John looked like he had just been betrayed by democracy.
Ryujin’s eyes sparkled “Oh, highlights is definitely the right word.”
I pointed at her “You.”
Ryujin pointed at herself.
“Me?”
“You are so doing aegyo TikToks with JYP.”
The room exploded. Ryujin’s mouth dropped open, Yuna screamed into a pillow, Dahyun slapped the arm of the couch, Sana nearly fell sideways into Momo, Lia looked horrified and amused at the same time, Chaeryeong covered her mouth with both hands, Yeji turned to me with wide eyes “Ben.”
“What? She knew the risk.” Ryujin stood halfway from the couch. “That is a cruel and unjust punishment.”
“It is character development.”
“It is psychological warfare.”
“It is content.”
John, however, did not laugh. He turned toward me slowly, horror spreading across his face like I had just introduced a new category of violence into the world “Wait.” I looked at him “What?”
“You can assign idol punishment content?”
“No”. Ryujin pointed at me “He absolutely can.” John’s eyes widened “Jihyo.” Jihyo did not look at him “Do not drag me into this.” John turned to Nayeon “Nayeon.” Nayeon smiled sweetly “Yes, manager-nim?”
“You are not getting ideas.” Her smile changed. Not brighter. Worse, it was sharper “Oh?” she said, tilting her head. “Does that mean you’ll punish me later tonight for being a bad girl?” The room froze.
I felt my soul leave my body in solidarity with John’s. John stopped breathing. Jihyo’s eyes snapped open. Mina looked into her tea like it had personally disappointed her. Chaeryeong made a tiny sound. Lia whispered, “Oh my God.” Ryujin slowly sat back down, reverent. Yuna looked like she had just found a new religion. Nayeon only shrugged, perfectly shameless “What?” she said. “They signed the NDAs. I don’t have to perform anymore.”
John covered his face with both hands “I miss five minutes ago.”
“No, you don’t,” Nayeon said.
“I do.”
“You love me.”
“That is unrelated to my suffering.”
Jihyo pointed at Nayeon without looking at her “You are why we need paperwork.”
Nayeon smiled “And yet everyone always thanks me later.”
Dahyun raised a finger “She has a point.”
“No, she does not,” John and I said at the same time.
That made the room laugh harder. The laughter should have made everything lighter. It did. For a while. But as the room kept moving around me, as TWICE and ITZY laughed together like the impossible had somehow become social, I felt something quiet inside me tighten.
First it was my space. Then it was ITZY’s shelter. Then it became Yeji’s sanctuary. Then Ryujin’s trouble. Then Lia’s waiting room. Then Yuna’s doorway. Then Chaeryeong’s quiet truth.
Now TWICE was here. John was here. Jihyo had paperwork. Mina had the audacity to match my money. Nayeon had no shame. And everyone was laughing like this was survivable. Maybe it was and maybe that was the problem. I stepped away before I realized I had moved. Not dramatically. Not enough for the room to stop. Just one step after the other. Past the lounge. Past the hallway. Toward the open balcony where the city air came colder through the glass door.
The noise faded behind me. For the first time all day, no one followed immediately. Good. I needed the silence. I stepped outside and closed the door behind me. The air hit my face sharp enough to feel real. For a while, I only stood there. Then I reached into my pocket. The cigarette was not supposed to be there. Which was a lie. Old habits did not disappear just because life became expensive and complicated. They waited like bad friends.
I lit it with my back to the city and took one slow drag. The smoke burned in a way I had not missed and missed anyway. I exhaled toward the skyline.
“Didn’t know you still did that.”
I did not turn around.
John closed the balcony door behind him. He stood beside me, hands in his pockets, looking out at the city. For a while, he said nothing. That was how I knew he was worried.
John made jokes when he was annoyed. He made insults when he was scared. Silence meant he was trying to be careful.
“I don’t,” I said.
He glanced at the cigarette “Convincing.”
I looked down at it “Today is an exception.”
“Today has been an exception since you slept with Yeji.”
I snorted “Don’t get meta with me, jackass.”
“I am emotionally exhausted. I’ll get whatever the hell I want.”
We stood in the cold for a few seconds. Behind the glass, the room glowed warm. The girls moved like silhouettes through the light. TWICE and ITZY. Two impossible systems orbiting two very tired men. John followed my gaze.
“Do you regret it?”
I knew what he meant. Not the cigarette. Not the money. Not the vacation. All of it.
Me and ITZY, Yeji, Ryujin, Yuna, Lia’s careful truth, Chaeryeong’s quiet waiting, Waterbomb, The Top Floor, The phone call, The door I had opened.
I took another drag, slower this time “No.”
John looked at me.
I exhaled “It is insane.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“It is complicated.”
“Still not the question.”
“It might ruin me.”
“That one is closer.”
I smiled faintly. Then looked back through the glass. Yeji was laughing at something Sana had said. Yuna was leaning toward Dahyun. Ryujin and Nayeon looked like a national security threat. Lia was speaking quietly with Jeongyeon. Chaeryeong was offering Momo more food. Mina sat near Jihyo, calmer than a meditating monk.
And somehow, in the middle of all of it, the Top Floor looked less like containment. More like proof.
“No,” I said finally. “I don’t regret it.”
John’s shoulder relaxed by half an inch.
I noticed. Of course I noticed. He always hated that.
“Crazy as it is,” I continued, “I’m thankful.”
John immediately grimaced “Disgusting.”
I looked at him “What?”
“Male emotional honesty in private. Horrible. Vile. We need to move on.”
I laughed once “There he is.”
John cleared his throat “Speaking of moving on, I’ve been thinking about something important.”
“If this is another emotional grievance fee—”
“TWICE recreational fund.”
I stared at him. The cigarette paused halfway to my mouth “What?”
“TWICE recreational fund.”
“No.”
“You didn’t even let me finish.”
“I heard enough.”
“ITZY has one.”
“ITZY has one because it’s out my own pocket.”
“Exactly. Precedent.”
“You are literally the manager of Mina— she’s wealthier than me.”
“For now.”
My eyes narrowed, his instinct was always on point. “There it is.”
I looked away.
“What?”
“That little rich-person prophecy you have.”
“I do not have a prophecy.”
“You absolutely do. Every time someone mentions Mina being richer, you sound like a villain waiting for compound interest.”
“That is unfair.”
“Because it is accurate.”
I sighed “It would take time.”
John stared at me “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You’ve calculated it.”
“I have not.”
“You absolutely have.”
“It’s a rough estimate.”
John threw both hands up.
“I knew it.”
I took another drag, trying not to smile “It would take longer now.”
“Because of market conditions?”
“Because Ryujin and Yuna have apparently made it their personal mission to financially ruin me.”
John looked through the glass at them. Ryujin was laughing so hard she had fallen sideways into the couch. Yuna looked far too pleased about something. John nodded slowly.
“They’ll do it.”
“They can try.”
“Proud of them.”
“Traitor.”
He grinned. The city stretched below us. The cigarette burned shorter between my fingers. John’s smile faded slightly “You know Yeji will notice.”
“I know.”
“You going to lie?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Are you going to tell Jihyo about Nayeon?”
John’s face immediately tightened “That is unrelated.”
“She asked to be punished.”
He closed his eyes “I heard.”
“In front of everyone.”
“I was there.”
I laughed under my breath. For a moment, the balcony was just cold air, smoke, city lights, and the strange relief of standing next to the only person who had known me before all of this became impossible.
Then the door slid open. Yeji stepped outside. Her eyes moved from John to me. Then to the cigarette. She did not scold me. That was worse. John immediately straightened.
“I was supervising.”
Yeji looked at him.
“Were you?”
“No.”
“Thank you for your honesty.”
John nodded once.
“I will go be useless inside.”
He opened the door, slipped past her, then paused just long enough to mutter to me “Good luck, emotionally married man.” I flipped him off without looking and he vanished inside.
Yeji closed the door behind him. For a moment, she only stood there with me. The city wind moved softly through her hair. Her expression was not angry. Not disappointed. Just quiet.
That was harder. I looked at the cigarette. Then put it out against the ashtray near the railing before she said anything. Yeji watched the motion.
“Was it that bad?”
I leaned against the balcony rail “No.”
She stepped closer “That means yes.”
“It means crowded.”
Her gaze softened “Too much?”
I looked through the glass again.
At everyone inside.
At the impossible warmth of the room.
“Not bad too much,” I said. “Just… real too much.”
Yeji followed my gaze. She understood. Of course she did. Her hand found mine. Cold fingers sliding between mine without hesitation. In full view of the room “Come back inside,” she said. I looked down at her hand. Then at her.
“You know they can see.”
Yeji’s cheeks colored faintly. But she did not let go.
“I know.”
That answer did something to me.
“Yeji.”
She stepped closer. Not hiding behind the balcony wall. Not looking over her shoulder. Not checking if ITZY could see. Or TWICE or John or Jihyo.
She only looked at me “I said I’m not pretending anymore.” The warmth in my chest hurt. Behind the glass, I saw movement. People noticing. Heads turning. The room becoming still. Yeji noticed too. She still did not let go.
Then, with the entire impossible room watching, she rose slightly on her toes and kissed me. Not sudden. Not accidental. Not stolen in the middle of chaos.
Deliberate, soft, and certain. The kind of kiss that did not ask the room for permission. The kind that made a private truth public without turning it into a performance. When she pulled back, her face was red. But her hand stayed in mine.
I smiled “Public now?”
She looked embarrassed.
Then stubborn “Public enough.”
I laughed quietly and that made her smile. Then her eyes moved toward the ashtray. The smile faded by half an inch. Not gone, just sharpened.
“Also,” she said softly, “that is the last time I kiss you after you smoke.”
I blinked. Behind the glass, I could feel the entire room watching us fail to be subtle.
“You waited until after the kiss to say that?”
“Yes.”
“That feels strategically unfair.”
“It was.”
I looked at her. Yeji did not look angry. That was what made it land harder. She looked worried. Steady. Mine.
“You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t scare me,” she said. The city wind moved between us. I looked toward the ashtray. Then back at her “I’ll try.”
Her fingers tightened around mine “Try how?” I exhaled slowly “I’ll try to quit.” Her eyes searched my face. I added, quieter, “At least… not around you. Not around ITZY. Not where any of you have to watch me use it to survive the room.”
Yeji studied me for a long moment. Long enough that I felt fourteen different versions of myself being judged. Then she nodded once.
“For now.”
“For now?”
“For now,” she repeated. “Because eventually I’m going to ask for more.”
I smiled faintly.
“Of course you are.”
Her cheeks colored again, but her voice stayed firm.
“Be a good boy.”
I closed my eyes.
“You cannot weaponize that after an anti-smoking ultimatum.”
“I just did.”
Behind the glass, Ryujin visibly reacted despite not hearing a word. That somehow made it worse. I squeezed Yeji’s hand.
“I’ll try,” I said again. “Promise.”
This time, she accepted it. Not because it was enough forever. Because it was honest enough for now. We stepped back inside together. The room was silent. Not shocked like before. Not scandalized. Just caught.
Like everyone had witnessed something they already knew, but had never seen that clearly. Jihyo looked at Yeji first, then at me. Something in her expression softened “There it is,” she said quietly. Nobody asked what she meant.
Nayeon, unfortunately, recovered first. She turned slowly toward John. “See?” John froze “No.” Nayeon pointed toward Yeji and me “That was romantic.” John stared at her “I was gone for five minutes.”
Sana leaned forward “Manager-nim, where is our dramatic eye contact?”
John looked betrayed “Sana.”
Dahyun lifted an imaginary microphone “Breaking news: TWICE files formal complaint regarding lack of cinematic boyfriend moments.”
John pointed at her “You are supposed to be on my side.”
“I am reporting fairly.”
Momo tilted her head “John-oppa is romantic sometimes.”
John looked relieved “Thank you.”
Momo continued “When he remembers.”
The room exploded. John turned slowly toward her. “Momo.” Jeongyeon crossed her arms “He shows love through damage control and panic.” Chaeyoung nodded “And snacks.” Mina, still calm, added “And calendar reminders.”
John stared at her. “Mina.”
She blinked “What? It is true.”
Tzuyu looked at me and Yeji, then at John “Ben looks like a romance drama.”
John’s eyes narrowed.
Tzuyu continued calmly “John looks like a man surviving a group project.”
I made the mistake of laughing.
John turned toward me “This is your fault.”
I lifted my free hand “I said nothing.”
“You stood there romantically.”
“I was being emotionally supported.”
“Exactly. Publicly. Recklessly. With eye contact.”
Nayeon pointed at John “So learn from him.”
“I refuse to be mentored by a man who just smoked outside because eleven women compared bedroom notes.”
I nodded “Fair.”
Yeji’s hand tightened around mine. Not warning. Laughing silently. Jihyo looked at John “You could still be more romantic.” John’s face fell “You too?” Jihyo smiled “Especially me.”
Nayeon clapped once “Leader has spoken.”
Sana nodded “We need cinematic boyfriend moments.”
Dahyun raised her hand “I would like mine under the rain.”
Chaeyoung added, “And better lighting.”
Momo said, “And food.”
Jeongyeon looked at her “That’s just dinner.”
Momo nodded “Romantic dinner.”
Mina looked at John “I would accept quiet submissiveness.”
John stared at her “That sounds attainable.”
Nayeon leaned in “Did you just say 'yes' to dominatrix?” John’s mouth opened then closed. Then he pointed at Ben “You see what you caused?”
I looked at him. Then at Yeji. Then at the room full of women now laughing across two impossible worlds. TWICE and ITZY. John and Ben. Jihyo with her paperwork. Mina with her half of the world. Yeji holding my hand where everyone could see. I exhaled slowly. For once, I did not feel like running from the noise. “Well,” I said, “at least now we know the retreat will be peaceful.”
Everyone looked at me. Then they all started laughing. Not because it was true. Because it absolutely was not.
Dinner happened because Chaeryeong and Momo had formed an alliance. No one said it out loud. No one needed to. By the time the sun lowered behind the city, the Top Floor no longer looked like a secret meeting space. It looked like a private dining room that had somehow been conquered by fourteen female idols, two managers, and then one financial superpower currently helping Chaeryeong decide whether the plating looked balanced.
Mina was very serious about symmetry. Chaeryeong was very serious about feeding people. Momo was very serious about the food. Together, they were terrifying. The rest of the room had slowly loosened. TWICE had stopped acting like guests. ITZY had stopped acting like hosts. John had stopped pretending he had any authority left.
I had given up on dignity somewhere between Nayeon asking if the retreat had honeymoon packages and Ryujin explaining that all wellness retreats should include “stress relief benefits.” Jihyo had told both of them to stop. Neither stopped.
Then I made the mistake of leaving the room to change. It should not have mattered. Formal managerial attire had started to feel suffocating after the meeting, the note-comparison disaster, the balcony cigarette, Yeji’s kiss, and the fact that Park Jihyo had essentially turned my recovery plan into a multinational idol event. So I changed into something simple.
Black fitted shirt. Dark trousers. Watch. No jacket. Comfortable enough to breathe. Presentable enough that JYP could appear on the elevator without me looking like I had completely abandoned professional standards.
Apparently, that was not the effect it had.
When I stepped back into the lounge, conversations died in waves. First ITZY. Then TWICE. Then John. Even Momo paused mid-bite. I stopped walking “What?” Ryujin slowly lowered her chopsticks “Oh.”
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
Yuna leaned forward with wide eyes “Manager-nim.”
“That tone is now illegal.”
“You look like you’re here to collect protection money.”
Lia covered her mouth.
Chaeryeong blinked at me from beside the dining table, eyes dropping briefly to the tattooed lines visible along my arms. Then back up “Respectfully,” she said, “Yuna is not completely wrong.”
Nayeon tilted her head. “I thought he was a secretly insane rich manager.”
Dahyun lifted a hand “Correction. Without the formal clothes, he is giving secretly insane rich mafia manager.”
Sana smiled brightly “But handsome.”
Jeongyeon crossed her arms “That does not make it better.”
Chaeyoung squinted at my arms “How many tattoos do you have?”
“Enough.”
“That is a suspicious number.”
Tzuyu looked at me calmly “You look like someone parents warn their children about.”
John pointed at her “That one is accurate.”
Mina, from the table, only looked at me once “The shirt is well-fitted.”
Everyone turned toward her. Mina blinked “What?”
Ryujin whispered, “Furniture language evolved into shirt language.”
Yuna nodded “Rich people are escalating.”
I looked at Jihyo. She was studying the exposed ink around my wrists and forearms with a thoughtful frown “I only saw some of the ones on the wrist last time.”
“That was the point of sleeves.”
Nayeon leaned toward Jihyo “He hides his tattoos at work?”
Jihyo looked at her “He is a manager.”
Nayeon looked back at me “He looks like a final boss.”
Dahyun nodded “Final Boss: Wellness Retreat Funding Phase.”
John sighed “I hate that I can visualize the title card.”
Yeji had not said anything. That was the problem. She was staring at my arm. Not the old ink. Not the ones she already knew. One specific spot near my inner forearm, still fresh enough that the edges had not fully settled. Her expression changed. Small. Dangerous.
My body immediately recognized the threat. Not fear… worse. Girlfriend hostility.
“Benjie.”
The room went silent.
Ryujin’s head snapped toward me.
Yuna’s eyes widened.
Lia whispered, “Oh no.”
John leaned back “She used the cute name. You’re dead.”
I looked at Yeji carefully “Yes, babe?”
Her eyes lifted to mine “When did you get that?”
I looked down at the tattoo. Then back at her “Recently.”
“That is not a date.”
“It is a category.”
“Benjie.”
I closed my eyes. The second answer was worse.
“After Waterbomb.”
The room went still again. Not comedic this time. Not yet.
Yeji’s jaw tightened “You got a tattoo after Waterbomb and didn’t tell me?”
“It was impulsive.”
“That is not helping.”
“I know.”
“First, you threaten that fan like a mafia boss. Then you scare everyone in ITZY half to death. Then you financially flashbang our company’s founder with a cheque worth more than most executives see in a year. Then I find out you started smoking again.”
Her voice rose with every sentence. Not loud enough to be screaming. It was worse. Controlled. Precise. Full of unyielding fury.
“And now,” she said, pointing at my arm, “I find out you got another tattoo without telling me?”
Ryujin whispered, “Wife voice.”
John nodded “Oh, absolutely a wife voice.”
Yeji immediately turned pink “I am not—”
Nayeon pointed at her “That was a wife voice.”
Sana nodded “Very wife.”
Jeongyeon added, “Concerned wife.”
Dahyun lifted an imaginary microphone “Breaking news: Hwang Yeji discovers husband has poor impulse control.”
“I am not his wife,” Yeji said, face burning.
Yuna smiled “Not yet.”
The room detonated.
Yeji looked like she wanted to throw a napkin at her I cleared my throat “In my defense—” Yeji turned back to me “You do not have one.”
“Correct, I do not.”
Lia nodded “Growth.”
I looked at Yeji and tried the only strategy I had left. A terrible one “I can make it up to you.”
Her eyes narrowed “How?”
“I’ll get your portrait tattooed next.”
Silence. Immediate. Catastrophic.
John slowly turned toward me “Why would you say that?”
Ryujin looked like she had seen heaven open.
Yuna gasped.
Lia closed her eyes.
Chaeryeong made a tiny sound.
Nayeon slapped the table “Oh, he’s insane-insane.”
Sana clasped her hands “That is romantic.”
Jeongyeon looked at her “That is not romantic. That is evidence.”
Dahyun nodded “Depending on the artist, it is either love or a future court exhibit.”
Chaeyoung leaned forward “Portrait tattoos are risky long term.”
Tzuyu nodded calmly “They can age strangely on skin.”
Momo looked thoughtful “Maybe not the face.”
Yeji stared at me. Then slowly pointed one finger “No.”
“It was a suggestion.”
“It was a bad suggestion.”
“You haven’t seen the design.”
“I don’t need to see the design.”
Ryujin leaned forward, delighted “You have discussed this before?”
Yeji looked betrayed by the universe “Unfortunately.”
I smiled faintly “In my defense, it was romantic then too.”
“It was a bad pitch after we slept together for the first time,” Yeji said, voice dangerously controlled. “It is a bad pitch now. And it will still be a bad pitch after the wedding.”
The room died. Completely. Even John stopped breathing. Yeji realized what she had said one second too late. Her face changed “Oh.”
Nayeon whispered, “AFTER?”
Sana whispered, “She mentioned a wedding.”
Dahyun slowly raised her imaginary microphone.
Jihyo grabbed her wrist without looking “No.”
Ryujin looked like she had just discovered a sacred text “Unnie.”
Yuna clasped both hands over her mouth “She said after the wedding.”
Lia looked at Yeji with gentle devastation “That was very specific.”
Chaeryeong nodded faintly “Very specific.”
Yeji covered her face “I meant hypothetically.”
John pointed at her “No, you said wedding with continuity.”
“I did not say continuity.”
“You referenced the first time.”
Everyone turned to him.
John paused “I mean emotionally.”
I stared at him “That was suspiciously meta.”
“I am under stress.”
Mina took a sip of water “Regardless, a portrait remains impractical.”
“Thank you,” Yeji said through her hands.
Mina continued, “A name would age better.”
I stared at her “Mina.”
“What? It is true.”
Ryujin sat up like a demon had possessed her “Property of Hwang Yeji.”
Yeji made a strangled sound.
Yuna nearly fell out of her chair laughing.
Lia whispered, “Please don’t.”
Dahyun snapped her fingers “Yeji’s Dog.”
The room exploded again.
I looked at her “Absolutely not.”
Ryujin pointed at me “Don’t lie. You would enjoy it.”
“That is defamatory.”
Yuna grinned “You literally admitted you might bark if treats are involved.”
TWICE froze. Nayeon turned slowly toward John “You never told us that.”
John looked at me “I hate learning things with them.”
Jihyo put a hand over her face “Why is there always more?”
Sana smiled at Yeji “So the leash is real?”
Yeji turned even redder “It is a joke.”
Lia sipped her drink “It began as a joke.”
Chaeryeong, very quietly, added “It has evidence now.”
Yeji looked at her “Chaer.”
Chaeryeong immediately looked down “Sorry.” But she was smiling.
Ryujin leaned back triumphantly “Property of Hwang Yeji is the best option.”
“No,” Yeji said.
“Yeji’s Dog?”
“No.”
“Princess’s Dog?”
“No.”
“Good Boy?”
I looked at Ryujin. “Do not test me. I will make you solo debut and have JYP feature in your title track. I don't care how much it will cost me to make it happen.”
The room froze. Completely.
Ryujin stared at me “...You wouldn't.”
“I would.”
“Ben,” Lia said softly, horrified, “that's not a threat. That's psychological warfare.”
Yuna folded in half laughing.
Chaeryeong covered her mouth.
Nayeon slapped the table again. “Oh my god.”
Sana looked genuinely concerned. “Can he do that?”
“No,” Jihyo said immediately, then paused “Probably.”
“Unnie,” Ryujin whispered, looking betrayed, “whose side are you on?”
“Not yours.”
John pointed at me. “That is the most specific threat I have ever heard.”
Mina nodded thoughtfully “The JYP feature is what makes it cruel.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“That was not a compliment.”
Ryujin narrowed her eyes at me “You are a villain.”
“You started this.”
“She did,” Yeji said without hesitation.
Ryujin gasped. “Unnie!”
“You know what you did.”
The room laughed again.
Yeji pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can we please return to the tattoo conversation before he starts funding music videos out of spite?”
Ryujin immediately pointed at her. “See? Even she thinks you'd do it.”
“I wasn’t bluffing,” I said.
“Terrifying.”
Yuna grinned. “Anyway, back to the important issue. Good Boy?”
“No,” Yeji said immediately.
Nayeon tapped her chin, far too invested now. “What about something elegant? Like ‘Belongs to Yeji.’”
Yuna pointed at me. “That sounded like you were considering it.”
“It did not sound like that.”
John crossed his arms “You made your wife mad.”
Yeji whipped toward him “John.”
“What? You did wife voice.”
Nayeon nodded “He did make his wife mad.”
Sana looked at me “You should apologize to your wife.”
Jeongyeon added, “Before she finds out about another tattoo.”
Momo nodded “Wives notice things.”
Chaeyoung looked at Yeji “Your wife instincts are strong.”
Dahyun lifted her imaginary microphone again. “Domestic dispute resolved through tattoo governance.”
Tzuyu looked at me calmly “You should listen to your wife.”
Yeji buried her face in both hands “I am not his wife.”
Ryujin leaned toward Yuna “Yet.”
Yuna nodded “Yet.”
I looked at Yeji. She was embarrassed. Annoyed. Worried. Trying not to smile. Trying not to be touched by any of it. Trying not to show that everyone calling her my wife had landed somewhere she was not ready to admit out loud.
So I walked to her. The room quieted by instinct. Yeji lowered her hands just enough to look at me. I leaned down and kissed her. When I pulled back, I kept my voice low. “I love you.”
Her anger did not vanish. That would have been too easy. But it softened. Her shoulders dropped. Her eyes warmed.
“You are not kissing your way out of this.”
“I know.”
“The ‘I love you’ won’t help.”
“I know,” I gave her another peck in the lips regardless “I love you”
“—John, take notes” Tzuyu was giving commentary from behind.
“I love you too,” Yeji finally calmed down a bit “but you are not getting my portrait tattooed. Not now. Not after the wedding. Not after three weddings.”
The room erupted. I smiled “Three weddings?” Yeji froze. Her face went red again. “I meant—” Ryujin slapped the table “She’s negotiating ceremonies now.” Yuna pointed at her “She said three.” Nayeon looked delighted “That is legally and emotionally significant.” Lia closed her eyes “We are never escaping the paperwork theme.”
John leaned toward me “Congratulations. Your wife is negotiating wedding volume.”
Yeji turned toward him “Stop calling me that.”
John smiled “No.”
Before anyone could make it worse, my phone buzzed on the table. Once. Then again. A voice message. I looked down at the screen. Tattoo artist. The timing was so bad that it became impossible.
Ryujin noticed first “What is that?”
“Nothing.”
Yuna leaned over “It says Frankie the Tattoo Artist.”
The room went silent. Yeji slowly turned toward me
“Benjie.”
I stared at the phone “I can explain.”
John laughed once “No, you cannot.”
Ryujin grabbed the phone before I could stop her.
“Ryujin, don’t you dare.”
She hit play.
A man’s voice filled the room.
“Ben, confirming your next schedule. Still got you down for the chest piece. Just making sure you’re really serious about that corny-ass couple tattoo. You really want ‘Ben + Yeji’ on your chest? I mean, it’s your money, boss, but I’m asking one more time before we stencil that disaster.”
The voice message ended.
No one moved. No one breathed. Yeji stared at me. TWICE stared at me. ITZY stared at me. John looked like he had just watched me step willingly into traffic.
Then Ryujin screamed. Yuna followed. Nayeon stood from her chair. Sana grabbed Jihyo’s arm. Dahyun dropped her imaginary microphone.
Chaeyoung whispered, “Chest piece?”
Momo said, “That is very committed.”
Tzuyu looked at Yeji “He is serious.”
Mina took a sip of water “Corny, but serious.”
Jihyo stared at me “You planned this before tonight?”
I looked at the phone. Then at Yeji. Then at the room. There was no path out. So I stopped looking for one “Yes.”
Yeji’s voice came out small “Ben”. I stepped closer to her and slid one arm around her waist. In front of everyone. Because apparently subtlety had died several minutes ago and I had finally decided to stop attending the funeral “I’m not cancelling it.”
The room exploded again.
Yeji’s hands went to my chest like she meant to push me away, but she did not. She only stared at me, stunned.
“You are insane.”
“Probably.”
“Ben.”
“It’s temporary.”
The room froze again.
Yeji blinked “Temporary?”
“For now.”
The silence became dangerous. Ryujin slowly turned toward me “Oh, he’s worse than insane.” Yuna’s eyes widened “He planned the emotional damage.” Lia closed her eyes “Of course he did.” John pointed at me “That is not clarification. That is psychological warfare.”
I ignored all of them and kept looking at Yeji “I wanted to see how it looked first.”
Yeji stared “First?”
“Before it becomes permanent.”
“Permanent?”
“Eventually.”
“Eventually?”
I nodded, completely committed now because retreat had stopped being an option three sentences ago. “Next to the wedding date.”
The room died. Completely. Even Nayeon stopped breathing. Yeji’s face went blank. Then red. Then blank again.
I continued, because apparently I had chosen death “And the other couple tattoos.”
John whispered, “No.”
Sana whispered, “Yes.”
Dahyun slowly raised her imaginary microphone again.
Jihyo caught her wrist without looking “No.”
Yeji’s fingers tightened against my shirt “Wedding date?”
“Hypothetically.”
“That did not sound hypothetical.”
“It sounded planned,” Lia said softly.
“It sounded scheduled,” Ryujin added.
Yuna pointed at me “He absolutely has a folder.”
Mina looked at me “Do you?”
I hesitated.
John screamed “THIS FUCKING PSYCHOPATH HAS AN ACTUAL FOLDER.”
“I have concepts.”
“That is a folder,” Mina said calmly.
Nayeon pointed at John “Take notes.”
John recoiled “No.”
Sana nodded quickly “Take notes.”
Jeongyeon crossed her arms “You could at least have concepts.”
John looked betrayed “Not you too.”
Momo tilted her head “Would all nine of us fit?”
John’s soul left his body.
Tzuyu looked thoughtful “It depends on placement.”
Mina added, “Spacing would be difficult.”
John stared at her “Mina.”
“What? It would.”
Ryujin raised both hands “If John gets nine names, Ben has to get all five ITZY names too.”
I looked at her “Absolutely not.”
“For equality.”
Yuna nodded “And symmetry.”
Mina looked thoughtful “Symmetry matters.”
Ryujin was still staring at me like I had personally invented a new disease.
“So let me understand this,” she said slowly “You were not actually getting it permanently.”
“Not yet.”
“But you were going to let everyone think you were.”
“For context.”
Lia looked at me “That is not what context means.”
“It was emotional research.”
Chaeryeong blinked “On Yeji unnie?”
I looked at her. Then at Yeji. Then back at Chaeryeong.
“Not my best wording.”
“No,” Jihyo said. “It was not.”
Dahyun lifted her imaginary microphone again.
“Breaking news: local man conducts unauthorized wife study. Results catastrophic.”
Yeji turned red “I am not his wife.”
Nayeon pointed at her immediately “You keep saying that like a woman who wants the title officially formatted.”
Yeji’s mouth opened. No sound came out, she looked at me like she wanted to melt into the floor and drag me with her.
“You are unbelievable.”
“I was aiming for memorable.”
“It would have been memorable for the wrong reasons.”
John pointed at Yeji “That means she imagined it.”
Yeji turned on him “Do not involve yourself.”
“I am already involved. Your boyfriend is ruining expectations for all of us.”
Nayeon nodded gravely “He is.”
Sana looked at John “Where is our playlist?”
John stared at her “Our what?”
“Our romantic reveal playlist.”
“I am not revealing anything.”
Dahyun raised her hand “Technically, that is part of the complaint.”
The room made a collective sound of approval.
John pointed at her “That was personal.”
“You could benefit from a strategy deck, best buddy”
I looked at John “You want help with that?”
He turned on me “You stay out of this, Chest Tattoo Romeo.”
Ryujin gasped “That is his new title.”
Yuna nodded “Final Boss: Chest Tattoo Romeo.”
Chaeryeong, who had been quiet for a while, looked at me with genuine curiosity. “Would the temporary tattoo actually say Ben plus Yeji?” I nodded. “That was the draft.” She frowned. “Wouldn’t Yeji plus Ben look better?”
The room went still.
I looked at her. Yeji looked at her. Mina’s eyes sharpened with immediate interest. Chaeryeong froze “What?”
Mina set her cup down “She is right.”
John threw his head back “No.”
Mina continued. “Visually, Yeji’s name first balances better depending on placement.”
I looked down, considering it “That depends on the font weight.”
Mina nodded “And spacing.”
Nayeon leaned back, enjoying herself far too much. “Honestly, I respect the insanity. A temporary couple tattoo before the real one after marriage? That is commitment with a trial period.” Sana nodded “Romantic beta testing.” Jeongyeon looked pained “Please don’t call love that.” Dahyun smiled “Too late. Love 2.0 launches after wedding.”
“Metaphorically.” Ryujin smiled. “Ben didn’t say no any of it.” Yeji lowered her hands just enough to glare at her “Ryujin.”
“What? I am supporting your household.”
“Our what?”
The room inhaled. Yeji realized too late that she had said our.
Yeji tried to glare at me. Failed. Then looked away, cheeks burning. And because I had apparently developed a severe allergy to self-preservation, I leaned closer and murmured “For the record, I would put your name first.” Yeji froze.
The room went silent again.
Ryujin whispered, “Fatality.”
Yuna whispered, “That was so smooth I hate him.”
Nayeon turned to John “Write that down.”
John snapped “I am not writing down tattoo flirting.”
Mina looked at him “You should. It was effective.”
Yeji’s fingers tightened against my shirt. She looked up at me, still embarrassed, still mad, still very much losing the fight against her own smile.
“You are not getting anything permanent before we talk about it.”
“Agreed.”
“And no portrait.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
“Even after the wedding?”
“Especially after the wedding.”
The room made a noise.
Yeji looked at me, helpless and red and smiling despite herself “You are impossible.” I smiled back “And yet.” She looked away. But she leaned into me a little more. Just enough to lose. Just enough to consider it a win.
By the time dinner finally began to dissolve into goodbyes, the Top Floor looked less like a luxury residence and more like a battlefield that had been won through food, gossip, paperwork, and emotional blackmail. Plates had been cleared.
Momo had praised Chaeryeong’s cooking enough times that Chaeryeong looked like she was trying not to float.
Ryujin and Nayeon had formed a partnership that worried every manager in the room.
Yuna had somehow gotten Sana and Dahyun to promise they would help her “professionally evaluate” the retreat once it happened.
Lia looked tired, but steadier.
Chaeryeong looked overwhelmed, but not unhappy.
TWICE gathered near the elevator in clusters, still talking over one another as if leaving was merely a suggestion. Jihyo checked the folder one more time.
John looked at it like it had personally ruined his day.
Then Nayeon turned back toward me “So.” I immediately disliked her tone “No.”
“You don’t know what I’m asking.”
“I know the category.”
“That is becoming your favorite sentence,” Lia murmured.
Nayeon smiled “Are you really going through with the temporary tattoo?”
The room froze.
Not because anyone had forgotten. Because apparently everyone had been waiting for someone brave or shameless enough to bring it back. Yeji’s hand tightened around mine.
I looked at her. She looked back. Still red, pretending she was not invested. “Yes,” I said. The room erupted. Ryujin shouted first “I knew it. He’s committed to the emotional damage.”
Dahyun lifted her imaginary microphone. “Breaking news: temporary tattoo confirmed; wife still denying wife status.”
“I am not his wife,” Yeji said automatically. “Yet,” Sana said sweetly. Yeji’s face went red again. I squeezed her hand once “And Yeji’s coming with me.”
That somehow made it worse.
Nayeon gasped “She’s choosing placement?” Yeji turned toward me. “I am?”
“You said you were.”
“I said several things under emotional distress.”
Yeji looked at me, cheeks still pink “I am not choosing anything ridiculous.”
“Agreed, and no portrait.”
“Agreed.”
John suddenly pointed at me “Wait. No.” I looked at him. “What now?”
“You are not taking Yeji to some random tattoo artist after all of this.”
“It’s not random.”
“You are bringing an idol to a tattoo appointment.”
“A temporary tattoo appointment.”
“That does not make the identity issue disappear.”
Jihyo looked at me “He has a point.” Nayeon leaned toward Sana “John said something responsible.” Sana nodded “We should document it.” John ignored them “How do you know this guy won’t leak anything?”
The room quieted slightly. Not from fear. From curiosity. I shrugged “He’s loyal.” John stared at me “That is not an explanation.”
“It is the most important part.”
“Ben.”
I sighed “He knows better.”
Ryujin’s eyes lit up.
“Oh, that sounds threatening.”
“It is not threatening.”
Yuna smiled “It sounded expensive.”
“That is closer,” Mina said quietly.
Mina looked at me “You paid him well?”
“Yes.”
John exhaled “Okay. Fine. That is better.”
“And I ruined someone who did not.”
The room stopped. John slowly turned his head back toward me “What?” I looked around.
“In his old shop, he had an investment broker client who refused to pay him properly after a full sleeve. Tried to use status and connections to make the bill disappear.” No one spoke. I continued “The artist complained about it while finishing one of mine. I asked for the name.”
John closed his eyes “Ben.”
“I had pocket change.” Mina’s gaze sharpened slightly. Jihyo lowered the folder. Nayeon whispered, “Pocket change?” I shrugged “So I bought the company.”
Silence. Absolute. Then everyone spoke at once.
“You what?” Yeji said.
“Oh my God,” Lia whispered.
Ryujin stood up halfway “Boss behavior.”
Yuna’s mouth dropped open “You bought a company because someone didn’t pay for a tattoo?”
Chaeryeong looked horrified “That is… very intense customer service.”
Sana clasped her hands “That is scary but loyal.”
Jeongyeon stared at me “That is not normal loyalty.”
Momo frowned “Did the artist get paid?”
“Yes.”
Momo nodded “Good.”
Tzuyu looked at me calmly “Did you fire the person?”
“It was the first thing I did.”
Tzuyu nodded once “Then he learned.”
John pointed both hands at me “You bought the biggest investment bank in Korea and called it pocket change?” I looked at him. “I did not say biggest.”
“You implied something horrifying.”
“I said company.”
“You said investment broker.”
“That does not mean biggest.”
Mina took a slow sip of water “It was one of the bigger ones.”
John turned toward her “You knew?”
Mina looked at him calmly “Ben is not the only one with resources.”
The room paused. It was the first remotely smug thing Mina had said all night. John stared at Mina “Was that a flex?” Mina blinked once “No.” Mina took another sip of water “If it helps, I only checked because it was unusual.”
Jihyo looked at me with the expression of someone adding five more clauses to the JYP pitch in her head “You bought an investment firm to fire one man?”
“I also restructured it.”
John threw his hands up “There it is.”
I looked at him “What?”
“You cannot say ‘also restructured it’ like you rearranged furniture.”
Mina tilted her head “Was it poorly managed?”
“Yes.”
“Then restructuring was appropriate.”
John pointed at her without looking away from me “You are not helping.”
Ryujin slowly turned to Yeji “Unnie, your boyfriend is terrifying.”
Yeji was still staring at me. “I know.”
Yuna leaned closer “And you love him.”
Yeji did not deny it fast enough.
Nayeon smiled “She really does.”
Yeji covered her face “I am trying to be angry.”
Lia looked at me “Was the tattoo artist at least grateful?”
“He has never leaked anything.”
“That is not the same as grateful.”
“He sends me holiday discounts.”
Chaeyoung blinked “You buy companies for him and he gives you discounts?”
“I told him not to.”
Dahyun nodded solemnly “That is friendship.”
John stared at the ceiling “I am going to develop a medical condition from knowing you.”
Jihyo finally exhaled and tucked the folder under her arm “We are going before I start thinking of more clauses.” TWICE finally began moving toward the elevator for real this time. There were more hugs. More warnings. More jokes about the tattoo. More comments about Yeji being the only person capable of keeping me from accidentally buying another company before breakfast.
“Actually,” Yeji said, pointing at me before anyone could step into the elevator, “stop buying companies, restaurants, buildings, or entire establishments because someone inconveniences you.” I looked offended. “I do not do that.” The entire room stared at me.
“You absolutely do,” Jihyo said.
“Frequently,” Mina added.
“Historically,” John said.
Yeji folded her arms “No more buying things out of spite.”
“Out of loyalty,” I corrected.
“Out of spite.”
“Sometimes both.”
“Benjie.”
I sighed dramatically “Fine.”
She narrowed her eyes “That sounded fake.”
“It was a little fake.”
“Ben.”
I looked at her “What am I supposed to do if a restaurant makes you wait forty-five minutes for your food?”
The room immediately erupted.
“No,” John shouted.
“Absolutely not,” Jihyo added.
Ryujin doubled over laughing.
“He already has a contingency plan.”
Yuna pointed at me.
“He’s thought about this before.”
“I have not.”
“You answered too fast,” Lia said.
Yeji stared at me “You are not buying a restaurant because my food is late.”
“What if you're hungry?”
“Ben.”
“What if you're sad?”
“Ben.”
“What if they forget your order twice?”
“BEN.”
I held up both hands “Okay, okay.”
Nayeon was laughing so hard she had to lean against the elevator wall “This is the most billionaire boyfriend conversation I've ever heard.” Sana clasped her hands “He just wants her fed.”
“That is somehow sweet and terrifying,” Chaeryeong said. Momo nodded “As long as the food arrives eventually.” Tzuyu looked at me thoughtfully “If they forget three times?”
“Do not encourage him,” Yeji said immediately.
“I was curious.”
John pointed at Yeji “See? This is why you're the only safeguard we have.” Yeji groaned. “I should not have this responsibility.”
“You accepted it when you started dating him,” Ryujin said.
“I did not sign anything.”
Mina tilted her head “There may be paperwork somewhere.”
“Mina,” John said weakly.
Nayeon pointed at Yeji one last time. “Good luck preventing hostile restaurant acquisitions.” Yeji covered her face “I hate all of you.”
“You love us,” Sana sang. Then the elevator doors began to close. Nayeon stuck her hand out suddenly, stopping them “Wait.” Everyone froze. Yeji looked up warily “What?” Nayeon smiled “Make him put your name first.”
Yeji covered her face, I smiled, John pointed at me from inside the elevator “Do not smile. You are the problem.”
“I am aware.”
“You are not aware enough.”
The elevator doors began to close again. Sana waved “Good luck, almost-wife.” Yeji made a strangled sound. Dahyun’s voice slipped through before the doors shut “Breaking news: tomorrow’s JYP pitch now includes tattoo liability.” Then they were gone.
The Top Floor fell quiet. Not empty. Never empty anymore. Just quieter. Yeji stood beside me, arms folded, cheeks still pink “You are exhausting.”
“I love you too.”
“That was not what I said.”
“It was implied.”
She tried to glare. Failed. Then reached for my hand anyway. I looked at her. She looked back. Still mad. Still mine in the ways she allowed herself to be.
“Temporary,” she said.
“Temporary.”
“And I choose placement.”
“You choose placement.”
“And font.”
“And font.”
Chaeryeong’s voice came softer, amused despite herself “Do we still need more food tomorrow?” I looked around the Top Floor. I looked at Yeji. She narrowed her eyes. “Do not look excited.” I smiled.
Tags: Angst, fluff, idolverse, LDR, LDR pains || ~3.6k words
A/N: This is my entry to @starconstruction's little 'just write' challenge. Spent just a little over an hour writing this. No edits. No revisions. Just raw fic. Hope it's decent. Oh, and Fanprose saw it way ahead.
=====REALITY #9415121859=====
=====ENTRY #262120201319134911332093=====
It’s silent. It’s awfully silent.
Between the pounding of your heart and the cracks in her breath amidst the empty VIP lounge, with each passing minute, you both can feel it—the tension. The ticket lodged between the glistening folds of her Japanese passport flash you the time of departure like a taunt. Ten-thirty-five. Barely three hours after their concert. Barely two hours after you had gotten to see her again in person for the first time in years. Barely an our after she said she wanted some time to ‘just talk’.
Barely a minute since she hit you with that question.
You stare at her dry lips, at the way it quivers inwards like she’s pulling back a thought. You can imagine her asking you that damn question again in your head.
“Do you think … this is going to work out? For … for us? In the future?”
The thought of it alone is more than enough to freeze the blood in your veins. You still get stiff when you recall the way your face warped from relief after seeing your girlfriend again in the flesh, then into confusion when you began to wonder where this was all coming from, and finally into dread when you finally realized where this discussion might be headed.
What was that supposed to mean? What does that spell for your relationship?
You wish it was that easy. You really wish it could be that simple. To just talk to her. To just ask her directly about it. To confront her and her unspoken fears and insecurities about your long-distance relationship.
But the words don’t come out. You can’t find it in you to scrape them from the pit of your chest and lay them bare before her. She doesn’t seem like she wants to breach the subject either—not again. Whenever your eyes met since she popped the question, you could tell from the way she darts her gaze away within milliseconds that she just wanted to instigate. She was hoping you would progress it.
Did she really think you—let alone anyone—could have prepared for something like this?
You’re happy enough as it is. You have many things to be thankful for.
You’re glad you managed to save up enough money to attend their concert tonight—SVIP tickets. Bougie little shit. She offers to not just get you a free ticket to the soundcheck, but also a special backstage pass so you could hang out with her and the other members during the breaks and lulls of their performances. But you told her some cheesy and cringey spiel about wanting to ‘earn your way’ to be by her side when she’s on the stage. So she let you do it your way.
You’re relieved that your little gambit after the concert paid off. The moment she told you that the flight was almost immediately after their concert, you began planning for a means of escape. You knew it would be difficult to reach her, so you pulled some strings, which included buying a cheap ticket to South Korea, bribing the staff in charge of the lounge areas, and sending her a script meant for her manager to allow her to be excused for a moment before their departure. It was hard enough for her to come up with bullshit reasons for her other members, but you’re just glad it worked.
But most of all, you’re glad that she’s with you. Really with you right now.
Leaning into your stiff body planted firmly against the soft padded cushions of the lounge couch, she’s pressing her cheek between the folds of your lap, holding onto the stretch of leg between your hip and knee, allowing you to caress the stray strands of her hair away from her face, Naoi Rei acts as if nothing had just happened between you two.
As if you two hadn’t soft-launched your break up.
There’s a whole self-service buffet in front of you two: pastries, all-day breakfast, specialty items from the local cuisine, finger foods, light snacks. There’s even a cocktail bar stocking one of her favorite drinks. But she doesn’t budge. And neither do you.
You know you should probably get some food for her—even feed her if you have to. You didn’t want to bring it up before whenever you two got on video call, and you weren’t even sure if it was real or if it was all just in your head, but you couldn’t help but notice the amount of weight she’s losing. One of your hands crests over her bare thighs and squeezes it in comfort. Your other hand dangles just above her laying face and pokes a finger into her cheek to test its plushness. Thankfully she hasn’t gotten too skinny, but it concerns you. Greatly. And you should probably be a decent boyfriend anyway and get her a bite or two to help her recharge after her concert.
And yet, you still find yourself motionless by her side, halfway between wanting to embrace her tightly and helping her sit up so you can walk out and run as far away from the airport as possible.
You shut your eyes and let out a sigh so deep that it rumbles in your stomach, alerting her.
She shifts, swapping from her previous fixation—the F1 race on one of the TVs that she knows absolutely nothing about—and instead now looks up at you.
You try your best not to look at the sulk in her eyes, at the pale of her cheeks, at the longing in her pout. You feel your pettiness bubble up to the surface. She was the one who hinted at breaking up, so why should you feel any pity towards her?
But who are you kidding? One glimpse of her and your knees buckle. Soon, you find yourself staring right back at her from above.
You don’t know what to say, and that’s probably part of the problem. You gather she doesn’t know what to tell you either. You’re not really a person of many words. You were never verbose nor well-spoken enough growing up. You just let things happen and left the thoughts alone to simmer in your head. So what were you supposed to do now? What were you supposed to say now?
Should you circle back to the topic? Bring it up again? Raise your concern? That seems very risky. Maybe she already forgot about her break up idea. If so, then reminding her about it would just place it back into the forefront of her mind and develop the thought further.
Should you maybe break the ice somehow at least and try to lighten the mood? Whether or not she’s still actively thinking about the question she asked you—and your lack of a decent intelligible response—you should at least try to support her right? Try to support her? You can only imagine how physically exhausted she must be right now. The setlist they had for tonight’s concert was insane and afforded Rei and the other girls little to no breaks. Maybe being silly for a bit to lift her spirits isn’t such a bad ieda.
Should you maybe just … let it be?
Among the multitude of thoughts swimming around in your head, you let that line of thinking simmer the longest before entertaining it further.
You avoid her gaze for this one, and you swear to god you could hear her whine because of it.
What if you just let it be?
The last time you saw Rei in person was back in 2024, when she came to your area for a second time following their group’s first world tour. You two were more lovestruck back then. More carried by passion. More limited through the view of each of your own rose-tinted glasses. You didn’t care if she was only around for two days. You didn’t care if you could only have her for an hour after their fan meet on the evening before the concert proper. You didn’t care about what you’d both do, or say, or profess to each other when you could finally meet again. You just let your emotions take control and wash over you, and you both found yourselves forming the treasured memory of nearly falling down the stairs of her hotel’s fire escape because she wouldn’t let go of your face to stop kissing you for even just a second—even if it could cost her her life.
And now?
Now you had more time. More leeway. More comfort. More freedom. And yet you both have done less with each other this year than you did two years ago. Hell—you could even argue that you both have done way less together tonight than you normally did over voice or video call. You swear you had everything planned down to a tee, calculated everything for your plan to be executed successfully, refined all the different scripts you had in mind for what you’d finally tell her once you were with her again face-to-face. But none of it mattered in the end, did it? She came into tonight with something else on her mind.
So what if you just let it be?
What if you just allowed yourself a final moment of respite with her? One last chance to just hold her intimately like this—like you are right now—in the silence of the lounge. No cameras. No fans. No overprotective manager or nosey members to be wary of. Just the two of you. Not as idol and fan. Not as random strangers who matched on a whim using a silly dating app. Not as oppa and dongsaeng. Just boyfriend and girlfriend.
What if you just let her go?
You wanted this relationship to last. You really did. You still do, in fact. Even after all the doubt that she casted deep within the well of your being. It shattered you. Collapsed you into yourself. Weighed down on you from start to finish. But you held onto hope. You believed that one day, your monthly photo-journal compilations on Google Drive would turn into a collage of physical photos scattered across the space of your soon-to-be shared apartment. That one day, your weekly dates across the screen would spill over into reality, and you could finally take her out around the fancier parts of town for Saturdates or Sundates—whenever she was more free. That one day, your nightly calls in bed that lasted until someone passes out or cries themselves to sleep would culminate with you both falling asleep and waking up next to each other in the same shared bed.
But as those words echo in your head like the toll of the dead, you can’t help but wonder if those memories? Those wishes? Those hopes and dreams of yours? Were all just a veil for you to hide from the reality of the situation.
She’s an idol. She’s meant for the stage, and the limelight, and the fame. She’s meant to be loved by many—more than just you. And you? You’re just a normal dude trying to live paycheck to paycheck. Just outrunning life before it starts to get ahold of you. Just … trying to chase after her and finally merge onto her path as well.
But who are you kidding? That’s never going to happen. Rei’s never giving up on being an idol. And you are never going to be within her league in your lifetime.
So, you return to the thought. That damn ever-present thought.
What if you just let her go?
It’s easier that way, isn’t it? After all, it saves you the impending heartbreak that’s looming over you like a hurricane in the horizon. It saves you all the messy bits. It saves you from taking longer to move on.
“Move on?”
You flinch, glance slowly back down at her until you’re staring at her similarly confused expression, and raise a brow. “What did you say?”
“Move on?” she asks again, tapping a finger now against your knee. “You were writing it. On my body. ‘Move on’.”
You didn’t notice it, but Rei’s right. The hand that you unknowingly moved down towards your waist had its pointer stretched forward as if it was tracing something against her skin.
“Sorry, I was just … thinking. About things,” you feign, opting to go with the first option—to not talk about it.
Rei nods, cheek grazing gently against your jeans. “Can you guess what this spells?”
With her own finger, she mimics your writing and actually attempts to write something across your thigh. At first, you couldn’t really tell what it is. But after the third attempt, you stopped comparing it to morse code and instead tried to treat it like brushstrokes of a pen.
“Con … -cert?”
Rei nods again with a smile, clapping her hands in small flits. “That took a while, but that was good. Ok now, your turn!”
You aren’t really in the mood to be playing games, but you indulge her. It’s the least you can do to decompress.
“Bes … No, beau …? Beau … Ah! Beautiful!” she completes with a roll of her eyes. In the same vein, she writes out her next word for you.
“Back? Back ga … Wait is this even in English anymore?”
The smirk she pulls when you ask this is enough to confirm it. You furrow your brows and try to focus on the strokes, on the way they see a bit more rounded on the curves and sharper against the edges. When the ‘Eureka moment’ finally strikes you, you thank the heavens for blessing you with enough patience to study Japanese on the daily ever since you started dating Rei.
“Baka? Hey now!”
Burying her face into your lap, she does a little wiggle to try and ignore you. Either that or she was just unknowingly being adorable once again. You want to smile. You want to caress the side of her face. But the bitter taste of her words blossom once more at the back of your tongue, so you hold yourself back.
“Your turn. Write me something. Anything. And I’ll guess it again.”
You scratch at the nail of your pointer with the tip of your thumb. Like you’re sharpening it. You use this moment to think.
“Re … Rei! Rei-chan … wa … totemo … kawa … kawaii? Rei-chan wa totemo totemo kawaii, nee!”
“Ok you clearly added more things to that, but sure,” you tease, earning you a pinch to your cheek. “Go on, it’s your turn now.”
She palms over your thigh like she’s erasing her previous message before writing anew with her finger, leaving you to guess what it is again.
“Moo … moo …?”
Rei is bawling, hair fanning out behind her on your lap as she clutches her stomach to try and relieve herself from the manic laughter. “You sound just like a cow—I should have recorded it.”
You bite your lip. “Hey, I’m trying my best, alright? Wasn’t fair that you shifted the game to your mother tongue.”
She nods, gesturing towards you with her chin, inviting you to finish what you started.
“Moo … moogenkai?”
She’s at her limit? At her limit for what?
At first, you figure that she might just be hungry. That she might just be hinting at you to go get her something to eat already. To stop being a coward and treat your girlfriend right. But when you motion like you might stand up, she pushes hard against the joint of your knee as if to stop you from your idiocy.
When she looks into your eyes this time, you can tell something’s changed. She continues writing on your lap.
“Gan … Ganbatteru yo ne? Demo … demo …”
The moment your mind translates what she’s trying to tell you into English, you freeze. You don’t say it out loud anymore. You simply voice it out in your own mind.
Ganbatteru you ne? Soredemo mada fujubunda.
Watashi no tame ni.
Anata no tame ni.
You feel knot after knot starting to tighten in your guts. But Rei doesn’t look away from you—even when you do. She knows you understood what that meant word for word, and the way she’s gazing right up at you right now feels like she’s waiting for your response.
I’m trying my best, but it doesn’t feel enough.
Not for me.
Not for you.
Suddenly, it’s gotten quite difficult to breathe. You’re certain the AC in the room hasn’t changed in the slightest, and you haven’t had the faintest bit of contact with the different food offered before you two to have triggered one of your many allergies. But you find yourself, nonetheless, both breathless and speechless to the point that just the simple flexion of your throat muscles feels like you’re swallowing shards of glass.
How do you tell her?
How do you tell her that, because of her, you’ve found meaning in the smallest pleasures? That you always keep your phone charged in case she ever wanted to call? That you always check her Bubble, her Instagram, her Twitter to make sure you never missed a post or message? That you always carve time for a few minutes—just a few moments—every hour amidst your daily schedule to write out your thoughts about your long-distance relationship together in your journal, hoping you might one day read them to her? How do you tell her that seeing her smile after a long day of work—even it’s a bare-faced one, or a tired one, or a silly one—feels more refreshing than any ounce of sleep you can get? That you play her voice messages on repeat in your earphones, every train ride to work and every bus ride home, just to hear her voice again? That you dream of her, every single fucking night, to the point you spin fantasies in your head about future dates, vacation plans, and even your fucking wedding just to state your unbridled and overflowing love for her?
How exactly are you supposed to tell Naoi Rei that you are unapologetically, maddeningly, and absolutely in love with her? That she could even slit your throat with the butter knife sitting nineteen feet away from you, and you would still thank her, and instead apologize for bleeding all over her?
How exactly are you supposed to tell Rei that she is enough?
For you?
So you do the only thing you can think of in the moment.
You throw away the letters you’ve written her and memorized by heart. You shred the romantic and cheesy lines you forced yourself to gobble down and stow away for whenever you might need to say something profound to her. Hell—you don’t even consider quoting some of her favorite poems or favorite lyrics and songs even if you know that’s guaranteed to cheer her up.
Instead, you let the little voice in your heart do the talking.
So you tuck the final lock of her sugar brown hair behind one ear, lean forwards to press your lips against the side of her temple, take a deep breath, take in the scent of her skin and sweat and cologne, and plant the longest, warmest, and likely final kiss you will ever give your girlfriend.
And then, you write it down across her body.
And then, through bated breaths, she mutters it out.
“A-Ai … shi … tte … r-r-ru …?”
One drop. Then two. Then three. Soon, a whole garden of tears begins blooming across your jeans.
Clutching your hand against her clavicle, tucking her chin in as if to trap your wrist and all your fingers so you can never leave, she begins to write in reply across the stretch of your palm. But you don’t say it out loud—you keep in locked up in your heart.
Zutto … soba … ni … itai …
Her phone rings. She doesn’t even need to check it to know who it is.
Rei pushes up from her laying position and keeps her head down, now sitting inches away from you. Your pinky lifts, then twitches, then reaches out, but it never leaves its position. Her thumb raises, then circles the air, then jerks towards you, but it never meets you where you are.
“It’s been great. Wonderful really … b-being your girlfriend … Even from afar. I’m glad we could end—.”
You throw yourself onto her so hard that you knock the wind right out of her sails. But you embrace her harder than that as you begin scribbling into her back.
She never says it out loud. She never looks to you to verify what she thinks you’ve written. Instead, Rei just detaches herself from you, slides off the couch, and bows down deeply to her waist.
“Then I’ll be holding out for you until then. I … I can’t make any promises. And I don’t want to hurt you, o-oppa, but … but if you want this … then I will.”
And that’s all you could ever ask from her.
Between the unsteady cadence of her leaving footsteps and the tears she’s trying to stop flowing down her cheeks, with each passing minute, you can both feel it—the relief. The fingers that slip over the promise ring you gifted her two years ago sparkle into your eyes like a renewed vow. Ten-thirty-two. Barely three minutes before she’s rushing down the airport hallways to try and catch her flight by the skin of her teeth. Barely two minutes before she’s coughing up explanation after explanation for her members on being late, bursting into tears, and learning a new language. Barely one minute before she’s settling into her seat, looking out the airplane window, and counting the days until the next time you both get to meet in person again.
And in your solace, you don’t even find it in you to fall to your knees and wail. You know what this—all of this—spells now.
The way she leaves you? The way she’s gone? It’s silent.
Trigger Warning : This stories theme were contained with Step-incest, Step Mother-Son, Step Father-daughter.
Type: One shot.
[stepmother] [Stepdaughter]
Start reading.
Look at doctor Sung Jinwoo, isn't he handsome and charismatic. I heard he was very popular among the doctors in the hospital, handsome and smart, the type of husband you want.
It's a pity that he just married a Japanese woman, Minatozaki Sana, His wife is so beautiful, a famous fashionista and has a large number of followers on social media. Even though she already has two children but her body shape curves hourglass, I even heard that she is a fashion model.
You know his eldest son, Sung Suho, isn't athletic and I heard he was selected as a basketball captain at his high school. Didn't his team win the gold climb thanks to his role as team captain.
Her stepdaughter is also beautiful as an angel, her name is Sullyoon, isn't it. I heard that she is the most outstanding female student in the academic field at school, always ranked first and is a representative of the science competition at her school.
That's what everyone who knows Jinwoo's family says but they don't know what it really is....
****
The cake sat in the center of the dining table, its frosting gleaming under the dimmed chandelier.
"Happy Family Anniversary" looped across the surface in elegant cursive, the letters slightly smudged where Sana's fingertip had swiped through the icing earlier—testing the sweetness, she'd claimed, though the hungry flicker in her eyes suggested something else entirely. Jinwoo adjusted his glasses, watching as Sullyoon traced the edge of the cake knife with deliberate slowness, her usual academic precision replaced by something far less clinical.
Suho leaned back in his chair, the basketball captain's jersey stretched tight across his shoulders.
"Shouldn't we cut it already?" he asked, but the way his gaze lingered on Sana's lips betrayed his impatience for something other than dessert.
Jinwoo cleared his throat, loosening his tie as the air thickened—not from the summer heat, but from the unspoken tension coiling between them.
The cake wasn't celebrating twelve years of marriage. It marked twelve months since they'd stopped pretending this was a normal family.
Sullyoon's laughter rang like wind chimes as she settled onto Jinwoo's lap, her school skirt riding up just enough to reveal the lace trim of her thigh-highs.
"Let me feed you, daddy," she murmured, pressing the forkful of cake toward his lips with an exaggerated pout.
The sweetness exploded on his tongue—vanilla layered with something darker, like the way her hips shifted ever so slightly when his fingers dug into the plush curve of her ass. Neither of them acknowledged the touch; Sullyoon merely tilted her head, strands of hair brushing his cheek as she asked.
"Delicious , right?"
Jinwoo nodded as swallowed another bite of cake, the sugar turning cloying as Sullyoon squirmed in his lap—whether from discomfort or encouragement, he couldn't tell, and the ambiguity sent a thrill down his spine. His thumb hooked under the waistband of her panties, the pad grazing warm skin.
Across the table, Sana cradled Suho's head in her lap, her manicured nails trailing idle patterns along his jawline. The basketball captain's jersey had ridden up, revealing a strip of toned abdomen as he leaned into her touch, his lips parting obediently when Sana pressed a bite of cake between them.
"Is it delicious , baby?" she murmured, thumb swiping a fleck of frosting from his lower lip.
Suho's answering groan vibrated against her thigh, his fingers tightening around the hem of her silk slip dress. The fabric slid higher, baring the smooth expanse of her legs, but neither of them glanced at Jinwoo—no hesitation, no guilt, just the quiet certainty of shared rituals.
Sullyoon exhaled sharply against Jinwoo's collar, her breath warm as she twisted to watch the scene.
"Mom's being greedy again," she whispered, nipping at his earlobe with sudden teeth. Her hand guided his deeper beneath her skirt, the lace of her panties already damp beneath his fingertips.
"She knows Suho can't resist her cakes."
The double entendre curled like smoke between them, underscored by the wet sound of Suho sucking Sana's fingers clean. Jinwoo's pulse stuttered—not from shock, but from the familiar ache of watching his family slot together in ways that should've fractured them.
After a years marriage, actually Jinwoo and Sana have no interest in each other, for one reason, not my type.
Instead, Jinwoo is more attracted to Sullyoon, Sana's daughter. Cheerful and spoiled girl.
Jinwoo remembered the first time he met Sullyoon—how her gaze had skittered away from his like a spooked deer, how her fingers had twisted the hem of her school blouse into wrinkled knots. He’d pretended not to notice the way her cheeks pinkened when he reached across the table for the salt shaker, how her breath hitched when their fingers brushed. Later, he’d lie awake replaying that accidental contact, the phantom warmth of her skin lingering on his fingertips like a brand.
Meanwhile, Sana prefers the type of young man who is full of enthusiasm, confidence and athleticism. That's what Sana found in the figure of Sung Suho.
Sana remembered the first time she met Suho—really met him—with the kind of clarity that made her fingertips tingle even now. Jinwoo had been fussing with his watch, lips pursed in that tight-lipped disapproval he reserved for tardiness, when the café door swung open with a gust of summer heat. Suho stood there, his basketball jersey clinging to his chest in damp patches, hair plastered to his forehead from whatever impulsive sprint had brought him here late.
"Sorry," he'd panted, flashing a grin so bright it should've come with a warning label. The apology was perfunctory; his eyes, though—those locked onto Sana with an intensity that made her stir her iced coffee three times too many. The straw clinked against the glass like a nervous metronome.
Jinwoo had known from the start that Sana wasn’t the kind of woman who would ever fit neatly into the role of a demure housewife—not that he’d wanted one. Likewise Sana, also doesn't like Jinwoo's rigid style.
It wasn’t disliked; it was something closer to mutual recognition, two predators circling each other without ever bothering to clash. He’d married her for convenience, a tidy arrangement that gave them both social legitimacy while leaving their real desires untouched.
The wedding had been a masterclass in plausible deniability—peonies arranged just so to obscure the way Sana's fingers lingered on Suho's bicep when they posed for family photos, the cut of Jinwoo's tuxedo jacket hiding how his palm slid beneath Sullyoon's bridesmaid dress during the first dance. The guests sighed over the blended family's picture-perfect harmony, never questioning why the newlyweds exchanged rings with more ceremony than a kiss.
Later, when the hotel suite door clicked shut behind them, Jinwoo loosened his tie with one hand while the other tugged Sullyoon into the adjoining bedroom by her sash.
"You looked beautiful today," he murmured against the shell of her ear, savoring the way her pulse fluttered under his lips like a trapped bird.
The chiffon of her dress pooled around her ankles with a whisper, and for once, the straight-A student had no clever retort—just a gasp when his teeth found the sensitive spot below her jaw.
In the suite's main bedroom, Sana perched on the edge of the king-sized bed, her wedding gown unzipped to the small of her back. Suho hovered near the minibar, cracking open a soda can with excessive force, the fizz echoing his nervous energy.
"You don't have to pretend with me," Sana said, peeling off one satin glove with her teeth.
The deliberate slowness of the gesture made Suho's throat bob—she'd practiced that move in the mirror for weeks, timing it to the exact second his resolve would fray. His basketball captain's discipline crumpled when she hooked a finger into the waistband of his slacks, pulling him closer with a laugh that vibrated against his collarbone.
"All those trophies," she mused, "and you're still scared of little old me?”
Present day.
The king-size bed creaked under their combined weight as Father and son seemed to be waiting for something that made them impatient.
The bathroom door remained stubbornly closed, the faint sound of giggles and rustling fabric slipping through the gap like a promise. Jinwoo adjusted his glasses, the lenses fogging slightly from the steam curling beneath the doorframe.
"They're taking longer than usual," Suho, remarked.
“Just wait it, Son”, The father pointed to the direction of his glasses.
The bathroom lock clicked open with theatrical slowness. Sana emerged first, her hips swaying with the practiced ease of a runway model—except no fashion week had ever featured lingerie this deliberately indecent. The pastel pink straps of her teddy clung to her curves like a second skin, the lace barely containing the swell of her breasts as she paused at the foot of the bed.
"Happy anniversary, boys," she purred, dragging a manicured nail down Suho's skin. The basketball captain's breath hitched audibly, his fingers digging into the sheets as Sana climbed onto the mattress with feline grace, her knees bracketing his hips.
Sullyoon's entrance was quieter but no less devastating. She hovered in the doorway, her white chemise translucent under the bedroom lights, the shadow of her nipples visible through the fabric as she bit her lower lip in faux shyness. Jinwoo's throat went dry. She'd worn her hair down tonight—a rare deviation from her usual schoolgirl ponytail—and the dark waves framed her face like a Renaissance painting gone deliciously wrong.
"Daddy," she murmured, padding toward him with bare feet, "Do I look hot and sexy enough for you, tonight ?" The question was a blade wrapped in silk, a reminder of all the times he'd called her his little girl while his hands taught her otherwise.
Jinwoo’s fingers twitched against Sullyoon’s thigh, the lace of her panties damp beneath his touch as if she’d been waiting for this all evening—maybe longer. Her breath hitched when his thumb slipped beneath the fabric, tracing the crease where her leg met her hip with deliberate slowness.
"You're so beautiful, princess," Jinwoo murmured against Sullyoon's jaw, his breath warm where it ghosted over the rapid flutter of her pulse.
The endearment made her squirm—not from discomfort, but from the way it coiled heat low in her belly, the contradiction of being called childish while his fingers mapped the adult curves beneath her chemise. When she opened her mouth to protest, Jinwoo swallowed the words with a kiss that started slow, almost chaste, until the tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips and she gasped into his mouth.
The aggression came not in force but in persistence—the way Jinwoo's hands slid from her hips to her waist, then higher, as if cataloging every inch of her. Sullyoon arched into the touch, her fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer, nails scraping his scalp when his thumb finally brushed the peaked hardness of her nipple through the sheer fabric. The sound she made was half whimper, half moan, swallowed by Jinwoo's mouth as he deepened the kiss, his teeth catching her lower lip in a way that sent sparks down her spine.
Looks like the shy princess has started to get bold," Suho drawled from across the room, his voice dripping with amusement as Sullyoon's fingers twisted tighter in Jinwoo's hair.
She broke the kiss just long enough to shoot him a glare sharp enough to carve glass, her chest heaving against Jinwoo's in a way that made Suho's smirk widen. Then she was surging back into Jinwoo's mouth with a hunger that left no room for hesitation—tongue tangling with his, teeth nipping at his lower lip like she wanted to devour him whole.
Sana caught Suho's chin between her fingers, tilting his face up to hers with effortless dominance.
"Let your little sister have fun with your father," she murmured, her thumb brushing over his parted lips before she dragged it downward, tracing the column of his throat.
"Let's both enjoy ourselves."
The command was velvet-wrapped steel, and Suho shuddered as she guided his head against the plush swell of her chest, the lace of her teddy scratching deliciously against his flushed cheeks. He inhaled sharply—vanilla and something darker, the scent of her skin layered with the musk of want—before Sana's fingers carded through his hair, holding him there as she arched into his mouth.
Suho's fingers trembled against the clasp of Sana's teddy—not from inexperience, but from the way her smirk dared him to fumble. The pink straps fell away with a whisper, her breasts spilling into his palms like overripe fruit, still warm from the heat between them. Moonlight caught the light flush spreading across her skin, the pink of her nipples darkening as Suho's thumbs circled them with worshipful slowness.
"Look at you," Sana breathed, arching into his touch with a roll of her hips that made the mattress creak. "My greedy little athlete."
The first lick was tentative, Suho's tongue darting out to trace the stiff peak before he sealed his mouth over it with a groan that vibrated against her flesh. Sana's fingers fisted in his hair, holding him there as he suckled with the single-minded intensity of a starving man—teeth grazing, lips pursing around the areola until her back bowed off the bed.
"Urgh... You love it, dear," she gasped, her other hand guiding his head to her neglected breast. "Your stepmother's breasts taste better than any trophy, don't they?"
Suho lifted his head just enough to pant, "Yes, Mom," before diving back in, his lips glistening with her arousal as he switched sides.
"Your tits are so soft and fluffy", that turned pain into pleasure, the angle of his tongue that made her thighs clamp around his hips.
Meanwhile Jinwoo's fingers moved with the precision of a surgeon—slow, deliberate strokes that made Sullyoon's breath stutter against his collarbone. The lace of her panties had long since been pushed aside, the fabric damp where it pressed against his wrist as he curled two fingers inside her, the heel of his palm grinding against her clit in lazy circles.
"Urgh... Daddy, your fingers are inside me..." Sullyoon gasped, her hips jerking into his touch like a marionette whose strings had been tugged too hard. Her chemise rode up around her waist, the sheer fabric clinging to her sweat-slicked skin as she arched against him.
"I like that... Oh god."
Jinwoo grinned against the flutter of her pulse, his teeth scraping the delicate skin of her shoulder blade before soothing the sting with his tongue.
"You're too wet for dad, princess," he murmured, the words hot against her ear as his thumb circled faster, the pad rubbing rough over her swollen clit.
glock glock
The wet echoed obscenely through the bedroom, syncopated with the creak of mattress springs as Sana bobbed her head with the practiced rhythm of a woman who'd rehearsed this in mirrors.
Her lips stretched obscenely around Suho's cock, the pink lace straps of her discarded teddy still draped over one shoulder like a fallen banner of surrender. Suho's fingers clenched in her hair—not pulling, just anchoring himself as his hips jerked involuntarily, the head of his cock bumping against the back of her throat before she swallowed him down again with a hum that vibrated along his length.
"Urgh... Fuck... Mom," he gasped, the honorific twisting into something filthy as her tongue curled under his shaft, "your mouth feels so awesome around my cock."
The compliment dripped from his lips like the spit slicking her chin.
Sana smiled around the thick length filling her mouth, her lips stretched taut as Suho's cock bumped against the back of her throat—not a flinch, not a gag, just the deliberate press of his swollen tip against the tight ring of muscle before she swallowed him down deeper. The sound he made was ragged, half-strangled, his fingers tightening in her hair as she hollowed her cheeks and took him to the hilt.
Sullyoon arched against the sheets with a choked gasp, her fingers twisting in Jinwoo's hair as his tongue lapped at her with the desperation of a man who'd found his only source of hydration.
"Mmph... Daddy... Daddy... Your tongue—" The words shattered into a moan when he curled it just so, the flat of his tongue dragging slow and wet from her fluttering entrance to the swollen bud at her apex.
Her thighs trembled around his ears, the musky scent of her arousal thick enough to taste—and Jinwoo did, savoring the tang on his tongue like a connoisseur of some forbidden vintage.
He'd mapped this terrain a dozen times before, could navigate the hitch in her breath when he flicked over that sensitive spot just left of center, the way her hips jerked when he sealed his lips around her clit and sucked gently.
But tonight—anniversary night—he took his time, tracing lazy circles with the tip of his tongue until her whimpers turned pleading, until the lace straps of her chemise dug into her shoulders from how hard she was pulling at them.
"Please," she gasped, her voice cracking on the syllable, "please, daddy, I need—”
Jinwoo's breath hitched—not at the words, but at the way Sullyoon's fingers trembled against his scalp, her usual eloquence reduced to fractured syllables.
He kissed that dip slowly, savoring her shudder before murmuring, "Say it again." His teeth grazed her pulse point. "Properly."
Sullyoon's hips jerked against his mouth, her thighs clamping around his head as she gasped, "I need your cock, Daddy—" The last word cracked into a moan when Jinwoo's tongue plunged inside her without warning, fucking her with shallow thrusts that left her dripping.
The mattress groaned under their combined weight as Sana rolled her hips with the precision of a dancer, each downward thrust spearing herself deeper onto Suho's cock. Moonlight caught the sweat slicking her spine, the damp strands of hair clinging to her neck as she arched back, her hands braced against Suho's thighs for leverage.
"Oh... fuck..." she gasped, the words fracturing as Suho's hips jerked upward to meet her, the slap of skin against skin punctuating each movement.
"Fuck Mommy like that, baby—your cock feels so good inside me."
Suho's hands slid up her thighs, fingers digging into the plush flesh of her hips as he guided her movements, his grip tight enough to leave bruises.
"Mom, I love inside you—" he choked out, the honorific twisting into something filthy when she clenched around him, her inner muscles fluttering like a vice. Sana's laugh was low and throaty, her nails raking down his chest as she leaned forward, her breasts swaying just above his mouth.
"Say it again," she purred, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles that made Suho's back bow off the bed. His cock twitched inside her, the thick length of him stretching her impossibly wider with each shallow thrust.
"Tell Mommy how much you love it.”
The pillow muffled Sullyoon's cries but did nothing to hide the way her fingers clawed at the sheets, the fabric twisting between her knuckles as Jinwoo's thrusts drove her forward with each snap of his hips. Her chemise had ridden up around her waist, the delicate lace straps sliding down her shoulders to pool at her elbows—a half-undressed vulnerability that made Jinwoo's grip tighten on her hips, his thumbs digging into the dimples just above her ass.
"Oh, Daddy—" she gasped, the words fracturing when he angled deeper, the swollen head of his cock grinding against that sweet spot inside her that made her vision whiten.
"So deep, daddy, your cock... So deep inside me—"
Jinwoo's chuckle was dark, roughened by lust as he leaned over her, one hand sliding up to fist in her hair and tug just enough to arch her back. The new angle made Sullyoon sob, her thighs trembling as he pistoned into her with relentless precision, each stroke measured to drag against her walls in a way that left her dripping.
"You're so tight, princess," he murmured, his breath hot against the shell of her ear as his free hand groped her bouncing breast, pinching her nipple between thumb and forefinger until she keened, "Daddy isn't bored by your pussy."
She could feel him everywhere: the stretch of him filling her, the calloused drag of his palm over her nipple, the possessive grip on her hipbones that would leave bruises by morning. But it was the way his cockhead ached against her deepest point that unraveled her, the relentless friction coiling heat low in her belly until her moans turned pleading.
"Please—" she whined, her voice breaking as Jinwoo's pace stuttered, his thrusts turning shallow just to watch her squirm. "Daddy, please—”
The headboard slammed against the wall with the force of a battering ram, each impact timed to Sana's ragged cries as Suho drove into her with the single-minded intensity of an athlete chasing victory. The mating press pinned her beneath him—her legs hooked over his shoulders, her spine arched into a perfect curve that left her completely vulnerable to his relentless thrusts. Sweat dripped from Suho's brow onto Sana's heaving chest, mingling with the smeared lipstick around her gasping mouth.
"Fuck... fuck... harder, baby," she demanded, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave crimson trails.
"Break me."
Suho obeyed with a snarl, his hips pistoning faster, the obscene slap of skin echoing through the bedroom as he bottomed out inside her with every stroke. "Feel that, Mom?" he panted, his voice rough with exertion. "How your son's perverted dick stretches you open?" The vulgarity sent a jolt through Sana—not shock, but arousal, her cunt clenching around him as if trying to milk the confession straight from his cock.
"I like it," she gasped, her head thrashing against the pillows. "I love it—the way my stepson abuses my hole like I'm some cheap slut." The words unraveled into a scream as Suho angled deeper, his balls slapping against her ass with each brutal thrust.
The kiss was slow, deliberate—Jinwoo's lips moving against Sullyoon's with the same measured precision as his hips, each thrust timed to the flick of his tongue against hers. Her moans vibrated between them, muffled but unmistakable, the syllables fracturing whenever he bottomed out inside her with that particular angle that made her toes curl.
"Yes daddy... Mmph... So God... Like that... Oh—" Sullyoon gasped, her fingers clutching at his shoulders as he withdrew almost completely, only to push back in with excruciating slowness, the swollen head of his cock pressing against her deepest point until her back arched off the bed.
Jinwoo swallowed her whimpers, his hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, tugging just enough to tilt her head back and expose the flutter of her pulse.
He licked a stripe up her throat, savoring the salt on his tongue before murmuring against her ear, "You take me so well, princess", His hips rolled forward again, deeper this time, the stretch drawing a broken cry from Sullyoon's lips.
"Like you were made for daddy's cock.”
The moon hung heavy and swollen over the bedroom window—a voyeur painted silver by its own guilty light—as Jinwoo's thrusts stuttered into ragged, uneven jerks. Sullyoon's thighs trembled against his hips, her nails scoring crescents into his shoulder blades when he buried himself to the hilt with a groan that ripped from his chest like a confession. Heat pulsed between them, thick and syrupy as his release flooded her in waves, each throb wringing a whimper from her lips.
Across the room, Suho's hips snapped forward one final time, his spine bowing like a drawn arrow before he collapsed against Sana with a sound that was half-growl, half-prayer. The wet slap of skin stilled as he emptied himself inside her, his cock twitching with each spurt that painted her walls white. Sana arched beneath him, her fingers knotting in his sweat-damp hair as she milked him through it, her inner muscles fluttering around him like a vice.
The air hung thick with musk and sweat, the only sound their ragged breathing as the four of them lay tangled in the aftermath. Jinwoo's fingers still gripped Sullyoon's hips, his thumbs pressed into the bruises he'd left earlier, watching with dark fascination as his release spilled from her in slow, viscous rivulets. It pooled between her thighs, dripping onto the rumpled sheets with obscene finality—white against the flushed pink of her skin, stark as spilled ink on parchment.
Across the bed, Sana arched her back with a lazy sigh, her fingers trailing through the mess Suho had left between her legs. "Look at this," she murmured, holding up glistening fingertips to the moonlight, the strands of cum stretching like spider silk before snapping. She turned her head to catch Jinwoo's gaze, her smirk wicked as she dragged her wet fingers across Suho's panting chest.
"Your son fills me up so well."
Jinwoo’s chuckle was low and rough, his fingers still tangled in Sullyoon’s hair as he turned his head to meet Sana’s gaze.
The moonlight caught the smug curve of his lips, the sweat-slicked sheen of his throat as he rasped, "Your daughter can’t stop milking me too."
Suho's grin was all teeth when he turned to Jinwoo, his fingers still slick with Sana's arousal as he wiped them lazily across the sheets.
"Dad," he drawled, the word dripping with mischief, "you've gotta feel Mom's pussy at least once. Bet it's tighter than Sullyoon's."
Sullyoon’s lower lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout, her fingers tracing idle circles on Jinwoo’s sweat-slicked chest as she flicked her gaze toward Suho.
"At least Daddy’s bigger than your tiny cock," she sing-songed, her voice dripping with saccharine malice.
Suho and Sullyoon bickering like ordinary brother and sister in argue. This situation made Jinwoo and Sana chuckle
Sana's grin curled like smoke as she rolled onto her side, propping her head up with one hand while the other traced idle patterns through the drying mess on Suho's abdomen. "How about you two fuck each other?" she purred, the words dripping with mischief as her gaze flicked between Sullyoon and Suho.
Jinwoo chimed in, "That's exactly what your mother said," his voice rich with amusement as he watched Suho and Sullyoon's nose wrinkle in disgust.
"Never" . Both of them were rejected.
That's how the night happened—like any other night, woven into the fabric of stories the four of them shared: bodies tangled, breaths mingling, lewd warmth pooling between sheets damp with sweat and other things.
There is a kind of silence in this house that isn't peace; it’s a waiting game. A dense, almost liquid silence that clings to my skin like dirty oil every time he is in the same room. I am in the kitchen right now, pretending to be interested in the cup of tea I’m holding between my hands, but my fingers are trembling just enough for the water to ripple on the surface. It isn't cold; it’s that static electricity running down the back of my neck every time I feel Mr. Park’s presence behind me.
I can feel him. I don’t need to turn around to know exactly where he is standing. I can smell him: that scent of sandalwood and cold tobacco that, a long time ago, seemed elegant, but now provokes a visceral nausea—a knot in my throat that prevents me from swallowing. My body has its own memory, a treacherous memory that reacts before my mind can process the danger. I feel the hairs on my arms stand up and a slow shiver descend my spine, sliding down like a drop of ice until it anchors itself at the base of my pelvis.
"You seem distracted today, Chaeyeon," his voice reaches me as a low purr, a vibration that seems to cut through the air and hit me directly in my pores.
I feel a violent lurch in my chest; my heart begins to hammer against my ribs with a dull force—a bum-bum... bum-bum that echoes in my ears and drowns out any other sound. I grip the cup tighter, feeling the heat of the porcelain, but the warmth is insufficient to fight the cold invading my feet. I don’t dare look at him. I know that if I do, I’ll find those dark eyes scanning my body, stripping me layer by layer, searching for any trace of the weakness he himself planted in me.
Suddenly, I feel his hand on my shoulder. It is a light touch, almost accidental, but to me, it’s as if a red-hot brand touched my skin. The brush of his fingers against the fabric of my blouse causes my nipples to harden instantly, projecting themselves with a painful tension against the clothes. I hate my body for this; I hate that it reacts with this nervous, suffocating arousal toward the man who has turned me into his toy. I feel dirty, as if there were an invisible stain spreading from my chest to my ass—a mark of ownership that only he can see.
He leans in a bit more, just enough for the heat of his breath to brush the curve of my ear. He says nothing else, but that silence is the cruelest tool of all. It is a reminder of everything we keep quiet, of the nightly agreements and the humiliation I accept day after day so that the rest of the world keeps believing I am the perfect daughter.
"What are you thinking about, dear?" he whispers, and his voice vibrates on my skin like a forbidden caress.
I close my eyes tight. In that instant, the sound of the kitchen vanishes. The scent of tea merges with the rancid smell of that hotel, and the warm afternoon light is replaced by the suffocating dimness of a memory I cannot erase. I feel the floor disappear beneath my feet and find myself sucked backward, back to the exact moment where my life fractured.
I feel the wetness on my thighs again, the pressure of strange bodies against mine, and that electric fear that paralyzed me for the first time. I go back to the beginning. Back to the first time I understood that my body no longer belonged to me, but was instead the price of a secret that was consuming me alive.
The cold early-morning air hit my face as soon as I closed the taxi door, but it wasn't enough to put out the fire I still felt beneath my skin. I walked toward the entrance of the house feeling like an intruder in my own life, my steps clumsy and my breathing heavy. I felt dirty; I smelled of tobacco, other people's perfumes, and that raw, animal scent of shared sex that seemed to have leaked into my pores. But as I moved through the dark hallway, an electric and treacherous sensation began to run down my spine, making me tremble—not from fear, but from a residual desire that felt suffocating.
I entered the house in silence, avoiding any noise that might alert my mother or my stepfather. But the silence only served to amplify what was happening inside my body. Every time I took a step, I felt the rub of my thighs and the friction of the clothes against my skin, and that simple contact was like an electric shock.
My tits were hypersensitive, almost painful. My nipples were so erect and tense that every time the fabric of my blouse brushed the tips, I let out a short, muffled gasp. It was an unbearable sensation: I hated myself for having sold my body, but at the same time, the memory of those hands squeezing my tits hard, molding them to their whim while I moaned, made a liquid heat begin to flow down my belly. I felt like a hypocrite; I told myself I was disgusted, but my body kept vibrating on the frequency of pleasure.
I reached my room and closed the door with my heart hammering against my ribs: bum-bum... bum-bum. I leaned against the cold wood and closed my eyes, and that was when the image of the threesome returned with violent clarity. I remembered the weight of the bodies on top of me, the feeling of being open and exposed, and the way my ass felt right now: hot, throbbing with a dull heaviness that reminded me I had been possessed without mercy. I could still feel the viscous trail between my legs, that residual wetness that made me feel marked, as if the seal of those men were still stuck to my pussy.
I put my hand in my pocket and touched the bills. The paper money was dry and cold, but touching it sent a wave of forbidden excitement through my entire body. It was the adrenaline of risk, the euphoria of having done something so degrading and having been paid for it. I felt dirty, yes, but it was a dirtiness that ignited my nerves.
I let myself slide down the door until I was sitting on the floor, legs open and breathing erratic. I brought a hand to my neck, touching the skin where someone had left a wet, strong kiss. Touching that mark, I let out a moan that echoed in the empty walls of my room. God, it was so disgusting to think that I had become an object, but at the same time, the idea of being desired with such voracity—of being the center of that carnal chaos—produced an electric shock that left me breathless.
I stayed there in the dim light, fighting against myself. I hated the submission, but I loved the feeling of power that came from knowing I could seduce and charge for it. My body was a battlefield where disgust and lust fought violently. As I stared at the dark ceiling, I felt my pussy pulsing with a dull urgency, claiming more of what had just happened. I was broken, I was stained, but I was more alive and aroused than ever in my life.
I didn't know that this same arousal, this secret hunger for the forbidden, would be the leash Mr. Park would use to drag me into the abyss. In that moment, I could only feel the heat of my own legs and the echo of the moans still resonating in my head like a sinful song.
The following days were a slow and delicious torture. I moved through the house like a ghost, inhabiting a body that still felt electric. Every morning, the act of dressing was a ritual of self-torture; I slid garments over my skin and felt how the fabric rubbed against my tits, which remained sensitive, almost inflamed, from the games of the trio. Sometimes I would stare at my own reflection in the bathroom mirror, observing the curve of my ass and wondering if anyone else could see the invisible mark that act had left on me. I felt powerful, charged with a forbidden energy that made my steps slower, my hips heavier, while I kept the stack of bills like an amulet of filth under my mattress.
But then, the atmosphere of the house began to change. The air became dense, almost viscous, and I started to feel that I was no longer alone in my secret.
It was a Tuesday afternoon when I felt the first prick of reality. I was in the kitchen, pouring a glass of water, when I heard Mr. Park's footsteps approaching. It wasn't the usual walk of a stepfather; it was a paused, deliberate rhythm—the step of someone who knows exactly where his prey is. I froze, glass half-full, feeling the back of my neck prickle violently.
"You smell different today, Chaeyeon," his voice arrived as a glacial whisper right behind my ear.
The impact was physical. I felt an electric shock shoot down my spine and end in an involuntary spasm between my legs. I turned slowly, heart hammering against my ribs: bum-bum... bum-bum. He was inches away from me, leaning against the counter, looking at me with dark eyes that didn't see the "good girl," but instead scanned my body with an obscene slowness. His pupils were dilated, fixed on the movement of my throat as I swallowed with difficulty.
"What do you mean?" I managed to articulate, though my voice sounded broken, a thread of sound that betrayed my panic.
He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he moved one millimeter closer, invading my personal space until I could smell the sandalwood and cold tobacco mixing with my own scent. He cast a fleeting glance downward, toward my tits which were rising and falling agitatedly under the blouse, and then returned to my eyes with a smile that didn't reach his pupils.
"You smell like that cheap soap from the downtown hotels," he commented with a terrifying calmness. "That aroma of chlorine and damp sheets... it’s curious how it clings to the skin, isn't it? Especially when one gives themselves over with such... passion."
I felt the floor disappear beneath my feet. The world became blurred and a dull buzzing filled my ears. The mention of the hotel wasn't a guess; it was a sentence. I ran out of air, feeling my larynx close as panic flooded my nervous system. But the most disgusting part was my body's reaction: in the face of pure terror and the humiliation of being discovered, I felt my pussy pulsing with a violent urgency. The adrenaline of fear mixed with residual arousal, creating a toxic cocktail that left me trembling on the spot.
"I... I don't know what you're talking about," I lied, though I knew it was useless. My voice was a pathetic whisper.
Mr. Park let out a dry chuckle and slowly walked away, but before leaving the kitchen, he brushed his hand against my hip—a fleeting touch that made my legs buckle.
"There's no need to lie, dear. I prefer it when you're honest about your... appetites," he whispered, and the sound of his footsteps receding left a suffocating void in the room.
I stayed there, leaning against the counter, legs open and breathing broken. I was terrified, yes, but I also felt an electric spark running through my thighs. I felt naked, exposed, as if Mr. Park had ripped off my clothes with just his words and left me there, exhibiting my tits and ass to his judgment. Paranoia installed itself in me like a parasite: now I knew that every time I passed him, he was imagining how I was in that hotel, how I moaned, and how my skin felt.
I was no longer the hunter of the secret; I was the prey. And worst of all was knowing that while fear consumed me, a dark part of me was starting to wish he would finish closing the trap.
When I heard my name echo from the hallway, I felt the air thicken, becoming almost solid around my lungs. "Chaeyeon, come to the study for a moment." Mr. Park's voice wasn't a request; it was a command wrapped in velvet, a low frequency that made every hair on my body stand up. My first reaction was pure panic; I felt an electric shock shoot down my spine, leaving my legs trembling and my mind blank. I knew this moment would come. Since that day at the hotel, I felt as if I were walking on thin glass, and now, finally, I heard it shattering beneath my feet.
I walked toward the office with slow, heavy steps, as if dragging an invisible chain tied to my neck. As I moved through the hallway, my internal monologue was a chaos of voices: "Don't go in," "Run now while you can," "What if he already told Mom?". But beyond the fear, there was a dull anguish thinking about Chaeryeong. We knew we had crossed a line together; we shared that stain, that secret that bound us in a dark and desperate complicity. Thinking that he could use this to separate us or destroy us both caused a visceral nausea.
Upon opening the door, the scent of sandalwood and cold tobacco hit my face with suffocating force. The study was in dim light; the closed blinds let through only a few threads of white light that cut the room into strips, as if I were already entering a cell. I saw Mr. Park leaning against his oak desk, observing me with a predatory calm that made me feel small, insignificant, almost transparent.
And then, the sound happened that finally broke me. Click.
The lock closed. That small metallic noise resonated in my ears like the fall of a guillotine. I froze in the middle of the room, arms pressed to my body and pupils dilated by animal terror. The silence that followed was dense, interrupted only by the erratic rhythm of my own breathing: short inhalations... forced pauses... exhalations that sounded like contained sobs.
He didn't move immediately. He took his time to look at me—a slow and obscene scan that started at my feet and climbed slowly up my legs, pausing on the curve of my ass before moving toward my chest. I felt his eyes stripping me, tearing away my clothes with a single gaze. He knew exactly what he was seeing: not the perfect daughter, but the girl who had enjoyed carnal chaos alongside her sister.
"You look so scared, Chaeyeon," he whispered, starting to walk toward me with calculated slowness. "It’s fascinating how your body reacts when you know you no longer have anywhere to hide."
He stopped right behind me, invading my personal space until I could feel the heat of his chest against my back. He didn't touch me, but the pressure of his presence was so strong that I felt my knees give way. He forced me to remain trapped between him and the edge of the desk, leaving me with no exit.
"Let's talk about that little trip you two took," he continued, leaning in so his warm breath brushed my ear. "That hotel... those white sheets that got so dirty. I wonder if your sister feels the same urgency as you right now to keep the silence."
The indirect mention of us was like a lash. I felt the world spin and my heart hit my ribs with brute force: bum-bum... bum-bum. But then the worst happened: while horror consumed me, I felt an electric shock of forbidden arousal running through my pelvis. My pussy pulsed violently against the fabric of my pants; the humiliation of knowing he had seen us both, that he knew exactly how we moaned and how we surrendered, triggered a treacherous somatic response. I hated myself for this; I hated that fear and degradation ignited a fire in my gut that I couldn't put out.
"You're trembling," he murmured, and this time he did touch me. He slid a hand around my waist, squeezing the flesh of my hip with possessive force. "And you're wet, aren't you? I love that your body is so honest, even though your mouth wants to pretend innocence."
I closed my eyes tight, letting out a broken gasp. I was totally annihilated. There was no longer any room for negotiation. Mr. Park didn't just possess the secret of that trio; now he possessed my nerves and my physical reactions. I felt like a porcelain doll that he had just broken to see how it looked inside.
"Now," he decreed, his voice becoming a glacial mandate, "let's see how obedient a girl can be when she has so much to lose."
I stayed there, trapped between the cold wood of the desk and the suffocating heat of Mr. Park’s body. My breathing was a disaster; short gasps that made my chest rise and fall with an erratic speed, hitting the fabric of my blouse. I could feel his gaze nailed to me, not as a caress, but as a scalpel opening me up, analyzing every corner of my fear. The silence of the study was so dense I could hear the dull throb of my own heart hammering in my ears: bum-bum... bum-bum.
"Take off your clothes," he ordered. His voice wasn't a shout; it was a glacial whisper, an administrative and dry instruction that left me frozen.
The world seemed to stop for an instant. My mind screamed in protest—a visceral reaction of rejection that made me shrink into myself. This can't be happening, I thought, while a wave of panic ran down my spine. But then I remembered Chaeryeong’s gaze, the shared secret and the possibility of him letting it all out. That idea acted as an anchor; the fear for my sister was stronger than the disgust for myself.
With fingers trembling violently, I brought my hands to the buttons of my blouse. The first button resisted; my nails slipped on the fabric due to the cold sweat that had begun to bead on my palms. I let out a muffled moan—a mix of frustration and terror—while feeling Mr. Park's gaze fixed on my hands. He said nothing, but his silence was an unbearable pressure forcing me to hurry.
Finally, the button gave way. Then the second. And the third.
As the fabric opened, the cold air of the study hit my skin, provoking a shiver that made me arch my back. I slid the blouse off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor with a dull sound—almost imperceptible, but to me, it sounded like the fall of a guillotine. I stood there in only my bra, exposing my arms and stomach to the raw light of the blinds. I felt the air burning me, but what burned more was knowing he was enjoying every second of my humiliation.
"Slower, Chaeyeon," he murmured, his voice vibrating against my neck. "I want to see how you strip away everything. I want to see the expression on your face when you realize you no longer have anything to hide."
I turned slightly, heart galloping in my throat, and reached for the back closure of my bra. The click of the hook releasing was the loudest sound in the room. When I let the garment drop, my tits were exposed to the glacial air of the office. They were small, firm, and pale under the white light; I felt my nipples harden instantly from the cold and fear, projecting forward like two pink, tense pearls. I felt grotesque and vulnerable, an animal stripped naked before its hunter.
But the worst was yet to come. My hands moved down to the waist of my pants. The touch of my own fingers against my skin provoked an electric shiver that ended in a sting of wetness between my legs. I hated myself. I hated that while terror consumed me, my pussy reacted with a treacherous lubrication before the authority of the man.
I slid the pants down with torturous slowness. The fabric stuck to my thighs because of the cold sweat, creating a friction that made me gasp. When the garment hit the floor, I was left in only a small strip of lace that barely covered the essentials. I stood sideways in front of the study mirror, forced by his gaze to observe my own body.
I saw my ass—round and massive, extending in a white and voluptuous curve that contrasted violently with the fragility of my waist. It was a fleshy, firm ass that swayed slightly as I trembled. I felt like an object, a piece of meat displayed in a showcase. I knew Mr. Park was devouring that image with his eyes, savoring the roundness of my cheeks and the tension of my skin.
"Now, the last garment," he decreed, his voice becoming a dark mandate. "I want to see you totally open. Right now."
I stood there, naked of everything except a thread of fabric, with hardened tits and an exposed ass, feeling the air of the study wrap around me like a cold shroud. I was broken, stripped of all dignity, and as I looked at Mr. Park, I knew the real hell had just begun.
The silence that followed my stripping was heavier than the clothes I had just dropped on the floor. I stood there, trembling in the center of the study, skin prickling and nipples so tense I felt any touch would make me scream. The cold air of the office hit my tits and stomach, but I could only feel the heat radiating from Mr. Park’s body. He didn't move immediately; he stayed watching me with a predatory calm, enjoying the image of my total vulnerability while I felt myself shrink under his scrutiny.
Then, he took the first step.
It wasn't a hug or a soft caress. It was an invasion. I felt his hand close around my hip with brute force that left me breathless. His fingers sank into my flesh, squeezing the curve of my waist with a possessiveness that made me let out a broken gasp. The thermal contrast was violent: his palm was burning, almost searing my skin which was cold and damp from the sweat of panic.
"Look at you..." he whispered, coming so close that his hot breath clashed against my neck. "So scared, so broken. But your body doesn't lie, does it, Chaeyeon?"
Without warning, he slid his other hand up, trapping one of my tits in a brusque and possessive grip. He forced me to arch my back, and I felt how he squeezed my tit against his palm, molding it with an aggressiveness that made me let out a moan oscillating between pain and a forbidden arousal. His fingers squeezed my nipple hard, twisting it slightly, provoking an electric shock that shot down my spine to anchor itself at the base of my pelvis.
"I wonder if you moaned like this in that hotel," he murmured, his voice becoming a dirty purr. "I wonder if you liked feeling like a whore while you collected the money."
The word "whore" resonated in my ears like a lash, but the humiliation acted as a trigger. I felt my pussy pulse violently against the thin strip of lace of my underwear; lubrication began to flow, thick and hot, betraying me before the man who was degrading me. I hated myself for this; I hated that fear and shame were igniting a fire in my gut that I couldn't put out.
Suddenly, he turned me with a sharp movement, forcing me to be backed up against him. I felt the hard rub of his belt and the pressure of his erection against my ass—a solid, hot mass that made my legs tremble. Mr. Park didn't waste time; he brought his hands down to my cheeks and delivered a dry blow, a loud slap that resonated in the silence of the study.
"Ah!" I let out a muffled scream, feeling the skin of my ass burn instantly.
The impact left me breathless, but the pain was immediately followed by a wave of dark, visceral pleasure. I felt his hands grip my cheeks hard, sinking into the fleshy part of my rear, squeezing it as if he wanted to leave permanent marks on me. I felt like an animal, an object of pleasure without will, while he forced me to lean over the desk, exposing my ass completely to the air and his gaze.
"Look what an ass you have, Chaeyeon," he whispered, his voice now charged with animal lust. "An ass made to be used. I wonder how much longer you can pretend to be the good girl while I have you like this—open and ready for me."
I felt his hand descend, sliding along the curve of my thigh until reaching the edge of the lace. His fingers brushed the wet fold of my intimacy—a fleeting but electric touch that made me arch my back and let out a long, broken moan. The touch was dirty, deliberate; he was testing my moisture, ensuring I was as ready as he desired.
In that moment, the world was reduced to that contact: the pressure of his body against my back, the burn of my slapped ass, and the suffocating feeling of knowing there was no turning back. I was totally surrendered to the predator's game, and while my tears fell silently onto the wood of the desk, my body screamed for the culmination of that torment.
I was there, bent over the oak desk, arms trembling as they held my own weight and my face sunken into the cold wood. I felt the pressure of Mr. Park’s body pressed against my back—a mass of suffocating heat that made me feel as if the air had run out. Then, I felt his fingers hook the thin lace strap of my underwear. There was no subtlety; he pulled it with a dry, abrupt movement that made me let out a muffled whimper.
The sound of fabric sliding down my thighs was the prelude to the void. Suddenly, I felt the glacial air of the office hit my pussy, leaving me totally exposed, open and vulnerable. I shrank instinctively, trying to close my legs, but he gripped my thighs with brute force, forcing me to keep them open, exhibiting my intimacy to the air and his judgment.
"Look how you tremble," he whispered, and I could feel his dark chuckle against my neck. "You're so wet I can almost smell you from here. I wonder if you'd get this turned on for any stranger who paid you, or if it's only because you know that now you belong to me."
Before I could respond, I felt his hot breath brushing the sensitive skin of my thighs. And then, it happened. The first contact of his tongue against my clitoris was like a high-voltage electric shock that ripped through my entire body. I let out a muffled scream into the wood of the desk, arching my back violently. It wasn't a tender caress; it was an aggressive, wet and deliberate lick.
Slurp... glup...
The sound of his tongue working in my intimacy filled the silence of the study—a viscous and obscene noise that made me feel like the filthiest creature in the world. Mr. Park wasn't seeking my pleasure; he was seeking to mark me. His lips sucked my skin hard, leaving marks that I knew would take days to fade. Every time his tongue pressed into the center of my pleasure, I felt my will disintegrate.
"You are such an obedient whore, Chaeyeon," he murmured between laps, his voice sounding wet and raspy. "I imagine you love feeling like this, don't you? Knowing your stepfather has you bent over his desk while he licks your pussy as if you were an animal in heat."
The words were psychological whips, but my body reacted with an obscene betrayal. Despite the disgust and humiliation, I felt my nipples harden against the wood and lubrication flow in hot waves, soaking everything where his tongue worked. I was in a state of total hyperesthesia; every movement of his mouth provoked involuntary spasms in my thighs. I felt fragmented: my mind screamed that this was an aberration, but my pussy pulsed with animal urgency, claiming the culmination of that torment.
Suddenly, he pulled away abruptly. The sudden vacuum left me panting, feeling incomplete and exposed. I heard the sound of his pants' zipper going down—a metallic zip that sounded like a final sentence.
"You've had enough pampering," he decreed, his voice becoming glacial and dominant. "Now let's see how much you can take."
I felt him grip my hips with a force that left imprints on my skin. Without any preamble, without any lubrication other than the moisture of fear and desire, he pushed his erection against the entrance of my pussy. The first impact was dry and violent.
"Ahhh!" I screamed, sinking my fingers into the wood of the desk as he buried himself in me in a single thrust, filling me completely.
The initial pain was acute—a massive pressure that seemed to want to split me in two—but it was immediately followed by a sensation of suffocating fullness. The rhythm that followed was animal; there was no tenderness, only physical power and possessiveness.
Clap... clap... clap...
The sound of his balls hitting my ass resonated in the room like an obscene percussion. Each thrust pushed me harder against the desk, making my tits bounce against the wood and my head shake violently. I felt how he possessed me with blind fury, using my body as a vessel for his lust and power.
"Tell me who your owner is, whore," he growed in my ear, while his hands squeezed my cheeks so hard I felt the flesh deform. "Tell me while I break you from the inside!"
I couldn't articulate words; I only let out broken moans and desperate gasps. I was lost in a whirlwind of fluids, wet sounds, and a sensation of total annihilation. I felt like an object—a thing that existed only to be used—and as the climax approached, I felt my identity vanish, merging with the will of the man who was destroying me.
Silence returned to the study abruptly, a silence so heavy it could almost be felt physically on my shoulders. Mr. Park withdrew from me with the same brusqueness with which he had possessed me, leaving me there, collapsed over the desk, trembling and empty. I felt the draft of cold air hit my sweaty skin, provoking a violent shiver that ran down my back and made me let out a broken sigh.
I stayed motionless for several minutes, face sunken in the cold wood and hair stuck to my forehead by sweat. I could feel the residual moisture sliding slowly down my thighs—a viscous trail that reminded me every second that I had just been used as an object. My pussy throbbed with a dull heaviness, irritated and sensitive; I felt the pressure of the semen cooling inside me, a physical mark of my submission that made me feel anchored to the floor by pure shame.
I heard the metallic sound of his pants' zipper going up—a dry zip that marked the return to normality. The man who was now in front of me was no longer the animal beast who had destroyed me moments ago; he was once again Mr. Park, the impeccable and cordial stepfather. That transition was more terrifying than the act itself: the ease with which he could move from brute lust to the coldness of a controller.
"Clean up this mess," he decreed, his voice regaining that neutral and authoritative tone. "I don't want a single trace of what happened here when you leave this room."
I forced myself to move. My muscles were numb, my legs trembling so much I almost fell while trying to stand up. As I searched for my clothes on the floor, I felt Mr. Park's gaze nailed to my ass, observing the red skin marked by his hands. I felt fragmented; I looked at my own hands and didn't recognize them. My body was still there, pulsing and hot, but my mind had retreated to a distant and dark place to avoid feeling the weight of the humiliation.
When I finished dressing, with clumsy fingers and clouded eyes, I stood in front of the study mirror. I saw myself and felt a visceral nausea. My tits were still sensitive, my lips were swollen, and my pupils were dilated from the emotional shock. I looked like the same person as always, but I knew something had broken irremediably inside me. I was no longer the girl who returned home with money in her pocket and a spark of excitement; now I was someone who belonged to the man standing behind me.
"Listen carefully, Chaeyeon," he said, approaching and placing a hand on my shoulder, squeezing the flesh with possessive firmness. "What happened today is the new order of this house. You know what you have to do so that your secret remains a secret."
I felt a knot tighten in my throat. The fear for myself was unbearable, but then the image of Chaeryeong emerged. I remembered her laughter, her apparent innocence, and the bond that united us. An obsessive idea began to take root in my mind: if I accepted this, if I became Mr. Park’s pressure valve, perhaps he would leave my sister alone. Perhaps I could buy this man's silence with my own flesh.
"If you are an obedient girl... if you do everything I ask without protest," he continued, his voice becoming a glacial whisper in my ear, "your sister will never have to go through this. She can keep smiling and believing she is pure, while you and I take care of the filth."
That promise was the final nail in my coffin. Martyrdom felt like the only dignified way out. I closed my eyes and nodded slightly, accepting the invisible pact. In that moment, Mr. Park had not only taken my body; he had taken my will and transformed it into a shield to protect Chaeryeong.
I left the office with my heart beating slow and heavy, feeling the wet trail between my legs like a chain tying me to the man I had just left behind. As I walked down the hallway toward my room, I knew my life had been divided in two: the facade I would show the world and my sister, and the visceral darkness I would now share exclusively with Mr. Park. I was broken, I was stained, but as long as Chaeryeong was safe, I was willing to let him consume me inch by inch.
Can a night get more perfect than one surrounded by everyone you need?
A week ago, Karina would’ve rolled her eyes at that line. But leaning back onto her palms in the cold sand, shielded by the black lava rock, she caught herself believing it anyway.
Seoul never actually got dark like this; it just gave up and went grey. But out here, past the resort, where the black lava rock dropped off into the ocean, the darkness wiped the horizon clean. Overhead, the Milky Way painted a violent smear of white across pitch black. For once, something actually looked better in reality than it had on the curated Instagram accounts Karina had exhaustively scrolled through when booking the trip, looking less like a postcard and more like a direct act of God.
Yesterday morning, when Yeji jumped into her DMs with paragraphs about Chaeryeong’s desperate need for an American beach fire and Lia’s promise of zero light pollution, Karina had read the texts flat on her back. Mostly because her body was still thoroughly wrecked from what Yeji and Minho had done to her the night before. She’d been too busy tracing a ring of faint, finger-shaped bruises on her left breast to care about roasting marshmallows.
But sitting in the sand now, freezing in the coastal wind while the Pacific crashed somewhere in the dark, she had to admit Lia was, in fact, totally right. The stars kept multiplying every time Karina looked up, white and shameless over the water, and her neck started to ache before she made herself look away. Annoyingly, inconveniently, she wanted to pray about it.
By the time the sun fully dropped behind the water, ITZY had essentially relocated their Seoul dormitory and dropped it directly onto the beach. They’d claimed their patch of sand long enough for their belongings to scatter into that comfortable chaos they somehow lived in every day without falling apart. On the sand sat a cracked-open cooler bleeding condensation onto a discarded million-won hoodie, half-kicked-off slides sinking near the driftwood, and Lia’s phone tripod jammed into the dirt to record the impending disaster unfolding by the unlit fire.
Karina watched as her own members wasted no time getting comfortable.
Over on the main blanket, Winter had already fished out the honey butter chips meant for later and declared them chips for right now, hugging the bag to her chest while Ningning and Giselle successfully stole bites anytime Winter looked away. Winter had her knees tucked up inside a Doraemon blanket and her cheeks puffed full of chips, chewing with solemn focus. With Winter, snacks always demanded discipline and respect.
Yeji sat off to the side with one knee drawn up to her chin, silently watching Minho fail, while Yuna tucked her legs under herself and accepted a chip from Ningning, holding it suspended in the air for a long time before finally taking a bite.
Karina glanced over and watched as the boys struggled with fond cynicism. Delegating the fire to them had been an unspoken group consensus, the sort of primitive task men were supposed to handle when they weren’t busy being horny and useless. Although right now, they were just being useless.
Out by the driftwood, Sunwoo was trapped in a miserable loop of polite intervention. He kept taking an eager half-step forward with his mouth open to help, then immediately second-guessing himself and shoving his hands violently back into his pockets out of sheer politeness. It was agonizing to watch.
Down in the sand, Minho crouched beside a questionable pyramid of sticks, repeatedly striking a lighter into the sea breeze while Minjun nodded along as if the effort looked promising.
“You look like a sad YouTuber,” Giselle called from the blanket, clutching a bottle of soju. “Like ‘Man survives one day without wifi’.”
“It’s called airflow,” Minho said, shielding the tiny spark with his palm.
“More like arson cosplay,” Lia chimed in, tapping her screen to take a video.
Minjun nudged a stick with his toe. “No, because if we just -”
“Not like that,” Sunwoo finally interjected.
Ningning popped up on her knees, chewing a stolen honey butter chip. “Wait, I know this! You put the tiny ones under the big ones.”
Winter, still bundled in the blanket, lifted one hand like a student answering in class. “Maybe the small sticks are babies. They need protection.”
Giselle stared at her. “Minjeong-ya, we’re burning them.”
Winter’s face folded into immediate distress. “Unnie, then why did you call it kindling? That sounds gentle.”
Ningning patted the top of her head while still observing Minho’s collapsing stick pyramid with unfettered amusement. “Don’t worry, unnie. They’re brave babies.”
“Oh.” Winter accepted this at once and shoved another chip into her mouth.
When Minho brought the lighter too close to his thumb again, Yeji inhaled sharply enough to be heard over the surf. She folded her arms immediately, squaring her jaw, and Karina watched the tension lock into Yeji’s shoulders.
Giselle sighed loudly over the rim of her cup. “Dude, just use lighter fluid. You’re not winning any prizes for doing things the hard way.”
“I know how to do it naturally.” Minho adjusted the smallest sticks with two careful fingers.
“Dude,” Giselle scoffed, staring at him. “The natural part is fucking failing right now.”
He clicked the lighter again, caught empty air, clicked it once more, and singed his knuckle with a sharp hiss, shaking his hand out fast.
Before he could try again, Sunwoo stepped in, nudged two bits of driftwood apart, crouched, and lit one twist of paper. The kindling finally caught and sent a bright flame crawling up through the center of the pile.
As the wood popped and caught, Chaeryeong clapped loudly, then tucked both hands under her chin in a tiny victory pose.
“See? This is why I brought him,” she beamed, claiming total victory for a fire she hadn’t touched. “You’re all very welcome.”
Sunwoo gave her an appreciative glance across the rising heat.
Chaeryeong smiled sweetly, ambled over, and snuggled into his side. “You looked cold doing all that.”
Orange light spilled across the blankets, catching Winter’s cheek when she turned to ask Ningning for her charger, and flashing off Lia’s rings as she lowered her phone. Karina sat back on her hands, digging her fingers into the cool sand, letting the fire warm her knees.
***
Phone flashlights swept the beach path, throwing long, distorted shadows down the sand dunes before Ryujin’s voice even reached them.
“I told you, this is the right one. Why would I kidnap you to the wrong fire?”
“Bro, what the fuck are you being so mysterious for then?!” Another voice cut loudly over the crashing surf. “You literally dragged me past three empty beaches!”
LE SSERAFIM’s Yunjin emerged from the dark path wearing an oversized flannel peeling off a tight brown crop top and black denim cutoffs so frayed they put the ‘short’ in shorts. Karina watched her from the sand, her aesthetic eye taking in the unapologetic power of Yunjin’s build. Legs for days, thighs with actual power to them, and good bones under all that muscle, the whole package looking like it had told standard idol thinness to fuck off the New York way. She’d always enjoyed casually swatting Winter’s ass onstage, but this was on another planet.
While the rest of the circle clutched maekju and soju bottles, or in Winter’s case - juice boxes, Yunjin bounced on the balls of her feet, carelessly swinging a massive iced americano. Stopping right where the firelight thinned out, she took in the sprawled blankets, the half-buried coolers, the dark stretch of ocean beyond, and finally lifted her cup in approval.
“Damn, okay.” Yunjin laughed. “Fuck. This is kinda cute.”
Ryujin ambled in right behind her wearing a sleeveless hoodie over torn denim shorts and sandals, both hands shoved in her pockets like she owned the fucking place. She’d clearly forgotten to turn off her phone’s flashlight, leaving one side of her hoodie glowing a bright, oblivious white from the inside out. Seeing her, Karina let out a slow, quiet breath into the sea breeze.
“JENNIFER!”
Ningning kicked her blanket off in a flurry of limbs. Chaeryeong shrieked loudly enough to make Minho flinch, nearly flinging her drink into the sand as both hands flew up.
“Wait, is that - “ Yuna scrambled up, dropping her phone in the sand.
Giselle raised her bottle. “Oh my gosh. Jennifer Huh.”
Yunjin swung her iced americano back in a lazy, sarcastic toast. “Aeri Uchinaga. Still drinking on a Tuesday.”
“It’s a vacation Tuesday, so technically it doesn’t -”
Giselle didn’t even get to finish her retort before Yunjin’s attention snapped past the firelight, her face breaking into a delighted beam as she spotted Ningning and Winter. “MY DORMIES!”
Ningning scrambled past the snacks, grabbing Winter by the hood to drag her into the fray.
“Wait, no -,” Winter protested, refusing to pull her hands out of the chip bag. She got crushed into the three-way hug anyway, letting out a startled, high-pitched yelp before abandoning the chip bag and squeezing Yunjin back tightly.
Yunjin practically bounced on her heels, managing to keep her massive iced americano perfectly level with impressive wrist control. She pulled back just far enough to grab Winter by both shoulders. “MINJEONG, YOU GOT HOT! THE WORLD IS YOUR OYSTER, BESTIE,” she screamed, loud enough that Winter’s bangs literally blew back from the force of it.
“Y’all are gorgeous, I’m tight,” Yunjin was cracking with sudden sentimentality. “I missed you guys so much!”
Yeji stayed seated, resting her chin on her knee, staring at the three-way hug. “Where are your members, Yunjin? You didn’t leave them unattended near open water, did you?”
Yunjin straightened so fast her iced americano sloshed against the lid. “Bro, don’t even. They’re dead to me. Deadass. They’re at that samgyupsal place down in Seogwipo.”
“That place is so good.” Winter nodded earnestly from inside the throng of overexcited female energy.
“Told you to go.” Ningning stole another chip.
“I sent you the Naver pin,” Giselle called over the fire.
“Okay, I GET IT.” Yunjin locked her fingers around her plastic cup. “I got spammed by the three of you about pork belly, alright?! But I’m literally on my vegetarian comeback-prep bullshit right now! Chewing on leaves! Surviving on water and vibes!”
Yeji spoke from across the fire. “Right, isn’t your comeback at the end of the month?”
“Literally the thirtieth! This is our pre-release getaway, and shit’s CRAZY right now. Actually crazy.” Yunjin rattled the ice in her cup hard enough to underline every word. “Anyway, I had to bounce because they went feral in the restaurant while I had to breathe fumes.”
“Tragic,” Ryujin muttered, dropping onto the sand beside Lia.
“Feral,” Yunjin repeated, gesturing wildly with her free hand. “Chaewon-unnie defected from leadership the moment she got off the plane. She thinks she’s five again or some shit. Giggling and making the staff take four hundred photos of her by the ocean all fucking day -”
Yuna lifted her head from the blanket, her voice devoid of its usual bounce. “Wait. Yunjin-unnie... did you seriously just, like, abandon Eunchae? Why would you do that to me?”
“Zuha has her,” Yunjin clarified, taking a massive, rattling drag of her iced americano. “Actually, knowing Zuha, Manchae’s probably drowning in a koi pond right now while Zuha maintains unbroken eye contact with some local gym bro’s biceps at the next table.”
Lia blinked slowly across the fire, taking an impossibly tiny sip of her drink. “So you did abandon them and decided to follow Ryujin into the dark instead. Valid choice.”
“Ryujin straight-up kidnapped me! We literally just landed! I’m trying to live, yo!” Yunjin threw her free hand in the air, spinning to address the circle. “Wait, how long have you guys been here? What did I miss?”
Yuna crossed her arms and collapsed back onto her blanket, sounding instantly miserable. “Literally everything. Like, you actually missed BLACKPINK at the pop-up concert. Just like me. Which is fine! I’m completely fine! My life is just a tragedy, it’s totally fine.”
“Wait, BLACKPINK was here?!” Yunjin exclaimed, ignoring her woes. “You deadass?!?”
Karina hugged her knees, laughing at the sheer volume of the intrusion. “Yeah, a few nights ago. We’ve been here almost four days. Leaving tomorrow morning.”
“We’ve got three more,” Yeji added, evidently unbothered by all the screaming.
“No way, you guys are leaving?” Yunjin stared at Karina, then whipped around to glare at Giselle. “Are you kidding? I just got here!”
Before Yunjin could demand answers, Ningning grabbed her by the wrist. “Unnie, come here. No, here. Sit here. Wait, why are you drinking coffee?”
“At night,” Lia pointed out, looking directly at the iced cup. “On a beach.”
“Yeah, and?” Yunjin challenged. “Digestion is a sacred process, okay? Some of us didn’t eat the meat and need energy! Gotta keep the fire in the belly going, you know!”
“You texted me at 2 AM asking if the resort had room service bagels.” Giselle watched her over the fire.
Yunjin whipped around, clutching her americano to her chest. “See? This is what I mean. Aggressively West Coast. Smug on contact.”
Giselle smirked. “And you came in shouting. So New York of you.”
“I AM from New York! You went to an international school in Tokyo! You’re the opposite of a California girl, Aeri!”
Ningning looked back and forth between them, utterly delighted by the chaos. Winter leaned close to her, tugging on the hem of Ningning’s sundress twice in a tiny, urgent rhythm, her brow furrowing in concern.
Yunjin dropped onto the edge of the blanket, while Ryujin landed beside her with a quiet thud, and within seconds they’d taken over the group dynamic. Yunjin loudly interrogated everybody about their drink choices, yelled at Sunwoo for laughing at her coffee, demanded to know who failed to start the fire, and claimed immediate territory over the disputed honey butter chips. She reached across the blanket to steal one, pausing just as her hand hovered over the bag, her eyes dropping immediately to the movement beside it.
Minho had just blindly passed Yeji a fresh can of Pepsi - one of the new IVE Summer Festa promos with Wonyoung’s face dominating the aluminum. Yeji took it silently, cracked it open with her thumb, tipped it against her knee, and kept listening to whatever Chaeryeong was saying.
Yunjin’s hand froze over the chips. She pulled it back, squinting at Minho over the rim of her iced americano.
“Wait,” Yunjin said, squinting aggressively through the firelight. “Who the fuck are you?”
Minho just blinked at the plastic cup aimed at his nose. “I’m Minho. Yunjin, right?”
“Yeah, but why do I know your face?” She kept squinting at him, the ice rattling as she studied him. “You look SO familiar. Are you staff?”
“I helped run the boards when you tracked Fearless,” Minho answered, giving her a polite little nod.
Yunjin’s eyes went wide. “Oh shit! Studio monitor guy! Yeah!” Yunjin brightened on the spot, then squinted harder like that only made the situation worse. “Wait. So what are you doing on a dark beach with ITZY?”
“He’s a friend,” Yeji answered, fast enough to trip over the words.
Minho let out a slow, visible exhale. “I’m Yeji’s friend.”
“From when we were trainees,” Yeji added, layering on a desperate, aggressive casualness that only made it worse.
Sitting in the sand, Karina closed her eyes. Slowly, with profound spiritual exhaustion, she tilted her head back and made direct, metaphorical eye contact with God.
When she finally brought her gaze back down to earth, Ryujin was staring at the sky like she’d found enlightenment, Chaeryeong had both hands pressed to her temples, and Giselle was taking the slowest drink Karina had ever witnessed. Around the blanket, the same verdict passed from face to face: terrible lie.
Yunjin’s hand froze over the chips. The americano dropped to her lap, forgotten for one precarious second. “Wait. Wait, wait.”
She looked at Ryujin, then at Yeji and Minho, then back to the group, dropping into a conspiratorial whisper that cleanly overpowered the Pacific Ocean. “Are they together?”
The only sound was the snapping wood. Yeji blinked, Minho stared at the sand, and Karina wondered if anyone else was praying for divine intervention or just her.
Chaeryeong scrambled onto her knees so fast the blanket hitched under half the circle. “THANK you! Finally. Okay, because if you watch the way he hands her things, it’s very - I mean, SO not casual. And yesterday morning he rescued her eggs, which unfortunately you weren’t there for, which sounds normal until you understand she was in his shirt, glued to his arm, and then at breakfast her hand kept ending up in places that were very much not friend-coded -”
“Chaeryeong,” Sunwoo interrupted mildly.
“- and there’s a look he does when she’s ignoring him which is textbook drama male lead, except he’s also carrying coolers and fixing drinks which means he’s already full-blown husband-coded -”
“Baby.”
“I have NOTES! Wait, baby, give me my PHONE -”
Chaeryeong stopped mid-reach. She lowered her hands and turned to look at the one person on the blanket who wasn’t looking at her.
“Wait!” Chaeryeong tucked one hand against her mouth. “Ryujin-unnie -”
Ryujin slouched further back on her elbows and stared at the flames. “Nope.”
“Nope?” Chaeryeong echoed.
“No trial by bonfire.” Ryujin crushed an empty chip bag into a tight ball and tossed it toward the cooler. “If Yeji wants to be weird about her trainee friend with nice forearms, she can be weird in peace.”
“I’m not being weird,” Yeji said instantly.
Ryujin let her head tip sideways. “You introduced him like a hostage statement.”
Yeji’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
“Yeddeong,” Ryujin muttered, turning back to the fire. “Fix your face.”
Yeji stared at her for too long, then looked down at her Pepsi.
Chaeryeong froze.
Yesterday morning, Ryujin had seen Yeji holding onto Minho-oppa in the kitchen and walked out before anyone finished breakfast. Clean plate, dishes dumped in the sink, posture stiff enough to instantly launch a side plot in Chaeryeong’s head.
Then that massive living room fight later that night never actually made sense anyway. Ryujin had tried to make Yeji rate Minho like some cheap hookup the way they always used to, called him a golden retriever, and pushed until Yeji pulled rank just to shut it down. Then she had lost her mind over it, backing Yeji into a corner to force her to admit he was her boyfriend. But Chaeryeong knew Ryujin didn’t even do boyfriends. She hadn’t been jealous over the guy. She seemed more devastated that Yeji refused to play their old game anymore.
There was a massive hole in the plot. Whoever wrote their scripts was taking the whole ‘show, not tell’ thing a little TOO far. Because right now, Chaeryeong could really use a lot of telling.
Instead, Yeji was sitting in the firelight with that same soft mouth, and Ryujin just... stayed.
Chaeryeong sank back onto the blanket and blinked. “I missed an episode.”
Yunjin dragged her iced americano closer to her chest like she needed it for protection. “Girl, I missed the whole season.”
Ningning let out a scandalised shriek, and Winter made a soft ‘ohhhhh‘ of comprehension despite grasping almost none of the actual context. The noise bounced around the circle, everyone talking over each other. In the blur, Karina caught Yuna laughing. The sound hit a note too sharp. Her mouth was thrown wide, but her eyes were already darting away before anyone could meet them.
Through the chaos, Yeji finally looked away from the fire. She shifted her gaze down the sand to find Minho. He was already watching her. He let out a slow, visible exhale, his shoulders dropping in resignation.
Ningning chose that moment to poke the fire with a driftwood twig. The end caught at once, flaring violently. She pulled it out and held the tiny torch up in triumph.
“See? You just have to be aggressive with it.”
“You’re waving it too close to the chips!” Winter shrieked, hugging the bag tight against her chest. “If the chips burn, we’ve got nothing!”
“The chips are safe, unnie, calm down.” Ningning never shied away from any opportunity to be a menace.
The circle shifted after that, the group relaxing their postures as drinks changed hands and people readjusted their spots. Someone mentioned their flight time for tomorrow, prompting Giselle to groan loudly into the sleeve of her sweater. Winter asked the group for the fourth time where her charger had gone, openly accusing the beach itself of theft. Over by the driftwood, Sunwoo and Minjun fell into an easy, low-voiced conversation with Minho. Chaeryeong successfully stole Sunwoo’s sleeve again, pulling it over her knees, while Lia leaned back to snap a photo of Winter digging for a snack right as Yeji lunged across the blanket to rescue a tipping beer can.
***
Karina watched Yuna from across the fire.
ITZY's maknae sat bracketed by Ningning and Giselle, staring straight through the flames. She had drowned herself in an oversized hoodie pulled past her hips, the sleeves bunched tight over her knuckles, gray sweatpants swallowing the legs she usually treated like a public service. Yuna lived in crop tops, bikini bottoms, and whatever gave her legs the most mileage. Tonight she was a ghost in thick cotton.
Her phone lay blank in the sand. Every few minutes, she picked it up, stared at the black reflection, and dropped it back into the dirt like it’d been poisoned. Between checks, she tipped soju into her mouth in sharp, impatient sips, forcing the liquid down her throat like she was trying to erase the taste of something else.
Karina pushed up from her blanket and crossed to Yeji. “Your maknae’s unusually quiet,” she said, dropping down beside her friend.
“Yeah.” Yeji tracked Karina’s gaze. “She’s been off since yesterday. Told me she had a beach hookup while we were out the day before, and that it went bad.” Yeji dragged a thumbnail along the rim of her Pepsi can. Condensation wept down the aluminum, running straight through Jang Wonyoung’s printed summer-festa smile. “She shut down when I asked for details, but I saw the bruise on her chest. Right here.” Yeji tapped high on her own breast. “A dark one. She tried to hide it from me. I think whoever she brought back hurt her, and she’s too embarrassed to admit it.”
Karina watched Yuna force a wide, loud smile at whatever Ningning was saying. The muscles around her mouth worked hard, but her face sank right back into a flat stare the second Ningning looked away.
“You want me to talk to her?” Karina offered.
Yeji exhaled, her shoulders sinking. “Would you? I tried again this morning, and she just ran away. Better if it comes from someone else.”
Karina stood and navigated the minefield of blankets and kicked-off sandals, before stopping at Yuna’s shoulder. The girl was dissecting the label on her soju bottle, peeling the paper back in thin, violent strips.
Karina folded her legs and sat, pressing her shoulder against Yuna’s. The ocean wind whipped sand over their shoes. Yuna stiffened. Her thumbnail locked against a scrap of paper.
“Unnie,” Yuna chirped, pitching her voice high and loud. “What’s up?”
A massive, practiced smile snapped onto her face. It looked like hard work.
Karina let out a slow breath, slumping her shoulders to tip her head sideways and drop her cheek heavy against Yuna’s shoulder. Yuna’s breath hitched at the sudden contact, but Karina just stayed there, pressing in until the muscles holding up Yuna’s fake smile started to shake, twitching at the corners before her whole face dropped.
Yuna’s hands dropped back to the bottle, shredding the remaining label into a pile of green confetti.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to perform for me,” Karina murmured into her sleeve.
Yuna’s jaw clicked shut. She stared at the scraped glass of her bottle, her thumb pinned against the sticky glue residue.
“I’m fine, really,” Yuna said.
Karina leaned sideways, sealing the gap between their arms. Behind them, Giselle shrieked over whatever Yunjin had just claimed. The fire popped, throwing hot sap onto the sand.
Yuna dragged in a hitched, uneven breath. She bit the inside of her cheek until the skin went white. Her spine bowed inward, collapsing her tall frame, and she dropped the glass bottle into the dirt.
“I’m not -” Yuna whispered. “I’m not fine.”
Karina shifted deeper into the sand, letting her arm stay heavy against Yuna’s to block the wind.
“Keep the reason,” Karina said. “Just sit here with me.”
Yuna blinked. Thick, glassy wetness gathered along her lower lashes. She swallowed a hard knot in her throat and snapped her gaze back to the wood smoke.
“Does it get easier?” Yuna asked, the words scraping her throat. “Feeling like you... totally wrecked everything?”
Karina watched the orange sparks spiral upward into the black. “Eventually. Once you admit you’re the one who actually got cut on the glass.”
Yuna took that in with a slow nod. She pulled her knees to her chest, caging her sweatpant-covered shins with both arms, and dropped her forehead onto the soft cotton over her knees. Karina kept her shoulder pressed into Yuna’s arm while the fire burned down. They stayed side by side in the dirt, letting Yunjin’s screaming and the crashing surf handle the noise.
***
“I’ve made a decision,” Chaeryeong announced, dropping Sunwoo’s sleeve and projecting clearly over the crashing surf. “I need an actual s’more. Properly roasted.”
“Seconded!” Ningning agreed immediately from across the fire.
Winter froze, her hand buried deep in the massive canvas snack tote sitting by her knees. Her eyes went round above her puffed cheeks. She peered down into its depths and started digging, both hands tossing a box of Pepero and a stray pack of gummies onto the sand in a frantic scramble.
She stopped. She looked up at Karina, blinking sheepishly.
“Ummm. Unnie -”
Everyone looked over.
Winter pulled a crumpled, completely empty plastic bag out of the tote and held it up by the corner.
“There’s no more marshmallows...”
“How many did she eat?” Giselle asked, already knowing the answer.
“It’s not my fault,” Winter protested, clutching the empty wrapper. “You guys stole all my sour candy the other night!”
“I was helping you,” Giselle said nonchalantly, licking chip dust off her thumb. “You were hoarding. Besides, someone needs to go get more s’mores.”
“And chips,” Ningning added, casually chewing on the last piece she’d snuck from the bag.
Winter shot a cutting side-eye at Giselle across the fire.
Ningning loudly took Winter’s side, arguing that honey butter chips were a cultural imperative, while Chaeryeong betrayed that side at once purely because she wanted her s’mores fantasy to be perfect. Karina got to her feet while the argument was still rising into the night air.
“I’ll go.”
Winter brightened instantly, tugging on the hem of Karina’s dress. “Honey butter chips, unnie. Please. Only the yellow ones.”
Yuna looked up from the sand.
Karina dusted off her shorts and scooped up the empty canvas shopping tote by the straps. “Yuna-ya, come help me carry stuff, will you? We’ll take the golf cart.”
Yuna blinked, startled by the direct order, but nodded quickly and scrambled up. Karina caught her hand mid-step, lacing their fingers together with a firm grip and pulling her forward. Yuna’s shoulders hitched at the sudden contact, her hand staying stiff until she finally forced her knuckles to relax against Karina’s palm.
Ducking her chin into her hoodie, she let herself be towed up the dark beach path toward the road, leaving Yeji watching their retreat until the dunes swallowed them.
***
[YUNA’S POV]
At the top of the dune, the golf cart coughed to life on the second try. Yuna climbed into the passenger seat and tucked her knees up to her chest, the baggy gray sweatpants bunching around her ankles while the narrow road out past the resort ran dark beside the water, the cart’s single working headlight throwing a shaky, pathetic yellow path through the night.
Normally, she lived for this midnight aesthetic. Riding shotgun in the dark with her hair whipping around should’ve given immense main character energy, but tonight her brain refused to enjoy the fun part. The Levitating soundtrack from two days ago when she’d walked down to the beach thinking she was hot shit? Yeah, that was dead. Now it was just the same bruising facts spinning on loop until she wanted to unzip her own skin and climb out, leaving those perfectly manicured nails behind.
“You’ve been quiet all night,” Karina said over the rattle of the engine, keeping her eyes on the road.
“I’m fine,” Yuna shot back on pure instinct, hating how the lie came out coated in that automatic idol-trained gloss she saved for Cosmopolitan. Great, even her denial sounded media-trained. She bit her lip and stared at the dark tangerine trees whipping past while Karina kept driving in silence, giving Yuna way too much time to obsess over the glowing green numbers on the dashboard clock.
Minutes later, the GS25 sliding doors parted in a blast of freezing AC and offensive lighting. Yuna caught her reflection in the door glass and actively flinched. The overhead fluorescents were violently anti-woman, blowing out her features until she just looked exhausted and pore-heavy. The whole store was just dead-silent aisles of ramen and lighting totally optimized to ruin your self-esteem.
Karina stepped through the automatic doors a second later, the entry sensor chiming loudly in the empty store. She caught Yuna rigidly staring at the glass and immediately let her gaze slide past her to the aisles, offering the easiest out possible. “I’ll go hunt down the marshmallows,” Karina quipped, cutting right through the hum of the freezers. She nodded toward the back wall. “You grab the rest.”
They split up, leaving Yuna to speed-walk down the chip aisle, desperate to grab the honey butter chips and make this whole mini-trip strictly about sodium because carbs were safe and junk food didn’t judge you for hooking up with your leader’s terrifyingly competent non-boyfriend. Just a normal midnight snack run. Very casual. SO fine.
Blue Pepsi cans sat stacked in clean rows behind the glass, each label turned forward for the 2024 summer promo - IVE Summer Festa. The same one Yeji had been holding back on the beach. Wonyoung smiled from the aluminum at eye level, glossy and too perfect under the fridge light, her printed face repeating down the shelf until the whole fucking display looked like a fan account with a beverage license.
Yuna stopped with one hand on the door handle.
The dark bedroom came back in phone light and twisted sheets. The article she’d already read twice. The comments scrolling under her thumb while her body lay there refusing to cooperate.
Face and body-wise, she and Jang Wonyoung are the top two.
Her fingers slipped through the gap before she decided to move. She touched the can with Wonyoung’s face on it, one fingertip resting against the printed cheek.
“Nice to look at...” she whispered.
“Yuna-ya,” Karina called from the next aisle. “Did you find it?”
Yuna snatched her hand back so fast the cans clinked together. She grabbed the nearest box of plain crackers off the shelf and hugged it to her oversized hoodie.
The Wonyoung can kept smiling at her from behind the glass. Yuna grabbed two cold cans of maekju from the next row and pinned them against the crackers.
“Yep!” She answered, trying to force some bouncy, maknae-line charm into the suggestion that fell flat against the hum of the freezers. “Found crackers. Very chips-adjacent. Honestly, genius.”
She tracked down Karina leaning one shoulder against the freezer glass with her thumb glowing over her phone screen.
“Wait, what if we just - like - give Minjeong-unnie these?” Yuna asked, holding up the crackers.
It was a photo of Karina at twenty in a sheer purple stage outfit, face rounder but expression blank, that porcelain-doll stare she’d perfected in rehearsal rooms, scrubbing out every trace of the actual human until only the weaponized avatar remained.
Yuna frowned as a weird spike of annoyance hit her. “Jimin-unnie. Who is that?”
Karina’s thumb twitched like she was going to snap the phone against her thigh, but she stopped and left it face-up under the harsh store lights.
“Me. When I was twenty. Black Mamba era, the year I debuted.”
Yuna stared at the screen. “Unnie, you look so...” She couldn’t find the right word. ‘Empty’ didn’t cover the sheer amount of effort it took to look that devoid of life. “...CG.”
“I was trying so hard, you’ve got no idea,” Karina cut in, bereft of her usual smoky polish. “I thought that was everything I wanted... if I could just get that sexy look right, then I’d be happy.”
“Always thought that was the goal, you know? To train my face out of the picture until there was nothing left but the brand. I thought if I just became the perfect blank slate for SM, then people couldn’t hurt the real me.”
Yuna lowered the crackers onto the top of the freezer case, the cardboard hitting the glass with a quiet, hollow tap. Why did Karina look so vacant under all that pretty, and why did that vacancy look so horribly familiar? That was supposed to be the dream version - twenty, pretty, famous, wanted. So why did the girl in the photo look like a completely empty shell?
Karina dragged her thumb across the glass to reveal a waiting room selfie featuring heavily styled hair. “Music Bank. I think I’d been awake forty straight hours at that point. Somebody told me to fix my face right before they took this.”
She swiped again, bringing up a bulletproof smile flashing beneath Seoul streetlights. “Dispatch. Didn’t even know they were following me.” She stared at the phone. “Saw it online the next day and that’s when I realized... my face just does that now. Smiles before I even know someone’s there.”
Yuna stared hard through the glass at the girl in the picture while her own brain traitorously fired off a rapid highlight reel of her own broadcast habits. The chin tilt. The breathy laugh. The hip angle that said hot but not desperate. The pout that tested well with male fans but didn’t alienate female ones. She’d practiced all of it until her face knew the drill better than she did, and suddenly, the daily grind of being the visual felt less like a flex and more like a burden.
Karina locked the phone, shutting down the screen. "You can get very, very good at being what people think they want."
Yuna’s posture caved inward, her face flushing so hot that wearing that massive hoodie and sweats suddenly felt like the most honest choice she’d made all week. She swallowed, the movement catching awkwardly in her throat.
“Does it help?” Yuna asked timidly.
Karina laughed once under her breath. “It helps them, until they’ve taken everything they can and you don’t even remember your name anymore.”
The freezer’s hum buzzed loudly in Yuna’s ears as she reached for the crackers again, her fingers hovering over the box before gripping the cardboard and pulling it tight against her ribs.
Up at the front of the store, a NewJeans track trickled through the cheap ceiling speakers. The sad one, of course, because even after two days unhinged idol disaster, the universe never relented with its impeccable sense of comedic timing. It was the one with the girl filming the girls like they were her actual friends, then boom - surprise, bestie - your emotional support idols were a coping mechanism with great styling. Parasocial damage, director’s cut. Yuna knew the lore because nobody survived fourth gen without studying every competitor’s cinematic universe like it was the CSAT. Though, hearing that song over the ramen aisle while she was having a face-and-body crisis in a GS25 felt weirdly personal.
They carried their items up to the counter, dumping marshmallows, cracker boxes, chocolate, and Yuna’s two beers onto the counter. Yuna slapped two Melonas on top because the freezer glass had given her the shakes.
Behind the counter, the cashier kept his eyes glued to his lap. A guy in his late twenties rotting in a rumpled uniform vest, he locked his thousand-yard stare on his phone, mashing his thumbs through some mobile game.
She draped herself over the counter, leaning forward to deploy her best, most desperate variety-show pout to get his attention. “Sir. SIR?? Do you have honey butter chips too?”
Her reflection stared back from the black acrylic security screen bolted to the counter, locking Yuna in place. She’d instinctively snapped into that broadcast-approved pout, rolling her shoulder forward and widening her eyes for a guy who clearly wasn’t giving a shit about her. The cringe hit her muscles before her brain caught up. She abandoned the posture instantly, shrinking her spine down against the counter and yanking her hoodie strings tight to hide her blazing cheeks.
Karina took a step back.
“Honey butter?” he droned, as he blindly dragged the marshmallows across the scanner. “A young lady came in the other night and cleared out the whole shelf.”
“Sold out?” Yuna gripped the edge of the counter, her cute act dissolving into actual horror.
“You heard me.” The cashier hauled his gaze over his phone, squinting at the two of them under the buzzing lights. His eyes passed from Karina’s face to Yuna’s and back again. “Actually, she looked a lot like Winter from aespa. Are you two -”
“Nice of you to think that,” Karina cut him off, flashing a hollow smile. “But no.”
He shrugged, dragging the crackers across the scanner and dropping his eyes right back to his screen. “Whatever. You girls all look the same with the plastic surgery you get on the mainland anyway.”
Yuna dropped her forehead against the edge of the counter, breaking into a messy laugh. A copy-paste job sitting on the same mainland shelf. Karina called it thirty seconds ago and here was the universe proving her right in real time. Yuna slapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking. If she let the laugh stop, she was going to have to exist in a world where some random GS25 guy reduced her entire life to a joke. Karina’s face softened, the diamond edge melting off and leaving the cashier standing there holding a box of crackers like a malfunctioning NPC.
***
The drive back was slower.
Karina tore open one of the Melonas and passed it to Yuna before unwrapping her own, steering the cart with her knees while she peeled back the paper. The wind dropped to a steady push off the water, rattling the plastic bag between their knees while the cart’s single working headlight threw its sad yellow cone over the asphalt.
Yuna bit into the green ice, neon syrup running down to the corner of her mouth. She didn’t notice until Karina pulled a tissue from her pocket and handed it over while keeping her eyes on the road. Yuna took it and scrubbed at her face, the sticky residue smearing before it came clean.
Karina kept one hand on the wheel. Yuna held the Melona wrapper in her fist, green syrup drying sticky on her thumb, and stared at the dark tangerine groves passing on the left.
The cashier’s voice was still in her ears. You girls all look the same.
Same shelf, same idol face under a fluorescent tube. Yuna wanted to be mad about it. Instead, she kept hearing her own laugh from the store, too loud and too sharp. She’d bully herself for if it ever aired on a variety show.
“Boys are fun, aren’t they?” Karina said, her eyes on the road.
Yuna’s head snapped sideways. Karina kept her eyes on the road, mouth flat, dark hair whipping across her jaw.
“Yeah,” Yuna said, and the answer came out in the bright broadcast tone she’d used on every variety show since debut, breathy and cute with the vocal fry that tested well. She bit the inside of her cheek the second it left her mouth. Great. Even this had a rehearsal room stink on it.
“Fun,” Yuna repeated, quieter, trying to mean it this time. “Like - yeah.”
Karina glanced over. “What fun?”
The pool flashed back. Yeji’s cum still glossy on his cock the second the towel hit the tile, and Yuna’s brain locking onto it like an exclusive drop unnie had been gatekeeping. That’s why she keeps him around. Her personal premium subscription. She’d thought if she could just get him to beg for her instead - if she could make him pick her, even for thirty seconds going feral underwater in the deep end - she’d unlock the cheat code that made Yeji-unnie untouchable. She’d climbed out of that pool confident she’d secured the ultimate flex. But the thing unnie actually had with him didn’t live in his cock or his cum or getting chosen; it was the part Yuna couldn’t just serve face and fuck her way into. The way he held unnie’s face like she was a literal human being and not a 4K fancam. When she’d overheard him telling her “they’re perfect” through the wall after she’d complained about her tits being small.
“People thinking I’m hot,” Yuna finally said. “That’s the fun part. Knowing they want me.”
She’d never said it that plainly before. It sounded worse out loud than it did in her head, which was REALLY saying something because it hadn’t sounded great in her head either.
Karina nodded once, watching the road. “I used to think that too.”
“Used to?”
“Mhm.” Karina shifted the cart around a curve, the headlight sweeping across a low stone wall. “Being wanted was the best feeling I knew. For a long time.”
Yuna turned the sticky Melona wrapper between her fingers, pressing the green residue into thin lines on her skin. “So what happened?”
“I got everything I wanted.” Karina rubbed the back of her neck, her fingers digging under her dark hair. “But they only wanted Karina from the magazines. The girl who skips carbs and finds the right smile for every room.”
Karina let out a short, dry laugh. “Three nights ago. After the BLACKPINK set. Ryujin wanted to run through some Yonsei frat boys she found in the mosh pit. Dragged me along for bait.”
Yuna’s head snapped around, completely forgetting the sticky Melona wrapper. “Wait. FIVE? Unnie. You didn’t.”
“I tried.” Karina slouched forward, bracing her forearm against the steering wheel. “I literally stripped naked on their shitty leather couch, spread my legs wide open so they had a perfect view, and waited. You know what they did?”
Yuna didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
“They fucking gawked.” Karina shook her head, an ugly smile twisting her mouth. “Stood there with their jaws slacked, drooling over my tits like I was a hallucination.”
Yuna swallowed, the sweet taste of the Melona suddenly completely gone.
“I was lying there wet and desperate for someone to just fuck me hard like a normal girl,” Karina said. She steered the cart around a pothole with the heel of her hand. “Which - you know what I mean. We’re young. We’re allowed to just want good sex.”
Yuna nodded once, scraping her sticky thumb against the soft cotton over her knee. She definitely knew what she meant.
“Except half of them busted the second they pushed inside,” Karina snorted. “The rest just used me like a human fleshlight. Hammering away without giving a single shit if I actually got off.” She glanced over, her eyes catching the dashboard light. “They didn’t want me, Yuna-ya. They just wanted to stick their useless dicks in the poster so they could brag about unlocking a trophy.”
The cart rattled over an uneven patch and Yuna grabbed the oh-shit bar, her sweatpants brushing against the plastic bag.
“And the thing is,” Karina continued, “you can give them that forever. Skin, performance, the girl they showed up for. You can keep handing it out, and they’ll keep taking it, and everyone keeps calling it love.”
Yuna’s throat went dry.
“Until one day you want one single thing for yourself,” Karina finished, “and they tell you it’s a betrayal.”
The wind filled the cart. Tangerine groves blurred past. Yuna opened her mouth, then closed it again.
She thought about her own Instagram, the comments she scrolled through at 2 AM calling her the hottest fourth-gen idol alive, the DMs from industry guys opening with compliments about her waist and closing with hotel names, the fancam numbers she tracked like a stock portfolio. She’d treated all of it like proof she mattered. Karina had collected the prize and ended up writing an apology for having a life.
Yuna swallowed.
The question had been poking at her since before Jeju, since the group chat, since the BLACKPINK tickets Ryujin gave to Karina because Karina was still apparently a mess three months after a relationship that lasted five weeks. But also because Yuna was too busy fucking some random guy to return Ryujin’s calls, and later ranted about it to herself on the beach like the entitled brat she was.
“Jimin-unnie. What actually happened with him?” She asked quietly.
Karina didn’t flinch. She kept her eyes on the road and her hand steady on the wheel.
“We met in Milan,” she said carefully. “At the Prada show. He was smart and handsome, and he looked at me like I was real.” She took the cart around a bend in the road. “Rare enough that I thought it meant something.”
“Did it?”
“For about a month.” Karina adjusted her grip on the wheel. “We went on walks late at night near his apartment. He’d buy me iced coffee from the GS25 near his building, and we’d talk about dumb things, like what dramas were good and whether cats or dogs were better. Normal things.”
She went quiet long enough that Yuna thought she was done.
“Then Dispatch got it,” Karina said. “And everything became content.”
Yuna looked down at the Melona wrapper in her fist. Content. The same word she used for her Instagram grid. The same word her manager used when reviewing her fancam numbers.
“They sent a truck to my company,” Karina sighed. “With a billboard on it. Asking if I didn’t feel loved enough by my fans. Asking why I’d betrayed them.”
Yuna’s hand froze on the Melona wrapper.
“I wrote an apology,” Karina continued, her shoulders dipping as the cart rolled over cracked asphalt. “On paper. By hand. Posted it to Instagram. I told fourteen million people I was sorry for having a boyfriend.” She took the next curve. “He told his agency he wanted to focus on his drama. That was it for him. Clean exit.”
He went back to work. She wrote sorry by hand and posted it where everyone could zoom in. Same relationship, same breakup, different cost.
“Five weeks, Yuna-ya,” Karina said. “We were public for five weeks. I apologized for longer than I dated him.”
Yuna remembered her own rant from the beach, the bitter little monologue she’d delivered to her shadow about Karina moping over a guy she’d barely been with and costing Yuna her BLACKPINK tickets. Her toes curled against the cart floor.
“I had every version of what you think you want,” Karina said, her fingers tightening once on the wheel. “The face. The fame. The beautiful man. The feeling of being chosen.” The road bent left and Karina followed it. “And I still couldn’t tell you the last time any of them knew who was actually in the room with them.”
“The sex was easy. They wanted it, I gave it, everyone left happy.” Karina adjusted her grip on the wheel. “Took me a while to realize they weren’t fucking me. They were fucking the girl from the magazine. I was just the one who had to show up for it.”
Yuna sat still with green Melona syrup on her thumb and the plastic bag crinkling against her sweatpants. Karina kept her hand steady on the wheel while the dark road unspooled ahead of them.
She’d thought Karina was weak for hurting that long over something that short. Now the timing made sense. Five weeks of having someone see her, then the industry stole it away with a press release, and Karina was still walking around with the handprint.
The worst part was that Minho had wanted her. Her body made that impossible to deny, which was the whole reason she’d treated it like a win. But even then, between every wet little victory lap her brain had turned into content, his eyes kept cutting back toward the bedroom like Yeji had a hand on him from afar.
“Unnie,” Yuna said, very quietly.
“Mm?”
“I was such a bitch about the BLACKPINK tickets.”
Karina let out one breath through her nose.
“I did wonder why Head Blink wasn’t there,” she said, and one corner of her mouth lifted wryly. “You don’t seem like someone who misses BLACKPINK by accident.”
Yuna pressed her sticky thumb harder into the vinyl seat. Yeah. Funny story. Hilarious, actually. Five stars. No notes. She kept all of that inside her mouth and stared at the headlight shaking over the road.
They drove the rest of the way in the dark, the resort lights growing brighter through the trees. Yuna pressed her sticky thumb against the vinyl seat and watched Karina in the passing headlights of an oncoming car.
Karina looked beautiful, because of course she did. The annoying part was that Yuna could see the dark smudges under her eyes now too, and they made the beautiful harder to lie about.
Yuna thought she might want to learn that too. Eventually. Not tonight. Tonight she just had to carry a bag of marshmallows back to a bonfire and figure out how to fix the thing she broke without cutting herself again.
The resort gate opened. The headlights found the beach path.
“You good?” Karina asked.
Yuna wiped the green syrup off her thumb with the napkin Karina had given her earlier.
“Yeah,” she said. “Better.”
They rolled back into the firelight moments later, the plastic shopping bag resting loudly against Yuna’s sweatpants as she climbed out. Winter spotted the marshmallows from the blankets and let out a high squeal while brandishing a wooden skewer, prompting Ningning to snatch the bag from Yuna with both hands and instantly assign jobs nobody had requested.
Yeji looked up from the fire the second Karina stepped back into the circle, and when their eyes met across the sand, Karina gave a small nod that Yeji reciprocated.
Before Yuna even sat down, Ningning shoved a half-assembled s’more directly into her hand, declaring she looked like she needed chocolate before going straight back to nearly setting another marshmallow actively on fire. Karina lowered herself back onto the sand where Ningning immediately slumped against her shoulder as if she’d never left. Across the roaring fire, Ryujin threw her head back, laughing loudly at something Yunjin had just said while Yuna looked down at the chocolate melting into the cracker in her hand, letting the noise of the beach wash over her.
***
[MINHO’S POV]
By the time the second round of marshmallows got underway, the fire had burned down into that nice, competent middle stage, impressive enough to validate the effort and dangerous enough to keep Ningning interested. Sunwoo and Minjun were on the other side, half committed to a long story about a manager in Osaka who’d somehow locked himself in a hotel bathroom, while I stood behind Yeji with my thumbs pressed into the tight muscles at the base of her neck.
Finding her took no effort anymore.
She had her chin tipped forward, one knee drawn up, both hands wrapped loosely around a Pepsi can while I worked my fingers over her shoulders. Moving firelight caught the sharp edge of her cheekbone and the bridge of her nose, then slid away. Every now and then she’d smile at something Chaeryeong or Lia said, and my fingers stopped against her hoodie until I remembered to move them.
I kept swallowing the same thought over and over.
I almost lost all of this.
Yuna came out of the dark with a cold beer in each hand, and Minjun stopped talking mid-sentence.
She crossed the last stretch of sand with her eyes down, oversized hoodie swallowing her hands, gray sweatpants dragging low over her heels. I thought she was coming to give Yeji the drink until she stepped around Yeji’s shoulder, set both cans carefully in the sand by my foot, wrapped her arms around my middle, and pressed her face into the front of my zip hoodie hard enough for one rough breath to catch against the zipper.
My hands stayed useless in the cold air while everyone watched.
Yeji looked up first, her head turning beneath my arm. Her eyebrows pulled together, confused, then her face softened when Yuna’s fingers clenched in my jacket.
“Yuna-ya?” she asked. “What happened?”
Yuna shook her head once against me and turned her face until her mouth brushed my ear.
“I thought being wanted meant I was worth something,” she whispered. Her fingers tightened once in my jacket. “You saw me anyway. So stop feeling bad for being decent to me. Yeji-unnie chose you, so... don’t make her regret being brave.”
I shut my eyes. For days, I’d been carrying that pool like evidence against myself, replaying it every time I looked at Yeji or Yuna went quiet until my jaw hurt.
Yuna stood there in her huge hoodie, crying into my jacket, and told me to stop.
I lowered one hand to the back of her head, keeping my palm light and my body still, close enough to comfort her and careful enough for Yeji to see exactly what I meant.
“You’re worth plenty.” I said quietly, keeping my hand still against her hair. “You don’t have to prove it like that.”
Her shoulders hitched once, and Yeji was on her feet before anyone else moved. She stepped close, one hand landing on Yuna’s back, her attention narrowing the way it did when one of her members came offstage pale and pretending not to be hurt.
“Yuna.” Yeji’s hand moved once between Yuna’s shoulder blades. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”
Yuna lifted her face from my jacket. Her lashes were wet, cheeks blotchy, nose pink from the wind, and when she tried to smile, her mouth shook out of it.
“I messed up.” Yuna rubbed her sleeve under her nose and looked at the sand between Yeji’s feet. “And Minho-oppa helped me after. That’s all. He was... he was nice to me when I didn’t really deserve nice.”
Yeji looked at me, and I held still until her shoulders dropped. She nodded once, then pulled Yuna out of my arms and straight into hers.
Yuna went with a choked little sound, folding into Yeji so fast my hand was left hanging there. Yeji wrapped both arms around her and tucked her chin against Yuna’s temple, rocking once in the sand.
“You’re our maknae. You always deserve nice,” Yeji murmured, rubbing the back of Yuna’s hoodie with her thumb.
Karina sat near the blankets with her drink held loose between both hands, watching Yuna over the rim. When Yuna finally peeled herself off Yeji and wiped both cheeks with her sleeves, Karina gave her a small nod of approval, and Yuna’s eyes immediately found the ground again.
Yuna’s mouth trembled before she bent, picked up one of the maekju she’d brought, and pressed it into my hand.
“For you.” Yuna cleared her throat, grabbed the other bottle, and shoved it toward Yeji. “And for unnie. Because apparently I’m mature now.”
“Apparently,” Yeji said, taking it.
Minjun waited until Yuna had shuffled back toward the blankets and collapsed between Karina and Ningning before leaning over.
“Did I miss a whole redemption arc?”
I cracked open the maekju Yuna had given me. The hiss cut clean through the fire crackle.
“Yeah,” I said, watching Yeji turn the can once in her hands before she looked back at Yuna. “You really did.”
***
Behind us, Yunjin and Giselle had sought each other out again and were currently deep into their third or fourth argument of the night. Except this one had drastically pivoted to anime. Ryujin had made the fatal mistake of trying to contribute and was already looking for a way out.
“Gojo Satoru is the best character ever written in any medium,” Yunjin announced, projecting her voice over the fire. “I will die on this hill and I’ll look hot doing it.”
“He’s a thirst trap with a backstory.” Giselle tucked her hands deeper into her oversized sleeves.
Yunjin slapped her thigh in outrage. “Okay, a thirst trap can also be a genius! Why does it have to be one or the other with you, it’s exhausting.”
“Shinji Ikari. Better written. It’s not close.”
Yunjin stared at her in pure horror. “I don’t care about better written, I care about iconic. Shinji is iconic at having one breakdown in a robot.”
“That’s still writing.”
“Crying in a giant robot isn’t automatic literature, Aeri.”
Ryujin leaned in between them, committed and doomed. “Okay but Zoro would clap both of these guys, so -”
Both of them turned on her with lethal synchronization.
“How much have you actually seen?” Giselle asked.
Ryujin hesitated, sensing the trap. “Like... the first three arcs?”
Yunjin dramatically clutched her own chest. “That’s the trailer, babe.”
“You haven’t watched One Piece, you waved at it from across the room.” Giselle waved a hand to dismiss her.
Ryujin looked betrayed.
From the main blanket, Winter leaned toward Ningning again, holding her half-burnt marshmallow upright like a tiny ruined microphone. “Are they still bonding?”
“Yep.” Ningning nodded solemnly, critically examining the charcoal side of her marshmallow. “Still bonding.”
***
That was how the rest of the night went. People pairing off, arguing, and drifting back again. Chaeryeong kept stealing bites directly from Sunwoo’s s’more, claiming it was strictly quality control. Lia snapped photos across the fire, timing them for when people stopped posing. Karina laughed with her head bent, one hand over her mouth, while Yunjin switched seamlessly into English to complain. Yeji leaned close to Ryujin for a quick, quiet exchange that ended with Ryujin rolling her eyes dramatically but handing over her drink anyway.
Then Winter’s phone lit up and rang loudly from the sand, and she practically scrambled over Ningning to grab it, knees slipping in the blanket and one socked foot kicking free.
She looked at the screen, her face splitting into an instant grin. “Wait. Wait, everybody. Say hi.”
She answered the FaceTime already smiling, aiming the camera out at the fire.
“HI!” the entire beach circle yelled in unison, hands waving at the lens.
A deep voice rumbled a laugh through the phone speaker. A massive dog shoved its face briefly into the frame underneath a tattooed hand, prompting Winter to shriek in sheer delight and clap both hands over her mouth, trapping the phone between her palms for one dangerous second.
“Unnie.” Ningning rescued the bottom edge before the screen tipped toward the sand.
“Puppy,” Winter whispered back, reverent and useless as an explanation.
Within seconds, she turned the phone right back around to hoard the screen to herself, tucking her chin down and curling around it. Giselle let Winter burrow against her shoulder and lazily patted her hair, keeping her drink steady.
Yeji had drifted back to my side at some point during the call, settling into the sand close enough that her shoulder brushed my knee. I tipped my chin toward Winter, who was curled around the phone whispering at the screen.
“That dog’s huge,” I said.
“Mhm.”
“And that hand had a lot of ink on it.”
Yeji took a slow sip of her maekju. “He’s a sunbae.” She tucked her chin against her knee, the smallest curl at the corner of her mouth. “Friend of ours. He’s good to her.”
“That’s all I get?”
“That’s all anyone gets.” She bumped her shoulder against my thigh gently. “That’s how she keeps it.”
***
The fire started to burn low, the orange flames retreating back into the wood. I pulled the collar of my jacket up against the ocean chill as somebody tossed another thick piece of driftwood into the center. Propped back on one hand in the sand, I just sat and watched everybody find comfortable, tangled shapes around each other to block the wind. aespa had tucked in a little closer together, apparently bracing for their flight out tomorrow. ITZY sprawled across their blankets like they’d owned this beach for a week.
Yunjin had fully abandoned her flannel jacket, sprawling back on her elbows in the sand, and was currently delivering a loud, tipsy state-of-the-union address on the Seoul dating pool.
“I opened Tinder before the plane even got to the gate,” Yunjin announced, waving her phone at the fire. “Mapo-gu is a fucking wasteland. I needed to see if the island roster was carrying.”
“Is it that bad?” Chaeryeong asked, leaning forward over her knees.
“It’s bleak, bro,” Yunjin ranted, letting her head drop back. Her throat caught the firelight. “Do you know what comeback prep does to a bitch? I’ve been doing six hours of choreo a day on iced americanos and spite. I even fully shaved for this trip. Do you know how exhausting that is on two hours of sleep? I’m down so astronomically bad I could walk into the ocean. PLEASE get me a guy who can rail me so hard I forget my own name.”
Ryujin laughed into her beer can. “Girl, just hook up with one of your backup dancers like a normal person.”
“HUH-larious. But nah.” Yunjin slashed a hand through the air. “They get weird. The second you try to choke them with your thighs, they panic about HR. You open your legs for some Gangnam industry fuckboy and half the time he’s trying to network mid-stroke or asking about Spotify streams. I don’t want a fan, I want a menace. I want some dude who can actually fold me like a lawn chair and shut me the fuck up.”
Beside me, Yeji let out a soft snort of agreement, taking a slow sip of her drink.
“I thought a Jeju local might actually have some stamina,” Yunjin sighed, scrolling aggressively with her thumb. “Fishermen. Surfers. Dudes who don’t own a twelve-step skincare routine and can actually rearrange my guts. Give me calluses or give me death.”
"Or crypto bros," Yuna muttered darkly from inside her hoodie.
On the other blanket, Ningning stopped chewing on the end of her wooden skewer. She turned her head, very slowly, and stared dead at Giselle.
Winter caught the look. Her head snapped toward Giselle too, her eyes widening.
Giselle took a maddeningly slow sip of her drink, the ice clinking loudly in the plastic cup. She lowered it, maintaining a completely blank expression as her members zeroed in on her.
Yunjin sat up fast, sensing blood in the water. “Wait, why are you all looking at her?”
Giselle adjusted the heavy blanket over her legs. “I commit vibes.”
“Aeri.” Yunjin started. “AERI. Did you get your back blown out while I was stuck in a recording studio?”
Lia put her phone face down in the sand and crossed her arms. Even Karina went still, attention snapping in.
Giselle picked a piece of lint off her sleeve, looking thoroughly unbothered by the sudden interrogation. “Dude, if it helps your thesis, he wasn’t local. He’s a cinematographer I knew from high school. Lives in Gangnam. So your Seoul facts are off.”
“That’s a full confession,” Yunjin gasped, already way too invested. “Spill. Right now.”
Winter paused mid-chew, looking between them with wide, sincere eyes. "Wait, so how did your networking go, unnie? You never told us."
The fire popped sharply, throwing a sudden burst of bright orange sparks up into the dark space between us.
I looked across it.
Yeji was already watching me. She raised one eyebrow, her chin still propped on her knee, and waited me out. I broke eye contact first, conceding the point, and I caught the corner of her mouth twitching up into a smirk right before I faced the water.
Across the circle, Giselle took one last long drink and finally started.
“So we were at that really hyped samgyupsal place in Seogwipo, right?” she began, channeling that thoroughly pseudo-West Coast energy. “And that place was so smoky I couldn’t see a fucking thing. Anyway, we were meeting this cinematographer guy I knew from high school...”
Intro | Masterlist | Series Index
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Author’s Note
I know this chapter is a little heavier than the title suggests, but I hope it was worth the wait. Honestly, this was probably my least favorite chapter to work on - not because it didn’t matter, but because the subject matter is dark and philosophically complex in a way that’s far from the smut and romance I actually enjoy writing most. But alongside “Nobody Like You,” this might be the most emotionally deep chapter in the series. This story wouldn’t be complete without it, and I think it stands on its own.
If you’ve made it this far into the series, there’s a good chance you’re not just here for the smut anymore. One of the unintended consequences of using bodies to tell emotional truth is that you inevitably hit the philosophical questions underneath - specifically, what it actually costs to live in that body professionally.
I wanted to explore that parasocial damage in a way that felt real and personal. Karina’s history was the best way to close off Yuna’s arc, because Yuna had to learn that being desired as a product isn’t the same thing as being seen as a person.
This chapter is heavily based on the themes from NewJeans’ “Ditto,” which, deep down, is about how parasocial love is a one-way mirror. The idol performs and gives so much of themselves, but gets nothing real back. The fan loves and supports unconditionally, but never actually connects with the person, and both end up alone.
It’s also why Karina’s line about forgetting your name is a direct nod to Spirited Away. Just like Yubaba steals Chihiro’s real name to bind her to the bathhouse, the idol industry demands the human (“Jimin”) give up her identity to the persona (“Karina”). They exist just to serve the masses, trapped in the performance until they forget who they really are.
Rather than leaving you with another long-ass note this time, I’ll assign some homework. I think this video is a really interesting deep dive on the MV that thematically inspired this chapter and the core of Yuna and Karina’s arcs. I’d love to hear your thoughts!
I also think this article is a really good read on the topic!
Enami Asa x Huh Yunjin x Jeon Somi x Lee Chaeyoung x Ning Yizhuo x Yeh Shuhua x m!reader
You've been sitting here for three or maybe four hours. You're not sure anymore. The numbers on your laptop stopped making sense a long time ago, but you're finally close to finishing your review for Tuesday's exam.
At some point over the years, this corner of the library basically became your spot. Your territory. Nobody ever comes back here. Seriously, nobody. You could probably disappear into this corner for weeks and they'd only notice sometime next winter.
The shelves are packed with dusty reference books nobody's touched since, apparently, 2011. The closest outlet had been hidden behind a filing cabinet you literally had to drag aside yourself.
It's the perfect place for the absolute silence studying requires. Completely forgotten by society.
Nothing bad could possibly happen here.
Then two hands suddenly cover your eyes from behind, and before you can react, a soft, sugary voice drifts right beside your ear, "Guess who."
...
Well.
Looks like your territory's been invaded.
You reach up, thumb brushing across her knuckles. Small hands. Smooth skin. Expensive perfume. "Gotta be the janitor," you say. "Pretty sure we're moving way too fast, though."
The hands pull back immediately. Then a tiny offended noise. Footsteps around the table.
"Ha. Ha. You're sooo funny, nerd. I like you already.”
Enami Asa steps into your line of sight and every coherent thought you had about thermodynamic equilibrium just evaporates. She's wearing all black. Cropped top, short skirt, boots that go halfway up her calves. Red lipstick that makes ignoring her full lips completely impossible. Her black hair falls straight past her shoulders and she's looking at you with this amused little tilt of her head.
You blink hard and rub your eyes.
Enami Asa: one of the most beautiful girls on campus. Right there, in the dead zone of the university library. Staring at you. What the fuck is happening?
"You know you're insanely hard to find, right?" she says, placing her backpack on the table before dropping into the chair across from you. She crosses her legs and leans back, eyes drifting over the dusty shelves. "Do you always hide out back here? I literally did two full laps around the building.”
"I was studying," you say, closing your laptop halfway. "Can I help you with something?"
She grins. Not in a nice way.
And you're not dumb. You get it. You've spent enough time here to understand how the whole social hierarchy thing works. Girls like Asa don't go looking for guys like you in some forgotten library corner unless they want something. Notes. Homework help. A study guide. Some favor they can cash in with a cute smile and forget about a few hours later.
"You can, actually," she says. "In fact, you might be the only person who can help me right now."
"That's a bold statement."
"I'm a bold girl," she says, adjusting in her seat until she's comfortable. Then she casually drops, like this is the most normal topic ever, "So there's this challenge going around on Twitter."
"X."
"Eat shit, it's literally the same app." She waves you off. "Anyway. It's trending right now. Me and my friends got into it too. Sort of a competition, I guess. NSFW stuff.”
Your pen stops moving.
"Oh…"
"Yeah." Now she's fully studying your face, looking way too entertained by the horror slowly spreading across it. "The idea's simple. You record yourself getting facefucked, upload it, get some likes, drive more people to your OF. Then gooners start ranking clips and arguing in the comments over which one's best. It's become this whole thing. Hashtags and all.”
You look left. You look right. You check behind you to make sure nobody has a camera pointed at this table. "Are you serious right now?" you ask.
"Of course I'm serious," she says, sounding almost offended. "Why the hell would I walk all the way to the ass end of this library and say that kind of shit to a guy like you if I wasn't serious?"
"I genuinely don't know. It's just... a pretty strange request."
"Don't be scared. Be flattered."
"I am neither of those things." You lean back in your chair. "Look, there are like ten thousand guys at this school. You literally have a different one on your arm every week. Go ask one of them."
Asa shakes her head. Just one slow motion. "Nah. Can't do that. We set a rule that every one of us has to find a different guy for the video." She leans back a little. "Has to be a nerd. Someone who'd normally have zero chance with any of us. That's the whole trend."
You stare at her for a few long seconds. "Damn, Asa. Really appreciate you putting me in the 'absolutely no shot' category.”
She laughs, loud enough that it echoes through the shelves and instantly makes you paranoid someone nearby heard the conversation. "Don't take it like that. Seriously. It's not even an insult. Think of it as charity." Her head tilts slightly. "Besides..." Her eyes narrow a little as she looks at you. "You've actually got something going on. Nerd glasses, messy hair… It's kinda cute."
"Amazing. Please engrave that on my grave."
"Stop being so dramatic."
"No. That's my final answer," you say immediately. "Find another victim.”
Asa gets to her feet. Then she does something that completely fries your remaining brain cells. She circles the table at an annoyingly calm pace and sits right in your lap. Just... casually. Her arm drapes over your shoulder while she gives you this ridiculous pout.
"Pleeease?" she says, all soft and sweet. "It'll take like five minutes. Nobody comes back here anyway. You've been hiding in this corner for hours and not one person walked past." She adjusts herself slightly. “I just need you to lend your cock and hold the phone. That's it."
You blink at her. "I can't believe this trend actually exists."
"Oh, it exists.” She already has her phone out. She pulls it from her skirt pocket and drops back onto your lap, scrolling lazily. “See? Hashtag RuinThePrettyFace. It blew up like four days ago.”
She holds the phone inches from your face. One clip after another. Smudged eyeliner. Sloppy expressions. Girls posing for the camera after getting absolutely wrecked. Your eyebrows climb higher with every swipe. Then she opens her own profile. Asa’s account is basically curated nude photography. Soft lighting. artsy filters. Careful angles. Nude after nude after nude.
"Because I have dignity. And you should try having some too. What you're describing is slutty."
She pulls back just enough to look you dead in the eyes. Zero shame. Zero hesitation. "But I am a slut," she says simply. "So that argument doesn't really work on me. Please," she repeats. "I'll do anything."
"Anything?”
"Anything." A pause. Then she laughs, catching herself. "Well. I can't exactly offer you sex as a reward because that's basically what's already going to happen. So that's off the table as a bargaining chip." She taps her chin, pretending to think. "Buuut you'll have my gratitude. My eternal, undying gratitude!”
"And what the fuck am I supposed to do with your gratitude?"
"I don't know, maybe shove it up your ass and stop playing hard to get?!" She hops off your lap and does a little spin in the aisle between shelves, arms out, letting you look. She stops facing you, one hand on her hip. "Look at me," she demands. "I'm hot. I'm perfect. Any guy on this campus would sell a kidney to be sitting where you're sitting right now. And you're telling me no? Be so fucking for real, dude.”
You rub your temples. "You're actually insane."
"Maybe. But I'm also not leaving until you say yes. I'll sit here all night. I'll follow you to your car. I'll show up at your next class. I will make this so much worse for you if you keep being difficult."
"That's called harassment."
"Call campus security then. Tell them Enami Asa won't stop asking you to let her suck your dick. See how much sympathy you get."
You let out a long breath through your nose. She's got you cornered and she knows it. You can see it all over her pretty face already, that smug little grin spreading because she's realized she's winning.
"Fuck me..." you mutter.
"Is that a yes?!"
You close your laptop with a soft click. Pinch the bridge of your nose beneath your glasses. Then you look up at her. At the ridiculously gorgeous girl standing between rows of dusty shelves in that little black outfit, red lips, and absolutely zero sense of shame. You make a decision that's either going to haunt you forever or randomly hit you at age eighty and make you smile. "Fine. Make it quick.”
Asa actually lights up. She bounces on her heels and claps once before she can stop herself. "Yes! Okay! Perfect!" She grins at you. "You seriously won't regret this.”
"I already regret this." She starts to lower herself to her knees right there, but you raise a hand and she freezes. "Wait," you say. "Can we at least make out a little first? Just to, you know… set the mood. I can't just go from thermodynamics to getting my dick sucked with no transition."
She stares at you for a second before rolling her eyes so hard it's honestly impressive.
"Oh my god." A sigh. "Fine. Sure. Whatever you need."
She comes back and sits on your lap again, this time facing you fully, her knees on either side of your thighs in the library chair. Your hands find her waist on pure instinct, settling on the strip of bare skin between her top and her skirt. She's warm. Unbelievably warm.
"You're unfairly hot, by the way. I'm having a hard time believing this is a real situation right now."
"I know," she says immediately, completely shameless. Her hands slide onto your shoulders. "Now enough with the compliments. Kiss me.”
You kiss her. It starts slow because you're still half convinced this is an elaborate prank and someone's going to jump out from behind the reference section with a camera. But Asa's lips are soft and she tastes like mint and whatever that expensive lipstick is made of, and your brain stops looking for the trap pretty quickly. Your hands settle on her waist, thumbs pressing into the narrow strip of bare skin above her skirt. She's tiny under your palms. You can almost feel her ribs.
She's good at this. Obviously she's good at this. Her tongue finds yours and she tilts her head just right, and there's this little sound that comes out of her, this quiet, pleased hum against your mouth that makes your fingers tighten on her waist without you meaning to. She shifts on your lap, pressing closer, and her hands slide from your shoulders to the back of your neck.
You're getting into it. Really getting into it. Your hand starts to drift up her side and she makes another sound, breathier this time, and you can feel the vibration of it through her whole body. Then she turns her head, breaking the kiss, and her palm lands flat on your chest. "Okay, okay. Enough."
"What?"
"I said enough." She wipes the corner of her mouth with her pinky finger, checking for smudges. "You're going to ruin my lipstick before we even start. My makeup needs to get destroyed on camera, not during the warm up."
"You have very specific priorities."
"I have excellent priorities." She rolls her hips once on your lap, settling her weight, and then goes completely still. You watch her expression shift. Her eyes drop down between your bodies, then come back up to your face. "Well," she says, and there's something new in the way she's looking at you. "I think we can start."
She picks up her phone from the table, slides off your lap, and drops to her knees on the library carpet. She taps the screen a few times, opens the camera app, and holds the phone out to you. "Here. You're filming."
You take it. "Vertical or horizontal?"
“Of course it’s vertical. This is Twitter content, not cinema.”
You angle the phone. She reaches for your belt. Her fingers work the buckle loose, then the button, then the zipper, and she's efficient about it, tugging your jeans down your thighs with a little help from you lifting your hips. Your boxers are still on. The outline of you through the fabric is, well… it's pretty obvious.
Asa pauses. Her hands don't move, still resting at your waistband, but her eyes do. They settle on the bulge and stay there.
"Huh?'' she mutters.
Then she pulls your boxers down. Your cock springs free and bobs once, heavy and thick, settling against your lower stomach. The shaft is fat, veiny, flushed. In the dim lighting of the library corner, it looks even bigger than usual, and Asa is just kneeling there, looking at it, her hands frozen in midair. "Wow," she says quietly. Then, louder, like she's trying to convince herself as much as you. "Okay. This might be harder than I imagined."
You look down at her. "You can always give up."
Her head snaps up. The shock on her face converts instantly to pure, offended determination. "Excuse me? You think I'm afraid of a big cock? Are you seriously sitting there telling Enami Asa to give up?"
"I'm just saying."
"Don't underestimate me." She wraps her fingers around the base and the tips barely meet her thumb. She stares at that for a second, jaw flexing, then shakes it off. "Okay. Here's how this works. I'm going to suck your dick first. Get it nice and wet, do my thing. Then when I tap your thigh twice, like this," she demonstrates, two quick pats on your leg, "that's your signal. That means you can start fucking my face. Got it?" You nod. "Use one hand for the phone, one hand on the back of my head. And keep the angle tight on my face. This isn't about you, this is about me looking good."
"And then looking bad."
"And then looking incredible while looking bad." She adjusts her position on her knees, straightens her back, flips her hair over one shoulder. "You can start recording."
You hit the red button. The timer starts counting in the corner of the screen.
The shift is immediate. Asa was already pretty, already the kind of person who pulled attention without trying, but the second the camera goes live, something changes. Something clicks into place. Her posture straightens slightly. Her chin lifts. A slow smile pulls at her lips. Suddenly she isn't looking at you anymore. She's looking at the lens. Looking at the people on the other side of it. The ones who'll watch this alone in bed at some stupid hour of the night.
And just like that, she's performing.
She leans forward and presses her lips to the tip of your cock. Just a kiss. The red lipstick leaves a faint mark on your skin and she pulls back to admire it, still smiling at the camera. Then her tongue comes out, flat and pink, and she drags it across the head in one slow pass. Another kiss, this time on the underside, right where the shaft meets the ridge. She's teasing. Taking her time. Making sure the camera catches every angle of her pretty face against your thick cock.
She licks a long stripe from the base to the tip, her dark eyes locked on the lens the entire time. Then another. Then she swirls her tongue around the head, slow and wet, collecting the precum that's already beading at the slit. She holds it on her tongue for a beat, letting the camera see it, then swallows and licks her lips clean.
She opens her mouth and takes you in. The feeling is insane. Her mouth is hot and tight and her tongue does this thing where it presses flat against the underside of your shaft as she sinks down, creating this slick pressure that makes your toes curl in your shoes. She takes about half of you on the first pass, which given the girth is genuinely impressive, and her cheeks hollow as she pulls back up.
And she looks so fucking beautiful doing it. Enami Asa, on her knees on the library floor, with her black outfit and her red lipstick and her sharp little face stuffed full of your cock. The visual is so absurd, so completely disconnected from everything your life has been up to this point, that you almost forget to keep the phone steady.
She sucks you with purpose. Bobbing her head in a steady rhythm, taking a little more each time, letting the spit build up until it's coating your shaft in a slick layer. She pulls off with a wet sound and spits on your cock, a thick string that drips down the length, and then her fist wraps around you and pumps, spreading it, twisting at the head. She jacks you off with both hands for a few strokes, watching the way your cock throbs in her grip, and then she's back on it, hungrier this time.
You can feel her jaw stretching around you. Can see the effort in the way her brow furrows slightly, the way her throat works as she tries to accommodate the width. But she doesn't stop. Doesn't slow down. She finds her rhythm and sticks with it, her head moving in smooth, controlled bobs, her lips sealed tight, her tongue working the underside.
She pulls off just long enough to glance up at you. Not at the camera this time. At you.
"You better be getting my good side," she murmurs, her fist still pumping slowly.
"You're kind of busy to be giving direction."
"I'm always giving direction." She licks the tip once more, then sinks back down.
A minute passes. The wet sounds of her mouth on you fill the quiet corner of the library, obscenely loud in the silence. Spit drips from her chin onto her black top. Her lipstick is starting to smear, red bleeding past the edges of her lips, staining your shaft in uneven rings.
Then you feel it. Two quick taps on your thigh. She takes you back into her mouth, both hands dropping to rest on your knees, and tilts her head up so the camera can catch her full face. Her eyes are glassy. Her lips are swollen. She looks up at you through her lashes and gives the smallest nod.
You adjust the phone in your right hand, making sure the frame is tight on her face. Then your left hand slides to the back of her head, fingers threading through her dark hair, and you grip.
Your fingers tighten in her hair. You guide her head forward, slow, feeling the resistance of her throat as your cock pushes deeper than she was taking it on her own. Asa's hands grip your knees and her jaw stretches wide, lips pulling taut around your girth. She gags once, a tight spasm at the back of her throat, and you pull her back. She gasps, spit connecting her lower lip to your shaft in a thin strand, and before she can fully recover you push her down again.
The rhythm is careful at first. You're testing how much she can handle, reading the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers flex against your legs. Each push goes a little deeper. Each pull gives her just enough time to suck in a quick breath before you feed her your cock again. The wet sounds are filthy in the silence of the library. Every gag, every slick glide of her lips echoes off the bookshelves.
Asa's brow creases. She's concentrating, trying to relax her throat, but the girth keeps catching her. You can feel it, the involuntary tightening each time the thickest part of your shaft hits the back of her mouth. Her eyes water. Not crying, just the reflexive response of her body fighting what her brain has decided it's going to do. She breathes hard through her nose, hot bursts against your pelvis, and pushes through.
You set a pace. Your hand guides her head in smooth bobs, your hips rolling up to meet her on the downstroke. Spit builds and spills from the corners of her mouth, running down her chin in messy lines. The red lipstick is wrecked now, smeared in wide streaks across her cheeks and along your shaft, leaving your cock painted in uneven bands of crimson. Her mascara holds for a while, longer than you'd expect, but the constant watering finally wins and dark smudges start bleeding beneath her lower lashes.
She pulls off your cock abruptly, gasping, a thick rope of saliva stretching from her lips to your head before snapping and landing on her chin. She coughs once, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing the lipstick further. Her eyes are glassy and red rimmed when she looks up at you.
"How is it," she asks between breaths. "How do I look?"
You angle the phone down at her, making sure the frame catches everything. The ruined lipstick, the mascara tracking down her cheeks, the spit glistening on her chin and neck, the way her usually perfect hair is sticking to the damp skin of her forehead.
"Beautiful," you say. "Completely ruined. You look incredible."
"Good," she says. "That's the point." She opens her mouth and takes you back in, and this time you don't start slow. Your grip tightens in her hair and you thrust up into her mouth with real intent, your hips snapping, the back of her throat meeting your cock on every stroke. Asa groans around you, the sound vibrating through your entire shaft, and her hands fly to your thighs for balance.
The pace is punishing now. Her head bobs in your grip, guided by your hand, and the sounds coming from her mouth are obscene. Wet, choked, guttural. Drool pours freely, coating your balls, dripping onto the carpet between her knees. Her black top is spotted with dark wet patches. She gags hard on a deep thrust and you hold her there for a second, your cock buried to the hilt, her nose pressed against your pelvis, feeling her throat convulse around you before you let her up.
She pulls back just far enough to breathe, her lips still brushing the head, and looks up at you with those ruined, watery eyes.
"Fuck," she pants. "This cock is so thick. I can barely fit it in my mouth." She jacks you with one hand, spit making the motion effortless, her small fingers unable to close around the circumference. "How does a little nerd end up with something like this? It's not fair."
"Genetics," you manage.
"Shut up." She licks a flat stripe up the underside, collecting the mess of spit and precum. "I'm serious, this thing is fat. My jaw is going to be sore for a week." She presses her lips to the head, almost affectionately, then opens wide and takes you deep again.
You fuck her face harder. The library is dead quiet except for the relentless, sloppy rhythm of your cock in her throat. Asa has given up trying to look composed. Her eyes are squeezed shut, tears cutting clean tracks through her smudged mascara. Her cheeks are flushed pink beneath the mess of ruined makeup. Spit and drool coat her entire chin, dripping in long strings onto her chest. She looks nothing like the sharp, immaculate girl who sat down across from you twenty minutes ago.
She looks better.
Your balls tighten. The pressure that's been building low in your stomach pulls into a hard knot and you feel the edge approaching fast. Asa must feel it too, the way your cock swells, the way your grip shifts in her hair, because her eyes open and lock onto yours. She doesn't pull back. She grabs your hip with one hand and pulls you deeper, taking your cock into her throat until her lips stretch around the base, and holds herself there.
You cum. The first shot fires directly into her throat and Asa's eyes go wide. You can see the muscles in her neck working, trying to swallow around the sudden flood. Your cock pulses again, a second thick load, then a third, each one making her throat bob as she struggles to keep up. It's a lot. More than she expected, clearly, because her eyes start to water fresh and you can hear this strained, gurgling sound as she tries to swallow without pulling off.
She manages. Barely. Her throat works overtime, gulping, swallowing, her fingers digging into your thigh hard enough to leave marks. Some of it escapes, a thick white trail leaking from the corner of her sealed lips, running down her chin, dripping onto her collarbone. She stays on you through the last few pulses, her throat milking every drop, until you finally stop throbbing and your grip in her hair loosens.
Asa pulls off slowly. Your cock slides from between her lips with a slick, heavy sound, and she sits back on her heels, breathing hard.
Her face is destroyed. The red lipstick exists only in faint, smeared traces across her cheeks and chin. Her mascara has bled into dark streaks that reach almost to her jawline. Her eyes are bloodshot, rimmed in red, lashes clumped together with moisture. Drool and cum coat her chin, her neck, the front of her top. Her hair is tangled and damp where your fingers gripped it.
She looks at the camera and smiles. This wide, satisfied, absolutely filthy smile, cum still glistening on her lower lip. She holds the look for a few seconds, letting the camera drink it in.
You stop recording. The timer reads eleven minutes and forty seven seconds. Your thumb hits the red button and the screen freezes on the last frame. Asa on her knees, wrecked, smiling. "How'd it turn out," she asks, her speech slightly hoarse. She reaches for the water bottle on the table and takes a long drink.
You scroll back through the footage, skimming. "Pretty good, actually. You have a genuine talent for this."
"I have a talent for most things." She holds her hand out. "Let me see." You pass her the phone and she watches sections of the clip, scrubbing through with her thumb, pausing on certain moments. Her expression is clinical now, analytical. She's reviewing footage, not reliving the experience.
"When are you posting it," you ask, pulling your boxers back up, getting your jeans situated.
"Probably tomorrow. Or maybe the day after. I still need to throw the video into Premiere and polish the edit a bit.”
"...You're editing blowjob footage in Premiere. Okay, sure. I don't know why I'm still surprised."
"Well yeah?" She looks at you like you're the weird one. "The lighting back here was awful. I need to fix the exposure, warm up the colors a little, cut out the dead space at the beginning..." She swipes through the footage. "Probably clean up the framing too. Blur anything that points back to you. Add captions… I'm not uploading raw footage. Be serious.”
You stare at her. "Is all that really necessary? It's a blowjob video, not a short film."
"It is absolutely necessary. You can't just upload raw footage like some amateur. Quality matters. Presentation matters. This is going on my page, and my page has an aesthetic."
She puts the phone down, reaches for her backpack on the table, and pulls out a small face towel and a compact mirror. She flips the mirror open and examines her reflection, tilting her head side to side, cataloguing the damage. Then she starts cleaning up, wiping the mascara streaks, the spit, the residue from her chin and neck.
"Thank you, by the way," she says, not looking up from the mirror. "Your dick is really nice. Genuinely. It looked great in the video. The size contrast between me and that thing is pretty hot."
"Thank you. I guess."
"You're welcome. I guess." She mimics your tone without missing a beat, still dabbing at her face. "You can leave now. I need to finish putting myself back together and I can't do that with you watching me."
You gather your laptop, your notes, your pens. Everything goes into your backpack. You zip it shut and stand up, pushing the chair back under the table. "Hey. One thing."
"What."
"Change my voice in the video. Pitch it up or down, whatever. Just alter it enough that nobody can identify me."
She waves dismissively. "Already planned on it. I'll run it through a filter. I'm a pro at this stuff." She meets your eyes in the mirror's reflection. "Now bye."
"Bye, Asa." You sling your backpack over your shoulder and walk out of the dead zone of the library, past the dusty reference shelves, back toward the main floor where normal people are doing normal things. The late afternoon sun hits you through the library's front windows as you push through the doors. Fresh air fills your lungs. You adjust your glasses, fix your hair, and start walking toward the parking lot.
It was a little degrading. You're aware of that. You just let a girl you barely know use you for content, boss you around, and treat you like a prop in her social media strategy. That part stings, a bit, if you think about it too hard.
On the other hand, it was also one of the best orgasms of your life. So maybe sitting with it too long isn't necessary.
—
The girls have officially taken over the theater lobby.
Ning’s holding a popcorn bucket almost as big as she is, carefully picking out the best coated pieces first. Shuhua has already loaded up on candy and a slushie. Yunjin’s in the middle of debating the water bottle policy with the cashier. Somi’s texting someone nonstop. Chaeyoung is fully invested in the ingredients list on a candy box for reasons nobody understands. Asa is standing slightly apart from the group, examining her nails.
“Has anyone recorded it yet?" Ning asks, popping a kernel into her mouth. "The challenge, I mean. I haven't even picked a guy."
General murmurs of negation ripple through the group. Shuhua shakes her head. Yunjin is still fighting the cashier. Somi doesn't look up from her phone. Chaeyoung quietly puts the candy box back on the shelf.
"I have," Asa says.
Every head turns.
"Already?" Shuhua's eyes go wide. "It's been like two days since we agreed on this."
"It was this afternoon, actually." Asa inspects a cuticle with surgical focus. "I finished about four hours ago."
Ning abandons her popcorn curation entirely. "Send it. Right now. Group chat."
"Absolutely not. I haven't finished editing. The raw footage needs color correction, the audio is unbalanced, and I want to add text overlays for the—"
"Oh my god, just send the raw version,” Ning groans.
"No. You'll see it when it's ready."
Shuhua leans in, lowering her tone even though nobody else in the lobby is paying attention. "Is it someone from our college?"
"Yes."
"Someone we know?"
Asa lets out a short laugh. “Absolutely not. He’s literally just some random library guy. Total loser. But Jesus Christ, his dick is huge. Like, weirdly huge. I was not mentally prepared for that at all.” Ning's eyebrows climb her forehead. "It was fucking hard to handle," Asa continues, touching her throat absently. "My throat still hurts a little, honestly. The girth on that thing was insane."
"The quiet ones always pack," Yunjin offers, having apparently won her water bottle argument. She rejoins the group with the confidence of a courtroom victor. "It's like a rule of the universe."
Chaeyoung has been quiet this whole time, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. She clears her throat softly. "I've been thinking, and I might not do the challenge. I don't think I can just walk up to some random guy and ask him to, you know. I'd rather die."
Somi finally looks up from her phone. She crosses the gap between them in two long strides and puts her hand on Chaeyoung's shoulder. Firm. Decisive. "You're not backing out," Somi tells her. "I won't allow it."
"But I literally cannot approach a stranger and say those things to his face. I would combust."
"Then don't. You're recording with me. We'll do it as a duo."
Chaeyoung blinks. "Wait, really?"
Yunjin nods encouragingly. "If you want, we can help you find someone too. I know a few guys in my econ lecture who would probably pass out if you looked at them."
Somi cuts her off. "No need. I already have someone picked out. Chae records with me, I handle the talking, she just needs to show up and look pretty." She squeezes Chaeyoung's shoulder. "Easy."
Relief floods Chaeyoung's face. "Okay. If we're doing it together, then yeah. I'm in. Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Just bring lip gloss and a hair tie."
Asa tilts her head, considering the arrangement. "A duo is smart, actually. The contrast will look really good on camera. Two girls, one cock. The timeline will eat that up."
"It's going to be so hot," Ning agrees, pulling out her phone to check the trending hashtag.
Armed with popcorn, candy, and oversized drinks, the six of them file into the theater. They talk about the movie previews, assignments, dumb campus gossip. As if they’re not all going into this week with the exact same goal: finding someone with a nice dick.
—
The next day arrives. You're walking through the main corridor on the second floor, laptop bag over your shoulder, earbuds in, heading toward your next lecture. The hallway is busy. Students moving between classes, conversations overlapping, the usual controlled chaos of midday foot traffic.
"Hey, you!"
You don't react. That shout belongs to someone else's life.
"Hey! I'm talking to you! Glasses!"
Still probably not you. Lots of people wear glasses. You keep walking. Fast footsteps come up behind you, then a manicured hand lands on your shoulder and whips you around surprisingly hard.
Jeon Somi stands in front of you.
Blonde hair spilling over her shoulders in soft waves. A designer jacket thrown over a top that’s doing absolutely nothing to hide her massive breasts. Long legs wrapped in fitted jeans. Sharp cheekbones, light brown eyes, and a look that feels dangerously close to a threat.
“Are you deaf?” she asks bluntly.
“Sorry. Didn’t realize you were talking to me. People don’t usually yell at me in hallways.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” Her gaze drags over you from head to toe, quick but thorough, leaving you feeling weirdly inspected. “You’re coming with me.”
“Where? Why?”
She doesn't answer. She grabs your hand and starts walking. Not beside you. Ahead of you. Pulling you behind her like a rolling suitcase. Her grip is strong and her strides are long and you have to half jog to keep up without tripping. People notice immediately. Heads turn. Conversations pause. You catch students doing double takes as you pass. Two guys from your programming class nearly short-circuit when they see Jeon Somi towing you down the hall.
And yeah, you get why. Everyone knows who she is. The leaked nude scandal last semester made sure of that. So did the endless rumors afterward, the guys she’s been seen with, the stories people tell about her like she’s some campus celebrity. Someone like her choosing someone like you feels fundamentally wrong to everyone watching.
By tomorrow, half the school is probably going to know your name too.
Somi takes you up a stairwell. First floor, second floor, third floor. Down a corridor that gets progressively emptier. Past classrooms that are clearly in use, then past ones that aren't. The fluorescent lights up here flicker intermittently. One of the ceiling tiles has a water stain shaped like Florida.
"Somi. What do you want so badly that you had to physically drag me across the building."
"It's just a favor," she says over her shoulder.
And there it is. That word again. Favor. The exact same word Asa used yesterday at your table in the library, right before she dropped the most insane proposition you’d ever heard in your life. Suddenly the pieces line up perfectly in your head. They know each other. Asa and Somi. Same friend group. Same social circle. Same weird fucking challenge.
Yesterday it was Asa. Today it’s Somi.
You stop walking and pull your hand free from her grip. She turns around, annoyed, "What?!"
"This is about that challenge. The Twitter thing."
Somi stares at you for a beat. "You know about it?"
"I'm familiar, yeah."
"Great. So I don't need to waste time explaining." She folds her arms under her chest, drawing your attention exactly where she probably expects it to go. “Are you in?”
"Why me specifically?"
"Because you're the most pathetic looking guy on this campus." She says it without a shred of hesitation or remorse. "But you're also decent enough that I wouldn't gag just from touching your dick. That's a narrow window, and congratulations, you fit through it."
"That's the worst compliment anyone has ever given me."
"It wasn't a compliment." The two of you are standing outside a classroom at the very end of the corridor. A laminated sign taped to the door reads CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE.
"This is where you picked," you say, looking at the sign. "A room that's closed for maintenance."
"Nobody will come in here. It's been shut for two weeks."
"A ceiling panel could literally fall on our heads."
"It's not going to." She pushes the handle and the door swings open. "Stop making excuses and get in."
You step into the classroom. The room is dim, lit only by thin strips of sunlight slipping through the blinds along the far wall. Desks have been shoved aside in crooked rows, and dust drifts lazily through the light. Half-erased equations still cover the whiteboard, leftovers from whatever class used this room last. And at the front of the room, perched casually on the professor’s desk, is a girl you’ve seen around campus but never spoken to. She has a pretty, sculpted face, big round eyes and dark hair with faint highlights catching the light. She's wearing an oversized cream colored sweater and a plaid skirt; the whole look makes her seem way too cozy and cute for a place this depressing.
She sneezes violently out of nowhere.
“Somi!” she groans, rubbing at her nose. “This room is disgusting. I’ve been here fifteen minutes and I’m pretty sure I’ve developed lung disease.”
"Stop being dramatic, Chae. A little dust never killed anyone." She closes the door behind you and strides further into the room. She motions between you and the girl on the desk like she’s hosting introductions at some awkward social event. “This is the guy I was talking about. Nerd boy, meet Chaeyoung. Chaeyoung, meet nerd boy.”
Chaeyoung hops down from the desk, landing lightly on her sneakers. She’s almost the same height as Somi, though Somi still has a couple inches on her. "I've seen you around before," she says. "You're usually in the library, right? Or sitting by the fountain near the engineering building."
"Yeah, that's my usual orbit."
"We've never actually spoken, though." She extends her hand. "I'm Chaeyoung. Lee Chaeyoung."
You shake it. Her grip is gentle, her palm warm. "Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too."
Finally, you think. Someone with basic social skills and a functioning sense of decency. You glance between the two of them. They're both wearing a noticeable amount of makeup. Chaeyoung has this soft, glowy look, peachy tones and delicate details. Somi went heavier. Contoured cheekbones, defined brows, lips glossed to a mirror finish. They look like they're ready for a photoshoot, not a afternoon on the third floor of a building with water stained ceiling tiles.
"Great," Somi announces, clapping her hands once. "Now that we all know each other and we've done the little handshake thing, let's record."
You lean against one of the pushed aside desks. "Can I ask what the point of this is? Genuinely. What do either of you gain from recording this?"
"Likes," Somi says immediately. "Followers. Engagement. Clout. Take your pick."
"And that's worth it?"
"We don't care what you think. It's none of your business what we do with the video." She crosses her arms. "You're here to provide a service. That's it."
Chaeyoung shifts her weight, tugging at the cuff of her oversized sweater. "I almost gave up on the whole thing, honestly. I know it's kind of crazy. Like, objectively, this is insane behavior."
"It is insane behavior," you confirm.
"But she's here now," Somi cuts in, putting her arm around Chaeyoung's shoulders. "And she is not backing down. Right, Chae?"
"Right. Yeah. I'm here. I'm doing it."
Somi turns her attention back to you, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Speaking of which. Your dick. Is it at least big? Because I swear to god, if I dragged you up three flights of stairs and you pull out a micropenis, I will be furious."
"It's decent."
"Decent, huh? That's exactly what guys say when they have a tiny cock. Every single time. 'It's decent.' 'It gets the job done.' And then you pull their pants down and it's like finding a AA battery in a sock."
"That's a very specific image. Sounds like you're speaking from experience."
"Don't test me right now."
Chaeyoung steps forward, putting herself slightly between you and Somi. "Can you stop being so mean to him? He's already doing us a favor by agreeing to this. The least you can do is be civil."
Somi rolls her eyes with her entire body. Her head tilts back, her shoulders drop, her hands fly up. "Please. Look at him, Chae. Look at this guy. He has never received a blowjob in his life. We are going to be the first people to ever touch his dick. He should be on his knees thanking us for the privilege."
"That's not true," you say. "I've had sex before."
"Sure you have."
"I'm serious. I actually got a blowjob yesterday."
Both of them look at you. Chaeyoung with genuine curiosity. Somi with theatrical disbelief. "Oh, really?" Somi takes a step closer, tilting her head. "Who gave you a blowjob yesterday? Name and surname, please."
The name almost leaves your mouth. It sits right there on the tip of your tongue, ready to go. And for a split second you consider it, because telling Somi that her friend already used you for this exact challenge would probably create enough chaos to shut this whole thing down. Asa mentioned that every girl had to pick a different guy. If Somi finds out she's not the first, that Asa already had you, she'd lose her mind.
Better to keep that card in your back pocket.
"It's personal," you say.
Somi stares at you for two full seconds, then turns to Chaeyoung. "See? Obvious lie. He panicked and couldn't even make up a name." She points at a chair near the center of the room. "Now sit over there."
You grab your backpack, drop it in the corner by the door, and sit in the chair she indicated. It's one of those standard classroom chairs with the little desk arm attached, but you push the arm out of the way and settle in. Somi is already moving around the room, scouting angles. She finds a spot on a shelf near the whiteboard, props her phone against a stack of old textbooks, and adjusts the lean until she's satisfied with the frame.
"The phone stays here,” she explains, tapping the screen. “It'll get both of us in the shot."
"Professional setup,” you say.
"I don't do amateur." She walks back toward you, Chaeyoung falling into step beside her. "Here's how this works. It's simple. The goal is for us to get facefucked until our makeup is ruined. That's the whole point of the trend. Cute face goes in, wrecked face comes out. So you need to not cum in thirty seconds like some premature disaster. Hold it together until our makeup is properly smudged. Can you manage that?"
"I think I can handle it," you say.
Somi raises an eyebrow. "You think?"
"... I'll handle it," you correct.
She nods once and starts heading toward the phone to hit record, but you lift a hand.
"Wait. One thing."
She stops and turns. "What now?"
"Can you show me your tits? Just... help me out a little. Get things moving."
The look she gives you is lethal. You're genuinely not sure if she's about to slap you or walk out. "You're such a pervert."
"You're about to do all this for Twitter likes. I don't think I'm the only pervert in this room.”
Chaeyoung lets out a laugh, immediately stifled behind her hand. Somi shoots her a look and Chaeyoung straightens her face, pressing her lips together.
"Fine," Somi mutters, then reaches back and taps the record button on her phone. She walks back over to you, stops right in front of your chair, and shrugs off her jacket with way more force than necessary, tossing it onto the floor. Then, without hesitation, she grabs the hem of her top and pulls it over her head in one smooth motion. She'd been going braless this whole time.
And her breasts are genuinely, absurdly large. Full and round on her narrow frame, heavy enough to bounce slightly from the motion of pulling her top off. Her skin is smooth, even toned, her nipples a soft pink against the pale expanse.
She stands there with her hands on her hips, topless and defiant. "Happy now, pervert?"
Chaeyoung is pulling at the collar of her cream sweater, fanning herself. "God, it really is hot in here. No ventilation at all." She tugs the sweater over her head and folds it neatly, setting it on a desk. Underneath she's wearing a simple white bra. Her chest is small, barely filling the cups, her collarbones delicate and pronounced above the band.
The contrast is staggering. Somi's huge, bare breasts next to Chaeyoung's petite frame in her little white bra. The tall, aggressive blonde towering over the soft, nervous brunette. Both of them in front of you, half undressed, in a locked classroom on the third floor of a building nobody visits.
Your cock is hard. Fully, uncomfortably hard, straining against the front of your jeans. There's no hiding it and you don't try. "Okay," Somi says, her eyes dropping to your lap for a fraction of a second. "Let's begin."
She kneels in front of the chair. Chaeyoung follows, settling on her knees to Somi's right. Somi's hands go to your belt, her long fingers working the buckle with efficiency. She yanks your jeans down your thighs with both hands, and your boxers come with them. She doesn't bother with the slow reveal. She pulls everything to your ankles in one sharp tug and your cock springs free, slapping against your stomach, thick and fully hard.
Somi stops. Her hands are still on the bunched fabric at your knees. Her eyes are locked on your cock. Her lips part, just slightly, and you watch her throat move as she swallows. "What the fuck," she mutters.
Chaeyoung, kneeling beside her, has gone completely still. Her mouth is open. Her eyes are wide. She's staring at your cock the way people stare at car accidents. Unable to look away, unable to process what she's seeing.
"Okay, that's..." She cuts herself off and stares for another second. "No. Hold on… That is actually the biggest dick I've ever seen in my entire life." She looks back up at you. "I'm being serious.”
Somi recovers. She flips her hair over one shoulder and wraps her fingers around the base. They don't close. Her fingertips fall about a centimeter short of her thumb.
"Well," she says, tone forcibly casual. "At least you won't embarrass us in the video."
"That's all you have to say?" Chaeyoung is still gaping. "Somi, look at this thing."
"I'm looking at it. I'm literally holding it. Stop acting like you've never seen a cock."
"Not one like this."
Somi starts stroking. Slow, tight pulls from base to tip, her grip adjusting to accommodate the girth. Her palm is slick with nothing but her own sweat and it's not enough, so she leans forward and spits. A thick, glossy string that lands on the shaft and she spreads it with her fist, twisting on the upstroke. Chaeyoung reaches out tentatively and wraps her smaller hand around the shaft just below Somi's. Her fingers look even more inadequate against the thickness. She strokes in tandem, following Somi's rhythm, and you can see the fascination on her face. She's studying your cock like it's a specimen, tilting her head, watching the way the veins pulse under her fingers.
"I literally do not know how I'm going to fit this in my mouth," Chaeyoung says quietly.
"The harder it is to take, the hotter it'll look on camera," Somi says, pumping steadily. "Trust me. You're gonna look amazing struggling with it. Just try not to throw up on his cock. I'm not doing another take because your gag reflex decided to betray us."
Chaeyoung immediately scrunches up her face. "Ew. Why would you even say that?"
"Because I'm thinking ahead.”
You lean back in the chair, watching both of their hands work your shaft. "Somi, quick suggestion: instead of talking about vomit, maybe switch gears and give me a titjob. Feels a lot more productive.”
Somi's head snaps up. "Who do you think you are? Asking me for a titjob? This isn't about your pleasure, this is about our content. You have no rights here. You're a prop."
Chaeyoung glances between you and Somi. "Actually, that would look really good on camera,” you explain.
"Excuse me?"
"Think about it," you say, keeping your tone light, reasonable. "Your tits wrapped around my cock, all wet and shiny with spit. Glistening in the light. That's premium content. The timeline would lose their minds."
"God, fine!” Somi snaps. "But only because it'll look good. Not because you asked." She shifts forward on her knees, positioning herself between your legs. She grabs your cock and angles it straight up, then presses her breasts together around the shaft.
The visual is pornographic: your thick cock disappearing into the soft, warm valley of her massive tits, the head poking out from the top of her cleavage on every upstroke. "Chae, spit on it," she orders.
Chaeyoung leans in and spits on the head of your cock, a neat string that drips down the shaft and into Somi's cleavage. Somi starts moving, sliding her breasts up and down, using her hands to press them tight around you. The friction is insane. Warm and slick and pillowy, her soft skin squeezing your girth from both sides.
She finds her rhythm, bouncing her tits on your cock with smooth rolls of her torso. More spit from Chaeyoung. More from Somi herself, leaning down to drool on your shaft before pressing it back between her breasts. The saliva mixes with the thin sheen of sweat building on her skin, and soon her entire chest is glistening, your cock sliding effortlessly through the slick channel.
"There," Somi says, watching the head of your cock emerge from her cleavage on each upstroke. "Happy now?"
"Extremely."
"Enjoy it. This is the only titjob you'll ever get from these." She works you for another minute, her breasts bouncing and jiggling with each motion, wet and gleaming in the dusty light filtering through the blinds. Your cock throbs between them, flushed and leaking, leaving trails of precum that mix with the saliva coating her skin. Eventually Somi pulls back, her breasts separating from your shaft with a slick sound.
"Okay. Enough warmup. Time for the real thing." She grabs your cock and angles it toward her face. "Don't go easy on me. I can handle whatever you've got."
You put your hand on the back of her head. Blonde hair, silky and thick between your fingers. You pull her forward and your cock slides past her glossy lips, stretching them wide. Somi takes half of you on the first push, her jaw straining around the girth, and you feel her throat clench as you hit the back of her mouth. You pull back, then push again, deeper. Her eyes water but she doesn't flinch. She grabs your thighs and braces herself, and you start fucking her face with real momentum.
Somi is aggressive even when she's the one being used. She pushes back against your thrusts, trying to take more, making these low grunting sounds in her throat every time you bottom out. Spit builds fast, coating your shaft in thick, frothy ropes that drip from her chin onto her bare chest. Her lipgloss is the first casualty, smearing in wide, shiny streaks across her cheeks and along your cock.
You pull out and she gasps, spit hanging from her lower lip in long strings. "Harder," she demands. "Come on, nerd. That's all you've got?"
You grab a fistful of her hair and shove her back down. Harder this time. Faster. The slapping of her lips meeting your pelvis fills the classroom, wet and rhythmic and obscene. Her mascara starts to run. Dark streaks bleeding from the corners of her eyes, tracking down her cheekbones. Her contour, her foundation, all of it softening and smudging under the assault of spit and tears.
You pull out of Somi's mouth and angle your cock toward Chaeyoung. She's been kneeling beside Somi this whole time, watching with flushed cheeks and parted lips, her hands resting on her thighs. "Your turn," you say.
Chaeyoung takes a breath and opens her mouth. You guide yourself in gently, slower than you did with Somi. Her lips stretch around the head and she whimpers, high and soft, her brow creasing as the girth fills her mouth. You push in a few inches and feel her gag, her throat tightening, her hands flying to your hips.
You stop. Let her adjust. She breathes through her nose, her eyes squeezed shut, and then nods slightly. You push again, easing into a shallow rhythm, just the first half of your shaft sliding between her stretched lips. She's struggling. Her jaw isn't built for this. But she's trying, god is she trying, her tongue working the underside of your cock, her lips sealed tight despite the strain.
"Relax your throat," Somi coaches from beside her. "Stop fighting it. Let him in." Chaeyoung adjusts her angle, tilting her chin up, and on the next stroke you slide an inch deeper. She gags again but pushes through it, her fingers gripping your thighs, her eyes watering. The peachy blush on her cheeks is bleeding, her subtle eye makeup starting to track.
You alternate. A minute in Somi's mouth, rough and fast, her mascara running in black rivers while she glares up at you with those defiant eyes. Then a minute in Chaeyoung's, slower, gentler, watching her struggle and adapt and gradually take more of you. Between rounds, they lick your cock together. Somi on one side, Chaeyoung on the other, their tongues meeting at the tip in a messy, overlapping tangle. Chaeyoung giggles when their lips brush. Somi pretends she doesn't notice.
Somi grabs the back of Chaeyoung's head suddenly, fingers tangling in her dark hair, and pushes her down on your cock.
"Deeper," Somi orders. "Don't be a pussy about it. Take it." Chaeyoung's eyes go wide and she gags hard as your cock hits the back of her throat, but Somi holds her there, keeps her down. You feel Chaeyoung's throat spasm around the head of your cock and her fingers dig into your thighs. Somi eases up after a few seconds and Chaeyoung pulls off gasping, a thick web of spit connecting her lips to your shaft.
"See?" Somi says. "You can take it. You just needed a push."
"You're crazy," Chaeyoung breathes. But she's smiling.
She leans back in, licking along the shaft, and takes you into her mouth again on her own terms. Deeper. More confident. Her eyes find yours and stay there, glassy and adoring. Then Somi pushes Chaeyoung aside and swallows your cock to the base. All of it. Her nose pressing into your pelvis, her throat bulging, her eyes rolling back for just a second before she catches herself. She holds you there, breathing through her nose in sharp bursts, then pulls off and jacks you with both hands.
"Fuck," Somi mutters, staring at your cock. "Why does your stupid dick feel so good in my throat." She says it like she's genuinely annoyed about it.
You fuck her face until her foundation is gone entirely, until the careful contour is just a memory and her cheeks are flushed and raw and wet with tears and spit. You fuck Chaeyoung's face until her peachy blush is smeared sideways and her mascara has bled into dark smudges beneath her lashes. They take turns. They share. They kiss each other around the head of your cock, their ruined lips meeting in sloppy, wet passes, tasting each other and tasting you.
The pressure in your stomach is winding tight. The balls deep thrusts into Somi's willing throat, the sweet suction of Chaeyoung's eager mouth, the visual of two beautiful, wrecked girls on their knees fighting over your cock. You won't last.
"I'm close," you tell them.
Somi pulls off immediately, gripping the base of your cock with one hand. "On our faces. Stand up."
You stand. Your legs are shaky but you manage. Somi and Chaeyoung press their cheeks together, kneeling side by side in front of you, looking up. You stroke your cock over their faces. Fast, tight pulls, your fist slick with the accumulated spit of both their mouths. Somi's hand comes up and wraps around yours, helping you pump, her eyes locked on the head of your cock inches from her face.
And then you cum. The first shot catches Somi across the bridge of her nose and her right cheek, a thick white rope that clings to her skin and starts to drip. She flinches and then holds still, jaw clenched, taking it. The second hits her forehead and tracks into her hairline. The third you aim at Chaeyoung, a long, heavy streak from her eyebrow down across her cheek to the corner of her open mouth. She gasps, her tongue darting out to catch what landed on her lips, and she moans.
More. A fourth shot across Chaeyoung's nose, landing on Somi's cheek where their faces are pressed together. A fifth that paints Chaeyoung's chin in a thick, dripping coat. A sixth, weaker, that drips from the tip of your cock onto Somi's chest, landing between her glistening breasts.
Chaeyoung is glowing, cum splattered across her flushed face and dripping down to her collarbone. She's smiling like she means it. Genuine and gorgeous. She licks the mess off her lips and laughs, breathless and bubbly, like getting painted with your load is the highlight of her day.
Somi wipes cum out of her right eye and stares at the evidence stringing between her fingers. "Okay," she admits, chest still heaving. "That was pretty fucking hot.”
She stands, crosses to the shelf where her phone is propped, and brings it close to their faces. She angles the screen so the camera captures both of them in tight frame. Glazed, ruined, beautiful. "Say goodbye," Somi tells Chaeyoung.
Chaeyoung waves at the lens with her fingers, cum still webbed between them. Then Somi turns Chaeyoung's face toward hers and kisses her. Soft, brief, their cum smeared lips pressing together and pulling apart with a slick sound. Both of them grinning when it's done.
"That turned out great," she announces, scrubbing through the footage. "The angle caught everything. The titjob, both of us choking, the facial, the kiss. This is premium content."
Chaeyoung wipes her cheek with the back of her hand and looks at you. "Thank you. Seriously. That was actually really fun."
"Anytime," you say, pulling your boxers and jeans back up.
Somi goes to her bag, pulling out wet wipes and a compact mirror. She starts cleaning her face with brisk, efficient motions, checking her reflection between each pass. Chaeyoung walks up to you while Somi is distracted. She's still got traces of cum on her jaw and she doesn't seem to care. She pulls out her phone.
"Can you follow me on Insta? I'd love to chat sometime. Outside of, you know, this whole situation."
You take out your phone. She tells you her handle and you type it in. Her page loads. Aesthetic photos, cute selfies, pictures of coffee and cats. You hit follow.
"I'll text you tonight," she promises. "For real. Not just saying that."
"I believe you."
Somi's reflection catches Chaeyoung in the mirror. "Chae, you know you're way too pretty for him, right? You could do so much better."
Chaeyoung rolls her eyes. "Don't listen to her. She's like that with literally every person on the planet."
"I'm used to the type," you say.
Somi snaps her compact shut. "Okay, we're done here. You can leave now. We don't need you anymore. Go study or whatever it is you do."
You grab your backpack from the corner, sling it over your shoulder. Chaeyoung gives you a little wave, her fingers wiggling, that warm smile still on her face. You wave back.
"Bye, nerd," Somi calls without looking up from her phone.
You push through the heavy door and step into the empty hallway, adjusting your glasses and shifting your backpack as you start toward the stairs. Behind you, through the closed door, you can still hear Chaeyoung complaining about the dust.
Two days. Two separate encounters. Two groups of gorgeous girls actively searching for you because of the same completely insane Twitter challenge. At this point, you're not even questioning it anymore.
This is very quickly becoming the best week of your life. And, to be honest, you’re more than ready to see how much weirder it gets.
—
The lecture hall slowly empties around you while you're still shoving your laptop into your bag. Your phone vibrates against the desk. Instagram DM. Chaeyoung. Her name appears with the little sparkle emoji from her profile, and you catch yourself smiling.
hey! how was class? hope ur not dying of boredom 🥲
You type back as you walk into the corridor. The conversation flows easier than you expected. She tells you about her morning, complains about her statistics professor, asks what you're studying. You mention you've been into a sci fi book lately and it turns out she's read it twice. She sends a screenshot of her bookshelf and half the titles are ones you own. The exchange feels weirdly normal. Like she's a person, not the girl who was on her knees beside Somi yesterday with cum dripping off her chin.
Then a notification slides down from the top of your screen.
Instagram DM. Huh_Yunjin.
You stop walking in the middle of the hallway.
hey 🤍 you free rn?
You open the DM and instantly do what literally anyone would do. You tap her profile. Black and white profile pic. Dark lipstick. Looking unfairly good for no reason. Almost a million followers. Yeah. That tracks. You scroll a little. Pictures that somehow survive Instagram moderation by the smallest possible margin. Sheer tops. Suspicious camera angles. Captions written like ongoing jokes between her and her followers. A tiny link in her bio leads exactly where you'd expect.
You know what this is about. You'd have to be brain dead not to. You reply:
wyd?
wanna give you a little something. trust me, you’re not gonna regret it
where r u
the theater room. building C, the big one with the stage. place is empty rn. just me. come find me 😈
how do i know this isn't some prank
Typing dots. Gone. She gives up on whatever she was typing. Then an Instagram notification slides onto your screen.
Photo • View Once.
Yunjin is in front of a full length mirror backstage somewhere, phone angled to catch herself in profile. Her plaid skirt is bunched up around her hips. No panties. The curve of her ass is right there, the dip of her lower back, one hand lifting the fabric to show you everything. A cropped top that barely contains her. Heels. Her face turned slightly toward the camera with a smirk that says she does this kind of thing on Tuesdays for fun.
The photo disappears. A new message pops up almost immediately.
does that seriously look like a prank?
been watching you for a while
you're cute
i'm interested. but hurry up. i'm not sitting here waiting all day
omw🏃
You shove your phone in your pocket and start walking faster.
Building C is across the quad. You take the path behind the library, the longer one, less foot traffic. Halfway there you stop and dig into the small zippered pocket of your backpack. A little plastic bag, sealed tight, three gummies left inside. Small, innocent looking, red and shaped like cartoon bears. You bought a whole bulk order after that stream went viral last year. The one with the two streamers who lost their minds on camera. You only tuned in because Hyeju was supposed to make a guest appearance, and you stayed because, well, the clips that came out of that night are still floating around the seedier corners of Twitter for a reason.
You pop one into your mouth and bite down. Sweet. Faint chemical aftertaste. You feel it start to dissolve under your tongue.
This thing is going to load your balls up like you've been edging for a week. The first time you tried one you came so much you genuinely thought something was wrong with you. Now you keep them around for special occasions, mostly solo sessions, but lately the universe has been throwing special occasions at you like it owes you back pay.
Four girls in three days. All from the same circle. This whole hot little clique of certified sluts is going through you like a relay race, and you're still undecided on whether that should hurt your pride or massively inflate your ego.
You push through the theater doors and lock them behind you with the inside latch. The auditorium is dark. Rows of empty seats descending toward the stage, which is lit warm and amber by the work lights overhead. You walk down the center aisle, your sneakers quiet on the carpet.
"Are you sure this is a safe place for this," you call out as you reach the stairs leading up to the stage.
A figure straightens up from behind one of the prop tables near the back of the stage. She steps into the warm pool of light, and yeah. Okay.
Yunjin in person is something else.
Tall. Legs that go forever, made even longer by the black heels strapped around her ankles. The plaid skirt from the photo, riding high on her thighs. A black crop top with thin straps, her stomach toned and bare, the slight curve of her chest visible underneath. Her hair is blonde. Freshly done, by the look of it, that bright platinum that catches every bit of stage light. Full pouty lips painted a glossy plum that's already smudged slightly at one corner. Sharp eyes. Mischief lives in them.
"My friend works here," she says, stopping a step away from you. "She runs lighting for the drama department. She told me the building is dead until evening rehearsal. We've got at least an hour, probably more." She looks you up and down, slow, taking inventory. "I'm glad you actually showed up."
"You called me."
"I did call you." She grins. "Not gonna do the whole introduction thing because everyone here knows who I am. Let's save the time. There's this Twitter challenge going around right now. Me and my girls all jumped on it. The premise is pretty simple. I need to get absolutely ruined on camera by a guy who looks exactly like you." Her hands come up and find the collar of your shirt, fingers playing with the fabric. "You're perfect for this," she tells you. "Glasses, the messy hair, the whole shy genius thing. I clocked you in the cafeteria last week. You were mumbling to yourself about some equation, and I thought, yeah. Him. Definitely him."
"I've heard about the challenge."
Her eyebrows lift. "Oh, really?"
"Word gets around." You hold her gaze. "I'm in."
"Smart boy." Her hand drops from your collar and slides down your chest, your stomach, and lands square on the front of your jeans. She squeezes lightly. "Oh, look at this. You're already hard. Is that for me?"
"That picture would make a dead man hard."
She laughs, head tipped back, her throat exposed. "Listen to you. I expected some stuttering little nerd, all sweaty palms and broken sentences. You're way more confident than I gave you credit for."
Your hands find her waist. She's warm under your palms, her skin smooth where your thumbs rest against her bare stomach. You let one hand slide down and around, palming the curve of her ass through the skirt. Squeezing. It's even better than the photo suggested. Thick and full and firm under your fingers.
"Mm." She presses into your hand. "Yeah, okay. You can definitely keep doing that." She squeezes your cock through your jeans again, harder this time, mapping out the shape of you. Her grin widens. "Wait. Hold on." She squeezes again. "What are you packing under here? This feels promising."
"You'll find out."
"I'm finding out right now, apparently." She leans her face close to yours, plum lips almost brushing your mouth. "This video is gonna be way better than I planned. I was expecting cute and mid. This is feeling more like cute and dangerous."
"I'll do my best."
"Yeah? Tell me what you're gonna do."
"I'm going to make you gag on it until you can't talk straight. I want to see you wrecked. Drooling on yourself. Huh Yunjin choking on my cock until your makeup is in your lap."
"Fuck yes. That's the energy." She closes the distance and kisses you.
She kisses like she's trying to eat you alive. Plum gloss smearing, tongue immediately in your mouth, both hands fisting the front of your shirt and pulling you against her. You back her up two steps until she hits the prop table behind her, and your hands are everywhere. Up her sides, palming the soft swell of her chest through that thin top, down to grab two handfuls of her ass and pull her tight against you. She rolls her hips into your bulge and groans into your mouth.
You make out for what feels like a while. Long enough that you're both breathing hard, her gloss completely gone from her lips and smudged across yours, her hair mussed where your fingers tangled in it. She pulls back, panting. "Okay. Okay, let's actually do this before I get carried away and just ride you in a folding chair." She steps out of your reach. "I'm gonna get undressed."
"All the way?"
"All the way." She's already reaching back to unzip the skirt. "If we're doing this, we're doing it properly. None of this half clothed business. I want my whole body in frame."
She undresses without an ounce of self consciousness. The skirt drops to the floor and she steps out of it. The crop top comes off over her head and her hair tumbles back down around her shoulders. Just heels left. She stands there in the warm stage light, completely bare, hands on her hips, watching you watch her.
She is staggering. Toned legs flowing up into thick thighs that gap at the top. Her ass round and full behind her. Her chest is small, soft, her nipples pierced with delicate silver bars catching the light. A subtle line of definition down her stomach. Her plum lips swollen from the kissing, her eye makeup still mostly intact, sharp and dark.
"Well," she says, doing a slow turn for you. "What's the verdict, professor?"
"You're perfect."
"Correct answer." She picks up her phone from the table, taps it into camera mode, and hands it to you. "Don't drop it. And try to keep me in frame, but don't worry about being artsy. The chaos is the point." She sinks down to her knees on the wooden stage floor, looking up at you. The amber lights catch her hair and turn it almost gold. She tilts her head, smirks, runs her tongue slowly along her lower lip. "Alright, babe. Let's see what we're working with."
Her hands settle on the front of your pants.
Yunjin’s fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants with an ease that makes it immediately clear this isn’t new territory for her. And definitely not the weirdest place she’s done it. She keeps looking up at you while she works the button open, her glossy lips curved in that teasing little smile, blonde hair falling over one shoulder as she tugs the zipper down.
“You’re trying so hard to look calm,” she says, amused, her knuckles brushing the hard outline of you through your underwear. “It’s cute. I can feel your dick jumping every time I touch you.”
“You’re naked on your knees in front of me,” you answer. “I’d be more worried if I looked calm.”
She laughs under her breath and pulls your pants down with your underwear in one smooth motion. Your cock springs out hard, heavy, already leaking precum from the kissing and the gummy spreading heat through your veins. Yunjin actually goes silent. You watch the reaction hit in stages. First surprise. Eyes widening. Taking a second look. Then comes the grin. Slow, filthy, pure excitement.
“Oh my god,” she says, sitting back on her heels. “No fucking way.”
You glance down at her, trying not to grin too much. “Still think I’m just cute and dorky?”
“Shut up, I’m processing.” She wraps one hand around the base, and her fingers don’t close all the way. That makes her smile wider. “I knew it. I fucking knew it. Quiet guys are always hiding something evil in their pants. This might be the biggest dick I’ve ever had in my mouth, and I’m not even saying that to boost your nerd ego.”
“That’s a pretty strong review.”
“I have experience. My review matters.” She strokes once, slow, her thumb dragging along the underside. “Jesus. It’s not even just long. It’s fat. Like, I’m gonna feel personally disrespected by my own jaw in ten minutes.”
She leans in and spits directly onto the head, letting the saliva slide down before she spreads it with her palm. Her hand moves over you with immediate ease, slicking you up, twisting around the ridge, cupping the head, rubbing the wetness down the shaft until your cock gleams under the stage lights. She watches the shine build with open appreciation.
“Pretty,” she murmurs, smiling to herself before lightly tapping your cock against her cheek. Once. Then again. Soft little smacks against skin. She tilts her head, looking way too pleased. “Jesus. Look at this thing.” Her grin widens. “This is absolutely gonna ruin me.”
She drags the underside over her lips, leaving a wet smear of saliva and precum across the plum gloss. Her mouth opens slightly, tongue slipping out to trace the swollen head. She gives you one slow lick, then kisses the tip like she’s flirting with it, her eyes staying locked on yours the whole time.
“You know what’s dangerous?” she says, rubbing your cock along her lower lip. “I can already tell I’m gonna be stupid about this. I’m supposed to make a cute little challenge video and go home, but this dick looks like it could ruin my plans for the week.”
“You’ve barely started.”
“I know. That’s the problem.” She opens her mouth wider and lets the head rest on her tongue. “I’m excited.” Then she takes you in.
The first slide into her mouth is hot, wet, and far too smooth for something that should be difficult. Her lips stretch around the girth, glossy and plush, sealing tight as she sinks lower. You feel her tongue flatten beneath you, guiding the shaft in a practiced line, easing the thickness over the middle of her tongue and toward the back of her throat. She doesn’t rush. She doesn’t panic. She makes room.
You swear under your breath when she takes more than half of you on the first try. Yunjin hums around your cock, pleased with the reaction, and pulls up slowly until only the head remains between her lips. Her cheeks hollow, suction tightening in a way that nearly makes your knees buckle. She swirls her tongue around the ridge, collects the slickness gathering there, then sinks down again, deeper this time, both hands on your thighs for balance.
Yeah, okay. She absolutely knows what she’s doing. There’s skill in the way she moves, not just enthusiasm. She angles her head to take the girth without scraping teeth. She uses her tongue constantly, dragging it along the underside, pressing into the sensitive strip beneath the head whenever she pulls back. Her lips never loosen. Every inch of you gets attention, and when she reaches the point where most girls would stop, she relaxes her jaw, breathes through her nose, and keeps going.
Your cock hits the back of her throat. She gags once, barely, more like her body acknowledging the size than refusing it. Her hands squeeze your thighs. Her eyes flutter, watery already, but she forces another inch down until her lips are close to the base. Then, with a slow, obscene determination, she swallows around you and noses against your pelvis.
“Fuck,” you say, because there isn’t anything smarter available in your brain.
She pulls off with a slick gasp, saliva stretching from her mouth to your cock before breaking across her chin. Her lips are swollen and wet, the plum gloss already smeared beyond repair. “See?” she says, breathing hard but grinning. “Made for it.”
“You weren’t exaggerating.”
“I never exaggerate about head. That’s sacred.” She strokes you in one hand while the other drops to your balls, cupping them with a reverence that surprises you. Her eyes lower. “Oh, these are heavy. What the hell are you feeding them?”
“Would you believe gummy bears?”
She looks up sharply, amused. “Don’t joke with me while I’m worshipping your balls.”
“I’m not joking.”
She studies your face for a second, then laughs. “You’re weird. I like it.” Her fingers roll your balls gently, feeling the weight, her tongue slipping out to lick along the base of your shaft. “These are going to make an insane mess of me, aren’t they?”
“That’s the plan.”
“That better be a promise.” She bends lower and takes one of your balls into her mouth, lips sealing around it, tongue moving with slow, wet attention. Her hand keeps stroking your cock while she sucks gently, then switches to the other, giving it the same treatment. The stage lights catch every trail of saliva on her chin, every smudge of makeup beginning to soften around her mouth. She looks completely at home like this, naked, kneeling, eyes bright with hunger.
“You have no idea how hot this is,” she says between kisses along your shaft. “Your cock is stupid big, your balls are full, and you look like you still think this is a weird dream you’re gonna wake up from.”
"It’s crossed my mind, yeah.”
“Don’t wake up. I’m not done being a slut for you.” She goes back down on you, more aggressive now. Her hand grips the base while her mouth works the upper half, fast and wet, tongue flicking, lips dragging, throat opening whenever she decides to take you deep. She alternates between worship and hunger, kissing your shaft, licking the veins, spitting on it again when she wants more slickness, rubbing the mess over you with her palm before swallowing you down.
Your phone stays in your hand, recording, the frame centered on her face. It catches everything. The way her lips stretch around you. The way her eyes lift to the lens whenever she takes you deep. The slow collapse of her makeup. Plum lipstick smeared across her chin, mascara damp at the corners, saliva slipping down her neck and onto the small rise of her chest.
She pulls off, panting, and slaps the head of your cock against her tongue twice before rubbing it over her lips. “I’m getting attached,” she says, almost accusatory. “That’s so unfair. You show up with this fat thing and expect me to act normal after?”
"You invited me."
"Yeah, and now this cock is mine. I'm calling dibs." She plants another wet kiss on the tip, then smiles up at you from below with spit running down her chin and eyes half-lidded from sheer arousal.
Yunjin leans in and swallows you deep again, this time she doesn't pull back when her throat tightens, the discomfort is part of the pleasure, swallowing repeatedly, forcing herself to adjust, her eyes watering harder, completely red now. You feel the muscles contracting around your cock, feel her body working to accept every inch. You watch as her thighs press together beneath her, the shine between them highlighted by the overhead stage lights when she shifts.
"Fuck, you're soaked," you groan.
She pulls off just enough to speak, lips still brushing the head. "Obviously I am. Do you have any idea what it's like having this monster prying my mouth open? My pussy's been dripping since I saw it." Her hand slides between her legs for one quick touch, collecting the proof of just how much of a slut she is, then she shows the wet shine on her fingers to the camera with a shameless smile.
"See? Your fault." She licks her own fingers making an obscene sound that makes your cock throb, then looks up at you. "Okay. I want it now."
"Want what?"
Her smile turns wicked. "Don't play dumb. Grab my hair and use my throat. I've been nice to your dick. Now ruin me for the video. Fuck my face, I know you're dying to do it."
"Alright, since you insist." Your free hand slides into her blonde hair, gripping close to the scalp. Yunjin opens her mouth immediately, tongue out, waiting, that look of a bitch in heat as deliberate as it is involuntary. You guide her forward and push your cock between her lips. Yunjin accepts the first thrust with a deep inhale through her nose, then braces her hands against your thighs.
You start hard right away. There's no need to build a rhythm when you already know what Huh Yunjin is capable of. Your thrusts are deep, each one pressing into her throat, nothing brutal yet but firm enough that her body has to be actively working to keep from gagging badly on your cock. Her eyes start watering again. Her lips stretch around you, swollen and slick. Saliva spills from the corners of her mouth almost immediately, pooling under her chin before dripping onto her chest.
Yunjin takes it beautifully.
The more you give her, the more alive she looks. She doesn't retreat from the roughness. She leans forward, seeking more force, gripping your thighs and letting you control the angle while she focuses on relaxing her throat around every thrust. A professional cocksucker, indeed. Your cock slides in and out of her mouth with wet sounds that echo louder and louder across the vastness of the theater, the camera catching her face coming undone in real time like a painting in the rain.
The lipstick is no longer neat, smeared across her cheeks and your shaft, purple and red streaks mixing with spit. Her mascara begins to run in thin lines, and when Yunjin looks up at you through wet lashes, you see genuine happiness stamped across her ruined face; it's beautiful to witness such raw passion in simply being the biggest slut on campus.
"Fuck, Yunjin," you say, driving deeper. "You really can take it."
She tries to answer around your cock and only manages a garbled, eager sound. Her hands go to your hips, pulling you forward — a clear signal for you to pick up the pace. So you fuck her mouth harder. Your hips slam into her face, your hand holding her in place, and every deep thrust makes her throat bulge and clench. She gags, recovers, takes it again. Tears spill freely now, cutting through the makeup on her cheeks. Drool runs down her neck in thick streams, sliding over her collarbone, dripping onto her small breasts and leaving glossy trails across her nipples.
You pull out to let her breathe. She inhales sharply, laughs, and spits a filthy string of saliva onto your cock.
"That's it. That's the clip. Holy shit, keep going. We're making history. My pussy is literally dripping onto the stage right now. How do I look?"
"You already look completely ruined," you tell her. "In other words: pretty fucking hot."
"Good. Make it worse then." Yunjin rubs her cheek against your shaft, nuzzling affectionately like she has genuine fondness for the thing destroying her face. "This cock is too fucking good. I hate that I found you through a trend. I should've hunted you down weeks ago. My bad."
You push back into her mouth, and she takes you with that same hunger. Now the rhythm is getting rougher and less careful, driven by the gummy bear's effect creeping through your bloodstream. Your balls feel heavy, too full, aching with all the pressure, and Yunjin notices. Her hand reaches down to cup them while you fuck her throat, squeezing gently, rolling them between her fingers.
The rhythm is partially interrupted when you see her thighs starting to tremble. You notice a full-body tremor rolling through her before she finally locks up completely. Both hands clench around you, fingers digging in, her throat contracts hard around your cock in thick, rhythmic pulses. She's cumming. Unironically, she's cumming right there on her knees with your cock buried in her throat, cumming just from having a cock in her mouth. Her eyes blow wide, then roll back until only the whites are visible, lashes fluttering as tears cut down her ruined face. Her whole body shudders and her hips jerks against nothing. You've never seen anything this hot in your life.
When you pull back to let Yunjin breathe again, you ask: "Holy fuck, d-did you just cum?"
She slumps forward with forehead pressing against your thigh, laughing in these ragged, wrecked little gasps. "I told you I was a slut." She tilts her face up and there's mascara smeared everywhere, along with spit, tears, and pure satisfaction. "Don't act so surprised." She drags the back of her hand across her chin and only smears it worse. "A cock like that shoved down my throat? Yeah. That's what happens."
"That's, like, really insane."
"That's talent, babe. Now put it back." You do, of course, and she gives herself over with even less restraint. The next stretch is messy beyond any salvation. She alternates between taking full-on facefucking and pulling you out to worship the head, tongue circling, lips sucking hard, hands pumping the base. The dirty talk pours out nonstop whenever her mouth is free because she simply can't contain herself, and you love that about her.
"This is mine now," she says, pumping you with both hands. "I'm serious. You don't get to walk around campus with this fat cock pretending it's public property. I found it, I choked on it, I came from it, so I have rights."
"Okay so you're making legal claims now?"
"Sexual claims. Way more serious." She kisses your tip, leaving a ruined smear of lipstick and spit. "You know, I'm going to think about this in class from now on. I'm going to be sitting there pretending to take notes while remembering how your cock stretched my throat open.”
Your orgasm starts building for real, low and heavy, dragged out by the gummy until it feels almost too intense. Yunjin senses the shift and pulls off, wrapping both hands around your cock. Her grip is slick, fast, frantic, using all the spit coating you. “You close?”
“Yeah.”
“On my face,” she says instantly. “All over it. Don’t waste a drop anywhere boring. I want to look disgusting.”
She jerks you harder, her hands sliding from base to tip in quick, wet strokes. Her ruined face is right below the head of your cock, eyes locked on you, mouth open, tongue visible between glossy lips. “Come on,” she urges. “Make me pretty. Paint this slutty face. I want it in my hair, on my lips, down my neck. Give me that huge nerd load. I know you’ve got it.”
The pressure snaps. The first jet hits her cheekbone hard, thick and white, streaking toward her ear. Yunjin gasps, delighted, and doesn’t stop stroking you. The second shoots across her forehead and into the roots of her blonde hair. The third lands over her nose and upper lip, splattering hot across the smeared makeup. She laughs, breathless and amazed, pumping you faster. “Holy fuck,” she says. “There’s so much.”
More comes. Another heavy rope spills over her open mouth, coating her tongue before sliding down her chin. She tilts your cock with one hand, aiming the next burst at her neck, and it paints a thick line down her throat. She drags the head lower, still milking you, and more cum spurts across her collarbone and small breasts, catching on her nipples and dripping toward her stomach.
It keeps going. The gummy turns the orgasm into something ridiculous, relentless, your cock pulsing over and over while Yunjin works every contraction out of you. She aims you back at her face for the final spurts, letting them splatter across her lips and jaw, adding more white to the ruined plum and black makeup already smeared everywhere.
By the time the last weak pulse drips from the tip, she is covered. Face, neck, chest, the top of her stomach. Cum clings to her lashes, streaks through her hair, sits thick on her lips. She stares down at herself, stunned for half a second, then bursts into laughter.
“Oh my god,” she says, genuinely amazed. “What are you, a fucking fire hose?”
You’re still catching your breath, phone aimed directly at her. The frame catches her kneeling there in the stage lights, naked and trembling, grinning through a mask of cum and destroyed makeup.
Yunjin lifts her chin toward the camera and smiles like she knows exactly how filthy she looks. She drags one finger through the cum on her cheek, brings it to her mouth, and tastes it slowly.
“Yummy,” she says, making sure the camera catches the way her tongue cleans her fingertip.
Then she pouts at the lens, exaggerated and sexy, lips glossy with your cum, eyes half lidded and sparkling with trouble. She holds the pose long enough to make the ending perfect.
You stop recording. For a moment, both of you just stand there in the afterglow of it, the empty theater silent around you except for Yunjin’s uneven breathing. She rises carefully, one hand finding the edge of the prop table to steady herself. Her knees shake a little, and she laughs again when she notices.
“That,” she says, pointing at you with a cum covered finger, “was the best blowjob, deep throat, facefucking situation I have ever been part of. And I’ve got an extensive resume.”
You pull your underwear and pants back up, still sensitive enough that even the fabric brushing you makes you wince. “Glad I ranked highly.”
“Highly? Babe, you broke the scale.” She looks down at the mess on her chest, then back at your jeans like she can still see through them. “I’m obsessed. That’s so annoying. I was supposed to film a hot clip, post it, brag in the group chat, and move on with my life. Now I’m standing here covered in your cum wondering if I can fit you into my schedule as a recurring problem.”
“That sounds flattering.”
“It’s extremely flattering. Don’t let it make you arrogant.” She bends down carefully, picking her clothes off the floor one by one. She doesn’t put anything on yet, probably because there is no clean way to do it while coated like this. “Are you free tonight?”
You pause with your belt half fastened. “Tonight?”
“Yeah. My place.”
“I thought you got what you needed.”
“With you?” She gives you a look that makes it very clear how stupid she thinks that sentence was. “No, babe. I have so many things I need to do with your dick that I should not start listing them, because if I do, I’ll get wet again and try to fuck you right here on this stage before the drama kids show up.”
You glance toward the backstage hallway. “How are you getting rid of all of that?”
“There are showers behind the dressing rooms.” She waves it off, completely unconcerned. “I’ve made bigger messes here during tech week. Don’t worry about me.”
“You’re really inviting me over after this?”
“I’m not inviting. I’m claiming.” She steps closer, still naked, still streaked with cum, and taps a finger against your chest. “I’ll send you my address on IG. Come tonight. Bring that cock, bring the weird gummy thing if that’s part of your magic, and don’t make plans for tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be there,” you say.
“Good. And hey. Seriously. That was insane.”
“You were insane.”
“I know. That’s why people like me.” You hand her phone back. She checks the video quickly, scrubbing through the timeline with professional focus despite the fact that cum is still dripping from her chin onto her chest.
“Oh, this is disgusting,” she says happily. “Perfect. The lighting is hot, my face looks wrecked, your dick looks criminal. I might not even have to edit much. Maybe just cut the parts where I was yapping my ass off about being in love with your cock.”
“Glad the production value survived.”
“Barely. My dignity did not, but that wasn’t invited.” She heads toward the backstage showers with her clothes bundled in one arm, hips swaying, heels clicking lightly on the stage floor. Before disappearing behind the curtain, she turns back, still grinning. “Tonight,” she says. “Don’t make me chase you.”
You leave the stage feeling absurdly good about yourself. The theater doors shut behind you, and the hallway outside is empty, too normal for what just happened. Your legs are steady enough now, your breathing mostly back.
Four girls so far. Not that you're counting. Okay, maybe a little. Asa. Somi and Chaeyoung. Now Yunjin. Two more should still be out there somewhere. You head back toward the main campus mentally preparing for the next completely normal and not concerning interaction of the week.
—
The park looks stupidly nice today. One of those afternoons where the lighting is so good everything suddenly feels edited. Trees glowing, grass looking greener than usual, the whole thing straight out of a stock photo. Families on blankets. Dogs losing their minds over frisbees. People jogging. Just regular people doing regular Thursday stuff.
Shuhua walks beside Ning with a cherry popsicle in hand, somehow managing to eat it with impossible levels of grace. No sticky fingers. No drips. Every little movement neat and automatic, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth between bites. Her pale blue dress shifts softly around her ankles in the breeze, dark hair pinned back with a single clip. Between the sunlight and the whole effortless look she's got going on, she barely feels real.
Next to Shuhua, Ning looks like the opposite side of the same coin. Tiny shorts, cropped tank, dark hair down around her shoulders. The center part frames her face in a way that somehow makes her eyes stand out even more. People call her features feline all the time. Mostly because of her eyes. Sharp. Alert. Always tracking everything around her.
"Have you seen Yunjin's numbers?" Ning asks, scrolling her phone while walking, a skill she's perfected over years of content creation. "Forty thousand views in twelve hours. Forty thousand. And she barely edited. The color grading is flat and the audio peaks twice. Imagine if she'd actually put effort into post."
Shuhua takes another careful bite of her popsicle. "I thought her video was quite good, actually."
"It was fine. Asa's was better. The library setting, the composition, the slow buildup. That's how you do it." Ning locks her phone and slides it into her back pocket. "The point is, we're the only ones who haven't filmed yet. Somi and Chaeyoung posted theirs this morning. Asa posted yesterday. Yunjin went up last night. We're falling behind."
"It's not a race, Ning."
"Everything is a race when likes are involved." She glances sideways at Shuhua. "I can't afford to lose momentum. My account gained six hundred followers just from reposting Asa's clip with commentary. If I post my own content from the trend while it's still peaking, the engagement will be insane. But we need to find someone today."
Shuhua finishes the last bite of her popsicle and holds the bare stick between two fingers, looking around for a trash can. "I agree we should film soon. I've been thinking about it more than I expected, honestly. The idea is growing on me."
"Growing on you how?"
A faint blush spreads across Shuhua's cheeks, barely noticeable against her pale skin. She looks away for a second. "I'd rather not get into that in the middle of a public park.”
Ning grins. "That's all the elaboration I needed."
They round a bend in the path and that's when Shuhua spots you. Sitting on the grass under an oak tree, legs crossed, a paperback open in your lap. Earbuds in. Glasses catching the afternoon light. Completely oblivious to the world around you, which is your default state and, apparently, your most attractive quality. "I know him," Shuhua says, slowing her pace. "He's in my Wednesday seminar. Quiet. Sits in the back row. He's quite smart, from what I can tell."
Ning studies you with the detached precision of a photographer framing a shot. "I've seen him around too. Library, mostly. Always alone, always reading." She tilts her head. "He's got the look. The glasses, the messy hair, the whole unaware thing. The contrast would photograph beautifully."
They exchange a glance. Shuhua raises one eyebrow. Ning nods once.
"Together?" Shuhua asks.
"Together." Shuhua deposits her popsicle stick in a trash can along the path and the two of them walk across the grass toward you. Their shadows fall over your book before you register their presence. You pull one earbud out and look up.
Oh. Sure. The last two.
Ning shifts her weight onto one hip and studies you quietly. Not openly suspicious, not exactly friendly either. Up close, she's honestly more striking than her photos ever made her seem. You've seen her Instagram enough times to know that. There's something magnetic about her in person. The sharpness of her features. The unwavering eye contact. Like once she looks at you, looking away becomes your responsibility.
And then there's Shuhua. You keep trying to come up with a better word for it, but ethereal is annoyingly accurate. Pale skin glowing under the sunlight, big dark eyes, delicate features that somehow look even softer up close. She has her hands folded in front of her dress so neatly that she looks like she belongs at some afternoon tea party, not here near you.
It's incredible, genuinely, how you went from being invisible on this campus to being the gravitational center of the six hottest girls at the university. One week. Seven days of your previously unremarkable life, and suddenly you can't sit in a park without attracting beautiful women who want to use your cock for content.
"Have you heard of a Twitter trend called Ruin the Pretty Face?" Ning asks, skipping past any greeting.
"Yeah,” you say, closing your book. "It's gotten huge lately. Honestly kind of wild.”
"We want to record a video," Shuhua adds, her tone polite as ever, like she's asking you to proofread an essay. "With you. If you're willing."
You look around the park. Families. Dogs. Vendors selling popcorn and ice cream. A man flying a kite about thirty meters away. "Here? Right now?"
"Not here, obviously," Ning says. "I drove today. We can film in my car. Tinted windows, good camera, plenty of privacy."
"And both of you are recording this together."
"Yes," they say in unison.
You let that sink in for approximately half a second before your brain finishes its cost benefit analysis.
"Okay," you say, standing up and tucking the book under your arm. Shuhua falls into step beside you as the three of you start walking toward the parking area. Ning leads, phone already out, checking the light conditions, probably calculating optimal filming angles based on where her car is parked relative to the sun.
"Can I ask you something?" Shuhua asks gently. Her hands remain clasped as she walks, pale blue fabric shifting around her calves with every step.
"Go ahead."
"Has any girl ever approached you before asking for the same thing? For this challenge, I mean."
You don't hesitate. "No. You two are the first crazy ones to come up to me with something like this."
Shuhua nods, seemingly satisfied. "Good. I'd feel strange if we weren't the first. It would change the dynamic."
Ning glances back over her shoulder. "The dynamic's fine. Let's stay focused." The parking garage is only about a five minute walk from the park. Ning's SUV is parked on the second level, black with windows tinted dark enough to look at least a little suspicious. She unlocks it with her key fob and jerks her head toward the back door. "Get in the back.”
You climb in. The interior is clean, almost obsessively so. No fast food wrappers, no loose change, no clutter. Just a faint scent of clean air and leather. Shuhua slides in on your left, gathering her long dress around her legs with careful, ladylike precision. Ning gets in on your right, pulling the door shut with a solid thunk. The tinted windows turn the afternoon light dim and amber. You're sandwiched between them. Shuhua's thigh brushes yours through her linen dress. Ning's bare leg presses warm against your other side.
Ning reaches into a bag near the front seat and produces a compact makeup kit, the professional kind with multiple compartments and a lighted mirror. She flips it open and starts touching up her face, quick and efficient. Then she hands it to Shuhua, who applies a careful layer of lip tint and a fresh coat of mascara, checking her reflection from three different angles before she's satisfied.
"We'll record on my phone," Ning announces, then hands you the device. "Hold it. I want mobility in the shot. Don't shake it, keep us in frame, and don't film anything identifiable about the car."
"I can handle it." You barely stop yourself from smiling. She has no clue you've somehow ended up doing this three separate times in the same week. At this point you could probably run a masterclass on filming angles for horny Twitter content. "Trust me.”
"We'll see." Ning turns to face you more fully, one leg tucking beneath her on the seat. "And one more warning. You're cumming in my mouth. Tell us when you're about to blow, because I’m not letting you make a mess in my car. Understood? Now get that cock hard."
Two hands find your lap simultaneously. Ning's on the right, confident and direct, her fingers pressing against the growing shape beneath your jeans. Shuhua's on the left, lighter, more tentative, her touch exploratory as it traces the outline of you through the fabric.
Ning leans in first, kissing you without much hesitation. Her lips are cool and smooth, carrying the faint taste of gloss. A quiet hum leaves her before she pulls away again. Then Shuhua takes her place.
The shift is instant. Shuhua kisses more softly, more carefully, barely parting her lips at first. But her hand around your cock tightens slightly, betraying nerves or excitement. She still tastes faintly like cherry from the popsicle. When your tongue brushes against hers, her breathing catches and a small surprised sound slips out before she can stop it.
Then suddenly it's all three of you at once. Kisses overlapping, mouths brushing against mouths, everything blurring together into something messy and warm. For a few seconds it gets hard to tell where one kiss ends and another begins. Shuhua's perfectly composed expression slips just a little, her eyes growing heavy. And Ning's whole cool princess act cracks for a split second when you catch her lower lip between your teeth and a real reaction slips out before she can stop it.
"You kiss well for a nerd," Ning murmurs against the corner of your mouth. They keep kissing you. Both of them. Taking turns, sharing, their hands still stroking you through your jeans, until Shuhua's brow furrows, her hand stops moving on your lap and her fingers press down, tracing the shape more carefully. Her eyes widen.
"Your cock is actually fucking huge," she murmurs.
Ning's hand joins Shuhua's, both of them feeling you through the denim now, mapping out the length and thickness with growing disbelief. "Hmm, it's probably just the pants," Ning says, though her expression suggests she doesn't believe that for a second. "Let's check if that's actually the case."
Ning yanks your belt open with zero hesitation. She tugs your pants down your thighs, and you lift your hips so she can pull them past your knees. Your boxers go with them. Your cock springs free, half hard and swelling heavier by the second in the warm, close air of the car.
Ning just stares for a second. Her lips part slightly, eyebrows lifting before she can stop them, and for one brief, completely unguarded moment she looks genuinely caught off guard. Her hand comes up slowly, wraps around the shaft, and her fingers don't even come close to meeting. "Okay," she breathes. "This is going to be way better than I imagined."
Shuhua leans across your lap to see, her pale face inches from your cock, and her dark eyes go impossibly round. "That is the biggest dick I have ever seen. In my entire life. Holy shit."
Your cock's still a little sore, honestly. Yunjin kept you at her place until almost two in the morning. At some point you completely lost track of how many times she made you cum, how many positions she somehow folded herself into, or how many times she looked you dead in the eyes and told you your cock belonged to her now.
The gummy lasted way longer than the package claimed it would, and by the time you finally collapsed onto her couch, you were pretty sure your body had reached its limit. For the first time since this whole insane week started, you actually felt drained.
But you can find some more stamina. For Shuhua and Ning, you can dig deep.
Ning strokes you once, twice, feeling the girth, watching the way your cock thickens further under her touch. She glances at Shuhua with a grin spreading across her face. You lift the phone, frame the shot tight on both of them, and hit the red button. The timer starts counting in the corner of the screen.
Ning leans down and drags her tongue in a long, flat stripe from the base to the tip. Shuhua follows immediately, her tongue tracing the opposite side, and the two of them meet at the head with their mouths brushing against each other. Ning takes you in first, wrapping her lips around the crown and sinking down, taking as much of your girth as her small mouth can manage on the first pass. Her cheeks hollow and she pulls up slow, letting the camera catch the slick shine coating your shaft. "Your turn," she murmurs, and guides your cock toward Shuhua's mouth.
Shuhua parts her lips and takes you in gently. Her eyes flutter closed and a soft, quiet sound escapes her throat. She bobs her head in shallow, careful motions, her hand gripping the base where her mouth can't reach. She's tentative at first. Testing. Adjusting to the stretch of her jaw around something this thick. But she doesn't pull away. If anything, she sinks deeper, taking another inch, then another, her throat working around you.
"Good?" Ning asks, watching Shuhua's face with curiosity.
Shuhua pulls off just enough to speak, her lips still brushing the head. "Very good." She kisses the tip softly, then takes you back into her mouth with more confidence.
They trade off. Ning goes deep, sloppy and showy, letting spit pool and drip down her chin because she knows exactly how it looks on camera. She moans around your shaft, loud and performative, her dark eyes finding the phone lens and holding the gaze. Her tongue works the underside with practiced skill, and when she pulls off, thick strings of saliva connect her swollen lips to your cock. Shuhua takes over with a steadier, quieter intensity. She sucks you with focus, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration. She discovers a rhythm that makes you twitch in her mouth and she stays there, repeating the motion, building on it. Her hand cups your balls, rolling them gently, and you hear her whimper against your shaft.
This looks like the kind of porn video you'd scroll past on your feed and immediately save. Two insanely beautiful women in the backseat of a car, heads in your lap, taking turns swallowing your cock while the afternoon light filters through tinted windows.
You decide it's time to step it up. Your free hand slides into Ning's dark hair and you push her head down. She takes it with a muffled sound of surprise that melts into a groan as your cock hits the back of her throat. You hold her there, feeling her throat constrict around you, then pull her back and push forward again. Fucking her face in slow, deep strokes. Her hands grip your thigh for balance and she opens her throat for you, letting you use her mouth however you want.
"Fuck yes," she gasps when you let her up for air. "Use me. Treat me like your slut." You push her back down and pick up the pace. Your hips roll up from the seat, driving your cock into her mouth while your hand controls the depth. Spit spills from the corners of her stretched lips, running down her chin, dripping onto her crop top. Her mascara starts to bleed at the corners of her eyes.
Then you switch. You pull Ning off and guide Shuhua down by the hair. She resists for half a second, startled by the rougher handling, then melts into it. You thrust into her mouth and she makes this sweet, overwhelmed sound, her eyes going wide and wet. You fuck her face slower than you did Ning's, giving her time to adjust, but you don't go easy. She doesn't want easy. You can tell from the way her hands keep drifting to her chest, squeezing her breasts lightly whenever she gets too worked up.
"Your dick feels so good in my mouth," Shuhua whispers when you give her a moment to breathe. Her usual elegance is slipping. Hair sticks to her lips, her cheeks are flushed, and every word sounds less put together than the last. "I didn't expect to enjoy it this much. It's so thick, it stretches my jaw so wide, and I just want to keep taking it."
"Then take it," you tell her, and she does. Shuhua sinks down on her own, swallowing as much of you as she can manage, and works her throat around you with a determination that borders on desperate.
You alternate between them. A dozen strokes into Ning's willing throat, then a dozen into Shuhua's eager mouth. Your hand switches between their heads, pulling, guiding, controlling the pace. Their makeup is slowly losing the fight. Ning's contour is smudged along her jawline now, and the gloss she'd put on earlier is long gone, leaving her lips puffy and messy. Shuhua's mascara has started to run beneath her eyes, creating dark crescents that weren't there before. Even her lip tint is smeared across her cheek now. The polished look both of them started with has completely fallen apart.
The pressure builds low and heavy in your stomach. Your balls tighten. The gummy's lingering effects make the orgasm feel enormous, swelling bigger than you can hold back. "I'm about to cum," you announce.
Ning pulls Shuhua off your cock and moves in front of you, kneeling on the floor of the backseat between your spread legs. She wraps her lips around the head and seals them tight, her hand pumping the shaft in fast, wet strokes. Her dark eyes look up at you, then at the camera, holding the gaze while she works you toward the edge.
You cum hard. The first pulse floods her mouth and she flinches, her cheeks bulging slightly before she swallows. More follows. Thick, heavy spurts that fill her faster than she can manage. Her throat works overtime but some of it escapes, leaking from the corners of her sealed lips and dripping down her chin. You keep cumming, pulse after pulse, the gummy ensuring that the load is obscene, far more than any normal session should produce. Her eyes water but she doesn't pull off. She takes everything you give her, her hand milking every last drop from your shaft.
When you finally stop throbbing, Ning pulls off slowly. She keeps her lips pressed tight together and turns to face the camera. She opens her mouth.
It's full. Completely full. Your cum pools on her tongue, thick and white, some of it already dripping from her lower lip. She tilts her head back slightly to show the camera, letting the load sit there, visible and obscene. Shuhua leans in close, her face next to Ning's. Ning cups Shuhua's chin and tilts her face up. Slowly she lets the cum dribble from her mouth into Shuhua's open lips. A thick strand stretches between them before breaking and landing on Shuhua's tongue.
Shuhua closes her mouth and swirls it, her expression somewhere between wonder and arousal. Then she leans toward Ning and passes it back, letting the cum slide from her lips into Ning's waiting mouth. They go back and forth, the load shrinking slightly with each transfer as they swallow bits of it, giggling between passes, their lips brushing together each time.
Finally, Ning swallows the last of it and pulls Shuhua in for a kiss. A real one. Deep and slow and wet, their tongues visible between their joined mouths, cum and saliva smearing across both their chins. They break apart and turn to face the camera with matching grins.
Ning winks at the lens. Shuhua blows a kiss.
Their faces are destroyed. Mascara tracking down their cheeks, lips swollen and smeared, chins dripping, hair tangled and damp. Ning's crop top is stained dark with spit. Shuhua's pale cheeks are flushed pink all the way to her ears. They look absolutely ruined and absolutely gorgeous.
Perfect content.
You stop recording. The car falls quiet except for their breathing and the distant sound of a car alarm somewhere in the structure. You hand the phone to Ning.
"Thanks," she says, already scrubbing through the footage. Her eyes move quickly, evaluating. "You did a great job filming. The angles are solid, you kept us in frame, the lighting caught everything. This is usable."
"I did the best I could."
"You succeeded." She watches a specific section again, the cumswapping part, and nods approvingly. "This is going to perform so well. The engagement on this will be insane."
You reach down and pull your pants back up, fastening your belt with slightly shaky fingers. "Well. I need to go now." You look between them. "It was a pleasure meeting you both. Genuinely."
Shuhua tucks a strand of damp hair behind her ear and smiles at you, still flushed, still catching her breath. "Thank you for your help. I mean it. You were very kind about the whole thing."
"Anytime." You open the car door and the cool air of the parking structure hits your face. You step out, legs a bit unsteady, and turn back to close the door.
Ning is watching you with a slight frown. She glances at Shuhua, saying, "It was a little too easy."
"What do you mean?"
"He wasn't surprised by the request. He wasn't overly excited about having two girls sucking his dick in my car. He treated the whole thing like it was just another day." She tilts her head. "That's weird, right? Most guys would be losing their minds right now."
Shuhua considers this for a moment. "Yeah, he was actually quite calm. Unusually calm. But maybe it all happened too fast and he didn't have time to process everything properly."
"Maybe," Ning says, not fully convinced. She shrugs and looks back at her phone. "Whatever. We better clean up. I still need to edit and post this before the trend peaks."
Shuhua reaches for the makeup kit. "Don't forget to tag me in the video."
Shuhua rolls her eyes and smiles at the same time somehow. "Of course. Nothing says friendship like performance metrics.”
—
As usual for a weekend, Yunjin's living room is full. The girls have somehow claimed every inch of the giant L shaped couch, stretched out with their legs tangled together and their attention split between their phones and conversations happening in five directions at once. The TV's running in the background, ignored completely. Empty sushi containers crowd the coffee table beside abandoned wine glasses and Somi's energy drink.
Chaeyoung sits in Somi's lap with her back against Somi's chest, scrolling her phone while Somi braids a small section of her hair absentmindedly. Asa is cross legged on the floor cushion by the window, her laptop open, analytics dashboard visible. Ning occupies the armchair with her legs draped over one side, editing something on her phone. Shuhua sits upright at the end of the couch, both feet on the floor, posture perfect even at eleven at night.
Yunjin paces behind the couch in an oversized t shirt and shorts, wine glass in hand, narrating. "Final conclusion: Asa is winning," she announces, pointing at the screen Asa turns toward the group. "Obviously. She posted first, the algorithm favored her, the library setting was aesthetic, and her editing is annoyingly good. Twelve thousand likes and climbing. The comments are losing their minds."
"Thank you," Asa says simply.
"Second place is me." Yunjin grins with absolutely no humility. "As it should, honestly. I killed it and looked amazing doing it. Ning, put my video back on. Show them the ending.”
Ning taps the link and angles her phone so the group can see. The final thirty seconds of Yunjin's clip play on the small screen. The stage lighting, Yunjin's ruined face, and then the cumshot. The girls lean in and watch as rope after rope lands across Yunjin's cheeks, her forehead, her open mouth, her chin, her neck. It keeps going. And going. The volume of it is genuinely startling.
"What the actual fuck," Somi says, pausing mid braid.
"That's not real," Ning adds, rewinding and playing it again. "That can't be real. That's like a full minute of cum."
"It felt like a full minute," Yunjin confirms, swirling her wine. "My face was dripping. It got in my hair and I had to wash it three times."
Shuhua tilts her head, studying the footage with clinical interest. "I've genuinely never seen anyone produce that much. Is that medically normal?"
"He told me he had these gummy bears that act like some ridiculously overpowered aphrodisiac. Explains the massive cum loads. Pure genius." Yunjin takes a sip. "Look at those numbers. People are sharing that clip specifically because of the finish. The algorithm is pushing it."
Chaeyoung covers her eyes. "I can't watch it again. It's too much."
"You literally made out with Somi on camera with cum all over your face," Yunjin reminds her. "Don't get all puritan on me now."
"Watching and actually being part of it are two completely different things,” Chaeyoung replies.
By the way, their duo video is doing pretty well too. Somi's chaotic, aggressive energy mixed with Chaeyoung's softer vibe ended up creating this weirdly perfect contrast people are absolutely obsessed with. The comments are exactly what you'd expect: half thirsty, half completely unhinged. Which is apparently the dream outcome, even if Somi keeps pretending she never reads them. Ning and Shuhua's clip has the lowest numbers so far, but that's mostly because theirs went up last.
"My video's gonna do numbers too. Give it forty eight hours," Ning says, unbothered. "Late posts always start slower. Lower engagement upfront, longer lifespan after. Some big NSFW accounts already picked it up and are funneling people over.”
"You and your analytics," Yunjin mutters.
"My analytics pay my rent."
Asa closes her laptop and leans back against the wall. "Honestly? I think this worked out for everyone. The videos are getting attention, engagement's solid, and none of us got banned. That's good enough for me.”
For a few seconds, the room settles into this quiet, satisfied silence. Then Shuhua casually says, "It's the same guy."
Every head turns. Nobody says anything. Just several seconds of confused blinking until Ning finally asks: "What do you mean?"
Shuhua points at Ning's phone, which still has Yunjin's video paused on screen. "That cock. It's the same one in our video. Look at it. The size, the shape, the slight curve to the left. It's identical."
"No way," Yunjin says. "That's impossible."
"Play all the videos side by side," Shuhua insists. Asa immediately gets to work. A few quick movements later, all four clips are sitting side by side on the screen. She hits play.
The evidence is damning. The same thick shaft. The same slight leftward curve. The same heavy balls. The same pair of hands, same forearms, same skin. It's definitely the same person.
"Oh my god," Chaeyoung breathes.
"It's the same fucking guy," Somi says after a long silence. "How did six different people somehow land on the same nerd? There's no way that's statistically possible."
Ning gives a small shrug. "Shared good taste."
"This isn't funny."
"I'm not joking." Ning barely reacts. "He checked every box. He was available. Apparently very available."
Chaeyoung's face visibly crumples. She sinks lower into Somi's lap and hugs a pillow against herself. "We texted every day...I thought we had something going on.”
"Aw, Chae..." Somi murmurs softly, and her hands go back to braiding Chaeyoung's hair.
Yunjin lowers her wine glass onto the counter and looks around. "Okay, before anyone gets mad… I slept with him after.”
"You WHAT?" Somi sits up so fast that Chaeyoung nearly topples off her lap.
"His dick is amazing," Yunjin says, completely unapologetic. "I got hooked. We had sex for hours and I was about to schedule a second date. Sue me."
Chaeyoung's eyes are glassy. "I can't believe I was starting to fall for someone who was getting blowjobs from all my friends behind my back."
"Nobody knew anything," Asa says firmly. "That's the point. None of us coordinated. None of us told each other which guy we picked. We all approached him independently."
Shuhua folds her hands in her lap. "I asked him directly. When Ning and I found him in the park, I asked if any girl had ever approached him before with the same request. He told us no. That we were the first."
"That lying piece of shit," Somi hisses.
"Honestly?" Asa starts. "We can't judge him. Think about it. If we had known we were all using the same guy, we would have dropped him immediately. He saw an opportunity and he took it."
Shuhua nods. "It's somewhat fair when you consider the full picture. We used him for content and engagement. He used the situation for his own benefit. We're not really in a position to be angry."
"I'm in a position to be angry," Somi declares. Chaeyoung sniffles. Somi's hand moves from her hair to her back, rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades. "I warned you that you deserved better than him," she says.
Ning rolls her eyes from the armchair. "Please. It's not like she and him were dating. There was no exclusivity, no commitment, no cheating. She texted him for a few days. That's hardly a betrayal."
"It felt like something," Chaeyoung mumbles into the pillow.
Yunjin walks around the couch and stands in front of all of them. Her posture shifts, shoulders back, chin up, that specific energy she gets when a plan is forming behind her eyes. "We're all going out," she announces.
"Out where?" Asa asks.
"The mall. After hours. We're going to find him and we're going to settle this."
"Settle it how?" Shuhua inquires, politely but with clear suspicion.
"Chaeyoung, text him right now. Tell him to meet us." Yunjin pauses. "Actually, forget it. Let me handle this. I know how to persuade him."
Somi crosses her arms, careful not to dislodge Chaeyoung from her lap. "What exactly are you planning, Yunjin?"
Yunjin looks at her like the answer should be written on the ceiling. "Isn't it obvious? A fucking orgy. All six of us. One night. One guy. In the mall after closing."
Asa grins and laughs. “Girl, you’ve officially lost it.”
"Consider it a farewell orgy," Yunjin continues, pacing now, warming to the idea. "We get it out of our systems. All of us. Every last fantasy and curiosity and frustration. And after that, he's free. Completely free for Chaeyoung, if she still wants him. Clean slate."
Shuhua raises a finger. "Nobody is pursuing him. The only person who had sex with him outside of the challenge was you."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Miss Dump-the-Lore. I'm horny and I want an orgy. Are you in or not?"
"Fuck it," Somi says. "This is my shot at getting even. I'm gonna destroy that dick. Brutally.”
Asa sets her laptop aside and stretches her arms above her head. "I'm in too. I'll admit it. I've been curious about what that thing feels like somewhere other than my throat."
Ning locks her phone and swings her legs off the armchair. "I'm in. I'm honestly curious to see how this drama's gonna end. Plus Amazon still hasn't delivered my new super vibrator, and rewatching all those clips got me horny as hell.”
Shuhua smooths her skirt over her knees, considering. "Since everyone else is going, I suppose I'll participate as well.
Everyone’s attention lands on Chaeyoung. She slowly raises her head from the pillow in Somi’s lap, pink-cheeked and blinking through damp lashes. “...Fine,” she says. “I’m in too. I want to feel that cock filling me, stretching my pussy open.” She glances down, embarrassed but honest. “I dreamed about it last night and woke up dripping.”
Then comes the collective murmur. Quiet gasps. Suppressed laughs. Multiple people making deeply judgmental mmm sounds at once. Chaeyoung lets out a tiny embarrassed laugh and hides behind her pillow again.
"Oh my god, shut up," she mumbles. "All of you, shut up, please.”
Yunjin claps her hands together so hard it echoes off the apartment walls. "Perfect! Up, everyone. Go get changed." She grabs her keys from the counter and points at the group. "And I hope every single one of you is on the pill, because things are going to get pretty fucking intense.”
—
The mall is nearly deserted when you get there. A handful of people drift toward the exits while janitors sweep through the empty walkways. The background music hums through the open space, weirdly loud without the usual crowd to drown it out. At the top of the escalator, you spot them right away. Six girls sitting around a table by the pretzel stand, looking way too good to be here for anything innocent. You know exactly what this is. You figured it out the second Yunjin texted you. The game’s up. And somehow, instead of feeling nervous, you feel completely calm. You stroll over with your hands in your pockets and pull up a chair.
"Hey girls," you say, sitting down and leaning back. "How are the videos going?"
Somi’s glare is intense enough to be considered a health hazard. Her arms are folded tightly, her expression hard, pure annoyance radiating off her in waves. Yunjin, on the other hand, looks almost entertained. She rests her chin in her hand and studies you with narrowed eyes.
“Wow,” she says. “You really had us all fooled, huh? Playing all six of us while acting like you didn’t know what was happening.”
You shrug. "You guys wanted to use me for content. I let you. Every single time. The fact that you all happened to pick the same guy isn't really my problem to solve."
Shuhua tilts her head. Those elegant features carry a trace of genuine hurt underneath the composure. "You lied to me. I asked you directly if anyone else had approached you, and you looked me in the eyes and said no."
"Yeah," you admit. No point denying it. "I did. But be honest, the video turned out great, didn't it? If you'd known I already filmed with four other girls, you would've found someone else, and maybe that someone else wouldn't have been half as good on camera."
Ning, who's been scrolling through engagement metrics on her phone this entire time, murmurs without looking up. "He has a point."
"Don't encourage him," Somi snaps.
Chaeyoung hasn't said much. She's sitting between Somi and Asa, picking at the sleeve of her sweater. When she finally glances up, her face is calm, but her eyes give her away. There’s hurt there, even if she’s trying to hide it.
"You were sleeping with Yunjin," she says quietly.
"This only happened once.”
Somi leans forward. "Chaeyoung likes you, you absolute idiot."
You meet Chaeyoung’s eyes and hold them. “Hey, I like you too. But we’ve been talking for less than a week” You spread your hands toward the table. “And I didn’t exactly know what to make of you yet. Mostly because, no offense…” You gesture at the others. “The people you’re surrounded by aren’t exactly screaming reliable.”
Asa slowly lowers her iced coffee onto the table. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean? Are you calling us sluts?”
“Asa, you literally called yourself a slut in the library. Those were your exact words.”
“Yeah, and when we say it, it’s empowering,” Asa shoots back smoothly. “It’s reclaiming the word. We're owning our choices, our bodies, and making money on our own terms. It’s about autonomy. What you’re doing is using it like an insult, which is a completely different thing.”
You raise your palms in surrender. "Fair enough. My bad. So why am I here? Are you gonna jump me in a food court? Beat me up behind a Cinnabon?"
Yunjin's smile spreads slow and dangerous. "Something like that. We do plan to break you. Just not in the way you're thinking." She pauses for effect, clearly enjoying herself. "We want to fuck you."
You blink. Then you lean back in the chair and let out a long breath through your nose. “Oh.” You nod once. “Yeah. Okay. That probably should’ve been my first guess.” Your eyes find Chaeyoung again. "Are you okay with this?"
She gives a small shrug that's trying very hard to look casual. "Why wouldn't I be? You're not my boyfriend or anything."
“For the record,” you say, tone shifting into something more genuine, “I’ve actually really liked talking to you. The late-night texts, the movie recs, all of it. I’d like that to keep being a thing. No matter what happens tonight.”
Chaeyoung watches you for a second, searching your face. Then a small smile tugs at her lips. “If you make me cum hard enough,” she says lightly, “I might hear your case.”
Somi snorts. Ning grins.
"I don't think I deserve to be put on trial here when I didn't actually do anything wrong," you reply. "But fine. Challenge accepted."
Ning tucks her phone into her purse and claps once. "Okay, okay, enough with the romance subplot. How exactly are we doing this? Logistics. Where, when, how."
You look around the emptying food court. "You're not seriously planning to do this here. In the mall."
Yunjin spreads her arms wide. "We've already filmed blowjobs in a library, a classroom, a theater, and a car. What's a mall?"
"The difference is we could get caught and arrested. All seven of us. Public indecency. That goes on a record."
Asa sets her iced coffee down like she’s been waiting for the perfect moment to speak. She clears her throat and begins: “The mall closes in twenty minutes. After that, security drops to basically nothing. One guard for the whole building, and he usually camps out by the loading dock on the north side.”
Everyone turns to stare at her.
Completely unfazed, she keeps going: “I know a girl who works at the mattress store on the first floor. SleepHaven, over by the west corridor. She told me that whole section had all its security cameras taken down for replacement this morning, and the install crew never showed. No cameras until at least Monday.” She takes a casual sip of her coffee. “I’ll head down now, ask to use the restroom, pretend to leave, then hide in there until they lock up. The bathroom lock’s been broken for weeks, so there’s no chance of getting stuck. Once the store’s closed and everyone’s gone, I’ll open the front gate from the inside and let you all in.”
Silence around the table. Shuhua exhales slowly. "So either this is going to be the best sex any of us have ever had, or we get arrested, end up on the local news, and our lives are effectively over."
Yunjin grins so wide it's almost manic. "Both of those outcomes sound pretty great to me. Let's go."
Chaeyoung shifts nervously in her seat. Ning puts a hand on her knee under the table. "Relax. Think about that huge cock that's about to be inside you. Focus on the positives."
"I'm literally right here," you say.
Ning just smirks at you. Doesn't say a word. Shuhua stands up and smooths down her skirt. "Fine. Let's go to the first floor. Split up. Move separately. Stay away from any active camera zones. We'll reconvene at the restrooms near the west corridor."
And that's how you end up locked in a mall bathroom stall at eleven thirty on a Saturday night, sitting on a closed toilet lid, scrolling through your phone while the building goes quiet around you. The lights in the corridor outside dim to half power. The muzak cuts off. You hear the distant rumble of security gates being pulled down over storefronts.
Forty minutes pass. Your phone buzzes. Yunjin's text reads:
on our way. going separately. be careful
You crack the stall door open and listen. Nothing. You slip out of the restroom and into the corridor. The first floor is eerie with most of the lights off, storefronts shuttered behind metal gates, the air conditioning humming low. Your sneakers barely make a sound on the polished floor. When you reach SleepHaven, five silhouettes are already gathered outside the gate. Asa's face appears behind the glass a moment later. She fiddles with something, and the front gate slides open just enough for everyone to duck under.
You file in one by one. Asa pulls the gate back down behind you. Yunjin doesn't waste a second. She kicks off her shoes and throws herself backward onto a king size display mattress near the front.
"The universe loves me. An orgy in a mattress store. This is genuinely the greatest night of my life."
Asa hisses at her immediately. "Keep it down. And we can't do this out here, anyone walking by the storefront might overhear. Grab a mattress, take it to the back area behind the counter. There are pillars back there, it's more concealed."
They end up choosing a queen-size display bed that’s already dressed in spotless sheets and looks ridiculously high-end. You grab one end, Somi grabs the other, and together you haul it behind the service counter to the back section of the store. Yunjin surveys the setup and nods approvingly. "This is actually perfect. Way better than I expected."
Shuhua is running her hand along the sheets. "This is a three thousand dollar mattress. Egyptian cotton sheets. If we're going to commit a felony, at least we're doing it in luxury."
"Okay," you say, standing at the edge of the mattress. "I'm going to be honest. I have absolutely no idea how this works. I've never done anything like this before."
Somi steps forward. She puts one hand flat on your chest and pushes. Hard. You lose your balance and fall backward onto the mattress, the expensive sheets puffing up around you. "Lie down," Somi orders, looking down at you. "And leave the rest to us."
You look up at the six girls standing over you and grin, sinking deeper into the mattress. “Alright then,” you say. “I’m at your service.”
There’s no drawn-out moment to it. Everyone just starts undressing. Yunjin finishes pulling off the top she’d already loosened earlier and casually flings it behind the counter. Somi pops her bra loose with one hand while kicking off her jeans. Ning pauses long enough to fold her skirt perfectly before setting it aside. Chaeyoung turns a little as she slips out of her bra, clearly self-conscious, while Asa strips down with the detached efficiency of someone changing after class. Shuhua carefully unbuttons her blouse, smoothing it flat over a nearby pillow.
You pull your shirt over your head, shove your jeans and boxers down, and your cock springs free. Already half hard from the sheer visual assault of six naked women in a dimly lit mattress store.
Yunjin goes first, exactly as everyone expected. She swings herself over your lap, straddling your hips as the mattress dips beneath her knees. Then she leans in and claims your mouth without warning, her tongue sliding past your lips like she’s not interested in asking permission. There’s nothing tentative about it. She kisses hard and deep, all heat and confidence. Her hand snakes down between your bodies, gripping your cock and stroking until you’re fully hard under her touch. Then she guides you lower, dragging the tip through her soaked folds until it catches at her entrance.
"God, I'll literally never get tired of this," Yunjin breathes against your lips. "The way you stretch me open. It's so fucking good every single time." She sinks down. Slow. Taking inch after inch until her ass meets your thighs and she's fully seated with your entire length buried inside her. Her walls grip you tight, clenching, adjusting. Her head tips back and her mouth falls open.
Then Somi is there. Standing over you, looking down at your face with that cold, mean expression she wears so well.
"Alright," she says, one leg swinging over your head. "Let's put that tongue to work. See if it's actually good for anything besides lying to people."
She lowers herself onto your mouth. Her pussy presses against your lips, wet and warm, her thighs framing your face. She's facing Yunjin, their knees almost touching on either side of your body. You flatten your tongue and drag it through her folds, tasting her, finding her clit and circling it. Somi's thighs twitch.
"Don't be gentle about it," she tells you, grinding down harder. "You owe me."
To your left, Ning takes Chaeyoung's hand. "C'mon babe, lie down," she murmurs. "We're not just gonna stand here watching."
Chaeyoung settles onto the mattress beside you, on her back, her dark hair fanning out across the white sheets. Ning crawls between her legs, pushes her thighs apart, and dips her head. Chaeyoung gasps when Ning's tongue touches her, her back arching slightly off the mattress.
Behind Ning, Asa kneels. With Ning on all fours, her ass presented perfectly, Asa spreads her cheeks with both hands and buries her face between them. Her tongue drags from Ning's clit all the way back, slow and thorough, circling her asshole before dipping back down to her pussy. Ning moans into Chaeyoung, the vibration making Chaeyoung whimper. Shuhua watches. She's standing beside the mattress, one hand between her own legs, fingers sliding through her wetness as she takes in the scene. Her eyes are locked on where Yunjin's body meets yours, watching your cock disappear inside her with each roll of her hips.
Yunjin notices. She reaches out with one hand, hooks it behind Shuhua's neck, and pulls her in for a kiss. Shuhua leans into it, her fingers working faster between her thighs while Yunjin's tongue slides against hers.
Yunjin breaks the kiss and looks back at Somi. "Fuck, your tits look so good from here," she says, openly staring at the way Somi's chest bounces with each shift of her hips against your face. "So fucking hot, seriously."
"I know," Somi responds, not even slightly humble about it. She rolls her hips forward, smearing herself across your mouth. "Deeper. Get your tongue inside me."
You push your tongue into her, as deep as it'll go, and she grinds down on it. Her full weight presses against your face, and breathing becomes genuinely difficult. Your nose is pressed against her clit, your mouth completely covered by her pussy. She's suffocating you and she knows it and she doesn't care.
It’s heaven. You’d die smiling buried in her ass.
Yunjin picks up her pace on top of you. She plants her hands on your chest and starts really riding, lifting her hips until just the tip remains inside before dropping back down with her full weight. Each time she takes you to the root, her breath hitches, her nails dig into your skin. Your cock is coated in her arousal, glistening every time she rises.
"You feel so deep like this," Yunjin groans, rolling her hips in a circle before slamming back down. "I swear you're in my fucking stomach right now."
Somi reaches forward and grabs one of Yunjin's tits, squeezing roughly. "Ride him harder. I wanna feel him moan into me when you do it." Yunjin laughs breathlessly and complies. She speeds up, the wet sound of skin meeting skin filling the dark store. Every time she bottoms out, your hips jerk involuntarily, and Somi feels the moan travel through your tongue directly into her cunt. She bites her lip, satisfied.
To your left, Chaeyoung is squirming under Ning's mouth. Her fingers are tangled in Ning's hair, pulling gently, her chest heaving. "Right there, Ning, don't stop, fuck, please don't stop."
Ning hums in acknowledgment, then gasps herself as Asa's tongue pushes inside her ass. Her back dips, pushing her hips back against Asa's face, seeking more.
"Asa, that feels insane," Ning mumbles between Chaeyoung's legs. "Do that again." Asa doesn't respond verbally. She just grips Ning's hips tighter and keeps going, alternating between her holes with a precision that has Ning trembling on her knees.
Shuhua pulls away from kissing Yunjin and kneels beside the mattress, still touching herself. “Yunjin, if I may say so, you look exceptionally pretty taking that cock,” says softly, and even her dirty talk sounds polished somehow. “The way it stretches you is... deeply impressive.”
"Shu, babe, it's unreal," Yunjin responds between bounces. "His dick is literally ruining me for everyone else. That's not even a joke. No one else is ever gonna measure up."
Somi grabs the back of your head with one hand, lifting it slightly, pressing you harder against her. Your tongue aches from the effort but you keep going, sucking her clit between your lips, flicking it rapidly. Her thighs are shaking now. "Shit," Somi breathes. "Okay, maybe your mouth isn't completely useless."
Yunjin's rhythm becomes erratic. She's chasing it now, grinding her clit against your pelvis with each downstroke, her walls clenching tighter around you. Her moans get louder, less controlled. "Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum," she pants. "Your cock is so deep, I can feel it everywhere, I'm literally about to lose it."
She slams down one final time and holds there, grinding in tight circles. Her whole body seizes, thighs clamping against your sides, her pussy spasming around your shaft in rhythmic pulses. She throws her head back and her mouth opens in a silent scream before the sound catches up, a long, shuddering moan that echoes off the store walls. Somi watches Yunjin cum and something about it tips her over the edge too. Her thighs slam shut around your head, trapping you completely, her hips bucking against your mouth in short, sharp jerks.
"Don't you dare stop," she hisses through her teeth, one hand braced on Yunjin's shoulder. Her whole body goes rigid for three seconds, then she comes apart, grinding down on your tongue through it, her slick flooding your lips and chin. Her legs tremble violently on either side of your head before she finally loosens her grip and you gasp for air.
They both climb off. Your face is drenched, Somi's arousal smeared from your forehead to your chin. Your cock is still hard, still throbbing, slick with Yunjin's cum.
Yunjin collapses onto the edge of the mattress, spent and grinning. "Okay. Who's next."
Chaeyoung sits up. Her cheeks are flushed from whatever Ning was doing to her moments ago, her eyes bright. "Me!"
The other girls shift, making room. Ning wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Asa sits back on her heels. You pull yourself upright and move toward Chaeyoung, settling between her legs as she lies back down. You look down at her. She looks up at you. In the dim glow of the emergency lights, her face is soft and beautiful and a little nervous.
You smile softly. “Hey.”
She meets it with a little smile of her own. “Hey.”
"I'm gonna go slow," you tell her quietly. Just for her. "You tell me to stop whenever you need me to." She nods, her hand finding yours on the sheet and squeezing gently.
You guide yourself to Chaeyoung's entrance and press forward. Just the tip at first, barely pushing in, letting her feel the stretch before you commit. Her eyes go wide, her lips parting, fingers curling into the sheets beneath her. "Oh my god," she whispers, staring up at you. "That's just the beginning?"
"Just the beginning," you confirm, and push another inch inside her.
Behind you, the mattress shifts as everyone else finds their positions. Yunjin grabs Shuhua by the waist and pulls her close, tangling their legs together until their pussies press flush against each other. Yunjin starts grinding immediately, rolling her hips in slow, lazy circles, her wetness mixing with Shuhua's. A few feet away, Ning swings a leg over Asa's face and settles down, her knees bracketing Asa's head. Asa's hands come up to grip Ning's thighs and she gets to work without being asked. Somi kneels between Asa's spread legs, slides two fingers inside her, and starts pumping with a casual, almost bored efficiency that makes it clear she's done this before.
You sink deeper into Chaeyoung. She grabs your forearm, squeezing hard, her back lifting off the mattress. You stop halfway and let her breathe. "You okay?"
"Yeah, just... give me a sec. You're really thick." She exhales slowly, her walls fluttering around you, adjusting. Then she nods. "Keep going." You push the rest of the way in. All of it. Chaeyoung's mouth falls open and no sound comes out for a solid three seconds. Then she lets out this shaky, overwhelmed little moan that makes Yunjin glance over from her scissoring position and grin.
"There it is," Yunjin says approvingly, grinding harder against Shuhua. "That's the face. I made that exact same face my first time with him."
You pull back slowly and thrust in again, building a gentle rhythm. Chaeyoung's hands find your shoulders, pulling you down closer. You lean in and kiss her, soft and deep, and she melts into it. When you pull back, she's smiling.
"You taste like Somi," she murmurs against your lips.
"Bet that's a taste you know pretty well."
Chaeyoung's cheeks flush even darker. "Maybe."
Somi doesn't even look up from fingering Asa. "I heard that. And yes, she does."
Ning laughs from her perch on Asa's face, then cuts herself off with a sharp gasp when Asa does something particularly good with her tongue. "Fuck, Asa, what are you doing down there? That's so good, keep doing that."
Asa can't respond because her mouth is full of Ning's pussy, but she gives a thumbs up with one hand, which makes Shuhua giggle breathlessly from where she's grinding against Yunjin.
"This is genuinely the most unhinged thing I've ever participated in," Shuhua manages between heavy breaths, her hips moving in rhythm with Yunjin's. "And I'm including the time Ning convinced me to skinny dip at that resort."
"Shu, babe, this is so much better than skinny dipping," Yunjin replies, reaching down to adjust the angle of their hips so their clits press together more directly. Shuhua whimpers at the change in pressure. "This is like... peak friendship activities right here."
You pick up the pace with Chaeyoung. She wraps her legs around your waist, locking her ankles behind your back, and the new angle lets you go deeper. Her nails rake down your shoulders. "Right there," she breathes. "Oh god, right there, don't move from that spot."
"Chae's getting loud," Somi observes, curling her fingers inside Asa and making her jolt. "I love that for her honestly."
"She deserves it," Ning says, then rolls her hips against Asa's mouth, chasing the sensation. "After all those sad little crushes she's had? Let the girl have her moment."
"Can you guys stop talking about me while I'm getting fucked, please," Chaeyoung says, but she's laughing, and then the laugh dissolves into a moan when you thrust particularly deep.
Yunjin is sweating. They're all sweating. The store has no ventilation running this late, and the combined body heat of seven people fucking on a three thousand dollar mattress has turned the back area into a sauna. Skin glistens under the dim emergency lighting. The sounds are obscene and layered: wet skin, heavy breathing, Ning's sharp little gasps mixing with Shuhua's softer ones, the rhythmic slap of your hips meeting Chaeyoung's.
Somi adds a third finger inside Asa, stretching her, and Asa's hips buck off the mattress. Ning grabs Somi's shoulder to keep her balance. "Warn me before you do that, she almost threw me off."
"Not my fault Asa's a squirmer," Somi says, pumping faster. "You good down there, Asa?"
Asa pulls her mouth away from Ning just long enough to gasp, "So fucking good, oh my god, keep going,” before Ning pushes her head back down.
"Nope, you're not done," Ning tells her sweetly.
You shift your weight onto one arm and bring your free hand down between your body and Chaeyoung's. Your thumb finds her clit, swollen and sensitive, and you start rubbing in slow circles while you fuck her. The effect is instantaneous. Chaeyoung's whole body tenses, her grip on your shoulders turning desperate.
"Oh fuck," she gasps. "Oh fuck, that's not fair, you can't do both at the same time."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm gonna lose my mind, that's why." Her hips are grinding up to meet yours now, matching your rhythm, trying to get more of everything at once. "Your cock is literally splitting me open and now you're touching my clit and I can't, I actually can't—"
Yunjin, still grinding against Shuhua, looks over with pure delight on her face. "She's gonna blow. Look at her legs shaking."
Ning is rocking faster on Asa's face, she grabs her own breast, squeezing, her head tipping back. "Shit, I'm close too. Asa, please, keep going, I'm so close, I'm gonna cum so hard."
You press harder on Chaeyoung's clit, rubbing faster, your hips snapping into her with deep, steady strokes. She's clenching around you so tight it's almost difficult to move. Her moans have gone high and thin, her eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in her body coiling. "Look at me," you tell her quietly. She opens her eyes. They're glassy, overwhelmed, gorgeous. "Cum for me, Chae."
She shatters. Her back arches completely off the mattress, her legs lock around you, and her pussy clamps down on your cock in hard, rhythmic spasms. And then the gush comes. Warm and sudden, soaking your pelvis, the sheets beneath her, running down your thighs. She's squirting, hard, her whole body convulsing with it.
Yunjin's jaw drops mid grind. "Holy shit, she's squirting! She's literally squirting all over that poor mattress!"
The sight of it pushes Ning over. She grinds down on Asa's mouth one final time and cums, her thighs clamping around Asa's head, her fingers digging into Somi's shoulder hard. Asa cums seconds later from Somi's relentless fingers, her legs trembling and her muffled moans vibrating against Ning's cunt. Shuhua follows, burying her face in Yunjin's neck, flushed and panting, her hips stuttering through the last waves of her orgasm.
Somi pulls her fingers out of Asa, holds them up, glistening and dripping, and licks them clean with a look of pure satisfaction.
Chaeyoung is still trembling beneath you, aftershocks rolling through her. "I'm so sorry," she pants, looking down at the soaked sheets. "I came so hard. I couldn't help it. I've never done that before."
"Don't you dare apologize for squirting," Yunjin says firmly, wiping sweat from her forehead. "That was the hottest thing you could have possibly done."
Somi nods. "We'll deal with the mattress situation later. Not important right now."
"Agreed," Ning says, climbing off Asa's face and stretching. Her legs are still wobbly. She looks at your cock, still hard, still wet with Chaeyoung's cum, and her eyes sharpen with hunger. "Because I need that inside me right now. Immediately."
Yunjin sits up, her director energy returning. "Okay then. Asa, Ning, Shu. Line up. On all fours. Show us these pretty pussies." The three of them arrange themselves side by side on the mattress, knees spread, backs arched, asses presented. Asa, Ning, Shuhua. Three different body types, three different skin tones, all of them glistening with sweat and each other's spit.
Yunjin beckons you over. "Come fuck these little sluts, nerd.”
Somi circles around to the front of the lineup, taking her time as she studies them from the other side. Her gaze drifts over the three bent bodies, the way they’re all presented for you, and then she reaches out without warning and gives Shuhua’s ass a sharp smack. She jolts with a startled yelp, shooting Somi a scandalized look.
“Hey! Warn me before you start getting handsy.”
Somi only grins, entirely unbothered, then turns that wicked little expression on you. "Look at them. Three tight little pussies all lined up just for you. How's that feel?”
You stare at the three of them, each one looking back over her shoulder at you, waiting. Your cock throbs. "I genuinely cannot put what I'm feeling into words.”
Yunjin snorts, arms crossed. "Then stop trying to put it into words and start putting your cock in them. That's the only language they need right now.”
Asa, her ass arched perfectly, her cheek resting on her folded arms, glances back at Yunjin with a lazy grin. "Wow. Shakespeare could never.”
Yunjin kneels beside Shuhua and grabs both her cheeks, spreading them open with her thumbs, putting everything on display for you. Shuhua's pussy is glistening, swollen, absolutely dripping from her earlier orgasm and the continued arousal of watching everyone else get fucked.
"C'mon," she says, looking up at you with that insatiable grin. "Time to fuck."
There’s no teasing pause. You guide yourself against her and push in. The head breaches Shuhua's entrance and she immediately drops her forehead to the mattress, her fingers clawing at the sheets. You stop with just the tip inside, letting her adjust. Her walls are squeezing you so tight it's almost resistance. "Oh," Shuhua breathes. "Oh, that's... that is significantly larger than I anticipated."
Ning, still on all fours beside her, glances over. "Girl, breathe. You'll get used to it."
"Easy for you to say, you haven't taken it yet," Shuhua replies through gritted teeth, but she pushes her hips back slightly, taking another inch on her own terms. You grip her hips and feed her more, slow, steady. Shuhua's spine curves downward, her shoulder blades pinching together. When you're about three quarters in, she lets out this long, shaking exhale.
"I've used large toys before," she says, almost conversationally despite the strain in her tone. "This doesn't even compare. The heat, the way it throbs. It's completely different."
"You doing okay?" you ask, rubbing your thumb along her hip bone.
"More than okay. Please keep going." You bottom out inside her and Shuhua makes a sound you've never heard from her before. Something between a whimper and a laugh, surprised and overwhelmed and deeply pleased all at once. You start moving, pulling back slow and pushing in deep, establishing a rhythm that lets her feel every inch.
On the other end of the mattress, Somi has pulled Chaeyoung into her lap. They're kissing, messy and unhurried, Somi's hands tangled in Chaeyoung's hair. Somi breaks away and licks her lower lip.
"You were so fucking hot squirting like that," Somi murmurs against Chaeyoung's mouth. "I almost came just watching you." Chaeyoung blushes but grins. Her hand traces down Somi's stomach, over her navel, and slips between her thighs. She pushes two fingers inside Somi without warning. Somi gasps, her hips jerking forward. "Shit, Chae, warn a girl."
"You didn't warn me when you shoved my face down on his cock," Chaeyoung replies sweetly, curling her fingers.
Somi's head tips back. "Okay fair. Fuck. Keep going, baby. Finger that wet pussy while I watch them get wrecked."
You're building speed inside Shuhua now. Her initial tension has dissolved into pure pleasure, her hips rocking back to meet your thrusts. Yunjin hasn't moved from her spot beside the lineup. She leans in and spits directly on where your cock meets Shuhua's pussy, the saliva mixing with the mess already there.
"That's it," Yunjin says, watching with dark, hungry eyes. "Fuck her good. Look at how well she takes it now."
"Yunjin," Shuhua manages, "please stop narrating and let me enjoy this."
"Never. This is the best show I've ever seen."
You pull out of Shuhua and she whines at the loss. Ning is next. You shift over, position yourself behind her, and push in. Ning is wetter than Shuhua was, practically dripping down her thighs already, but she's just as tight. The first few inches make her gasp and grab the mattress. "Fuck me," Ning breathes. "Okay. Okay I get it now. I get why Yunjin lost her mind over this."
"Right?" Yunjin says proudly. "Told you." You sink deeper and Ning's arms give out. Her chest presses flat against the mattress, ass still raised, and you can feel her clenching around you, her body trying to accommodate the stretch. You give her a moment, then start thrusting. Ning buries her face in her arms and moans.
Yunjin spits on Ning's pussy too, then smacks her ass lightly. "Take that dick, Ning. You were bragging about your skills all week, show me you can handle it."
"I am handling it," Ning says, except she very clearly isn't. Her voice is trembling. "It's just... a lot. God, it's so much."
Across the mattress, Chaeyoung has migrated lower. She's got her mouth on Somi's left breast, sucking the nipple between her lips while her fingers keep working inside her. Somi watches her with hooded eyes, one hand on the back of Chaeyoung's head.
"I love your tits so much," Chaeyoung mumbles against the soft skin, switching to the other one. "They're ridiculous. Like genuinely unfair."
"Babe, you can have them whenever you want," Somi replies, arching into her mouth. "Just keep doing what you're doing with those fingers."
You pull out of Ning and move to Asa. She's been waiting patiently, her cheek resting on her folded arms, watching you fuck the other two with analytical interest. When you press against her entrance, she pushes back immediately, trying to take you in one motion. But her body resists. She only gets halfway before she hisses and stops.
"Shit," Asa says, surprised. "I thought I was ready. That's thicker than it looks."
"Take your time."
"No, just push. I can handle it." You push. Asa's fingers curl into fists and she breathes out hard through her nose, but she doesn't tell you to stop. When you're fully seated inside her, she lets out a low groan that sounds almost relieved. "Okay," she says. "Yeah. That's incredible actually."
You start fucking her, and Asa is different from the other two. She pushes back to meet every thrust, matches your rhythm instantly, treats it almost like a collaboration. Her pussy grips you perfectly, slick and hot and eager.
Yunjin is in her element. She moves between the three of them, spitting on each pussy as you rotate, slapping asses, gripping hair, running her nails down their spines. She's the conductor of this whole symphony and she's loving every second.
"Look at them," she says to you, spreading Asa's cheeks so you can watch yourself slide in and out. "Look at how they take that fat cock. They're soaking. All three of them are dripping for you."
You switch back to Shuhua. She cries out when you enter her again, pushing back greedily. Then to Ning, who's so wet now that the sounds are obscene, filthy and loud in the quiet store. Then Asa again, who grinds back against you with precision.
Yunjin crouches next to Ning's face and lifts her chin. "You like getting fucked like this? Getting shared? All three of you lined up like good little sluts?" Ning just moans in response, her eyes glassy. "If I'd brought my strap we could've been double teaming these pussies," she continues, looking back at you. "Next time. Definitely next time. Me and you, fucking them from both ends."
Somi pulls Chaeyoung's mouth off her breast to watch. "They look so good from here. Especially Shuhua. She's completely gone."
Chaeyoung nods, her fingers still buried inside Somi, pumping steadily. "She's always so put together. It's nice seeing her fall apart."
You keep rotating. Shuhua cums first. You're deep inside her, one hand on her hip, the other gripping her shoulder, and she turns her face to the side so you can see her expression when it hits. Her eyes flutter shut, her mouth opens, and she comes apart in these beautiful, controlled waves, her pussy milking your cock through each contraction. Somehow even this is elegant.
Asa goes next. You're gripping her waist, pounding into her at a pace she set herself, and her head drops forward. "There, there, fuck, right there, I'm cumming," she whispers, and her whole body seizes. Her walls clamp down so hard it almost stops your movement. She shakes through it, silent except for these tiny, breathy sounds.
Ning is last. You're still inside Asa when Yunjin says, "Ning needs to cum. Go wreck her." You pull out of Asa and push into Ning. She's so sensitive at this point that she flinches at the first thrust. Yunjin grabs a fistful of her hair and pulls her head back. "Grab her hair," Yunjin tells you. "Fuck her hard. She can take it."
You wrap Ning's hair around your fist and pull. She gasps, her back arching severely. You start pounding into her. Hard. Deep. Relentless. Ning's moans escalate rapidly into something approaching a scream.
"Ning!" Shuhua hisses sharply. "The security guard. Keep it down."
Ning slaps her own hand over her mouth, her eyes wide, her body jolting with each thrust.
The muffled sounds leaking through her fingers are still loud but contained. You don't stop. You fuck her through it, pulling her hair, driving into her until her thighs start shaking violently and she cums with a strangled sound behind her palm, her pussy contracting around you in hard, rhythmic squeezes. Her entire body goes limp when it passes, collapsing flat onto the mattress.
You pull out, wipe the sweat from your forehead, and sit back on your heels. Your cock is glistening, impossibly hard still, twitching against your stomach. "That was insane," you pant, looking at the three spent girls in front of you. "Seriously. I don't know how guys in porn last this long. My legs are shaking."
"Well," Somi says, extracting herself from Chaeyoung's fingers and crawling toward you. "You better hold on a little longer. Because now it's my turn."
She pushes you flat on your back. You hit the mattress with a grunt. Somi swings a leg over your hips, but instead of facing you normally, she plants her feet on either side of your chest, squatting over your cock in a deep stance. Her thighs flex, her core engages, and she grips the base of your shaft to line you up.
Yunjin slaps the mattress with both hands. "Yes! Amazon position! Go for it, Somi, ride that cock!"
Ning, still flat on her stomach recovering, lifts her head long enough to whistle. Shuhua immediately makes a sharp shushing sound at her, eyes wide.
Somi stares down at you, face unreadable except for that familiar look of mild annoyance she somehow manages to make attractive. Calm. Detached. In control. "Let's see what all the fuss is about," she says. "Everyone else completely lost their shit over this. I don't buy it.”
She lowers herself onto you. Inch by agonizing inch. In this position, squatting over you with her feet planted on either side of your chest, Somi controls everything. The angle, the depth, the speed. You can't thrust up, can't grab her hips, can't do anything except lie there and take what she decides to give you. Your cock stretches her open and you watch her face. She's fighting. Every micro expression is a battle between the pleasure flooding her body and the icy composure she refuses to drop, even as her jaw tightens and her breathing starts to lose its rhythm. Her thighs tremble as she sinks lower, swallowing more of you inside her, her pussy spreading around your girth.
She stops about halfway. Breathes. Then pushes down the rest of the way until her ass meets your pelvis and every inch of you is buried in her. Her eyes close for exactly one second. When they open again, she's rearranged her expression into something cool and unaffected.
"Okay," she says, looking down at you. "I'll give you this much. It's a pretty impressive cock." She shifts her hips, adjusting to the fullness, and you feel her walls squeeze around you involuntarily. "Real waste that it belongs to someone like you, though."
"Sorry about that," you reply, your breath catching as she clenches again. "I'll try to be hotter next time."
"Shut up. Don't talk. Just lie there and let me use you like the stupid little toy you are."
Somi starts moving. Slowly at first. She lifts her hips until barely anything remains, pauses for a second, then sinks back down with controlled force. The impact sends a sharp jolt through you. Then she does it again. And again. Gradually settling into a rhythm she seems satisfied with. Her pussy grips your shaft on every upstroke, wet and impossibly tight, then swallows you whole on the way back down.
The view from below is staggering. Somi's body is built for this. Her slim waist, her toned stomach flexing with each movement, and those massive breasts bouncing with every drop of her hips. They move almost independently, heavy and full, swaying and colliding against each other. Sweat is beginning to bead along her collarbones, rolling down between them.
Yunjin sits cross legged on the mattress, watching with her chin propped on her fist. "Okay, she looks fucking incredible doing that. Like, objectively."
Ning nods slowly, still recovering from her own orgasm, lying on her stomach with her chin in her hands. "It's giving professional athlete. The core strength alone."
"Seriously though," Asa adds, tilting her head to study Somi's form. "Look at the control she has. She's basically doing weighted squats right now. That's genuinely impressive."
Shuhua watches from beside Yunjin. "If I tried to do that, I would absolutely injure my lower back."
Asa glances at her. "That's because you used to walk around with your spine curved like a shrimp, Shu. You have the posture of someone who's been gaming for twelve hours straight. You only realized because Yunjin took that cursed picture of you.”
Yunjin barks out a laugh. Shuhua's mouth falls open. "That was truly offensive," Shuhua says quietly. "And for the record, I'm fixing it. My posture's good now. I bought a posture corrector and everything."
"Girl, that thing is still in the packaging on your desk," Ning says without looking up.
Somi ignores all of them. She's locked into her rhythm now, bouncing on your cock with increasing intensity, her hands braced on your chest for leverage. Each time she drops down, the sound of skin meeting skin is sharp and wet. Your hands are flat on the mattress because she hasn't given you permission to touch her, and somehow that makes it hotter. She's using you. Completely and totally.
Somi looks down at you, and her mouth curls into something between a smirk and a sneer. "God, you're adorable like this." She rolls her hips in a filthy slow circle, grinding your cock deep before picking her rhythm back up. "Pinned under me. Dumb and hard and just letting me take what I want. Like a good little fucktoy."
"View's pretty good from here too," you breathe, barely getting the words out while her cunt grips you on every drop.
"Yeah?" She lifts almost all the way off, just the tip, then slams her hips down so hard your vision whites out. "Nnngh— you like this? Like getting fucked stupid by a girl who doesn't give a shit if you cum? Just lying there taking it like an obedient little bitch?"
"Yes," you groan, hands fisting the sheets. "Fuck— yes, I like it.”
"Of course you do." She picks up speed, and the wet sounds get louder, filthier. Her breasts are bouncing so hard they're practically hitting her chin on every drop. "This is where you belong. On your back, getting used. You should be thanking me."
Yunjin starts clapping rhythmically, like she's at a sporting event. "Let's go Somi! Ride that dick! Let's go Somi!"
Ning immediately joins in, clapping along. "Bounce bounce bounce! Wreck that cock!"
Asa cups her hands around her mouth. "Give me an S! Give me an O! Give me an M!" Give me am I!”
Chaeyoung is giggling uncontrollably, clapping along with them.
Shuhua's eyes go wide. "Can you all please be quieter? There is a security guard somewhere in this building." They all drop to stage whispers, still clapping, still chanting, but at a fraction of the volume. Yunjin is whisper screaming "let's go Somi" with the intensity of a soccer mom at a championship game. Ning is doing quiet finger snaps. Asa is mouthing the letters of Somi's name with exaggerated lip movements.
Somi doesn't acknowledge any of them. She's grinding now, deep and circular, her clit pressing hard against your pelvis on every rotation. Her breathing has changed. Shorter. Sharper. That icy control is fracturing. You can see it in the way her thighs are shaking, the way her nails are digging into your chest, the way she keeps biting the inside of her cheek.
She speeds up again. Full bounces, slamming herself down, taking you to the root every time. Your cock is drenched in her, glistening in the low light. The mattress creaks beneath you. She tilts forward slightly, changing the angle, and her mouth opens in a silent gasp that she immediately tries to suppress.
"Fuck," she whispers. “Fuck…” She grinds down hard, circling her hips, pressing her clit against you with desperate pressure. Her thighs clamp around your sides. Her head drops forward, blonde hair curtaining her face, and her whole body locks up. You feel her pussy spasm around you in tight, rhythmic contractions, milking your shaft as the orgasm rolls through her. She grinds through every wave of it, extracting every last second, her hips stuttering and her breath coming in these ragged, broken exhales she can't quite control.
When it passes, she stays seated on you for a long moment. Still full of you. Catching her breath. Then she rises slowly, your cock sliding out of her with a wet, obscene sound, and she climbs off the mattress on slightly unsteady legs.
Somi rakes her fingers through her hair and gives you this perfectly curated look of mild disinterest. "Your dick's... fine. Nothing I couldn't replace with a ten-minute Amazon order.”
Yunjin snorts so hard she almost chokes. "Please. Even you don't believe that. I saw your legs shaking, Somi."
Somi's cheeks flush hot. "That doesn't mean anything. I'm not some pathetic slut who gets attached because a guy has a big dick. That's your department."
Yunjin doesn't flinch. Just smiles, soft and knowing. "You're so full of shit, babe. But it's cute. Keep pretending.” Somi rolls her eyes and turns away, but you catch the faintest trace of a smirk before she kills it.
Then Yunjin claps her hands once and the energy in the room shifts. "Okay. There's someone here who still hasn't gotten off." She looks at you pointedly. Your cock is still hard, still slick, throbbing against your stomach. "Stand up."
You get to your feet. Your legs are genuinely wobbly. Six pairs of eyes look up at you as the girls arrange themselves on their knees in a loose semicircle on the mattress. Asa to your left, Ning and Shuhua in the center, Yunjin to the right, Chaeyoung directly in front of you.
Somi steps forward. She reaches up and slides your glasses off your face. The world goes slightly blurry. Then she turns and places them carefully on Chaeyoung's face. The frames sit crooked on her smaller nose. She adjusts them, pushes them up, and looks up at you through the lenses with those big, pretty eyes.
Yunjin surveys the six of them kneeling around you and puts her hands on her hips. "Alright. Here's how we're doing this. I'll play distributor. Make sure everyone gets their fair share. No one girl hogging more than she's entitled to. Equal distribution of cum across all parties."
Shuhua tilts her head. "That's not really necessary. We're perfectly capable of organizing ourselves. No central authority needed. We just take turns, share naturally, everyone gets what they need."
Yunjin points at her. "And that is how you get one girl with a face full of cum and four girls with nothing. You need structure. Leadership. I'm the one who put this whole thing together. I organized the venue, the logistics, the communication. I am essentially the vanguard of this entire sexually transgressive movement." She pauses, then touches her hair with genuine regret. "Shit, I really should've brought a beret.”
Somi tilts her head back, closes her eyes, and exhales through her nose. "We're literally waiting for him to cum on our faces and you two are doing dialectics.”
"You're not the vanguard of anything," Shuhua replies calmly. "You're just horny and bossy. Those aren't the same thing."
Ning snorts. Asa covers her mouth.
"Can you two please shut up and start sucking," Chaeyoung says flatly, already wrapping her hand around your shaft. Your glasses sit crooked on her face, way too big for her, and she looks up at you through them with this expression that's equal parts sweet and filthy. She leans forward and takes the head into her mouth, her tongue swirling around it, tasting the combined slick of every girl who rode you tonight.
"Fine. Actions over theory. I can respect that,” Yunjin says before she ducks her head and runs her tongue along the left side of your shaft while Chaeyoung works the tip. Ning joins from the right, her tongue tracing a vein from base to mid shaft.
Three mouths on you at once. Your cock is more than big enough to accommodate them. Chaeyoung sucks the head with these slow pulls, her cheeks hollowing, while Yunjin and Ning lap at the shaft from either side, their tongues occasionally meeting and sliding against each other.
Somi kneels behind Chaeyoung, watching over her shoulder. "Tilt your head more, Chae. You're losing the angle."
Chaeyoung adjusts and takes you deeper, the glasses sliding down her nose. She pushes them back up with one finger without missing a beat.
Asa taps Ning's shoulder. "My turn." Ning pulls back and Asa takes her place, her technique immediately different. More controlled, more rhythmic. She sucks along the side of your shaft in long, measured strokes, her hand cupping your balls, rolling them gently. She remembers from the library how sensitive they are.
Shuhua waits patiently until Chaeyoung comes up for air, then leans in and takes over the tip. She's less hesitant than she was in the car. Something about tonight has unlocked her. She takes you halfway down without flinching, her throat relaxing around you, and holds there for a few seconds before pulling back with spit connecting her lips to your cock.
"Good girl, Shu," Yunjin murmurs approvingly, stroking Shuhua's hair back from her face.
"Don't patronize me," Shuhua replies, then immediately goes back down on you.
They rotate. Pairs and trios. Somi finally takes her turn, and true to form, she's rough about it. She grabs the base and sucks hard, her tongue doing something cruel and brilliant against the underside of the head. When she pulls off, she spits on your cock and strokes it with both hands, spreading the saliva, then passes you to Yunjin, who takes you to the root in one smooth motion. She holds you in her throat, her nose pressed against your pelvis, her long tongue extending to lap at your balls while you're still buried in her mouth. Asa watches with genuine admiration.
Yunjin pulls off with a wet gasp and grins. "Talent, baby."
Ning and Chaeyoung work you together next. Chaeyoung on the shaft, Ning sucking your balls into her mouth one at a time, humming against them. Then Shuhua and Asa, Shuhua taking the head while Asa licks the base. Then Somi alone, because Somi doesn't share well, her massive tits pressed against your thighs as she bobs her head with aggressive speed.
Your legs are trembling. The gummy bear you ate before coming to the mall is doing its job. You can feel the pressure building, heavy and dense, your balls tight and aching with the volume they're carrying. Every rotation of mouths pushes you closer. Six different techniques, six different temperatures, six different rhythms. It's sensory overload.
Yunjin can tell you're getting close. She reads your body, the way your stomach muscles tighten, the way your breathing goes shallow. "He's almost there," she announces. "Everyone get in position."
The six of them arrange themselves in a tight semicircle on their knees, faces upturned, close together. Chaeyoung in the center with your glasses still perched on her face. Yunjin and Somi flanking her. Asa, Ning, and Shuhua filling in the gaps. Twelve eyes looking up at you. Six open mouths.
You wrap your fist around your shaft and start stroking. Fast, tight, your hand slick with six girls' spit. "Cum for us," Yunjin says, her tongue extended. "Give your little pornstars everything you've got. I wanna be dripping."
"Cover my face," Ning adds, licking her lips. "I want to taste it again. Give me what you gave me in the car."
Somi tilts her chin up. "Don't you dare miss me."
Chaeyoung just looks at you through your own glasses, her mouth open, waiting. She doesn't need to say anything. The image alone almost sends you over.
"Paint us pretty," Asa says. "All of us. Don't leave anyone out."
Shuhua closes her eyes and tilts her face upward. "I'm ready."
You cum. And the gummy delivers. The first rope hits Chaeyoung across the bridge of your glasses, splattering the lenses, dripping down onto her nose and lips. She gasps and keeps her mouth open, catching the next spurt on her tongue. You angle toward Yunjin and she catches a thick streak across her forehead and cheek, letting it drip down to her chin. She moans, savoring it.
You move to Somi and land a heavy load across her lips and jaw, cum sliding down her neck onto her collarbones and the tops of her breasts. She doesn't flinch. Doesn't blink. Just takes it.
Asa gets the next several spurts. Across her nose, her left cheek, her open mouth. She swallows what lands on her tongue and lets the rest sit on her skin. Ning leans in eagerly and catches a rope from her hairline all the way down to her chin, cum beading on her eyelashes. She licks it from the corner of her mouth and grins. Shuhua receives the final waves, thick streaks landing across her forehead and cheeks. She keeps her eyes closed through it, her lips parted, cum dripping from her jaw onto her bare chest.
And it keeps coming. The gummy turns what should be a normal orgasm into something absurd. You go back through the lineup, adding more to each face. A second coating on Chaeyoung's glasses, now completely opaque with cum. More on Yunjin's neck and tits. Another streak across Somi's parted lips. By the time you're finally spent, shaking, your hand still wrapped around your softening cock, all six of them are glazed. Thoroughly, comprehensively, disgustingly covered.
The store is silent for a moment.
Then Yunjin starts laughing. Then Ning. Then all of them. Chaeyoung takes the glasses off and holds them up, both lenses completely coated, and that sends everyone into hysterics.
"That was unreal," Asa says, wiping cum from her eyebrow. "Genuinely, medically, that shouldn't be possible."
"I told you guys, these gummy bears are straight-up magical. Holy shit,” Yunjin beams, cum dripping off her chin.
Somi examines the mess on her chest with raised eyebrows. "Okay. I take back what I said earlier. His cock is more than 'fine'."
Asa stands up first, grabbing her shirt from the floor. "Okay. This was incredible. But we need to get out of here before sunrise."
Shuhua freezes mid laugh. "How exactly are we getting out of here, by the way?"
Six girls exchange glances. A long, terrible silence.
Asa looks at Yunjin. "Please tell me you planned the exit."
Yunjin blinks. "My plan went as far as the orgy part. I figured we'd improvise after."
Somi turns to Shuhua slowly. "You're supposed to be the smart one. Please tell me you thought about this."
"The idea wasn't even mine!" Shuhua protests. "And if I were truly the smart one in this group, I wouldn't have come here at all. I was driven entirely by lust, which I am not proud of."
Chaeyoung wipes your glasses on the sheet and puts them back on. "I mean, to be fair, every single person here was driven by lust. Not one of us was thinking logically tonight."
Ning sits back on her heels and surveys the scene. Cum on their faces. A mattress stained beyond repair with squirt. A clearly vandalized store.
"This is fantastic. We're stuck in a mall with the evidence of multiple crimes on our bodies and on this three thousand dollar mattress."
Shuhua nods solemnly. "Yeah, we're done for. Roll credits. Little cartoon circle closing in around our faces and everything." She sighs. "'That's all, folks.'”
All six of them turn to look at you. Hopeful. Desperate, even. Ning clasps her hands together. "Please tell me you have an idea."
You look past them toward the back of the store. Storage area. Receiving dock. "The store's on the first floor. There's gotta be a back door for deliveries. Loading area that opens to the outside. And somewhere back there, a spare key or a push bar."
The relief on their faces is instantaneous. Shoulders dropping. Exhales all around. Yunjin throws her arms up. "See? No reason to panic. Everything was under control the entire time. I planned for this."
"You absolutely did not," Shuhua says flatly.
"Details. Minor details." Yunjin stretches her arms above her head and rolls her neck. Then she looks at you with that familiar, dangerous glint. "So. Who wants a second round?"
Chaeyoung sputters. "Now? Here? We literally just figured out how to escape."
"We have time! The back door isn't going anywhere. And neither is his dick." She gestures at you. "Look at him. He's already getting hard again."
She's not wrong. The gummy's still doing its job. Somi glances down, then looks back up at you. "You seriously got another round in you?”
You look at the six of them. Flushed, sweaty, ridiculously attractive. Still hanging around half delirious at two in the morning in a dark mattress store. Somehow this is reality now.
"For you guys," you say, "I think I can power through.”
Asa smirks. Somi rolls her eyes but she's already moving toward you. Yunjin claps once, saying, "Then it's settled. The night continues." She pushes you back onto the mattress and the rest of them follow, six bodies closing in around you, hands and mouths everywhere.
Summary : A fan finds out that a guy in the crowd beside him stole Jihyo's ring when she came down to greet the fans. Jihyo finds it interesting when that fan puts the ring on her finger by himself, rather than just returning it, so she calls him back to her dressing room and unveils her biggest fantasy to him.
Jihyo X Myself
11k words.
I got the tickets for the TWICE Berlin concert. This was for their world tour, and somehow, miraculously, I managed to secure front row seats. For weeks leading up to the show, I hoped, really hoped, that the members would come down from the stage and greet the fans up close. I'd seen videos from other tour stops where they interacted with the crowd, and I prayed Berlin would be no different.
The Mercedes-Benz Arena was electric, pulsating with energy from thousands of ONCEs. The concert had been everything I dreamed of, explosive performances, stunning visuals, and the girls looking more beautiful in person than any screen could capture. Now, as the night wore on, the concert was almost nearing its end. Only one hour was left before the final bows.
Then it happened.
Jihyo, the leader, the powerhouse vocalist, the woman whose presence commanded every inch of that stage, decided to step down and greet the fans. She ran along the barricade, her smile radiant, giving high fives to everyone within reach. My heart hammered against my ribs as she approached. When her hand met mine, the contact was brief but electric, warm, soft, real. But as she moved past me toward the next section of fans, I noticed something that made my blood boil.
The guy beside me, some tall, lanky man with greedy eyes, had held onto her hand for far too long. Not just that, but as she pulled away, I watched in disbelief as he slipped his fingers around hers and removed her ring. He brought it close to his face, turning it over, examining it like some trophy he'd won.
"Hey!" I snapped, grabbing his wrist hard. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
He startled, trying to pull away. "I-I was just looking-"
"Just looking?" I cut him off, my voice rising above the music. "You stole her ring! Are you insane? That's not a souvenir, you creep! That's her personal property! She trusted us enough to come down here and you repay that by stealing from her?"
"Give it back," he muttered, shoving the ring toward me.
I snatched it from his palm, my fingers trembling with anger. "Get out of here before I call security myself. You're disgusting."
He slinked away into the crowd as I closed my fist around the delicate band. It was beautiful, simple but elegant, probably with sentimental value. I looked up toward the stage, wondering if I should try to signal someone, but the music was still pounding and the lights were flashing.
Then I saw her.
Jihyo had returned to the stage, but something was wrong. She was looking down at her hand, then patting her pockets, her expression shifting from confusion to alarm. She approached the edge of the stage, standing right above where I was, and held up her hand. She pointed to her ring finger, the empty space where the band should have been, and looked out at the crowd with questioning eyes.
My heart stopped. I immediately waved both hands above my head, jumping slightly to catch her attention. When her eyes locked onto me, I slowly opened my palm to reveal the ring glinting under the stage lights. I pointed at it, then gestured toward her, mouthing "Should I throw it?"
She shook her head vigorously, signaling no. Then, to my astonishment, she moved toward the stairs at the side of the stage and came back down.
The crowd around me erupted in excited whispers as she approached. My hand shook as I held out the ring, expecting her to simply take it from my palm. But as she reached me, something came over me, some boldness I didn't know I possessed. Instead of dropping it into her hand, I reached out and gently took her left hand in mine.
Her eyes widened, dark and luminous, as I carefully slid the ring onto her finger. The touch of her skin against mine was soft, warm, impossibly intimate. I adjusted the band until it sat perfectly in place, my thumb brushing over her knuckle before I let go.
She was stunned, I could see it in the parting of her lips, the slight hitch in her breath, but she didn't stop me. She let me finish, let me hold her hand for that suspended moment in time. When I finally released her, she didn't immediately pull away. Instead, she held my gaze, her eyes searching mine with an intensity that made the world around us disappear.
It felt like a once-in-a-lifetime moment. I couldn't breathe. My lungs seemed to forget how to function as Jihyo maintained that eye contact, her expression softening into something I couldn't quite read, gratitude mixed with curiosity, perhaps. My heart hammered so hard I was certain she could hear it over the music.
Then she turned and spoke quickly to a security woman standing nearby, a stern-looking German woman with a headset. Jihyo gestured toward me, said something I couldn't hear, and then hurried back to the stage to continue the concert.
The security woman stared at me. Her eyes were cold, assessing, making me feel like I'd done something wrong even though I'd only returned what was stolen. She maintained that gaze throughout the remaining hour of the concert, never looking away, never smiling.
When the final song ended and the girls took their bows, I was overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. Sadness that the concert was over, that the magic was dissipating. But happiness, pure, radiant happiness, that the moment with Jihyo had happened at all. That I'd touched her hand, looked into her eyes, placed a ring on her finger like some scene from a dream.
I filed out with the crowd, my mind still replaying that eye contact, the softness of her skin. But as I reached the exit corridor, a hand grabbed my arm.
It was the same security woman from before.
"Come with me," she said in accented English, her tone leaving no room for argument.
My stomach dropped. I thought I'd done something wrong by keeping the ring instead of immediately throwing it, or perhaps Jihyo was angry about how intimate the moment had become. Maybe the company staff had called me in to give me a warning, or worse, ban me from future events.
My thoughts raced as she led me through corridors I didn't know existed, past staff-only doors, deeper into the backstage area. Finally, she stopped in front of a door with a paper sign taped to it that simply read "Jihyo" in handwritten Hangul.
"Go in," the security woman said, pointing.
I hesitated, my hand hovering over the handle. Every instinct told me to run, that this was a mistake. But curiosity and something else, hope, maybe, pushed me forward. I turned the handle and stepped inside.
The room was warm, lit by soft vanity lights. And there she was, Park Jihyo, no longer the idol on stage but a woman removing her jewelry piece by piece, wiping makeup from her face with cotton pads. She looked smaller somehow, more human, more real. She looked up as I entered, and my heart stopped all over again.
"Close the door," she said softly, her voice carrying that distinctive tone I knew from interviews, warm, slightly husky, melodious even in simple speech.
I pushed the door shut behind me, the click of the latch echoing in the small room.
"Sit," she gestured to a chair near her vanity. "Please."
I sat, my hands clammy, my mind screaming that this couldn't be real.
She turned to face me fully, her face half-bare now, makeup removed from one cheek. Without the stage cosmetics, she looked younger, more vulnerable, but no less beautiful. If anything, the naturalness of her skin, the slight redness where she'd been rubbing, made her more stunning.
"I wanted to thank you," she said, her English careful but clear. "For the ring. It was... a very important gift from my mother."
I nodded, finding my voice. "I-I saw that guy take it. I couldn't just let him keep it."
"You were angry," she observed, a small smile playing at her lips. "I saw you yelling at him. Even from the stage, I could see your face was red."
"He had no right to touch you like that," I said, the indignation rising again even now. "To steal from you. You were kind enough to come down to us, and he repaid that by..."
"By stealing," she finished. "Yes."
She stood up and walked closer, her concert outfit still on, a sparkling top and skirt that caught the light. "Fans touch me all the time," she said quietly. "High fives, handshakes, sometimes they try to grab. It is part of the job. But tonight... when you held my hand to put the ring on..." She paused, her eyes meeting mine. "It felt different."
My breath caught. "Different how?"
"Like..." She searched for words, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Like a fantasy come true. The way you did it, so gentle, so careful. Looking into my eyes. It felt unreal. Like something from a drama."
The air in the room seemed to thicken. I could smell her perfume, something floral and warm, mixed now with the scent of sweat from performing, which somehow made it more intimate.
"I have another fantasy," she said, her voice dropping lower, taking on a quality that made my skin prickle with heat. "One I've never told anyone."
I swallowed hard. "What is it?"
Her eyes darkened, becoming heavy-lidded, seductive. She reached up and slowly began unclipping her earrings, one by one, her gaze never leaving mine. "I've always wondered," she said, setting the earrings on her vanity with deliberate slowness, "what it would be like to have a fan watch me change. To see me... completely."
My mouth went dry. "Jihyo..."
"Don't speak," she whispered, her fingers moving to the zipper at the side of her skirt. "Just watch."
She slowly pulled the zipper down, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet room. The skirt loosened and she let it fall, stepping out of it with a grace that made my chest ache. She was wearing stockings underneath, attached to a garter, and simple black underwear that contrasted sharply with her fair skin.
"You look shocked," she teased, her voice breathy now. "Have you never imagined this? All those times you watched me on stage, on screen... did you never wonder what was underneath?"
"I... yes," I admitted, my voice rough. "I've imagined."
"Good," she purred, reaching for the hem of her top. She pulled it up slowly, revealing her toned stomach, the curve of her ribs, and finally, her breasts, encased in a delicate lace bra. She tossed the top aside and reached behind her, unhooking the bra with practiced ease.
When it fell away, I couldn't suppress the groan that escaped me. Her breasts were perfect, full, with dark nipples that hardened slightly in the cool air of the room. She saw me looking and smiled, a knowing, seductive smile.
"You like what you see?" she asked, cupping them slightly, lifting them as if offering them to my gaze.
"You're beautiful," I managed. "More than I ever imagined."
She laughed softly, a throaty sound. "Still so polite. Even now." She hooked her thumbs into her underwear and pushed them down, stepping out of them completely. Now she stood before me naked, unashamed, her body lit by the warm vanity lights, every curve, every secret place exposed.
"May I?" she asked, gesturing to the chair I sat in.
I nodded, unable to speak.
She approached slowly, her hips swaying, her eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made me dizzy. She placed her hands on my knees, spreading them slightly to make room for herself. Then she leaned forward, her bare chest pressing against my clothed one, her face inches from mine. I could feel her heat through the fabric, could smell the sweetness of her breath.
"Is this okay?" she whispered, her lips brushing my ear.
"Yes," I breathed. "God, yes."
She pulled back slightly, her hands sliding up my thighs, her breasts pressing harder against my chest. We were so close now, our mouths almost touching, her eyes half-closed with desire,
A sharp knock at the door made us both jump.
Jihyo's eyes went wide with panic. "Hide!" she whispered urgently, grabbing my arm and pulling me up. "Quickly! Behind the outfit rack!"
She pushed me toward a rolling clothing rack filled with costumes and stage outfits. I squeezed behind it, crouching down as she grabbed whatever clothes she could find, a oversized t-shirt and sweatpants, and threw them on haphazardly.
"Coming!" she called out, her voice miraculously steady.
The door opened. "Jihyo-unnie?" It was Momo's voice, recognizable anywhere. "Have you seen the manager? My phone isn't working and I need to call my family."
"Ah, no, I haven't seen him," Jihyo replied, her voice slightly breathless but controlled. "Maybe check the catering area?"
"Okay, thanks. Sorry to bother you while you're changing."
"It's fine, Momo. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, unnie."
After Momo left, Jihyo breathed, a long, shaky exhale that seemed to release the panic from her body. She leaned her forehead against the door, her hand still gripping the handle, her chest heaving beneath the oversized t-shirt she'd thrown on.
"That was too close," she whispered, her voice trembling. "She almost caught us. She would have known, she would have seen..."
I stepped out from behind the clothing rack, my heart still hammering from the near-miss. "But she didn't," I said softly. "We're safe."
Jihyo turned to face me, her eyes wide and dark, still flushed with adrenaline. "I can't believe I just did that. I've never... I've never hidden a man in my dressing room before."
I slowly approached her, my movements deliberate, giving her space to back away if she wanted to. But she didn't move. She watched me come closer, her lips parted, her breath quickening again, for a different reason now. When I reached her, I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her against me. Her hands immediately interlocked behind my neck, her fingers threading through my hair, gripping tight.
I let my hands slide down, cupping her thighs, lifting her slightly so she could feel all of me. My erection was hard against her stomach, impossible to hide, pressing insistently through my jeans. She gasped, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt it, her body arching into mine.
"You're so hard," she breathed, her voice barely audible. "You really want me that much?"
"More than anything," I growled.
I kissed her slowly, the way they do in the Korean dramas she starred in, the first touch was just a slight brush of lips, tentative and soft, testing the waters. But then I dove right in, capturing her mouth fully, my tongue sweeping across her lower lip until she opened for me. Our tongues met, sliding against each other in a wet, heated dance. I explored her mouth thoroughly, tasting the mint from her backstage breath freshener mixed with something uniquely her. The kiss deepened, our heads tilting, mouths opening wider, tongues stroking and curling together in a rhythm that mimicked what we both desperately wanted.
I walked her backward until her back hit the door with a solid thud. The sound echoed in the small room, but I didn't stop. I pushed her harder against the wood, pinning her there with my body while my hands found the hem of her t-shirt and shoved it up above her tits. They bounced free, heavy and perfect, nipples already tight and begging for my mouth.
I bent my head and licked them, starting with the underside, tracing the swell of each breast with my tongue before circling closer to the center. I laved attention on her left nipple, sucking it deep into my mouth, rolling it against my tongue, feeling it harden even more. She moaned, her head falling back against the door with a soft knock. I moved to the right, giving it the same treatment, sucking, licking, grazing my teeth gently over the sensitive peak until she was squirming against me, her hips bucking involuntarily.
"Please," she whimpered. "Don't stop."
I turned her around, spinning her to face the door. Her tits pressed against the cool wood, her cheek turned to rest against the surface, her breath fogging the painted metal. I kept her shirt bunched up above her breasts, leaving them pinned against the door as I reached down and hooked my fingers into the waistband of her sweatpants. I pulled them down in one swift motion, taking her underwear with them, exposing her completely from the waist down.
She was beautiful, her ass round and firm, the cleft between her cheeks shadowed and inviting. I dropped to my knees behind her, spreading her legs wider, and buried my face between her ass cheeks. I licked upward, dragging my tongue from her sensitive perineum all the way to the small of her back, then back down again. I found her pussy, already wet and swollen, and dove in, lapping at her folds with broad strokes of my tongue. I circled her entrance, teasing her, before pushing my tongue inside, feeling her muscles clench around me. I moved up to her clit, sucking it gently, flicking it rapidly with the tip of my tongue while she ground back against my face, her moans muffled against her arm.
"Oh god, oh god," she chanted, her hips bucking. "Right there, please, right there..."
I spun her around again, her back hitting the door now, her face flushed and desperate. I attacked her neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin where her pulse hammered, leaving marks that would be hidden by stage makeup tomorrow. She was moaning loudly now, her hands gripping my hair, her thighs trembling.
But then she bit her lip, hard, her teeth sinking into the plush flesh, her eyes showing a flicker of reason through the haze of lust. "Wait," she gasped, even as I dropped my mouth to her tits again, sucking one nipple deep while my hand rolled the other between my fingers. "We... we have to stop. We can't... not here, not now..."
She pulled me up by my hair, her grip surprisingly strong, and captured my mouth in a fierce kiss. When we broke apart, both panting, she looked at me with dark, hungry eyes, her lip still bearing the indentations of her teeth.
"I love how horny you are for me," she whispered, her hand sliding down to palm my erection through my jeans, making me groan. "I can feel how much you want me. It's driving me crazy. But if we get caught... if anyone finds out..." She kissed me again, softer this time. "I want you. God, I want you so much. But not like this, not rushed, not terrified."
She pulled her shirt down, covering her breasts, then bent to pull her pants up, her movements quick and efficient. I watched, bereft, as she hid the body I'd just been worshipping. Then she placed her hands on my chest and pushed me backward. I stumbled and sat hard in the chair I'd occupied earlier.
Jihyo walked to her vanity mirror, adjusting her clothes, smoothing her hair, wiping at her swollen lips with the back of her hand. She met my eyes in the reflection, her gaze heated and promising.
"Instead," she said, her voice steady now with resolve, "I can get you a job. On my personal staff. A fake resume, something related to makeup, styling. You could travel with me, be with me all the time. In hotel rooms. In private. Where we won't be interrupted." She turned to face me fully. "Would you want that?"
"Yes," I said, my voice hoarse. "Yes, I want that."
"Good," she whispered.
She crossed the room to me, her hips swaying with renewed confidence. She stopped in front of my chair, then climbed onto my lap, straddling my hips, her thighs gripping me tight. She reached down and grabbed the hem of her shirt, pulling it up slowly, inch by inch, until her breasts were exposed once more, right in front of my face, heavy, perfect, the nipples still wet from my mouth, glistening in the vanity light.
"For now," she said, her voice a seductive promise as she pressed her chest toward my mouth, offering herself completely, "let's seal the deal."
Edit : Sorry to abruptly end the story at the peak, I promise I'm thinking of writing the next parts for it, so stay patient.
Genres: Romance, Drama, Slice of Life
Word Count: 31k
The morning after was quiet. Not suspiciously quiet. Not “Ryujin is scheming something” quiet— just quiet.
Yeji had left my room before the rest of the Top Floor fully woke up, soft enough that nobody heard the door open except me. She paused once before stepping out, turned back, smiled sleepily, gave me a kiss, and then disappeared down the hallway like she hadn’t just ruined my ability to emotionally function for the rest of the week. Outstanding progression, actually.
By the time everyone gathered later that morning, the Top Floor had already returned to its usual rhythm.
Yuna was loudly complaining about how her body still felt “luxury sick” from yesterday’s spa day. Chaeryeong was making breakfast quietly while pretending not to smile at Yuna’s dramatics. Lia looked significantly more alive after finally sleeping properly, and Ryujin was sprawled sideways on the couch scrolling through her phone like someone who had never caused a single problem in her entire life— which was objectively false.
Meanwhile Yeji walked in last, hair tied loosely, wearing a hoodie that definitely wasn’t hers.
Nobody noticed or at least, nobody said anything. I noticed though. Unfortunately, so did Lia. She took one look at Yeji, then at me, then calmly lifted her coffee. No words. Just judgment.
I stared back at her. She smiled into the cup.
A few days passed like that. Normal on the surface. Schedules resumed. Waterbomb Festival preparations started creeping closer. The Top Floor shifted back into movement again—stylists calling, managers texting, rehearsal clips getting reviewed, stage notes being revised, staff asking impossible questions at inconvenient hours.
And underneath all of that? Things had changed.
Yeji had become better at finding me when nobody was looking. A hand brushing mine in the hallway. A quiet smile from across the room. The kind of small affection that somehow felt more dangerous than anything obvious.
Ryujin, meanwhile, remained Ryujin. Which meant she had somehow become even more unbearable. “You’re walking funny,” she muttered one afternoon while passing behind me in the kitchen. I slowly turned toward her. “Do not start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were spiritually saying something.”
Ryujin only grinned before stealing a piece of fruit from the counter and walking away like a criminal with diplomatic immunity. Lia became quieter around me too, though not distant. If anything, she had started settling into my space more naturally. She would sit near me while reviewing lyrics, leave tea beside my laptop without saying anything, or ask if I had eaten in that calm voice that made lying feel physically impossible.
Chaeryeong had started doing something similar, though softer. Less direct. She lingered more. Asked small questions. Smiled easier when I answered. And Yuna— Yuna was becoming a problem.
At first, I thought it was accidental. Which was adorable of me. The first time it happened, I was in the private gym late at night, trying to burn off enough stress to make my brain stop narrating every emotionally catastrophic decision I had made recently. Headphones on. Treadmill off. Weights finished. I was halfway through cooling down when the door opened.
Yuna walked in wearing an oversized shirt that slipped loosely off one shoulder and shorts small enough to make me immediately look at the ceiling like it owed me moral guidance. “Oh,” she said casually. “You’re here.”
“That does appear to be the case.”
She tilted her head, amused already.
“Why do you sound guilty?”
“I don’t.”
“You absolutely do.”
I reached for my towel and immediately pretended wiping sweat from my neck required intense concentration. Yuna didn’t seem to notice at first. Or maybe she did and simply chose not to mention it yet. She walked over to the dumbbell rack, picked up a weight, then frowned at her reflection in the mirror.
“Ben.”
“That tone sounds dangerous.”
“I need help.”
“With what?”
“My form.”
Right. Professional request. Completely normal. Manager-adjacent wellness support. Nothing spiritually hazardous about this situation whatsoever.
“What exercise?”
“RDLs,” she said, turning slightly toward me. “I think I’m doing them wrong.”
I nodded once, immediately forcing my brain into work mode.
“Okay. Show me.”
Yuna positioned herself in front of the mirror, holding the dumbbells loosely at her sides. Her first attempt wasn’t terrible, but her back rounded slightly at the bottom and her knees bent too much.
I stepped closer automatically. “Not bad, but hinge more from your hips. Less squat.” She glanced at me through the mirror. “Show me?” That should not have sounded loaded. Yet it absolutely did. I moved beside her and demonstrated the motion once.
“Like this. Hips back, spine neutral, keep the weights close. You should feel it here.” I gestured toward the back of my leg. Yuna tried again. Better. Still slightly off. I exhaled quietly before stepping behind her, keeping enough distance to remain professional. “Can I adjust?” She looked at me through the mirror again. A beat too long. Then smiled.
“Go ahead.”
I placed one hand lightly near her upper back to correct posture and the other near her side to guide the hinge. Yuna followed the movement carefully, and for a moment, it was genuinely normal. Then she looked at me in the mirror. Noticing my focus. Noticing how quickly I pulled my hand away once the correction was done. And smiled a little differently.
Ah.
There it was. The exact moment something clicked in her head.
“Like that?” she asked. “Better,” I replied, reaching for my towel again too quickly. Yuna’s smile widened. “Why are you standing so far away now?”
“I’m giving you room to move.”
“That sounds professional.”
“It is professional.”
“Sure.”
I looked at her. She looked back at me. Still smiling. And for the first time, I realized Yuna wasn’t just playing around anymore. She was testing something. And unfortunately— I had just given her results.
After that, things started happening in smaller ways. Nothing dramatic enough to confront her over. Nothing obvious enough to accuse her of anything. Just little incidents that honestly made it worse.
The first happened two nights later, after I used the recovery room connected to the private gym. Technically, it was less of a room and more of an overfunded wellness corner—compression machines, heated massage beds, automated recovery chairs, therapy mats, and enough expensive equipment to convince rich people they had invented muscle relief. I had finished using one of the massage beds and stepped out without thinking.
Which was my first mistake.
Because the recovery room was private enough that I had not bothered putting on a shirt yet. My towel hung loosely around my neck, sweat still cooling across my chest and shoulders while the ink across my arm and upper body remained fully visible under the hallway lights. And naturally— Yuna was standing right outside.
We both stopped. For a second, neither of us said anything. Her eyes dropped first. Not low. Not vulgar. Just enough to trace the tattoos she had probably only ever seen in fragments before—black lines disappearing beneath my shoulder, the ink along my arm, the pieces usually hidden under tailored shirts and manager jackets. Then slowly, her gaze returned to mine.
“…You have tattoos.”
“You make it sound like I am a mafia boss.”
“It was observational.”
“Your observations have become increasingly dangerous recently.”
Yuna didn’t answer immediately. She leaned one shoulder against the wall instead, her eyes flicking briefly toward the ink again before the corner of her mouth curved upward.
“I didn’t know you were hiding all that under your boring manager clothes.”
“They’re not boring. They’re professional.”
“They’re boring.”
“That feels unnecessarily aggressive.”
She smiled wider “They suit you”. That landed harder than it should have. Mostly because she did not say it like a joke. She said it like she had just discovered something useful. I reached immediately for the robe hanging beside the recovery room door. Yuna noticed the speed. Of course she noticed the speed.
“You’re covering up already?”
“I’m cold.”
“It’s June.”
“The air conditioning is aggressive.”
“Sure.”
I slipped the robe on and walked past her before the conversation could develop teeth. Unfortunately, right as I passed, Yuna glanced once more at my arm. Then murmured “You look different like that.” I stopped for half a second. When I looked back, she was already smiling. Not loudly. Not obviously. Just enough to let me know she had caught the pause.
The second incident happened the following morning.
I was walking through the hallway answering emails on my phone, which in hindsight was deeply irresponsible because multitasking around the Top Floor had become increasingly unsafe. Then one of the bathroom doors opened. Yuna stepped out with damp hair, skin still warm from the shower, wearing an oversized robe tied far too loosely at the waist.
Completely normal, innocent— absolutely catastrophic. I looked down at my phone immediately. Too quickly. Terrible mistake.
“…Did you just pretend to read an email to avoid looking at me?”
“I was already reading an email.”
“You walked into the wall.”
I slowly looked toward the wall beside me. Unfortunately, evidence existed. Yuna pressed her lips together like she was fighting laughter.
“That wall wasn’t there yesterday,” I muttered.
“It was definitely there yesterday.”
“Poor architectural planning.”
“Uh huh.”
Then she stepped closer. Not enough to touch. Just enough for the scent of shampoo and warm steam to reach me. She tilted her head slightly, watching my face with growing interest.
“You know,” she said lightly, “you’re very committed to not looking.”
“That sounds like a compliment.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Then I’m emotionally rejecting it.”
Yuna’s smile sharpened. Then slowly—deliberately—she loosened one hand from her towel and adjusted the robe just enough for me to see the curvature for her breasts underneath the loose fabric. Not enough to be accidental. Definitely enough to be a threat. My hand immediately came up over my eyes “Nope, absolutely not.”
Yuna laughed. Actually laughed “Oh my God,” she said, voice full of disbelief. “You really covered your eyes.”
“I am preserving workplace stability.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“You are trying something with your manager in a hallway.”
“I didn’t even show you anything.”
“Spiritually, you were about to.”
That made her laugh harder. Meanwhile I kept my hand over my eyes because apparently dignity had become a defensive strategy. Then I felt her step past me, close enough that her sleeve brushed lightly against my arm. “Relax, Ben,” she said sweetly. “I was just checking something.”
My entire nervous system filed a complaint. When I finally lowered my hand, Yuna was already walking away. Still smiling. And I had the very uncomfortable realization that she was no longer wondering if she affected me. Now she was learning how much.
By the time the breakfast happened, I had already accepted one unfortunate truth. Yuna was no longer accidentally testing me. She knew. Maybe something, but definitely not enough to understand the full emotional disaster operating underneath the Top Floor.
But she knew enough. She knew I reacted. And now she was starting to enjoy making me prove it. Breakfast itself should have been harmless. Which was exactly why it became dangerous.
Yeji sat beside Lia, quietly nursing coffee while looking far too composed for someone who kept finding increasingly subtle ways to exist inside my personal space lately. Lia noticed. I noticed Lia noticing. Yeji noticed both of us noticing and chose peace through silence.
Ryujin was eating cereal directly from the box because civilization had failed her somewhere in childhood.
Yuna sat across from me looking entirely too comfortable in loose lounge clothes, one leg tucked under her on the chair while she scrolled through her phone.
Chaeryeong was the only person acting like a functioning adult. Naturally, she was also the first one to bring up something actually important. “Ben?”
I looked up immediately. “That tone sounds like you’re about to ask me for something and feel bad about it.” Chaeryeong blinked. “…That was weirdly accurate.”
“Occupational hazard.”
She smiled faintly before setting her cup down. “It’s about my YouTube series.” That caught my attention properly. “The cooking one?”
“Mhm.” She nodded, fingers lightly touching the edge of her mug. “There are a few recordings coming up, and the schedule is getting a little messy because of Waterbomb prep. I was wondering if you could help me coordinate it.”
“Of course.”
The answer came out immediately. Chaeryeong paused like she expected at least one complication first. I was already reaching for my tablet. “Send me the tentative dates. I’ll move what can be moved and block recovery time after recording.” Her expression softened slightly. “You don’t have to do all that.”
“It’s literally my job.”
“Still.”
I looked at her over the tablet. “Chaeryeong, if it matters to you, it goes on the schedule properly.” That made her quiet. Not sad. Just affected in that subtle way she always tried to hide.
Lia took one slow sip of coffee like she had just witnessed something emotionally important and decided not to say anything. Ryujin, unfortunately, had never respected emotional silence in her life. “Wow,” she muttered.
“That was dangerously competent.”
“Try not to sound shocked.”
“I’m always shocked when you behave like a real manager.”
“That sounds insulting.”
“That sounds accurate.”
Chaeryeong laughed softly, finally relaxing enough to take a bite of food. Then naturally Yuna chose chaos. “So,” she said casually, leaning forward across the table, “does that mean you’ll make room for my gym time too?” I looked toward her. Mistake.
Her shirt had slipped slightly off one shoulder again, exposing just enough skin to make my thoughts pause before professionalism violently dragged them back into formation. Yuna noticed. Of course she noticed.
Her smile changed by half a degree. Not enough for Chaeryeong to catch. Enough for me to know I was in danger. “You said my form needed work, right?” she continued innocently. I cleared my throat once and looked back down at the tablet.
“It does.”
“Then you should help me more.”
“I can schedule a trainer.”
Yuna tilted her head. “I asked you.” The table went slightly quieter. Yeji kept drinking her coffee like nothing was happening. Lia looked into her mug with the expression of someone watching a slow-motion accident. Ryujin’s grin widened. Outstanding. Audience participation from Problem Child #1.
I kept my focus on Chaeryeong’s schedule because I refused to reward emotional terrorism before breakfast. “I’ll help after Waterbomb rehearsals if there’s time,” I said evenly. “But right now we’re fixing Chaeryeong’s shoot schedule.” For one second, something flickered across Yuna’s face. It wasn’t anger, more of an interest. Because I had reacted. But I had not folded.
Apparently that was worse. Yuna leaned back slowly, smiling into her drink. “Okay,” she said lightly. “I can wait.” That sentence should not have sounded threatening. And yet somehow, it absolutely did. Chaeryeong glanced between us, mildly confused, while Ryujin immediately looked like she had just discovered premium entertainment. I stared harder at the tablet.
Professionalism.
Schedule blocks.
YouTube shoot logistics.
Normal thoughts.
Unfortunately, across the table, Yuna was still smiling. And I had the very uncomfortable feeling that waiting had just become part of the game.
After breakfast, Yuna became worse. Not immediately. That would have been merciful. Instead, she became worse in the specific way only Yuna could— slowly, playfully, and with just enough plausible innocence that calling her out would make me look insane.
The first time was during rehearsal review.
Everyone had gathered in the common area while one of the Waterbomb practice clips played on the television. Chaeryeong sat cross-legged on the floor taking notes seriously, Lia leaned against the couch with tea in hand, Yeji watched quietly beside me, and Ryujin had somehow decided lying sideways across the armrest counted as proper seating.
Yuna stood in front of the TV, watching herself in the footage with a slight frown.
“Pause there,” she said suddenly. I tapped the remote. The screen froze mid-choreography. Yuna stepped closer to the television, studying the angle. “My line looks weird there.”
“It doesn’t,” Chaeryeong said immediately.
“It does a little,” Yuna replied, tilting her head.
“It’s the camera angle,” I said, looking down at the tablet.
“You’re fine. The movement reads better from the center cam.”
Yuna turned toward me “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” She smiled faintly. “Because you were watching carefully?” The room stayed normal. Mostly. But Ryujin’s eyes immediately flicked toward me like a predator hearing a leaf snap. I kept my expression completely neutral.
“I was reviewing performance footage.”
“That sounds professional.”
“It is professional.”
Yuna hummed, clearly unconvinced, then turned back toward the screen. “Okay,” she said lightly. “As long as you were looking properly.” That should not have sounded like a challenge. Unfortunately, it did. Beside me, Yeji quietly lifted her cup. No reaction. No comment. Just coffee. Which somehow felt worse.
The second time happened later that evening. I was in the kitchen making coffee because apparently sleep had become more of a theory than a practice lately. The Top Floor had settled into one of those rare quiet pockets between schedules where everyone existed in different rooms without actively committing emotional crimes. Then Yuna walked in. Oversized shirt again. One shoulder bare again. Tiny shorts again. At this point I was beginning to suspect that even the laundry had personally betrayed me. She opened the fridge, leaned down to look inside, then glanced back toward me.
“Ben.”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m asking.”
“That’s because your voice already sounded expensive.”
Yuna laughed softly before pulling out a bottle of water.
“I was just going to ask if you had time tomorrow.”
“For training?”
“For form correction,” she said innocently.
“Those are the same thing.”
“Not really.”
“They are absolutely the same thing.”
She stepped closer, twisting the cap off the bottle.
“Then why do you look nervous?”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I look tired.”
“You always look tired.”
“That is both rude and accurate.”
Yuna smiled while taking a sip of water. Then, without any warning, she reached past me toward the cabinet above my shoulder. She could have gone around me. She did not.
Instead, she moved close enough that I had to lean back slightly against the counter to avoid contact. Her arm brushed near my shoulder. Her hair, still faintly damp from earlier, carried the clean scent of shampoo. I stared straight ahead. Very professionally. Very bravely. A hostage in that scenario.
Yuna pulled down a glass she absolutely did not need because she was already holding a bottle of water. Then she looked at me.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Not looking.”
I slowly turned my head toward her. She was closer than expected. Not crossing any actual line. Just close enough to make the air feel thinner.
“I’m looking now.” Yuna’s smile softened into something sharper. “Not really.” Then she stepped back like nothing happened and filled the glass with water she also did not need. Unfortunately, survival did not feel like victory when Yuna left the kitchen smiling like she had just won something.
The third time was the clearest. It happened during another private gym session two nights later. This time, Yuna did not pretend to stumble into the gym by accident. She knocked once, opened the door, and walked in like she had every right to be there. Which, technically, she did. That was the problem with shared private spaces. They were private. But not mine.
I was stretching near the mats when she entered wearing fitted training clothes this time instead of loose lounge wear. More practical. Less accidental. Somehow worse. “I need help again,” she said. “Waterbomb really made all of you discover fitness at the worst possible time.” Yuna smiled.
“You said my form needed work.”
“I regret saying many things.”
“Too late.”
She moved to the center of the mat and started warming up. For a few minutes, it was genuinely fine. Professional even. I corrected her hinge again, adjusted her foot placement, had her slow down through the movement. Then she started making mistakes on purpose.
A shoulder rolling forward just enough that I had to correct it.
A hip shifting out of alignment.
A stance slightly too narrow.
The third time I stepped in, I paused.
Yuna looked at me through the mirror.
“What?”
“You know what you’re doing.”
Her eyes widened slightly, fake innocence arriving half a second too late.
“I’m exercising.”
“You’re fishing for corrections.”
“That sounds like an accusation.”
“It is.”
Yuna turned around slowly. For a second, neither of us spoke. Then she smiled. Not sweetly this time. Knowingly. “So you noticed.” I exhaled through my nose, already regretting every decision that led to this conversation “Yuna”.
“What?” she asked, stepping a little closer. “I’m just trying to learn properly.”
“You learned properly twenty minutes ago.”
“Maybe I like being taught.”
That landed. Harder than it should have. I looked away immediately. Another mistake because Yuna saw it. Her smile shifted again, turning quieter. More curious than triumphant.
“You really do that every time.”
“Do what?”
“Look away when something works.”
I turned back toward her, keeping my face as neutral as possible. “Nothing is working.” Yuna stepped closer. Not enough to corner me. But enough to make the gym feel smaller. “Then why do you keep acting like I’m dangerous?” I had no immediate answer. That was also a mistake. Yuna’s eyes flickered with satisfaction. There it was again. A result.
“See?” she murmured. I finally straightened. “Training is done.” She laughed softly.
“Because my form is good now?”
“Because your behavior is becoming suspicious.”
Yuna tilted her head. “Suspicious how?”
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
Her smile widened. Then she picked up her towel and walked toward the door, pausing just before leaving. “Okay,” she said lightly. “I’ll behave.” That sentence should have been comforting. It was not. Because before the door closed behind her, she glanced back once.
“And Ben?” I looked at her despite every survival instinct telling me not to. She smiled. “Your reactions are getting worse.” Then she left. I stood alone in the gym afterward, staring at the closed door. Yuna was no longer poking the bear. She was checking where the cage locks were.
The next incident was not subtle. Which, honestly, should have been expected. Yuna had never been the type to keep poking on something forever without eventually wanting to see what happened when she pushed properly.
It happened on the morning of the final Waterbomb wardrobe approval. The stylists had dropped off multiple sets of clothes of the building, which meant every member was fitting separately in different rooms while the staff briefing me of the logistics and criteria of the outfits, what was definitely not allowed, and what was approved, et cetera.
Naturally, since I had been handed the final approval list, it meant I had to screen each of their outfits before sending it out to the team to prepare accordingly. Outstanding. One by one, I had to check the outfits beforehand in order for the team to move forwarded to event planning and the executive side for final clearance.
Professional work. Normal work. Extremely survivable work. Then Yuna found me near the elevator.
She was not in her outfit yet. Not fully. She still wore a loose zip-up over whatever the stylists had given her underneath, hair already done, makeup mostly finished, looking entirely too pleased for someone who should have been waiting in her room.
I stopped walking. “…Why are you standing there like a final boss?” Yuna smiled. “Because you keep avoiding me.”
“That sounds emotionally fabricated.”
“It sounds accurate.”
I adjusted the folder under my arm and reached for the elevator button. Yuna stepped in front of it. Not dramatically. Just enough. “Yuna.”
“What?”
“I have five outfit checks to do.”
“I know.”
“That means moving away from the elevator button would help the process.” She leaned back against the wall beside it instead, arms folding loosely as her smile sharpened.
“You’re nervous.”
“I’m working.”
“You always say that when you’re nervous.”
“That’s because I’m usually working while being nervous.”
“Because of me?”
Fantastic. I stared at her for one second too long. Yuna noticed immediately. Her smile softened into something far more dangerous than smugness. It was confirmation.
“You really are easy to read when you stop talking.”
“I’m not easy to read.”
“You are with me.”
That landed harder than it should have. I looked away. Another mistake. Because Yuna stepped closer. Not close enough to touch. Close enough that I could smell the faint sweetness of her shampoo and whatever expensive product the stylists had used in her hair “You know,” she murmured, quieter now, “fans look at me all the time.”
I glanced back toward her despite myself. Yuna’s expression had changed. Still playful. But more focused now. “I know what that looks like,” she continued. “The staring. The pretending not to stare. The way people act like looking away makes them respectful.” She tilted her head slightly. “But you’re different.” My throat felt suddenly dry.
“Yuna…”
“You look away like it costs you something.”
That shut me up. Unfortunately, silence had become her favorite weapon. She stepped aside at last, letting me reach the elevator button. But before I could press it, she leaned closer, voice light again “So make sure you look properly later”. I froze. Yuna smiled sweetly. “My outfit needs approval, right?”
Professionalism attempted to stand. It was immediately shot in the leg. “Yes,” I managed. “Good.” Then the elevator doors opened behind her. Yuna stepped back, finally letting me pass. But as I entered, she looked at me one last time “And Ben?” I turned despite every survival instinct telling me not to. Her smile widened. “Don’t pretend you don’t want to.”
The doors closed before I could answer. For several seconds, I simply stood inside the elevator holding the approval folder like a man being transported to his own execution. Outstanding. Absolutely outstanding.
Waterbomb wardrobe checks had not even started yet, and I was already losing. The first room on the list was Chaeryeong’s. Which, honestly, felt merciful. After whatever the hell Yuna had just done near the elevator, I needed the emotional equivalent of a safe landing. I knocked twice before opening the door slightly.
“Chaeryeong?”
“Come in,” she called softly.
I stepped inside and immediately found her standing near the mirror, twisting slightly from side to side while looking down at herself with an expression I recognized too easily. Overthinking.
She wore a clean white zip-front top with short sleeves, fitted neatly against her frame without looking overly tight. The white shorts matched the top, held together by a black belt that gave the entire outfit enough contrast to keep it from looking too plain. Paired with the white platform sneakers, it made her look bright, fresh, and effortlessly put together.
The problem was that Chaeryeong clearly didn’t believe that yet. She adjusted the hem of her shorts for what looked like the tenth time. “That bad?” I asked. She looked up immediately. “What?”
“You’ve been fighting those shorts like they personally offended you.” Chaeryeong let out a small laugh, embarrassed. “I just… don’t know if it’s too simple.”
“It’s not.”
“You didn’t even think about it.”
“I didn’t need to.”
That made her pause. I walked closer, stopping beside her instead of behind her so she could still look at herself in the mirror without feeling inspected.
“It works because it looks clean,” I said. “The white-on-white makes you stand out without needing anything too loud. It’s bright, it fits the Waterbomb concept, and honestly?” I glanced toward her reflection. “You look really beautiful.”
Chaeryeong went still. Not dramatically. Just enough. Then she looked away quickly, but the small smile was already forming before she could hide it.
“You’re just saying that because you’re my manager.”
“I say plenty of manager things without sounding nice.”
“That’s true,” she admitted softly.
“Exactly. So believe me when I say this looks good on you.”
She looked back toward the mirror again, this time a little less tense. Her shoulders lowered. Her hands stopped fidgeting at her shorts. That alone made the entire check worth it. Then eventually she smiled faintly. “…Okay. I’ll wear it.”
“Good.” I started marking the outfit approved on the tablet. Then Chaeryeong glanced at me again “Ben?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
There was more weight in it than the outfit deserved. Or maybe that was the point. I gave her a small smile. “Anytime.” And before that moment could become emotionally dangerous in a way I was not prepared to unpack before Waterbomb, I stepped back toward the door. “One down. Four emotionally hazardous outfit checks to go.” Chaeryeong laughed softly behind me. “Good luck.”
“Thanks, I’m going to need it.”
Lia’s room was next.
Compared to Chaeryeong’s quiet uncertainty, Lia opened the door looking far too composed. Which immediately concerned me.
She stood near the mirror, adjusting one of her bracelets while the yellow sleeveless top caught the light warmly against her skin. The color suited her almost too well. Bright, summery, elegant without being overly delicate. Her dark shorts balanced it out, fitted neatly at the waist with a black belt, while the white shoes kept the whole look clean enough for performance but still casual enough for the event.
It was graceful. Very Lia. Unfortunately, Lia noticed my expression before I could professionally recover. “Well?” she asked.
“That sounded rehearsed.” I called her out.
“It wasn’t.”
“It absolutely was.”
She smiled faintly. “You’re avoiding the question.” I sighed quietly before looking her over again with the actual focus required of my job.
“The outfit works,” I said. “The yellow reads well for Waterbomb. It’s bright enough for cameras, but it still feels like you. Clean lines, nothing too distracting, and the shorts balance it without making the whole thing feel too styled.” Lia tilted her head slightly.
“That was very professional.”
“That was the goal.”
“And personally?”
That was a catastrophic follow-up that made me look at her. Lia looked back calmly, but there was something softer behind the question now. Not aggressive. Not like Yuna. Not shameless like Ryujin. Just curious. Quietly testing if she was allowed to ask. So I answered honestly. “Personally?” I said.
“You look beautiful.” Her expression shifted. Subtle. But I caught it. The way her eyes softened before she could hide it. The way her hand stilled against the bracelet. Then she smiled, smaller this time. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” A beat of silence passed. Comfortable at first. Then Lia stepped slightly closer, not enough to corner me, but enough for the air to change. “You know,” she said softly, “you’re getting better at saying things like that without panicking.”
“That’s because I’ve been psychologically conditioned by all of you.”
“Sounds like you’re blaming us.”
“It is, but I am madder about not getting hazard pay.”
She laughed quietly. Then, with an almost unfair amount of composure, Lia turned slightly back toward the mirror. “So do I pass?”
“With flying colors.”
“Good.”
I started backing toward the door. Lia’s voice followed me, gentle but far too knowing. “Try to survive the others.” I paused with my hand on the door handle. “That sounded like you know something.” Lia only lifted her tea from the table and smiled into it. “I know many things.”
What a terrifying woman. Absolutely terrifying.
Yeji was third.
Which should have made things easier. It did not.
The moment she opened the door, I realized very quickly that I had made a mistake assuming familiarity would protect me from anything.
Yeji stood there wearing a cream sleeveless button-front top tucked neatly into black shorts, the dark belt pulling the whole look together sharply. The outfit itself was simple, but that was what made it worse. It didn’t need anything dramatic. The top softened her, the shorts sharpened her, and the white shoes kept everything casual enough to pretend this was just another stage outfit and not a direct attack on my ability to think.
Yeji noticed immediately “You’re staring.”
“I’m doing my job.”
“You always say that when you’re staring.”
“That’s because sometimes my job requires visual confirmation.”
Yeji stepped aside to let me in, smiling like she had already won. I closed the door behind me carefully. Important distinction. Carefully, because unlike Chaeryeong and Yuna, Yeji knew exactly why that mattered. She turned once in front of the mirror, then looked back at me. “Is it okay?”
No teasing this time. There was still a hint of it in her eyes, but underneath that was the same thing I always noticed with Yeji when she asked sincerely. She cared what I thought. That alone made my chest tighten. “It’s more than okay,” I said quietly.
Her smile softened “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I stepped closer, lowering my voice even though nobody else was in the room. “You look beautiful.” Yeji looked down for half a second, pretending to inspect the top, but I caught the blush before she could hide it. “You already said that to the others, didn’t you?”
“That sounds like a question for your manager, but a trap for your boyfriend.”
“It is.”
“I used different professional wording.”
Yeji laughed softly, then stepped closer and lightly fixed the collar of my shirt like she had done it a hundred times before “You’re nervous today,” she murmured.
“I’ve had a very difficult morning.”
“Yuna?” I went still. Yeji’s eyes flicked up to mine. She was more aware than I gave her credit for.
I exhaled slowly.
“She’s starting to act up.”
Yeji hummed quietly, smoothing a wrinkle that absolutely did not need smoothing “She’s Yuna.”
“That is not comforting.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be.”
I stared at her. Yeji smiled. Then she leaned up and kissed me. A warm, quiet kiss that made the noise in my head shut off for exactly three seconds. When she pulled back, her forehead rested briefly against mine.
“Don’t overthink too much,” she whispered.
“That sounds impossible.”
“I know.”
Then she stepped back before the moment could become too obvious even in private. Leader mode returned slowly, but not completely. Not around me. “Approved?” she asked. I looked at her again. The outfit. That smile. The quiet affection she still carried even while pretending this was professional.
“Approved,” I said. Then softer whisper, enough for only her to hear “I love you.” Yeji’s eyes widened slightly, not because she hadn’t heard it before, but because it still affected her every time. Then she smiled “Good,” before whispering into my ear “I love you too, babe.” before giving me one quick peck in my lips.
I left before I did something deeply irresponsible before a public event. Unfortunately, the next name on the list was Yuna. Which meant irresponsibility had probably only been delayed.
Yuna’s room felt dangerous before I even knocked.
That was the annoying part. Somehow, without even opening the door, I already knew she had planned something. I knocked anyway because apparently I still believed in procedure. “Come in,” Yuna called. Too sweet. Immediate red flag. I opened the door.
Yuna stood near the mirror wearing the Waterbomb outfit from the reference board: a white sleeveless textured top, dark denim shorts, black belt, and white platform sneakers. The outfit itself looked bright and youthful, simple enough to pass as stage styling, but on her it became something sharper. The top drew attention to her shoulders and waist, while the shorts made her legs look impossibly long.
She looked good. She knew she looked good. The problem was that she wanted me to know she knew. She turned slowly when I entered.
“You’re late,” she murmured. “I had a schedule to follow, Yuna. Which, as your manager, I suggest you remember.” She laughed, a low sound that vibrated in the small space
“Well?” she asked me to show off her attire. I kept my eyes on the tablet for half a second longer than necessary. Mistake. Yuna smiled “You’re doing it again.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“Exactly.”
I looked up. Another mistake. She took one step closer. Enough to make the room feel smaller. “This is the outfit,” she said, smoothing one hand down the side of the top. “You have to approve it, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then look properly.”
There it was. The elevator line returning with interest. I forced myself into manager mode and looked at the outfit the way I was supposed to. Fabric. Fit. Camera readability. Movement risk. Water exposure. Stage safety. “I need to check the fit of the shorts from the back for movement risks.”
Normal things. Professional things. Unfortunately, Yuna stood there watching my face instead of the mirror.
“It works,” I said.
“That fast?”
“The styling is simple. It fits the concept.”
“That sounds boring.”
“It’s not boring.”
“Then say it properly.”
I stared at her. Yuna smiled wider. Not innocent this time. Not even pretending. She knew exactly where the pressure point was now and had apparently decided to press with both hands. “You look good,” I said carefully.
“How good?”
“Yuna.”
“What?” she asked, stepping closer again.
“I’m asking for feedback.”
“That is not what you’re asking for.”
For a second, her smile turned pleased. Not because I had pushed back. Because I had admitted there was something to push back against. Then slowly, she reached for the hem of her loose outer layer—the zip-up she had kept over the outfit until now—and let it slide off one shoulder first. Controlled. Not enough to be a full strip. Enough to make the intention unmistakable.
“You’re so focused on the risks, Ben. The wardrobe malfunctions. The camera angles. The public eye.” She stepped closer, her chest nearly brushing mine. I could feel the heat radiating off her, the subtle rise and fall of her breath.
“But what about the risk right here? In a locked room? With no cameras?”
I looked down at the tablet, my voice tight. “The shorts are approved. The top is approved. Please step back so I can finalize the notes.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m working.”
“You’re lying to yourself.” Yuna’s hand moved from my arm to my chest, her palm flat against my heart. She could feel it. The frantic, betraying thud of my pulse. Her smile widened, turning into something predatory. “It’s beating so fast. You’re terrified of me, aren’t you? Not because I’m scary, but because you want to see what happens if you stop being the manager for five minutes.”
She leaned in, her lips hovering just a fraction of an inch from my ear. Her breath was warm, smelling of mint and sweetness. “The fans... they want me. I know that. I see it in their eyes. But they can’t touch me. They can’t even get close. But you... you’re right here. You have the keys to the building. You have the schedule. You have total access.”
She shifted, her hip brushing against mine, the rough denim of her shorts scraping against my trousers. She let out a soft, shaky exhale. “Just one look, Ben. Look at me. Not as a member. Not as a liability. Just look at me.”
I forced my gaze upward. Her eyes were wide, shimmering with a mixture of curiosity and desire. She looked breathtaking—radiant in a way that felt violent. For a second, the professional wall didn’t just crack; it vanished. I saw the curve of her throat, the pulse jumping in her neck, the way her lips were parted, inviting me to close the distance.
Yuna noticed the shift. She sensed the surrender. She moved her hand down, her fingers skimming the fabric of my shirt, heading toward the waistband of my pants. She didn’t grab; she teased, the tips of her nails catching on the material. “Give in,” she whispered, her voice a velvet command. “Just once. I want to know if that willpower of yours is real, or if it’s just a performance.” I looked away immediately. Yuna laughed softly.
“You really are committed.”
“To not getting fired?”
“To pretending.”
I kept my gaze fixed on the safest part of the wall.
“Put that back on.”
“It’s off for styling approval.”
“You already have approval.”
“Do I?”
I closed my eyes briefly. This was what Yuna did differently from Ryujin. Ryujin would have said exactly what she wanted and dared me to survive it. Yuna made me prove I was surviving at all. When I looked back, she had let the zip-up fall fully from her shoulders, catching it casually in one hand. The Waterbomb outfit was still perfectly acceptable for the event. That somehow made it worse. Because she was not crossing a line. She was dancing directly on top of it. “Are you nervous?” she asked.
“I’m busy.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I am.”
Yuna stepped closer again. This time close enough that I had to look down slightly to meet her eyes. “And if you weren’t?” The room went quiet. My grip tightened slightly around the tablet. Yuna saw it. Her smile softened into something more dangerous than teasing.
Confirmation. I looked back down at the tablet “Outfit approved,” I said evenly. “Shoes are fine. Belt works. Make sure staff tests the top under water before stage clearance.” Yuna blinked once. For a second, she looked almost offended that I had managed to pull professionalism back from the fire. Then interest replaced it. Because apparently refusal was also a reaction.
“Okay,” she said lightly. I turned toward the door. “Ben?” I stopped. She did not move closer this time. She didn’t have to “You’re getting better at running away”. I looked back despite myself. Yuna smiled. “But you’re getting worse at hiding why.” I left before she could see how badly that landed.
Inside the room, Yuna stood in silence, her heart racing. She didn’t feel rejected. She didn’t feel offended. Instead, she felt a surge of genuine, electric interest. She had spent her life being wanted by everyone, but I was the first person who had looked at her with that much hunger and still said no.
Is what I thought while hurrying out to the hallways as I could still see her as she touched her own lips, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Interesting,” she murmured out loud, loud enough for me to still hear “Very interesting”.
Ryujin was last.
Which felt less like scheduling and more like fate personally filing a complaint against me. By the time I reached her room, my nervous system had already survived Chaeryeong being quietly beautiful, Lia being gracefully dangerous, Yeji emotionally disarming me, and Yuna committing psychological warfare in platform sneakers.
So naturally, Ryujin opened the door looking like the final boss of poor decisions.
I had just survived a psychological siege, and I could feel the lingering effects of Yuna’s proximity manifesting as a dull, insistent ache in my groin. I was primed. I was tense. I was a walking powder keg. And Ryujin was the match.
When I opened the door to her room, the atmosphere was entirely different from Yuna’s. There was no staged environment or antics, Ryujin was standing by the vanity, looking at herself in the mirror with a look of sheer, unadulterated mischief.
She wore the white long-sleeve zip athletic top from the Waterbomb set, fitted cleanly against her frame, paired with light denim shorts and white platform sneakers. Compared to Yuna’s playful sharpness or Lia’s elegance, Ryujin looked sporty, confident, and immediately suspicious. Mostly because she was smiling. That smile never meant anything safe for me psychologically.
“You took long enough,” she said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or maybe you just had a very long conversation with Yuna.” I sighed, stepping inside and closing the door. The click of the lock sounded like a gavel. “Don’t start, Ryujin. I’m just trying to finish these checks so I can actually go relax for the rest of the day.”
“Mm.” She stepped aside. “You look stressed.”
“I wonder why.”
Ryujin walked toward the mirror and turned once, arms lifting slightly “Poor Ben,” she mocked, turning around to face me. She leaned back against the vanity, crossing her legs. “So stressed. So professional. So... wound up.”
I looked her over, my eyes scanning the outfit. “So?” she asked looking down to her stage outfit. I stared with the exhausted professionalism of a man who had been emotionally mugged four times already “The top fits. Shorts work. Shoes match. Overall styling is good.” Ryujin stared at me through the mirror.
“That’s it?”
“That is literally the purpose of this check.”
“You’re boring today.”
“I am trying to survive today.”
Ryujin laughed under her breath, then shifted her weight slightly. That was when I noticed it. There was something missing. The way the fabric draped, the absence of a visible line where there absolutely should have been one, something about the way the shorts sat.... my brain did the math instantly.
My eyes paused for half a second. Ryujin caught it. Her smile sharpened. “There it is.” I looked back up immediately. “Ryujin,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. “Tell me you’re wearing underwear.” She grinned. It wasn’t a sweet smile. It was a shark’s smile.
“Nope,” she popped the ‘p’. “Completely bare. Just me and the denim.”
Ryujin turned around fully now, leaning lightly against the edge of the vanity. My brain stopped. There was a full system outage behind my eyes. Ryujin watched it happen with the calm satisfaction of someone knocking over a glass just to hear it shatter. She stepped closer.
Not slow like Yuna.
Not soft like Lia.
Not intimate like Yeji.
Direct. Ryujin didn’t play with silence because she didn’t need to. She walked straight through it. “I can wear it like this,” she said, voice casual. “Go on stage. Get soaked. Let the fabric do whatever it wants.” I stared at her. She smiled. “Or you can fix the problem.”
“That sounds like extortion.”
“It sounds like a manager’s job.”
My jaw tightened. I felt the blood rush to my face, my heart hammering against my ribs. “That is a massive safety violation. One wrong move, one slip of the fabric, and you’re a headline. Put something on. Now.” Ryujin laughed, a bold, raucous sound. She stepped forward, her eyes locked on mine.
“Why? Does the thought of it bother you, Manager-nim? Or does it actually turn you on?”
“It’s a professional concern,” I managed, though my voice was strained.
Then Ryujin reached for the zipper of her top, not pulling it down enough to expose anything, just enough to make the implication louder than the action. “Liar,” she whispered, stepping into my space. She didn’t tease like Yuna; she didn’t dance around the edges. She moved in like a strike team.
“You’re already worked up,” she murmured. “Yuna got to you, didn’t she?” I didn’t answer. Ryujin’s smile widened. “Oh, she did.”
“Ryujin.”
“Relax,” she said, stepping close enough now that I had nowhere useful to look.
“I’m not jealous.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“I know.” Her voice dropped slightly.
“I just think it’s funny that she spent all day teasing you…” her fingers caught lightly at the front of my shirt “…and I’m the one who gets to use it.”
I tried to maintain my composure, but as she pressed her body against mine, I felt it. The hard, undeniable press of my erection against the fabric of my trousers. I tried to shift away, but Ryujin was faster. She reached down, her hand closing firmly around the bulge in my pants. I let out a choked gasp, my head snapping back. “Oh, look at that,” Ryujin murmured, her voice low and husky. “Professionalism is officially dead. You’re rock hard already, Ben.”
“Ryujin, we’re... we’re in the middle of wardrobe approvals...”
“The approvals are done,” she countered, her thumb rubbing circles over the head of my cock through the cloth.
“And I’ve got a great idea. How about this: I’ll keep the underwear off for the event. I’ll go on stage, get soaked in water, let the fabric cling to every single inch of me... and the whole time, I’ll be thinking about you watching me from the wings.”
She leaned in, her lips brushing against my jaw. “And then, when the show is over, while the crowd is still screaming, I’ll find a dark corner backstage. I’ll pull you into the equipment room, and I’ll let you fuck me right there, in front of everyone, while I’m still dripping wet and bare.”
That was the exact moment I realized I had lost the room. Ryujin tilted her head toward the bed, still smiling. “So, manager,” she said softly, “are you approving this outfit?” My grip tightened around the tablet. Then slowly, Ryujin leaned closer to lick and nibble on my neck “Or are you going to make sure I don’t walk out there like this?”
The mental image hit me like a physical blow. The thought of her—wet, exposed, and desperate for me in the chaos of the event—shattered the last remnants of my restraint. I didn’t think. I reacted.
I grabbed her waist and hoisted her up, her legs instantly wrapping around my hips, the denim of her shorts rough against my skin. I slammed her back against the vanity, the sound of the impact echoing in the room. Ryujin let out a sharp, needy moan, her head falling back, her eyes fluttering shut.
“Finally,” she gasped.
“I thought I was going to have to strip completely to get you to stop talking about schedules.”
I didn’t answer with words. I crashed my lips onto hers, the kiss desperate and messy, a collision of teeth and tongue. We were both starving, the tension of the day fueling a fire that had been simmering for hours. I could taste the hunger in her, the raw, insatiable need that always defined our physical relationship.
My hands scrambled at the zipper of her shorts, my fingers trembling with urgency. I ripped them down, shoving the denim and the lack of underwear aside to reveal her pussy. She was already soaking, her folds glistening and swollen, dripping a clear, viscous lubricant that smelled of musk and heat.
“Fuck,” I groaned against her neck, my breath hitching. “You’re soaking.”
“Because I’ve been thinking about this since breakfast,” she whimpered, her nails digging into my shoulders.
“Now give it to me, Ben. Right now.” I fumbled with my own belt, ripping my trousers and boxers down in one frantic motion. My cock sprang free, throbbing and engorged, the head already weeping a thick bead of pre-cum.
Ryujin was a fountain. I gripped her thighs, pulling her flush against me, and drove home in one deep, punishing thrust. “Ahhh!” Ryujin screamed into my shoulder, her entire body jolting. The sensation was overwhelming. The tightness of her pussy, the heat, the way her walls clamped down on me like a vice.
It felt like being swallowed by a volcano. I groaned, a low, guttural sound that started in my chest, and began to pump. The sound of our bodies interacting filled the room—a wet, rhythmic slapping sound as I slid in and out of her.
Every thrust pushed the air out of her lungs in short, sharp gasps. The vanity groaned under our combined weight, the mirror rattling with every impact.
“Yes! Right there! Fuck me harder, Ben!” Ryujin urged, her voice breaking. She arched her back, her breasts heaving under the athletic top, the fabric straining against her nipples. I didn’t hold back. I hammered into her, my movements frantic and uncoordinated, driven by the need to erase the day’s stress. I could feel her clit rubbing against the base of my cock with every strike, a friction that sent sparks of electricity through my spine.
Ryujin’s breathing became erratic. She started to shake, her internal muscles pulsing rhythmically around me, milking me with a desperate intensity. “I’m... I’m close! Ben, I’m coming!” She let out a loud, piercing cry as her orgasm hit, her pussy clamping down on me in a series of violent spasms. The feeling of her climaxing around me was the final trigger. I felt the pressure build at the base of my spine, a tidal wave of heat that I couldn’t stop.
I thrust one last time, burying myself as deep as possible, and let out a roar as I came. The orgasm was explosive, a series of thick, hot jets of semen pumping into her, filling her to the brim. I collapsed against her, my forehead resting on her shoulder, both of us gasping for air, our skin slick with sweat. For a few minutes, the only sound was the heavy thud of our heartbeats.
“God,” Ryujin whispered, her voice trembling. “You were... so aggressive. I love it when you lose it.” I pulled back slightly, looking at her. Her hair was a mess, her makeup smudged, her eyes glazed with pleasure.
She looked ruined, and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. But the release didn’t last. The physical connection, the scent of sex and sweat, and the lingering tension from Yuna’s room converged into a second wave of desire. My cock, despite the release, didn’t fully soften. It remained semi-hard, pulsing against her wet walls.
Ryujin noticed. She looked down at where we were joined, then back up at me with a predatory glint in her eyes. “Again,” she whispered. “Ryujin, I can’t... I have to finish the reports...”
“The reports can wait ten minutes,” she countered, her legs tightening around my waist, pulling me back in. “Look at me, Ben. Do you really want to leave right now? When I’m still this open for you?” She shifted her hips, grinding her clit against me, and the friction reignited the fire instantly.
I groaned, my resolve crumbling for the second time in an hour. This time, it was slower. More deliberate. I lowered her onto the bed, the white sheets instantly staining with the fluids of our first round. I knelt between her legs, spreading them wide, admiring the sight of her pussy—flushed a deep pink, dripping with a mixture of her arousal and my seed.
I leaned down, my tongue finding her clit. Ryujin let out a sharp gasp, her hips bucking. “Oh god, Ben... right there...” I licked her with a steady, rhythmic pressure, swirling my tongue around the sensitive nub before sucking it into my mouth. The sound of my tongue moving and slurping against her wetness filled the quiet room.
Ryujin was incoherent, her hands clutching the sheets, her toes curling. When she was on the verge of another peak, I slid back inside her. This round was different. It wasn’t about desperation; it was about pleasure. I moved slowly, savoring the way her walls hugged me, the way she whimpered every time I hit her cervix.
I watched her face, the way her eyes rolled back, the way she whispered my name like a prayer. “I love... how you feel... inside me,” she breathed, her voice a fragile thread. I increased the pace, the sound of her wetness returning, louder this time. I could feel the build-up again, the tension mounting in my loins. Ryujin was right there with me, her breath coming in short, jagged sobs.
“Now, Ben! Now!” I surged forward, my movements becoming fast and shallow, focusing all the friction on the entrance of her pussy. We hit the peak together. Ryujin screamed, her body locking up in a massive, full-body orgasm, and I followed immediately after, my second load of the day erupting into her with a force that left me breathless. I slumped onto her, my chest heaving, my muscles trembling with exhaustion. We lay there for a long time, entwined and sweaty, the room smelling of raw sex.
Eventually, Ryujin shifted, her hand sliding down to my cock, which was finally beginning to soften. She didn’t stop there. She slid down my body, her hair brushing against my thighs, and took the head of my dick into her mouth. The sensation of her warm, wet tongue swirling around the tip made me hiss through my teeth. She sucked deeply, her cheeks hollowing, her eyes looking up at me with a hunger that seemed bottomless.
“Ryujin,” I gasped, my hand finding her hair. “Stop.” She ignored me, swirling her tongue around the rim, her saliva coating me in a slick, warm layer. She wanted more. She always wanted more. I gently but firmly pushed her head away.
“No,” I said, my voice returning to its manager tone, though it was still raspy.
“No more.” Ryujin blinked, looking up at me, her lips glistening with my pre-cum.
“What? Why? You’re still so hard.”
“Because,” I said, sitting up and putting my clothes back on.
“I am still working. We are in our residential building, yes, but I have a final briefing in twenty minutes and three more reports to file before the stylists leave.”
“You’re such a bore when you’re being a manager.” Ryujin pouted, sitting up and letting the sheets fall away from her breasts. “And you’re a menace when you’re being a member,” I replied, though there was no heat in it. I leaned over and flicked her forehead before giving her head a pat— a brief, tender moment that contrasted with the violence of the last hour.
“Get dressed, Ryujin. And for the love of God, put on some underwear for the actual event. I can’t have a heart attack on the venue.”
Ryujin laughed, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. “I will, but in exchange you’re going to have to fuck me in this outfit when I’m drenched, Ben.”
I walked out of the room, the door clicking shut behind me. As I stepped back into the hallway, I felt a strange sense of equilibrium. The tension that had been building all day—through Yuna’s games and the pressure of the event—had finally broken.
I looked down at my tablet. The list was complete. Everyone was approved. I began the walk back to the common area, my stride steady once more. My body was exhausted, my mind was a blur of denim and sweat, but as I thought about the upcoming Waterbomb festival, a small, dangerous smile touched my lips. The wardrobe was approved. But the real show was only just beginning.
I walked out of Ryujin’s room, the door clicking shut behind me with a finality that felt almost insulting.
For a moment, I just stood in the hallway.
The tablet was still in my hand. The approval list was complete. Every outfit had been checked, cleared, and documented. Professionally speaking, the task was finished. Physically speaking, I was considering filing a workplace injury report against my own life.
I leaned back against the wall and exhaled slowly, trying to pull myself back together before anyone from staff appeared and asked why their manager looked like he had survived a natural disaster in denim form. A notification lit up on the tablet a second later. Final wardrobe approval? ETA for Waterbomb briefing? Right. The world still existed.
I straightened, fixed my shirt, ran one hand through my hair, and forced my expression into something close to functional. The building around me had gone quieter now that the fittings were finished. Stylists were packing up on the lower floors, staff messages kept arriving in short bursts, and somewhere upstairs, the Top Floor waited like nothing catastrophic had just happened. Which, honestly, was rude of it.
By the time I made it back to the common area, most of the lights had dimmed into their softer evening setting. The television was on, volume low, playing some emotional romance drama I didn’t recognize.
Lia was sitting alone on the couch. She had a blanket over her lap, one mug of tea balanced carefully between both hands, and the kind of calm expression that immediately made me feel spiritually exposed. She didn’t look away from the TV when I entered.
“You look terrible.” I stopped walking “…Good evening to you too.”
“You also smell like panic and poor decisions.”
“That sounds emotionally invasive.”
“That sounds accurate.”
I considered retreating. Unfortunately, Lia finally looked at me without teasing or judgement. Which somehow felt worse. Then she patted the empty space beside her on the couch “Sit down before you collapse.”
“I have reports.”
“You have twenty minutes before the briefing.”
I narrowed my eyes “How do you know that?” Lia lifted her tea calmly “I read the schedule you sent to the group chat.” Right. Managerial competence had betrayed me again. I sat beside her with the exhausted obedience of a man who had lost too many battles in one day.
For a while, neither of us said anything. The drama continued playing on the screen, all soft lighting and emotional close-ups, two characters staring at each other like saying one honest sentence might destroy civilization. Lia glanced at me briefly.
“Wardrobe checks went well?”
“Technically.”
“That means no.”
“That means everyone is approved and I am choosing not to discuss the emotional cost.”
Lia’s mouth curved faintly. “Ryujin?” I stared at the TV.
“I am choosing not to discuss the emotional cost.”
“That bad?”
“That dangerous.”
She hummed softly, not pushing further. That was the thing about Lia. Ryujin would have poked until I bled sarcasm. Yeji would have touched my hand and made the entire room emotionally unsafe. Yuna would have smiled like she already knew exactly which nerve to press. Lia just sat there. Quiet. Present. Unfairly perceptive.
After a minute, she reached toward the table and slid a second mug toward me. I looked down at it “When did you make this?”
“When I heard the elevator.”
“That sounds suspiciously prepared.”
“You’re predictable when exhausted.”
“That is deeply insulting.”
“It’s also tea.”
Unfortunately, both things were true. I picked it up and took a slow sip. Warm and calming, just like Lia. Annoyingly effective. The silence settled again, softer this time. The kind that didn’t demand performance. I didn’t have to joke immediately. I didn’t have to explain. I didn’t even have to pretend I was handling everything well.
Lia watched the screen, then said quietly “You know you don’t have to be perfectly composed every second, right?” My fingers tightened slightly around the mug. There it was. Not an accusation. Not even advice, really. Just Lia noticing the exact crack I had been trying to hide. I let out a slow breath.
“I’m managing a public water event involving five idols, wet clothes, live cameras, fans with phones, and several members who appear personally invested in shortening my lifespan.”
“That does sound difficult.” Lia nodded solemnly. “It is.”
“Still,” she said softly, eyes remaining on the television, “you’re allowed to be tired.”
For some reason, that landed harder than it should have. Maybe because she didn’t ask for anything after saying it. I leaned back against the couch, exhaustion finally catching up now that the room had stopped moving around me “…Thanks, Lia.” She smiled faintly into her tea “You’re welcome.”
Onscreen, the two drama leads finally kissed after what looked like twelve episodes of emotional incompetence. Lia sighed. “Finally.” I glanced at the screen.
“That looked inefficient.”
“That’s romance.”
“That explains a lot.”
She laughed quietly, and the sound made the room feel less heavy. For a few minutes, we just watched the drama together while the briefing documents finished uploading from my tablet. Somewhere below us, staff continued packing up the last of the wardrobe racks. Somewhere down the hall, the members were probably settling into their own rooms.
And for once, nobody was asking me to react. Nobody was testing me. Nobody was pulling me apart. Nobody was demanding that I choose the correct version of myself. I was just sitting beside Lia, drinking tea, watching fictional people fail at communication. And in all honesty? It was the most peaceful thing that had happened all day. Then my tablet chimed. Briefing in ten. The moment broke gently. Lia glanced toward the screen “Go be manager-nim.” I groaned quietly before standing. “That title feels cursed now.”
“It always did.” I looked back at her. She smiled softly. “Good luck next week.”
“Next week?”
“Waterbomb,” she said calmly.
“Wet clothes, cameras, fans, and five women actively trying to give you a stroke.”
I stared at her “You know, for someone so graceful, you’re incredibly violent with words.” I picked up the tablet and headed toward the hallway. Behind me, Lia turned the volume up slightly and returned to her drama like she had not just quietly held me together for ten minutes. That was becoming the dangerous part about her. She didn’t pull me out of the chaos. She simply made sitting inside it feel survivable.
She didn’t pull me out of the chaos. She simply made sitting inside it feel survivable. A few nights later, I ended up in the private gym again. Not because I had energy. That would have been optimistic. Mostly because my body had started interpreting stress as a reason to lift heavy objects at unreasonable hours, which probably said something deeply concerning about my coping mechanisms. By the time I finished, the Top Floor had already gone quiet. The lights outside the gym were dimmed, most of the rooms were closed, and somewhere down the hall I could faintly hear the low murmur of a television.
I took a quick shower in the gym bathroom and stepped out afterward wearing only a black tank top and sweatpants, towel hanging loosely around my neck while my hair still dripped slightly against my shoulders. Comfortable. Unprofessional. Dangerously human. Which was probably why I almost turned around the second I saw Lia sitting alone in the common area. Same couch. Same blanket. Same mug of tea. Different drama.
At least, I thought it was different. The lighting looked the same. The characters looked equally miserable. And from what I could gather after standing there for seven seconds, everyone in the show was still emotionally allergic to direct communication. Lia didn’t look away from the screen when she spoke. “You’re standing there like you’re deciding whether to run.” “That sounds judgmental.”
“That sounds accurate”. I walked around the couch and sat down beside her, leaving enough space to be polite. Lia glanced at the distance between us. Then back at the television. “You’re very committed to safe seating arrangements.”
“I’m learning from experience.”
“That sounds like Ryujin trauma.”
“It is a recognized condition”.
That made her laugh softly, barely disturbing the quiet around us. Then her gaze shifted. Her eyes moved from my face to my shoulder, then down toward the exposed part of my upper arm where the edge of a new tattoo still looked darker than the rest of the ink around it. I noticed immediately. “…What?” Lia tilted her head slightly “That’s new”. I looked down. Ah. Right.
A small fresh piece tucked near the existing ink on my upper arm, still healing beneath the soft glow of the common-area lights. I had gotten it impulsively two days earlier after a particularly chaotic round of schedule calls, Waterbomb briefings, and three separate conversations that made me question whether I was managing idols or surviving psychological warfare.
“It’s not that new.”
“It’s very clearly new.”
“That sounds accusatory.”
“It’s observational.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Yuna said that exact thing before making my life worse.” Lia smiled into her tea. “I’m more graceful about it.”
“That is unfortunately true.” She leaned slightly closer, not touching, just studying the lines with quiet curiosity. “What does it mean?” I glanced away for half a second. A mistake that Lia noticed “…You got it impulsively, didn’t you?”
“That sounds judgmental.”
“That sounds accurate.”
I sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Maybe.” Lia’s smile widened faintly. “You should’ve gotten something funny.” “Like what?” She thought for a moment, completely serious. Then calmly “Incase found, return to Hwang Yeji.”
I stared at her. She stared back. Then I let out a laugh despite myself. “Yeji would kill me.”
“She would or she would match it with yours.”
“That is terrifyingly accurate.”
Lia laughed quietly again, and somehow the sound made the room feel less heavy. Then, after a moment, her expression softened. “But it suits you.” I looked at her. She kept her eyes on the tattoo, voice gentle now “The ink, I mean. It makes you look less like you’re trying to hide inside a suit all the time.” That landed a little too precisely. I didn’t answer immediately. For once, Lia didn’t push. She simply turned back toward the television, leaving the observation between us like she had placed something fragile on the table and trusted me not to break it.
After a minute, she reached toward the side table and slid a second mug toward me. “When did you make this?” I looked down at it “When I heard the shower.”
“That sounds suspiciously prepared.”
“You’re predictable when exhausted.”
“That is deeply insulting.”
“It’s also tea.”
Unfortunately, both things were true. I picked it up and took a slow sip. Warm. Mild. Calming. Annoyingly effective. And somehow, sitting there beside Lia in sweatpants, damp hair, exposed tattoos, and no manager armor left to hide behind, the silence felt less like emptiness and more like permission. A rare kind. The kind that didn’t ask me to perform. For a while, neither of us said anything else. The drama continued playing, soft and painfully slow. Two characters stood under the rain onscreen, neither of them saying what they clearly wanted to say. The woman looked like she had spent half her life swallowing words. The man looked like he knew it and still didn’t know how to help her.
Lia watched with her knees tucked slightly beneath the blanket, her expression unreadable at first. Then the woman onscreen finally spoke. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just one sentence. Something about being tired of choosing the right thing every time if it meant never choosing herself. The room went quiet in a way that felt too specific. I looked toward Lia without meaning to. She didn’t move. But her fingers tightened around the mug. Small thing. Easy to miss. I noticed anyway.
“…Lia?”
“I’m fine.”
“That was too fast.”
She smiled faintly, still looking at the screen. “You’re picking up my habits.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It is.”
The drama continued, but Lia wasn’t really watching anymore. Neither was I. For a minute, the Top Floor felt strangely far away. No Yuna testing reactions. No Ryujin creating structural damage to my sanity. No Yeji softening the room just by existing nearby. Just Lia. Quiet. Guarded. Sitting beside me like she had built an entire life out of not asking for too much. Then she spoke, barely above the volume of the television.
“Do you ever get tired of doing what makes sense?” The question landed carefully. Too carefully. Like she had spent several minutes deciding whether it was allowed to exist. I leaned back slightly, choosing my words with more caution than usual.
“Every day.”
Lia finally looked at me. There was no teasing in her expression now. No graceful deflection. No amused distance. No calm little smile to hide behind. “That’s a dangerous answer,” she whispered. “I know.” Her gaze dropped briefly to the mug in her hands. Then she set it down on the table. Slowly. Deliberately.
The sound of ceramic against glass felt louder than it should have. My pulse shifted. Not because she had moved closer. She hadn’t. Because for once, Lia looked like she had stopped trying to talk herself out of wanting something. “Ben,” she said quietly.
“Yeah?”
“I know what you and Yeji are.”
My throat tightened. “I know.”
“And I know this is already complicated.”
“I know that too.”
Her expression softened, but it didn’t break. That was the difference. Lia wasn’t panicking. She wasn’t apologizing before doing something. She was standing at the edge of a choice and looking straight at it.
“I’m not trying to take anything from her,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“I just…”
She stopped. For once, words failed her. The silence stretched. Then Lia leaned closer. Not suddenly. Not desperately. Not like she had lost control completely. More like she had finally stopped forcing herself to step back. Her lips touched mine softly.
Warm. Careful. A kiss so quiet it barely disturbed the room. Then she pulled away. Only a little. Enough to look at me. And that was the important part. She didn’t freeze, she didn’t gasp, or cover her mouth.
She didn’t run from what she had done. She just stayed there, close enough for me to feel the warmth of her breath, watching my face with terrifying patience. Waiting. Not for permission to regret it. For an answer. My brain, which had survived Yuna’s psychological warfare and Ryujin’s complete disregard for workplace stability, somehow failed completely in front of one soft kiss from Lia.
I exhaled slowly. “Lia…” Her eyes flickered. Not fear. Expectation. “I’m not sorry,” she said quietly. That hit harder than the kiss. She swallowed once, then continued. “I probably should be. But I’m not. The honesty in her voice was so bare that it made every joke I could have used die before reaching my mouth. So I didn’t joke. I just looked at her. Really looked at her. The careful posture. The calm expression barely holding. The quiet bravery must have taken for someone like Lia to stop choosing everyone else’s comfort for one second.
Then softly, I reached for her hand. Not to pull her closer. Not to escalate. Just enough. Her fingers were warm around mine. “I’m not angry,” I said.
“I didn’t think you would be”
“That sounds like trust.”
“It is.”
The admission stayed between us. Small. Heavy. Dangerous. Then Lia let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, but softer. “I wanted to know what would happen if I chose myself for once.” My thumb moved gently over the back of her hand. “And?” She looked down at our hands. Then back at me. “I think I’m still waiting to find out.”
The television kept playing in the background. The rain onscreen had stopped. The two characters were still standing there like idiots, probably about to spend another five episodes misunderstanding each other. But here, in the quiet of the Top Floor, Lia had already done the terrifying part. She had chosen. And she hadn’t looked away afterward.
The week leading into Waterbomb did not arrive gently. It hit the Top Floor like a scheduling truck with stage lights attached. By Monday, the building had stopped feeling like a private residence and started feeling like a temporary war room. Garment bags moved in and out of rooms. Stylists came and went with waterproof makeup kits, spare belts, double-sided tape, emergency stitching supplies, backup shoes, and towels stacked high enough to imply someone expected the building to flood.
Which, considering the event, honestly felt fair. I spent most of the week buried in logistics. Stage timing. Security routes. Camera placements. Emergency cover-ups. Wardrobe risk notes. Fan-zone sightlines. Staff communication channels. Post-performance exits. Hydration plans. Backup towels. Spare clothes.
The usual glamorous side of idol management. Naturally, the members handled the stress in completely different ways.
Chaeryeong became focused. She reviewed rehearsal clips more seriously than usual, occasionally asking me small questions about stage positioning or camera readability. There was still some hesitation in her voice sometimes, but less than before. Enough that I noticed.
Lia became quieter again, but not distant. She had returned to her tea, her dramas, and her terrifying habit of noticing when my brain was about six minutes away from collapsing.
Ryujin was energetic in a way that felt medically suspicious.
Yeji watched everything with leader mode fully activated, moving between members, staff, and rehearsals with the kind of calm control that reminded me why everyone trusted her even when the room started falling apart.
And Yuna? Yuna had changed after the outfit check. Not softer exactly. That would have been too simple. But more focused. She still teased. Still smiled a little too long. Still occasionally walked past me like she knew exactly how much space she was invading.
But there was something heavier underneath it now. Before, Yuna had been playing with a reaction. Now, she was waiting for something. Unfortunately, I had no idea what. Which was horrifying, because Yuna waiting patiently somehow felt significantly worse than Ryujin actively causing problems.
The night before Waterbomb, the final staff briefing stretched nearly two hours longer than planned. By the end of it, everyone looked tired. Except Ryujin, who looked like she had somehow absorbed energy from everyone else’s suffering. “We’re overthinking this,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “We perform. We get wet. People scream. We leave.”
“That is the least comforting summary possible,” I muttered. “It’s accurate.”
“It ignores eighty percent of the risk factors.” Ryujin grinned. “You love risk factors.”
“I do not love risk factors. I am employed because risk factors keep existing against my will.”
Yuna, seated across the room, smiled faintly at that. I noticed. A mistake because she noticed me noticing. Outstanding. Yeji stood near the screen where the stage layout was displayed, arms folded loosely as she studied the exits again. “We’ll follow the exit route exactly?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “You come off stage, staff meets you here, towels immediately, then straight to the waiting area. No lingering near the side barricades. No stopping for fan phones after the water set.” Yuna tilted her head. “That strict?”
“For this event? Yes.”
“Because of the outfits?”
“Because of the water, the cameras, and the outfits.”
Ryujin hummed dramatically “Manager-nim is scared.”
“I am prepared.”
“That’s what scared people say.”
I ignored her. Mostly because she was correct and I hated that. Lia looked at me from the couch, calm as ever. “You’re more worried about cameras than the performance.”
“I’m worried about both.”
“No,” she said softly. “You trust the performance.” That made the room quiet for a second. Because she was right. I trusted them on stage completely. It was everything around the stage I didn’t trust. I looked back at the layout. “Performance is controlled,” I said finally. “Crowds aren’t.” Nobody joked after that. Not immediately. Even Ryujin stayed quiet. Then Yeji’s gaze shifted toward me. There was something in her expression I recognized now. Not doubt. Concern.
She had been watching me more closely since the conversation with Lia, since the outfit checks, since every little crack in my composure had started showing whether I wanted it to or not. I gave her a small nod. I’m fine. Her eyes narrowed slightly. Liar.
The briefing ended shortly after. One by one, the members drifted out of the room to rest. Chaeryeong left first, still reviewing a note on her phone. Lia paused long enough to leave a bottle of water beside my tablet without saying anything. Ryujin stretched lazily and told me not to “die from paperwork before the fun part.” Yuna was the last to pass me before Yeji. She stopped beside my chair. Not close. Not far.
Just enough to make the moment intentional. “You’re really worried,” she said. I looked up. “That’s my job.” Yuna’s expression shifted slightly. “No,” she said quietly. “You’re worried.” That landed differently. Not teasing. Not playful. Just observant.
Then she smiled faintly, like she had realized something but decided not to say it yet. “Good night, Ben.” She walked out before I could answer. Which left only Yeji in the room. For a second, neither of us moved. Then she closed the door. Softly. That was never a good sign. “You’re going to scare them if you keep looking like that tomorrow,” she said. I leaned back in my chair. “Like what?”
“Like you’re waiting for someone to make a mistake.” I didn’t answer immediately. Because honestly? That was exactly what I was doing. Yeji walked closer, stopping beside the table. “I’m not saying you’re wrong to be careful.”
“That sounds like there’s a second half.”
“There is.”
She reached down and lightly touched the edge of my tablet, turning the screen off. The room dimmed slightly without the layout glowing between us. “You don’t have to fight every possible threat before it happens.” I looked at her. “If I wait until it happens, I’m too late”. Yeji’s expression softened, but her voice stayed steady. “That’s what worries me”. The words settled between us.
I knew what she was really saying. This wasn’t just about Waterbomb. It was about me. About the risk that did not exist yet. About the line I had not crossed yet. About the version of myself she was starting to notice before I even fully became what she was worried about. I tried to make my voice lighter. “I’ll behave” Yeji didn’t smile So the joke died immediately. She stepped closer and touched my arm. “Ben”. That was all. Somehow worse than a lecture. I exhaled slowly “I’ll handle tomorrow properly.”
“I know you will.” Her thumb moved lightly against my sleeve. “I’m asking you to remember that properly still has a limit.” I wanted to promise her. I really did. But the truth sat too close to my throat. So instead, I covered her hand with mine “I’ll try”.
Yeji studied me for a moment. Then she nodded. Not fully satisfied. But accepting the honesty. “For now,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss my forehead. The gesture was so gentle it made something in my chest ache. Then she left. And I sat there alone in the briefing room, staring at the blank tablet screen, wondering when protection had started feeling the need to choose cold calculations.
Waterbomb arrived loud. There was no other way to describe it. The entire venue pulsed with bass, heat, water cannons, crowd noise, and the kind of chaotic summer energy that made every staff member look like they were one mistake away from aging five years.
By the time ITZY arrived backstage, the event was already in full motion. Fans screamed from beyond the barricades. Staff rushed past with towels and headsets. Music thundered through the floor. Water mist floated through the air even behind the stage.
I shifted immediately into work mode. “Cover-ups stay on until standby,” I said, walking beside them. “No unnecessary stops near the side barricade. Towels will be ready as soon as you come off. If anything feels loose, you tell me before you go on, not after.”
Ryujin grinned. “You’re fun today.”
“I am the only reason fun survives paperwork.”
Yuna laughed softly, but she was watching me again. I ignored that. Professionally. Mostly. Chaeryeong adjusted her belt once, and I caught it immediately. “You’re fine,” I told her. She looked up. “You sure?”
“Positive. The fit test passed, and the belt is secure.” Her shoulders eased. “Okay.” Lia watched the exchange quietly, then looked at me. “You’ve checked all of us twelve times.”
“Thirteen for Ryujin.” Ryujin looked proud. “As I deserve.”
“As your criminal record requires.”
Yeji stepped closer, her voice low enough that only I could hear. “Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“Like a normal person.”
“That feels demanding.”
Her mouth curved faintly, but her eyes stayed serious. I took one slow breath. Then another. She nodded once. “Better.” Before I could answer, the stage manager called standby. The members moved toward the entrance. Cover-ups came off. Headsets were checked. Final towels were handed off. Shoes were adjusted. Hair was touched up one last time. Then the stage lights shifted. The crowd roared. And ITZY stepped out.
For a few minutes, I forgot everything except the work. Not because they weren’t beautiful. They were. Painfully. But because watching them perform from backstage always split my brain in half. One part saw the artistry. The charisma. The reason thousands of people screamed their names like they were something larger than life. The other part saw risk.
Water hitting fabric. A camera drifting too low. A strap shifting. A fan phone rising from the barricade. A staff member standing two seconds too far from where I needed them. It was constant calculation. And somehow, in the middle of all of it, Yuna found time to look toward me. Just one sharp glance during a transition, soaked under stage lights, smiling like she knew exactly what seeing her like that did to my concentration.
Then she turned back to the crowd like nothing had happened. Terrifying woman. Ryujin was worse in a completely different way. She performed with the smug confidence of someone who remembered exactly what she had promised me in that outfit and knew I remembered too. At one point, she came off a turn drenched, hair slicked back, eyes cutting briefly toward the wings. Her smirk said everything. I immediately looked at the stage monitor. Professionalism. Survival Instincts. Maybe a prayer.
Chaeryeong caught a wave of cheers after one center moment and visibly brightened. Not enough for the audience to notice maybe, but enough for me to see from the side.
Lia performed with her usual grace, but when she passed near the wing during a formation shift, her eyes briefly found mine. Not teasing but checking. Still making sure I was breathing.
And Yeji— she commanded the stage like she always did. Sharp. Focused. Electric. Every inch the leader.
But once, just once, during a brief turn away from the crowd, her gaze flicked toward me. A reminder. A warning. A promise. I remembered what she said. Properly still has a limit.
For most of the set, I managed. Then I saw the phone. At first, it was just one more screen among hundreds. Nothing unusual. Then the angle changed. Too low. Too deliberate. Following movement in a way that had nothing to do with performance and everything to do with stealing what was never offered.
My body went still. The noise of the crowd seemed to narrow around me as all I heard was static from the Stress-Induced Tinnitus I was painfully aware of. I didn’t move immediately. That would draw unnecessary attention. Instead, I touched my earpiece.
“Security left barricade. Black cap. Third row. Phone angled low.” The staff member beside me glanced toward the crowd. I kept my voice calm and precise, the ability of hiding my rage behind a calm was a skill that hereditary. “Do not make a scene. Block the sightline first.” A stage assistant moved with a towel stack, casually crossing into the angle.
The phone shifted. Still trying.
My jaw tightened “Mark him.” There was a pause in my earpiece. “Copy.” Onstage, Yuna hit her mark, smiling brightly toward the crowd, unaware for now. Good. Keep performing. Let me handle the ugly part.
The fan tried again.
This time, angling lower when the water cannons fired. Something cold and clean moved through me— panic or rage did not consume me. It made whatever decision I had feel validated. “After the set,” I said quietly into the mic, “pull him to the back. Whatever it takes.” A staff member looked at me, horrified at how calm I looked. I did not look away from the monitor. “Quietly.”
The set continued. The audience screamed. The water exploded under the lights. And I stood in the wing, watching a man in the crowd learn far too late that anonymity was only protection until someone with resources decided it wasn’t.
The rest of the performance passed without incident. At least onstage. Which was the only reason I let the set finish before moving. The second ITZY came offstage, staff moved exactly as instructed. Towels around shoulders. Cover-ups immediately. Water bottles handed out. Hair and makeup staff closing in with practiced urgency. “Straight to waiting area,” I said, already scanning behind them.
Ryujin shook water from her hair like she was personally trying to ruin the floor. “That was insane.” Chaeryeong was still breathing hard, eyes bright from the crowd reaction. “They were so loud.”
“They loved you,” Lia said softly, wrapping her towel tighter around herself. Yuna looked toward me then. Still smiling from the stage. Still glowing under the adrenaline. “Manager-nim,” she teased lightly, “did we survive your eighty percent risk factors?” I looked at her. For a second, I almost answered normally. Almost.
Then my earpiece clicked. “Security has him.” The smile left my face. Yuna noticed the immediate shift in my expression, and so did Yeji.
“Get him inside,” I said to the nearest staff member. The warmth in my voice dropped so suddenly that even I felt the temperature change. Yeji felt that shift and stepped closer. “Ben?”
“Waiting area. Now.” My voice came out calm but cold, too cold. That was the problem.
Yeji’s expression changed, but she didn’t challenge me there. Not in front of staff. Not while the girls were still damp, exposed, and being moved through a busy backstage corridor. The leader understood the timing. The girlfriend understood the danger. I turned before either side of her could stop me.
The fan looked smaller backstage. That was usually how people like him worked. Brave behind distance. Bold behind anonymity. Pathetic once consequence had a face. He sat in a small holding room near the security corridor with two staff members by the door and his phone placed face-up on the table.
He was young enough to still believe fear looked like innocence if he made his eyes wide enough. I stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind me. No shouting. No dramatic anger. Just silence. That scared him more than yelling would have. Good.
“Unlock it,” I said. His hands tightened around the phone.
“I already deleted them.”
“I didn’t ask what you deleted.” His throat moved.
I held out my hand. “I said unlock it.” He hesitated.
That was his second mistake of the day. One of the security staff shifted near the door, just enough for him to remember he was not standing in a crowd anymore.
The fan unlocked the phone.
I took it, looked at the screen, then placed it back on the table between us. “Recently deleted.” His face went pale. “There it is,” I murmured. He started talking immediately.
Apologies. Excuses. Panic. The usual useless mixture from someone confusing regret with accountability. I lifted one hand slightly. He stopped. “You came here to watch a performance,” I said quietly. “Not collect pieces of women they did not choose to give you.”
His mouth opened. Nothing came out. Good.
“You thought the crowd protected you. You thought the phone protected you. You thought being one person in thousands made you forgettable.” I leaned back slightly in the chair. “It didn’t.” The room went still.
Even the security staff stopped moving. They had stepped in thinking their presence would make the room feel dangerous, until they saw the veins standing sharp along my forearm, the stillness in my shoulders, the way my jaw locked so tightly it made my temple pulse, and realized the only thing in that room keeping me civilized was discipline.
Not mercy, discipline.
The ringing in my ears had started sometime between his first excuse and my first breath. A thin, high whine behind the skull.
Stress.
Adrenaline.
Rage so compressed it had nowhere clean to go.
I heard it anyway. Louder than his breathing. Louder than the security staff shifting by the door. Louder than the ugly little part of me that wanted him to give me a reason. Any reason. But my hands stayed still. My voice stayed soft.
That was what scared them. Not that I was angry. Anyone could be angry.
The staff were scared because I was aware of every single sign my body was giving me, every tremor I refused to let reach my fingers, every violent answer I did not allow into the room, and I was still choosing my next words like paperwork.
“I know your name,” I continued. “I know the ticket account. I know the section. I know the account those clips were going to. I know enough to make this painfully simple.”
His breathing changed. Shallow now.
“You should understand something before you leave this room. Companies bury people in legality every day. Quietly. Slowly. So thoroughly that by the time they realize they’re drowning, they’ve already signed three forms they didn’t understand and answered five emails that made things worse.”
His lips parted slightly. I continued. “Venue reports. Agency complaints. Civil claims. Platform escalations. Permanent bans from affiliated events. Reputation management. Legal discovery. Every polite mechanism people invented so nobody has to get their hands dirty.”
I tilted my head, the small smile on my face reaching nowhere near my eyes “And that is me choosing to be civilized.”
The fan blinked. Once. Twice. His eyes moved toward the hallway, toward where the members had disappeared minutes earlier, then back to me. That was when he understood. I wasn’t calm. I was restraining myself. Not because of him. Because of them. Because somewhere beyond that wall were five women who trusted me enough to believe I would come back as the same man who had left them.
His face drained of color. Not because he thought I was going to hurt him. Because he understood I wanted to. And the only thing keeping that want from becoming real was the fact that I cared more about what they would see in me afterward than what he deserved now. The room felt smaller. The fan swallowed hard. For the first time since I entered, he looked genuinely ashamed. Not of being caught. Of understanding.
“Personally, I don’t think fans like you deserve this much leniency,” I said softly. “Not legally. Not socially. Not personally.”
One of the security staff glanced at me. I did not look away from the fan. That was when the fan finally understood. The security staff were not there to help me scare him. They were there in case I decided human decency had become too generous.
His eyes flickered toward them. Then back to me. Then toward the hallway again. And somehow that seemed to break him more than any threat. Because he knew exactly why I was sitting in a chair instead of standing over him. Exactly why every sentence sounded measured. Exactly why every word felt chosen. Not for his sake. For theirs.
“You saw them as bodies first and people second,” I continued. “So I need you to understand exactly what happens if I decide to see you as paperwork instead of a person.” His hands trembled. “You would lose.” The words landed flatly. No heat. No drama. Just fact that I could deliver in the same breath as asking for coffee. The kind of fact that would bury him and leave me annoyed only because it had taken time out of my day.
I continued, “Not because I’m special. Not because I’m angry. Because I have more money, more lawyers, more access, more patience, and fewer reasons than you think to be merciful.” His eyes widened. I leaned forward slightly.
“Ruining your life would take less effort from me than deciding not to show up at work on a Tuesday morning.” Silence. Then quieter— “And unlike work, I might actually enjoy making the point.”
That was when he broke. Not all at once. Slowly. His breathing hitched. His eyes watered. The phone nearly slipped from his fingers. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I swear, I won’t—” he stopped. Looked away. Ashamed. “I didn’t think about it.” his voice shook “I swear I didn’t think about them like that. I wasn’t trying to—” his throat closed. Because even he knew how pathetic it sounded. The room remained silent. “I just wanted the video,” he muttered out. Then his face crumpled. The truth finally catching up to him. “I didn’t think they’d feel violated”. The word hung there. ‘Violated’. He looked sick after saying it.
Like hearing it out loud had forced him to confront what he’d actually done. His eyes darted toward me again. And somehow seeing that I wasn’t yelling made him unravel further. Because if I had screamed, he could have hidden behind fear. If I had threatened him, he could have called me unreasonable. Instead, I was sitting there, speaking calmly, choosing restraint he knew he hadn’t earned. And that made him feel small.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. The words came out broken. Small. Useless. “I didn’t think—” He stopped because even he heard how pathetic it sounded. Of course he hadn’t thought.
That was the problem.
He had wanted a video. A clip. A private thrill he could hide behind a screen and a crowd. He had not thought about the women on the other side of it until consequence gave them faces.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, weaker this time. “No,” I interrupted. “You’re scared. Don’t insult me by pretending this is morality. He flinched. The words hit. Because they were true. His guilt was real. His shame was real. But fear had opened the door first. He shut up instantly. I nodded toward the phone. “Delete everything. Recently deleted. Cloud backups. Draft uploads. Private archive. Any message where you sent it to someone else. Anything you thought was clever.”
He obeyed. Frantically. Thoroughly. When he finished, I looked toward security. “Flag his ticket information. I don’t want him near another event involving my artists ever again.”
The fan flinched at ‘my artists’. Good. Before security escorted him out, I spoke again “One more thing.” He froze.
“If anything appears online later—one frame, one cropped still, one anonymous repost that traces back to you—I won’t ask questions next time.” I smiled faintly. “I’ll just start,” then softer “and I’ll let you know it was me.”
The fan stared at me. Not defiant. Not angry. Just devastated. Because he finally understood that the mercy he had received had never been for him. It had been for the people waiting on the other side of that wall. The people I refused to disappoint. The people who would never know how close he had come to finding out what happened when that restraint disappeared.
My face challenged him to try. The door closed behind him. For a moment, the room stayed quiet. Then I exhaled slowly. Not from guilt. From irritation. Because the worst part was not how angry I had been. The worst part was how precisely I had controlled it. And how easy it had been to mean every word.
When I returned to the waiting area, the girls were quiet. Too quiet. They had clearly heard enough. Not all of it. But enough.
Yuna sat with a towel around her shoulders, still damp from the stage, eyes fixed on me like she was trying to reconcile the man who kept looking away from her with the one who had just calmly explained how easy it would be to erase someone from public life.
Chaeryeong looked unsettled, fingers gripping the edge of her towel. Lia watched me without blinking.
Yeji’s expression was the worst. Not fear. Recognition.
Like she had just seen a door open inside me and realized she didn’t know where it led. Ryujin broke the silence first.
“…That was kind of hot.” “Ryujin,” Lia said immediately.
“What?” Ryujin muttered. “I said kind of.”
Chaeryeong’s voice came softer. “He was filming us like that?”
The cold part of me disappeared the second I looked at her. “Not anymore.” That seemed to help. A little. But Lia was still watching me. “You’re very calm when you’re angry,” she said quietly. I met her gaze “That’s useful”. Her expression tightened slightly “That’s what worries me.”
Then Yuna stood. Slowly. The towel slipped slightly from one shoulder, but for once she didn’t seem to notice. “You scared him,” she said “Good”. Her eyes stayed on mine. “You scared me a little too.” My chest tightened. “Yuna—”
“Not like that.” Her voice was quieter now. Focused. “I mean…” She glanced toward the door, then back at me. “I didn’t know you could look like that for us.” That landed harder than anything she had done all week. Because the teasing had been survivable. The flirting had rules. Even her temptation had a shape I could understand. But this? This was different. Yuna had stopped playing. And somehow, that made her more dangerous than before.
Yeji stepped forward. Not sharply. Not loudly. But everyone felt it anyway “Ben”. I looked at her. Her voice was quiet, but there was nothing soft about it. “How far were you going to take that?” The room went still again. I should have answered carefully. I knew that. Instead, the truth came out first. “As far as I needed to.” Wrong answer.
I knew it the moment Yeji’s expression changed. Not fear. She was hurt. Like I had answered a different question than the one she actually asked. For a second, nobody moved. Then Yeji inhaled slowly and looked around the room, her leader instincts locking back into place before the moment could fracture in front of everyone. “Everyone should change first,” she said calmly. “Warm clothes, dry hair, food if you can eat.”
Ryujin opened her mouth. Lia touched her arm once. Ryujin closed it. Good survival instincts. Yeji looked back at me. “We’ll talk later.” Four words. Quiet. Controlled. Catastrophic. Then she turned away to help Chaeryeong with the spare hoodie folded beside her bag, and the room slowly started moving again. But nothing felt normal after that. Not the towels. Not the staff. Not the sound of the festival still roaring outside like nothing had happened.
And definitely not Yuna, who kept watching me like the answer she had been waiting for all week had finally arrived— just not in the form either of us expected.
The rest of the backstage process moved with the strange stiffness of people pretending something had not shifted. Staff came in and out with dry clothes. Hair dryers buzzed from the corner. Someone placed food trays on the table. The festival outside continued roaring like the world had not narrowed into a backstage holding room and one question from Yeji.
Everyone changed into warmer clothes eventually. Chaeryeong stayed close to Lia for a while, still quieter than usual. Ryujin tried to joke twice, failed once, then wisely decided to eat instead. Yuna disappeared into her own thoughts, towel still around her shoulders even after she had already dried off.
Yeji remained composed. Too composed. Which somehow made the entire room feel more dangerous. I finished the final post-stage checks with staff on autopilot. Transport route. Security handoff. Outfit returns. Media restrictions. Recovery schedule. Uploaded incident report. Normal things. Professional things. Useful things. The kind of work that gave my hands something to do while the rest of me tried not to think about the way Yeji had looked at me.
Eventually, the staff cleared out. Then Lia gently stood. “We should give them a minute.” Ryujin looked at her. “What?” Lia didn’t answer. She just looked toward Yeji, then toward me. Ryujin’s mouth opened. Then closed. For once, she understood. “Right,” Ryujin muttered, grabbing her towel. “Emotional adult conversation. Gross.” Chaeryeong hesitated briefly before following Lia out. Yuna was last. She paused near the doorway, eyes flicking between me and Yeji. For a second, I thought she might say something. She didn’t. Not yet. She only looked at me with that same quiet intensity from earlier. Like the teasing had burned away and left something sharper underneath. Then she left too. The door closed. And suddenly the waiting room was too quiet.
Yeji stood near the table, arms folded loosely, hair still damp from the performance. Her hoodie hung around her shoulders now, but she hadn’t put it on properly. She looked tired. Not physically. Emotionally. That was worse. I tried first. “That wasn’t how I wanted them to see it.” Yeji looked at me. “That’s what you’re worried about?” I stopped.
Wrong opening. Outstanding start. She exhaled slowly, then looked down at the table like she was forcing herself to stay calm.
“I’m not angry because you protected us.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
The question landed harder than expected. I didn’t answer. Yeji looked back up. “Because I watched you in there, Ben. You didn’t look like someone trying to solve a problem.” Her voice stayed even. That made it worse.
“You looked like someone deciding whether a person deserved mercy.” The words settled between us. Heavy. Accurate. Difficult to deny. I swallowed.
“He violated them.”
“I know.”
“He was going to upload—”
“I know,” Yeji repeated, sharper this time.
Then she softened immediately, like the edge had hurt her too. “I know what he did. I’m not defending him.” Her eyes held mine. “I’m scared of what you were willing to become because of it.” That shut me up completely.
Yeji stepped closer, but slowly. Not like she was afraid of me. Like she was afraid I would misunderstand her.
“If this was something legal departments, venue security, and agency reports could handle, and you still looked like that…” Her voice lowered. “What happens when something happens to us that legality can’t handle?”
My chest tightened. There it was. The real question. The one neither of us wanted spoken out loud. I tried to answer carefully. “I’d handle it.” Yeji’s face changed. Just slightly. But enough to hurt. “That’s what I’m scared of.”
I looked away. Big mistake. Because for once, looking away didn’t save me from anything. Yeji reached for my hand. Not forcefully. Just enough to stop me from retreating into myself. “I’m not asking you to care less,” she whispered. That made me look at her again. Her eyes were glossy now, but her voice stayed steady. “I know you. If I asked you to care less, you’d just lie to me.” A weak laugh almost escaped me. It didn’t make it. She squeezed my hand.
“I’m asking you to come back afterward.” That hit harder than any accusation could have. Because it wasn’t about the fan anymore. It wasn’t even about Waterbomb. It was about the line inside me I kept pretending was theoretical. Yeji stepped closer, her other hand pressing lightly against my chest. “Protect us. Be angry. Do what you have to do. But don’t become someone we have to be afraid of losing”. My throat tightened “Yeji…”
“Because I love you,” she said, softer now. “And I don’t want your love for us to be the thing that destroys you.” For a moment, I couldn’t say anything. There were jokes for most situations. Deflections. Sarcasm. Professional language. Managerial distance. None of them survived her.
So I just lowered my forehead against hers and closed my eyes. “I don’t know if I can promise that perfectly.” Her fingers tightened against my shirt. “Then don’t promise perfectly.” I opened my eyes. Yeji looked up at me, close enough that the festival noise outside felt like another world entirely. “Promise you’ll try before you disappear somewhere I can’t follow.”
That was easier and harder all at once. “I’ll try,” I whispered. She breathed out slowly, like that was the only answer she expected and the only one she could accept. Then she leaned up and kissed me. Not passionate. Not desperate. Not trying to erase the conversation. Just enough to remind me that she was still there. That I was still there. When she pulled away, her thumb brushed lightly against my jaw. “You scared me today.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.” Then, quieter…
“Don’t make me get used to it.” That one landed deep. I nodded once. Yeji held my gaze for another second before finally stepping back. Leader mode returned gradually, but not completely. Not around me. “Come on,” she said softly. “The others are probably pretending not to worry.”
“Ryujin is probably pretending not to listen.”
“She is absolutely listening.”
When we opened the door, Ryujin was standing several feet away beside the hallway vending machine, holding a drink she clearly had no intention of buying. She looked at us. We looked at her “…Hydration,” she said. Lia, sitting farther down the hallway, closed her eyes in visible disappointment. Yuna was leaning against the wall beside Chaeryeong, but her attention was not on Ryujin. It was on me.
And for the first time all week, Yuna did not look like she was trying to make me react. She looked like she had already decided what she wanted.
The incident report reached the Top Floor before the night had fully ended. Which was honestly impressive. Terrifying. But still impressive. By the time the members had washed up, changed, and retreated into various corners of the floor to recover from Waterbomb, I was already sitting in the private room with the report open on the tablet in front of me.
Across from me sat JYP. Beside him, Jihyo. And leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed, face unreadable, was John. That was how I knew this was not going to be a normal review.
JYP looked down at the report first. “The official version says the fan was removed for invasive filming, footage deleted, ticket information flagged, and venue security notified.” He looked up at me “That part is clean”. I said nothing. JYP’s expression did not change. “The unofficial part is where this becomes complicated”. Jihyo sat quietly beside him, but her eyes were already on me. Not hostile. Not disappointed. Watchful. Like she understood the anger better than most people would. Like she was also trying to measure something she had not expected to find.
JYP folded his hands over the table. “Ben,” he said. “Was this handled as company procedure, or personally as Mr. Sung Benjamin?” The question sat there. Sharp enough that nobody needed to repeat it. I leaned back slightly.
“The fan was filming them from an invasive angle.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“He was corrected.”
John’s eyes flicked toward me immediately. There it was. The smallest reaction. Almost nothing. But I caught it. JYP’s gaze narrowed slightly “Corrected”. I looked at him “Yes”. For a moment, nobody spoke. Then JYP glanced down at another page attached to the report. “Before this meeting,” he said, “I spoke to the venue staff”. That got my attention. His eyes lifted “They all described the same thing”. The room stayed quiet.
“One security supervisor said you were calmer than anyone else in the room. Another said you never raised your voice once.” JYP’s gaze remained fixed on me. “And a third told me he was more afraid of you because you weren’t shouting.” Nobody spoke.
“They said you looked like a man whose body was about to tear itself apart from rage,” JYP continued. “But your voice never changed.” The words landed heavily. “You maintained composure the entire time”. For the first time since the meeting began, something almost resembling admiration crossed JYP’s face. Not approval. Certainly not approval. But recognition.
“Do you know how uncommon that is?” I said nothing. “Most people lose control when they become angry,” JYP said. “They shout. They threaten. They become emotional.” His eyes sharpened. “You did the opposite.” The room remained still. “You were disciplined.” The word hung there. Heavy. Measured.
“Frankly,” JYP admitted, “man to man, I understand why the staff found it unsettling.” John looked away briefly. Jihyo remained silent. JYP folded his hands again. “I can appreciate the discipline it takes to stay composed when every instinct is telling you not to.” Then his expression hardened again. “But that is also exactly why we are having this conversation.”
The admiration vanished. The executive returned. “Because if you had lost your temper, this would be easier.” I frowned slightly. JYP nodded. “A man who loses control can be corrected”. His gaze stayed locked on mine. “A man who remains perfectly in control while deciding how much fear another person deserves is much harder to predict.”
The room fell silent again. And somehow, that landed harder than criticism would have. Jihyo exhaled quietly. “Fans like that are disgusting,” she said. “I’m not going to pretend otherwise.” Her voice was calm, but there was something colder underneath it. The kind of cold that came from years of knowing exactly what it felt like to be treated like a body before a person. “But I have seen managers get angry before,” she continued. “I’ve seen staff lose their temper. I’ve seen people shout, threaten, overreact.” Her eyes stayed on mine. “You were not like that”. I said nothing. “You were calm.”
John finally pushed himself off the wall. “That’s the problem”. I turned toward him. His expression had changed now. Recognition instead of judgment. And somehow, that felt worse. “You didn’t talk to him like a manager protecting artists,” John said. “You talked to him like someone deciding whether mercy was worth the inconvenience.” JYP looked toward John. “You sound like you’ve seen that tone before.” John’s jaw shifted slightly. For one second, I saw the calculation happen behind his eyes. What to say. What not to say. What truths could survive in this room without exposing everything else. Then John looked back at me. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I have.”
Jihyo’s attention sharpened. John crossed his arms again, but his voice stayed even. “When I first came into this industry, things got messy with my old job. The company was trying to make me the clean scapegoat for something bigger than me. Easier to blame one foreign manager than admit the whole machine was already broken.” JYP said nothing. But he listened. “And they did,” John continued. “That’s how I lost my gig with NewJeans.”
The room stayed quiet. “After that, one of them pushed too far. Thought he had enough connections, enough paperwork, enough public distance to ruin me and walk away clean”. His eyes moved to mine. “Then Ben’s father got involved.” The air shifted. Not dramatically. But enough. Jihyo glanced toward me briefly. JYP leaned back slightly. “What happened?” he asked.
John smiled faintly. Without humor. “There was no dramatic ending. No threat anyone could point to. No crime anyone could prove. That was what made it worse.” His voice lowered. “One day, that man had a career, contacts, credibility, a history. Then little pieces of it started vanishing”. Nobody spoke. “Records stopped helping him. References stopped existing. People who used to know him suddenly couldn’t remember much. Opportunities dried up before they reached him. Every door he thought was secure somehow opened for everyone except him.”
John’s mouth tightened. “And after a while, it was like the industry looked at him and decided he had never really belonged there in the first place.” Jihyo slowly set her cup down. For the first time since entering the room, she looked genuinely unsettled.
“That isn’t influence,” she said quietly.
“No,” John replied.
His smile carried no humor “It wasn’t”.
JYP leaned back. The implications were settling in now. Not just what my father had been capable of. What kind of network, leverage, and reach had been required to make something like that happen without anyone ever being able to prove it happened. And then another realization followed immediately behind it. His eyes shifted toward me. Toward the son who had inherited everything. John noticed. Of course he did.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s the part everyone eventually figures out”. The room stayed silent. “Ben inherited all of it.” Jihyo’s expression tightened. John nodded once. “And then he expanded it.” That landed harder than anything before it. Not because it was dramatic. Because nobody in the room doubted it. John looked directly at JYP. “His father built an empire”. Then at me. “Ben made it bigger.” The silence afterward felt heavier than before. JYP’s fingers folded together slowly. For the first time, he wasn’t looking at me like a manager. He was looking at me like a variable. A force. Something difficult to measure.
Jihyo looked away briefly. Processing. Because suddenly the conversation wasn’t only about a fan anymore. It was about understanding exactly what kind of person had been standing beside ITZY this entire time. John saw where both of their thoughts were heading. And immediately stepped in.
“Which is exactly why I’m saying he’s not his father.” Both of them looked at him. John’s voice remained steady. “If Ben were his father, this conversation wouldn’t be happening.” I frowned slightly. John ignored me. “His father wouldn’t have stopped at fear. He wouldn’t have questioned himself afterward. He wouldn’t have sat here listening to criticism.” His gaze settled on me. “He definitely wouldn’t have admitted he didn’t know how to protect people without going too far.” Nobody spoke. John continued anyway.
“Do I think Ben is walking close to the same edge?” He did not hesitate. “Yes.”
“Do I think he is capable of becoming something more dangerous than his father?” His expression hardened “Absolutely”.
That one hit. Hard. “But the difference,” John said, “is that Ben still asks whether he’s wrong.” The room fell silent again. And somehow, that silence felt different. Not lighter. But clearer. Because for the first time since the story began, Jihyo and JYP were not just seeing the shadow my father had cast. They were seeing the fact that I had every tool necessary to become something worse and still had not.
JYP looked at me again. “Ben.” His voice was not angry. That made it worse. “Do I need to worry that your protection of ITZY will become something the company cannot control?” There it was. Not punishment. Assessment. JYP was not asking if the fan deserved sympathy. He was asking whether the man entrusted with protecting ITZY had just shown him a liability no report could cleanly contain.
I looked down at the tablet. The report was still there. Clean language. Professional wording. Everything ugly trimmed into acceptable documentation. I should have said no. Instead, I said the truth. “If the company could control every threat, I wouldn’t need to exist.” Jihyo closed her eyes briefly. John looked away. JYP did not react immediately. But the silence answered for him.
“That is exactly the kind of answer that concerns me,” JYP said. I looked back at him. His tone stayed even. Not cold. Not corporate, either. Something more difficult. Understanding.
“You are not wrong that the company cannot control every threat,” he said. “And you are not wrong to be angry.” That surprised me enough that I said nothing. JYP’s gaze did not move. “What you felt in that room was human, Benjamin. More human than you probably want to admit. Someone tried to violate the privacy and dignity of artists under your care. Anger is not the problem.” he leaned forward slightly. “What you chose to do with that anger is.”
The room stayed quiet. “You had options,” JYP continued. “Legal options. Security options. Venue procedures. Agency action. Company escalation. All of them slower than what you wanted, maybe. Less satisfying, certainly.” his voice hardened by one degree “But they existed.”
That landed. Cleanly. “And instead,” he said, “you walked into that room already deciding how far you were willing to go if fear did not work fast enough.” I looked down at the tablet again. JYP saw it too. “That is where I have to stand with the company,” he said. “Not against you. Not against ITZY. But against the idea that access to resources gives you the right to become a private punishment system.”
Jihyo finally spoke. “Ben.” Her voice was softer now, but it carried something heavier than before “You know nobody here is asking you to let people hurt them.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
The same question Yeji had asked earlier. Different voice. Same wound. Jihyo leaned forward slightly “I understand why you did it. More than you probably think. I understand seeing someone try to take something from them and wanting to make sure he never gets the chance again.” Her eyes moved briefly toward the closed door. Toward the rest of the Top Floor. Toward the five women somewhere beyond it. “I knew you would care about them,” she said quietly. “I expected that. I needed that.”
I looked at her. Jihyo held my gaze. “When I asked John for someone who could help ITZY, I was not asking for someone detached. I knew ordinary management would not be enough. I knew they needed someone who would see them properly, someone who would become invested enough to notice the things everyone else missed.” Her expression tightened “What I did not know was how easily that care could turn into you throwing your humanity away for them.”
The words struck harder than I expected. Jihyo did not look away “And the worst part is…” She exhaled softly. “I understand it.” That made the room feel smaller. “I understand wanting to become whatever stands between them and the world. I understand wanting someone like that fan to be afraid. I understand why, in that moment, legality probably felt too polite for what he had done.” Her voice lowered. “But understanding it does not make it right.”
I said nothing. “He could have been handled by the company. By security. By legal action. By procedures that exist for exactly this kind of violation.” Her eyes softened, but her voice stayed firm. “You were willing to erase someone over something legality could have handled.”
Yeji’s question echoed through me again. What happens when something happens to us that legality can’t handle?
Jihyo looked at me like she heard it too. “That’s what scares me,” she said. “Not that you protected them. Not that you were angry. But that if this is what you resorted to when the system still has answers…” she paused. “What happens when it doesn’t?”
John nodded once “That’s what I’m trying to say.” I looked toward him. He was not smiling now. “You are starting to go down the same route as your dad.” The words landed harder than anything else in the room. John’s voice stayed quiet.
“And I owe your father more than I can say. I mean that. What he did for me probably saved my career. Maybe more than that.” He stepped closer “But he also scared the hell out of me”. I swallowed once. John noticed. “He protected people by making himself the thing everyone else was afraid of,” John said. “And it worked. That’s the dangerous part. It worked so well that nobody could tell him to stop.”
The room stayed still. John looked at me directly. “I watched him justify it the same way you just did”. That cut deeper. Not loud or dramatic. Just precise. “He would say the system couldn’t handle it. That normal rules were too slow. That people like him only existed because softer people couldn’t afford to get their hands dirty.” John’s expression tightened “And every time it worked, it got easier for him to believe he was right.”
I could not answer. He did not let me.
“I am not asking you to stop protecting them,” John said. “I know you won’t. Honestly, I wouldn’t believe you if you said you would.” A weak laugh almost escaped me. John continued. “I am asking you to notice when protecting them starts sounding like permission.”
JYP’s eyes stayed on me. Jihyo’s face softened with something like pain. John stepped closer, voice lower now. “Because today, you did not sound like someone who had lost control.” His jaw tightened. “You sounded like someone who had control and knew exactly how much damage he could do with it.”
That was worse. Because it was true. JYP finally spoke again. “Protection cannot become private punishment.” His tone was firm now. Not corporate. Personal. “I will not pretend the fan deserved sympathy. He did not. But if your first instinct is to decide whether someone’s life is worth ruining, then your line is already too close.”
I looked at him. JYP held firm. “You are valuable because the girls trust you. John trusts you. Jihyo trusts you. I trusted their judgment when they brought you here, so that means I also trust you.” He paused. “But trust is not permission to become uncontrollable”. That one struck deep. Jihyo’s voice followed, gentler. “They need you, Ben. More than I think even you understand.” Her eyes moved briefly toward John, then back to me. “And yes, I knew they would need you. I knew that was part of the risk.” Her voice softened.
“But they need you as a person they can come back to. Not as a monster standing between them and the world.” I looked down. For once, I had no answer ready. John’s voice came last. “And definitely not as someone who burns himself alive just to keep everyone else warm.” That was the line that finally made the room feel too small. I leaned back, exhaling slowly.
“I wasn’t going to hurt him.” “No,” John said. He looked at me carefully. “You were going to make him wish you had.” I did not deny it. That was the worst part. JYP saw that. Jihyo saw that. For a while, nobody said anything. Then I finally spoke. “I don’t know how to protect them halfway.” Jihyo’s expression softened immediately. “You do not have to protect them halfway.” John nodded “You just have to leave enough of yourself intact to come back afterward.”
Yeji’s words echoed through me. Come back afterward. I closed my eyes for one second. Then opened them again. “I’ll try.” It was not enough. Not really. But it was honest. And in that room, after everything that had happened, honesty was probably the only thing any of them were willing to accept.
JYP nodded once “For now, that will have to do.” But his expression made it clear the matter was not gone. Only held. John let out a slow breath. Jihyo looked toward the closed door, where somewhere beyond it, five women were trying to recover from a day that had become heavier than any of them expected. Then she looked back at me. “Go back to them,” she said quietly “But don’t make them carry the fear of losing you too”. That one stayed with me.
After the meeting ended with an agreeable note, all of us left the room and the silence followed us for about five seconds. Then JYP stopped walking. Which was never a good sign.
He stood in the hallway of the Top Floor, looking slowly from the private lounge to the open kitchen, then toward the glass walls overlooking the city. His expression shifted from concern to confusion to the unmistakable look of a man realizing a corporate budget had not been involved in any of this.
“…This is all yours?” he asked. I glanced around. “The floor?” JYP turned toward me “The floor, the lounge, the gym, the private kitchen, the recovery room, the security system, the separate residential access, and whatever room I saw with the massage equipment that looked more expensive than our trainee facility.” I blinked. “Then yes.”
Jihyo, standing beside John, slowly looked around again. Her eyes narrowed slightly. Not suspicious. Calculating. “This is where ITZY has been staying?”
“Sometimes,” I said. Jihyo looked toward me. “Sometimes?”
“It’s a private decompression space.” John coughed into his fist. That was not helpful. Jihyo’s attention sharpened immediately. “A private decompression space,” she repeated. “That sounds suspicious when you say it like that.” JYP looked toward the kitchen island, then back at me. “I assume the company is not reimbursing any of this.” I stared at him. Then laughed once. “Absolutely not.”
“Good,” he replied immediately “Because I was not approving this.”
“The company couldn’t afford reimbursement.” JYP’s expression went flat. John immediately turned away like he wanted no legal involvement in the conversation. Jihyo covered her mouth with one hand. Not quite laughing. Definitely close. JYP looked personally wounded. “Benjamin.”
“What?” I asked. “I took this job under minimum wage conditions. You are receiving premium infrastructure from a severely underpaid employee.”
“You negotiated your own salary.”
“I negotiated emotionally.”
“That is not a legal category.”
“It should be.” John finally muttered, “For Ben, it usually is.” JYP looked at John. “You are not helping.”
“I know.” Jihyo walked a few steps farther into the lounge, still studying everything with quiet disbelief. Then she turned back toward me. “So…” I immediately disliked that tone “…do you plan on inviting TWICE here too?” John froze. I froze. The air froze. Jihyo smiled. Very slightly. This dangerous woman. I kept my expression professionally neutral with the full confidence of a man currently dying internally.
“For appropriate occasions, senior artists are always welcome to use recovery facilities.” John slowly closed his eyes. Jihyo’s smile widened “That sounded very rehearsed.”
“It was improvised under pressure.”
“Terrible improvisation.”
“Thank you.”
JYP looked between us, missing whatever invisible landmine had just almost detonated. “What is wrong with inviting TWICE? It would be good for senior-junior morale.” John made a sound that might have been a cough or prayer. I looked at JYP “Sir, with respect, if TWICE and ITZY occupy this floor at the same time, I cannot legally guarantee structural, emotional, or financial stability.” Jihyo laughed properly at that. John pointed at me. “He’s not wrong.” JYP frowned. “This is why company facilities have schedules.”
“This is why private facilities have locks.” The second I said it, John slowly turned his head toward me. Jihyo’s eyes lit up. JYP blinked. I sighed. “Not like that.” John nodded gravely. “Sure.”
“That tone says the opposite of sure.” Jihyo smiled into her hand. Before the conversation could become more dangerous, voices drifted from the common area.
The ITZY members had clearly been waiting.
Chaeryeong appeared first near the hallway entrance, wrapped in a hoodie and looking relieved enough to make my chest tighten. Lia was beside her with tea in hand, calm but watchful. Yeji stood slightly behind them, composed in leader mode, though her eyes found me immediately. Yuna leaned against the back of the couch, still quieter than usual. And Ryujin— Ryujin walked in confidently, saw JYP, and stopped dead. Not slowed. Stopped. Her entire body locked like a deer in headlights.
JYP smiled politely “Ryujin-ah.” Ryujin’s face went pale “…Sir.” Everyone looked at her. I looked at her. Then slowly, beautifully, horrifically, understanding dawned. I smiled. Ryujin’s eyes snapped toward me. “No.” I said nothing. She pointed at me “No.”
JYP looked confused “What is happening?” Yuna’s face slowly brightened with evil realization. “Oh my God.” Lia immediately closed her eyes “Ben, don’t.” I clasped my hands behind my back. “Ryujin has been extremely committed to maintaining professional conduct lately.” Ryujin looked like she had witnessed the gates of hell opening “Ben.”
“That is good to hear.” JYP looked pleased. “It is,” I said solemnly. “In fact, we were discussing potential morale-building activities.”
Ryujin visibly mouthed, don’t you dare. I dared.
“Perhaps a lighthearted TikTok challenge.” Ryujin inhaled like she had been stabbed. Yuna folded instantly, laughing into the back of the couch. Chaeryeong looked between everyone, confused. “What TikTok challenge?” Ryujin spun toward her. “Nothing.”
“With aegyo,” I added. Ryujin made a noise that was not language. JYP brightened. “With me?”
The room went silent. Ryujin stared at him like he had personally announced the apocalypse. Jihyo slowly turned away, shoulders shaking. John whispered, “Oh no.” Yuna was on the floor now, actually on the floor. Lia set her tea down carefully, probably to avoid throwing it. JYP looked around, mildly offended. “What? I can do aegyo.” Ryujin’s voice came out hollow “That’s the problem.”
JYP blinked. John lost the battle first and laughed. Then Jihyo broke. Then Yuna made a sound like she was actively dying. Even Chaeryeong started laughing once she finally understood that Ryujin, of all people, was genuinely afraid. I stood there quietly, watching the Top Floor come back to life one laugh at a time. Ryujin slowly turned back toward me “You are a monster.”
“That was established in the meeting.” I told her.
“Too soon,” Lia said immediately.
“Correct,” Yeji added.
“Fair.” I nodded once.
Ryujin pointed at JYP, then at me. “If this happens, I want hazard pay.” JYP frowned. “For aegyo?” Yuna wheezed from the floor. Jihyo leaned against the kitchen island, wiping at the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “I just never thought I’d see Ryujin afraid of anything.” Ryujin looked betrayed. “I fear reasonable things.”
“You once ate convenience store chicken that had been sitting out for six hours,” Lia said.
“That was bravery.”
“That was bacterial roulette.”
JYP raised a finger. “I still think the TikTok would be good content.” Ryujin whispered, “Please don’t say content.” John looked at me. “You realize you’ve created the first known Ryujin containment protocol.”
“I’m considering patenting it.” Yuna finally pushed herself upright, still laughing. “Can we make it a group challenge?” Ryujin spun toward her. “You were supposed to be my sister.”
“You threatened my recreational fund last time.”
“That was different.”
“You endangered luxury.”
“That’s unforgivable,” I said. Yuna pointed at me. “Exactly.”
JYP paused “…Hold on.” Everyone looked at him. “What recreational fund?” Silence. Yuna immediately looked away. Ryujin suddenly found the ceiling fascinating. John muttered, “Oh no.” JYP narrowed his eyes. “There’s an ITZY recreational fund?” I answered honestly. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because stress relief matters.” JYP stared at me. “I don’t have a recreational fund.” I blinked once “That’s deeply concerning.”
“I run the company.”
“And yet no recreational fund. This explains a lot.” Jihyo physically turned away to hide her laughter. JYP pointed at me “You created a recreational fund for ITZY?”
Yuna raised her hand immediately. “Luxury desserts.”
“Movie nights,” Lia added carefully.
“Spa reservations,” Chaeryeong admitted.
“Private gym access,” Yeji said.
JYP looked increasingly betrayed with every answer. “I founded this company.”
“And now your artists have better emotional infrastructure than most governments.”
“That is not comforting.”
“It should be.”
JYP rubbed his forehead. “I genuinely cannot tell if you are an employee or a hostile takeover with good intentions.”
“Both can be true.” John nodded. “That’s the scary part.” JYP sighed heavily. “I don’t even have a recreational fund.” I reached into my jacket. John immediately noticed. “Oh no.” I pulled out my checkbook. JYP stared at it “Benjamin.”
“You mentioned emotional distress.”
“That was not an invoice.”
“It is now.”
“Ben,” Lia whispered, already laughing. I wrote the check calmly. Tore it free. Handed it to JYP. “For emotional compensation related to today’s incident, appreciation for not firing me on the spot, and a contribution toward a nice snack.” JYP looked down at the number. Then stopped breathing for a second “…Benjamin.” John leaned over. Then recoiled like he had witnessed a crime “That’s more than a CEO’s annual salary.”
“Several,” Jihyo corrected after seeing it. Yuna screamed, actually screamed. Chaeryeong covered her mouth in horror. Lia nearly dropped her tea again. Ryujin stared at the check “You could buy a building with that.”
“I like gratitude,” I said simply. JYP looked genuinely shaken. “This is not a snack budget.”
“It could be.”
“For a nation.”
“Treat yourself.”
John looked at me with exhausted disbelief “You emotionally tipped the founder of JYPE.”
“He looked stressed”
JYP still hadn’t moved “You cannot casually hand me this amount of money.”
“If you think it’s not enough emotional compensation, I’ll happily write a second cheque.” The room went completely silent. JYP stared at me. John stared at me. Jihyo slowly lowered her hand from her face. Yuna looked personally offended on behalf of basic economics. “…A second cheque?” JYP repeated. I nodded. “You had a stressful day.” John made a strangled noise. “Ben.”
“What?”
“That is not how money works.”
“It’s exactly how money works.”
“That’s somehow worse.”
“He’s negotiating gratitude with executive bonuses.” Yuna pointed at me in disbelief “Emotional bonuses,” I corrected. Jihyo turned away immediately, shoulders shaking again. Lia covered her face “Oh my God.” Ryujin looked between me and the check. Then back at me. “You’re serious.”
“I’m always serious about emotional compensation.”
“That is terrifying.” JYP looked down at the check again. Then back at me. “That is an absurd amount of money.”
“You survived today without murdering me. I considered that premium service.”
Jihyo was openly crying laughing now. Yuna pointed at the check. “Sir, if you don’t want it, I volunteer as tribute.”
“Absolutely not,” JYP said immediately, clutching it tighter on instinct. Everyone noticed. The room exploded again. Even Yeji laughed at that one. Ryujin pointed accusingly. “You held onto it!”
“I was startled!”
“You protected it!”
“It’s emotionally confusing!”
John leaned against the counter “I cannot believe I just watched Park Jinyoung get financially flashbanged.”
“I said nice snack,” I reminded him. JYP looked back down at the check “…This could fund a small division.”
“Or an excellent dessert.”
“You are insane.”
“That has been repeatedly documented today.”
“If you buy the company, I’m canceling the aegyo TikToks.” Ryujin narrowed her eyes at m “No,” I said immediately. She blinked “No?”
“If I buy the company, weekly aegyo TikToks become policy.” The room detonated. Ryujin looked physically betrayed “WHAT?” Yuna collapsed back onto the couch screaming. Chaeryeong nearly fell into Lia. Jihyo had to grab the kitchen island for support. John whispered, “He weaponized capitalism.” JYP looked horrified “You cannot make aegyo a corporate mandate.”
“Watch me.”
Ryujin pointed at me like she was identifying a criminal in court.
“This is tyranny.”
“This is engagement optimization.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
“That confidence is upsetting.”
Yuna was crying laughing again “Weekly! Weekly!”
“Yuna,” Ryujin hissed, “I know where you sleep.”
“You live in the same dorm!”
“Then nowhere is safe!”
Even JYP was laughing now despite himself “I suddenly understand why everyone here looks exhausted.”
“Occupational hazard, sir.” John said. Ryujin crossed her arms.
“If this becomes policy, I’m unionizing.”
“I’ll fund the union,” I replied.
“That’s worse!”
Ryujin stared at all of us. Then slowly turned toward Jihyo “You’re a leader. Help me.” Jihyo considered it. Then smiled “Nothing I can do.” Ryujin’s soul visibly left her body. Chaeryeong covered her mouth, laughing softer now, but still smiling for the first time since the incident. That mattered more than I wanted to admit. Even Yeji’s expression had loosened. She still watched me with concern underneath everything, but the immediate fear had softened into something warmer. Not gone, just held back for now.
JYP finally looked around the room again, his gaze moving over the kitchen, the lounge, the members, the ridiculous amount of private infrastructure, and the people standing inside it like this place had somehow become less of a luxury floor and more of an emotional disaster shelter. Then he sighed “I am still not reimbursing this.”
“Again,” I said, “nobody asked you to.”
“You say that now.”
“I will continue saying that indefinitely.”
John crossed his arms “Until he buys the company.” JYP turned toward me sharply. I looked away. Jihyo noticed immediately “…Ben.”
“What?”
“Why did you look away?”
“I didn’t.”
“You absolutely did,” Yuna said, suddenly interested again. Lia picked up her tea “Oh no.” Ryujin’s eyes widened “Wait.” Chaeryeong looked confused again “Wait what?” JYP stared at me “Benjamin.” I sighed “I have not bought the company.”
Yet, remained unspoken. Unfortunately, everyone heard it anyway. Jihyo slowly covered her face. John looked spiritually exhausted. Yuna smiled like she had discovered premium chaos. Ryujin pointed at JYP “If he buys JYPE, can I cancel the aegyo TikTok?” I looked at her “No.”
“Then what is the point of wealth?”
“Protection, infrastructure, and emotionally questionable recreational funds.”
Yuna nodded solemnly “I support the recreational funds.”
“Of course you do,” Lia said. JYP looked like he had aged several years in one conversation “I came here to review an incident report and instead—” John cut him off, “you discovered Ben built an idol recovery fortress.” Jihyo glanced around again “Honestly? It’s nice.” JYP looked at her “Do not encourage him.”
“I’m not,” she said. Then, after a beat “But TWICE should visit.” John immediately walked toward the kitchen “Nope.” I pointed after him “That is the correct survival response.” Yuna grinned “Now I want them to visit.”
“That’s because you enjoy consequences,” Lia said. Yuna smiled sweetly “I enjoy events.”
“Catastrophes,” Ryujin corrected.
“Memorable events.”
The room finally laughed again. Properly this time. Not because everything was fine. It wasn’t. The incident still sat somewhere underneath us. The meeting still weighed on my shoulders. Yeji’s warning still lived in my chest like a hand refusing to let go. But for a few minutes, the Top Floor sounded like itself again. Chaotic. Expensive. Emotionally unstable. And most importantly, ours.
Later, after everyone finally dispersed toward the lounge and kitchen in smaller groups, JYP stopped beside me near the hallway overlooking the city. For once, he wasn’t joking. Neither was I. He looked through the glass for a long moment before speaking quietly.
“You know why I didn’t stop you today?” I leaned against the wall “Because you were outnumbered?”
“That too.” Then his expression softened “But mostly because I watched what happened to them after you arrived.” I stayed silent. “They laugh more,” he continued. “They rest more. They fight less. They recover faster. Even after today, they came here instead of hiding from each other”. His eyes moved toward the lounge where the girls’ voices echoed faintly “You made them feel safe.” Something tightened painfully in my chest. JYP looked back at me. “And you did it without asking the company for anything.”
“That wasn’t their responsibility.”
“It became yours anyway.”
I didn’t answer. He nodded slowly like that confirmed something “This industry creates dangerous people,” he said quietly. “Managers. Investors. Fans. Executives. Opportunists. People who smile while they hurt artists slowly.” The hallway suddenly felt very still “So I understand why someone like you becomes necessary.” I met his gaze, and a hint of seriousness could have been found in that calm demeanor “But necessary does not mean unchecked.”
The memory of the meeting flashed through my head. The silence. The fear. The way Yeji had looked at me afterward. JYP exhaled slowly “I’m grateful they have you,” he said quietly “I’m not grateful for what you almost became today.” That hit harder than I expected. He glanced once more toward the lounge. “Remember the difference.”
Then he folded the absurd check carefully into his jacket pocket “…And for the record,” he added, dead serious, “this better be an incredible snack.”
I stared at him. Then slowly looked toward John. John looked back at me with the exhausted expression of someone who had accepted that this was now his life. Jihyo, meanwhile, had already turned away with one hand over her mouth again. I sighed “I’ll have my accountant send recommendations.” JYP folded the check deeper into his jacket pocket with the solemn care of a man handling classified military intelligence “Good.”
“That check was not actually for snacks.”
“It is now.”
“Outstanding.”
John pushed himself off the wall “We should go before he accidentally funds another department.”
“That has only happened once.”
Jihyo looked at me “…Once?”
“Allegedly.”
“Benjamin.” JYP immediately looked concerned again.
“I said allegedly.”
“That does not comfort me.”
“It was not designed to.”
John placed a hand on JYP’s shoulder and gently steered him toward the private elevator before the conversation could become financially catastrophic again.
Jihyo lingered for a moment. Her gaze moved toward the lounge where ITZY had settled into softer laughter again, then back to me “You did scare them today,” she said quietly. The humor in the room dimmed at the edges. I nodded once “I know.”
“But they’re still here.” That made me look at her. Jihyo’s expression softened. “That means something.” I didn’t answer. She smiled faintly, then tapped my arm once. “Just make sure staying near you keeps meaning safety. Not fear.” Then she turned and followed John toward the elevator. The doors closed a moment later, taking JYP, Jihyo, John, and whatever remained of corporate stability with them.
For a while, the Top Floor stayed quiet. Not heavy exactly. Just tired. The kind of quiet that came after too much noise, too much laughter, too much fear, and too much pretending everyone had survived the day without consequences. Ryujin was the first to break it, naturally.
“So,” she said from the couch, “does this mean JYP has a recreational fund now?” Lia didn’t even look up from her tea “It means JYP has emotional damage.” Yuna nodded from the armchair “And possibly snack trauma.” Chaeryeong smiled faintly “He did look really serious about the snack.”
“He should be,” I muttered. “That was a generous snack.” Ryujin pointed toward me “You’re banned from saying snack for the rest of the night.”
“That sounds unconstitutional.”
“You financially flashbanged our founder.”
“He survived.”
“Barely,” Lia said calmly.
The room laughed again, softer this time. Even I did. But it faded naturally afterward. The day had finally caught up with all of us. One by one, the girls started drifting away from the lounge. Chaeryeong went first, still damp-haired and sleepy, muttering something about needing actual food before she could process anything else. Lia followed after her, carrying two mugs like she had silently assigned herself emotional hydration duty. Ryujin stretched across the couch and looked at me once more “You know,” she said, “if you ever do buy JYPE, I want a better parking spot.”
“You don’t drive.”
“Exactly. Nobody will expect it.”
“That is the worst logic I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s power.”
“It’s waste.”
“It’s symbolic.”
Yuna laughed quietly from the armchair, but it was still not her usual laugh. Too restrained. Too thoughtful. Her eyes found mine for half a second. Then she looked away first. That was new. Yeji noticed. Of course she did. Ryujin eventually dragged herself off the couch after Lia called her name from the kitchen with the tone of someone threatening responsible hydration. Yuna stood too, slower than usual, blanket still around her shoulders.
She paused near me. For one second, I thought she might say something. She didn’t. Instead, she only looked at me with that quiet, focused expression she had carried since the incident. Then softly “Rest, Ben.” No teasing. No trap. Just that. Then she walked away. Which somehow felt more dangerous than anything she had done all week.
Eventually, only Yeji remained. She stood near the window, arms folded loosely, watching the city below as the Top Floor settled behind us. I knew better than to run away. Mostly because she would catch me emotionally anyway. So I walked toward her. For a while, neither of us spoke. The city lights stretched beneath the glass, far enough away to make the world look peaceful even when it wasn’t. Then Yeji said quietly “You looked like someone else for a second.” I didn’t ask who. I knew. John’s words still sat in my chest. Your father.
I leaned against the window frame beside her. “That bad?” Yeji didn’t answer immediately. That was worse than yes. Finally, she looked at me. “I don’t know who that was,” she said softly. “That’s what scared me.” her voice soft and careful. “But I know you.” I swallowed once “And today, there was a moment where I couldn’t tell if you were protecting us… or punishing him.”
I looked down. The glass reflected my face faintly. Tired. Controlled. Too calm. “I wanted him afraid,” I admitted. Yeji didn’t flinch “I know.”
“I wanted him to understand that what he did had consequences.”
“I know.”
“I wanted him to never look at any of you like that again.”
“I know that too.”
Her voice didn’t rise. That somehow made every word hit harder. Then she stepped closer. “But Ben…” she whispered, “when you said ruining him would be easy, I believed you.” I closed my eyes briefly. There it was. Not the act. The ease. That was what scared her. When I opened my eyes again, Yeji was still watching me. Not afraid of me, afraid for me. That difference almost hurt more.
“I didn’t lay a hand on him,” I said quietly.
“I know.”
“I didn’t break the law.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t actually ruin him.”
“But you wanted to.”
The silence after that was honest enough to be cruel. I could have lied. Probably should have. Instead, I nodded once. Yeji’s expression tightened. Not disappointment. Pain. I hated that more than anything else that had happened today “I’m sorry,” I said. She shook her head slightly “I don’t want you to apologize just because I’m scared.”
“What do you want me to do?” Yeji looked back toward the city for a moment. Then she reached for my hand. Not hidden this time. Nobody was there to see. Her fingers slid between mine carefully, like she was reminding herself I was still solid. Still there she said, “I want you to let us matter before the line,” I looked at her. She turned back to me “You always think protection starts when something goes wrong. Like once there’s danger, you have to become worse than it.” Her thumb brushed against my knuckles. “But we matter before that too.”
I didn’t speak. Yeji continued, quieter now “If you feel yourself becoming that person, tell me. Tell Lia. Tell John. Tell someone before you decide you have to carry it alone.” That landed harder than expected. Because she wasn’t asking me to become harmless. She knew better. She was asking me not to become alone. “I don’t want to scare you,” I said. “You already did.”
The honesty hit clean. No cruelty— just truth. Then her expression softened. “But I’m still here.” My throat tightened. Yeji stepped closer until her shoulder brushed mine. “That’s the part I need you to understand,” she whispered. “I’m scared, but I’m not leaving.” I looked at her. She smiled faintly, but her eyes were glossy.
“I love the part of you that protects us,” she said. “I do. I love that you care enough to notice what others ignore. I love that you make us feel safe.” Her hand tightened around mine “But I don’t want to lose you to the part of protection that starts feeling like revenge.” For once, there was no clever answer. No joke. No escape route. Just her.
So I turned fully and pulled her into my arms. Yeji came easily, wrapping her arms around my waist and resting her forehead against my chest. I held her carefully. Not because she was fragile. Because I was. “I’ll tell you,” I whispered. She stayed still. “When I feel it happening. I’ll tell you.” Her arms tightened around me. “Promise?” I closed my eyes. “Promise.” It was not a perfect promise. But it was real. And maybe, tonight, real was all either of us could hold. Yeji pulled back just enough to look at me “Good.”
Then, after a quiet beat, she added “Because I refuse to compete emotionally with your self-destructive morality.” A laugh broke out of me before I could stop it. Small. Tired. Needed. “There she is.”
Yeji smiled faintly “You’re not the only one allowed to be terrifying.”
“That was terrifying?”
“Emotionally.”
“Very effective.”
“I know.” She leaned up and kissed me softly. Not like earlier. Not to calm me down. Not to end the conversation. Just because she could, because we were still here. When she pulled away, she fixed the front of my shirt with that same instinctive care that always made my chest ache.
“Go shower,” she murmured. “You still smell like Waterbomb, stress, and questionable morality.”
“That is a complex fragrance.”
“It’s terrible.”
“Honest woman.”
“Someone has to be.”
She stepped back, but her hand lingered around mine for one second longer before letting go. Then she walked toward the hallway, leaving me by the window with the city below and her promise still warm against my skin.
For the first time since the fan incident, the darkness inside me did not feel gone. But it felt named. Held. Witnessed. And maybe that was the first step toward not letting it become the only thing left.
For a while, I stayed by the window. Not because I was trying to be dramatic. That would have required energy I no longer had. Mostly because moving meant admitting the night was still not over, and frankly, the night had already done enough.
The city stretched beneath the glass in quiet lines of light, distant enough to look peaceful if I ignored everything sitting inside my chest.
The fan. The meeting. John’s warning. JYP’s strange approval. Jihyo’s concern. Yeji’s hand in mine. And then there was Yuna.
Because somehow, after all of that, she was still there in the back of my mind. Not the way she had been before. Not just teasing. Not just danger. Not just the girl who smiled like she knew which parts of me were easiest to break. This was different now. She had seen something ugly in me today. And instead of stepping away—she had gone quiet. Which was far more concerning.
I finally pushed myself away from the window and headed toward the hallway. The Top Floor had settled into post-chaos silence again. Not asleep, exactly. Just scattered. Chaeryeong and Lia’s voices drifted faintly from the kitchen. Ryujin was somewhere deeper in the lounge, probably threatening food with intent. Yeji had disappeared down the hall, leaving behind the kind of warmth that somehow made everything hurt less and more at the same time.
I was halfway toward my room when I heard her. “Ben.” I stopped. Of course. Yuna stood near the entrance to the balcony lounge, still wrapped in an oversized hoodie, hair slightly damp from her shower. The stage makeup had been mostly cleaned away now, leaving her face softer than it had been under the Waterbomb lights. But her eyes were not soft. That would have been too innocent for someone who had spent the entire week weaponizing playfulness. For once, she didn’t smile first. That alone made me nervous. “You should be resting,”
“So should you.”
“Unfortunately, hypocrisy is part of management.”
Yuna’s lips curved faintly. Barely. Then the smile disappeared again. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The city light from the balcony windows cut softly across her face, and I realized she looked tired too. Not physically. Not from the performance. Something heavier. She stepped closer, but not in the teasing way she used before. No deliberate invasion. No trap. No calculated shoulder brush. Just closer.
“You scared me today,” she said quietly. My chest tightened.
“I know.”
“No,” she replied.
The answer came fast. Certain. Then softer “Not like that.” I looked at her. Yuna held my gaze. “I wasn’t scared you’d hurt me.” That should have relieved me. It didn’t. Because the way she said it meant there was a second half. “I was scared because I realized you meant it,” she continued. “Everything you said to him.” My fingers curled slightly at my side. “Yuna—”
“You did.” There was no accusation in her voice. That made it worse. “You weren’t bluffing.” I looked away. Mistake. Always a mistake with her. But this time, when Yuna noticed, she didn’t smile like she had won. She looked almost sad. Not for the fan. For me. That was new.
“I spent all week trying to make you stop pretending,” she said, voice lower now. “I thought that was the whole thing.”
“The whole thing?”
“You wanting me.”
The words landed carefully. Not shy. Yuna was not shy. But there was a difference between being bold and being careless, and for the first time tonight, she wasn’t being careless. She stepped closer again. “All week, I kept thinking… if I pushed enough, you’d finally admit it. That you noticed. That you were affected. That you wanted me.”
I didn’t answer. Yuna’s eyes searched my face. “But today wasn’t like that.” The hallway felt too still. Farther away, Ryujin laughed at something in the lounge. Lia answered dryly. Chaeryeong made a small sound of protest. Normal life continued just out of reach. But here, between me and Yuna, nothing felt normal anymore.
“You looked away from me all week like wanting me was the dangerous part,” she whispered. Then her voice softened “But today, you looked at everyone else who wasn’t on that stage like they were the danger.” That line hit clean through my ribs. I had no defense for it. Not one. Yuna saw that too. She swallowed once, then continued. “And I know that should’ve made me step back.” My pulse shifted “But it didn’t.”
“Yuna.” This time, my voice carried warning. Not rejection. Warning. Because I could feel where this was going. And because for once, I wasn’t sure I had enough pieces of myself left to survive it properly. She heard it. Of course she did. But instead of retreating, she took one more step closer. “I don’t just want to tease you anymore.” Silence. Heavy silence.
The shift we had both been walking toward all week. No playful trap. No innocent question. No “look properly” wrapped in a smirk. Just Yuna, standing in front of me, choosing to say exactly what she meant. “I want you,” she said. The words were quiet. But they didn’t shake. My breath caught once before I could stop it. Yuna noticed.
This time, she did smile. Not triumphantly. Tenderly, almost. Like that tiny reaction mattered more because I had not hidden it fast enough “I saw what you were willing to become for us today,” she said. “And I know everyone else is scared of that.”
“They should be.”
“Maybe.” She stepped close enough now that I could feel the warmth of her presence. “But I also saw why.”
“That doesn’t make it safe.”
“I didn’t say safe.”
Her eyes lifted to mine. “I said I want you.”
For once, the directness did not feel like a game. It felt like a door opening. And the terrifying part was how badly I wanted to walk through it. I exhaled slowly, forcing my hands to stay still. “You know this is complicated.” Yuna’s mouth curved faintly. “Everything on this floor is complicated.”
“That’s not an argument.”
“It’s an observation.”
“Your observations are still dangerous.”
“I learned from the best.”
That almost made me smile. Almost. Then Yuna’s expression shifted again, and the joke faded before it could settle. “I know about Yeji,” she said quietly. My body went still. Not fully. But enough. She noticed.
“I don’t know everything,” she added. “I’m not asking you to explain everything tonight.” My throat tightened. “Yuna—”
“I’m not stupid, Ben.” No hurt in it. No accusation. Just fact. “I see how she looks at you when she thinks nobody notices. I see how you calm down when she’s close. I see how Lia knows things before people say them. I see Ryujin acting shameless because she already knows where she stands.”
Her gaze held mine. “And I see you trying to carry all of it like nobody else is allowed to know it’s heavy.” That landed differently. Because this was not Yuna teasing. This was Yuna seeing. Really seeing. And somehow that was more intimate than anything she had done in the hallway, the gym, or that fitting room.
“I’m not asking to be Yeji,” she said. The words came softer now. “I’m not asking for what she has.” I looked at her. Yuna’s pride flickered there. Still intact. Still her. But beneath it was something younger. More honest. “I just don’t want you to pretend I’m only playing anymore.” There it was. The real wound underneath the temptation. Not insecurity. Not jealousy. A demand to be taken seriously. My voice came lower.
“You’re not only playing.” Her breath caught slightly. Small thing. Easy to miss. I noticed anyway. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe I had always noticed. Yuna’s eyes softened, but she stayed steady. “Then stop treating me like I don’t know what I’m choosing.” That made me close my eyes briefly.
Because there were many things I could survive. Yuna being bold. Yuna being reckless. Yuna trying to make me break. But Yuna being honest? That was something else entirely.
When I opened my eyes again, she was still there. Waiting. Not for permission to regret it. For me to finally stop running. I glanced instinctively toward the hallway leading to my room. Then stopped. Wrong. Not there. That room already meant something. To me. To Yeji.
To quiet mornings where she left before anyone else woke up. To the nights where she stayed because I asked her to. Yuna noticed immediately. Of course she did. “Not there,” she said quietly. I looked back at her. For once, she didn’t smile. “I know what that room is,” she said. “Maybe not everything. But enough.” My throat tightened. “Yuna…”
“I’m not asking for Yeji’s place.” The answer settled between us. Not jealousy. Not surrender. Respect. Then she reached for my hand. Her fingers slipped into mine with surprising certainty. Still Yuna. Still bold. Still choosing. But her grip was just tight enough to tell me this was real now. “Come to mine.” For a second, I said nothing. Then I nodded. No teasing. No smirk. Just trust.
Together, we walked down the quiet hallway toward her room. At her door, Yuna paused with her hand on the handle. For the first time all night, hesitation crossed her face. Not fear. Reality. I saw it immediately. “Yuna.” She looked at me “If we do this, we do it slowly.”
Her lips parted slightly. For once, she had no immediate joke ready. Good. “You can be bold,” I continued quietly. “You can be curious. You can push me all you want later.” Her eyes sharpened faintly at that. There she was. “But tonight,” I said, softer now, “I need you to be honest with me. If you’re nervous, say it. If you want to stop, say it. If you need more time, say it.”
Yuna stared at me. Then looked away for half a second. Not because she was hiding. Because something had finally reached her. When she looked back, her voice was quieter. “I’m not scared.” I waited. Her mouth tightened slightly. Then she added “I just don’t want you to treat me like I’m only acting brave.”
That broke through me so cleanly I almost hated it. Because there it was. The first crack. The truth beneath all the teasing. I stepped closer. Not enough to trap her. Just enough for her to know I had heard it. “I won’t.”
Yuna’s eyes searched mine. For once, she seemed to believe me before I had to prove it. Then she opened the door. Her room was quieter than the rest of the Top Floor. Softer too. Not childish. Not flashy. Just hers.
A hoodie thrown over a chair. A half-open drawer. A few skincare products lined neatly near the mirror. A faint trace of her shampoo still lingering in the air. The kind of space that reminded me, suddenly and sharply, that for all her confidence, all her teasing, all her impossible beauty under Waterbomb lights— this was still Yuna. The Youngest. The Boldest. The Most impulsive. And tonight, maybe the bravest.
She closed the door behind us. The click was soft. Final. Then she turned around. For a moment, neither of us moved. Yuna looked at me like she was trying to memorize the fact that I was there because she had asked, not because she had won. That distinction mattered.
So I let her have the first step. She crossed the room slowly. No performance now. No deliberate teasing. Just Yuna, walking toward me with all the confidence she could hold and all the uncertainty she refused to hide. When she reached me, she lifted her hand to my chest. Not like in the fitting room. Not to test my pulse. Not to prove anything. Just to feel that I was there. “You’re still calm,” she whispered.
“I’m trying to be.”
“Why?”
“Because this is your first time.” Her breath caught. Not in embarrassment. In recognition. The words made the truth real. For one second, her expression flickered. Then she lifted her chin “I know, and I need you to know too.”
“I do.” Her voice was steady. But her fingers curled slightly against my shirt. I covered her hand with mine. “You don’t have to prove anything to me tonight.” Yuna’s eyes moved over my face. Then, softer “That’s annoying.” A laugh almost escaped me. “Why?”
“Because I spent all week trying to make you lose control.”
“I noticed.”
“And now you’re being careful.”
“I can want you and still be careful.” That silenced her. Completely. Then slowly, something in her face changed. Not surprise. Not victory. Something deeper. Like that sentence had reached a place the teasing never could.
“You want me?” she asked. No smirk. No game. Just the question. I looked at her properly. Finally. Not as a member. Not as a risk Not as a liability. As Yuna.
“Yes,” I said quietly. “I want you.” Her lips parted slightly.
“And not because I kept pushing?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
I stepped closer, lifting my hand to her face carefully enough that she could pull away if she wanted. She didn’t. “Because you’re impossible,” I said softly. “Because you’re sharp enough to see things people try to hide. Because you’re brave even when you’re pretending it’s just confidence. Because you make every room louder, and somehow tonight you made silence feel honest.”
Yuna blinked. Once. Slowly.
Like she hadn’t expected the answer to hurt. “You’re bad at compliments,” she whispered.
“That was a good compliment.”
“It was too good.”
I let my thumb brush lightly against her cheek. “Fine,” I murmured. “Then here’s the simple version.” Her eyes searched mine. “You’re beautiful. Ridiculously so. And only an idiot would spend this much time near ITZY’s maknae and not want her.” For one second, Yuna only stared at me. Then the corner of her mouth twitched.
“That was better.” Yuna said as she hugged me.
“Less emotionally devastating?” I asked,
“More practical and very manager-coded of you.” she answered honestly.
“Don’t ruin it.” I flicked her forehead.
“Noted.”
But her hand tightened around my shirt again, and this time, when she looked at me, the vulnerability had not disappeared. It had just learned how to breathe. Her voice trembled faintly at the edges. Barely. But I heard it. So I moved carefully. No rush. No pressure.
I leaned in slowly enough for her to stop me. She didn’t. The kiss was soft at first. Unlike everything she had been provoking all week. Yuna kissed back after half a breath, tentative for exactly one second before her confidence returned in the way her hand gripped my shirt and pulled me closer. There she was.
But even then, beneath the boldness, I could feel the difference. This mattered. So I treated it like it did. When the kiss deepened, I kept one hand at her waist and the other against her cheek, grounding her instead of rushing her. Yuna’s breath grew uneven, but she didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned closer, chasing the feeling with that same impulsive courage that had started this entire disaster.
Then suddenly she broke the kiss. Not far. Just enough to breathe. “Ben.”
“Yeah?” Her forehead rested lightly against mine. “I might be nervous now.” There it was. The admission broke me. I reached out, my hand sliding around the nape of her neck, my thumb brushing the soft skin below her ear. “I’ve got you,” I whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Promise me you won’t treat me like I’m just acting brave.”
“I promise.”
I leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was no longer a test. It was a claim. It started slow, a gentle exploration of taste and heat, but as Yuna moaned into my mouth, the restraint I had cultivated for weeks began to fray. Her tongue flicked against mine, eager and searching, and I felt her hands slide under my shirt, her palms hot against my skin. I pulled back just an inch, my forehead resting against hers.
“Are you sure? Once we start this, there’s no going back.”
“I don’t want to go back,” she breathed, her eyes glossy.
“I want this. I want you.”
I didn’t need to hear it again. I reached for the hem of her hoodie, lifting it slowly. She raised her arms, allowing me to pull the fabric over her head. She stood before me in a thin, lacey bralette and matching panties. Her skin glowed in the soft light, flawless and creamy, her breasts heaving with shallow, quick breaths.
I stripped off my own clothes with a focused urgency. When my trousers hit the floor, my cock sprang free, fully erect and pulsing. Yuna’s gaze dropped. She froze. Her pupils dilated as she stared at me, her mouth parting in a silent gasp.
“Ben…”
“What?” I rasped. She reached out, her fingertips hovering just an inch away from the head of my cock.
“Is it… is it always that big?” she whispered, her voice thick with amazement.
“Are all dicks that huge?” I felt a surge of heat rush to my gut.
“No, Yuna. Not all of them.”
She finally touched me, her fingers wrapping around the shaft. Her hand couldn’t even meet on the other side. She squeezed gently, her thumb brushing over the crown where a bead of pre-cum had gathered.
“It looks… impossible,” she murmured.
“How is that supposed to fit inside me?”
“We’ll go slow,” I promised.
“I’ll take care of you.”
I lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist, and carried her to the bed. I laid her back against the sheets, the white fabric contrasting sharply with the warmth of her skin. I moved between her legs, my hands sliding up her thighs, pushing the lace of her panties aside to reveal the glistening pearl of her sex. She was already wet, a trail of moisture coating her folds. I leaned down, my breath hot against her inner thigh.
“Ben?”
“Shhh,” I murmured. “Just feel.”
I pressed my face into her, the scent of her arousal hitting me like a wave—musky, sweet, and entirely female. I flicked my tongue against her clit, a sharp, precise motion. Yuna let out a loud, piercing moan, her hips bucking upward.
“Oh god! That… that feels… like electricity!” she gasped, her fingers digging into my shoulders.
“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.” I spent the next twenty minutes worshipping her. I used my tongue to map every inch of her, swirling around her clit before sliding deep into her heat, tasting the salt and sweetness of her. I listened to her break—the way her voice shifted from confident commands to desperate, fragmented pleas.
As I worked her toward a peak, Yuna suddenly reached down, her hand gripping my hair. “I want to try something,” she panted. “I saw it in one of those videos… the 69 thing. I want to feel you while you’re doing that to me.” I hesitated for a heartbeat, but the hunger in her eyes was too much. I shifted, maneuvering my body until we were inverted. I settled my weight carefully, my face returning to her soaking wet pussy, while my cock rested against her lips.
Yuna didn’t hesitate. She opened her mouth and tried to take me in. I groaned, my hips jerking. She was eager, her tongue swirling around the head, but as she tried to slide deeper, she hit the limit. I was too long for her inexperienced throat to handle. She gagged slightly, her eyes watering, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she began to lick me— aggressively.
Her tongue was a weapon, sliding up and down the shaft with a frantic, wet intensity. She used her lips to suction the head, her tongue flickering over the frenulum. The sound of it—the wet licking noise of her tongue against my skin—combined with the feeling of her clit pulsing against my own mouth, was overwhelming.
“Fuck, Yuna,” I groaned, my voice vibrating against her thighs.
She grew more confident, her licking becoming more rhythmic. I pushed my tongue deeper into her, finding the exact spot that made her toes curl, and as she gave one final, aggressive swirl of her tongue around my head, I snapped. I let out a moan, my body stiffening as I came. I didn’t pull away; I just shuddered against her, the orgasm ripping through me in violent waves. At the exact same moment, Yuna’s body spasmed. She let out a muffled scream against my cock, her internal muscles clamping down on nothing as she hit her first real climax. We collapsed beside each other, gasping for air, the room filled with the scent of sex and sweat.
“I… I didn’t know it felt like that,” she whispered. I rolled onto my side, pulling her into my arms. I kissed her temple, my heart still racing.
“That was just the beginning.” I felt her shiver.
I moved back between her legs, my movements deliberate. I rubbed my cock around her folds, getting it drenched in her nectar before inserting it. I wanted no friction, no unnecessary pain. I positioned the head of my cock against her opening.
“Ben,” she whispered
“Look at me, Yuna.” She met my eyes.
“I’m going to go very slow. The second you want me to stop, you tell me. Understood?”
She nodded. “I trust you.”
I pushed. Just a fraction. The head of my cock entered her, stretching the tight, virgin walls of her cunt. Yuna let out a sharp, hissed breath, her hips instinctively trying to recoil.
“Stay with me,” I murmured.
“Just breathe. In and out.” I paused, letting her body adjust. I could feel how incredibly tight she was, her muscles gripping me with a fierce intensity. It felt like being squeezed by a warm, velvet vice.
I pushed again. Another inch. Yuna’s eyes squeezed shut, a small whimper escaping her lips. “It hurts,” she whispered, a tear escaping the corner of her eye. “I know. I know it does. Just breathe, baby. Just breathe for me.” I stopped entirely, kissing her deeply to distract her, my tongue dancing with hers as I waited for the tension to leave her hips.
Slowly, agonizingly, I continued. Inch by inch, I claimed her. I felt the resistance of her hymen, a thin barrier that finally gave way with a soft, internal pop. Yuna gasped, her body arching.
“Oh god… Ben… you’re… you’re so big…”
“I’m almost there,” I whispered. With one final, steady push, I buried myself completely. I bottomed out, my pelvis slamming against hers with a wet thud. Yuna let out a long, shaky exhale, her eyes fluttering open.
“I… I can feel you,” she breathed.
“You’re… you’re all the way inside me. Everything feels… full.”
I didn’t move for a long time. I just stayed there, buried deep. Then, I began to move. It was a glacial pace, a slow, sliding friction. I withdrew almost entirely before pushing back in, my eyes locked on hers.
“Does it still hurt?” Yuna shook her head.
“No… it feels… warm. It feels like… like I’m finally where I’m supposed to be.” As the friction increased, the pain vanished, replaced by a mounting, heavy heat. Yuna’s breathing changed. The whimpers turned into moans. “Yes… right there… oh god, Ben, keep doing that!” I picked up the pace, my thrusts becoming more confident. Every time I pushed in, I felt the incredible tightness of her insides clinging to me. “You’re so tight, Yuna,” I groaned. “It feels incredible.”
Yuna let out a loud, uncontrolled moan. “I love it! I love how you feel! Please, don’t stop!” The request broke the last of my restraint. I gripped her hips, lifting her slightly to get a deeper angle, and began to drive into her with a raw, primal energy. The sound of our bodies colliding—the wet, slapping noise of skin on skin—filled the room.
“Oh god! Yes! Right there! Ben, please! It’s happening… again… I’m going to…!” I felt her internal muscles begin to spasm, squeezing my cock with an unbearable intensity. She screamed, her body shaking as she hit a massive, crashing orgasm. I followed her immediately, letting out a guttural shout as I came deep inside her. I felt the hot surge of my cum hitting her cervix, filling her up. I collapsed on top of her, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
Yuna wrapped her arms around my neck, her skin slick with sweat. “Are we done?” she whispered. But I wasn’t. The feeling of her tight, pulsing walls around my cumming cock was too much. I didn’t pull out. I began to move again, slower this time, but with a deeper, more grinding motion.
“Ben? You… you already…”
“I can’t stop,” I rasped. “I can’t get enough of you.”
I shifted my position, pulling her legs up over my shoulders to open her up even more. This angle allowed me to hit her G-spot with every thrust. Yuna’s head hit the pillow, her eyes rolling back.
“Oh! Oh god, that’s… that feels different! Ben, please, don’t stop!” I began to caress her, my thumb finding her clit and applying a steady, circular pressure while I drove into her. I leaned down, capturing one of her nipples in my mouth, sucking and tugging on it.
“You feel so fucking good, Yuna,” I whispered into her ear.
“Do you feel how much I want you?”
“Yes! Yes, I do! I feel it!” she cried. I increased the tempo, my thrusts becoming shorter and faster. I could feel the second climax building, a slow-burn heat. I pushed her over the edge again, my thumb working her clit into a frenzy while my cock hammered into her.
Yuna screamed, her body shuddering in a second, more violent orgasm. Seconds later, I followed, I came inside her for a second time. I slid out of her slowly, the sound of the suction audible in the quiet room. “Stay inside me. Just for a little longer,” she whispered.
I smiled, sliding back into her—not for sex, but for closeness. I entered her slowly, filling her once more, and we just lay there, intertwined. But the fire hadn’t fully died. The emotional weight of the day, the need to protect and be protected, translated into a different kind of hunger. I wanted to explore her, not just use her. I shifted again, rolling her onto her stomach. She let out a soft, surprised sound, her chest pressing into the mattress. I knelt behind her, my chest brushing her back, my hands sliding down to grip her hips.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“I want to see you from here,” I murmured, my voice dark.
“I want to see how you react when I don’t let you see me.” I didn’t go back inside her immediately. Instead, I leaned down, my tongue tracing the line of her spine, leaving a trail of fire.
Yuna shivered, her fingers clutching the sheets. I moved lower, my mouth finding the dip of her waist, then the curve of her ass. I licked the crease of her cheeks, tasting the remnants of our previous rounds, the smell of musk and sex intoxicating me. I reached around, my fingers finding her clit again, while my cock pressed against the back of her thighs. I started to grind against her, not entering, just letting the head of my dick slide against her wetness.
“Ben… please…” she whimpered.
“Please what, Yuna?”
“I want it… I want you inside me again… but different.” I chuckled, a low sound in my throat. I gripped her hips firmly, lifting her just enough to align us. I entered her from behind, a slow, deep slide that felt different from the previous positions.
I could feel every ridge of her internal walls, the way she wrapped around me like a glove. This time, I didn’t go for speed. I went for depth. I pushed in slowly, then pulled back until I was almost out, before slamming back in. The sound was a wet and heavy, it that echoed in the room.
“Oh god! That’s… that’s so deep!” Yuna cried out, her face buried in the pillow.
“I can feel you… right there!”
“I know,” I groaned, my teeth grazing her shoulder. “I can feel how much you want this.” I maintained the rhythm, a slow, punishing grind that focused on the friction of her G-spot. I could feel her building again, her internal muscles pulsing around me in a desperate rhythm. I reached forward, my hand finding her breast, squeezing it firmly as I hammered into her.
“I love this… I love how you feel when you’re like this!” she screamed.
“Harder, Ben! Give it to me harder!”
I obliged, my thrusts becoming violent, the bed frame creaking under the force. We were both drenched in sweat, our skin slapping together with a rhythmic, squelching sound. I could feel the third orgasm building, a tidal wave of release.
“I’m coming!” Yuna shrieked, her body locking up in a massive, full-body orgasm. I followed her a second later, pumping another load deep into her. We lay there for a long time, our breathing heavy and synchronized. I didn’t pull out. I stayed buried in her, feeling the slow throb of my cock as it began to soften. But then, Yuna shifted. She turned her head to look at me, her eyes glazed with pleasure, a small, curious smile on her lips.
“Ben?”
“Yeah?”
“I thought I wanted you to lose control,” she whispered, her voice fragile.
“Now I think I want to learn every version of it.” The line hit me harder than any of her teasing ever had. She wasn’t asking for the gentle lover. She was asking for the man who knew how to be a rough but chose to be gentle. I rolled her back over, pinning her gently to the mattress. I didn’t go back for sex.
Instead, I focused on her. I spent the next hour exploring her body with a reverence I didn’t know I possessed. I kissed every inch of her, from the hollow of her throat to the tips of her toes. I used my fingers to tease her, my tongue to make her gasp, focusing entirely on her pleasure without any expectation of my own. I worked her toward one final peak, a slow, agonizing build-up that left her shaking. I used a combination of oral and manual stimulation, my fingers sliding inside her while my tongue worked her clit.
“Ben… I can’t… I’m going to…!”
“Go,” I whispered.
“Just let go, Yuna.” She exploded in a final, lingering orgasm that seemed to last forever. As she came, the sheer intimacy of the moment—the trust she had placed in me, the way she had completely surrendered her control—triggered something in me. I didn’t need to thrust. I didn’t need to hammer. I simply slid back inside her, slow and deep, and held her.
I felt the final surge of desire build, not from friction, but from the emotional weight of the night. I closed my eyes, imagining every version of the man I could be, and chose the one that loved her. I came for the final time, a slow, pulsing release that felt like a spiritual cleansing. I didn’t shout or moan this time. I just whispered her name into her ear, my body trembling as I filled her one last time. I slid out of her slowly, the suction audible in the quiet room. I immediately pulled her against me, wrapping us both in the duvet.
“You’re not playing anymore, are you?” I whispered. Yuna shook her head, her fingers tracing the tattoos on my arm. “I’m not. I don’t want to play. I just want to be yours.” I held her tighter, the silence of the room feeling honest for the first time in my life. The darkness was still there, the danger was still real, but in the warmth of Yuna’s arms, it felt manageable. “You are,” I whispered. “You’re exactly where you belong.”
Morning arrived too quietly.
No alarms.
No schedule calls.
No frantic staff messages.
No Ryujin committing a felony against breakfast.
Just pale sunlight slipping through Yuna’s curtains and the soft weight of her breathing beside me. She was still asleep, curled against the pillow, hair messy, looking so far removed from the girl who had spent a week dismantling my sanity that I almost laughed. Almost.
The night before still sat too close to my chest. Yuna had chosen me. Not the idea of me, not the manager, not the dangerous man. Me. Carefully, I slipped out from beneath the blanket. Yuna stirred once, her hand searching the empty space beside her before finding the pillow. Still asleep. I pulled the blanket higher over her shoulder, then quietly collected my clothes and dressed. As I looked at her one last time, I felt a strange sense of peace. I had proven to myself that I could hold the power without becoming a person I didn’t want to be. I had chosen care. I leaned down and kissed her forehead, a lingering, soft touch. “Stay,” I whispered, though she couldn’t hear me. “Just stay and rest up a bit more. I’ve got the world handled for a while.”
I walked out of the room, the click of the door soft and final. As I stepped into the hallway, I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to. For the first time in my life, I knew exactly where I stood.
Tags : Obsession, Mind Control/Hypnosis, Possesive Females, Personality Change, Dominant Female, Bully to Lover, Extreme Romance, Dark Romance, Kinky, Foursome, Complicated Romance, Harem, Impregnation, Creampie, Tied Up Sex, Blowjob, Deepthroat, Pussy Eating, Body Worship, Cock Worship
Words : 12,372 Words
The antique shop smelled like dust and forgotten memories. You hadn't meant to wander inside, really. Just needed to kill time between classes, and the narrow storefront wedged between a bubble tea shop and a dry cleaner had caught your attention with its jumbled window display of tarnished silver and faded porcelain.
Now you stood in the back corner, staring at a small wooden box no bigger than your palm.
"Find something interesting?"
The shopkeeper's voice made you flinch. You hadn't heard her approach. She was old, her face a roadmap of wrinkles, but her eyes were startlingly sharp behind wire-rimmed glasses.
"Just looking," you muttered, turning to leave.
"That one chooses its owner," she said, ignoring your dismissal. "The Wishing Wire. Very old. Very particular."
You glanced back at the box. Inside, resting on faded velvet, sat a tangle of red wire twisted into an abstract shape. It looked like something a child might make in art class. Cheap. Nonsense.
"How much?"
"For you? Five dollars. It wants to go home with you."
Right. Sure it did. You pulled out a crumpled five-dollar bill anyway, partly to end the conversation and partly because something about the wire's chaotic loops kept drawing your eye. The transaction took seconds. The shopkeeper pressed the box into your hand with fingers that felt surprisingly warm and dry.
"Twist it clockwise," she instructed. "Speak your wish. Let go."
"Uh-huh." You pocketed the box without looking at her again.
Outside, the afternoon sun felt too bright after the shop's dim interior. You squinted against it, checking your phone. Still forty minutes until your next class. Enough time to grab coffee, maybe find a quiet spot in the library.
Enough time to be alone with your thoughts.
Which was never a good thing, lately.
The harassment had started your first semester. You'd transferred in mid-year, a scholarship student who didn't know anyone, and Yuna had spotted you like a hawk spots a rabbit in an open field.
She was beautiful, you'd give her that. Tall and elegant with dark hair that fell past her shoulders in a sleek sheet, her eyes slightly narrowed in perpetual judgment. She moved like someone who knew exactly how much space she deserved to occupy. Her friend Kazuha was shorter, round-faced and deceptively sweet-looking, with a dancer's compact body and a smile that fooled people until she opened her mouth. And Winter—Minjeong, though everyone called her Winter—completed their trio with her pale coloring and sharp tongue, her slim figure always dressed in the latest trends.
They'd made your life miserable for two semesters now.
Little things, mostly. At first. Knocking your books off tables in the cafeteria. "Accidentally" spilling drinks on your notes. Whispering comments just loud enough for you to hear as you passed.
Then it had escalated.
Yuna had found out where you lived—somehow—and started leaving notes in your mailbox. Not threats, exactly. Just observations. Saw you at the coffee shop today. You looked pathetic. That blue shirt makes you look like a corpse. Why do you even bother coming to campus?
Kazuha had hacked your social media accounts, or at least figured out your passwords. She'd post embarrassing things and then delete them before you could prove anything. Comments on other people's posts that made you sound desperate, creepy, lonely. Which you were, but that wasn't the point.
Winter was the worst, though. She liked to get in your face. Literally. Cornering you between classes, pressing close enough that you could smell her expensive perfume, her voice dropping to a whisper as she dissected every flaw she perceived. Your posture. Your clothes. The way you talked. The way you didn't talk, which was apparently worse.
"Everyone pretends to like you," she'd told you just last week, her lips close enough to brush your ear. "But nobody actually does. We're all just waiting for you to disappear."
You'd gone home that night and stared at the ceiling for three hours.
Depression had become a familiar weight. Not the dramatic kind they showed in movies, where people couldn't get out of bed or stopped eating entirely. More like a constant low-level fog that made everything feel like wading through waist-deep water. You went to class. You studied. You existed.
But you couldn't remember the last time you'd felt something resembling joy.
The library was mostly empty when you found a table in the back corner. You pulled out the wooden box, turning it over in your hands.
The Wishing Wire.
What a stupid name. What a stupid thing.
You opened the lid. The red wire gleamed under the fluorescent lights, its twists and loops forming no recognizable pattern. Just chaos, frozen in copper and coating.
"Twist it clockwise," the shopkeeper had said.
You did. The wire was warm from your pocket, and it turned more smoothly than you expected, the loops shifting under your fingers like they wanted to be rearranged.
"Speak your wish."
"This is ridiculous," you said aloud, to the empty library. "This is just a toy."
But your hands kept twisting, and your mouth kept moving.
"I wish they'd stop." You swallowed. "I wish Yuna and Kazuha and Winter would just leave me alone. Stop the bullying. Stop the comments. Stop the notes and the looks and the whispers."
The wire shifted under your fingers.
"And if this actually works, which it doesn't…" You laughed, the sound hollow in your throat. "Make them fall for me instead. Make them obsessed with me the way they're obsessed with making my life hell."
You let go of the wire.
Nothing happened.
"Right," you said, closing the box. "Because it's just a toy."
You shoved it back in your pocket and opened your textbook, but the words swam in front of your eyes. After ten minutes, you gave up and headed to class, the wire heavy in your jacket like a secret.
That night, you dreamed.
Not of the bullies, for once. Not of the endless parade of small humiliations that usually populated your sleeping hours.
Instead, you dreamed of red wire, twisting and untwisting in an infinite loop. It wrapped around your wrists, your ankles, your throat—not choking, just present. When you opened your mouth in the dream, words came out that you hadn't chosen.
I wish. I wish. I wish.
You woke with a gasp, your alarm blaring, the wooden box somehow clutched in your hand even though you didn't remember taking it out of your jacket.
Morning came too fast.
You showered, dressed, ate breakfast without tasting it. The routine was automatic. Wake up. Survive. Repeat.
Campus was busy when you arrived, students crisscrossing the quad in the anxious shuffle of midterms season. You kept your head down, navigating toward the arts building where your first class waited.
Halfway there, you saw them.
Yuna stood by the fountain, her dark hair catching the morning light. Kazuha perched on the low wall beside her, legs crossed, face bright with laughter at something Winter had said. Winter herself stood with her arms crossed, her pale hair pulled back, her expression sharp even in profile.
Your stomach clenched.
This was the part where you'd normally turn around, find another route, accept the extra five minutes of walking to avoid their notice. But today, for reasons you couldn't explain, your feet kept moving forward.
They hadn't seen you yet. Yuna's gaze was fixed on something across the quad. Kazuha was examining her nails. Winter was—
Winter was looking right at you.
Her eyes widened.
Your whole body tensed, bracing for the cutting remark, the mocking smile, the signal to her friends that fresh prey had arrived.
But Winter's face did something strange.
Her sharp expression softened. Her lips parted. A flush crept up her neck, visible even from this distance, and she actually swayed on her feet like she'd momentarily forgotten how to stand.
"Guys," she said. You heard it from twenty feet away. Her voice was wrong somehow—breathless, shaky, nothing like the ice-edged tone she usually wielded. "Guys, look."
Yuna and Kazuha turned.
And their reaction was even stranger.
Yuna's perfect composure cracked. Her hand flew to her chest like she'd been struck, and her eyes went so wide you could see the whites all the way around the iris. Kazuha literally hopped off the wall, her dancer's grace momentarily abandoned, her sweet face transforming into something you couldn't read.
Then they were moving.
All three of them, walking fast, then jogging, then practically sprinting across the quad toward you.
People stared. You stared. Your feet were rooted to the pavement, your brain churning through possible explanations for what was happening. This was a prank, had to be. Some new form of public humiliation you hadn't experienced yet. They'd get close, then laugh, then reveal the joke, and you'd have to find a way to keep breathing through the shame.
Yuna reached you first.
She didn't insult you.
She threw her arms around your neck and buried her face against your chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"I found you," she breathed against your shirt. "Oh my god, I found you."
Kazuha slammed into you from the left, her arms wrapping around your waist, her cheek pressing into your shoulder blade. She was shorter than you'd realized, or maybe she was slouching, making herself small against your body.
"We've been looking for you everywhere," Kazuha said, her voice thick. "Every single day. We didn't know your face but we knew you were out there somewhere and we couldn't find you and it was killing us."
Winter completed the triangle, pressing in from the right, her slim body flush against your side. Her hand found yours and squeezed so hard your bones ground together.
"Don't let go," she whispered. "Please, please don't make us let go."
You stood frozen in the middle of campus, three women clinging to you like you were the last lifeboat on a sinking ship, and absolutely no idea what was happening.
The quad had gone quiet. Students had stopped walking. Professors had paused mid-conversation. Everyone was staring at the spectacle of the campus's most feared trio wrapped around the nobody they'd spent two semesters tormenting.
"Um," you managed.
Yuna pulled back just enough to look at your face. Her eyes were wet. Actual tears, tracking down her perfect cheeks, ruining her perfect makeup.
"There you are," she said, and smiled so brightly it hurt to look at. "I love you. I love you so much it feels like dying. I've loved you since the moment the world changed and I didn't even know your name yet but I knew I'd die without you."
"What," you said.
Kazuha laughed against your shoulder, the sound trembling and strange. "She's being dramatic, but she's not wrong. We all feel it. This pull. This need. We tried to fight it yesterday but it just got stronger and stronger until we couldn't think about anything except finding you."
Winter hadn't moved. Her grip on your hand hadn't loosened. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible.
"We were so horrible to you. I know we were. I remember every single thing we did and said and I want to carve out my own tongue for the words that came out of it." She finally looked up, and her pale eyes were red-rimmed, desperate, completely alien on her usually composed face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please let us be better. Please give us a chance to worship you the way you deserve."
Your brain was short-circuiting. The Wishing Wire. The stupid, impossible, ridiculous wish you'd made as a joke in an empty library.
No. No way. That wasn't real. Magic wasn't real.
But Yuna's tears were wetting your shirt. Kazuha's heartbeat was thudding against your back. Winter's hand was trembling in yours.
Something had changed.
And you had absolutely no idea what you were going to do about it.
The library had been your refuge for two semesters. A place to hide between classes, to breathe without looking over your shoulder, to exist in the marginal spaces where Yuna and Kazuha and Winter rarely bothered to venture.
Now it was a trap.
They'd followed you. Of course they had. The moment you'd tried to extract yourself from their tangled embrace on the quad, stammering something about needing to study, Yuna had seized your wrist with a grip that brooked no argument.
"We'll help you study," she'd said, and something in her dark eyes had glittered with an intensity that made your stomach flip.
Kazuha had nodded eagerly, bouncing on her heels. "We can be very quiet. We promise. Right, Winter?"
Winter hadn't promised anything. She'd simply moved close enough that her shoulder brushed yours, her pale gaze fixed on your face like you were the only thing worth seeing in the entire world.
So now you sat at your usual table in the back corner, three former bullies arranged around you like beautiful, terrifying bookends, and you had absolutely no idea how this had become your life.
"Just breathe," you muttered to yourself.
Yuna heard. Her head tilted, dark hair sliding over her shoulder. "Are you not breathing? Do you need us to help you breathe? We could—"
"No," you said quickly. "No, I'm fine. Just. This is weird."
"It's perfect," Kazuha corrected. She'd pulled her chair so close that her knee pressed against your thigh under the table, and every few minutes she'd shift in a way that made the contact electric. "This is exactly where we're supposed to be. I can feel it. Like the whole universe finally clicked into place."
Winter hadn't spoken since they'd cornered you against the bookshelves. She'd just watched, her pale coloring almost ghostly in the library's fluorescent lighting, her sharp tongue apparently stunned into silence by whatever force had rewritten reality overnight.
Your phone buzzed. You glanced down.
Unknown number: We can see you.
Your head snapped up. All three women were staring at you.
"My number's in your phone now," Yuna said calmly. "And Kazuha's. And Winter's. We put them in while you were sleeping last night. We had someone watching your apartment to make sure you were safe."
"You what."
"We needed to be able to reach you," Kazuha said, like this was perfectly reasonable. "What if something happened to you? What if you got hurt or sick or sad and we weren't there to fix it? We couldn't let that happen."
Your chest felt tight. "That's. That's called stalking."
"It's called devotion," Yuna corrected. She reached across the table and took your hand, her fingers lacing through yours with a possessiveness that made your pulse jump. "There's a difference."
Was there? You weren't sure anymore.
Winter finally moved. She rose from her chair without a word and walked to the end of the stacks, disappearing around the corner. You watched her go, torn between relief and a strange, nagging worry.
"Where's she going?"
Kazuha shrugged. "She does that. Wanders off sometimes when she's feeling too much. Winter's not good with feelings. She prefers to hide behind being cruel." A pause. "She's sorry about that, you know. About all of it. We all are. We just don't know how to say it properly yet."
Yuna's thumb traced circles on the back of your hand. The sensation was distracting, warm, sending little sparks up your arm. "Let us show you instead. Let us prove we can be different."
Before you could ask what she meant, Winter returned.
She was carrying something. A book—one of the ones you'd been assigned for your literature class, a thick hardcover that you'd been dreading reading all semester.
She set it on the table and opened it to a marked page.
"I read it," she said quietly. "Last night. After we found you. I read the whole thing so I could talk to you about it. So I could understand something that matters to you."
You stared at the book. Then at her.
"You read four hundred pages in one night?"
"I couldn't sleep." Winter's pale eyes met yours, and there was something raw there, something stripped of all her usual sharp edges. "Every time I closed my eyes, I saw your face. I kept thinking about how many hours I'd wasted making you feel small when I could have been learning how to make you feel seen instead."
Your throat felt thick. This was impossible. All of it. But Winter was standing in front of you with dark circles under her eyes and a desperately earnest expression, and Yuna's hand was warm in yours, and Kazuha was pressing closer against your side, and—
"We're sorry," Kazuha said. She took your other hand, the one Yuna wasn't holding, and pressed it to her chest so you could feel her heartbeat. It was racing. "We're so sorry. We were horrible. We were monsters. And we know we can't undo what we did, but please. Please let us try to be better."
Yuna stood. She moved around the table with a fluid grace that reminded you why everyone on campus was half-terrified of her, half-entranced. She stopped directly in front of you, close enough that her dark hair fell forward and brushed your shoulders.
"I need to show you something," she said. "May I?"
You nodded, because what else could you do?
She leaned in and pressed her lips to your forehead.
The kiss was soft, lingering, warm. Her lips stayed against your skin for a long moment, and you could feel her breathing, feel the slight tremble in her frame that suggested she was holding back something much more intense.
"Thank you for existing," she whispered against your skin. "Thank you for letting us find you."
Then she pulled back, and her eyes were wet again, and you realized you'd never seen Yuna cry before today. Hadn't thought she was capable of it.
Your resistance cracked.
"Okay," you said. "Okay. I don't understand this. I don't understand any of this. But okay."
Kazuha made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, and threw her arms around your neck from the side. Yuna bent and kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then the spot just below your ear that made your breath catch.
Winter watched with those pale, hungry eyes. But she didn't move to join. Instead, she stepped back, giving the three of you space, and you realized with a start that she was waiting for permission.
"Winter," you said. Her name felt strange in your mouth. "Come here."
She did. Instantly. She crossed the small distance between you and dropped to her knees beside your chair, her head bowing forward until her forehead rested against your thigh.
"Thank you," she breathed. "Thank you thank you thank you."
You weren't sure what she was thanking you for. But her breath was warm through your jeans, and her shoulders were shaking, and you found your hand moving to stroke her pale hair without conscious thought.
The library was silent around you. Empty shelves looming, dust motes floating in stale air. A hidden corner of the world where nothing made sense and everything had changed.
"We should go somewhere else," Yuna said eventually. Her voice had gone low, husky. "Somewhere private. Where we can properly apologize."
You swallowed. "Apologize how?"
Kazuha giggled. The sound was different from her usual mocking laughter—sweeter, more genuine, with an edge of nervousness that you'd never heard from her before.
"We have ideas," she said. "So many ideas. We've been planning since yesterday. Since the moment we realized what you mean to us."
"Which is everything," Winter added against your leg. "You mean everything. We'd do anything for you. Anything at all."
All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.
Yuna's apartment was nicer than anywhere you'd ever lived. Top floor of a building you couldn't have afforded to enter, let alone rent. Dark wood floors and white walls and windows that looked out over the city skyline.
You barely had time to take any of it in.
The moment the door closed behind you, all three women were on you. Not attacking—never attacking, not anymore—but surrounding, pressing close, hands and lips and warm breath.
"Let us," Yuna murmured against your throat. "Please. Let us show you."
You nodded. You'd been nodding a lot today.
They walked you backward through the apartment, six hands guiding you, until your legs hit the edge of a large bed. You sat down hard, suddenly grateful for the surface, and they stood over you in a loose semicircle.
"We talked about this," Kazuha said. She was already pulling her shirt over her head, revealing a simple black bralette underneath. Her body was compact and athletic, all smooth lines and dancer's muscles, and she caught you looking and smiled. "We're going to take turns apologizing. Properly. The way you deserve."
Winter moved first. She stepped forward and bent to kiss you—really kiss you, not the chaste presses from earlier. Her lips parted against yours, her tongue seeking entrance, and you opened for her with a groan you couldn't hold back.
She tasted like coffee. Like desperation. Like something sweet hiding underneath all that sharp exterior.
When she pulled back, her lipstick was smeared. So was your mouth. You could feel the waxy residue on your lips, the evidence of her painted against your skin.
"Next," she whispered, and stepped aside.
Kazuha didn't kiss your mouth. She knelt in front of you and pressed her lips to your stomach, pushing your shirt up to reach bare skin. Her mouth was hot, trailing a line from your navel upward, and each kiss came with words pressed into your flesh.
"Sorry." Kiss. "For the notes." Kiss. "Sorry." Kiss. "For the comments." Kiss. "Sorry for every single time I made you feel like nothing."
Her hands slid around to your back, holding you in place while she worshipped your torso with her mouth. Every apology was a brand, a promise, a prayer.
Yuna watched with those dark, hungry eyes. She'd removed her own shirt at some point, revealing a lacy bra that made your mouth go dry. Her breasts were full and perfect, practically spilling over the cups, and she caught you staring and smiled.
"Like what you see?"
"Yes."
The word came out without thought. Honest. Raw.
Her smile widened. "Good. I want you to like it. I want you to like everything about us. I want to make you feel so good you forget we were ever cruel."
She moved to the bed and climbed onto it, positioning herself beside you. Her hand found yours and guided it to her chest, pressing your palm against the lace-covered swell of her breast.
She was warm. Soft. Her heartbeat thudded against your palm, rapid and strong.
"Squeeze," she said. "Please. I need to feel your hands on me."
You obeyed. Her breath caught, her back arching, and a soft moan escaped her lips.
"Ohhh, that's. Yes. Just like that."
Her nipple hardened under the lace, pressing against your fingers. You rubbed your thumb over it experimentally, and her moan grew louder.
"Harder. Please. I can take it."
You pinched. Her whole body shuddered.
"Fuck. Fuck, your hands feel so good. I've imagined this since yesterday. Since the moment I saw you. I've been going crazy wanting your touch."
Kazuha had worked her way up to your chest now, her mouth leaving damp trails across your skin. Winter had rejoined the group, her pale fingers working at the buttons of your shirt, helping Kazuha push the fabric aside.
And then all three of them were touching you. Six hands on your bare skin, mapping every inch they could reach.
"This body," Kazuha breathed. "We tormented this beautiful body. We should be punished for that."
"Later," Yuna said, her voice ragged as you continued to knead her breast. "Punishment later. Worship now."
Winter leaned in and kissed your neck, her tongue tracing the line of your pulse. Her hands slid down your sides, hooking into the waistband of your jeans but not going further. Not yet.
"Tell us what you want," she whispered against your throat. "Anything. We'll give you anything."
"I don't. I don't know."
It was true. Your brain was short-circuiting, overwhelmed by sensation and confusion and the impossible reality of three women who'd spent months making your life hell now dedicating themselves to your pleasure.
"Then we'll figure it out," Yuna said. She pulled your hand from her chest and pressed it to her lips, kissing each of your fingers. "We have time. We have forever, if you'll let us."
Kazuha looked up from where she'd been pressing kisses to your ribs. Her round face was flushed, her eyes bright.
"Stay the night. All three of us. Let us spend hours making you feel good. Let us apologize until our mouths are sore."
Your breath caught at the image. Hours. Three women. All focused on you.
"I shouldn't."
"Shouldn't doesn't mean don't want to," Winter murmured. "We can see it in your face. You want this. You want us."
She wasn't wrong.
"Then stay," Yuna said. She leaned in and kissed you, deep and hungry, her tongue sliding against yours. When she pulled back, she was panting. "Stay and let us prove we can be what you need."
The room was warm, filled with the scent of three different perfumes mingling together, and you realized with a jolt that you were lying on Yuna's bed with three women pressed against you, and your shirt was somewhere on the floor, and Winter's hands were still hooked in your waistband, and—
"Wait."
They froze. All three of them, instantly, like you'd hit a switch.
"Too fast?" Yuna asked. Her voice was careful, controlled, with an undercurrent of desperation that suggested stopping was physically painful for her.
"A little."
Winter's hands withdrew from your waistband. Kazuha sat back on her heels, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths. Her black bralette was askew, one strap slipping down her shoulder, and her round face was flushed pink. She looked like she'd been running.
Maybe she had been. Running toward something she couldn't name until yesterday.
"We don't have to do anything you don't want," she said. Her voice was softer than you'd ever heard it. Gone was the mocking edge, the cruel giggle that had haunted your nightmares for months. "We just want to be close to you. However you'll let us."
Winter had pulled away too, kneeling beside the bed with her hands in her lap. Her pale hair fell forward, hiding her expression, but you could see the tension in her shoulders. The effort it took her to stay still.
Yuna was another story. She hadn't moved from her position beside you on the bed. Her dark eyes stayed fixed on your face, cataloging every micro-expression, every flicker of uncertainty. Reading you like a book she'd memorized.
"I can feel your pulse," she murmured. Her fingers were still wrapped around your wrist from when she'd kissed them earlier. "It's racing. You're scared."
"Yes."
"Of us?"
You considered the question. Really considered it, instead of just reacting.
"I don't know," you admitted. "Maybe. It's all happening so fast."
Yuna nodded slowly. "We can slow down. We will slow down. But I need you to understand something first." She lifted your wrist to her lips again and pressed a kiss against the thin skin over your veins. "This isn't a trick. This isn't some elaborate game we're playing to hurt you later. This is real. Whatever happened yesterday, whatever changed inside us—it's permanent. We're not going to wake up tomorrow and go back to the way things were."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I can't imagine it." Her dark eyes held yours. "I can't imagine ever wanting to hurt you again. The very thought makes me feel sick. Like something's clawing at my insides, trying to get out. I've spent the last eighteen hours wanting to crawl out of my own skin every time I remembered something cruel I said to you. Every insult. Every laugh at your expense." Her voice cracked slightly. "I don't know how to make you believe me. But I'll spend the rest of my life trying if you let me."
The room was quiet for a long moment. Outside, you could hear traffic. The distant sound of a siren. Normal city noises that felt surreal after everything that had happened today.
"Okay," you said again. It seemed to be the only word you could manage.
Winter lifted her head. Her pale eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Does that mean… you forgive us?"
Did it? You weren't sure forgiveness worked that way—instant and complete, granted in a borrowed apartment by a man who'd been ready to drop out of school just two days ago. But something had shifted in your chest. A wall you'd built brick by brick over months of torment, crumbling under the weight of three women who looked at you like you were the sun and they were drowning without your light.
"I don't know about forgiveness," you said carefully. "But I believe you. I think I believe that you've changed. And I want…" You swallowed. "I want to see where this goes."
Kazuha let out a shaky breath. Her hand found yours and squeezed. "That's enough. That's more than enough. We'll earn the rest. I promise."
All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.
Winter shifted on her knees, moving closer to the bed. Her pale coloring looked almost ethereal in the soft light of Yuna's bedroom, and her sharp features had lost their usual hard edge. She looked vulnerable in a way you'd never seen before.
"Can I show you something?" she asked. "Something I've wanted to do since yesterday?"
You nodded.
She reached for your hand and placed it on her chest, right over her heart. You could feel it pounding beneath your palm—rapid, desperate, like a bird trapped in a cage.
"This is what you do to me," she whispered. "Every time I look at you. Every time you speak. I feel like I can't breathe. Like my heart might explode." She covered your hand with hers, pressing it harder against her chest. "I spent so long trying to make you feel small because I was terrified of how big you made me feel. And now I just want…"
"What?"
"To be small for you." Her voice dropped even lower. "To let you have all the power. To give you everything I have and take whatever you want to give back."
The confession hung in the air between you. Raw. Honest. Stripped of all her usual defenses.
Kazuha had moved too, positioning herself on your other side. Her compact body pressed against your arm, her breath warm against your shoulder.
"We talked about this," she said. "The three of us. All last night. We took turns sharing what we were feeling and all of it kept coming back to the same thing." She kissed your shoulder through your shirt. "We want to belong to you. Completely. However that looks. Whatever that means."
Yuna's hand slid up your arm, tracing the line of your bicep. "But only if you want us. Only if this is something you choose. We won't force anything on you ever again. We're done taking. Now we only want to give."
Your head was spinning. The situation was impossible—three women who'd made your life a living nightmare now offering themselves to you like penance. Like prayer.
And the worst part? You wanted it. You wanted them. The attraction had always been there, buried under layers of hurt and resentment. They were beautiful. All three of them, in different ways. You'd have to be blind not to see it.
"I'm going to kiss you now," Yuna said. It wasn't a question, exactly, but there was space in the statement for you to say no. To stop this before it went any further.
You didn't say no.
Her lips met yours with a desperation that stole your breath. This wasn't like the earlier kisses—gentle, tentative, exploratory. This was hunger given form. Her tongue swept into your mouth, claiming, devouring, and you felt yourself falling backward onto the bed as she followed you down.
"Mmmm," she moaned against your lips. "I've wanted this. Fuck. I've wanted this since the moment I saw you yesterday and everything changed."
She broke the kiss to trail her mouth down your jaw, your neck, the hollow of your throat. Her hands worked at the remaining buttons of your shirt, pushing the fabric aside to expose your chest to the cool air of the apartment.
"So beautiful," she breathed against your skin. "How did we never see how beautiful you were?"
Kazuha had stood up from the bed, and now she was removing her bralette with quick, efficient movements. Her breasts were small and pert, with dusky nipples already peaked in the cool air. She caught you looking and smiled—a real smile, not her usual mocking smirk.
"Like what you see?" She crawled back onto the bed, settling on your other side. "You can touch. I want you to touch. I want your hands everywhere."
Winter hadn't moved from her position on the floor. But now she rose gracefully and began unbuttoning her own shirt, revealing pale skin and a delicate lavender bra underneath. Her movements were slower than Kazuha's—deliberate, almost ritualistic. Like she was unwrapping a gift.
"I want to try something," Winter said. "Something I've been thinking about since yesterday. Will you let me?"
"What?"
Instead of answering, she sank to her knees again—this time between your legs. Her pale fingers found the button of your jeans, and she looked up at you with wide, hungry eyes.
"Can I?" she asked. "I want to show you how sorry I am. I want to worship you the way you deserve."
Your throat was dry. "Yes."
She made quick work of your button and zipper, tugging your jeans down your hips with trembling hands. When she'd gotten them off entirely—leaving you in just your boxer briefs on Yuna's silk sheets—she sat back on her heels and just looked at you.
"I spent so long making you feel worthless," she said quietly. "I want to spend the rest of my life making you feel like a god."
Then she leaned forward and pressed her lips against your length through the thin cotton of your boxers.
The sensation made you gasp. Her mouth was warm, even through the fabric, and you could feel her breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. She kissed her way up your shaft, leaving damp patches on the cotton, before hooking her fingers in your waistband and pulling down.
Your cock sprang free, already hard and aching. Winter's eyes went wide.
"Oh," she breathed. "You're…" She swallowed. "You're perfect."
All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.
Yuna and Kazuha had been watching, their own hands wandering over each other's bodies in absent, distracted patterns. Now they both made sounds of appreciation, pressing closer to get a better view.
"He's gorgeous," Kazuha said. Her hand slid down her own stomach, disappearing between her thighs. "Winter, make him feel good. Show him what your mouth can do when you're not using it to hurt people."
Winter flinched slightly at the reminder of her cruelty, but she didn't argue. Instead, she leaned forward and ran her tongue in a long, slow stripe from the base of your cock to the tip.
The pleasure was immediate and intense. You groaned, your hands fisting in the sheets beneath you.
"Ohhhh, fuck," you gasped.
She swirled her tongue around the head, teasing, tasting. Her pale eyes stayed fixed on your face, watching every reaction, cataloging every gasp and twitch. She was learning you. Memorizing what made you feel good.
"You taste so good," she murmured against your flesh. "I've been imagining this. Dreaming about it. I woke up this morning with my fingers between my legs and your name on my lips."
Then she took you into her mouth.
The wet heat was overwhelming. She sank down slowly, inch by inch, her throat relaxing to accommodate your length. Her hand wrapped around the base, stroking what she couldn't fit, while her other hand cupped your balls gently.
"Winter, fuck," you groaned. Your hips twitched upward without your permission, and she made a small sound of surprise that vibrated through your cock.
She pulled back briefly, a string of saliva connecting her lips to your shaft. "Don't hold back. Use me however you want. This is for you."
Then she dove back in with renewed enthusiasm.
Yuna had grown tired of watching. She straddled your thigh, grinding her core against your leg while her mouth found your neck. You could feel the heat of her even through her jeans, the dampness that had already soaked through the denim.
"I'm so wet," she panted against your throat. "Watching her suck you… it's making me insane. I can feel myself dripping." She ground harder against your leg, chasing friction. "I want you inside me so badly. I want to feel you split me open."
Kazuha had positioned herself on your other side, but instead of grinding against you, she'd taken your hand and pressed it between her thighs. Her sex was bare—she must have removed her pants at some point—and soaking wet.
"Feel what you do to me," she whispered. Her hips rolled against your palm, smearing her arousal across your fingers. "I've never been this wet for anyone. Never wanted anyone this much. You're all I can think about."
Your brain was short-circuiting. Three women. Three beautiful, terrifying, formerly cruel women, all touching you, all wanting you, all desperate to make you feel good. It was too much. It wasn't enough.
Winter was working your cock with increasing urgency now, her head bobbing in a steady rhythm. Her moans vibrated through your flesh, and the sounds she made were obscene—wet and hungry and desperate.
"Mmmmph," she moaned around your shaft. "Mmm, you feel so good in my mouth. So hard. So perfect."
She pulled back with a gasp, saliva and precum stringing between her lips and your cock. Her hand replaced her mouth, stroking you rapidly while she caught her breath.
"I need you to know," she panted, "that I've never done this for anyone. Never wanted to. But for you…" She leaned forward and kissed the tip reverently. "For you, I'd stay on my knees forever."
Then she took you deep again, and this time she didn't stop. Her throat worked around your length as she swallowed you down, and you could feel yourself getting close. The pressure was building at the base of your spine, your balls tightening with the need for release.
"I'm going to—" you started to warn her.
She didn't pull back. If anything, she doubled down, her hand pumping what she couldn't fit while her mouth worked the rest with desperate enthusiasm. Her eyes stayed locked on yours, giving you permission, begging you to let go.
"Fuck, Winter, I'm—" The orgasm crashed through you like a wave. Your hips jerked upward, driving yourself deeper into her throat as you came. She swallowed around you, taking everything you gave her, and when you finally stilled, she pulled back slowly and pressed a kiss to your softening cock.
"Thank you," she breathed. "Thank you for letting me. Thank you for trusting me."
All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.
Yuna had stopped grinding against your leg to watch Winter finish you off. Now her dark eyes were blazing with need.
"My turn," she said. It wasn't a question.
But Kazuha made a noise of protest. "You went first yesterday. You got to hold his hand first. I want a turn."
"You can have the next one," Yuna promised. "I just need… I need him inside me. I need to feel him. I've been going crazy."
Winter had moved to the side, her pale cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from use. But she didn't look satisfied—she looked hungry for more.
"We can share," she said quietly. "We talked about this. We're a unit now. His harem. His to command. We don't have to compete."
The word "harem" sent a jolt through your spent body. You weren't sure if you were ready for another round yet, but your cock twitched at the thought.
