The sun kept reflecting off the sea as if thousands of tiny mirrors were dancing on the water. The sound of the waves gently lapping against the wooden platform created a calm, almost hypnotic rhythm.
Lisa braced her arms on the deck's wood and lifted herself out of the water. Her skin glistened under the strong afternoon light. The light-colored bikini, with tiny red prints, was held in place by delicate ties on the sides of her hips, which swayed slightly with the sea breeze.
She climbed up slowly, her knees touching the sun-warmed wood.
For a moment, she brought her hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the brightness.
"Wow..." she murmured with an amused smile. "I think the sun is trying to blind me today."
When she lowered her hand, she saw him there.
Standing still near the edge of the platform.
Watching.
Lisa tilted her head slightly to the side, studying him with a look that mixed curiosity and amusement. She moved forward a few inches on her knees across the wood, drawing closer.
"So..." she said, drawing out her voice a little, "you just stood there this whole time?"
He crossed his arms.
"Maybe."
She let out a low laugh.
"Maybe?" she repeated. "That sounds like the answer of someone who got caught looking."
She rested one hand on the deck, leaning her body slightly forward as she stared at him.
"Don't worry..." she continued with a smirk. "I don't usually charge admission."
The wind passed again, making the bikini strings flutter.
He still wasn't saying much, which seemed to amuse Lisa even more.
"You know..." she said, moving a little closer on her knees, "this place is dangerous."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Dangerous?"
Lisa nodded slowly.
"Yes." She looked at the sea behind her for an instant and then returned her gaze to him. "The water is beautiful... the sun is strong... and sometimes someone interesting appears, watching."
She rested her chin on her hand, pretending to think.
"Then you start wondering if you should get out of the water... or keep provoking a little."
She looked up at him from below.
"What do you think I should do?"
The silence between them grew heavier than before.
Lisa broke into a slow smile.
"Careful..." she said in a playful tone. "If you keep looking at me like that, I might start thinking you want me to stay here."
The silence between them grew even denser, charged with something beyond the sea breeze and the afternoon heat. Lisa held his gaze for a few seconds, her dark eyes shining with a mix of challenge and curiosity. