The Habitat

🪴 kpop smut writer 🪴 DNI if under 18+ 🪴

[i-am-lifeform24]

Welcome!

Hey everyone! I'm Lifeform :DD Aside from Tumblr, you can also catch me on AO3, just click here , or on AFF, click here!

I also do commissions on Ko-fi. You can message me for more details if you're interested! :))

🪴 Masterlist 🪴

If a fic has 🌱 on it, it's a sapling: short, sweet, plotless smut.

If a fic has 🌲on it, it's a tree: long, spicy, story-driven smut.

Aespa

Winter

🌲 The Translator: Part 1

🌲 The Translator: Part 2

Karina

🌲 The Translator: Part 1

🌲 The Translator: Part 2

Ningning

🌲 Not Another Dumb Blonde

🌱 Rude Royal Advisory

IVE

Wonyoung

🌱Lukewarm Frosty Expedition

🌲Serendipitous Spermlympic Participation

TWICE

Nayeon

🌲 Concerto: Part 1

Sana

🌱 Writer's Block

🌱Hidden Hallway Waterworks

🌱 Lucky Ballot, Lucky Night

Jeongyeon

🌲Handle It

Tzuyu

🌱Uniform

Blackpink

Rose

🌱Due Date

Red Velvet

Irene

🌲The Housekeeper : Part 1

🌲The Housekeeper : Part 2

🌲The Housekeeper : Part 3

Seulgi

🌱Pose

ITZY

Yuna

🌱 Obedience

(G)IDLE

Shuhua

🌱Dreaming

Le Sserafim

Yunjin

🌱 Brazen Buzzing Wanderlust

Meovv

Anna

🌱Confidence Up Close

Soloists/ Special Projects

Minju

🌲 Practice Shoot

IU

🌲 Concerto: Part 1

Taeyeon

🌱 Makeover

Curated Companions (Collab with 32 authors)

[i-am-lifeform24]

🌱Update🌱

Hi everyone! It's been awhile, but i'll be posting only on Fanprose from now on. :DD I have a new story/series there with Winter, Ningning, Sana, and Irene. Here's the link to my profile if you'd like to read! https://fanprose.com/users/summer

Thanks lots ☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

[i-am-lifeform24]

🌱Lucky Ballot, Lucky Night🌱

4748 words

Idol AU | Slow Massages | Full Creampies | Wet Kisses | First Times | Teasing | Kindness | Warmth

“You scared, kid?” 

The beer-bellied man says, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway. “Kinda, aren’t you?” You give him an awkward smile, wincing as his arm wraps around your shoulder. 

“Hear that boys? The kid’s scared!” Raucous laughter erupts, the others in your group thriving off your nervousness. Meanwhile, knowing smiles come from staff members crossing the hallway, with some showing the opposite, shooting you disapproving, sideways glances— a more normal, more human reaction to what you’re about to do.

“Hey, knock it off, will ya? I remember you pissing yourself before your first.” A thin, flannel clad man comes up on your left, his sleazy voice sending a shiver down your spine. He flashes you a wide smile, “So kid, ya ready?” 

“Umm-” 

“Shh, we’re here. Tighten up boys.” Beer belly squeezes your shoulder in mocking encouragement, feet and laughter stopping in place as you reach your destination. He’s like a high school bully, his friendliness an obvious facade for what he really wants— to put you down, to make you wallow in the scary, uncomfortable feeling of being the newbie. Well, you can’t really blame him. In this situation, you’re anything but comfortable.

The hallway widens into a row of expensive looking doors. Bright skylights dot the ceiling, with various managers and assistants quick to avoid your gaze as they brush past. Eyes wide, you can hear the fast pumping of your heart, a dull throb in your ears.

Music bank is usually filled with way more noise. Staff rushing about, recording equipment being pushed down tight hallways, you’ve grown accustomed to the mechanical symphony that accompanies early mornings spent waiting to support your idols’ stage recordings. The soft drone of machinery is a given at the famous hub of entertainment. But who would’ve known that here, at the heart of the building, it’s nothing but-

“Quiet!” 

Beer belly and Flannel line up on either side of you, the rest of the men in your little band quickly following suit. Keep your gaze straight. Don’t mind the skylight. Straighten your back. Slowly, the silence is replaced by the calm click-clack of heels on tile, and from the side of your eye, a suit-clad middle aged woman starts inspecting your line of giddy fans. 

“Ah, Jun, good, Jihyo was looking for you. Did you bring the lube?” 

“Yes ma’am!” A burly voice replies, and you gulp loudly. Lube? The memory of staying up until 4am, your fingers hovered over the sign-up sheet, eyes bloodshot as you raced millions of others to get your slot flashes in your mind. This is supposed to be an up-close fan meet, where you finally get to thank TWICE for their bright smiles and lovely performances throughout the years. Intimate, but not that kind of intimate.

“Saeho! It’s a pleasure to see you again. The next comeback isn’t for another year, have you saved up a lot?” The woman asks. Her stare is friendly, yet pointed, the skylight bathing her in a bright glow as she grills the sheepish Saeho. You look over at the guy. Glasses frame an acne covered face as he shifts from side to side. He stands as if this is one of his midterms— nervous, twitchy, and on edge. The manager lady's talking about money, right? An exclusive fan meet like this is a bit out of budget for a university student, after all.

You smirk, maybe you’re not the most out of place here after all. 

Saeho’s nasally voice sounds off from the left, “Don’t worry ma’am! I’ve saved up lots of cum for today.” 

You slowly turn your head, squinting.

C-cum? 

“Excellent. I’ll let Tzuyu know that her favorite is back to breed her.” A thin smile paints the manager’s face, her eyes hidden by the sunlight reflected on her glasses. 

…Breeding? 

Your head starts spinning. 

Lube

A bead of sweat runs down your forehead. 

Cum

Your posture softens, this is no ordinary fan meet.

Breeding

You open your mouth, breath shallow as you ask the dreaded question. 

“E-excuse me, what are we here fo-” 

“Mmm.. fuck! AGH!”

Freeze. Moans reverberate through the wide hallway, the sharp, erotic sound cutting through the quiet like a knife through butter. A puddle of translucent liquid slowly seeps out from a door on the right, followed by the slow thump of the lacquered wood shaking on its hinges. 

9 heads all turn towards the doorway, watching as a shadow moves in and out of the brightly lit slit that acts as the floodgate for the clear, thick substance. The manager smirks, “It seems like Tzuyu is a little too excited to see you, Saeho.” The kid starts shaking. You have no doubt why— his excitement ignites the already tense atmosphere in the hallway. Flannel starts leaning forward on your right, while Beer Belly licks his fat lips on your left. Can you imagine? She’s not your bias, but Tzuyu is known as one of the shyest girls in TWICE. It's her brand, her trademark, her thing. The idea that she’s behind that door, fucking herself to the sound of her favorite fan obediently waiting, just feet away, ready to put a baby in her... to fuck a baby in her? You can feel your breath pick up at how crazy it all sounds. 

“I- I can’t wait anymore, manager, please!” Saeho groans, clutching his crotch like someone kneed him in the balls. You’d almost feel for the kid, if it wasn’t for the shock of the whole situation still playing out over and over in your head. 

The manager sighs, putting down her clipboard to saunter towards Saeho. Her shapely legs stick out of the pencil skirt as she walks, slowly, like she has all the time in the world. The skylight makes her look like a trainer, her presence the only thing keeping a line of hungry, horny fans from crossing the hall and finding their prizes. 

“Fine, but you must commit to doing one thing for me. Can you do that? Saeho?” She stands in front of the hunched boy, manicured fingers clutching his chin as she whispers down. 

“W-what is it? Please, i’ll do anything!” Saeho wails. 

She grabs him by the chin, smirking "Put a baby in her, will you?" Before Saeho can react, the older lady roughly takes him by the arm, and turns the doorknob.

"Daddy? Daddy!" A desperate voice squeals, and you watch, stupefied as naked arms quickly wrap around the boy's neck. He embraces Tzuyu back in glee, gone just a moment later as the door slams shut.

The manager turns around, smirking, "As for the rest of you, you have your assignments. Feel free to begin." It's like a gunshot goes off. Beer-belly slaps your shoulder, his large hand heavy, yellowed teeth showing in a wide smile, "Don't be a fucking pussy, kid." He saunters to the end of the hall, barging into a room with red lights leaking under the door. You stare after him, before Flannel retreats behind, hand on another doorknob. He whistles, and you turn, his eyes laid-back as he leans on the plastic frame. "Relax, ya? It's a party, boy. Best to enjoy it." He cooly advises, giving you a snarky wink before slipping into his own room. Soft twangs of experimental, electric guitar leak out for a second, then, he's gone.

You're alone now. The looming, bright skylight illuminates the space between you and the manager. Her earlier strict bravado is gone, replaced with a thoughtful, almost caring stare. She taps her pen on the clipboard, softly saying, "Good, you're normal."

You squint at her, not sure where she's going with this. She didn't seem to have been paying any special attention to you. But honestly, who would? You're way less of a personality than the others, way less eager to be here for the same reasons. You let out an awkward chuckle "Aren't the others?" The older woman shakes her head, stepping forward into the light, "Are you kidding? They're all perverts. Every. Single. One of them. Rich as hell too, they pay to be here. But you, you got lucky, right?"

You gulp. There it is. The truth. "Yeah, thought I was going to a fan-meet. Not... this." The shrewd, catlike woman cocks her head, "But you're not against it? Sometimes we get those that are, you know. The superfans who want their idols pure and untouched. Perfect. It's a pain in the ass." You can imagine. In fact, you thought you were one of those fans a few minutes ago. Tzuyu? Fucked and filled like a broodmare? The others? The girls who you've spent most of your young life worshipping, waiting in these rooms like common whores? It should fill you with disgust. It should light a fire under your ass to go on an online crusade, exposing the corruption that let all this happen. It has to be corrupt, right? You should get out of here, now. You should, but you don't.

Eyes glued to your feet, you shuffle from left to right, "N-no, ma'am. It was..." You look up at her, thinking back to Tzuyu, to the curious glimpses of debauchery before your companions slipped away. The hunger starts to burn, like hot pit in your stomach. "It was hot. I want to be a part of it."

The manager straightens her back, the look of shock on her face replaced by a sly, knowing smile. "Good boy. Well, I'll have you know that you're lucky. Your partner has always been... against these extra performances." Your brow furrows at that. Against? Everything you’ve seen would point to the opposite. These idols are sluts, you don’t expect them to discriminate dick from dick. "But? There's a but there, right?"

The manager smirks, giving you a pointed look. "But, lucky guy, she's agreed to try it, with one condition." You wait, the empty hallway suddenly feeling much bigger. She continues, voice low, "That she'll only do it for a huge, proper fan of TWICE. A real ONCE."

The manager laughs, dragging your dumbfounded ass along a large, gilded door at the end of the hallway, "That's you. The first fan to have, between you and me, my personal favorite. Treat her well, alright?" Her grip is firm as she places your hand on the shiny, golden doorknob, quality that belongs nowhere near the depths of backstage production halls. You've never been lucky, or special, or anything that she's talking about, at least before today. Maybe this is finally your reward, for years of love, of devotion.

You take a few deep breaths, eyes steadying, before you nod to her, "O-okay, I will."

With a soft click, you open the door, and step inside.

-----------------------------------🌱----------------------------------------

"Oops, sorry! Are you alright?” Sana’s bright laugh rings in your ears as you stumble back. She falls back onto a shiny, wooden hallway, giggling as you stand dumbfounded on the concrete landing.

You take a moment to stare. It really is her. Light brown locks frame her large, wide eyes, the adorable girl holding two pairs of fluffy, almost pajama-like slippers in her hands. She’s dressed in a simple grey tee and joggers; merchandise from their tour. Still, it’s as if you’re frozen in time. You’ve only ever seen Sana through a screen, or from afar, in seats bought at the far end of a concert. You never thought that you’d be standing in front of her, or for that matter, be stupid enough to knock one of the most beautiful women in the world on her ass.

‘I’m so sorry, Sana, holy shit.” You stammer, crouching down to grab her outstretched arm. She giggles, still brightly smiling. “Don’t be! I was a bit late to set up the slippers, so much for the whole spa concept, what do you think?” Spa? Pulling the idol to your side, the girl excitedly gestures behind. You find yourself in a surprisingly thin hallway. A step up from the landing, warm, yellow lights line the wooden floor, dotted by makeshift candles placed in carefully spaced intervals. The exotic scent of eucalyptus tickles the back of your throat, calming waves of fragrance emanating from the dimly lit corridor. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume that you’re in some high-class, mysterious massage parlor, not tucked in the back of Music Bank.

“You decorated all of this? Don’t you have staff for stuff like that?” You look at her, wide-eyed with wonder.

Sana pouts, drumming her slipper covered hands on your chest. “You’re special, dummy. I wanted to do it myself!” She leans forward, twinkling eyes digging into you, “You think it’s ugly, don’t you…”

God, she’s so adorable. You quickly shake your head, backing into the wall, “N-no! It’s great! It’s just that I’ve never been to a spa before, so I don’t exactly have a point of reference.” You're babbling, heart loud in your chest. Only inches away, the scent of lavender fills your head, and you become acutely aware of how Sana’s lips curl into a teasing smile, strands of dark hair framing her beautiful face.

She laughs, “Well that’s good news! I’ll be your first then. Let's get you started!” Sana crouches down, gingerly taking your leg, lifting your left foot out of its shoe. “Big feet, huh? You know what they say." She winks, playfully peeling your sock off before slipping your bare sole into a slipper.

“T-thanks!” You’re dumbstruck. Watching one of your favorite idols crouch down and undress you, even if it’s just your feet, lights a fire inside. Your cock starts hardening, a slow pressure building, the hungry feeling a contrast to the calm piano in the background.

Sana acts like she doesn't notice, humming along as she stands back up. She tilts her head, stretching her hand out with a teasing smile, "Let's go? C'mon, I wanna show you the bed! It's superrelaxing, promise."

You take her hand, eyes darting around the orange flickers on the wall, trying not to draw attention to your crotch. The veteran idol leads you slowly, still humming.

Eventually, Sana gingerly breaks the silence, "I'm sorry that i'm not as forward as the others, I'm not that kinda girl." She rubs circles on your hand with her thumb, lips pressed into an awkward frown.

You stumble to her side, the tight hallway brushing your shoulders, "No! This is perfect, it's, umm..." You stop, heat climbing up your cheeks. Sana hugs your arm, leaning into you while you walk, looking up with those big, dark eyes, "Hmm? It's okay, keep talking." You gulp, remembering the others outside, and just how hungry they, and to be honest, even the other members were. Sana's softness feels so out of place, and you can't help but feel even more lucky that you ended up with her.

You turn to face her, looking the Japanese beauty in the eyes for what feels like the first time, "I'm a virgin, you see, so i'm not that kinda guy either."

Sana stops just as you reach a corner, "Really? No way! Nayeon said that all the fans coming just want us for, for you know..." She stops, looking away, ears red with embarrassment.

You laugh, "That’s my bad, I’m so stupid. I thought that "up close" fanmeet just meant getting to talk, I guess? I really wanted to meet you guys. To meet you, Sana."

She stands there for a second, or two, or what feels like eternity. Was that too much? Fuck. You don’t know each other, hell, for all the hours of content you’ve watched of her, in the end, she could still be weirded out that a stranger went through all these lengths as a fan. You’re just about to take it back, before Sana suddenly wraps her arms around you. Your eyes widen as you melt into the hug. "Umm, Sana?" She smells like caramel, and daisies, all light and kindness, just like you imagined, before all this made everything so confusing. When she pulls back, her eyes are twinkling, her smile growing wider by the second.

"I'm so, so happy it's you! Seriously, manager never has me join these things, but I always prepare, you know? In case she finds someone i'd like." Sana blabs excitedly, slinging your arm around as she talks, pulling you closer and closer until your noses are almost touching.

You turn your head, "...Someone you like?"

Before you know it, her fingers wrap around your chin, the girl giggling as she presses her soft lips to yours.

Oh god, you can't breathe.

Sana hums, eyes closed when she pushes you against the wall, her arms snaking around your neck. Her lips are soft, wet, inviting, slowly opening as she gingerly explores your mouth with her tongue. The weight of her body on yours is addicting, and you find yourself cradling her waist, your embarrasingly hard crotch flush against her's. If you die like this, it wouldn't be so bad.

Eventually, Sana pulls back, eyes half-lidded in the candlelight, a line of spit between you as she licks her lips, "I like you... can... can I give you a massage?"

-----------------------------------🌱----------------------------------------

"That feels so good..." You mutter softly. "Really? I've been practicing!" Sana giggles, playfully drumming her fingers on your shoulders. It's cozy. The feeling of hot oil being massaged into your skin. Sana's hands are light, but surprisingly precise. Slowly, she traces down your spine, feeling for areas where your body is especially tight. Whenever she finds a spot she likes, you feel her press down, arms taut, pushing her full weight onto her palms. It's like she can't wait to eke the stress out of your muscles, her thighs squeezing tighter around your lower back with every new spot. She's so good at this that you've completely forgotten your favorite idol is all but naked, sitting on you with what you imagine is nothing but a low rise, white tee, and matching cotton panties to boot. Sana made you promise to close your eyes, teasingly describing her new outfit as she changed. 'It's for your own good! Can't have you all hard for the whole hour, that would hurt, dummy.' the idol had said in that playful, singsong voice, the dull thump of clothes hitting the carpet all you had to go on.

Now, add touch to the equation, and your imagination's really going haywire. Sana scooches back, her crotch flush against the swell of your lower back, soft cotton warm and wet with a mixture of oil, and something a bit more dirty. She makes these little micro-movements, bare thighs around your sides, body shifting forward and back, like she wants you to feel how wet, how excited she is to serve. "Hmm... stressed?" Sana sweetly asks, fingertips drawing wet lines on your shoulders. "Not anymore, the nerves are like, almost gone." you sigh, breath heavy, eyes still closed.

"Nerves? Because of me?" Sana jokes, pushing her crotch against your ass, letting you imagine her back arched as her thumbs work the nape of your neck. You gulp, feeling your cock start to harden against your stomach. "N-no! It's just, expectations, you know? Your manager kept talking about how great the others were." It's a bad attempt to divert the conversation, but it's not a lie. Saeho flashes in your head, a total nerd; but obviously proficient at, at breeding Tzuyu. She brought him here for a reason. But how about you? Dumb luck doesn't seem like much of a reason.

"You don't like high expectations?" Sana asks, her voice lower, the playfulness replaced by something more real, and you feel her soft chest press against your back, breath hot in your ear. "I.. I like preparing for things. I couldn't really prepare for this." You pause, her hard nipples more pronounced, shirt wet with oil as she starts kissing down your back. "Shh, it's okay... it's okay." Sana coos, like she wants you to feel anything but nervous, the idol reaching up to nip at the skin below your ear. "I can prepare plenty for both of us." She whispers, giggling. Warmth blossoms in your chest, and you turn your head, finally opening your eyes to meet her in an open-mouthed, needy kiss, the girl still smiling as she lets you explore her mouth, her damp crotch drawing circles on your back.

Soon, Sana disconnects, eyeing your lips with a smile while she swings her leg over your body, and stands. You can see her properly now, shirt transluscent, tits freed as she peels the soaked fabric off her skin. The mellow glow of the candlelight highlights her absolutely gorgeous figure, and the idol bites her lip, twirling around in a circle. "Look at how ready I am, darling." She breathes out, the corners of her eyes crinkling. Sana slowly drags her soaked underwear down those long, luscious legs, and soon her body is laid fully bare, skin shining with the sheen of oil, the gorgeous superstar standing just inches away.

You gulp. Your mouth opens, but it's dry, the taste of caramel, of her, still there. As if sensing your indecision, Sana smirks, moving to the side of the bed and nudging you with her arm. "Flip around for me, please." You move slowly, eyes still glued on her figure. It's cold. Air-conditioning blows cooled air around your cock, now standing proudly as you lay there. The warm towels below your ass help, but you can't help but reach out for anything warm, fingers brushing against Sana's arm. She notices, giggling, "I feel cold too, let's warm up?" Before you can reply, she swiftly straddles you. You groan, "Sana..." The idol smiles down, moving her hips gingerly, rubbing her slick all over the backside of your cock, now pushed against your stomach. "How does it feel, baby?"

"A-amazing, you feel amazing." You confess, the warmth now spreading to your chest as Sana leans down, lips still curved in a smile, nose touching yours. Her oil-covered tits brush against your chest as she lies fully on you, arms wrapped around your neck while she gives you a soft, wet kiss. Caramel, the taste is back. Your hands reach behind to grab her ass, and Sana moans into your mouth, her hips still grinding.

"You're finally opening up... I wasn't sure you liked me" Sana whispers, sitting up, hands now braced against your chest. Looking up at her, you shake your head. "Of course I do! I- I never thought i'd be here, like this, with anyone, definitely not with you..." She frowns at that, like she can't see the loser, like to her, there's nothing wrong with being a devoted fan. "I never thought i'd be here either, but I wanna do this with you, okay, dummy?" Sana says slowly, hips moving up so your cockhead pushes against her soaked lips. Dark eyes, sincere, bear into yours, and she waits.

For you For you to move.

For you to make the decision.

For you to fuck her.

"O-oh! Yes!" Sana's eyes shoot open as you spear into her, hands scrambling, flush against your chest. You grit your teeth, determined to deliver, to live up to expectations. "Hold onto me, Sana." You command, and her eyes widen, lips parting in surprise when your fingers roughly cradle her supple asscheeks. Leverage. There's more of it now, and you work to build a rhythm, dragging Sana's clenching walls up and down the length of your cock. "Fuck! ...Sorry!" Sana instinctively covers her mouth, the perfect idol fracturing when you sit up, back arching as you get deeper and deeper with every thrust. It's beautiful, how her perky tits bounce, how she lets out these little moans with every inch, how her voice finally reaches its peak when you bottom out.

"Am I doing well?" You ask, breath husky, slick dripping onto your balls, Sana's walls, overstimulated and needy, grasp around your length. She's so comfortably tight, as if you're meant to be inside her. The idol wraps her arms around your neck, eyes focusing, forehead covered in a sheen of sweat, now pushed against your own. "Mhm... so well. Can I make you feel better?" She whispers, a shy blush creeping up her cheeks. Even now, with her warm, naked form pushed against yours, with the heat of her wet pussy pulsating around every ridge of your cock, the idol still has it in her to perform, still has something to show you.

You nod, and Sana smiles, those adorable eyes crinkling while she takes a moment to slow her breathing, hands pushing you down, the feeling of warm towel once again on your back. "Yeah, you're perfect" a low groan in your ear while she makes a show of arching her back, pulling up until just the head of your cock is left inside her. Your eyes widen in realization, you're throbbing, already so painfully close, if she does that, you'll- "Sana, wait! I-"

She doesn't listen, closing her eyes as she starts to ride you hard and fast. "Fuck! Wait!" You groan, reaching for her waist, trying to push her down, trying anything to stop the dominating rhythm she's started. Sana grabs your hands off her hips, pinning them to the sides of your head, fingers intertwined while she resumes her ride. She moans loudly, "Oh! Yes! Good? Is it good?" She asks, gasping, the sound of her perky ass slapping onto your lap, her tight walls coaxing every dribble of pre-cum that dribbles out of your aching head. You feel it now, that familiar ache in your gut, your body surrendering to the sweet, oil-covered idol, bouncing on your cock, eyes rolling up with every loud moan. "So... so good, Sana. I'm- im..." You can't finish, staring up at the girl, her hands leaving yours to balance on your legs. Sana leans back, a twinkle in her eye. "Close?" She giggles, slowing down, taking the time to drag herself up and down your rod. Your eyes focus on her breasts. Her nipples are hard, pink tips glistening in the candlelight. Sana shakes with every slow, deep gyration of her hips, her breath shortening, dark irises finding yours. Her lips are parted, saliva dripping out of the side of her mouth, "Let go... inside, please... I want it." She whispers, before breaking into a deep moan, and impaling her whole succulent pussy onto your cock.

"Shit! Cumming! cumming!" You repeat, the heat throwing every thought from your mind. The feeling in your gut uncoils fast. Release, hot and steady, fills the idol. "More... yes!" Sana coos, smiling down while she grinds her hips against your crotch. She takes her time, wringing every last drop of seed from your pulsing cock. You watch as slick and oil pool around the space where you're connected, Sana's soft fingers gently squeezing your thighs, as if she's trying to coax more from you, as if she wants every bit of you she can get inside her.

Eventually, you stop, finally opening your eyes. Sana's still softly panting, her mouth open, licking her lips, "You really filled me up, huh?So warm..." She giggles, sitting up, those perky tits rising and falling as she catches her breath. "Look, look at us, dummy." Sana teases, eyes flicking down. You follow, seeing her creamy pussy, still fully impaled on your softening cock. A layer of oil and cum covers the bottom portion of your shaft, her pussy lips slowly relaxing, shooting little bits of pleasure up your spine with random, quick grasps of her walls. "Sana... that was, oh god." You whisper, the girl cutely biting her lip as she rises up on her palms, letting your spent cock plop out. "Amazing, that was amazing, darling." Sana coos, cocking her head, blush on her cheeks as she watches your reaction to the steady stream of cum dribbling out of her freshly-filled pussy. That weight from earlier, the expectations. It seems to melt away, dropping from your shoulders. You start to laugh, "Yeah, yeah it was." Sana lights up, like she can tell, like she's happy. "Thank you, thank you!" She leans forward, oiled up breasts against your chest, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

When you disconnect, the idol's leg is draped around you, soft arms around yours, head on your shoulder. Sana looks up, the taste of caramel still on your lips.

"Wanna go again?"

[banananutsmuthie]

Must Be This Big to Ride

Idol(s): Dahyun [TWICE]

Word Count: 8.9k words

A/N: 3 years to the day since my last fic. Hello again!

Dahyun is a dream girl.

The kind of dream where she doesn’t need to say a single word for you to follow her. She’s Kim freakin’ Dahyun. Of course you’d follow her anywhere.

The kind of dream you tell your friends. They’d say, Bullshit, how are you with her? And to be fair, you’re not sure either. A girl like her shouldn’t even exist in the same plane as a guy like you. They’d have to rewrite the laws of physics.

And yet, here she is with you.

Keep reading

[i-am-lifeform24]

Hes BACK

[mysonesecret]

Her Cousin Karina (The Chairman's Daughter Series)

Winter x Male Reader ft. Ningning & Karina | 15k words | Masterlist

← Part 1 (Winter Is Coming)

Tags: smut, comedy, au, rich girl, brat, brat-taming, switch

--

The elevator doors are almost shut when you jam your hand between them like the male lead in a K-drama. Except you’re not chasing after your one true love. You’re chasing after a girl you want to throw into a swimming pool filled with holy water.

The doors part. Ningning is the only one inside, lounging against the mirrored wall, scrolling on her phone like she’s checking the status of the souls she’s already collected today—including yours, most likely.

“Brave,” she says, not even looking up. “Most people don’t risk amputation just to avoid waiting another thirty seconds for the next one.”

You step in and immediately smack the emergency stop. The elevator halts with a loud buzz.

That gets her attention.

“Whoa,” she says, clutching her phone. “How’d you know about my secret fantasy of being kidnapped by a coworker?”

“Delete it,” you say firmly.

She tilts her head. “Delete what? I have a lot of bad decisions on here.”

“You recorded us without consent. That’s illegal.”

“So is half the shit this company does,” she says lightly. “Relax. I’m not posting it on TikTok. I’m just holding on to it.”

“In case?”

She nods like you finally get it. “Exactly. In case. It’s called leverage. Rich people love it.”

Your jaw tightens. “You’re not using me as leverage.”

She pushes off the wall. “Did you think there weren’t going to be any consequences when you went down on the CEO’s daughter with the door unlocked?”

You step closer before you can talk yourself out of it, closing the distance until her scent hits you—studio makeup with something fruity underneath.

The elevator suddenly feels like it’s shrinking.

“Delete it,” you repeat, quieter.

She looks up at you, eyes bright and filled with mischief. “I’ve never seen you mad before. It’s kind of hot.”

“I’m not mad,” you say, even though your pulse is slamming in your neck. “Not yet.”

“Mm-hm.” She taps her screen once, nails clacking. “That’s why you’re breathing like you sprinted up twelve flights.”

Your hand shoots out before you can think, palm smacking the wall beside her head hard enough to echo. She flinches—just for a second—then grins, laughter slipping out like this is all just entertainment to her.

“Not gonna lie, I’m like half scared and half turned on,” she says mockingly.

“You think you’re the only one with dirt?” you say, leaning in just enough to make her blink. “You really believe that?”

She lifts her chin. “Enlighten me,” she says. “I love story time.”

“I saw you. Downstairs. In the storage room with the Director.”

Her smile widens, not even a hint of shame. “Nothing gets past you, huh? You’re a little too good at your job for someone who’s so criminally underpaid.”

“And your job isn’t to blow your boss in a closet.”

“Oh, please.” She waves her phone like a fan. “Your job isn’t to get face-fucked by the ice princess either, but here we are.”

Heat spikes under your skin. “You have no morals, Ning.”

She rolls her eyes. “Spare me the righteousness. You literally just fucked the CEO’s daughter on her own desk. We’re two sides of the same coin. Don’t climb up on the moral high ground now, the air’s too thin for you up there.”

You lean in on instinct, crowding her back against the mirror. Her shoulder blades thump softly against glass.

Your body hovers over hers, and you become intensely aware of two things. The first is that you’ve never once noticed a camera in this elevator. And the second is that this is a terrible, terrible idea, and still, you won’t change your mind.

“You smell like sex,” you say. The words come out low, almost a growl.

Her lips curve. “And you don’t? I can practically taste Winter by just sniffing your face. Bet it was yummy, huh?”

You look down. Her skirt is short enough that when you’ve got her pinned like this, the hem rides up, revealing most of her smooth, luscious thighs and the obvious absence of anything underneath.

You shift your weight, thigh nudging between hers, and she sucks in a tiny breath she probably didn’t mean to let out.

“No underwear?” you ask, lifting her skirt up enough to confirm. “You just wander around the office like this after-hours?”

“They got soiled,” she says, simply. “I assume you don’t need to ask why.”

“It must be extremely difficult to find another pair here in a lingerie store.”

“We’re a production house, not a department store.” She clicks her tongue. “That’s next door.”

“Did the white panties you wore before changing into the lingerie mysteriously disappear?”

She beams. “My god, you pay attention to my underwear? Are you sure you’re not in love with me?”

You let out a loud scoff. “How does it feel going through life thinking everyone’s in love with you?”

“It feels great, actually.” Her knee brushes yours. “So? Now what?”

“Now you delete the video.”

She pulls her phone out again, twirling it between her fingers. “I told you. I need it. Just in case it comes in handy one day. Don’t worry, it’s for her, not you.”

You grab her wrist, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to still her hand. “My face is in it. You’re not keeping that.”

She studies you, eyes flicking over your expression like she’s flipping through channels, picking the one that turns her on the most. Then she smiles.

“I’ll make you a deal.” She taps her phone to your chest. “I’ll delete it… if you admit you’re attracted to me.”

You stare at her. “Are you twelve?”

“And,” she continues, as if you hadn’t spoken, “that I looked good during the shoot.”

“So you want a compliment? That’s your price? More validation?”

“I want honesty.” Her grip on your forearm tightens, pulling you half an inch closer. “I know you were drooling behind the monitor like everyone else. Own it.”

You open your mouth to argue. Nothing comes out.

She smirks. “Thought so.”

It’s insane how badly you want to wipe that smile off her face. It’s worse how close you are to kissing it off instead—if not for the fact she was just sucking off your boss no more than an hour ago.

You swallow, contemplating every decision that led to negotiating with this so-hot-but-so-slutty menace to society.

“Fine,” you finally cave in. “You’re attractive.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Wow. Be still my heart.”

“There. You got what you wanted. Now delete it.”

“Say it properly,” she says, biting her lip. “You wanted me.”

Your jaw clenches. She just looks at you, waiting like she has all night.

“You looked good on set. You were really hot,” you force out. “I wanted you. Happy?”

“Getting there,” she says, biting a finger. “Now the fun part.”

Of course there’s a fun part.

“I want you to say”—she taps the finger against your chest, slow, taunting—“that when you were watching me get fucked… you wished it was you in that closet instead of him.”

A sharp laugh breaks out of you. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

“Maybe,” she says, smiling like it’s a compliment.

You step in even closer, chest pressing to hers now, your breaths mixing. “You want me to say I fantasize about fucking you? That’s what gets you off?”

Her pupils blow wide. “Yeah,” she whispers.

Something in your brain snaps like an overstretched rubber band.

You drop her wrist, and grab her hips instead. Her back hits the mirror with a soft thud, then you turn her around, pressing her into the cold metal, forcing her palms flat against it for balance.

She lets out a startled little sound that dissolves into a shaky laugh. “Oh. We’re really doing this.”

You lift her skirt, and bring your hand down on her ass, hard enough to make the smack echo off the cramped walls. She jerks, a gasp escaping her lips.

“You’re such an entitled brat,” you say, watching your hand print bloom pink on her skin. “You think playing with people’s lives is a game.”

“I mean, it is kinda fun—”

You spank her again, palm stinging from the impact. She bites her lip, shoulders tensing.

“You think that just because you’re hot, you can get away with everything?” you say, watching her cheeks start to flush in the mirror.

“Yes,” she says, looking back at you.

“You don’t need to answer everything.”

“Don’t ask then.”

You slide your hand under her skirt to find her already soaked.

“What’s this all about?” you ask, collecting her juices on your fingers. “You’re dripping on my hand in an elevator.”

“Now you know the reason I didn’t bother putting any panties back on.” Her head tips forward, forehead pressing to the steel as your fingers slip between her thighs.

“So you expected this to happen?” you murmur, rubbing slow circles over her clit.

She whines, hips pushing back against you. “Not really, but I’m not regretting it even a little bit.”

You increase the pressure just a bit, and she moans into the air, the sound catching and breaking like she forgot how to breathe properly.

“Now about that video,” you say, voice low in her ear. “You’re going to take your phone out. You’re going to scroll to it. And you’re going to delete it. In front of me.”

“You’re very demanding for someone with no leverage,” she breathes, fingers slipping off the glass.

You curl your fingers inside her. Her knees wobble. “No leverage? Not even a little bit?”

She lets out something that’s between a laugh and a moan. “Okay—okay, fine. But I can’t do anything like this.”

You pull back a fraction. “Take it out.”

She reaches blindly into her pocket, dragging her phone out with unsteady fingers. You keep your hand between her legs, barely moving now, just enough pressure to keep her trembling.

“Don’t look at my passcode.” She unlocks the screen with her face and scrolls.

You lean over her shoulder, ready for the worst—some grainy thumbnail of Winter’s office door half-cracked, your own stupid head clearly visible where it shouldn’t be.

Instead, you get Ningning. A lot of Ningning.

Photos of her in the studio mirror, leaning in to fix her lipstick and very obviously documenting her cleavage. Another set of photos of her sprawled on a hotel bed in matching lace, one strap deliberately slipped. And then another of her hand sliding under the waistband of her panties, cut off just before anything explicit.

She scrolls past another nude—bathroom mirror, towel around her hair, absolutely nothing else.

You blink. “Seriously?”

“What?” she says, thumb flicking again. “I’m very photogenic without clothes on.”

She swipes. There’s a video thumbnail of her in bed, covers around her waist, tits out, hand sliding between her legs.

“Skipping this one,” she says automatically.

More pictures: her standing in the bathroom, completely naked, one leg up on the counter; a shot from behind, ass in the mirror, looking over her shoulder with a wicked smile. A short clip of her grinding on someone’s lap in a dark room, his face out of frame.

There is absolutely nothing of Winter’s office. Nothing of you.

Your stomach drops, then flips into something hotter and uglier. “Where is it?” you demand.

“Where is what?” she asks, pausing on a shot of her ass in the very skirt she’s wearing right now. “Wow, I kinda ate with this one—”

“The video!” you snap. “Of Winter and me. The one you ‘need for leverage’.”

She squints theatrically at the screen, scrolls a bit more, revealing yet another thirst trap—this time her licking whipped cream off her own finger. Still no office.

“Oh… yeah, that doesn’t exist,” she says, nonchalantly.

Your brain hiccups. “What?”

She locks the phone and lets her hand drop, smirking at your reflection in the mirror.

“I never said I recorded you. You came storming in like, ‘delete the video, you villain,’ and I thought, ‘wow, this is entertaining, you’re telling on yourself’.”

You stare at her. Your hand is still between her thighs. You briefly consider using it to strangle her instead.

“So you lied,” you say, jaw clenching.

“No,” she hums. “You assumed. Difference.”

You stare at her. At the smug little tilt of her mouth. At the way her thighs are still parted, your hand still between them, fingers coated with her warmth.

“You think this is funny?” You reach up and catch her chin, forcing her to turn her head just enough to meet your eyes in the reflection.

She looks at you, chest heaving, mascara smudged from earlier. “Maybe a little. I mean, your fingers are still inside of me while your mouth is pretending you hate me. It’s breaking my brain.”

You should pull back. Walk away. Reset the elevator and pretend this never happened. Instead, you curl your fingers again, harder and further this time. She gasps into a silent moan, her whole body jolting.

“You’re going to pay for that.”

“For what?” she says, but her voice is weak now. “Bringing some excitement into your life?”

You drag your hand free, and spin her. Her back hits the elevator wall with a soft thud. Before she can catch her balance, you’re crowding in, one hand at her throat, the other already pushing her skirt up again.

“For playing with something you didn’t have,” you say. “For making me beg over nothing.”

Her fingers curl in your shirt. “I’m not Winter, I can’t make you do anything,” she says, but it’s even weaker now. “And for the record, you didn’t even beg. You threatened and demanded.”

You get your belt open with one hand, yank the zipper down. Your cock springs free, painfully hard again.

She looks down, pupils blowing out. “Didn’t you just cum inside of the Chairman’s only daughter?”

You hook one of her legs up, pressing her knee toward her chest. The head of your cock slides through her wetness, and she sucks in a breath like you’ve punched the air out of her.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty left for you, too,” you say, rubbing your cock against her dripping folds.

“Lucky me,” she says, moaning softly. “I didn’t get to cum earlier.”

You look at her—smudged makeup, messy hair, still a liar, still a menace. You want to shake her. You want to fuck her until she forgets everyone else’s name.

“You will now,” you say, feeling yourself sink into her.

She lets out a soft, involuntary moan. “Are you punishing me or rewarding me? I can’t tell at this point.”

Then you thrust.

She cries out, loud enough that you slap a hand over her mouth on instinct. She’s so hot and tight around you in this position that it’s almost painful. Her walls clench down, taking you in inch by inch until your hips are flush with hers.

The elevator shudders with the force of it. She clings to you, one leg hooked around your hip, the other foot scrambling for balance on the floor.

“God, you’re so mad,” she gasps when you ease your hand off her mouth. “Was it really that serious?”

“You lied,” you remind her, punctuating each word with a thrust. “And for what? A fake compliment?”

“Now you’re the one lying,” she moans, eyes fluttering. “You think I’m hot and you wanted to fuck me. That wasn’t a fake compliment, it was a confession.”

You angle your hips, chasing the spot that made her squirm on your fingers earlier. When you find it, she nearly sobs, nails digging into your shoulders through your shirt.

“When you say ‘fuck me’,” you say, hitting it again with the tip of your cock. “Is this what you mean?”

She nods frantically, forehead dropping to your collarbone. “Yes—fuck—that feels so good.”

“Then yes,” you growl into her hair. “I did want to fuck you.”

You grab her ass with both hands, lifting her properly now, letting her weight rest against the wall and your body. You start to really move, setting a heavy rhythm, every thrust making her bounce slightly in your grip.

Her voice pitches higher, words breaking apart. “Oh my—fuck—yes—you’re fucking me so hard—what the hell—”

“This is what you wanted?” you bark. “This is why you prance around without any panties? Hoping someone would come along and fuck your brains out, you little slut?”

“Not anyone, I still have standards, you know,” she whines, but her hips are chasing you, grinding down to meet every thrust. “Keep going, just like this, don’t stop—”

You don’t. You fuck her harder, anger and arousal tangling until you can’t tell them apart, every slam of your hips a punishment and a promise.

Her pussy clenches around your cock, the walls fluttering as she falls toward the edge. You drive into her relentlessly, your fingers digging into the flesh of her ass, holding her up against the elevator wall. The metal panel vibrates with each impact, her back sliding up and down as you pound her harder.

“Fuck—I’m—already—” she chokes out, her body seizing.

Her thighs tremble around you, pussy squeezing tight in rhythmic pulses. She cries out, head thrown back, nails raking down your arms as she comes undone on your cock.

“Fuuuuck!” she screams until her voice breaks.

You don’t let up, thrusting through her spasms, feeling her juices completely coat your shaft.

But you’re not done—not yet. With a grunt, you lower her legs to the floor, watching her knees buckle. She slumps against the wall, panting, eyes glazed with aftershocks.

“Turn around,” you order.

She hesitates for a split second, but you grab her hips and aggressively spin her yourself. She braces her hands on the wall, ass presented to you, still quivering from her release.

You kick her feet apart wider, lining up your cock at her dripping entrance. One hand fists in her hair, yanking her head back as you slam back inside her pussy from behind. She yelps, the sound turning into a loud moan as you set a punishing pace, hips snapping forward with brutal force.

“Apologize,” you growl, pulling her hair tighter to arch her back. “Say sorry for being such an annoying little cunt all the time.”

“Oh my god…” she shudders through your anger. “You’re gonna mess me up like this…”

Her ass jiggles with each thrust, the mere sight pushing you closer to the edge.

“Say it!”

“Say what?” she asks, eyes rolling back like she can’t process anything anymore.

You release her hair to slap her cheek hard, the crack echoing in the confined space. “Say you’re sorry! Now!”

She gasps, pushing back against you, meeting your aggression with her own desperate grind. “I’m sorry,” she cries. “I’m sorry for messing with you, I thought it was funny—I’ll apologize as much as you want, just keep fucking me—please—”

You oblige, gripping her hips firmly, pulling her onto your cock over and over.

You feel it coming.

“I’m coming,” you say, fucking her as hard as you can.

“Give it to me! Hurry! I deserve it—”

With a final, deep thrust, you pull out, fisting your wet, throbbing cock. You aim for her ass, stroking fast as bursts of cum shoot out, splattering hot across her cheeks and down the crack. She moans loudly at the sensation, wiggling slightly as you paint her ass white.

“Wow… it’s so hot…” she breathes as your cum slowly drifts down the beautiful curve of her ass.

Still breathing heavy, you scoop up the mess with your fingers—thick strands of your cum mixed with her wetness. “This is what you deserve,” you say, turning her head roughly by the chin.

She gasps, and opens her mouth without protest, tongue willingly out and eager.

You push two fingers inside to coat her tongue. She sucks them clean, eyes locked on yours, swirling her tongue around you. Then you scoop up the rest, and drag your hand over her cheek, painting her face with the sticky fluid, from jaw to temple.

“I really need to piss you off more often,” she says, lips parting as she pants loudly, eyes gleaming with satisfaction, hand still rubbing gentle circles around her clit.

--

The next week feels like karma clocked in early just to bully you.

Winter doesn’t mention the office. Or the kneeling. Or the fact that you left a crime scene’s worth of DNA inside her and then went home looking like you’d been hit by a car. A car with Ningning in the driver’s seat, of course.

Instead, Winter actually does something worse—she acts like you’re just her intern again.

Your inbox reproduces overnight like horny rabbits. You start the week with seven flagged tasks; by lunch there are twenty-three, all labeled “URGENT” with that cheery passive-aggressive exclamation point. Things you’re pretty sure used to belong to three different roles all migrate to you: sample pulls, model call sheets, presentation decks, fixing someone else’s typo-riddled brief “before the board sees it.”

In meetings, Winter is in full assassin mode—calm, crisp, and frighteningly efficient—like she has ice water for blood and a stopwatch for a soul. Except, she doesn’t seem to acknowledge you as a human being anymore. She critiques your slides while staring at the screen, asks you for numbers while looking at the table, and dismisses you with a flick of her hand like you’re a literal bug.

You know better. That it shouldn’t matter, that it shouldn’t hurt. Still, it lands like a door in your face.

Ningning, meanwhile, is living her best life.

For some reason, she doesn’t bring up what happened either. She doesn’t smirk and say “remember when you railed me in the east wing elevator?” Instead, she just swans through the office in tiny skirts as usual, leaving a trail of perfume and ruined concentration behind her.

And every time you catch a glimpse of her, you remember how hot her skin was under your hands and how she whimpered when you promised you’d make her finish.

--

Winter’s lingerie campaign drops on Wednesday and the office goes feral.

Every screen in the lobby is Ningning walking toward the camera in slow motion, garter straps biting into her thighs, lips parted on a breath you know the exact sound of.

The email blasts hit every five minutes:

“Incredible early engagement!” “Record-breaking click-through!” “Customers are eating it up!”

By noon, a company-wide message goes out:

“Congratulations to Creative Director Kim Minjeong and to our new luminous muse, Ning Yizhuo, on a successful launch. Effective immediately, Ning will be the official face of our lingerie division…”

By the will of the gods, you run into her later by the makeup stations. She’s in a silk robe and red stockings, surrounded by stylists like a very slutty planet with its own orbit.

When she sees you, her smile curves slow and pleased. “Hey, intern,” she calls, loud enough that two others turn. “Did you like the video?”

“For the record, you’re an intern too,” you say, but you’re not even sure if it’s true or not.

You suddenly think about the way her nails raked your shoulders in the elevator, the way her voice broke when you told her you weren’t letting her leave without cumming her brains out.

“Are you not going to answer my question?”

“The video is very you,” you say, turning just enough to get another glimpse of her tits spilling out the holiday push-up bra. “Great job, I’m sure the shareholders are thrilled your cleavage is saving Q4.”

She laughs, throwing her head back. The robe gapes, and three people in the vicinity forget how to breathe. “You say that like you didn’t field-test the product in-house.”

But instead of firing back on her complete lack of subtlety, you keep walking before your body remembers what her voice sounded like when she begged you not to stop.

--

The universe, displeased with your recent life choices, decides you deserve smiting.

The flu hits Saturday night.

By Sunday you’re sweating through sheets and hallucinating design briefs on your ceiling. You pray that your immune system works as hard as you do, but come Monday morning, you email HR from inside a blanket burrito apologizing for not coming in to cough on the entire creative department.

You sleep. Your phone buzzes. You ignore it. Your phone buzzes again. And again. By the fifth buzz, your survival instinct kicks in: either it’s the company or your mother, and both will kill you if you don’t respond.

You squint at the screen. A stack of unread emails waits. You open the top one.

Subject: Head of Design We are pleased to welcome Yoo Jimin as our new Head of Design.

Ms. Yoo joins us with extensive experience at global luxury houses such as Chanel and Hermès, and will be working closely with Creative Director Minjeong Kim on several key initiatives…

You stare at “working closely” until the words blur. Your fevered brain conjures an image of Winter glaring at a woman in a Chanel suit across a conference table. Before figuring out what to do with that visualization, you groan, drop the phone on your own face, and pass out again.

--

When you finally drag yourself back into the office three days later, the building has leveled up from buzzing to mildly hysterical.

People are doing that fake-casual fast-walk even though they’re just going to get a fourth coffee in the break room. Two other interns are re-wiping already clean glass doors, and someone has replaced the dead plant in reception, which is frankly the most shocking development of the quarter.

You shuffle into the cafeteria, still a little floaty from cold meds, and stare at the “breakfast” options like they personally wronged you. The scrambled eggs are the color of some kind of legal liability, for sure.

“You look like shit,” someone announces cheerfully.

You don’t have to turn to know it’s Ningning, but you do anyway because your recovering brain decides that a glimpse of her waist could potentially make everything a tad bit better.

She’s leaning against the doorframe in a satin cami that’s one strategic breeze away from causing a lawsuit if not for the blazer above it pretending to be responsible—plus a skirt so short it should come with a content warning. Her hair’s in a messy bun that’s not actually messy, just weaponized.

“And you look like what the HR handbook uses an example for inappropriate office attire,” you mutter. “How’s fame?”

She grins, grabbing a tray. “Oh, you know, full of old men in suits saying ‘empowerment’ while staring at my chest.”

“So exactly like before,” you say. “But now with better lighting and a little extra pay.”

“Exactly.” She reaches for a yogurt she’s absolutely not going to eat. “You picked the worst time to get sick, though. So much drama.”

“Yeah? What’d I miss?” you ask, eyeing the bacon like it might fight back. “Other than you terrorizing the entire office with your legs, digitally now.”

She nudges your tray forward, then leans in like she’s telling you state secrets. “Winter’s new playmate just arrived. And they hate each other.”

“And who might that be?”

“Her cousin,” she whispers excitedly. “Yoo Jimin. Big deal. Big résumé. Big tits, too.”

“Oh—right. The new Head of Design,” you say slowly, memory finally digging itself out of the NyQuil fog. “FIT grad, Chanel, Hermès, blah blah blah, something pedigree.”

She nods. “That’s the one. She showed up Monday and now all the staff are in love. The board’s completely obsessed. Even the CFO smiled, and I didn’t know his face could physically do that.”

You blink. “And Winter?”

“Oh, Winter wants to die,” Ningning says, clearly savoring every syllable. “They’re supposed to be this perfect duo—daddy’s little princess and his golden niece, taking over the world together. But they’re not getting along at all.”

You picture Winter being asked to “collaborate” with someone just as glamorous, just as competent, but actually liked by others. God, how entertaining.

“What’s wrong with her?” you ask. “The cousin, I mean.”

“Wrong?” she snorts. “Nothing. That’s the issue. She’s disgustingly nice.”

You wait for the punchline. It doesn’t come.

“Define nice,” you say slowly. “Because I’ve heard people here call you nice before.”

“Let’s see—she smiles at interns,” she says, counting on her fingers. “She thanked the lighting team by name. She brought coffee and donuts to a meeting she wasn’t even late to.”

You stare blankly. “So she’s like… the anti-Winter.”

“Pretty much. Same bloodline, different factory settings.”

You can’t help it; you laugh. It comes out as a cough halfway through. “And they expect them to work together.”

“Oh, they insist,” she corrects. “All the big projects now say ‘Creative Director Minjeong Kim & Head of Design Yoo Jimin’ in the header. You should see her when someone compliments Jimin. It’s like watching a cat being forced to share a window.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Can’t believe I missed all of this while fighting for my life.”

“Don’t worry,” she says, playfully patting your shoulder. “You’ll make up for lost time. We both know Winter only knows how to process feelings in two ways: cold contempt and using you as a stress ball.”

You swallow, and it still hurts.

--

The coffee machine makes a wet, terminal death rattle and spits a last, sad dribble into your mug before its light flips from orange to accusing red.

“Same,” you tell it with a sigh.

You’re alone on the floor. It’s past nine. Most sane people went home hours ago; the only other signs of life are a vacuum cleaner whining somewhere down the hall and the quiet fizzing of your remaining brain cells.

“Rough night?” a soft voice says behind you.

You turn.

There’s a woman in the doorway who absolutely does not belong to this hour of the night. Cream sweater, black trousers, white sneakers that somehow still look clean. Her hair’s in a loose ponytail with a few strands framing her face in that infuriating, “I didn’t even try” way that takes normal humans a ring light and at least two YouTube tutorials. No heavy makeup—just gloss, lashes, and skin that glows under fluorescent lights, the same lights that make everyone else look like they died before lunchtime.

Most offensively of all, she looks awake and functional. You find this hostile, personally.

“I didn’t think anyone else would still be here at this cursed hour,” she says, leaning against the doorframe.

“Machine’s dead,” you say, gesturing toward it like a fallen soldier. “We’re gathering to mourn. Want to join?”

She steps in, eyeing the blinking red light with mild pity. “I’ve heard it clanking all day. I think it’s been trying to file a complaint.”

“That makes perfect sense. It’s overworked, underpaid, and everyone yells at it when it breaks. It’s basically an intern.”

She laughs—quick, a little surprised. “You must be one of them,” she says, a hand coming up to push a loose strand behind her ear. “The interns, not the coffee machines.”

“I’m both, actually,” you say, lifting your empty cup. “But my official title is Guy Who Carries Things Until He Expires.”

She smiles, then moves to the counter like she’s been here a thousand times, reaching for the electric kettle in the corner while setting down a reusable tumbler from a brand you cannot afford.

“How about some tea?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder. “Since the coffee machine’s clearly filed for divorce with us.”

You blink. “Tea? As in a hot beverage that won’t destroy my organs?”

“As in hot water plus leaves,” she says, tapping the kettle with a finger. “Very advanced technology. Take a seat. I’ll give you a demonstration.”

“Sounds like sorcery to me,” you say, but you sit on one of the plastic chairs anyway. Your legs are grateful for the excuse.

She fills the kettle, then pulls a small metal tin out of her bag like some kind of prepared adult.

“Relax, you don’t have to look so carefully, I’m not poisoning you,” she says, glancing back. “I’m new, I don’t know who’s important yet.”

“Spoiler alert. It’s definitely not me.”

She laughs again, warmer this time. “What’s your name, definitely-not-important?”

“Intern.”

Her eyes shrink a little. “That’s a role, not a name.”

“Feels like a full identity at this point,” you say with a shrug.

You tell her your name, and she repeats it back, as if she actually cares to get it right, which is confusing because no one here remembers interns unless they need free labor.

“I’m Karina,” she says, with a quick, almost shy smile. “I just started this week. New designer.”

You squint. “Like… graphic designer? Or ‘I yell at seamstresses’ designer?”

She shrugs, pouring water into a company mug and her fancy tumbler once the kettle clicks. “Somewhere in the middle, probably. They said there would be fabrics, colors, and crying. I felt qualified.”

“That’s the whole company. You just described our brand values.”

She brings a mug over to you and slides it across the table. “Here. They say hot tea helps with colds a tiny bit more than spite.”

You wrap your hands around the mug. Your fingers actually shake a little, from caffeine, from exhaustion, and from the fact that someone voluntarily gave you a hot drink without also giving you twenty emails.

“Careful,” you warn. “If you’re nice to me, they’ll revoke your badge. It’s against culture guidelines.”

She lifts a shoulder, hopping up onto the counter with the ease of someone who hasn’t yet been spiritually crushed by this building.

“Try not to rat me out then,” she says, swinging one foot absently. “So. How late do you usually stay? I left at eight yesterday and saw someone still at the intern corner.”

“I was naming the delivery boxes,” you say, mildly shocked she even looked that way. “There’s a stack in the hallway that’s haunted. One of them is called Regret.”

She smiles and shakes her head. “I’ll say hello to Regret on my way out.”

“Please don’t, he’s shy and emotionally fragile.”

You take a cautious sip. The tea is minty with something floral underneath, warm without being harsh. Your shoulders loosen; you hadn’t even realized they were locked.

“How about tonight?” she asks, raising her wrist. “It’s already… 9:28.”

“Tonight might be an early one,” you say, stretching your back until it makes a sound that should concern a medical professional. “Hoping to leave before midnight. Really pamper myself.”

“Luxury,” she says dryly. “Do you at least get to eat?”

“I inhaled a granola bar at my desk around four, if that counts. I think it was from the last administration.”

She chuckles again. “Who owns you, anyways? Department-wise.”

“Officially, logistics,” you say, and then shudder a bit. “But lately, Ms. Kim in Creative.”

Her brows tick up a millimeter. “Min—” she starts, then catches herself so fast you almost miss it. “Ms. Kim Minjeong,” she corrects, smoothing it out with a sip of tea. “Right.”

You snort. “Look at you, almost dropping a first name. You really are new.”

“Still getting used to everything,” she says, swirling her tumbler.

“Don’t worry,” you say, raising your mug. “This place is a testament that negative reinforcement works well.”

She studies you for a second, and you realize she’s actually looking—at the dark circles, the slumped posture, the way you keep kneading your thumb into the same spot on your wrist like you’re trying to keep yourself present.

“If she’s ever too much,” she says, her voice gentler now, “you can vent to someone, you know.”

“To who?” you ask, taking another sip. “My landlord? The ghost in the stairwell?”

“Me,” she says, then immediately softens it with a little shrug. “Or, you know, whoever you want to talk to. I’ll be around.”

You simply look at her. “You’ve known me for nine minutes.”

“Yeah. And in nine minutes I’ve learned that you’re tired, underfed, and making jokes to keep from collapsing.”

You stare down at the half-finished tea. It feels weird, having someone notice that much that fast without using it against you.

“Thanks,” you say quietly. “For even saying that. And for the fancy tea.”

“Don’t mention it,” she says, lifting her tumbler like she’s toasting your impending breakdown. “Literally. Do not tell anyone I was nice. I have a reputation to fake.”

You smile. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Footsteps echo faintly in the hall. The spell breaks a little. You drain the rest of your tea and push yourself to your feet. Your body complains.

“I should get back,” you say, giving it a quick rinse. “If I’m away from my inbox longer than seven minutes, Ms. Kim’s sixth sense activates.”

“Go,” Karina says, still swinging her feet off the counter. “Before she materializes in the doorway and demotes us both.”

“Pretty sure there’s nothing lower than intern.”

--

Look, you don’t mean to make the break room a habit. It just becomes one.

Three nights in a row, your day ends the same way: inbox screaming, eyes burning, body running on whatever’s left of borrowed energy and resentment.

Three nights in a row, you drag yourself toward the elevators, see the glow from the break room, and turn right instead of going down.

And three nights in a row, Karina’s already there.

The first time after that initial tea session, she’s sitting on the counter again, sketchbook open, legs swinging against the cabinet.

She looks up as you walk in, clocking the slouch in your shoulders and the way you’re pinching the bridge of your nose like you’re trying to erase the day.

“Did the other machine finally unionize?” she asks, checking her watch.

“They’re on strike,” you reply, rubbing your eyes. “Demanding better beans and fewer breakdowns. I’m considering joining.”

She hops down from the counter in one smooth motion, landing lightly. “I can’t help with the beans,” she says, already going through her bag. “But I brought snacks.”

She triumphantly pulls out a packet of almond cookies like a magician revealing her final trick. Your stomach growls so loudly it’s embarrassing.

“You really need to stop doing this,” you say, taking one anyway because pride is for the well-fed. “People will start rumors.”

“About me feeding a starving intern?” she says, tearing the packet open for you like she knows you’re on energy welfare. “Scandalous.”

“About you being nice,” you say, breaking the cookie in half to offer one to her, to which she declines. You suddenly wonder if it’s poison, but stuff it in your mouth regardless. “Truly unheard of in these parts.”

“I could’ve sworn you promised to keep it a secret,” she says, jumping back on the counter.

The night after that, you walk in to find her with her hair down—soft waves spilling over her shoulders—and a pair of thin, round glasses sliding halfway down her nose. Her laptop is open on the table, screen glowing with silhouettes, color swatches, and chaotic-looking notes made by someone who clearly knows what they’re doing.

“You’re not allowed to look,” she says, closing it half-shut when you glance at the screen.

“Trade secret?” you ask, still peeking.

She turns it further away. “Hideous placeholder fonts. I have an image to maintain.”

“Too late,” you say, dropping your bag onto the floor. “I’ve seen you with a reusable mug and paper straws. Your illusion is shattered. I know what you are.”

She wrinkles her nose at you then tilts her head, really focusing on you. “Another bad day?” she asks.

“Define ‘day,’” you say, rubbing your temples. “It started last month and hasn’t stopped yet.”

She nudges your mug toward the kettle. “Sit,” she orders gently. “Tell me how many emails Ms. Kim sent you with ‘URGENT’ in the subject line.”

You flop into the chair like gravity doubled just for you. “If I say the number out loud, I’ll start crying,” you say, tipping your head back. “And then she’ll sense weakness and appear.”

Karina smiles, but there’s an edge of concern in it. She doesn’t push, still. Instead, she talks about fabrics and trends and how weird it is to be “the new girl” again after years of being the expert somewhere else. Her hands move as she speaks—animated, expressive, painting shapes in the air. You sip your tea, interrupt occasionally with deadpan commentary, and somehow the tight coil in your chest loosens another fraction. For a few minutes, your brain stops screaming. For a few minutes, the world feels survivable.

By the end of the week, it’s a clear pattern: you drag yourself toward the exit like a zombie with overdue credit card bills, but some gravitational force nudges you sideways into the break room. Karina’s always there—legs crossed on the counter, hair falling out of its ponytail, waiting with a mug already steeping, a snack opened like she predicted your blood sugar crash, and a dry joke ready to go.

You trade war stories—hers about past campaigns and eccentric European clients who insisted everything be “more beige,” yours about this company’s unique brand of psychological warfare disguised as workflow.

Some nights, you talk. Some nights, you sit in mostly comfortable silence, her sketching while you stare at your phone pretending your eyes aren’t crossing. Either way, she always notices when you’re more wrecked than usual—the way you wince when you stretch your neck, or the slight tremor in your hands when you reach for your mug.

One night she even slides a little bottle of ibuprofen across the table without comment. Another, she wordlessly swaps your coffee for decaf tea mid-sentence when your leg won’t stop bouncing under the table.

At some point, you find yourself pretending you’re “just wrapping up” in the break room, even though you finished your work twenty minutes ago.

You don’t say anything about it, but the truth is simple—the days feel less brutal knowing Karina will be the last person you see before you leave.

And maybe that’s a little scarier than anything Winter’s ever done.

--

The meeting invite hits your inbox at 9 a.m. like a threat: “ALL-HANDS: Q4 RECAP & FORWARD VISION.”

Even the title feels hostile.

You show up five minutes early with a laptop, a notebook, and the kind of hollowed stare that makes other interns avoid making eye contact. The conference room is already filling—board members settling into leather chairs, department heads whispering, senior designers comparing tablets—while you’re pressed against the wall with the rest of the disposable employees, clutching your laptop to your chest like a flotation device.

Winter sits at the head of the table like she’s on a throne—perfectly crisp blazer, every word clipped clean enough to cut through skin. You keep your head down, take notes, and pretend your heart isn’t pounding from too much coffee and lack of sleep.

The meeting starts.

Numbers. Charts. People saying “synergy” unironically.

Then the Q&A slides appear, and the temperature in the room drops.

Winter is in her element: sharp questions, sharper rebuttals. Someone stumbles over a metric; she corrects them before the CFO can blink. A murmur ripples across the table—impressed, fearful, or both. Winter doesn’t notice. Or she does and finds it boring.

Until she turns on you.

“Next deck,” she says, without looking. “Let’s see the updated mock-ups for the holiday capsule.”

The slide doesn’t change.

You freeze. You sent those mock-ups at 1:47 a.m. last night. You distinctly remember naming the file “Holiday_FINAL_v3_actually_final_THIS_ONE.”

Winter’s gaze flicks to the screen, then to the empty spot where your work should be. Slowly, it turns toward the wall of support staff. Toward you.

“Intern,” she says, her voice cold enough to flash-kill bacteria. “Where are they?”

Heat crawls up your neck. “They should be in the shared drive. I finished them last night and—”

“Well, they’re not.” She turns back to the screen. “If they were, we’d be looking at them instead of a blank slide.”

A few people shift in their seats. You feel the room pivot, like you’ve just become the designated pre-lunch entertainment.

“I can pull them now,” you say, quickly. “It’ll take thirty seconds to—”

“Did you or did you not complete the assignment?” Winter cuts in. Her eyes lock onto yours.

“Yes,” you stumble. “I completed it. I emailed you and the team, and I put it in the drive.”

“So you half-finished your job and assumed someone else would do the rest. And now you’re wasting everyone’s time.”

Your stomach drops through the floor. You’ve been holding this department together with caffeine, fear, and the last five neurons you haven’t killed. And now she’s rewriting it as laziness.

You open your mouth, something between apology and protest on your tongue—

“Kim Minjeong-sshi,” another voice says.

Heads turn down the table. Winter’s jaw tics once. “Yes?”

The woman speaking sits three seats from the CEO—grey sweater under a blazer, hair pulled back. You know that ponytail, that little mole near her lip, that brand-name tumbler she set down by her notebook.

Karina.

Except the placard in front of her reads:

HEAD OF DESIGN – YOO JIMIN

Your brain stops for a full second.

She doesn’t look at you. She keeps her gaze on Winter, polite but absolutely unflinching.

“He did complete them,” she says calmly. “I saw the email. They’re in the Holiday folder.”

Winter’s eyes narrow. “They’re not in the deck. Which means they weren’t where they were supposed to be.”

“That’s on me. I pulled from the wrong subfolder when I was finalizing the presentation.” She taps her laptop once, and brings up a file tree on the shared screen. “Here they are.”

Your mock-ups pop up on the big display, huge and glossy and undeniably there.

A ripple goes through the room. You see the CEO’s brows lift, just slightly. Someone down the table exhales.

Winter’s expression doesn’t move much, but you’ve been watching her too long not to notice the tension ratcheting up around her eyes. “Regardless, he’s responsible for ensuring—”

“He’s responsible for doing his assigned work,” Karina cuts her off, still maddeningly composed. “Which he did. And let’s call our employees by their names. They have them for a reason.”

The room goes very quiet.

You feel every heartbeat in your throat. You also feel about three inches tall, because now you’re not just “intern”—you’re the example in a power struggle you didn’t know you were sitting through.

Winter’s gaze slices your way, then snaps back to Karina. The air between them is suddenly sharp enough to cut the room in half.

The CEO clears his throat, clearly ready to move on. “Well, since we have the mock-ups—”

“Yes,” Karina says smoothly, switching the screen to a clean view of your work. “As we were saying, the holiday capsule is in good shape…”

No one looks at you again.

Your stomach flips as your designs dominate the screen—huge, professional, seen. Humiliation and pride collide so hard in your chest you genuinely don’t know which wins.

Winter says nothing. But her jaw is clenched so tight you can practically hear her teeth grind.

The meeting rolls forward. Numbers. Goals. Action items.

You don’t hear most of it. Your brain keeps circling the same three facts:

Karina is not just “Karina,” the nice designer with expensive tea and emergency cookies.

She’s Yoo Jimin, the Head of Design, the famous cousin that Winter is supposed to “work closely” with.

And she just stepped between you and Winter’s line of fire in front of the entire top floor.

--

The company throws itself a party when the numbers hit “historic,” and this campaign apparently qualifies.

The bar’s free, the DJ’s too loud, and every executive in the building is suddenly pretending they know how to smile. Branded lights wash the walls in soft pink and champagne gold, as if Marketing got drunk and decided to decorate. There’s a giant looping projection of Ningning from the campaign—slow-motion hair flip, garter straps, a wink that probably boosted Q4 by three percentage points. Screens along the bar alternate between sales graphs and behind-the-scenes footage, as if the company’s trying to prove that capitalism and thirst traps can, in fact, coexist.

Everywhere you look, people are congratulating themselves.

“Historic numbers.”

“Unprecedented engagement.”

“Great work, team.”

Which is hilarious, because as far as you can tell, 90% of the lift came from Ningning’s surprisingly photogenic butt cheeks and Winter’s willingness to weaponize lingerie.

Speaking of Ningning, she’s the center of gravity, obviously.

She’s wearing a navy bodycon lounge dress from the new line—a soft-looking knit that has absolutely zero interest in subtlety. It clings to her like it has a personal vendetta against modesty, the neckline dipping low enough that several shareholders have forgotten their own names.

She’s everywhere—laughing with the CEO, letting a senior partner kiss her on both cheeks, draping herself against the photo wall with her leg popped for the cameras. Every time you glance up, it’s her on the screens and her in the room. It’s like being trapped inside an ad campaign and a slow-motion car crash at once.

Winter is the other star of the night, even if no one says it to her face.

She’s in a long white dress with a slit that communicates “I will literally destroy you” more than “cocktail attire.” People approach her cautiously, like she might revoke their health insurance if they mispronounce her title.

“The creative direction was genius.”

“You really elevated the brand.”

“You must be so proud.”

She nods, smiles just enough, eyes already scanning for the next threat. She’s the architect of the whole circus and also the one person who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.

You’re somewhere in the middle of this ecosystem, technically “on duty” but with nothing to do once the speeches end, so you hover by the second bar, where the bartenders don’t care who you are and the expectations are non-existent.

“Are you hiding from me?” Ningning asks, suddenly materializing at your elbow like she teleports when attention is low.

You look over. Up close, the dress is even more ridiculous. The soft navy knit clings to her like it was steamed onto her body.

“Where can I even hide?” you say, quickly looking up. “You’re on every single screen here.”

She beams, tossing her hair. The knit of the dress shifts with the movement in a way that ought to be illegal.

“What can I say?” She exhales. “I’m the people’s lingerie.”

“That’s… not how that phrase works.”

“Sure it is,” she hums. “The shareholders were just telling me how ‘empowered’ they feel when I bend over.”

You make a face. “Gross.”

She seems completely unbothered. “They signed the bonus checks while staring at my chest, so I’m willing to call it a fair exchange.”

Speaking of chest, your eyes are dragged down again before you can stop them. The fabric is pulled tight over a frankly impressive curve, and at this distance, the outlines of her nipples beneath the fabric are impossible to unsee.

“You keep looking,” she says, smirking. “Miss me that much? Do we need a round two?”

“I’m just doing quality control,” you say, clearing your throat. “For the brand.”

“And how does the brand score?”

“Indecent.”

Two men in suits you recognize from the quarterly shareholder Zoom drift over, drinks in hand, faces already flushed. Ningning’s radar goes off instantly.

“Mr. Han, Mr. Lee,” she sings, turning toward them with a smile that could melt steel. “You made it!”

Behind them, a small cluster forms around another woman.

Karina.

You don’t see her right away because she doesn’t shout for attention the way Ningning does. But once you do, it’s impossible to stop seeing her.

She’s in a black dress—not flashy, not overly tight, but cut to flatter in all the exact ways that make people look twice. The neckline is a little higher than Ningning’s, but the fabric molds over her chest in a way that makes you understand what Ningning meant when she called her “stacked” the other day. The blazer she usually hides behind is gone; there’s no sweater, no slouch, just curves and clean lines and a quiet confidence that pulls people in.

Two shareholders break away from their group and beeline toward her like metal filings to a magnet. They hover for half a second—waiting, positioning—then dive in with their pre-approved compliments.

“Jimin-ssi, your work with the silhouettes is incredible.”

“The cuts were so fresh, really elevated the whole line.”

She smiles, genuinely pleased. “Thank you,” she says. “The team did a lot of the heavy lifting. I just pointed at things.”

“You’re underselling yourself,” one of the men says, leaning in. “This company’s future is very bright now that you’re here.”

Karina laughs politely, eyes crinkling at the corners. Expressions and professionalism you’ve never seen in the break room. She’s good at this, you realize. No seduction. No innuendos. Just charm—clean, effortless charm, the kind that makes people behave better around her without knowing why.

“You see what I mean?” Ningning murmurs, suddenly back at your side. “She’s stupid hot.”

“Who?”

She gives you a look. “Who?” she repeats. “The human hourglass in the Celine dress, that’s who. Look at her.”

You do. And yeah. Up here, with the blazer off and the neckline doing God’s work, it’s harder to pretend you didn’t notice.

“She’s really pretty, isn’t she?” you say, unable to tear your eyes away from her smile.

“She’s gorgeous,” Ningning says with a mournful sigh. “Unfortunately, God gave her personality and tits. Completely unfair. You really didn’t clock the boobs? Even a little?”

You look again. At the way the dress dips, at the way the fabric stretches, at the way one of the shareholders keeps accidentally dropping his gaze.

“She’s been wearing sweaters the whole time,” you mutter. “How was I supposed to know what was going on under there?”

Ningning shakes her head. “You’re so unobservant. You stare at my ass like it’s going to vanish, but you missed that?”

You turn to her quicker than lightning. “First of all, I don’t stare at your ass,” you say, lying through your teeth. “Second, I was too busy dying. And she was giving me tea, not HR violations.”

“Well, that body is also giving ‘tea’.”

Before you can retort, Karina breaks away from her cluster and heads your direction. You look at her—at the steady way she meets your eyes, even in a room full of people who technically matter more, while the shareholders watch her go like they just saw their stock dip.

“There you are,” she says, taking the spot at your elbow so seamlessly you feel the warmth of her shoulder before you process her voice. “I’ve been looking for you.”

She slides a champagne flute into your hand. It’s heavier than the ones at the regular bar—real glass, not whatever the interns get.

“This is contraband,” you say in a hush. “The good stuff is supposed to be for executives only.”

“Perks of sitting at the big boys’ table,” she says, clinking her glass against yours. “I stole one for you.”

“Criminal. I’m telling Finance.”

“Go ahead,” she says. “They were already staring at me for grabbing two.”

You take a sip. It’s dangerously smooth. Worlds away from the fizzy sugar you had before.

You take a deep breath after savoring it. “If you keep giving me things above my pay grade, I’m going to start asking for health insurance and fair working conditions.”

“I’m not a magician,” she says, holding back a laugh. “Just a designer.”

“You know,” you say, eyeing her over the rim as you sip. “I really thought ‘new designer’ meant someone who would be asking me where the bathrooms are. Not someone who can bully my boss’ boss in public.”

“I didn’t bully her,” she says, raising a brow. “I just reminded everyone that shared folders exist.”

“You also said ‘let’s call our employees by their names.’ I’m pretty sure I saw three executives spontaneously grow consciences.”

She almost chokes. “Was that too much?”

“It was so incredibly hot,” you say before your brain can stop you.

Her eyes widen. You feel your face heat.

“I-I mean,” you backpedal, “professionally. Ethically hot. HR-safe hot.”

“Right,” she says, eyes darting away for a second. “Well, don’t get used to it. I might yell at you someday over a hemline or something.”

“I’ve never looked forward to being yelled at so much before.”

Across the room, Winter laughs at something someone says. When her gaze swings your way, it lingers a fraction too long. On you. On Karina. On the comfortable angle of your bodies at the bar.

You pretend you don’t notice. You’re not sure you succeed.

“So.” You lean against the bar, turning back to Karina. “Most people lead with the ‘I’m senior leadership’ thing. Why didn’t you?”

She swirls her champagne, watching the bubbles climb. “Would you have talked to me the same way if I did?”

You think about that. The first night with tea. The jokes. The way you told her Winter chews interns for brunch without realizing she’d be in the room for the next feeding.

“Yeah, probably not,” you admit.

“Exactly,” she says triumphantly. “I liked that you thought I was just another tired designer.”

“You are another tired designer. The title just means you get nicer snacks.”

“Joke’s on you,” she says, taking one last sip. “I have the same vending machines you do.”

You let yourself enjoy it for a moment—the music thrumming through the floor, the champagne warming your throat, the surreal fact that someone with Head of Design on her badge is standing beside you like you belong in the same zip code.

You’re mid-sip when Ningning bumps your shoulder with hers and nods toward the far side of the room. “She’s coming,” she murmurs.

You don’t need to ask who. Winter moves through the crowd in that way she has—parting people without touching them, every line of her body screaming “I hate you all” even when she’s smiling.

Karina exhales. Ningning’s grin widens. You resist the urge to hide behind the bar.

Winter stops in front of your little cluster, eyes sweeping once, taking everything in: Ningning in the company dress, hip cocked against the bar; Karina close enough that your sleeves are almost touching; you with a glass of the good champagne you definitely didn’t pour yourself.

“Congratulations,” Karina says first, because she’s either brave or suicidal. “The numbers were incredible. You really outdid yourself.”

Winter’s mouth curves, barely. “The work was adequate. The results were better.”

It almost sounds like praise, if you squint.

“And Ning,” Karina adds, nodding toward her. “You carried the whole campaign on your shoulders.”

“And other parts,” Ningning says, looking down at her own chest. “But thank you.”

Winter doesn’t dignify that with a response. Her eyes land on you instead.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asks, glancing down at your almost-empty glass. “You seem pretty relaxed considering how far behind you were this morning.”

You consider your options. You could lie. You could make a joke. You could say “yes” and see what happens.

“I didn’t realize off-hours counted as performance reviews now,” you say before your brain can stop you.

Karina shifts subtly, sensing the edge in Winter’s face. “He’s been running non-stop all week,” she says lightly. “We can spare him one decent drink.”

Winter’s gaze slices into her. “Head of Design has thoughts on resource allocation now?” she asks, coldly.

“I have thoughts on not treating human beings like workhorses,” Karina fires back.

Ningning lets out a low, delighted sound. “God, I love this show,” she murmurs.

You should probably shut up. You don’t.

“To clarify, does standing by the bar during a party violate some kind of department policy?” you add, trying to break the tension, but possibly adding more instead.

Winter’s eyes narrow. You continue like a moron.

“Should I cc you on my drink choices too, or just send a weekly summary? Actually, let me go back to my desk so you can grade my breathing—”

“Enough,” she says, silencing you without even raising her voice.

She turns fully to you. Up close, you can see the faint smudges under her eyes, the tightness at the corners of her mouth. She looks like she’s held together by willpower and caffeine and the thin thread of control she refuses to drop.

“Come with me,” she says.

You don’t know if Karina put something in the drink, but your brain refuses to function.

“Why?” you ask with the defiance of every previously fallen intern’s spite. “We’re having fun here. Well—we were, before you came along.”

“If you have enough energy to stand here and mouth off,” she says softly, “you have enough energy to have a real conversation in private.”

You know that tone. It’s not the one she uses in meetings. It’s the one from her office, right before she tells you to kneel.

A weak laugh squeezes itself out of your mouth. “Why don’t you just ask me to kneel in front of everyone? Bet you’re dying to.”

Ningning chokes on a bubble. Karina’s eyes widen.

Winter’s expression doesn’t move, but something flares in her gaze. “Do you think this is a joke?”

You’re tired. You’re annoyed. You’re buoyed by champagne and the memory of Karina saying your work was “solid” in front of people who actually matter.

“Do you?” you counter. “You’ve been pretending I don’t exist all week unless it’s to remind me I’m replaceable.”

Karina shifts, clearly about to step in again. “Okay,” she says quickly. “Maybe we can not do this here—”

“No,” Winter says, cutting her off without looking. “He wants to talk. Let him.”

Her eyes are on you, sharp and dangerous. The party buzzes around you like you’re under glass.

“I don’t want to say anything,” you say, almost slurring from either the alcohol or subconscious fear. “I want to not get my head bitten off in front of the entire company for doing my job.”

There it is. Out loud. You feel Ningning go very still beside you, like a cat scenting blood.

For a split second, Winter looks like you slapped her. Then it’s gone, replaced by that cold, polished mask.

“Come with me,” she says again, quieter this time.

You open your mouth. “Hey, I’m technically still—”

“Now!” she growls.

You glance at Karina. Her fingers are tight on her glass. Ningning’s eyes are bright, hungry, already replaying this scene in her head for later. You’re surprised she’s not recording it.

You set your flute down on the bar.

“Yes, Ms. Kim,” you say, clenching your jaw.

Winter turns and walks toward the elevators without checking if you follow. You follow anyway, leaving behind the branded lights, the champagne, and the only two women who have a chance of saving you from getting devoured—walking instead after the one who’s made a habit of it.

Winter doesn’t speak in the elevator.

She just jabs the button, taps her keycard, and stares at the closed doors like she’s considering prying them open with her bare hands. The muffled bass from the party fades as you climb, leaving only the cable hum and the quiet, controlled sound of her breathing.

You don’t have a single clue where she’s taking you, but you keep your mouth shut. It’s just survival instinct at this point.

The doors slide open onto the executive floor—somewhere you’ve never been before because it was at least ten leagues above your pay grade. She walks down the hall without looking back once.

But she doesn’t need to. You follow.

The door unlocks with a soft beep. Warm light spills out over polished wood, expensive furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows with the city glittering beneath like a screensaver. She steps inside. You do the same. The door closes behind you with a click that feels a lot like “no witnesses this time.”

“Do you think you’re funny?” she asks, turning around.

You shrug. “Sometimes, but I guess not tonight and not to you.”

Her expression doesn’t move. “You sure had a lot to say downstairs. In front of my staff. In front of Jimin.”

There it is. The real crime.

“Ah,” you say, folding your arms. “So this is really about Yoo Jimin.”

Her eyes flash. “You embarrassed me in that meeting. And then you let her turn it into a stage.”

You huff a laugh. “For the record, you tried to throw me under the bus for something that wasn’t my fault. She just told you that you were wrong.”

She steps in, close enough that you can smell both the alcohol and her expensive perfume that you’ve almost forgotten. “You think she did that for you? Because she cares about your little feelings? Guess what, she doesn’t. She just likes having something to save.”

“And you like having something to break. So I guess everybody wins.”

Her eyes flare. For a second you think she’s going to slap you, or fire you, or both.

“You think I don’t see it?” she says, exhaling sharply. “Her bringing you tea. Laughing at your jokes. She uses you to make herself look better than me. She gets to be the sweet little angel, the one who ‘cares’ about the overworked intern. And I get to be the villain who chews you up.”

“You are the villain who chews me up,” you say, leaning forward. “You treat me like dirt and now you’re offended someone else noticed I exist and decided not to wipe their shoes on me. That’s not on her. That’s on you.”

Her gaze sharpens dangerously. “Watch your mouth.”

“You give me panic attacks and after-hour emails, she tells me I look tired and hands me ibuprofen. It’s a bold new concept called ‘basic human decency.’ You should try it sometime.”

She lets out a loud scoff. “So you’re upset I don’t coddle you like a child. That’s what this is?”

“I’m upset you act like I’m disposable and then lose your mind when someone treats me like I’m not. Pick a damn lane and stay in it.”

Her nostrils flare. “What on earth made you think you can talk to me like this? Did Jimin—”

“Stop blaming Jimin for everything, Minjeong.” Her name stops her like a hand to the chest and her shoulders stiffen. “Take some accountability for the way you treat others. If you’re so offended that she’s nice to me, maybe that says something about you.”

“Did you just call me by my first name?” she asks, eye twitching. “I’m still your boss no matter how many glasses of champagne she hands you.”

She closes the distance further, heels silent on the carpet. “Do you think she’s pretty?” she asks, voice dropping.

You blink. “What?”

“It’s a simple question.” She tilts her chin, watching you like she’s ready to kill you for answering wrong.

You do anyway. “Of course I think she’s pretty, who doesn’t?”

Her eyes narrow. “Do you think she’s prettier than me?”

“What is your problem right now? Seriously.”

Something breaks on her face. Her hand suddenly shoots out, fisting in the front of your shirt.

“You are mine!” she hisses, yanking you towards her. “You work for me. Not her. Not this company. Me.”

Your pulse spikes, hard. “So that’s what this is about? You’re jealous of your perfect cousin?”

“I’m not jealous,” she snaps, too quickly. “I hate her. There’s a difference.”

“You hate her so much you’re furious that she defended me. You hate her so much you walked across a party because we were talking. You hate her so much you dragged me up here instead of yelling at her.”

Her jaw flexes subtly. “I’m not going to yell at her. That’s exactly what she wants. To prove she can get under my skin. To show she can take my toys away when I play too rough.”

You stare. “I’m a toy now?”

She leans in, so close your noses almost brush. “Since when were you not?”

You want to argue. You really do. But your body has already decided it knows this script better—the heat whipping through you, the sharp, horrible exhilaration of being the outlet for all the things she refuses to feel anywhere else.

So you say nothing and watch as the frustration runs hot through her annoyingly pretty face.

“What the hell do you want, Winter?” you ask, breaths getting heavy.

“You don’t need to know. I’ll get it regardless. I always do.”

You know you should be annoyed, but you also wish you could kiss her again so badly.

“You don’t get to run to her after this. You don’t get to let her pat your hand and tell you I’m unfair,” she says, breath tickling your face, leaving remnants of champagne. “You’ll walk back to that party like nothing happened and remember who you answer to.”

You scoff. “And who’s that, exactly?”

“Kneel and I’ll remind you,” she says, practically exhaling into your mouth.

Your heart is hammering, your head still full of rooftop lights and champagne and the sound of Karina saying your name in a room where you weren’t supposed to have one. The whiplash between that and this makes you feel a little sick, a little high.

Winter watches you carefully, lips slowly parting, possibly against her will. Her eyes flash down to your mouth and then back up.

“No,” you say, firmly. “I’m not kneeling to you anymore.”

Her fingers slide into your hair, tilting your face up to hers just enough to make your scalp tingle. “Are you disobeying a direct order?”

Your conviction doesn’t falter this time, even if your body is one step away from folding. “I’m not kneeling again,” you repeat.

Without warning, she kisses you.

It’s not gentle; it’s sharp, filthy, and claiming, her teeth catching your lower lip like she wants to bite the word no out of your mouth.

Her hand in your hair tightens, nails scraping over your scalp as she drags your head exactly where she wants it, angling you so she can deepen the kiss, and swallow whatever protest you had lined up.

You wrap your fingers around her waist as her tongue slides against yours—hot, possessive, tasting like alcohol and the last of her patience—and every annoyed sound she makes goes straight through your chest.

“Kneel.” It’s a growl against your lips, a command breathed right into your soul, like the word alone should be able to drop you.

But you still refuse.

Your hands drop from her waist to the backs of her thighs, fingers digging into expensive fabric and bare skin as you haul her clean off the ground. She gasps into the kiss, arms flying around your shoulders on instinct, but you don’t give her room to regroup; you keep your mouth sealed to hers, walking her blind across the room. Her legs clamp around your hips, heels biting into the backs of your thighs, dress hiking up as you carry her.

You fall onto the couch with her in your lap, her practically weightless body slamming down over your thighs. The sudden change in angle tears a rough gasp out of both of you, mouths breaking for a split second before she surges back in, chasing your lips, one hand fisting your collar to drag you up to meet her.

Her knees plant on either side of your hips, dress already rucked up to her waist from the way you carried her, and she kisses you like she’s furious you dared to move her and even more furious at how much she likes it.

That’s when she breaks the kiss, just far enough to fix the situation. She stares down at you, eyes dark, hair a little mussed, lipstick smeared at the edges, and then her hands go to her waist.

Without a word, she drags the dress up—over her hips, over the flat line of her stomach, over her ribs. The fabric snags briefly on her bra; she huffs, yanks harder, then peels it over her head and flings it blindly aside.

You forget how to breathe for a second.

She’s in the new lingerie line. Of course she is. All white, barely-there bra, high-cut panties that disappear into the curve of her hips, straps a shade lighter than her skin so it all looks like negative space and implication. The kind of set you’ve spent weeks logging, steaming, packing onto models who don’t come close to looking like this in it.

The lace lies flat and perfect over her, cups cut just low enough that your brain short-circuits trying to decide where to look.

“If you won’t get on your knees, then I guess I’ll have to,” she says, more annoyed than sexy, but for some reason it gives the same effect with her.

In one clean, controlled motion, she’s the one kneeling in front of you.

As with everything she does, her fingers are efficient and practiced: buckle, button, zipper. Cool air hits you; your body makes its usual terrible decision. She frees you with a rough sort of care, hand wrapping around you like she’s reclaiming something.

You manage one shaky inhale before she leans in and takes you into her mouth. No warning, no preamble. Just heat and wet and the sensual slide of her lips around you.

“Still care about her fucking tea?” she asks, voice low and heavy.

Yeah, fuck the tea.

You groan, hand flying to her shoulder, but she knocks it away without looking up, nails biting into your hips instead to pin you where she wants you. Her rhythm is steady, punishing, exactly how you imagined it to be.

Her mouth works you deeper, throat flexing, breath huffing hot against your skin when she pulls back for air. Spit and pre-slick her chin, her lipstick starting to smear at the edges. She doesn’t slow down.

The couch digs into the backs of your legs as your knees threaten to give. You brace one hand on the armrests, the other fisting uselessly at your side while she sets the pace, all control and no mercy. Her name practically gets strangled out of you, hips jerking despite the way her fingers dig in to keep you still.

You can’t take it anymore.

Your hands go to her hips before you’ve even decided to move. You spin her, push, and she hits the couch, and you drop to your knees between hers.

“Oh, now you want to kneel,” she pants, grabbing your hair.

“I don’t understand you why you’re like this,” you say, breath hot against the inside of her thigh. “You literally drive me insane.”

“The feeling is mutual. Stupid intern.”

Then you drag her panties aside and put your mouth on her like you’ve been thinking about since the first time she sat on the edge of that office desk and yanked your hair—ready to remind her exactly what you bring to the table when you’re not on your knees for her, but making her come apart on the couch instead.

“I missed this,” you say, letting her hot, familiar scent fill you up.

“I don’t need your commentary,” she growls, fisting your hair harder, pushing it down into her. “Apologize with your mouth for being such a nuisance in my life.”

It isn’t until your tongue is on her that she stops trying to talk.

She tastes like expensive perfume and the kind of stress no one else makes her admit to. You hook your hands under her thighs and drag her closer to the edge of the couch until her knees are bracketing your shoulders, her heels digging into your back.

“You’re mine—” she starts, breath catching as you flatten your tongue and drag it slow from bottom to top. “Don’t ever think about doing this to her.”

“Still a jealous little brat, even when your legs are wrapped around my neck.” You laugh into her, then seal your mouth around her clit and suck.

Her hand slams into the back of your head like she can take it back. “Shut up,” she hisses. “Just stop fucking talking and do the one thing that you’re decent at.”

So you do.

You work her with the same ugly determination she brought to her knees, teasing circles and quick flicks until her hips are grinding up against your face, the careful control gone from her voice.

“You always have to have the last word,” you murmur against her, slipping two fingers inside, crooking just right. “Nice to finally have you speechless.”

“Who says I’m speechless,” she gasps, even as her thighs tremble. “You’re just—ah—”

You curl your fingers inside her, drag your tongue in tight, focused patterns, and she breaks that sentence in half with a helpless, bitten-off sound that absolutely wasn’t meant to escape. Her hand tightens in your hair, and she pushes your head back, causing you to fall onto the rug behind you.

You barely have time to think before she’s climbing into your lap, swinging a leg over, settling down on you with zero hesitation.

“So impatient,” you manage, hands gripping her hips.

“You’re slow,” she says, rolling her hips to get you where she wants you. “As usual.”

You guide yourself to her entrance, and she sinks down in one smooth glide, taking you all the way in. Her mouth drops open for a second, eyes fluttering, then she collects herself, fingers digging into your shoulders for balance.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “You’re so—”

“I know,” she cuts in, and starts to move.

It’s not graceful. It’s better than that. She rides you like she has something to prove—short, sharp motions at first, testing the angle, then longer, deeper grinds as she finds the spot that makes both of you see static. You let her set the pace, hands roaming over her, small and fierce and bare to the waist, the strap of her bra sliding all the way down now.

Your thumbs brush her ribs, then higher, over the line of her sides, up to her breasts. She tenses, then shudders when you roll your thumbs over her nipples.

“You look so good in our stuff,” you say, voice rough. “Should’ve put yourself in the campaign instead of Ning.”

“I said shut up,” she says, breathless now, rhythm stuttering as the angle hits her just right. “Just shut up and keep fucking me. You literally have one job.”

You oblige.

You plant your feet, grip her ass, and start driving up into her, meeting every downward thrust with your own. The couch complains; you don’t care. Her hands scramble for purchase, one landing on the back of the couch, the other clutching at your shirt, riding you hard enough that you know you’ll feel it in your knees tomorrow.

It’s still not enough.

On one particularly sharp drop, you stand.

She yelps, arms flying around your neck on instinct as you pick her up, keep her wrapped around you, stay buried in her. Her legs clamp around your waist. You get your balance, then slam her back against the wall.

She loses whatever comeback she had. The rhythm is messy now—more about impact than precision—but the way she tightens around you with every push is enough. Her nails rake the back of your neck, her breath hot against your ear, little broken sounds slipping out no matter how hard she tries to swallow them.

When your arms start to tremble, you drag her back to the couch, half-dropping, half-laying her down. She lands on her back, legs still around you, hair a halo of chaos on the cushion.

You don’t give her time to regroup. You hook her knees up, plant them by your hips, and slide back in, pressing her down into the couch, pinning her there.

Missionary is supposed to be sweet. This isn’t. It’s leverage and eye contact and the obscene sound of skin on skin as you fuck her, deep and relentless, watching every flicker cross her face.

“Admit it,” you murmur, because you can’t help it. “You’re jealous that Jimin got close to me.”

She glares, which would probably work better if her voice didn’t catch when you angle your hips. “Shut up,” she says, fingers digging into your shoulders. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth, which is saying a lot.”

“How about this,” you say, thrusting harder. “If you come in the next thirty seconds, you admit that I’m right.”

“There’s no wa—aah!”

Her moans fill the room as you ravage her roughly, angling her legs so that you thrust right into her spot over and over while saliva drips down the side of her lips.

“I’m still not—jea—”

She lets out a loud cry, sharper this time, almost choking on it—arms flying around your neck, back arching, walls clenching around you hard enough that it drags you right to the edge with her.

You ride it out, teeth gritted, every clench of her around you yanking you closer until there’s no room left for words, just the sound of her gasping against your ear.

At the last second you drag yourself out of her, the loss of her heat almost painful, hand wrapping around your cock as you stroke once, twice, and come hard over her.

It hits the flat of her stomach first, then higher—messy streaks across her ribs, the soft swell of one breast, beading on the delicate white lace of the bra where it crosses her skin. Some of it catches on the waistband of her panties, thin straps disappearing into shine and slick against almost-matching ivory.

You watch, dazed, as it starts to smear with every shaky breath she takes, glistening faintly where it blends into her skin and the pristine white fabric, turning the whole carefully curated look into something filthy and private and entirely yours for the next few seconds.

Her eyes flick down, taking in the mess, then back up at you—cheeks flushed, hair ruined, chest heaving. She looks offended by how much she clearly likes the sight of herself being completely covered in sweat and cum.

“I’m not jealous of her,” she pants.

--

They start paying attention to her the second you walk in.

The bakery’s done up like a Christmas movie set—gold ribbon on the tree, fairy lights in the windows, All I Want for Christmas at a legally dangerous volume—and Karina walks through it in a navy coat and a cream scarf like central casting finally nailed “dream girl.” Her nose is pink from the cold, hair tucked into the collar, cheeks flushed.

The guy at the espresso machine visibly forgets how to function.

“What are we thinking?” she asks, palms pressed to the glass case like a kid. “Cakes? Tarts? Full-scale sugar coma?”

“It’s a prep session, not a wake,” you remind her.

“Give it time,” she says, examining all her options behind the glass. “If we’re going to watch Minjeong juggle three decks and six executives, everyone deserves last-meal rights.”

She rattles off an order that sounds less like dessert and more like supply-chain abuse.

“Hi! We’ll take six of the chocolate hazelnut cakes, four of the strawberry shortcakes, two of those ridiculously cute mini yule logs, all the brownies, and ooh—” she squints “—those Santa things.”

The cashier blinks, then rings it up. When he reads the total, a small, quiet part of your soul ascends.

Karina just taps her card. “Company morale. Maybe I’ll expense it under ‘preventing arson.’”

“You know there are only like twelve people on our floor. This is enough to feed Legal and half of Sales.”

“Good,” she says, smiling. “Legal’s depressed. They deserve frosting.”

The barista hands over your coffees and, with way more focus than he ever gives you, leans on the counter toward her.

“E-excuse,” he says, cheeks going pink, “do you—um—have Instagram? I’d love to, like, tag you?”

Karina blinks, surprised, then laughs. “Sure,” she says, reciting her handle while he types it into his phone like it’s a password to a better life.

The cashier slides you six boxes, as if “pack mule” really was written on your forehead, along with the receipt. There’s a phone number scrawled at the bottom and a little smiley face.

You stare. “Wow. Must be nice being the main character.”

“What?” she asks, genuinely confused.

You flip the receipt so she can see. “You just pulled two phone numbers with a pastry order,” you say, pointing at it. “I don’t even get my name spelled right.”

She makes a face and crumples the slip without looking at it. “He got my Instagram,” she says. “You got brownies. You’re clearly winning.”

“Yeah. I’ll take my consolation latte.”

Outside, the air bites. Her breath fogs white; the lights in the street trees wrap everything in that fake warm glow that doesn’t actually do anything about the temperature.

She tucks the scarf closer around her throat. It frames her face in a way that makes it impossible not to stare for a second too long.

“You’re doing it again,” she says through the wool.

“Doing what?” you ask, shifting the giant cake box in your arms.

“Staring like you’re deciding which pastry I am.” She kicks a bit of snow to you. “For the record, I refuse to be the Santa tart.”

“And you’re buying this much sugar for people who are going to forget to say thank you,” you say, trying your best not to slip and die. “So we’re both a little weird.”

She shrugs, boots crunching over ice. “That’s not the point. They’ve been working nonstop. Sugar helps. If they remember I brought it, great. If not, they’re still less likely to cry in the bathroom.”

You watch her for a second as she talks—how she keeps mental track of who’s burnt out, whose kid was sick this week, who hasn’t left their desk since Monday. The way she spends her own goodwill like it’s inexhaustible, on coffee runs and late-night tea and buying half a bakery because the employees looked pale.

“You really like taking care of people,” you say. It slips out before you can edit it, even though there isn’t really another way to say it.

She glances over, surprised, then a little self-conscious. “I like when people don’t implode. It’s selfish, actually. Implosions are messy.”

“Sure. That’s why you remembered the copywriter’s dairy allergy and ordered a separate cake she can eat.”

She scrunches her face. “Don’t analyze me. You’re supposed to be my sarcastic sidekick, not my therapist.”

“I can multitask,” you say. “Sarcasm and observation. Very high skill set.”

“You’re in a better mood today. Did something explode in Production? Did someone finally punch the printer?”

“Maybe I’m just high on cake fumes.”

“Or maybe,” she says, eyeing you, “someone let you sleep for more than four hours.”

“Don’t spread rumors. People will expect this level of charm and I cannot deliver.”

“You underestimate yourself,” she says lightly. “You’re very charming when you’re not actively dying.”

“Wow,” you say. “Write that in my performance review.”

“I would if Minjeong would let me fill out your review.” She pretends to think. “Pros: actually reads briefs, shockingly competent, above-average sarcasm, good taste in cake, doesn’t run away when I ramble about color theory,” she says, pretending to count on her fingers. “Cons: tends to martyr himself, says ‘it’s fine’ when it’s very much not, refuses to tell me when his boss abuses him, underestimates how likable he is.”

You open your mouth, ready to joke it off again, but the look she gives you—bright, earnest, a little fluttery—makes the joke die in your throat.

You push through the revolving doors back into the lobby on a wave of warm, perfumed air and corporate Christmas.

The giant tree dominates the space—silver ornaments, white lights, brand logo glowing where the star should be. It would be pretty if it didn’t feel like an ad.

You’re halfway through composing a complaint about it when your brain catches up to what your eyes are seeing.

Winter, dead center of the marble floor.

Facing her: a man with perfectly styled hair and a smile that you hate already.

“What are you doing here?” Winter asks, her voice bouncing softly off the stone.

You and Karina slow automatically, the box suddenly very, very heavy in your hands.

“I came to see you,” he says, simply. “Like you wanted.”

Your stomach sours. Winter doesn’t move, face blank in that way you now know means she’s feeling too much. The tacky tree sparkles behind her, logo burning above her head like some sick halo.

“Why?” she asks, eyes trembling like the heat beneath her skin was melting her mask.

He steps closer. “Because I love you, Kim Minjeong.”

And you stand there in the lobby with a ridiculous box of Christmas cakes, next to the one person who keeps handing you small, clean kindnesses, watching the man who taught Winter how to weaponize everything—including you—step neatly back into her life.

Who's your favorite character so far?

Winter

Ningning

Karina

Voting ended onDec 15, 2025

[i-am-lifeform24]

AAAAAAAAAAA excitement!!

[i-am-lifeform24]

Lifeform being a 🐐 for initiating such a fun event for writers (and readers!). I can't imagine the time and effort that's been put into this writing challenge/project 😫😵

Just the masterlist post alone is crazy. Formatting and making sure the fics are in order and even tagging EVERY writer that is involved

Plus you have to format each entry and deal with Tumblr's shenanigans 💩

Hanni's body and what Wony is trying to show us is making me crazy

If a fic has 🌱 on it, it's a sapling: short, sweet, plotless smut.

If a fic has 🌲on it, it's a tree: long, spicy, story-driven smut.

I think you should add '🌳🌳🌳' as a symbol for a forest : For random group projects like this one in your welcome post

I love your own entry too! A lesson with Hanni and Wonyoung? 😛The height difference 🥴

I still look back on this collection fondly,,, it was so fun seeing what everyone wrote and putting it all together! Some of the writers there have retired by now, and there are a lot of new faces too, but i’m happy to find this ask again lol

Hanni is still my favorite idol!! I love these frisky asks

🪴Lifeform🪴

[i-am-lifeform24]

🌱Confidence Up Close🌱

"No! Not like that. Stick your bottom lip out more." The director's voice booms through the dimly lit warehouse, staff members quickly rushing in from behind, avoiding his gaze.

Anna freezes, staying still as her team members groan, not again. They are quickly swarmed by brushes and puffs of powder, the flaming set pieces of the fire-themed M/V crackling in the background. The girl awkwardly resumes her pose; finger on red lips, one leg stretched out behind, head raised as she gives the camera her best, sultry stare.

Her stomach falls when the director pokes his head out from behind the large, mounted camera, mouth in a thin line. "Anna, you look exactly the same. We've done this scene over and over and over again. What take is this?" He gestures to the pile of spent clapperboards. "50? More? We aren't even in the chorus yet."

The other girls have their eyes glued to the concrete floor, stained with tire tracks and splashes of fake oil. It's a beautiful set, Anna thinks, but she's ruining it for everyone. The sound of hushed whispers; the gossip of interns and YG executives lounging about near the entrance, fades in and out of her ears. Being an idol means being efficient, being perfect. Right now, she's far from it.

The director sighs, "Gawon, you have the same part later on. Show her how it's done." He says it expectantly, like it's a fact that Gawon will get it right. Anna's cheeks burn, the specks of dirt on the floor suddenly a lot more interesting. From the corner of her eye, she sees Gawon give her a small, apologetic look, then the switch flips.

She sticks her butt out behind her, framing her gorgeous face with her hands, before pouting, a proper, teasing look. Her catlike eyes, a word always used to describe Anna, pierce into the lens in a way that leaves the director stunned, before she tops it off with a slow, sexy wink.

Anna looks at her longingly, she winces, bracing. This is going to hurt. "There, was that so hard? . You know the last girl group I directed for? BLACKPINK. They told me you're supposed to be as beautiful as Jisoo. That bitch barely has presence, but i'd watch her fail a thousand times over sitting here having to work with you." He says that last part with a growl, and the whispers hush, the slow drip of fake, busted pipes all Anna can hear. He's right. She's a failure. She's nothing. What was she thinking, moving to Korea, singing and dancing like she was any good at it. She should just-

"Alright, alright, that's enough for now" Anna's eyes widen, head perking up when you saunter forward, clapping her shoulder. "Director, I apologize, but is it alright if we redo the scenes tomorrow?" You turn back at the director, giving him a curt bow, and Anna quickly follows, her head pushed down by your other hand. The old, scruffy man lights a cigarette, clambering down from the camera rig. "Fine, but you're paying me double. Can't bother with this shit." You slowly bow low, eyeing him as you go down. The other members sigh, rolling their eyes and shuffling away. "Certainly. Anna?" You look back at her. Head low, she softly replies, "Yes?"

"Follow me."

------------------------------------🪴-----------------------------------------

God, you really hate rain.

"Stupid defogger's doing jack shit. Anna, you know anything about cars?" You ask, munching on a cracker while absentmindedly mushing the defog button. "None, sir... sorry." She says, her big eyes tracking your face through the rearview mirror. You eye her, the girl is still scared, tucked into her favorite hoodie, knees up to her chest like she just saw a nightmare. "Yeah, it's alright..." you whisper. To be fair, she has guts, you can't imagine getting berated like that for hours. Soon, the high-pitched swishes of the windshield wipers fill the car, the low hum of the engine, and Anna's eyes, locked on you like you're the next one to scare her, all you can focus on in the tricky silence.

There goes the fucking mood. You think, resting one hand on the steering wheel as you drive through water-licked mountain roads. The first day was going so well. The fan meet went amazingly, courtesy of Gawon going viral with that cute cat costume. The variety show in the afternoon? Hilarious! You thought the hosts were dying after Sooin cracked joke after joke. Don't even mention getting to shoot a Tiktok challenge with IVE. Narin, that girl is way more sociable than you give her credit for.

Then it all went to shit.

As you take a long, curving turn past the small city center, you wonder if you should tell Anna off; use the last 10 minutes before you get home to really let her know that she, fucked, up. But something tells you that that's not the call here. Rubbing the ring on your finger, you can still hear the last superstar you worked in your ear, her voice still sounding like she can't wait to tell you another stupid joke. "I can only do all this idol stuff because you never gave up on me, Mr. Manager."

Anna cocks her head, "Sir? Are you alright?"

Shit, she's perceptive. You shake it off, "Never better. Here we are!" You flash her the best cocky grin you can muster, and the girl gives you an awkward, surprised smile. She leans her head on the window, the shadows of trees flashing on her face, the curious idol craning her neck as the gravel crunches below your tires, car pulling into the large driveway. "Now, let's fix those nerves of yours."

------------------------------------🪴-----------------------------------------

Anna hugs her shoulders tightly, "I'm not sure about this, sir. This is something Gawon would wear."

"No, no, trust me! This is your shit." You smile, playfully bouncing on the balls of your feet. This is it! The. Outfit. You grab the trembling idol's hand and lead her to the end of the dressing room. The place is one large, carpeted circle, where your mother used to try out all her stuff. Rows and rows of every possible garment, or "costumes, dear" as she used to call them, hang on racks, bathed in warm, yellow light. You thought that it would take longer to find Anna something that suits her, but God must be giving you a break to end your first day or something.

"See? Twirl around for me, you look great!" You cheer, watching as Anna clumsily turns herself in front of the large, full-sized mirror. First, she hunches her shoulders forward and back, adjusting the invisible straps. Then, she pulls the hem of her white shorts up and down her slender hips, as if she's not really sure that any of them fit well. Finally, she turns her back to the mirror, those large, sad eyes bearing into yours.

"It feels weird, sir. I haven't worn anything like this since the audition. They usually have me in dresses and stuff, to look more like a princess, they say..." Anna says shyly, hands behind her back. You cross your arms, "Well, they're stupid. Didn't you tell them the truth?" Her eyebrows furrow at that. "Tell them what?"

You laugh, stepping closer. "That you like wearing stuff like this. Come on, you look so much more comfy in that top than that one-piece the director had you posing in." Anna stares at you, open-mouthed. What, she didn't think you'd notice? The girl's been staring down all this time. When trying every other piece in here, she barely glanced at the mirror, couldn't be convinced to pose either. This might be the first time you've seen her face up close. She takes a step back, dark irises flitting from side to side. "I- I do like it, sir." Worry traces your face, and you step forward again, "So why don't you tell them? Anna, you're the visual. They'd let you wear whatever you want."

The girl blushes at that, "Thank you, sir... it's just. This is the last thing I have? If that makes sense? Dancing, singing, posing, the others are all better. What if I show myself off, and director tells me to shut up and watch again? I, I don't know if I could-" Anna stammers, leaning from side to side, swaying on her high heels as she tries to explain.

You get it now, this problem is the same as that time. Like your last idol, she needs to feel like there's something only she can do. Anna trails off, stopping in place and wincing, waiting for you to reprimand her for speaking her mind.

If this is like the last time, that means that there's only one way to convince her she's special.

You have to show her.

Slowly, you step forward, taking Anna's chin between your thumb and index finger, your ring glinting in the warm light. Her eyes flutter open, "S-sir?"

You reply in a low, soothing voice, "Trust me. Looks aren't the last thing you have." The shy girl's lips part, and she whispers, "But they are, nobody actually likes me, nobody- mmm" You kiss her, softly, tasting the strawberry on her lips. Anna's eyes shoot open, before closing, the girl staying in place. She isn't leaning away, but her lips barely move, this is your chance.

Placing your hand on her lower back, you pull the girl in, leaning down to slowly trace her lips with your tongue, coaxing her mouth open. She mewls, her hands, suspended in the air, slowly resting on your shoulders. The warm wetness of Anna's lips fills your senses, the softness slowing your every move. You drum your fingers on her lower back, feeling the girl shift and settle against your chest. She has to feel like this is hers. She decides what happens next.

Just as you think you're going to run out of air, Anna detaches, still around your neck as she gingerly places her forehead on yours. It's nostalgic, how a line of spit connects you both, how Anna's eyes crinkle like hers in the warm light. She softly asks, the whisper hot on your cheek. "Was I good?"

"The best." You reply with a gentle smile, moving your hands down to squeeze her ass. Anna yelps, leaning into you as she breaks into a first, bright smile. There it is. There's the visual you were promised. Hopefully it's not the last.

"I want you to see yourself." You say, voice low, heart pumping. She nods quietly, still smiling, the dimples on her cheeks adorable as you turn her around. Anna braces against the mirror, ass out, back arching, like it's natural. You raise an eyebrow, "You're a dirty girl, huh?"

She flushes, "N-no! I just, please, sir." You laugh, pulling her shorts and underwear down those long, beautiful legs. You grab one ankle, and Anna squeals, "Sorry! I'm just, isn't it dirty down there?" There she goes again. You click your tongue, kissing up her thigh, your hands having the girl kick those pesky clothes off. She sighs, resting her head on the cool glass of the mirror. "Not to me, Anna." you whisper, kissing the lines of her lower back as you unbuckle your belt. She hears it, shaking her bare ass, the warmth from her crotch a big fucking tease as your fingers massage the curves of her perfect butt.

Soon, you're pressing your cockhead against Anna's hot, moist pussy lips. You grab her by the shoulders, and the rookie idol puts her hands on the glass, meeting your eyes in the reflection. "Watch. Nobody can match you. Nobody's even close to as gorgeous." You whisper, punctuating each word with an inch stuffed into her warm, inviting hole. "Mmm, s-sir..." Anna's breathing turns erratic, the girl's eyes locked on her bent over figure, on the outline of her perky tits in the thin, red crop top, on how her creamy thighs are spread well to take her manager's cock.

"Deep! You're making me feel so... oh, sir!" She moans when you bottom out, half-lidded eyes staring at you in the mirror. It's so fucking sexy, how the once shy girl now bites her lip, pushing her ass against you, fully accepting of your cock invading her dripping folds. It'll take some work, a few weeks maybe, like before, finding out what she likes, but right now, all you can think about is how her walls massage you so softly, as if with every movement, she's trying to wax pleasure into inch of your length.

"Sir! Y-yes!" Anna mewls, soft, rhythmic thuds of heels on carpet filling the room when you start fucking into her with long, hard strokes. Take your whole length out, just as your head rests between the ends of her grasping folds, then bottom back in. Hard. Anna takes it so well, one hand braced on the mirror, the other a fist in her mouth as she tries to stifle her moans. She obediently stays bent, sweat running down her back as you well and truly mate. But still, something is missing.

"Anna." You groan, slowing your thrusts. "Oh no, am I not doing well, sir?" She asks, looking over her shoulder, the damp fabric of the top sticking to the sides of her hanging tits. Even now, she's so desperate to please. You might as well use it to your advantage. "I want you to look." you command, gesturing with your eyes at the mirror, before bringing one leg up, your other hand still cradling her hip, spreading the girls' soaked thighs for the mirror to see.

Anna's eyes dart away for a moment, her hand covering her mouth as you start fucking into her hard and fast. "N-no sir! Please, you're spreading me, It's embarrassing!" You keep fucking into her, still holding one of her legs up, enjoying how much tighter she's getting. The girl likes this, likes watching, likes seeing how good she looks taking you. You just have to convince her.

Finding her eyes in the mirror, you give Anna another, gentle smile. "C'mon, look at yourself. You're so beautiful, taking my cock." She blushes, the slaps of your crotch against her own loud and constant as she finally gives herself a good, proper look. Anna's brown hair cascades over her shoulders, sweat flowing down her armpits as the bent idol braces herself on the mirror. She watches her leg fold for you, heel shaking in the air as her tight body contorts to receive your caring, firm fucking. Finally, she looks at the space where you two are connected, splatters of slick dripping onto the mirror, flashes of your hard rod, pistoning into her needy little pussy, clear as day on the polished surface. This isn't sex; its worship. The only way you can show this girl how much she's wanted.

"I- I'm yours, sir! I love this, love, love watching you- agh!" She screams, now staring over her shoulder, tongue out, dark, half-lidded irises meeting yours while you start to speed up. You're close, and she knows it.

"Watching me... fuck! watching me what, Anna?" You groan, voice husky, hand tight on her raised thigh as you stretch the girl, slick dripping down your cock, a tight rumble in your core. She licks her lips, panting, melting into a cock-drunk smile. "L-love watching you cum in me! Please!"

That's all it takes.

You let go of Anna's leg with a sharp thud, grabbing both of her hips to pull out as fast as you can. "Oh, oh fuck! Don't move!" You moan, directing the first spurts of your seed on her ass. You shoot cum all over her luscious butt, then aiming higher, the girl shaking, arching as she feels hot shots of your thick seed on her back. "Yes... yes!" Anna moans, eyes looking back at you while you finish on her gorgeous backside. When you finish, she drops down on her knees, slowly bringing her tongue to suckle on your cockhead.

"Fuck, that was good." you mutter, smiling kindly down at the idol. She smiles back at you, mouth stuffed with cock, red top soaked with sweat, tight around her tits. You palm the back of her head, panting, "You were good, Anna. Didn't you see? How do you think you looked?"

Anna pops your cock out of her mouth, reaching down to give your balls a few shy licks. She replies softly, that beautiful face radiant in the warm light of the dressing room.

"Beautiful, sir. I looked beautiful."

[i-am-lifeform24]

🌱Brazen Buzzing Wanderlust🌱

"Yeah fuck this place! Seriously..." You groan, stumbling out onto the alley. Two shadows tower over your back, the sound of cheers and music booming through the open door. "Sorry, buddy. The girls are off limits, you know the rules." You shoot the chuckling bouncer a dirty look as he shuts the door. There goes that plan. Payday, and you can't throw some money at a stripper?

Right as you're dusting yourself off, the grit of old concrete sticking to your palms, you hear a high, warm laugh, "Again? Dude, she does not want you touching her." Yunjin leans against the brick wall, red hair over one shoulder, lips curling up slightly, like she's trying not to ridicule you too much.

You grunt, "Didn't ask, loser. Plus, I think she likes me." Yunjin's eyes widen at that, and she keels over, laughing, "Likes you? You're just her most loyal customer, weirdo. If she liked you, you wouldn't be out here. What did you do anyway?" That stings. You remember being stretched out on the plush, semicircle couch, expensive bottles arranged around Chaewon's heels as she hugs the shimmering pole. God, she was so, so hot. Dressed in that little black crop top, with those shiny, skimpy shorts. You can still see her toned legs stretching and folding, her eyes finding yours as she grinned down at you. When she hung on the pole, taking off a shoe to pour champagne down her leg, how could you resist leaning up to take a lick?

Rubbing your sore jaw, the kick is still fresh. "I fell for the champagne thing, alright? Sorry, it's been a long week." You brace for Yunjin to laugh again, but she just chuckles, crouching down to cup your face and run her thumb over the red, growing bruise. "You really should stop coming here, yknow? That slut will wring you dry."

You give her a tired smirk, "Don't really have much except for work, I could use that girl wringing me dry." Yunjin sighs, before leaning down to stare into your eyes, an excited glint growing in her dark pupils. "Hmm, you do look like you'd need a good fuck. Wanna join my side-gig?" Your ears perk up at that. Side-gig? You thought stripping was a full-time thing, with the shitty hours and all. "That depends, are you gonna take all my money and throw me out here too?" Yunjin giggles, that same, light sound filling the smelly alleyway. "I'll be the one paying you, actually, you just gotta do as I say."

You look up at your friend. Maybe it's the alcohol whispering, but you can't help but notice how drop-dead gorgeous she looks. The thin crop top does nothing the curve of her tits, the smooth lines of her exposed stomach delicious under the flickering streetlights. Your eyes are drawn to her shorts, how they barely cover her teasing legs, juicy thighs crossed over while she leans on the wall, arms crossed, waiting for your response.

Yunjin's always been known as the eccentric one, the never drunk, but always playful stripper who floats around the club, teasing, never giving a dance. You always assumed that she was fucking the owner, but maybe she's a loser, just like you. A loser who needs this mysterious, enticing side-gig to survive.

"So? Are you coming? or are you just gonna keep staring?" She raises an eyebrow, cocking her hip while she offers you a hand. Whatever, you're starting to hate how your empty wallet feels in your pocket. Might as well try to make some money back. You reach up, firmly clasping your hand around hers.

"I'm in, where to?" -------------------------------------🪴----------------------------------------

The light scent of cotton candy wafts through the air as you roam through the half-empty pier. A couple families are still here, parents lazily sitting on benches while kids try their hands at the last few carnival games to close. Warm, yellow lights fill the wide wooden walkway, and in all honesty, it's pretty relaxing, walking along the sea, surrounded by a much more tame nightlife than what you're used to.

Yunjin skips ahead, spinning, walking backwards, hands behind her back, clearly reveling in the festive mood. Her dark red hair blows in the salty wind, and she gives you a bright smile, "Almost there, loser. Just a bit further." You jog forward until you're shoulder to shoulder, your steps sluggish, complaining "We've been walking for like 30 minutes, and you haven't even explained what the hell this 'side-gig' is. Yunjin, you know how early I leave for work tomorrow." She grins, grabbing your arm and leading you down another wooden path. You flinch, now you're strolling on the pier just like every other couple here for a late night walk. "You're just blue-balled. Don't worry, we'll fix that soon."

Your eyes dart to hers, feet suddenly not so heavy, "Really? Hard to believe you'd ever fuck anyone." She giggles, pressing her bubbly chest into your arm. "You're a stupid, lonely loser, but you're not just anyone." Yunjin guides your hand down to the space between her thighs, forcefully having you cup her clothed pussy. "Hey! Watch it!" You hiss, trying to pry your hand away. This is what they meant when they said that she's crazy. Thank god there doesn't seem to be anyone around, but still, this is a bit too much. Ignoring you, Yunjin takes her phone out of her pocket, turning the camera on, your arm still trapped in her iron grip. "Shh, we're gonna make so much cash, all you have to do is record, baby."

You barely register that last part before she pushes you into a small alley. While it would be funny to say that you've fallen into two alleys tonight, this one doesn't even really qualify. It's a wide space in between two wooden booths, each with lines of kids waiting their turn to play. You see them at the corner of your eye, clumsily palming cheap water-guns and faded basketballs. They don't notice you, having entered from a walkway neighboring the closed-off backside of the stalls, but you're awfully close, a few feet at best.

Yunjin drops to her knees with a thud, the sea sloshing peacefully beneath your feet. She grins at you, naughty fingers drumming on your hardening crotch. "Finally shut you up, huh? You should've told me that you wanted to be called that." You're breathing faster now, petrified. "Shut up, let's get out of here, they're too close!" You hiss, palms flush against the wall. Loud, excited shouts erupt right behind you, an inch of old wood the difference between a good time and public indecency. But still, you don't move.

Yunjin smiles. She knows that you're all talk, handing you her phone, already set to record. "Baby... come on, don't you want me to suck your cock?" Your eyes narrow at that, and it feels like the noise drowns out with the waves. It's been such a long night, and to tell the truth, you've been ready to burst since the moment you got that sweet taste of Chaewon's thighs. If they find out, you'll deal with it when it happens. Yunjin kneeling down, fingers squeezing your bulge, licking her lips? It's too much for anyone to deny.

"Go on then, do it babe." You growl, unbuckling your belt and roughly shoving your pants down, underwear and all. You hit record on the phone just as your cock springs out, slapping Yunjin on the cheek. She opens her mouth, lips curling into a smile. "Big, I knew you were big, baby." The stripper, or should you say, performer, says that last part straight into the camera, and you realize that you're being used in all this; a cock with a part to play. Not that you mind, especially with the girl quickly licking down the sides of your length.

If Yunjin cared at all for subtlety, you don't see it. She grips your thighs strongly, reaching down to lather your cock with hot, sticky spit. The girl stares up into the camera, and you can barely concentrate enough to stop the phone from slipping from your fingers and between the floorboards. "Fuck, you're a bigger slut than Chaewon." you mutter, the weeks of tiredness leaving your body when Yunjin suddenly takes your whole length into her mouth. She's better than other cheap whores you've had on the other nights you've been blue-balled, way, way better. You center the camera on her teasing, proud eyes, red lips making a show of opening and closing around your rod, husky moans drawn out of her throat with every inch you stuff into her.

Yunjin pops your cock out of her mouth, giggling as she lays it on her nose, tongue flicking out to service the wet dick covering her face. She addresses the camera in a low, silky voice, "Show them where we are, baby. it's fucking exciting, right? They're so close." You chuckle, catching your breath. She's right, if you're going to be selling this, you've got to illustrate the risk.

You pan the camera to the end of the alley, the railing of the pier visible, as well as shadows from the passing visitors. The camera sucks up the chatter, the laughing, the shouts, the zoom unnecessary to show that one curious teenager poking their head past the stall at your back? It'll be way more than enough to ruin your little bout of fun.

You want to show more, maybe inch a little bit closer to the opening before you let Yunjin suck your cock again, but she's way ahead of you. "Baby, back here, don't you wanna watch it go in?" She slurs, and you swing the camera back in front, where Yunjin's braced against the wall, ass out, back arched, shorts slid down to her feet. "Fuck, babe, can't wait." you grin, shuffling forward, slacks still pooled around your ankles. Slowly, you push your cockhead into Yunjin's dripping, swollen lips. "Shit, you're so- how?" You groan, the phone shaking in your free hand while stripper's walls hug you tightly. It's like she's sucking you in, wet walls rushing, pulling your member deeper into a suffocating, hot embrace. "Yes! You're so big baby, perfect for my fucking pussy." Yunjin moans loudly, pushing her perfect ass against your crotch when you finally bottom out. She looks behind, and you show the camera her outstretched back, slick with sweat, her mouth stretched in an "o" as you start to pound her.

She's way too tight, her pussy lips hugging your cock every time you draw yourself out of her heat. Slowly, you start to speed up, the sound of you spearing into her filling the tight alley. A grin spreads on your face. This is it, this is life. A moaning, hot girl on your cock, begging for every stroke, every push into her core. Letting your frustrations out on her, feeling the blood rush through your thighs as you fuck and fuck and fuck, the unknowing audience just meters away be damned. You've never felt this powerful, this free. It's fucking great.

Yunjin screams when you bottom out inside her, moving the camera beside her face as you use the other hand to brace on the wall. A primitive shaky cam, but effective, and the mewling girl quickly throws her hair over the other shoulder to give the camera a sultry look while she takes your rough fucking. "You feel so fucking good, baby. You fill me up so perfect." Yunjin groans, panting, looking from the camera, then up to your hunched form as you work your cock deeper and deeper inside her with every thrust. "Tight, you're too fucking tight, I'm gonna... fuck!" You grunt, bottoming out inside the girl, leaning on the wall, one hand still pushing the phone close to her face.

You just need a break, a short break, or you might explode way too soon. Yunjin said this was a side-gig, but with the pill or not, you'd rather not risk her carrying your baby before you guys make some real money.

"No... don't stop, I want it." Yunjin moans, your eyes shooting open when her pussy tightens around your cock. She looks behind her, looking so fucking needy when she slaps the phone out of your hand, instead guiding your callous fingers to cup her covered tits. You start throbbing inside her, and you give her a look, pointedly gesturing with your chin to the black screen of her phone, now recording the planks you stand on. "You sure?" you ask, ready to pull out, ready to prop the phone back up and continue this dangerous performance.

Yunjin bites her lip, blinking at you slowly, before she starts gyrating her hips, flush against your crotch, your cock snug in her walls. "Do it, fill me with your hot fucking cum, baby."

Fuck. That's all you need to hear.

"You're my fucking slut babe, you hear me?" You growl, roughly pulling her tube top down, Yunjin's nipples hard beneath your fingers while you wildly fuck into her. "Yeah, yeah i'm your fucking slut!" Yunjin mewls, biting one hand, trying not to scream, the sound of the kids laughing just moments away. Her juices start dripping down your length, shots of pleasure shooting up your spine every time your balls slap against her clit. Her walls rhythmically tighten, creamy juices making each slide in and out easier and easier.

You've always wanted to hear those words from Chaewon, drowning in the fantasy that if you just threw enough money at her, she'd finally let you ravage her perfect little body. But Yunjin? Watching her back arch for you, meeting her eyes every time she moans out your name, uncaring if anyone sees, the recording phone left as a record of how hard you're fucking her. You wish that you'd spent every penny on her instead, that you'd found this girl and her obedient, slutty pussy sooner.

A familiar knot in your gut, and you pull Yunjin up by those perfect, full breasts, the heat of her back flush against your chest. "I'm gonna fill you, babe, fucking fill you." Your voice is husky, every breath deepening as you feel her womanhood tighten. You're thrusting harder now, without any rhyme or rhythm, chasing your release. Yunjin throws her head back against your shoulder, eyes closed, mouth open, "Yeah... yeah... use me, cum... baby." You blow, hard, stumbling forward against the wooden wall. Your cock starts spewing hot, sticky globs of cum into Yunjin's tight cunt. "Mmm! Yeah... yeah!" Her eyes shoot open, tongue lolling out while her ass pushes against you. God, she just, keeps, taking. Her gushing pussy squeezes around your cock, drawing out every bit of your pent-up release. You close your eyes, focusing on the feeling of Yunjin's tits between your fingers as your hips give her a few more strong thrusts. She's draining you good, just like she promised.

A moment later, and you plop out of her, falling backwards to sit against the adjacent stall's wall. "That was... fuck, sorry." You apologize, grabbing the phone as you direct it upwards. Yunjin gasps, giggling, "No, it's hotter this way, show them." You smile, this girl is crazy. You've totally ruined the shoot, but she doesn't even mind. Slowly, you tap the phone, focusing the camera on the spent slut's outstretched ass. Pearly globs of cum drip from her spread, pink lips, and Yunjin smiles behind at the camera, shaking her ass a bit, licking her lips when another line of cum pushes out of her used pussy.

You give her a tired grin, looking to the left, shadows of the lazy crowd still passing, the clacks of feet on sea-stained wood still oblivious to how much seed you just pumped into this girl. Your fingers hover over the red square to stop recording, but then Yunjin moans.

She turns around, spreading her legs, cum still dripping down her inner thigh. The look in her eyes says it all. '

"Let's give them round two, baby."

[i-am-lifeform24]

🌲Serendipitous Spermlympic Participation🌲

Note: I really liked writing this even if the premise is so so stupid lmao, I wanted to give up on it a few times, but they say to never kill your babies, right? Enjoy! 🪴

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” You shout over your shoulder, crouching down to pick the quickly scattering envelopes off the floor. Does this guy have any idea how long it took to collect these? You shoot your bully a dirty look as he rushes into the crowd, camera still swinging over his shoulder.  

People swarm around your feet, leaving dirty imprints on the letters as they rush past. Gritting your teeth, you slowly gather your payload, cradling paper in your arms and quickly running to the nearest bench. Take airport duty, they said. One collection for the day instead of five sounded real good about 30 minutes ago, but now? It looks like you’ll have a lot of explaining to do to Mr. Kim. 

Zipping up your messenger bag, you take a few deep breaths. The glass ceiling glitters with morning sunlight, a crisscross of steel bars hanging above. Just ahead, twenty terminals lie neatly arranged from left to right, the large number five glowing as you sit and stare. You’ve always had a fascination with people-watching; with trying to figure out what strangers think and feel. It’s why you took this job in the first place, to feel that little shot of joy from seeing the elderly couple sipping coffee through faded windows, from the newlyweds hunched over their first tax sheet, from the curious dog staring as you deliver mail. It’s like watching tiny movies with every delivery, and not to mention, your boss pays pretty well, considering that you’re still a student and all. 

Speaking of Mr. Kim, you quickly take a peek to see if he texted, pulling half the screen out of your pocket. The old man can’t help but worry, you’re the biggest pain in his ass after all. You slide the phone back in, watching a little boy pull along his mini-luggage. If only you could pay him back for his kindness. If only you weren’t so, you know, poor. You sigh, standing up, your dark blue mailman's cap snug on your head. There’s no use avoiding it, time to head back. The drive’s only an hour, and if you make it quick, maybe he’ll finish shouting your ear off before lunch.

But just as you make your way to the exit, the doors abruptly slide open, the sound of screams, like it’s a zombie apocalypse, announcing the biggest crowd you’ve ever seen. “Excuse me! Hey!” You shout, pushed toward the terminals by black coats shuffling backwards. You clutch your bag, trying desperately to keep the mail safe while you’re unceremoniously pushed aside. Dumbfounded, you stumble back to the bench. What’s going on? You wonder, watching passerbys stop and gawk, some dropping everything just to hastily rush into the crowd. You’re used to imagining these sorts of things happening, to pushing them out of your head and onto horribly formatted screenplays, not actually being a part of them. 

“Yujin! Oh my god! It’s Yujin!” A girl screams, dragging her mother, equally confused as you, to stick her head into the growing mass of camera flashes and excited squeals. You shake your head, instinctively shooting up to do the same. Yujin? Ahn Yujin? No fucking way. Quickly, you pry the case off your phone to claw at the photocard stuck to the back. You clamber onto the bench, tiptoeing like a child to try and get a better look. Mr. Kim will have to wait, you’ve been a fan for like, years! 

You remember making characters with her exact personality for creative writing, reusing her variety show lines to capture that extra bit of charm for the first few scripts that got you into film school in the first place. Bouncing on the balls of your feet, you’re giddy, smiling at the prospect of maybe, just maybe, getting your photocard signed. You can already see her. She’s even more bubbly in real life. Chic, stylish, waving at the cameras with a smile, stunning the crowd in a gorgeous, all-black outfit. It’s crazy that you can hear her boots clacking just a few feet away, that if you can just throw your hand out, you might just get an autograph.

But just as you slide off the bench and start rushing towards her, you’re jolted in the opposite direction. 

Someone takes your hand. 

At first, you don’t even really register it, the stranger almost pulling your arm out of its socket as your right foot still steps towards the celebrity of your dreams. Your messenger bag swings, comically, while your unwilling abductor wraps their arm around yours, spinning you so that you’re face to face. 

Who the hell? Heat rises through your chest, a bubbling frustration that makes you suck your cheeks in as you’re taken away from Yujin. Can’t you get a win today? Just one, please? As you open your mouth to cuss out the rude little harasser, a soft, pleading voice enters your ears. “Shh, I need your help.” Your eyes slowly focus on the person in front of you, and you stop breathing. 

Jang Wonyoung, global superstar, the definitive IT-girl of Kpop, flooder of your twitter feed, is staring right at you. Her body pushes, hard, as she pulls the both of you to the nearest wall. With her back to the crowd, you look like a couple that took the chance to get a little handsy before a long flight. But to you? The scene is anything but. Your mouth lies open, palms embarrassingly clammy,  heart about to barrel out of your chest like a bull seeing red for the first time. 

What is she doing here? And more importantly, why did the most popular idol on the planet just pin you against an airport wall? Before you can get a word out, Wonyoung hastily pushes a finger to your lips. She quickly starts looking behind, biting her lip, eyes darting around as if she’s making sure that nobody’s staring. Back against the hard linoleum, you muster the will to pry your eyes off her face and take a good, proper look at your second favorite idol.

Dark brown hair cascades over her bare shoulders, a tight, striped tube top hugging her lithe figure. Wonyoung smells really, really good; like dandelions on a sunday morning, which is weird, since you always thought that she’d smell much more fancy, maybe more like roses. Her small hand stays wrapped around yours, skin expensively soft, a reminder that someone like you has no business having your fingers intertwined with hers. The top highlights the frantic girl’s subtle curves, with a pair of jeans wrapped around her perky ass.  Before you can finish that thought, you groan out in pain, “Ow!”  One leg presses you into the wall, pushed up against your crotch, while the other pushes against the floor, keeping you pinned.

Wonyoung quickly looks back, like she didn’t mean to totally knock the wind out of you. Her knee quickly relieves some pressure as her eyes finally meet yours. “Sorry, sorry! Are you okay?” You take a moment to think of what to say. With a gulp, you slowly reply, keeping your hands up against the wall, “Physically? Yeah. But you’re… I can’t even like, what?” Wonyoung raises an eyebrow, and for a moment, the fear dissolves, and she laughs. You gradually start chuckling with her, ever aware of her knee pressed up against your crotch, of the heat of her chest as she gives you a de-facto hug. You must be doing something right, if you can get that kind of reaction out of someone like her. 

Wonyoung steps back, the rushing crowd slowly receding behind her, pushing after Yujin. “I can explain, if you’re not busy.” She says that last part with a worried lilt, neck tilting as the idol crosses her arms and nods at your bag. You don’t know where this is headed, and honestly, you find yourself still craning your neck to stare at the distant crowd, the bitterness of losing your chance with Yujin stinging, your photocard hastily shoved into one pocket. You look between Wonyoung, her sparkly eyes pleading, hands clasped behind her back, and the clamoring, shuffling hodgepodge of photographers and fans.  Slowly, you drop your messenger bag, fumbling with your phone to put Mr. Kim on mute. You shake your head quickly, “Unless you can call having an old man shout at you all afternoon much of a plan. I’m all ears.” Fuck it, can’t hurt to hear her out.

—-----------------------------------🌱—--------------------------------------

Before you know it, you find yourself in a very expensive seat, the smell of perfumed satin drifting about, mixed with clinking wine glasses and expensive cutlery. 

You slap some jelly on a croissant, taking a huge bite, “You don’t like this stuff?” you ask, using the half-eaten piece of bread to gesture at Wonyoung. She sips some orange juice, toned legs crossed as she sits with impossibly good posture. “I’m not a big breakfast person. Just fruit keeps the skin moisturized and all.” she says quietly, eyes flitting from your plate to your mouth. It’s like she’s some super advanced robot; scanning you, looking for something that you’re not even sure is there. It’s nerveracking. 

Gulping down another bite of bread, you poke at the bacon on your plate, silently avoiding her gaze. “So, Ms. Wonyoung? Can you please explain what’s going on?” You chew carefully as you look up at her. She’s been nice enough to give you this meal for free. Another day of instant noodles, and your guts might have just turned into plastic. But you’re not stupid enough to think that this doesn’t come with a price. Plus, there’s the whole matter of Yujin, and why she’s hiding around instead of, you know, facing the paparazzi with her groupmate. 

Wonyoung leans back into the couch, legs still crossed, her foot tapping against the coffee table with all your food on it. She calmly replies, “Please, call me Wonyoung.” You give her a small smile back, gesturing to continue. Wonyoung purses her lips, “There’s a… competition I need your help with.” It’s as if it’s taboo, the way she says it. And immediately, your interest is piqued. You’ve never been much of the athletic, or competitive type, really. Maybe it’s an esports thing? You used to love League of Legends back in high school. You take a sip of water, your hands clasped together as you lean forward and nod, “Okay? What kind of competition? Because honestly, I was never the type to get picked first in gym class. ” She laughs, another sweet, high giggle that pierces through the breakfast buffet chatter. “Not that kind of competition! I can explain, but can you promise not to get angry? You’re a fan. I wouldn’t want you to start hating us.” 

Gingerly, you put the plate down, your heart skipping a beat. “I’d never hate you guys! Promise! Watching your content gets me through like, half the day.” It’s true, inspiration is pretty hard to come by when you don’t have much of a life. In between long drives to clients, and classes awkwardly separated by half hour blocks, watching IVE, watching Wonyoung, having so much fun is a welcome blessing. She smiles, her eyes wrinkling up in a way that somehow looks way clearer than 1080p, “Thank you, I’ll, this is a bit embarrassing…” Wonyoung stops to sit up straighter, if that was even possible, resting her small hands on her knees. You wait for her to continue, a smile creeping up your lips as you take a sip of juice. She’s way too cute. Your ogling is interrupted as Wonyoung slowly extends one finger, pointing at your crotch. “I need that.” 

You nearly spit orange all over her. “...What?” You croak out, taking a moment to swallow. She’s staring at you steady, her back arched, body keeping impressively still despite the rushing travellers rolling suitcases in between the tables. 

“You’re serious?” You repeat. She leans forward, voice low, the soft curves of her breasts pushing against the striped tank top. “I’m serious. They just told me on the way here, and I really, really need a partner for the race.” Your ears perk up at that. Okay, there’s some sort of gimmick here. For a moment, you think that this is some prank, that these people would all turn around, and a camera would pop out from under the table. Aha! Got you! You’d be posted all over twitter as that IVE stan in minutes. But a part of you wants to see if Wonyong is talking about something real, something bigger than another twist in your already screwed up day. 

Slowly, you nod at her, and she exhales in relief, as if she was waiting to see if you’d let her continue. “Have you heard of the sperm race? The one in LA.” You quickly shake your head, leaning forward and squinting at her, “Sorry, what? You’re joking.” She can’t blame you, it sounds ridiculous . Sperm race? Is that code for something? Every second, this looks more and more like a prank show. Wonyoung spots the crease in your eyebrows. She waves her hands in a frantic ‘no’, her voice wavering as she starts to stutter, “I’m not joking! It’s a real thing! People submit sperm samples, then they shoot them into a super tiny obstacle course. The winner is the sperm who… gets to the end first” 

You take a bite of bacon, staring at the strips of fat on your fork while listening. It’s a lot to take in. But it’s not exactly too crazy. People are having all sorts of competitions nowadays, and you have to admit, the concept is pretty funny. But that still doesn’t answer your question. “Why me?” You ask, finally meeting Wonyoung’s gaze. The girl’s eyes narrow, and she puts her juice-filled wine glass down. “Honestly? The plan was to find the first decent looking guy I could, the kind of guy who wouldn’t…” The idol looks down, her perfect posture faltering for just a moment. 

You soften your voice, reaching over the table to grab her hand. “Wouldn’t?” She flinches at the contact, but doesn’t shrug away, taking a deep breath before looking back up at you. The look is different now, unsteady, cheeks red, dark pupils pleading. You feel like you’re the first person to see her make that face. “Wouldn’t tell, wouldn’t expose me. I could tell from how you were looking at Yujin, you’re kind.” 

Now it’s your turn to go red. Mr. Kim, your professors, your parents, they’ve called you a lot of things, from irresponsible, to nerdy, to useless, but never that, never kind. You squeeze her hand, which when you think about it, is insane. Who are you to have your fingers intertwined with the most famous idol in Kpop? It’s insane, but it feels weirdly right. “It is a crazy idea, but no, I wouldn’t tell.” It’s almost a whisper, but she hears it, and gives you a soft smile.

Suddenly, you’re aware of just how much you’ve leaned forward, and it looks like Wonyoung has noticed too. Her cheeks flush, before she quickly pulls her hand free. She coughs, and you quickly scoot back, taking a long sip, looking away, heart beating out of your chest. What are you doing? Get yourself together. Stop being a total weirdo! 

The beautiful idol fans her face, awkwardly staring at the slab of mahogany in between you two, her mouth pressed in a thin line. She tentatively starts, “I’m sorry, I got carried away…” You quickly shake your head, “No, it’s my bad! Honestly, I don’t know why I did that either.” She cocks her head, those twinkling eyes regarding you like a scene 20 minutes into a movie she likes, but can’t put her finger on why just yet. It’s an odd feeling, to be looked at like that, or to be looked at at all, but you gulp, holding her gaze. 

Wonyoung continues, a slight shrill in her voice, “For the competition, a group of other idols are participating. I don’t know who exactly, but this morning, the company let me know that I'm the only one without a partner.” You raise an eyebrow. Jang Wonyoung, unprepared? You always took her as the type to keep every aspect of her life in order, on schedule, perfect. Idols really are different behind the screen, huh. She gives you an embarrassed smile, “Yujin offered to be my distraction. So I could find someone before we fly out later.” Ah, smart. It sure distracted you. No wonder there aren’t any paparazzi scampering around this area, she’s buying her time. You look down, playing with the breadcrumbs on your plate. Hearing her out is one thing, but leaving the country? Abandoning your job, your life here, for a competition with a girl you don’t actually know? You might not be a director yet, but even you know that that premise is a bit too cliche to make for a story that ends well for you. You bite the inside of your cheek, looking up at Wonyoung, “I’m sorry, I know this competition or whatever must be pretty important, but still, I can’t just-” 

You stop, eyes widening. No way. 

Wonyoung quickly stands up, chair pushed back, screeching on the marble floor, and bows down. 

“Please be my partner!” 

You gawk at her. Jang Wonyoung has her head down at what, 60, 70 degrees? For the most popular idol on this planet, it might as well be 90. Her arms stick at her sides, the girl’s jitteriness gone, her feet set as she waits for you to respond. Servers rush by, hushed whispers exchanged between them as the nearest guests start craning their necks to look. People haven’t paid much attention to either of you so far, tucked in the corner of the buffet, but a beautiful girl bowing so fervently to a scruffy mailman is more than enough to shine the spotlight in your direction. You thought that she wanted to be subtle. This is anything but subtle. 

“Wonyoung, sit, people are looking!” You hiss, grabbing her hand before she snaps it back to her side. She’s still not looking at you, instead choosing to keep her eyes locked on the floor. “Really?” You ask, exasperated. From the corner of your eye, you can see the manager feigning a smile as she hurries to your table. Wonyoung can’t possibly expect you to have an answer that fast. Already, you feel like you’ve done more in one morning than you have all year. But if you don’t do something, people will find out, and as dramatic as that would be, you’re not quite ready to see how that movie would end. 

“Sorry, excuse us!” You shout, swiftly stepping around the coffee table to swoop little miss celebrity into your arms, princess style, and start running out of the restaurant. Waiters follow behind, asking if there’s anything wrong, signaling to security, but unluckily for them, you’re used to making rushed deliveries. Shooting out of the buffet, you speed to the nearest corridor, Wonyoung’s arms clutched around your neck, the stunned girl yelping with every hurried step.

“You’re awfully quiet.” You say under your breath, panting as you run through narrow hallways, taking detour after detour to make sure to avoid the main stream of tourists. Wonyoung stares up at you, lips pursed, eyes wide, but curious while she lies her head on your chest, “You’re confusing.” 

"Me? Says the girl who almost got us caught?" The irritated sarcasm dripping off your dry throat, feet stopping in front of the last terminal in the row. Good, it's empty. Wonyoung gets down, cheeks red, still standing stiffly in the same spot when you plop down in the nearest seat to catch your breath. She shuffles towards you, pulling the hem of her striped top up to properly cover her chest. She can't blame you for the rocky ride; it was her idea to start a scene. "With how fast you run, you could've just left me back there. Why didn't you?" 

You take a deep breath. Good question. "Honestly, I'm not sure. Maybe it would be nice to go on an adventure? Or maybe it's just my dick talking." You turn towards Wonyoung, the girl wide-eyed at that last part. "Which one do you think it is?" She bites her lip, looking between your crotch and your face, not quite sure if you're messing with her. 

"I'm hoping for the second one." The top idol tentatively places her hand on your thigh, squeezing you softly, as if she's afraid you'll run away. "Please? Winning would fix... everything." You raise your eyebrows at that. There's a backstory there, you've watched enough movies to know. A part of you just wants to go to hell with it, to take the plunge into these crazy Spermlympics. She isn't Yujin, but after all these years, being with her in a way that no other fan gets to? It doesn't get any better than that. 

However, that plot feels wrong, like a credit reel where for the first 10 seconds, you sit, feeling happy, satisfied, but by the time you're driving home, it’s empty, like nothing really stuck. You might not know Wonyoung that well, but from how seriously she's taking this, from how much risk she's taking on just to recruit you, you're sure of one thing; doing this would make you feel anything but empty.  

“Fine, but we need to set some ground rules.” You say as firmly as you can. While it would be great to ravage Jang Wonyoung like some sort of animal, you’d really rather not get into trouble with someone of her influence. Wonyoung’s eyes light up, “Yes, rules! I’m good at those. Okay, first, no, no kissing, okay? I’ve never… I can’t.” Her cheeks color red, and you can’t help but laugh at how adorable she is. After all the training she’s gone through, that’s where she draws the line? You smile, “That works for me, personally, I’m saving my first kiss for Yujin.” Wonyoung giggles at that, raising her eyebrows as her hand tentatively rides up your thigh, fingers unsure of how fast to touch you. “Really? I’m not your favorite?” Your eyes dart around the empty terminal, breath quickening at the contact. The large space suddenly feels a lot smaller, the smell of dandelions filling your nostrils. “You’re a close second! Anyways, wouldn’t you being my favorite make this more awkward?” You stammer, a weedy little deflection. 

Wonyoung leans forward, giving you that familiar head tilt, her eyes sparkling, “That leads me to rule number 2. You’re not allowed to sleep with any of the other girls, alright?” You blink at her. She continues, “There were supposed to be 10 teams competing, with each male participant switching in a round-robin to see which one of us could get the most sperm out of you.” Wonyoung says each word slowly, eyes flashing down, like just explaining the rules is already embarrassing. “That sounds pretty intense, what happened?” You ask, smiling at her, trying to get her to calm down a bit. If you’re going to be fucking, she needs to get more comfortable. Wonyoung clears her throat, “Yes it was, but Chaewon and Kkura got caught, trying out the other male participants before the tournament even started. They got disqualified. Yujin too, for trying to help cover it up.” 

Ah, it’s making a bit more sense now, why Yujin was her willing smokescreen for this recruitment. You edge closer to Wonyoung, the cold metal of the seat stark against how warm her hand is on your thigh. “You’re a really good friend, aren’t you?” She stares, mouth open, as if she’s surprised that the why behind her rule doesn’t need more explaining. “You really think so?” 

You give the top idol a reassuring smile, “You should see your face, I'm surprised that you don’t get that more often.” It’s true. She’s obviously uncomfortable with the whole idea of milking a guy for some stupid competition, but she’s here. You thought that Jang Wonyoung would be prim, proper, perfect. But now you can see that she’s just trying to be, and trying so hard that she’s willing to go into  this risky, scandalous arrangement with someone like you. Weird, but definitely not the bad sort. 

Wonyoung looks away, biting her lip, “Well thank you, but there’s one last rule I want.” You wait, leaning forward to catch her eyes. She looks at you, her warm, soft hand finally snaking onto your crotch, “You have to teach me. How to do this. I want to be good.” Your eyes widen, cock hardening as you’re pushed back onto the seat, Wonyoung’s palm pushing against the bulge in your crotch. “If we’re doing this, I want to be the best.” You’re frozen, staring at the girl, her twinkling eyes drilling into yours. She’s hunched over you now, her head cocked, lips parted while she pleads for a lesson. It’s as if it doesn’t even register in her mind that you’re out in the open, that behind all these rows of chairs, a paparazzi could easily turn the corner and find Jang Wonyoung palming a mailman’s boner. 

You have to move. Swiftly, you shoot out of the chair, Wonyoung yelping as you drag her to the nearest restroom. She’s beet red when you slam the door behind her, securing the lock before pinning her arms above her head. The previously forward young woman stares up at you, wrists limp in your hand. She’s breathing heavy, her brown locks falling gracefully around her shoulders, collarbone covered in sweat, armpits dutifully exposed to you, her new partner. You lean forward, still a bit awkward, but it’s like just having her explain all of that shot electricity straight up your spine. You can feel it in your skin, you’re buzzing. “I haven’t done this in awhile, but no kissing?” Wonyoung gasps as you don’t wait for her to answer, leaning in to lick up her exposed neck. “No kissing, but I need you to, oh!” You suck on the skin between her neck and shoulder, pressing your crotch against hers, grinding her body into the door. “Yes?” You ask, dotting wet kisses down to the top of her breasts. The dark blue fabric shakes as Wonyoung squirms, her wrists resisting a little bit. Just before you drag her tube top down with your teeth, her soft, needy voice continues, “I need you to cum in my mouth. They’ll collect it from there, in round one.” 

You let go of her hands, and when you roughly pull the tube top down, she immediately wraps her arms around your neck. Wonyoung winces, ear to the side of the door as you look at her bare tits. “No bra, huh?” You laugh, giving the idol a hungry smile when she whimpers, opening one eye to look down at you. It must have taken quite the courage to say what she just said out loud. You need to show her that she’s done enough, that it’s your turn to make her feel good. Slowly, you run your tongue down the swell of her perky breasts. Wonyoung tastes amazing, and you delight in how she shivers as your tongue circles the bud of a pink, hard nipple. You don’t touch it yet, making sure to slowly kiss around the tip, feeling her breathing deepen, her skin ripe with sweat. 

“More!” Wonyoung begs, pulling your mouth to one pert bud. She squeals as you lick, fast, hugging her lower back, your crotch starting to grind faster as you suck on her little tits. “Oh!” The door creaks, her head thrown back against it when you give the opposite breast a good, wet nip. For someone who’s never done this before, she’s proving to be a natural. The shaking is gone, warmth radiating through her jeans and onto your covered hard-on while you worship her breasts. You love how compliant she is, how it’s like she’s reveling in it, in the feeling of finally being able to let someone else take control. 

“Down there, please.” Wonyoung softly asks, another tug lower pushing your head down her taut stomach. You grin, slowly kneeling down, meeting her half-lidded eyes, “Kissing down there okay?” She giggles, no sly comeback this time, at least, you think, unable to catch the glint in her eyes before you’re suddenly pushed down onto your back. Wonyoung straddles you gracefully, naked from the top down, as her jeans-clad legs fold on top of yours. The linoleum of the restroom is cold against your back, but you barely notice, not with how warm the girl’s crotch is, a sweet musk emanating from where you touch. 

Wonyoung sits up, back arching as gingerly pushing her tits together with her hands, eyes crinkling at your dumbfounded reaction. “I haven’t decided if that’ll be an option yet. But I promise, I'm wet enough for you.” She leans down, and her singsong voice is playful, yearning, hungry. “I’m gonna start on top, when you take my virginity, okay?” You nod, quick, her hot breath just making you harder. if you aren’t inside her soon, if you don’t get to fuck, you’re gonna explode. 

The idol giggles, a sweet, soft sound, sighing as she lifts herself up to shimmy her jeans off. You feel your blood pump a bit faster when you see that Wonyoung isn’t wearing any underwear. The jeans slide off her long, creamy legs, a line of spit connecting the fabric and her shaven, pink pussy lips. She shoots you a pointed look, kneeling above your stomach, and you get the memo, staying on your back as you quickly shove your pants and underwear off, then throwing your shirt aside. “Is it really that big?” Wonyoung’s voice is measured, but you see that look in her eyes again, studying not your face, but your length, shooting up towards her, leaking with beady precum. “I wouldn’t say that-” You groan, stopping as the curious girl palms your cock, her soft fingers delicately rubbing her own pussy, squinting and whimpering when she spreads the juices onto your waiting member. She’s slowed down, gotten more careful. Wonyoung wants this to be perfect, her brow creased, thighs flexing with effort, perky tits swaying as she tries to get the perfect angle to impale herself on her cock.

Perfect is all well and good, but if there’s anything that you’ve learned about making this girl feel good, you need to be bolder than she can predict. Before she gives you another, pleading, “more”. You steel yourself, meeting Wonyong’s eyes as your larger hands settle around her hips. “Sorry, I want you, now.” She squints at you, curious, just for a moment, before her lips part in a high pitched squeal. “Ugh! Wait! No! I mean!” Wonyoung babbles, hands bracing against your chest as you repeatedly slam her onto your cock. You expected unbelievable tightness, but she’s just, so, wet. Her walls are snug around yours, as if they were built to take a pounding from your cock alone. “Yes, oh yes!” Wonyoung melts into a smile, looking down and nodding at you, eyes closing and opening with every spear into her core. 

You push your legs up, pressing the soles of your feet against the hard tile as your hands slide down to cradle her ass. Wonyoung falls onto you, her tits flat against your chest, nipples hard as she stops trying to talk, moaning into your ear when you start pistoning into her. Slick drips down your balls as she mewls, an animal held tight in your embrace as you use her pussy for your pleasure. It’s finally setting in. You’re fucking Jang Wonyoung, really fucking her, feeling her walls, untouched just minutes ago, clutch tightly around your cock, hearing her unravel, long moans punctuated by high-pitched sighs, as if you’re slamming the breath out of her. It’s heavenly, almost perfect. But almost isn’t good enough, you want to show her that even if it was by chance, she chose right. 

“Hey! Mmm… careful!” Wonyoung panics, arms snapping around your neck when you suddenly sit up, pressuring your forehead against her own while you slow things down, switching the hard pounding for soft rolls of your hips. “Here’s a new rule, you have to tell me, alright?” You whisper, Wonyoung’s cute, small breaths even closer as you suck on her neck. The idol’s legs snake around, her ass flush against your lap as she grinds her dripping pussy onto you. “Deeper… tell you what?” Her eyes are half-lidded, darting to yours as she tries to ride faster, slowed down by your palms still on her ass. You smirk, one hand sliding in between you, finding her clit. “What feels good? Here?” You rub, fast, and Wonyoung squeals in delight, her hips snapping, walls clenching around your length. “Yes! There!” You try again, using your spare hand to arch her back as you drag your cock in and out of her walls. “Oh! Better! There!” Wonyoung leans down, kissing your forehead, tongue lolling when she shakes, her chest still pushed against yours, her butt bouncing on your lap, pussy getting even tighter. “Cum for me.” You whisper, kissing her neck while you suddenly push down on her lower stomach, using your hips to fuck her fast and hard, feeling her pussy lips spread as you bottom out inside her over and over again. “Ah! Yes! I’m…I’m!” Wonyoung screams, her body trembling as she arches her back, legs tied behind you while her pussy gushes around you. Wetness spills around your cock, a warm, sticky mess dripping onto the floor as the girl rides out her first ever orgasm. You’re throbbing inside her, brow furrowed as you try not to explode amidst how tight, how good she feels. 

Eventually, Wonyoung leans back, your member plopping out of her as her butt hits the floor. She rests on her palms, tits heaving, the smile still on her face. “You look better relaxed, you know.” You cough out, taking a breath, trying to calm your raging boner down. She felt so, so good. Even now, you find yourself inching towards her, your cock driven by nature, attracted to cum properly inside the girl you just deflowered. Wonyoung bites her lip, half-lidded eyes giving you a good, slow look, “Thank you, sorry I, I totally lost it, didn’t I?” She looks down, and you quickly grab her hand, “No! I-I liked it. You should lose it more.” Wonyoung stares at you, eyes with that familiar twinkle, before giggling, her hair falling beautifully around her breasts. You let go of her hand, heart racing, “Sorry! That was weird, fuck, i’m going soft. I still need to-” 

Before you know it, you feel her finger on your lips. The look on Wonyoung’s face is different. Her lips curve in a kind smile at you, still twinkling eyes switching from your cock to your face, “It wasn’t weird. Thank you, okay?” Wonyoung pushes you down again, moving to kneel between your legs, letting a trail of spit fall from those perfect lips onto the tip of your pulsing, aching cock. She whispers, giggling, the shyness all gone,  “I’m going to make you feel so good.” Wonyoung licks up the underside of your rod, tracing each vein with her tongue. She looks up at you with those shiny, black eyes, red lips pursing to give your tip a kiss when she gets to the top. “This felt so good inside of me, I wonder how it tastes.” Wonyoung winks, and you wish you could immortalize the moment she opens her mouth to suckle on your cockhead. 

Beads of precum dribble out onto her tongue, but she dutifully laps the salty liquid up, surprising you with how hungry she looks. Wonyoung’s eyes stay glued onto your face, your breathing erratic as her cheeks hollow out. “Fuck! Wonyoung, you’re so fucking hot.” You confess, and the girl pops your cock out of her mouth, rubbing her lips on the tip, “Nobody ever talks to me like that, it’s making me wet.” Her soft hand comes up to cup your balls, and she reaches down to suck on each sack. “You’re full of cum, can you pump out a lot for me please?” You stare down at her. Jang Wonyoung? Begging for cum? Her tongue licks you up and down, eyes desperate, soft fingers circling the swollen tip. You start breathing faster, reaching down to grab the idol, your idol, your girl, even just for this moment, by the hair. 

She smiles at you, waiting 

“Go, work for that cum then, slut.” You groan, fucking Wonyoung’s face onto your crotch. Her eyes widen, then roll up, and you feel moans vibrate up your shaft as she starts to gag on your length. Wonyoung’s throat is tight and wet around your cockhead. She doesn’t gag at all, pushing against your grip, keeping her drooling lips sealed near the base of your cock as the needy girl worships the cock that took her virginity. Those dark, begging eyes meet yours, and the image of Jang Wonyoung kneeling down, disheveled hair pooling around her bare shoulders, moaning like a whore, tongue still sucking diligently as she stuffs herself with you is too much. 

“Fuck! I’m cumming! Take it!” You roar, clutching Wonyoung by the shoulders as you shoot waves of hot, virile semen into her wet, waiting mouth. She whimpers and closes her eyes, humming happily, coaxing every glob of seed from your rod. Her soft fingers obediently massage your balls, and you wince, seeing stars when more and more cum gets sucked out of your throbbing length. You could die right here, with Wonyoung’s lips around your cock, airport restroom be damned, you can’t imagine a better way to go.

Soon, the broken-in girl slowly drags her lips up your softening length, and she sits up, naked, still kneeling, posture straight as smiles at you, before dutifully opening her mouth to show off her prize. A pool of freshly made cum. Wonyoung plays with it, that inquisitive look in her eyes returning as her tongue spreads the sticky liquid on her lips. “You want some tissues?” You chuckle. It’s stupid, watching someone whose face you just fucked play with your cum. Well to be fair, this whole day has been absurd, so when you think about it the ending of the story isn’t even as close to as weird as how it started. Wonyoung blushes, and before you actually get up and get her some tissues, she shuts you up. The girl makes a show of swallowing, licking her lips and staring at you while she does it. You stare, dumbfounded, as she sucks on her fingers, letting her tongue out to show that she finished. “Yummy…” She giggles. “You’re so stupid.” You break into laughter, and soon, you’re both out of it, an idol and a mailman, both naked, heartily chortling on the restroom floor. 

Eventually, Wonyoung stops, and leans forward, the sparkle back in her dark, smiling eyes. She grabs you by the shoulders, excited, happy, ready. “Come on, we’ll miss our flight! Yujin’s waiting for us, let’s win this thing.”

[i-am-lifeform24]

Welcome back! (If I'm not mistaken)

Enjoyed your new fics very very very much!

Will there be a chance a continuation for translator series?

Thank you so much for the support!

Yes hopefully by next week <3

🌱Lifeform🌱

[i-am-lifeform24]

Summer is back! 🌞

What better way to celebrate than to be used by a princess

I LOVE HER

I’m happy to see a frisky ask!! I hope this season will be good for you too friend.

☀️Summer☀️

[i-am-lifeform24]

🌱Makeover🌱

“Hurry up!” “Hey, you’re the one who insists on all these useless keys!”

Taeyeon kicks your foot, her eyes in a pointed glare as she keeps herself wrapped around your arm. You hurriedly shuffle through the key ring, trying each tiny piece of metal against the rusty lock. Your ears burn. It’s cold; the air saturated with the smell of cigarettes and sex. That isn’t some lame pun, by the way, you’re sure you saw at least two couples fucking like rabbits in the grungy alleyways on the way here. Not that it’s your place to judge, of course, soon, you’ll probably be doing the same.  

With a click, the door swings open. Warm air quickly surrounds you, the soft carpet under your boots a welcome feeling. Eyes still adjusting to the soft lighting, Taeyeon rubs her hands together. You step behind, softly dragging her coat off her shoulders, leaning to kiss down the back of her neck as you do. After months of massages that lasted way past closing time, it’s instinct, helping her relax, though you never thought you’d be doing so quite like this.

She pauses, her head tilting back, small lips pursed, curious eyes meeting yours, "Aren’t we moving a bit fast?" There’s a slight waver in her voice. You can’t tell if it’s the alcohol, or the lighting, or the fact she shakes at every small peck of your lips on her exposed shoulders, but if you didn’t know any better, you’d think that Taeyeon was actually nervous. You chuckle, answering her with a low, drunken drawl, “This isn’t one of your novels, boss. No need to pace.” You twirl the older woman around, pressing your forehead against hers. She feels so warm, her dark eyes drilling into you, barely visible in the warm yellow light. Taeyeon is magnetic, and a little smirk creeps up your face as her gaze flicks up and down, like she’s trying to remember how to do this right. 

“Do you want to go slower?” You whisper, cocking your head. 

Taeyeon bites her lip, nodding as her small arms reach up to tangle around your neck. She does it slowly, but surely, letting the rest of her coat fall onto the ground to expose the rest of her outfit. A black brassiere hugs her modest tits, sweat from the crowded club accentuating the curve of her hips. A golden, shimmering cardigan hangs from her arms, the shingles softly ringing as her fingers tangle in your hair. It feels a bit sinful, looking down your boss’ legs, but you can’t help but notice her small gym shorts; how they hug onto her taut ass, how she crosses and uncrosses her thighs as she waits for your reaction. 

“You… you’re finally looking at me.” Taeyeon whispers, her eyes crinkling in a calm smile, her nerves half gone. 

She yelps as your hands snake down to her ass, pulling her close as you kiss down her neck, “I would’ve preferred  to see you properly earlier boss. Why’d you make me wait?”

Taeyeon closes her eyes, tiptoeing, slowly spreading her legs and grinding onto your crotch, “I thought inviting you to a club would be hotter. Isn’t that what young people find… stimulating?’ 

You stop your kisses, leaning back to let out a hearty laugh, “Stimulating? Okay Ms. Einstein, way too scientific.” You remember first starting this job, how she used to grill you about vocabulary. “The customers won’t ask you for recommendations if you don’t sound at least a little bit smart!” she would say. It was annoying, frankly. But now? You realize that maybe your boss has read way more than she’s actually experienced. Maybe this time, you could teach her the one language you’re a bit more fluent in. 

Taeyeon flushes, keeping her arms around your neck, “Hey! I’ll have you know…” She suddenly  wraps one shorts-clad leg around your waist, grinding her damp core, the darker spot already on her shorts, onto your crotch. Your eyes widen as the older girl steels herself, leaning forward with wet lips to kiss the words into your ear, “I’m pretty stimulated right now…”

With a growl, you carry her by the ass, softly biting on her exposed collarbone as you trudge into the back of the bookstore. Dark wooden shelves tower over you, the smell of old paper mixing with Taeyeon’s perfume. You can’t remember the last time you’ve walked through here without the woman stopping to point out another one of her favorite books, without her eyes scanning every nook and cranny, occasionally asking you to grab the ladder so she can bring an old classic to the front of the shop. But now, she closes her eyes, letting you kiss up the length of her neck, her hips slowly gyrating on your clothed member even as you stumble to her office. 

Bursting inside, you throw her onto the couch, impatiently swiping a stack of books off the satin fabric. A large lamp shakes with the impact, shadows of warm, yellow light dancing on Taeyeon’s skin as she lies there, waiting. She’s always been firm. She’s your boss. You’re here to learn, to read, to run this place with her. But now? She looks up at you with lips half parted, eyes alert despite the alcohol, legs glued together as she waits for your next move. 

You kneel down on the old hardwood, placing your hands on her knees. “Open up, boss.” You command, gruff voice betraying just how goddamn hard you are for her. Taeyeon gulps, taking a deep breath, “Are you sure? I should know more, I can try to help you first. I read-” 

Suddenly, she squeals as you forcefully spread her legs, rough hands massaging up her thighs as your fingers play at the hem of her shorts. “Sorry boss, but I really wanna see you cum.” Taeyeon bites her knuckle, eyes darting from your eyes to your lips. She knows what you’re about to do, and you smirk as slowly, she lifts her hips up. 

Painstakingly, you drag her shorts down, slick sticking to her inner thighs as she straightens her legs, heels hanging off her feet. Before Taeyeon can react, you place your hands on the crook of her knees, spreading her lithe legs, revealing her pink, shaven pussy. It’s picturesque. Taeyeon, your ethereal, untouchable, bookworm of a boss, submissive, her lithe legs limp in your larger hands, her mouth half open, covered tits rising and falling just a little bit faster as she waits for your next move. Her lower lips are covered with a faint layer of slick. 

You raise your eyebrow, “No panties, good.” She quickly looks away, a blush spreading on her cheeks.  She must have read about it, prepared for this. It’s just like her to find the best ways to turn you on through research over experience. But that means this was all intentional. When she invited you out to the club. When she showed up in this slutty outfit, cooly inviting you to dance, masking the awkwardness in her movements as she tried to grind her ass on you, eyes discreetly checking if you liked it. When she wrapped her arms around you in the middle of the dance floor, soft lips pecking at yours. It was all intentional, planned preparation for this moment. 

For her first time.

You can’t disappoint her now. 

Quickly, you lean down, pushing your tongue against her wet folds, applying pressure from the get-go parting her lips as you lick around the opening. “Oh… oh!” Taeyeon whimpers, spit dripping down her hand as she bites down on her knuckle. She raises her legs ever so slightly higher, as if she’s inviting you to spread her out, to really make her feel good. 

You purse your lips, licking deeper until her walls open up, juices starting to flow down into your mouth. She’s addicting. Sweet, tangy, and you feel her lips rippling around your tongue as you hungrily kiss into her dripping pussy. Leaning back for a moment, you mutter, “You taste amazing, Taeyeon.” She opens her eyes for a moment to give you a shy nod, pushing her ass up, offering more of herself to you. “I’ve never felt this before…” She whispers, eyes pleading with you to continue as she reaches down, the blush on her cheeks deepening while her fingers slowly spread her pussy lips. “Keep making me feel good, please.” 

You lean forward, crawling onto the silver couch, a knee in between Taeyeon’s legs, pushing against her soaked lips as you kiss her. She moans into you, her soft lips surrendering to your aggressive tongue. Now you really need to see her cum, really need to see those beautiful eyes tear up, shoot open, crease and close and roll up in pleasure. You use one hand to pin her arms onto the couch headrest, while the other replaces your knee, fingers swiping up and down her labia. Taeyeon whimpers, staring up at you, her breath unsteady, until suddenly you push three fingers into her core, forcing a needy moan from her lips. 

“Louder, Taeyeon, louder.” You lean down, kissing her cheek as you start pistoning your digits in and out of her pussy. “Yes, yes! Oh god!” She mewls. You feel her legs kick at your own, creamy thighs clenching and unclenching around your fingers as you reach the deepest part of her pussy. Soon, you establish a rhythm. All the way in, then stop. All the way out, then stop. You’re relentless, enjoying the sight of your boss’ messy buns coming undone, of sweat staining her bralette, rosy nipples peeking at you from beneath the black fabric.

You lean forward, chuckling, “This… this is my kind of pacing.” You accentuate your words by keeping your fingers all the way inside her, stopping, feeling her wet, needy pussy flutter around your fingers. “Oh! Mmm! Please, please!”  She stares up at you, eyes wild, neck craned as she tries to lean up to kiss you, but just as she starts to reach, you thrust out, then in  again, pinning her onto the couch. 

“Cum, Taeyeon, let go.” You whisper, before biting down on the older woman’s collarbone, the salty taste sticking to your tongue. She reacts immediately, screaming, crying out your name as her pussy spasms around your fingers. “Yes! Oh god yes!” Taeyeon whimpers, her legs locking around your hand as he rides out her orgasm. This must be the first time Taeyeon’s been able to let go, to enjoy the moment, not just imagine it, and you’re determined to make it unforgettable.  You smirk, leaning over to watch her eyes roll up, never stopping your thrusts, ignoring how her thighs try to keep you in place to wring out more and more nectar from her clenching walls. 

Eventually, her legs flop apart, exhausted. You’re breathing heavily. The lights are low, but the sight of Taeyeon all sweaty, hair matted to her forehead, spit trailing from her lips, and her pussy still dribbling juices onto the couch is more than enough for you. Eventually, she opens her eyes, regarding you with a shocked, shy smile. 

“Better than the books, huh boss?” You collapse beside her, leaning on one arm, smirking.. 

She exhales slowly, then quickly rolls onto, pushing you onto your back, legs swinging to straddle you. Taeyeon’s cool demeanor is gone, replaced by a dark spark of hunger as her eyes narrow down at you,  her soft lips pursed. “Much, much better.” She coos, her breaths heavy, her perky, bare ass pushing onto your crotch. 

Taeyeon leans down, and you’re entranced, the dark strands of her hair painted with a golden tinge in the lamp light. Slowly, she leans back, reaching behind for the clip of her soaked bra before stopping abruptly, smiling down at you with an excitement you’ve only seen when someone sells her only the finest original editions.

 “Now it’s my turn to stimulate you.” 

[i-am-lifeform24]

🌱Rude Royal Advisory🌱

“No.” 

“Your highness, they are all very accomplished, winners of multiple wars!” “Accomplished, but ugly. No.” “Princess, these nations have stood with us for centuries. Surely you can think it o-” 

Ningning stares down the impassioned minister, crossing her arms, the pink, jeweled petals of her lavish dress sparkling as she looks up at the man from across the round table. “I see no reason why I have to do anything, minister. I will not be marrying any of these men.” 

You sigh, shooting the old man an apologetic glance as the other members of the council fidget in their seats. The princess has always been… difficult. Standing behind her, you can feel how heavy the air is getting. Funny, that all the most powerful lords and ladies of the country can’t get through to a much younger girl. 

Steeling yourself, you take a step forward. “My apologies, minister, perhaps the princess misunderstands.” Ningning’s catlike eyes dart left,  giving you a warning, shifting her lithe body in the velvet chair so she can better stare up at you. You can feel the other members of the table hold their breath. Here it comes. “Misunderstand what exactly?” Her voice is icy, pointed, like she can’t imagine why you would say something so stupid. Well, it is your job after all, and whether she likes it or not, you were put in this position to keep her in check.

“That while you are the most beautiful  princess on the continent, you are also the leader of the most powerful nation in the west.” You start, gesturing to the other nobles of the table. They straighten up, morning sunlight peeking through stained glass to illuminate their battle-worn features, as if they’ve broken free from the spell of a very bratty princess. Ningning raises her eyebrows, a slight nod beckoning you to go on. You watch her dress shine in the soft light, taking a deep breath, “You have to at least hear their proposals out. Agree to the minister’s plan to let the princes visit you.” Ningning scoffs, “I don’t want their mud on my floors. My father bled against these men’s families, he fought,  and won.” The councilors wince , some rubbing old battle scars, as if their bodies still aren’t used to the peace. Ningning leans forward, “And you want to bring these grungy foreigners here? To my paradise?” 

You lean forward, and Ningning’s eyes widen as your strong voice echoes throughout the ornate chamber, “A paradise built by alliances that ended your father’s war. Strong, long-lasting, powerful alliances. Do you believe that your honorable parents fell in love by the grace of God, your highness?” 

Ningning’s eyes narrow, and the whole room holds its breath. You glance at the minister across the table, the man slowly sitting back down, eyes wide, his robes shifting as he tries to sneak back into his seat. Your heart catches in your throat. It’s never a good idea to mention the late King and Queen in front of her. 

Maybe if you apologize before it sets in, she’ll forgive you. You meet Ningning’s gaze, stammering, ‘Not to say that your parents were without grace. I’m sure that they would be very proud of you, your high-“ 

“You’re right.” 

Wait, what? 

Ningning smiles at you, her dark eyes crinkling as she exhales, breaking her stare. She turns back to the council. “My advisor is right. I apologize for my own lack of foresight in the matter of my engagement. Minister, let it be known that I will receive these… princes. I will leave the details up to you.” 

“A…. A wise choice, your highness! We shall begin constructing the plans right away.” The old man shoots up with a wide smile, the other council members filling the room with excited applause. You look down at Ningning, and the princess cracks a smirk at you, as if her jolt of anger was all one big, convoluted, prank. You gulp, giving her a quick smirk back, stepping behind the sovereign’s large makeshift throne as the council chatters on. Ningning straightens her back, adjusting her tiara to sit on perfectly on her neatly combed locks. Here, at the head of the table, she almost seems like a real ruler, not an aggressive orphan made to reign way too early. Soon, the meeting concludes, and you find yourself by the large mahogany door, bowing to every council member that takes their leave. “Thank you, duchess. And yes, we will make sure that the princess attends your name day celebration!” You lean forward, holding the gloved hand of an older woman, the smilelines on her cheeks deepening as you bow to her. She leans beside your ear, letting the other nobles pass behind her, “Thank the Lord for you, advisor. The poor girl barely has things together as it is…” You straighten, giving the older woman a sideways grin, “Now that’s our sovereign you are talking about, duchess, with how large the kingdom is, I would say that she is doing much better than any of us could.”

The duchess opens her mouth to respond,  “Oh no advisor, i’m sure….” Suddenly, her eyes widen, staring at the doorway behind you, and she trails off. “Nevermind! I shall see you on Saturday. Your highness.” She curtsies, and you turn around, just in time to see Ningning, with her guards flanking her, and her arms across her chest. 

“P-princess! I apologize, I'm blocking your way.” You start, stepping aside in an ill attempt to escape. With a bang, the large doors swing shut, and the guards shift uneasily as Ningning grabs you by the ear and pulls you along the hallway. “Ow! Princess! I was just escorting the duchess out! I didn’t mean anything by-” You grimace, the sharp pain coursing through your body as she drags you past ornate paintings and ancient keepsakes. The royal is surprisingly strong, her long legs strutting confidently on the velvet carpet. You wonder what set her off this time. She handled the meeting well, really, really well. If anything, you’re more than proud that she managed to avoid exploding at the council, or at you, for once, so what could she possibly want with you now.  

Eventually, the thump of her heels on the soft flooring stops, and you find yourself in front of a large, gilded door. The guards follow closely behind, gloves gripping the hilts of their swords tightly as Ningning addresses them. “Leave us, now. And make sure that none enter this wing for the next few hours. I will have a few words with my advisor.” 

You shoot a pleading look at the knights, almost feeling their pity through their plated armor. ‘Sorry, boss. We’ll make it up to you.’ they seem to say, bowing quickly before marching away to the entrance of the castle wing. God, you’ve really done it now. 

Ningning drags you inside, not wasting a second, pushing you up against the warm wood. Your breath catches in your throat, the messy, Victorian style bedroom a lazy backdrop to the princess’ intense stare. She pushes her covered breasts onto your chest. Arms, they stay pinned at your side, like she’s pressing a painting into a wall. Ningning slowly cranes her lips beside your ear, “I barely have things together?” 

You gulp, heart catching in your throat as you look down at the beautiful woman. Her gaze is icy, hands slowly rubbing the outside of your trousers. “Princess, the duchess simply worries for you, we don’t have to do this again.” you squeak, like a mouse, hunted by this very turned on, catlike royal. 

Ningning does nothing but smirk, pulling your underwear down quickly, dropping to her knees as the cold morning air wraps around your erect member. Your hands slowly droop down, but you stay plastered on the wood, like she’s still pinning you there, like her body is still on you. 

“Heavy. Good. You’re filling me up today.” The princess cups your balls, her fingers dribbling against the puckered skin as she squints up at you. Amidst short breaths, you can’t help but marvel at how the orange-yellow light glazes her skin, the thin, pink fabric of her dress covered in dark spots as Ningning’s wetness spreads from her legs. She’s beautiful, and after that disaster of a meeting, she needs a way to relieve her stress. 

Ningning’s tongue darts out, teasing the leaking tip of your cockhead as she grips you by your base, “Hey.” Informal. Casual. Crude. She looks up into your eyes, and you stare back down at her, sweat forming on your forehead as you can’t help but throb in her soft hands. “Yes, princess?” you reply, your voice breathy. 

Her gaze softens, her eyes now half-lidded as she slowly licks up the length of your shaft. Her dress has creeped up her thighs at this point, and you can’t help but notice her bare pussy lips in between her kneeling legs. Ningning stares at you, a firm warning exiting her precum smeared lips, “Don’t ever embarrass me again… daddy.” 

You harden at the words, wanting nothing more than to grab the princess by the neck and throw her onto the bed. Ningning can tell, making a show out of keeping one hand jerking on your cock, while the other pulls her dress down her breasts, the mink revealing perfect, perky breasts. She smiles, “I’m going to drain you now, and you don’t get to cum until I say so, alright?” Ningning accentuates the last word with a kiss on your cockhead, the skin wet with her spit. You give her a slow nod, gritting your teeth. She’s asking you for the impossible.

But she’s also your princess. You are sworn to her. 

“Yes… your highness.” You croak out the words as Ningning smirks at you, “Good daddy, now come to bed, I'm riding you until you fill me with your seed.” You stumble forward, watching as your ruler slowly sways her now naked hips. No undergarments in the council meeting? You’d have to tell her off later, but in the meantime, the idea only does more to keep your cock hard and ready. Her pink dress stays bunched up around her tight waist, and you watch as her ass sways in the morning light, the dresses and books strewed around the floor nothing but obstacles for her long, supple legs. 

Ningning crawls onto the bed, peeling the rest of the pink fabric off her body, then  kneeling on her heels as she crosses her arms, “Faster, daddy. I have a kingdom to run.” Hastily, you strip, sitting on the edge of the bed, then swinging your legs so they are on either side of the kneeling girl. You’re careful not to meet her eyes. No matter how turned on you are, she’s in charge. Soon, you’re lying down on your back, the expensive, gold patterned furs digging into the small of your back as your princess straddles you. Ningning’s hair falls around her face in the soft yellow light, and you watch as her petite tits rise and fall, the princess grabbing you by the shaft, your cockhead rubbing against her pussy lips as she stares down at you. Her eyes glint, half-lidded, “God, daddy, if only that old hag could watch me handle this.”

“Fuck!” You groan. With a slap, the princess’ ass bounces on your thighs as she roughly takes you to the hilt. She’s always rough, calling you daddy even if you’re her toy, but a part of you loves it, loves letting her take control, loves letting the princess, in a twisted way, worship you with her body. 

“Yes, yes, yes!” Ningning moans, grabbing handfuls of the blankets around her as she bounces on your cock. You feel her walls get accustomed to you, the tightness suffocating, wringing you in a wet embrace. She’s not even looking at you. Her Tiara stays  skewed on her head, her breasts jumping with every bounce, her small hands resting on your thighs as the princess arches her back, gyrating her hips onto your waiting cock. “Princess, you’re too tight.” You moan, hands reaching down to grab her soaked ass. 

A slap resounds through the large room. “Don’t you dare. You don’t get to touch me until I milk you dry, daddy.” Ningning warns, her tongue coming out of her moaning mouth as she slaps your hands away, continuing her impassioned ride. You give up, resorting to grabbing handfuls of cloth, watching as your beloved princess cums on your cock, over and over again, her breasts lathered in sweat, her taut stomach rippling under the force of her bouncing. 

Ningning opens one eye, panting, to grab you by the neck, “Kiss me, daddy.” You hesitate for a moment, wishing to savor the feeling of her drawing circles on your crotch, the glorious sensation of her royal pussy grasping onto every ridge of your unworthy cock, but in the end, you sit up. “You’re fucking beautiful, your highness… please, i’m so close.” You beg, letting the girl hold you by the cheeks as your tongue explores her mouth, her hips still riding you, albeit slower, more deliberate, as if she wants to savor every moment too. 

Ningning’s lips part, small moans filling the grand room, her dark eyes mesmerizing as you feel the blankets shift. “Here, you belong to me. All your cum, daddy… it belongs to me…” She whispers slowly, pausing to grimace, as if your cock is somehow surprising her with pleasure after all these trysts. You exhale, feeling it bubble in your core. Something about your aloof, icy princess demanding for you, demanding for your seed, burns all thoughts of stopping away. You need to cum in her, now. 

Your lips find Ningning’s neck, sucking on her clear, unblemished skin as your rough hands find her ass. This time, she doesn’t turn you away, the princess’ smile only getting bigger, as if she’s been waiting for you to take charge. “Mmm, yes! Yes! Breed me! Breed your princess!” Ningning screams, her hips now still as you fuck into her fast and hard. She’s bouncing on your lap now, your chests pushed together, her breasts warm as you hammer into the royal’s pussy. 

“Fuck! Y-yes! It’s coming!” You grit your teeth, focusing on delaying your release for as long as you can, until the princess wraps her long legs around you, rocking her dripping pussy lips on the base of your crotch. “Oh… oh! Daddy!” Ningning groans, her walls tight and clenching, barely allowing you to thrust, begging for your seed as she pins you down with the flower between her legs. 

“I’m cumming!” You roar, kissing Ningning’s jaw as the princess’ eyes shoot open. She screams, voice melting into pleasured gasps as you fill her, your hot, virile cum shooting warmth into her crown jewel, making her body relax. You feel her in your arms, her tits shaking, her ass trembling as you fill the next in line to the throne with your seed. 

It’s almost comical, that she’d get so frustrated with a stupid meeting, that this is the only way Ningning can relax, tempting fate by having a lowborn like you breed her like an animal. 

Hey, you’re not complaining, sighing as your sovereign topples onto your chest, her moist, hot breaths in your ear, her pussy still milking the last dribbles of cum from your cock. You look down at her with a grin, “Is that all for this morning, your highness?” 

Ningning rolls her eyes, nestling into the crook of your neck, the fur blankets around you damp with the heat of your sex. “Mmm…”  She flips you over, legs spreading as you lay on top of her, your cock slipping out of her pussy with a pop. Ningning smiles, “No, daddy. This time, you’re going to use me.” 

You smile, watching her bite her lip as the morning light fades. “As you wish, princess.” 

[i-am-lifeform24]

hi, I know you might have receive countless questions about this but do you have any plans to release another chapter of the translator? If no, it's fine. Just wanted to say I really enjoyed it

I do plan to! Thank you so much for enjoying the story <:)

🪴Lifeform🪴

[i-am-lifeform24]

Curated Companions: A Collection

Dark, mysterious, and sinfully taboo, dive into the world of paid intercourse with the largest selection of escort themed stories. From budding sexual entrepreneurs to hauntingly sweet "almost" lovers, this is a compilation to be enjoyed by all who want an inside look into an industry normally hidden underground.

-------------------🔞Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4🔞-------------------

Hi! :DD I just wanted to give a huge thank you to all the writers involved in this project! Friends, you guys were a joy to work with, and to all the readers who come across our compilation, I sincerely hope you guys take the time to check out each of these amazing writers' blogs! I'm immensely thankful that they poured their time and effort into this, and they deserve all the credit and praise. <:)

Masterlist:

Curated Companions: Part 1

Artms Heejin - @worldsover

Le Sserafim Sakura - @mintwithchoco

SNSD Seohyun - @kesujo

VIVIZ Eunha - @0cta9on

Aespa Karina - @sumirhatos

IVE Yujin - @craycr4y

Busters Takara - @writerpeach

Kiss of Life Julie - @authorhjk1

Dreamcatcher JiU - @midnightdancingsol

TWICE Sana - @co-reborn

Curated Companions: Part 2

IVE Wonyoung - @okaylikesmomo

Le Sserafim Chaewon - @gangplanksorenji

ALICE Sohee - @sparklingblu

Everglow E:U - @smuttysabina

BLACKPINK Rose - @passingnotions

ITZY Chaeryeong - @chunksworld

BINI Aiah - @octoberautumnbox

Kwon Eunbi - @rosiesmuts

(G)-IDLE Minnie - @svndaysaweek

WJSN Bona - @fiorituramara

Curated Companions: Part 3

ITZY Yuna - @capslocked

fromis_9 Nagyung - @nsfwmaemi

TWICE Mina - @costinblazetwice

ITZY Yeji - @syeollock

Aespa Ningning - @thelibrarian69

BADVILLAIN Emma - @coldfanbou

Le Sserafim Yunjin - @praeluxius

IVE Rei - @banananutsmuthie

Lee Chaeyeon - @brokennightmares01

Curated Companions: Part 4

Aespa Winter - @sinswithpleasure

ITZY Ryujin - @kooyabooya

(G)-IDLE Shuhua - @digipigichopshop

H1-KEY Yel - @mechaknight-98

Jeon Somi - @thelastdrop

IVE Gaeul - @msafterhours

Le Sserafim Kazuha - @usedpidemo

BLACKPINK Jennie - @jeneveuxrein

Newjeans Hanni - @i-am-lifeform24

Please refer to the list above to find familiar writers, and maybe discover some new (very talented) favorites! Thank you so much for the support :DD

🌱Lifeform🌱

[i-am-lifeform24]

Hi everyone! Updated the masterlist to include the list of each writer and the idol they selected, plus which parts each of these pieces are organized into! Thank you so much for the support! Credits to @capslocked and @banananutsmuthie for the suggestion LOL

🌱Lifeform🌱

[i-am-lifeform24]

just wanna say thank you so much for doing that big projects,i found so many new writer in this app thank you 🙏🏼

No problem! I'm happy you enjoyed it :DD Please support the other writers too! The challenge is a culmination of their time and effort over the past week :>

🌱Lifeform🌱

[i-am-lifeform24]

Wanted to say that you're crazy (in a good way) for pitching the idea for Curating Companions, and by extension, so are all of the writers that participated in the collection. Would also like to thank you (and again, by extension, all of the participating writers) for bringing such a thing to the community.

Just some feedback as a reader: maybe it's Tumblr's fault, but it seems like the handle mentions of all the participating writers in the collection masterlist aren't correctly linked; seems to stop after the 5th mention. Also, given the mass quantity of available pieces within the collection, it might be helpful for navigation to list whose piece is in which part? And maybe even who is being written about? Or maybe it's intentional to not show whose piece is where until one actually reads through.

In any case, I'll be waiting patiently and in anticipation for a future installment in this craziness!

-🥦

Hi! Thank you so much (from me and the other writers) for enjoying the collection! Tumblr won't let me mention more than 5 people in a post, so that's why it stops there, sorry :')

I'll fix the navigation in the masterlist ASAP! That's a good suggestion! :DD

Thank you so much again!

🌱Lifeform🌱