Yuna considered this for a moment. Then she nodded slowly. "You're right. We share. That's the deal. That's what we agreed."
She climbed off your thigh and began removing her jeans, revealing long legs and a lacy thong that was visibly soaked with her arousal. Her body was incredible—toned and elegant, with full breasts that spilled over her bra and curves in all the right places.
"Kazuha," she said, "you wanted his hands. Take them. Winter, you can have his mouth. I'll ride him when he's ready."
The three women rearranged themselves around you with military efficiency. Kazuha took position by your right side, guiding your hand back between her thighs. Winter climbed up the bed and straddled your chest, facing you, her pale sex inches from your face. And Yuna settled between your legs, her mouth closing over your softening cock to bring you back to full hardness.
The sensation of three women pleasuring you—and themselves—simultaneously was overwhelming. Your brain couldn't process all the inputs: Kazuha's wet heat against your fingers, Winter's hands braced on your chest as she positioned herself, Yuna's talented mouth working you back to attention.
"Touch me," Kazuha pleaded, rolling her hips against your palm. "Inside. Please. I need your fingers inside me."
You obeyed, sliding two fingers into her slick channel. She was tight, impossibly wet, and she clenched around you with a moan.
"Ohhhh, yes. Just like that. Fuck." Her head fell back, her hips moving in a steady rhythm. "Your fingers feel so good. So much better than my own. I've been touching myself all night thinking about you and it wasn't enough, it was never enough—"
Winter had lowered herself to your mouth, and the taste of her filled your senses. She was sweeter than you expected, with a hint of musk that made your cock twitch in Yuna's mouth. You ran your tongue through her folds, finding her clit and circling it with the tip.
"Oh!" Winter cried out. Her thighs trembled on either side of your head. "Oh, fuck, your tongue, yes, right there, please don't stop—"
You wrapped your arms around her thighs, holding her in place while you feasted on her. Your fingers continued their rhythm inside Kazuha, and you could feel both women getting closer, their moans harmonizing in the quiet room.
Yuna had succeeded in her mission—your cock was hard again, aching for release. She pulled back and looked up at you with dark, hungry eyes.
"I need you inside me," she said. "Now. Please. I can't wait anymore."
Winter reluctantly lifted herself from your face, and Kazuha whimpered as you withdrew your fingers. But neither protested as Yuna positioned herself above you and sank down onto your length in one smooth motion.
The sensation of her enveloping you was indescribable. She was tight and wet and so hot you thought you might burn alive. Her back arched as she took you to the hilt, a moan tearing from her throat.
"Ohhhhh fuck, you feel so good. You're so big. You're stretching me so perfectly—"
She began to move, rolling her hips in a slow rhythm that drove you crazy. Her hands braced on your chest for leverage, her dark hair falling around her face like a curtain.
Kazuha had moved to sit beside you, her own hand between her legs, watching Yuna ride you with desperate hunger. Winter had positioned herself on your other side, one hand pinching her nipples while the other worked her clit.
"Tell us you're ours," Yuna panted, her hips speeding up. "Tell us you'll keep us. Tell us we belong to you."
The words tumbled out before you could stop them. "You're mine. All three of you. You belong to me."
The effect was instantaneous. Yuna's whole body shuddered, her rhythm faltering. "Say it again. Please."
"You're mine. You belong to me. I'm going to keep you."
She came with a scream, her walls clenching around your cock like a vice. The sensation pushed you over the edge too, and you spilled inside her with a groan of your own.
Kazuha and Winter had worked themselves to the edge watching, and they followed moments later, crying out in tandem as pleasure crashed through them.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was heavy breathing.
Then Yuna collapsed forward onto your chest, her dark hair spreading across your skin like ink.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for choosing us. We're going to spend the rest of our lives making you happy. I promise."
The other two curled against your sides, their bodies warm and soft. And for the first time in months—maybe years—you felt something like peace.
Whatever came next, you'd face it together.
However deep down. You still have a feeling. That something is not right. This whole thing is not right. Their love was not right. As you caresses Winter's head, You began to wonder. If all of this. Is just a dream come true. Or is it a Nightmare waiting to happen.
You woke slowly, consciousness returning in fragments. A warm, wet heat surrounded your cock. Your hips jerked instinctively, and a low groan escaped your throat before you were fully awake.
"Mmmm, he's waking up," Kazuha's voice came from somewhere to your left. Giggling. "We almost got him there."
Your eyes fluttered open. Morning light filtered through curtains you didn't recognize, and for a disorienting moment, you had no idea where you were. Then sensation crashed back—the warmth, the wetness, the soft weight of bodies pressed against yours.
Winter's head was between your legs, her pale hair spilled across your thighs like moonlight on water. Her mouth worked your shaft with desperate devotion, tongue swirling around the head before she took you deep. Her cheeks hollowed, and the suction made your vision blur.
"Ohhh, fuck," you breathed.
Yuna lay on your other side, her dark head resting on your chest, watching Winter work with possessive satisfaction. Her elegant fingers traced patterns across your stomach, nails dragging lightly across your skin.
"Good morning," she purred without looking up. "Did you sleep well? We tried not to wake you too many times during the night."
"During the—" You stopped. Tried to process. "How many times?"
"Four," Kazuha answered proudly. She was curled against your side, her compact body warm and soft. Her round face held a deceptively innocent smile. "You came in your sleep. It was so hot. We couldn't help ourselves."
"We had to have you," Winter pulled back just enough to speak, her pale eyes feverish. A string of saliva connected her swollen lips to your cock. "Every time you got hard, we needed to take care of you. It would be cruel not to."
This wasn't right. None of this was right.
Yesterday's memories crashed over you—the library, the confessions, the sex. The way they'd looked at you like you were the only thing keeping them alive. The desperation in every touch, every word. And underneath it all, that gnawing certainty that something was profoundly, terrifyingly wrong.
You tried to sit up. Three sets of hands immediately pressed against your chest, pushing you back down.
"Stay," Yuna said softly. Her dark eyes held yours. "Let us take care of you. We need to take care of you."
"No." The word came out hoarse. "We need to talk. This has to stop."
The effect was immediate and devastating.
Winter's face crumbled like you'd slapped her. Her pale skin went even whiter, her eyes going wide with genuine terror. She released your cock like it burned her, scrambling backward on the bed.
"Stop?" Her voice cracked. "You want us to stop? We can't—we can't. You don't understand, I can't exist without you now. I've tried to imagine it, tried to picture going back to how things were, and there's nothing there. Just emptiness. Just—"
"Shh." Yuna sat up, but her composure had cracked too. Her perfectly composed features were twisted with panic. "He doesn't mean it. He's just confused."
"I'm not confused." Your voice hardened. "I don't know what happened yesterday, but people don't just change overnight. This isn't normal. None of this is normal."
Kazuha had gone very still beside you. Her round face had lost its sweetness, replaced by something colder. More calculating.
"You're right," she said quietly. "It's not normal. We know it's not normal. We can feel how wrong it is, how our thoughts aren't our own anymore. But here's the thing—we don't care."
She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"I spent months making your life hell because it made me feel powerful. I liked watching you suffer. And now the thought of hurting you makes me physically ill. I can't do it. I literally cannot make myself be cruel to you anymore. My brain won't let me." Her smile was brittle. "So you can talk about normalcy all you want. But we're never going back. We can't. And we won't let you go."
"This is insane."
"Probably," Yuna agreed. Her breathing had steadied, but her hands trembled slightly. "But it's real. This is our reality now. You're our reality. And we're going to spend every moment proving that to you."
Winter had moved to the foot of the bed, her slender body curled into itself. She looked small. Fragile. Nothing like the sharp-tongued woman who'd terrorized you for months.
"Please," she whispered. "Please don't send us away. I know we don't deserve you. I know we've been horrible. But we'll do anything—anything—to make you happy. Just tell us what you want. Whatever it is. We'll do it."
The desperation in her voice made your chest tighten. This wasn't manipulation, wasn't performance. She genuinely believed every word.
And that was somehow worse.
"I need space," you said carefully. "Time to think. This is moving too fast."
Yuna exchanged glances with the others. Something unspoken passed between them—some decision made in the silence.
"No," she said softly.
"What?"
"We can't give you space." Her dark eyes held yours with unwavering intensity. "Every moment apart from you feels like dying. I'm not being dramatic. I mean it literally. My chest hurts. My head spins. I can't breathe properly when you're not near me."
"That sounds like a medical problem."
"It's a you problem," Kazuha corrected. "You're the only thing that makes it stop."
Before you could respond, Yuna moved. She reached beneath the pillow and produced something that glinted in the morning light—soft silk scarves, deep red, the color matching the wire that had started all this.
"We talked about this last night," she said calmly. "After you fell asleep. We knew you might try to pull away."
"You planned this?"
"We planned for every possibility." She nodded to Kazuha, who took your right wrist. Winter emerged from her huddle to take your left.
"Wait—"
"We're going to make you feel so good that you won't want to leave," Yuna continued, her voice steady and reasonable. "We're going to worship every inch of you until your brain melts and you understand that you belong with us. That we belong to you."
You tried to resist, but their grip was surprisingly strong. Three women working in concert, coordinated with the precision of a military operation.
"Hold him," Yuna commanded.
Kazuha threw her leg over your chest, pinning your torso. Her bare sex pressed against your stomach, and you could feel how wet she already was. She leaned forward, using her dancer's flexibility to press her forehead against yours.
"Don't fight," she whispered. "We'll make it so good. We'll make you forget everything except us."
All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.
The scarf wound around your right wrist—silk, smooth, tight enough to hold but not enough to hurt. Kazuha guided your arm up, tying it to the bedframe with practiced efficiency. Winter followed suit on your left, her fingers trembling but determined.
"Stop," you said again. But even you could hear how weak it sounded.
"We can't," Winter answered. Her pale eyes were wet with tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But we can't."
Yuna finished securing both wrists, then moved down the bed. She produced two more scarves from somewhere—how many had they prepared?—and began binding your ankles.
"You're going to thank us," she predicted. "Once it's over. Once you understand."
"This is kidnapping."
"It's devotion." She looked up at you, and her dark eyes held no irony. "We're devoted to you. Completely. Totally. The way nuns are devoted to God. The way martyrs are devoted to their faith. You're our religion now."
Your ankles secured, you were spread eagle on Yuna's bed, completely at their mercy. And despite everything—the wrongness, the panic clawing at the edges of your mind—your cock was already hard again.
Yuna noticed. Of course she did.
"See?" She smiled. "Part of you knows exactly what you need."
She climbed onto the bed, positioning herself between your legs. Her dark hair fell forward, creating a curtain around your cock as she leaned down.
"Let us prove ourselves to you," she murmured. Her tongue traced a line from base to tip. "Let us show you what devotion means."
Then she took you into her mouth, and thought became impossible.
The wet heat was overwhelming. She worked you with skill that spoke of practice—though you knew she'd never done this before yesterday. It was as if the wish had given them knowledge along with obsession. Her throat relaxed as she took you deep, her tongue swirling patterns that made your back arch.
"Ohhhh, fuck—" The moan tore from your throat.
Kazuha had moved to your side, her compact body pressing against you. Her mouth found your nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive skin before her tongue soothed the sting.
"You taste so good," she murmured against your chest. "I've been imagining this all night. The way your skin feels under my tongue. The sounds you make."
Winter had recovered from her panic, her natural sharpness returning. She climbed to your other side, her pale fingers wrapping around the base of your cock where Yuna's mouth couldn't reach.
"Let us drain you," she whispered. Her thumb pressed against the sensitive spot beneath the head. "We're going to take everything you have. Every drop. Until you can't think anymore. Until you can't remember why you wanted to leave."
Yuna pulled back with a wet pop. "Winter, share."
The pale woman obeyed instantly, moving down to join Yuna between your legs. Their faces pressed together, cheek to cheek, both of them looking up at you with hunger that bordered on madness.
They kissed each other—a deep, messy kiss with your cock inches away. Their tongues tangled, sharing the taste of you. Then they pulled apart and both turned to your shaft.
"Oh fuck—" The sight alone nearly made you come.
They worked in tandem—Yuna on one side, Winter on the other, their tongues tracing parallel paths up your length. When they reached the tip, their mouths met in another kiss, your cock between them.
"MMMMMMM," Winter moaned, the vibration traveling through your flesh.
"So hard," Yuna murmured. "So perfect. You were made for us."
Kazuha had climbed higher, straddling your chest again. Her wet sex pressed against your sternum as she leaned forward.
"I need you to touch me," she said. "Even tied like this. Figure out how."
She positioned herself so your chin could reach her core if you strained upward. The scent of her filled your nostrils—musky, sweet, desperate.
"Please," she begged. "I've been wet since last night. I need to feel your tongue on me. Please, please, please—"
You gave in. There was no point in resisting—not when every nerve ending screamed for release, not when your body had already surrendered.
Your tongue found her folds, and she screamed.
"AHHHHH! Oh god, oh fuck, yes, yes, YES—"
Her hips bucked against your face, grinding desperately. Her slick smeared across your chin and cheeks as she rode your tongue.
"More," she demanded. "Inside. Put your tongue inside me—"
You obeyed. Stiffened your tongue and pushed into her channel, feeling her clench around you.
"FUCK! Fuck fuck fuck—"
Below, Yuna and Winter had split duties—Yuna swallowing your cock while Winter's mouth worked your balls. The dual sensation was devastating. Wet heat surrounded your shaft while Winter's tongue traced the seam of your sac, then lower, teasing the sensitive skin behind.
"You're close," Yuna observed, pulling back briefly. "We can feel it."
"Let us have it," Winter added, her pale eyes feverish. "Give us everything."
All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.
Yuna sank down again, taking you to the root. Her throat constricted around your head as she swallowed. Winter's mouth closed around one of your balls, sucking gently.
Kazuha was grinding against your face with increasing desperation.
"I'm going to—" she gasped. "Your tongue is so deep, it's so deep—"
You felt her thighs begin to tremble against your head. Her whole body tensed.
"I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm—AHHHHHH!"
She gushed against your chin, her release coating your face in hot slick. The taste of her flooded your mouth—sweeter than you expected, with an edge of salt.
The sight and sensation pushed you over the edge.
Your hips strained against the bindings as you came, spurting into Yuna's throat. She swallowed convulsively, taking every drop, her dark eyes rolling back with pleasure.
"MMMMMMM!" Her moan vibrated through your cock, prolonging your orgasm.
When you finally stilled, she pulled back slowly, licking her lips.
"Delicious," she breathed. "You taste like belonging."
Winter had released your balls and was looking at Yuna with hungry envy.
"Share," she demanded.
Yuna turned and kissed her, and you watched them pass your cum between their mouths. Their tongues tangled, sharing the taste of you, both of them moaning into the kiss.
"Again," Kazuha said from above. She hadn't moved from your face. "I need more. I'm still so wet—"
But you were spent. Your cock softened against your thigh, exhausted.
The three women exchanged glances.
"We'll get him ready again," Yuna said calmly. "We have all day. All week. However long it takes."
"We're going to milk you dry," Winter added, her sharp features softened with satisfied greed. "Every drop you have belongs to us."
They descended on you again—three mouths, six hands, working in concert to bring you back to hardness. Despite your exhaustion, despite the alarm bells screaming in the back of your mind, you felt yourself responding.
This was wrong. All of this was wrong.
But as Yuna's mouth found your cock again, as Kazuha's slick pressed against your lips, as Winter's nails dragged down your chest, you couldn't remember why.
You lost track of time. Could have been minutes, could have been hours. The three women worked you with tireless devotion, bringing you to the edge and backing off just enough to keep you hard without tipping over. They seemed to know your body better than you did—every sensitive spot, every trigger point, exactly how much pressure you could take before breaking.
Yuna's mouth was a revelation. She'd taken to sucking your cock like she'd been born for it, her elegant features stretched around your girth as she worked you with single-minded focus. Her dark hair fell across your thighs, the strands catching on your sweat-slick skin. Every few minutes she'd pull back to let Kazuha or Winter take over, but her eyes never left your face.
"We've been talking," Yuna said during one such rotation, her voice calm and conversational despite the obscene situation. Her hand continued stroking you where her mouth had been, keeping you on edge. "The three of us. While you were sleeping."
"Mmmph—" Winter's response was muffled by your cock, her pale head bobbing in your lap. She'd gotten startlingly good at deep-throating, her earlier gag reflex seemingly erased by sheer determination.
Kazuha lay curled against your side, her compact body warm and soft. She'd already come on your face twice, her slick drying on your chin and cheeks, but she showed no sign of being satisfied. Her fingers traced lazy patterns across your chest, nails dragging lightly through the hair there.
"We've come to a decision," Yuna continued. She met your eyes, and something in her gaze made your stomach clench—something beyond obsession, beyond devotion. Something absolute. "We want you to understand how serious we are. How permanent this is."
Winter pulled off your cock with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting her swollen lips to your head. "We want you to make us pregnant."
The words hung in the air. For a moment, even the sounds of breathing seemed to stop.
"What?"
"You heard me." Winter's pale eyes held yours with unnerving intensity. "We want your children. All three of us. We want to carry your babies, to be tied to you forever. To wake up every day with a piece of you growing inside us."
Your mind reeled. This was insane. This was beyond insane. Yesterday these women had been your tormentors, and now they wanted—
"You can't be serious."
"We've never been more serious about anything," Yuna said softly. She released your cock and climbed onto the bed, positioning herself above you. Her dark hair curtained around her face as she looked down at you with something that might have been love if love could be weaponized. "We discussed it all night. We want this. We need this. To show you how committed we are. To make sure you can never send us away."
"Because if we have your children," Kazuha added from beside you, her sweet voice carrying an edge of steel, "you'll have to keep us. You'll have to take care of us. We'll be bound together for the rest of our lives."
The scarves around your wrists and ankles suddenly felt tighter. You pulled against them instinctively, but they held firm.
"This is crazy. You can't just—"
"We can." Yuna lowered herself until her sex pressed against your shaft, her slick smearing across your length. She was soaked—had been since this started, maybe since yesterday. The heat of her was nearly unbearable. "We already stopped taking our birth control. We've been off it for weeks, actually. We were planning this even before—"
She stopped herself, a flicker of confusion crossing her elegant features. "Even before what? I can't remember why we started planning it. Just that we needed to. Needed to be yours completely."
The wish. The stupid, joking wish you'd made with that wire. You'd asked for them to fall for you, but this—this was something else entirely. This was obsession weaponized, desire twisted into something desperate and all-consuming.
"I don't want this," you said, but even you could hear how weak it sounded. Your cock was achingly hard between Yuna's wet folds, your body betraying every protest your mind tried to make.
"Yes you do." Yuna began to move, sliding her slick channel along your shaft without taking you inside. The friction was maddening. "Your body knows what it wants. What it needs. And we need it too—so badly it hurts. Every moment we're not filled with you, not claimed by you, it feels like we're dying."
"Please," Kazuha whispered against your ear. Her hand slid down your stomach to join Yuna's at your cock, both women touching you at once. "Please let us have this. Let us prove ourselves. We'll be such good mothers. We'll raise your children together, love them together, worship you together for the rest of our lives."
Winter had moved to kneel beside Yuna, her pale body a stark contrast to the other woman's darker coloring. Her sharp features were softened with something like reverence.
"We've been such terrible people," she said quietly. "We hurt you for months, made your life miserable, and we can never make up for that. But we can give you this. We can give you children, a family, a harem devoted solely to your pleasure. We can spend the rest of our lives serving you, loving you, being whatever you need us to be."
Her hand joined the others on your cock, three sets of fingers working you together.
"Just give us this one thing," she begged. "Give us your children. Let us be yours forever."
Yuna shifted her hips, and suddenly your cock was positioned at her entrance. The heat of her was incredible—wet and grasping, her body begging for yours.
"Say yes," she breathed. "Tell us you want this too. Tell us we can have your babies."
Your mouth opened. Closed. You wanted to say no, to tell them this was insane, that you couldn't possibly—
"Yesssss," you hissed as Yuna sank down onto your cock.
The sensation was overwhelming. She was tight, tighter than you expected, her channel gripping you like she'd been made for this exact purpose. Her back arched as she took you to the root, a keening moan tearing from her throat.
"OH GOD—oh fuck, you're so deep, you're so deep—"
She stayed there for a moment, impaled on your cock, her whole body trembling. Then she began to move.
Her hips rolled in slow waves, drawing you out almost completely before sinking back down. Each movement made her cry out—soft desperate sounds that spoke of pleasure almost too intense to bear. Her dark hair swayed with the motion, brushing against her shoulders, her back, your thighs.
"Fuck, you feel so good inside me," she gasped. Her hands pressed against your chest for balance, nails digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks. "So thick, so perfect, like you were made to fit inside me—"
Kazuha had moved to straddle your face again, her wet sex hovering inches from your mouth. The scent of her was intoxicating—musky and sweet, the taste of her previous orgasms still coating your chin.
"Please," she begged. "I need your tongue again. I need to come while you fill Yuna. Please, please—"
You gave in. What else could you do? Your tongue found her folds, and she screamed.
"AHHHHH! Oh fuck, right there, your tongue is so good, so good—"
She ground against your face with the same rhythm Yuna used on your cock, their movements synchronized in some unspoken harmony. Below you could feel your orgasm building—pressure at the base of your spine, heat pooling in your gut.
"I'm close," Yuna warned. Her movements had become erratic, desperate. "You're going to come inside me. You're going to fill me with your cum, make me pregnant, claim me forever—"
"Oh god—" Your voice was muffled by Kazuha's sex, but the words escaped anyway.
"YES, say it! Promise me! Promise you'll fill me—"
"I'll fill you," you heard yourself say. "I'll give you everything—"
"AHHHHH!" Yuna threw her head back and screamed. Her whole body seized around you, her channel clenching in rhythmic pulses that pushed you over the edge.
You came harder than you ever had in your life. Spurt after spurt of cum erupted into her, filling her, marking her. She ground down onto you, taking every drop, her body milking yours with desperate intensity.
"Yes, yes, YES! I can feel it, I can feel you coming inside me, so hot, so much—give me all of it, give me your baby—"
All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.
The orgasm seemed to last forever. When it finally ended, Yuna collapsed forward onto your chest, her dark hair spilling across your skin. You could feel her heart hammering against your ribs, feel her body still trembling with aftershocks.
"Perfect," she murmured against your neck. "That was perfect. I can feel your cum inside me, so warm, so right…"
Kazuha had pulled back from your face, her own orgasm apparently forgotten in the intensity of the moment. She looked at Yuna with something like envy.
"My turn," she said. "You promised. You said you'd give us all your children."
"Give him a minute," Yuna protested without lifting her head. "He needs to recover."
"He doesn't need anything except us," Winter interrupted. She'd been watching the whole scene with hungry eyes, one hand between her own legs, fingering herself in steady rhythm. "Look at him—he's already getting hard again."
She was right. Despite the orgasm that had just wrung you out, despite the exhaustion pulling at your limbs, your cock was stiffening inside Yuna's warmth. The wish, or whatever power that wire had given you, wouldn't let you stop.
Yuna felt it too. She lifted her head to look at you, dark eyes wide with wonder.
"You are perfect," she breathed. "Everything we always needed."
She lifted herself off you with obvious reluctance, your cum already starting to leak from her well-fucked hole. The sight of it—white and thick, dripping down her thighs—made something primitive stir in your chest.
"Kazuha's turn," Yuna said, moving to kneel beside the bed. "But first, we need to make sure he's ready."
She gestured to Winter, who immediately understood. The pale woman moved between your legs, her mouth descending on your cock before you could protest. She licked you clean—tasting Yuna's slick, your cum, the mingled flavors of your combined pleasure.
"So good," she murmured against your shaft. "You taste like ownership. Like belonging."
Kazuha had positioned herself above you now, her compact body hovering over your freshly cleaned cock. Her round face held an expression of desperate anticipation.
"I've never done this before," she admitted softly. "Not before yesterday, I mean. I was saving myself for—for something. Someone. I didn't know it was you until—"
She shook her head, confusion flickering across her features.
"Until suddenly it was all I could think about. Being yours. Being filled by you. Carrying your child." She lowered herself until your cock pressed against her entrance. "Make me yours. Please. I need it so badly."
She sank down onto you with a sharp cry.
"OH—oh fuck, you're so big—"
She was tighter than Yuna, her body gripping you like a vice. She stayed still for a moment, adjusting to the sensation of being filled, her face a mask of concentration.
"Move," you commanded, and the word surprised you. Something had shifted—some acceptance of this new reality, this strange power you held over them.
Kazuha's eyes flew open at your command, round face lighting up with joy.
"Yes—whatever you want, anything you want—"
She began to move, her hips working in a different rhythm than Yuna's. Where Yuna had been smooth and undulating, Kazuha was enthusiastic and eager, bouncing on your cock with almost frantic energy.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck—you feel incredible, so deep, hitting places I didn't know existed—"
Yuna and Winter had moved to either side of you, both women watching Kazuha ride you with possessive satisfaction. Winter's hand found your face, turning your head toward her.
"Kiss me," she demanded. "While you fill her, kiss me—"
Her mouth found yours, and she kissed you with desperate intensity. Her tongue invaded your mouth, tangling with yours, tasting and claiming. When she pulled back, her pale lips were swollen and red.
"Next time," she whispered against your mouth. "You're going to fill me next. You're going to pump me so full of cum that I'll be dripping for days."
Kazuha's movements had grown more erratic, her breath coming in sharp gasps.
"I'm close—I'm so close—your cock is hitting my spot every time, it's too much, too good—"
"Come for me," you ordered, and she shattered.
"AHHHHHHH! OH GOD, OH FUCK, I'M COMING, I'M COMING ON YOUR COCK—"
Her channel clenched around you in rhythmic pulses, and the sensation pushed you over the edge again. You came inside her with a groan, filling her with your second load of the morning.
"YES! I can feel it, I can feel you coming, filling me up, giving me your baby—THANK YOU, thank you, thank you—"
She collapsed forward onto your chest, her compact body shaking with aftershocks. You could feel her tears against your skin—tears of pleasure, of relief, of something that might have been joy.
"Two down," Yuna observed from beside you. Her voice was calm, but her dark eyes blazed with intensity. "One to go."
Winter had already taken position, her pale body replacing Kazuha's above you. But instead of sinking down onto your cock, she turned around, presenting her back to you.
"I want you to see," she explained. "I want you to watch your cock disappear inside me. I want you to see your cum dripping out when you're done."
She lowered herself onto you with a moan, her tight channel gripping your oversensitive cock.
"OH—oh fuck, you're still so hard, how are you still so hard—"
The sight was obscene and intoxicating—your darkened shaft disappearing into her pale body, her round cheeks bouncing with each movement. Yuna and Kazuha had recovered enough to move beside her, both women running their hands across Winter's body as she rode you.
"So beautiful," Kazuha murmured. "Taking him so well. Being such a good harem-sister."
"Our turn to help," Yuna added. She reached between Winter's legs, her elegant fingers finding the other woman's clit.
Winter screamed.
"AHHHHH! Oh god, Yuna, what are you—OH FUCK—"
"Making sure you come hard enough to catch his seed," Yuna explained calmly. Her fingers worked Winter's clit in tight circles. "We need you convulsing around him, pulling his cum deep into your womb."
Winter's movements became frantic, her body chasing the pleasure Yuna provided. Each bounce on your cock drove you deeper, her channel gripping you like she was trying to pull you inside permanently.
"More," she begged. "Please, I need—I need—"
Kazuha leaned in and took one of Winter's pale nipples into her mouth, sucking hard. Winter's back arched, and a wail tore from her throat.
"I'M COMING—I'M COMING—FILL ME, PLEASE, FILL ME WITH YOUR CUM—"
You came for the third time, your body somehow finding more to give her. The orgasm was almost painful in its intensity, your cock pulsing inside her as you pumped her full.
"YES! I can feel it, so hot, so much—mark me, claim me, make me yours forever—"
She collapsed backward, your cock slipping from her body with an obscene wet sound. Your cum immediately began leaking from her stretched hole, dripping onto your stomach.
All three women lay around you now, breathing hard, their bodies slick with sweat and other fluids. The room smelled like sex—musk and salt and something sweeter underneath.
"Perfect," Yuna murmured. She pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "That was perfect."
"Now we wait," Kazuha added, her voice dreamy with satisfaction. "Wait to see if it takes. And if not—"
"We'll keep trying," Winter finished. She'd already begun cleaning you with her mouth, licking up the combined fluids from your stomach. "Every day. As many times as it takes. Until all three of us are round with your children."
She looked up at you, pale eyes feverish with devotion.
"You're never getting rid of us now. We're yours forever."
The worst part was, you weren't sure you wanted to be rid of them anymore.
It's finally out! This was a bit hard for me to write because I had to minimize scene cuts and lessen the plot (this is literally porn what plot) but I hope you enjoy nonetheless. One more iz girl to go :')
Girls like Chaewon don’t belong here. They belong on Vogue covers, runways, stages before roaring audiences who clamor for her attention.
But it’s exactly what happens. And it changed your life for the worse.
That’s the only explanation for you meeting Chaewon at a party, because otherwise, it would be at risk of being labeled as fate—and boy, are those dangerous waters to explore.
And now, she’s ruffling her hair like nothing happened, having just taken a shot of something strong enough to get her ears red. You don’t know which; the party’s buzzing with probably each type of vice, liquor, and sin. You don’t usually attend parties for that reason. You don’t need a bad influence in your life when it’s so easy to get hooked onto the wrong thing.
Yet when your eyes find hers in this pool of bodies, you realize you’re just relapsing into an old dirty habit.
It’s written all over her easy smile, the way the fringe falls over her forehead. Chaewon turns up her chin and says, “Why don’t I know you?”
The audacity of this girl, really. Her voice is saccharine sweet. Her words sound like the lyrics to a siren’s song. You’re already six feet deep into the waters and she’s holding you down.
Yunjin rolls her eyes. She’s your best friend, but she’s also Chaewon’s best friend, which means she knows exactly how this is going to play out. It’s an old story. Chaewon does that seductress act, preying onto some poor guy, and the next thing she knows, they’re making out in the master bedroom.
“Oh my god, don’t tell me you’re already flirting with him.”
“I’m not flirting with him,” says Chaewon, but she’s not even looking at Yunjin, her hand already ending up on your forearm. “What do you take me for, Jennifer? A slut?”
Yunjin thoughtfully places her fingertip on her chin. “Well—”
Chaewon bursts into laughter and tells her to shut up. God, even her smile is gorgeous. She’s a goddess up close—not a pore or a blemish anywhere on that flawless skin. Her scent is faint and sweet, some fragrance you can’t buy for four digits anywhere. You hate that you notice it. It just makes you think how far behind you are to Chaewon. Girls like her don’t look at guys like you.
Hanni catches Yunjin’s attention, dressed in a heart-shaped little top and fairy boots, looking like a butterfly. She squeals when she sees Yunjin, and their reunion leaves you and Chaewon to yourselves. The tension between you grows thicker. It’s impossible to breathe.
“Don’t listen to her. She’s just jealous I get to have you.” She tilts her pretty head and squints thoughtfully. “What was your name again?”
You can’t believe she’s talking to you, out of everyone in this house party. But you tell her your name anyway, and you can already tell it’s something her mouth will keep to memory. She’s circling you like you’re prey.
Don’t you want to fight back? Don’t you want to puff out your chest and say you know exactly how girls like her work? You’re just standing there, trapped by that golden voice and deadly silhouette. You’re not even pretending you want her to fuck off.
“It’s a nice party,” continues Chaewon. “Kazuha did her big one with it. Invited all the rich guys, the buff ones, the hot ones…” She pauses her stroking on your flesh to finally look you in the eye. “Tell me, are you any of those? Because if not, I’m packing my stuff.”
“I—I’m sort of—”
The serious look is immediately shattered from her face with a gorgeous laugh. “I’m just messing with you,” Chaewon assures you. It’s a cruel thing to joke about but she’s so pretty that forgiveness is instant. “I’m here to take my mind off things like you are. I’m not trying to do anything.”
But you should know by now that Kim Chaewon is a liar. From the very first second, she lied to Yunjin, lied to you about just messing with you. Her hand brushes yours as she reaches for a drink. Then it’s on your arm. Then it’s under your chin as she talks her way into a bedroom.
You don’t stop her.
The yellow lamplight casts shadows over Chaewon, contouring her figure into a tiny silhouette on the wall. That tiny dress that reveals her back looks better in the dark. All you’re thinking is that this only ends one way, and how it shouldn’t because she’s trouble and you’ve already got problems without Kim Chaewon on your mind. What more are you looking to add?
She’s talking about her friends as she sits on the bed. And she’s got a lot of them—Yunjin, the girl she’s forever linked with; Kazuha, the biggest party girl with somehow the most innocent face, and; Sakura, who’s pretty much an introvert. She likes to stay home and crochet. It’s more fun that way, she had argued, and Chaewon rolled her eyes. This time though, she agreed to wait down in the lobby just in case anybody needed a designated driver.
“But if you ask me,” she says (you didn’t), “Eunchae dresses best among all of us. I think it’s the sort of Gen Z fashion the older girls can’t master. Knows how to do her makeup, don’t you think?”
You realize here that Chaewon is kind of full of herself, only masking it behind asking your opinions then building another story about herself from that. Every word is a plot device leading to her, the main character. It’s something you find in too many people. They think that everyone and everything orbits around them.
It’s actually a pet peeve of yours but you have to give it to her: Kim Chaewon has every right to be narcissistic. Pretty face, great body, a great bank account to back her vices. She’s the girl every guy wants and every girl wants to be. It’s probably a statement made about girls less attractive and magnetic than her, but you know at the end of the day, it’s a title that only becomes true when given to her. She’s a carnal desire, something you cry about when you confess it to a priest.
“I guess I wasn’t really looking at her,” you admit.
“Oh?” Chaewon sets her drink down. Her voice drops even lower. “Who were you looking at then?”
It’s a trap. It’s a fucking trap. But before you could tell her you’re leaving, Chaewon’s already kissing you.
She tastes like vodka and sin and everything you shouldn’t be indulging in. But you do anyway.
She gets on her knees like she’s done it plenty of times for you. You get an idea of how an angel would react when they get a taste of sin when she cums around your cock. Her eyes shut, her body curls around you like it’s the only thing in the world she can hold onto. She looks fucking perfect.
Girls like Chaewon give you heaven for a night then leave you forever. They leave you wanting more but never give it to you even if you get on your knees and pray.
But Chaewon obviously likes something about you. And come on—she’s no fucking angel anyway. You both can go to hell.
-
You have a place of your own, but most of your time nowadays is spent in Chaewon’s luxurious Gangnam apartment. You raise this concern to her as she does her makeup in the living room mirror. The lipgloss makes her lips look plusher, the mascara enlarging those pretty eyes. You raised concern over her vanity as well, but she dismissed it. You love it when I look pretty for you anyway.
(And you hated to say that she’s right. You love when she puts on lipstick that ends up all over your neck. You love when she wears the sexiest dresses of all so you can take them off. So you zipped your mouth shut and waited another hour for her to doll up.)
“Friends share, don’t they?” she replies. Her ass looks great in those cycling shorts. She said she’s going to the gym, but if she sticks her ass out at you one more time, she’d have to delay.
You laugh. “Even friends with benefits?”
“It’s in the name, baby. Friends with benefits. Your benefit is staying in this chic place with me, while my benefit is that cock of yours.”
At least she’s clear with the fact that she’s using you. Sure, she likes that you’re easy to talk to and that there are no strings attached. But the feeling of your cock in her is too good to let pass.
And right now, Chaewon’s eyeing you like she’s up to no good.
You know that look. “Now?”
“What, you think I’m just horny 24/7?”
Chaewon walks and talks like she’s willing to go against each word. Those toned, perfect legs stride over to you. Her voice is sultry enough to stir a heat inside of you that, ironically, only she can put out.
She adds fuel to the fire by sliding onto your lap, her favorite seat. The curve of her cheeks perfectly aim at your bulge. You groan as Chaewon starts to circle her hips around you, all while she looks back at you with a bite of her lip.
You close your hands around her waist. “Thought you were driving to the gym?”
“I could do a different type of exercise here instead.”
“The membership is like, a fortune per month, Chae.”
You’re struggling to get your words out already. Damn those stupid shorts. Chaewon’s practically humping you. The feel of fabric upon fabric and her plump flesh pressed against yours is dizzying.
“Doesn’t matter,” Chaewon says. Her breaths shorten but she doesn’t stop moving. The sports bra cups her tits that bounce with each rotation. “I can think of certain ways to pay it back.”
“And what could that be?”
She’s already giving you a hint with the hypnotizing sway of her hips.
The graze of your clothed cock against her clit makes Chaewon gasp. You haven’t even gotten inside her, nor have you taken off that bra that pushes up her bouncy chest. But the feel of her gyrating against you, knowing exactly how you like it, is enough to make you go over the edge.
Not yet.
Chaewon rises from your lap. You almost groan if not for the show she’s offering you this time. She makes a show of stretching upwards, drawing your eyes to her tight midriff, before turning her back to you. Her fingers hook around the hugging material of her shorts to hike them slowly down her thighs. That bubble butt almost pops out of the fabric.
Only a thong. No wonder the wetness soaked through.
She bends over a little as she shakes her cute little ass to you. You can see how wet she is, arousal sticking to the tiny thong snug between her cheeks. You quickly remove your pants as well because you know how this goes with Chaewon. She’s fucking insatiable. She never takes no for an answer.
And you never give no as an answer either. You’re a match made in hell.
“I was thinking…” Her knees dent the sofa beside your hips. With her palms on your chest, she works your cock, grinding her swollen clit on the head. Both of you gasp.
“That’s new.”
“God, shut up.” Chaewon’s whimpering now. “Y-you know how we fuck like animals, right?”
She sinks onto the first few inches, her walls pulsing and fluttering around you. You let out a deep sigh. The sight of your cock disappearing into Chaewon’s tight little pussy never gets old.
She warms your member for a few delicious seconds, her walls pulsating around you. Chaewon bites her lip and throws her head back.
“Kind of stating the obvious here, Chae.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” she says in that irresistibly cute voice. It doesn’t seem too cute anymore when you compare it to how she begins to ride you, her hips rolling forward as if she’s trying to feed her cunt more of your cock. “But who’s to say we can’t use it to our advantage?”
She isn’t even explaining herself yet but already it sounds like all sorts of bad ideas. Chaewon herself is a bad idea. You told yourself that at the party, but she ends up on your cock anyway.
Like right now: her clever hips snap downwards, and there’s that timeless feeling of her walls clenching around you. You lay back on the sofa and try to take deep breaths. Chaewon’s done this before, more than you could tally, but the way she fixes herself onto your cock feels new each time. You have to reacquaint yourself with how tight she actually is.
The toned line of Chaewon’s back arches beautifully. You can’t take your eyes off it. Your abs tighten up as her ass bounces on your cock.
“Let’s see: we’re both pretty fucking hot—” You laugh, the sound drowned out by a moan of your own. Chaewon bites her lip. “And we both have a pretty hard time keeping our hands off each other. Imagine the money we could make off that.”
Chaewon’s going faster now. Her strangled groans collide with the sound of her thighs slapping against yours.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” you ask, because the more Chaewon bounces on you, the more you can’t think of a reason it should be a bad idea.
Her melodic moans strike every chord. How she could even get words out from how hard she’s riding you, you’ve no idea. Chaewon is a strategist anyway. She knows how to make do. So she rises from your lap, letting each pulsing inch leave her cunt, before ramming them all back inside her.
You groan. Chaewon laughs, but in spite of it, her languid movements never stop. When she gyrates to and fro, you start thinking about how this is probably a ploy to get you to agree. Look, her body seems to talk to you, in all its little motions and curves, look how good it is to see me stuffed with your fat cock. Look how good you make me feel. Wouldn’t you want to see it all on camera?
You both know what the answer is.
Chaewon’s smirking. “I’m saying we should make a movie.” She starts rubbing her clit, and her breath hitches between her sultry words. “And god, baby, we don’t even have to have a script or anything. It could just be me and you, doing what we do best.”
Her voice gets higher. Her hips start to move faster, more frantically than you could handle. And lord knows you’re the only one who could handle Chaewon. If it weren’t for you, who was going to keep her satisfied?
“And you know the camera’s my best friend. I’d look good getting stuffed by that hard cock from any angle. Anyone can watch you fuck me, but they know they could never be as good as you. They could never own me like you do.”
This has to be illegal. It’s the way she’s egging you on, knowing exactly what to say to ruin you, combined with the orgasmic choreography of her hips that renders you defenseless against her. And what harm could be done? Chaewon looks great on camera, even greater when it immortalizes into pixels how her face looks when she cums. It could be something you’d look back at when you’re worked up and she isn’t there (although that rarely happens), or sell with a reminder taped onto the plastic case that she’s yours. They can watch her get her little pussy destroyed but ultimately, at the end of the day, your bed is where she ends up.
You hate to say it, but all in all it sounds like a pretty fucking good idea.
“Fuck, Chaewon…”
“Is that a yes?” she asks eagerly. The lethal grip of her pussy starts to feel overwhelming. “It’s a win-win situation… please, won’t you say yes? Please, please, please—”
You could never say no to her, honestly. Not when she turns to look back at you with those sparkling doll eyes, and definitely not when she’s milking you.
You watch your cum drip outside of her like a waterfall. It’s hard to take your eyes off it, but then there’s Chaewon’s face, sweaty and lost to bliss. Yeah, she would look great on camera. And you did remember thinking back then, when you first met Chaewon, that she was never the type of girl to not be captured by a camera lens. You admit that your idea was pictorials and Vogue covers, not porn videos.
But later on, after Chaewon goes for a shower again to clean your mess up and actually works out, you find yourself setting up an account. Of course, there needs to be a discussion of some kind of how far you actually want to go with this.
“Do you want to be like… a full-on pornstar?” you ask. The question makes your ears burn. It’s not something you’d ask the average person, but you’ve been through this a million times; Kim Chaewon is not an average girl.
It’s late afternoon and you’re on a videocall with her as she drives home. The gorgeous interior of the Mustang looks almost mediocre when put next to Chaewon’s gorgeous face.
“Nope.” She shakes her head. “I’m not made for Pornhub, sorry to disappoint.”
“How is that disappointing?” you ask in disbelief.
“I dunno. A lot of people wanna see me do porn, but it’s just gonna be a side hustle for me.”
Nod as you get the verification code from her email. You realize that you share everything with Chaewon. You know all her passwords and she knows yours. Your bank accounts are intertwined with each other. It’s a bad idea, seeing as there isn’t a clear definition on what’s going on between you.
But right now, you’re literally creating an account to do porn together. It can’t get worse than that.
You pick Chaewon’s prettiest photo for the avatar—one of her in that tight Diesel top with her fingers through her hair. It parallels with the small rectangle in the corner of your screen.
“It’s asking for your age,” you tell her.
Chaewon rolls her eyes, hands tightening on the wheel. “You know the names of all the positions we’ve tried but not my birthday?”
Cowgirl at Eunbi’s house as you try to be quiet, 69 at that suite after your promotion—okay fine, maybe she has a point.
“I do know your birthday. I just can’t do math.”
“You’re an idiot,” she says. There’s sweat rolling down the sides of her face. It shines on her chest and drips down the fabric of her sports bra. You can’t stop thinking of how her skin looks so good, flushed and stretched.
Do a little mental math, eyes up to the spiralling ceiling fan. “Was I still an idiot when I made you cum thrice last night?”
Chaewon’s face burns red. The memory’s still fresh in that pretty little head of hers. “Shut up. Just fix my account and I’ll call Minju to give us advice later.”
“Park Minju or—”
“Please use your head for once. Is there another Minju who’s both a friend of mine and a pornstar?”
Alright, so she’s talking about Kim Minju. Pretty face, cute voice, thighs that could crush you. The girl’s a socialite who only does all the indie films for fun—the talent fees mean nothing to her.
That’s probably why she does the whole porn thing so well. Top creator minjugato.__. earns millions a month from just a camera, her bed, and another girl. She’s fulfiled a whole niche: not too famous to get into an actual scandal, not too invisible for the common guy to recognize her from a small platform movie and think hey, I don’t mind paying for this.
You look at her slim, composed figure fixed on the edge of your own bed. “How long have you been doing this?”
Minju smiles. “Not long enough,” she says teasingly, leaning over the PC. She’s typing in a caption for your first livestream. So far she’s helped you get a fair amount of followers with a helpful promotion post.
minjugato.__.: hi all!!! any weekend plans? :3
mine is to watch my best friend ssamuwon’s new movie later tonight. maybe you should come by!! it’s pretty explicit but i don’t think that would be a problem 👀
The stats rise by the minute. Five thousand people await Chaewon’s debut to start. Everytime you look away the number seems to get higher. There’s clear demand for Chaewon, the hottest girl in Gangnam, perhaps even the whole of South Korea itself.
No need for second-guessing. Chaewon’s in your lap, wearing the tiniest tube top known to man. You’ve seen her in less clothes and without them completely but this one’s just explicit. It accentuates her waist and lets a little skin show before her black shorts—somehow even tinier—hug her hips.
It’s no wonder at all she managed to convince you to fuck her for work. They’ve said to avoid capitalizing off your hobbies, but let the record show that you won’t ever get tired of fucking Chaewon.
Minju makes a final click on your keyboard. “You’re live in five minutes. I set up a few ground rules in the corner just in case they get wild.” She fires you a wink.
Chaewon reads the box of rules sent in the chat, pinned to the top of the stream. It’s all pretty basic. No scat, no invasion of privacy, just the usual. Minju conveniently added that requests paired with high donations are prioritized. You shudder. What would the viewers make you do to Chaewon? There’s too many fantasies to pick from.
“Thanks for helping me slut myself out, Minju,” says Chaewon with a smile too sweet for what she just said.
It doesn’t faze Minju at all. She actually laughs, the crease of her eyes making her look like a sly fox. “You know what they say: you have to learn from the best.”
Oh, the best, alright: Minju’s videos speak for themselves. They’ve gotten billions of views, spread across every social media platform to the point she had to commission someone for a watermark. It’s all good publicity anyway. More people watching meant more traction and discovery of her account.
The air in your room is thick with excitement. The ringlight casts a perfect shadow over Chaewon’s body. There she is, much smaller than you while your shadow alone could overpower here.
And of course, Minju’s hourglass shape is there as well. It doesn’t look like she’s leaving anytime soon. You honestly don’t mind it.
One minute to showtime. Chaewon holds your face in her hands. She’s as flawless as the day you met: perfect skin, thick lashes, eyes that could kill. There’s an evil smile sewn on those glossed lips.
“You ready, baby?” she asks. You’ve often wondered how she does that: she could speak in her usual high, cheerful voice most of the time but when the world dissolves to nothing more than you and these sheets, it drops to this ridiculously sexy low note. She’s insane. She’s unpredictable. But she’s also the sexiest woman you know.
If you had to be honest—
“Never been more ready.”
Chaewon is actually the perfect girl for this job.
When it comes to porn, it has to be specific. Every detail should be. The average viewer looks for something that they can’t get anywhere and it’s her job to be that. When every comment’s assumption about her is different, she has to put on a multitude of faces, all to keep their interest.
And it comes as nothing to her.
anonymous_lurk_79: she’s way too cute to be on here
NumberOneMinjuLuver replied: it’s the cute ones that are the freakiest
i said the same thing about minju
The red light blinks beside the lens. So does Chaewon, getting on her knees before the camera and batting her lashes. She’s whatever they want to be.
“Hello, is this thing on?” Chaewon smiles sweetly, as if she isn’t discussing being fucked for an audience of seven thousand and counting. “It’s my first time doing this stuff. I hope you all go easy on me.”
She looks up at you then at your growing erection. She giggles. “But I hope this one here goes as hard as he likes.”
Minju giggles, too. Chaewon was a natural.
“Shall we start?” she asks. “How do you want me?”
mingmingult: she looks a lot like the girl in minjugato’s videos
whenidiethr0wmyphoneintheocean donated $****: suck his cock first like a good girl
Four digits already?
Chaewon does as she’s told. She wraps her small hand around your cock, giving it a few hypnotic strokes. Feels like your heart is beating right there in her palm, too. She could feel every hot throb of arousal.
She then wraps her luscious lips around your cock and starts to suck. She suckles on the first few inches, letting her tongue dance around the sensitive bits, before she moves on to take more. You can see her shorts ride further down her ass as she pushes her face on your cock.
You pick up the camera and generously give the viewers a POV shot. Chaewon blinks slowly at the camera, breaking the fourth wall, and sits on her heels so they could see some of her cleavage. She looks even more enticing and tight in this angle. Try to keep your breaths controlled so it doesn’t drown out the sloppy sounds of Chaewon making out with your cock.
“Such a good little slut,” you murmur. Use your other hand to grab Chaewon’s short hair. She moans happily. Her seductive chuckle vibrates and sends ripples of electricity throughout your body.
1800hotnfun donated $****
Chaewon sloppily presses more of your length down her throat. Her breaths arrive shorter. You have no idea if she’s looking at you or the camera. You get the advantage either way; the juxtaposition of those large innocent eyes and the way she’s blowing you could make any man cum in seconds.
nsfwizone donated $**
69__jonginkang donated $*****: what a fucking tease
ANTIFRAGILENTHUSIAST donated $******: need to see this pretty little whore’s mouth filled w my cum
That would answer your rent for the next few months, with money on the side to really get this gig going. Plus, Minju did say that large donation requests should be prioritized.
And if whoever this guy was wanted to see Chaewon with cum overflowing from her lips, then so be it.
Your grip on Chaewon’s hair borders on painful. You pull it back, angling her chin upwards. Film from the side and the viewers could see how your cock dents Chaewon’s throat, rapidly filling it up again and again. Her nipples are already hard. Her lips provide a tight suction, her hands on your waist an anchor for balance.
You’re really giving it to her now. Chaewon’s helpless little whimpers do things to you, and apparently to the other eight thousand viewers wishing they were in your shoes. The chat is filled with obscenities. The donations rank up higher. Everyone’s waited far too long to see Kim Chaewon get her face fucked.
If it hurts, Chaewon doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even push you away or tap out. She lies there with her knees red and grazed, taking every shot you eventually pour into her waiting mouth. Each swift plunge makes her tits bounce in that tight top. Your cum fills her soft cheeks to the brim.
The flash makes the tears in Chaewon’s eyes sparkle. “Did you get every drop?” you ask.
Chaewon nods.
“Show me.”
She looks directly at the camera as she opens her mouth. As expected, you’re given a view of the pool of semen she kept for herself. She swallows it all obediently.
pipipi: fuck that was so hot
Bunnybaby: we have a new supreme
You look at Minju for approval. It’s tens across the board for her—she looks flushed, squirming on the chair. There’s a lazy smile on her face.
“Was I a good girl?’’ Chaewon asks. The chat responds quickly. It’s flooded with emojis, donations, and dirty remarks. “Shouldn’t I get a reward for swallowing your cum?”
What reward? There’s a million things you want to do to her. You could bend her over the bed, creampie her, then fuck her ass until her cheeks are red. The possibilities are endless.
You look at the stream for suggestions. One particularly dirty comment points out how hard Chaewon’s nipples are, poking through the tube top in need of attention.
Chaewon reads it, too. Her fingers run up the shape of her figure coyly. “Can Chaewonie touch herself, please?”
She cups her boobs, slowly placing her fingers over the soft flesh. A groan immediately leaves her used mouth. She makes sure to look at the camera when she bites her lip.
She pushes the top down until it bunches just below her perfect breasts. The fabric pushes up her tits even more, as if coaxing the spotlight to focus on them.
She starts to pinch her nipples, tweaking and pulling them like they were made to be. You can see her getting worked up already. Each roll of her fingers over the hard nubs makes her soak through her lace panties. The little sounds she makes could kill you.
“Please?” Chaewon pouts. “I’m so, sooo sensitive. Can you help me out, daddy?”
You don’t have to say anything for her to know your answer. Your job is to be silent after all. It’s Chaewon they’re paying for, not you.
You set the camera back in its place and gently push Chaewon to the mattress. You tower over her. You’re taller, bigger, stronger; and it’s even clearer when there’s the lack of proximity between the two of you. She could barely reach your shoulders. It’s the little things like that the audience looks for.
It’s the little things like that which set you off.
Chaewon looks good in any angle. She constantly proves that with her Instagram photos, where even closeups make her look like a goddess. But she looks the best when she’s underneath you, writhing for your touch.
You don’t stall more than you need to. The hot kisses on her neck are just foreplay. You attach your lips to a stiff nipple. She arches her back, but you keep her pinned to the soft cloud that is your mattress—she’s not going anywhere yet. You make sure of that by pinching the other nipple, giving both sensitive breasts equal attention.
“F-fuck…” Chaewon’s whimper is nearly inaudible. The rise and fall of her chest is hypnotic. She pushes her tits into your hand as you lick and suck. “You’re so good at that.”
You’re not selling yourself short, but these easy reactions are easily drawn from the fact that she’s sensitive. Dangerously so. The trail of your hand across her body leaves one of goosebumps. The thrill of getting her face fucked still runs high, and you discovered early on that the easiest way to make Chaewon melt was play with her tits.
You squeeze her hard enough to make her whine. But your other hand’s grown tired of kneading her breast. It’s more interested in the soaked patch of arousal in the center of Chaewon’s shorts. Her legs immediately lock around your wrist, making you finish what you started. You can’t just play with her nipples then leave her to fend for herself.
“Don’t stop,” Chaewon gasps. Your digits start to work between her legs. Her thighs tremble and her breath hitch in that particular way that drives you wild. The tight fabric of the shorts makes it difficult for you to intensify your movements, but you make do. Chaewon deserves to get fucked within an inch of her life. It’s what she so desperately wants anyway.
It shows in how she’s pushing herself up against you, tangling her fingers in your hair, hoisting her hips up so you could go deeper. The wet squelch of your fingers driving into her cunt is deafening. It makes her blush, but she’s got no reason to be ashamed. The viewers love it. They’re throwing money at her and betting on how fast she can cum.
Chaewon finally makes a mess on your fingers and screams at the top of her lungs, shaking and whining. When the bliss overtakes her features, you suddenly become sure of something:
You’re about to be the richest guy on the planet.
-
“Jesus.” Minju claps her hands together, looking very impressed. “You two are naturals.”
It’s been three days since Chaewon’s debut, but the profit you made could fit five months. Chaewon’s doll eyes go wide seeing the numbers on the screen. You’re surprised as well at the followers you got in so little time. Other creators needed months of work to get this kind of traction.
“This is insane,” you say. Hand Minju a cup of tea while Chaewon measures the damage she did on the internet. Mini tabloids are going crazy. And of course, people on your street are starting to look at her differently. They know too much about what goes on inside Chaewon’s luxury apartment, but they can’t tell the world how they found out.
Minju accepts the cup gracefully. For someone who’s been doing this for so long, she’s massively impressed by the quick success. Chaewon’s follower count will match hers in little time.
“I knew we were gonna do well, but not like this,” you tell her. “Thanks for all the help, Minju.”
Chaewon giggles. “Not that we needed any.”
“Little brat can’t even be grateful,” you say disapprovingly. Chaewon pouts, but doesn’t look regretful in the slightest.
Minju’s laugh is as charming as she is. “She’s not wrong. I don’t think getting money would be a problem, but you have to keep the hype going. You don’t want to peak so early.”
She sounds like a PR manager for all the beautifully fucked up films you’re going to make with Chaewon. You trust her word, though. This was a woman who knows what she’s talking about.
Chaewon studies her nails, painted hot pink and only long enough to scratch your back. “Maybe we could open up requests.”
“That’s a good idea,” Minju agrees. “People would pay a lot to see you live out their fantasies.” She sits back on your couch. A look of amusement crosses her face. “One time a guy paid me five hundred for feet pics.”
You raise your brows. “Feet pics?”
Minju doesn’t recognize the implication and only shrugs it off. You couldn’t believe people were actually into feet. It sounds pretty mild to Minju. She’s probably been made to do worse. “It’s easy money. He could’ve gotten videos with that amount.”
Chaewon thinks of that for a second. It doesn’t sound too bad. It would take less effort than setting up a camera and managing through violent orgasms. But she thinks she likes the latter more anyway.
She used to hear older people give her advice when she was a student. They said to make money off what she liked to do, and she’d never have to work a day in her life. She smirks. How would they react if she told them how she made her money now?
“You could paywall the more intense stuff,” Minju’s suggesting now. “Don’t ever downplay how good you’re doing. If people want to pay for it and would pay for it, let them. But don’t post too often. You want to keep them wanting more.”
“Biweekly sound fine?” Chaewon asks. Oh, she’s serious about this. You wonder how you’ll survive the next week.
“Perfect, actually.”
You butt in the conversation for a moment. “What about equipment?” Sure, you had a ringlight and a PC, but there’s nothing more. You imagine that this would take a lot of work and stuff, like a professional camera and neon lights.
Chaewon was wondering about that as well. She looks at Minju, who shakes her head, much to your surprise.
“You won’t have to worry about that. The average person isn’t going to Pornhub anymore to get off. They want something unscripted now.”
Minju’s fox eyes dart pointedly at the two of you. “They want something real,” she stresses.
Her gaze is sharp with accusation. Chaewon laughs and rests her head on your shoulder. You don’t say a word to deny it.
-
Just in case anybody clutches their pearls over it, you’ll clarify here that you still have pretty normal jobs. You’re not totally prostituting yourselves for money, although you hate to use that term and you’re not desperate for the extra income.
You work a corporate job and volunteer at your nearest charity when you have time on your hands. (Taking note of the latter is advice you have to take yourself because it seems you live off sin 24/7.) It allows you to split the rent with Chaewon and buy food.
As for Chaewon, she also works a regular job. You think? Wait, you realized that you have no idea what she does for a living. You simply assumed that with all her vices and expensive clothes, she must have a job keeping her busy somewhere.
Come to think of it, you’ve never heard her complain about work. It’s been a while since you moved in and got to know each other, but all the sticky notes about deadlines on the fridge are yours.
“Chaewon, I have something I want to ask you.”
She turns to you, her legs swinging off the seat at the bar. You gulp. All of her beautiful legs are on display thanks to that tiny brown dress. The only things that bother saving anything to the imagination are her boots.
That stitched cowboy hat too, if it counts. And it does the opposite of what it should. It makes you think of how well it matches her dress, and the way it makes her look like a cowgirl who could ride—
“Yes?” she says, still bopping her head to the music.
“Where the hell do you get all your money?”
Chaewon ponders over this for some time, then takes a sip of her margarita. “Oh, I don’t know.” Seeing the surprise on her face nearly makes her spit her drink out from laughing. “Seriously, I don’t know! I think it just shows up in my bank account. I guess our little collaboration helps, too.”
She winks at you. Your breaths shorten.
Nope. Just because she’s the hottest girl alive doesn’t mean she can lie to you. “Liar.”
“Don’t be a dick.”
“What was I supposed to think, Chae?” you say as diplomatically as you can. You gesture to your surroundings. “We’re in one of the most expensive bars in Hongdae where the fucking senators’ kids create scandals. You’re wearing another designer set.”
You had a point. Chaewon shrugs off the offense she took. “My fault for assuming you’d think about anything other than me in this dress.”
She stands up and twirls around. The skirt floats around her thighs. Those safety shorts are way too tiny to be considered safe. Chaewon gets a hit out of teasing you though, grinning when the realization registers on your face.
“Don’t you want to take pics of me?” asks Chaewon with a pout. She doesn’t wait for your answer and hands you her phone. It’s the latest one, pink and sleek. “So we have content to upload later!”
While you have qualms about taking pictures of Chaewon in her ridiculously provocative outfit, she’s right. It’s been a few days since your last upload. Minju said it was important not to post too often, but too long in between posts could throw your followers off.
So here you are again, playing the role of a photographer. You snap several photos of her within minutes. Chaewon switches between poses like they’re nothing. You have one where she’s bent slightly over the bar, a finger on her lips as she looks coyly at her short skirt. There’s one in the bathroom where she looks at the mirror instead of the lens. She’s holding the cowboy hat on her head and winking.
All that skin, that shameless seductiveness… it feels like you’re getting drunk off of these sexy photos instead of the alcohol. Chaewon is too hot for you to handle.
You return to your private booth to upload them. What would she do without you? You’re her fuckbuddy, best friend, and social media manager all at the same time.
anyone know where i can find a ride? ❣️🤠
It’s difficult to think of a good caption. Choosing which photos to post is ruining you. Not to mention the filtering to bring out the brown of her eyes and the sunlight. It makes you stall. You have to keep staring. You have to take note of every detail, every delicious curve of her body. Images of Chaewon posing, winking, and showing off are burned forever into your mind.
Your hands shake as you hit post. Turn your phone off. Focus on having a good time and dancing and singing and whatever you do, do not take another look at those pictures.
“Oh, you poor thing.”
Oh no.
Chaewon sounds smug as ever as she takes a seat on your lap. “Hard already? We aren’t even in the bedroom.”
You don’t need this right now. Getting an erection could not come at a more inconvenient time. You can’t say anything provided that you can’t even meet her eyes.
“Don’t worry,” she purrs. “I’m gonna take care of that.”
There’s a hunger in Chaewon that needs to be satiated today. You can see the fire in her eyes as she pulls you out and wraps a fist around your stiff cock. The sight of her small, dainty hand compared to your shaft is provocative by itself. Those large, deceptively innocent eyes stay on yours while she drags her delicious touch up and down, preparing you for her.
“Been needing you so bad lately…”
Chaewon lifts her hips slightly. She allows your cock to rub between her slick folds, teasing at her entrance but never quite giving her what she needs. Her breath hitches when you hit her clit.
“Promise to fill me all the way up,” she whines. “Don’t leave a single drop.”
You wouldn’t dare. There hasn’t been any penetration yet the wetness of her puffy lips feels like heaven. In your hands, her core works her waist into circles. More precum ends up grinding and mixing between your sexes.
Chaewon whimpers. “Promise me.”
“Fuck, gonna fill this pussy up, Chaewon.” Her nipples poke through the thin bikini. Her grinding grows more desperate as you groan out your obscene promise. “Gonna breed this perfect pussy. Just ride my cock like the pretty little fuckdoll you are.”
She can’t take it anymore. Chaewon slams herself down on your cock in one go.
The stretch hurts so good. Her head throws back with a breathy moan. Her soft walls immediately hold onto you, throbbing and needy.
The music is a dull thump through the walls. You could feel the bass in your heart time with Chaewon’s bouncing. Her back is against the door.
“There,” she gasps. “Right there, don’t stop…”
Her eyes are dim with pleasure. You bring a hand up to pinch and roll her nipple, circling the taut peak with your thumb. Immediately Chaewon’s internal muscles clench around you like a vise.
Her hips start to lift and dance in a little choreography of an impending orgasm. You hold her down, pinning her to your lap while you thrust up in her. The tightness becomes harder to push past through. She’s so tense that you have to rub your thumb against her clit to get her to relax.
Your eyes meet. Jesus, she was a sight for sore eyes. The toasty, sunkissed color of her makeup makes her look like she’s blushing. The two of you are flushed either way. There’s forbidden excitement in knowing one of the servers could walk in here at any moment and see Chaewon riding you harshly. You shouldn’t be doing this here. There were important people who could raise this complaint to the higher-ups and get you banned forever.
You can stop the bullshit. When has hesitation saved you from getting in trouble? When has anything convinced you not to fuck Kim Chaewon?
-
You didn’t even mean to execute this request so well.
It just so happens that this is how a day in your life looks like with Kim Chaewon. While they pay to place themselves in your shoes and see it happen, you’re the one who actually gets to touch her.
A guy who went by the username hanyoooojin sent a large amount of money the moment Chaewon announced requests. Unlike the other ones who filled up the rest of the slots, he didn’t want anything overly specific.
Netflix and chill anyone? 😉
That was the caption you set for the video. It’s something enticing even with its simplicity, and come on, people would watch anything if it had Chaewon in it.
The camera records everything. It starts out with Chaewon dressed in your shirt. It’s way too big on her, and if the fabric were any more see-through, it would be clear she only had a bra on. She’s lying next to you on your bed as a movie plays on your TV.
The volume is low, almost to complete silence. It’s only static background noise to what’s going to happen.
Chaewon snuggles against you. Her body is already warm. But she does a good job of acting like she’s interested in the movie. She called it boring a million times before, and you remain convinced it was an attention span issue.
“I fucking hate when movies are slow,” she had said. She rolled her eyes. “What’s the point of making me wait thirty minutes for something exciting to happen?”
“Sounds a lot like you to hate taking things slow,” you replied easily, earning you a punch in the shoulder.
Maybe that’s why her hand slips under the blanket a little too early. You’re supposed to be a sweet domestic couple. It’s just a role you have to play for cash to come in. Chaewon’s the sweet girlfriend and you’re the boyfriend who still wants to hang out with her even when you’re exhausted. You watch a movie together, as requested, pretending you have no idea of what she’s about to do.
Her creamy thighs folded against each other hide her wetness. Chaewon’s become a master at angles. She knows to lift the blanket a little above your thighs so the camera captures her hand in your shorts.
You look down at what she’s doing and laugh. “Thought you wanted to watch a movie,” you say.
Her lazy strokes work you to full mast. You remind yourself that this was supposed to be unhurried, but there was no delaying gratification around Chaewon.
Chaewon takes her eyes briefly off the screen to smile at you. “I do.” Her voice is soft and unfazed. She looks adorable in those puppy pajamas. It really sells the fantasy. “But I can do two things at once, can’t I?”
Her thumb circles your tip with maddening precision. Chaewon kisses you with the same gentleness she uses to jack you off. You can tell she’s struggling not to pounce on you. This isn’t the kind of sex she was used to. Sex for Chaewon was trading orgasms until one of you confessed you ran short.
For this one, she has to keep herself sane. She has to be tender with it. She takes your hand, squeezes it in hers, and places it right where she needs you. The tiny pajama shorts allow easy access to her cunt.
“Just keep watching,” she whispers.
The hair at the back of your neck stands up. Your lips find Chaewon’s again. You run your fingers up and down her slick folds while she jerks you off. Aside from a few heavy breaths and twitches of her tight body, she doesn’t take her eyes off the movie. She’s equal parts engrossed by it and focused on getting you off.
Chaewon’s voice runs into a whine as you go faster. Her thighs start to get messy with her own arousal. It’s taking everything in her not to strip off this shirt and ride you. She can do that later, something even the audience can’t pay to see.
Even though you’re needy and throbbing in the soft grip of her fist, you smirk. “What’s the matter, baby? I thought you said we should focus on the movie.”
Chaewon is still intent on keeping up the pretense. But it’s clear she wants this, too, the handjob no longer the unhurried routine she initiated.
You thrust your fingers against that sweet spot she’s been aching for you to reach. Chaewon’s body curls around you tightly. Her fingernails find purchase scratching on your forearm.
She can’t do this any longer. You’re the only actor she can watch now. Her gaze seals onto yours as her movements grow more frantic, like she’s willing you to do the same. You have one common goal here, really. It’s evident from the precum leaking onto her wrist, her cunt pulsing around your digits. This could only end one way.
That’s one of the many requests you and Chaewon fulfill. Besides the need for real stamina, especially for longer videos, it’s actually not that taxing. It’s no construction job anyway, but fucking Chaewon comes easily to you. It takes no work at all when it’s as natural as improv.
Over the weeks, you get people tipping generously just for photos, and you remember what Minju said about them. People paid a lot to see a pretty girl naked and doing whatever they wanted.
“It’s up to you if you want to do them,” you remind Chaewon. It’s one of those lazy afternoons where you’d rather bask in the airconditioning than do anything productive. While you’re fully conscious, your body’s still in sleep mode, draped in the duvet and Chaewon’s form.
Chaewon rolls her eyes. You don’t really see it since she’s clicking away at her phone, but you know her so well that it’s like watching a movie you got a first look at unfold. “Look at you getting all mushy. I told you I don’t break easily.”
You know that, too. You’ve folded her in half and split her legs apart so many times, but you learned not to let her small stature fool you. In no makeup and just an oversized shirt and shorts, Chaewon’s the most antifragile person you know.
You wave a hand in the air. “Of course you won’t break down. You’re the most dick-addicted girl in the world.” Chaewon snorts at that. “But we’re doing homemade porn for a reason. This isn’t a corporate or something. You don’t have to do every request there is.”
Chaewon sees where this is leading up to. She shuts her phone and shifts on the bed, the ocean blue sheets rustling above her. Her arms rest on your stomach.
She tilts her head to the side like a puppy. There’s an amused smile on her face.
“First of all, you should stop worrying so much,” she tells you. The faux sternness in her tone shouldn’t be this cute. “And second of all, nobody’s making me do anything I don’t want to do. I’m a big girl, you don’t have to worry about me.”
Right. It should be common sense already. Chaewon’s always done things of her own accord. She’s not the malleable type of girl who takes no trouble to convince. It’s honestly one of the traits you admire about her outside of the bedroom. Maybe, if you had Chaewon’s heart of steel or one-track mind, you wouldn’t have let her fuck you at that party. You wouldn’t be in this bed with her.
But god, were you glad you’re here.
You lose yourself in these thoughts for barely five seconds and she’s already suddenly too close. One wrong move and you’d end up kissing her. There’s that warmth again, radiating from her body in what you figured to identify as a sign. You get one too many good omens from Chaewon.
“And you know what I really, really want to do?” she asks breathily. Every word is a sultry huff against your lips.
Very few could stand a chance against her. You think it’s why she likes you so much and keeps you around, regardless if she’d admit it. You’re the only guy who could look her in the eye like you are right now and reply, “Do I even have to guess?”
It doesn’t take long for it to happen. These spontaneous sessions are becoming a bad habit. But how can you help yourself when Chaewon looks like that? You’ve no defense against those lithe legs and tight midriff, much less against that even tighter pussy.
It just so happens all this looks great on camera.
You close the gap between you until it feels like your bodies are bonded together. They’re impossible to break apart. You have one hand closed around Chaewon’s wrists, the other on her hip. The pillow muffles her screams as you thrust into her mindlessly. Her ass is sore and red.
“God, all that talk was for nothing, wasn’t it?” It’s always worth it in the end. You completely own her. Her pussy was just made for your cock, clinging wetly onto your girth and doing so even tighter when you back it out. “You just wanted to rile me up so I can show you you’re my good little slut, taking my dick like you were born to do.”
Chaewon’s crying out, messy little sounds tumbling out of her drooling lips. The pillowcase bears her weight and those tears of bliss. The truth is she wouldn’t trade this for anything else. She could spend all her life on the end of your length, whining her tiny waist into your palms and her ass perked and ready for you. She wouldn’t know what to do without hearing the sound of your skin snapping against hers.
“Feels so—fucking—good!” Chaewon sobs into the pillow. Senseless words are all you could fuck out of her. She can’t think much when you have your dizzying grip on her wrists like that or when you’re completely destroying her tight hole. “I’m just your personal cumdump, I’m all yours, you’re going so fucking fast—”
She’s absolutely dripping around you. Her body responds to you so well because this is exactly how she likes being fucked. She likes being fucked as if you’re trying to get her cunt to memorize the shape of your member. Not one spot on her body is left untouched. Her pussy tightens dangerously when you drive up into her cunt and those messy moans could be heard even with the fabric against her mouth.
And it’s incredible without all the lighting and ignoring the camera blinking next to you. You’ve got a great view: Chaewon bent over and her ass up on the bed, the hourglass shape of her waist to her hips even more appealing from this angle, and her toned back shining with sweat. Her tits swing back and forth in response to the force you’re taking out on her. It could make any man go crazy.
You should’ve known to put towels on the bed, because the ending’s always the same when Chaewon feels the entirety of your control, when she’s being fed every thick inch of your cock, being handled like she’s nothing but a doll to release into—
“Oh my god!” Chaewon cries out, the lightning before the thunder, the thunder before the storm. Her scream is equal parts bliss and awe—she’s shaking all over, and the swift deep drills of your cock draw out her squirt.
Neither of you expect it. The sharp sound of it makes you slow down. She hasn’t stopped pushing her ass into you. The puddle gets on your thighs and hers, splattering on the sheets. You feel suspended in mid-air staring at the mess she’s making. It feels even more surreal knowing you did it to her.
Chaewon collapses forward, her cheek against the softness of the pillow. It’s ridiculous how good she looks in spite of the messy hair and kiss-swollen lips. Always the temptress. The camera shines light on her exhausted, satisfied simper.
And of course, there’s the evidence that will prove this happened. It will back you up even if Chaewon randomly decides not to post this video on the internet or worse, call everything off. The fresh mess she left on the blanket—the same one you had just been cuddling in a few hours earlier—is all the proof you’ll need.
Chaewon laughs breathlessly. She arches her back beautifully as she pulls away from your cock. It’s the perfect ending scene.
-
All entertainment industries are parallel to each other in a way. You could work in film (legitimate films, by the way—not whatever you and Chaewon are making), music, or K-pop but what they don’t tell you is they all work the same. They manufacture and process things that appeal to the consumer. You could play the usual tropes, tunes, or concepts. Go down the loveteam road or make another generative pop song. If you’re brave enough, you can search for a niche and make it your brand.
You can do anything—release an Oscar-winning film or write a critically acclaimed album, pick your poison. It all boils down to one thing everyone is looking for anyway:
A big break.
It will solidify your place in the industry and make sure you stay there, and if not, it makes sure you get a higher spot. A big break would earn you a loyal amount of followers and more money in your pocket. Very few get their big break. Some, although deserving, don’t get theirs at all.
In Chaewon’s situation, her big break was that video. Everyone’s talking about it and everyone’s absolutely obsessed with it. You see it posted in places you don’t expect seeing it: Instagram group chats, the NSFW side of Twitter, and the first Google result that pops up when you search Chaewon’s name. It’s gotten so much traction that you start putting a watermark of her username over the videos, along with a link to her social media profiles should they ever get crossposted again.
It’s an overnight success. You grin when you see Minju’s messages, supportive as always.
minjugato.__.:
Hi chaewon <3 you’re a star!!!! so proud of you for doing well on your own
i always knew you could do it
if you ever wanna collab w me, hmu! i’ve got a great idea thats going to break the internet
lmk if you’re up for it. for old times’ sake, right? ;)
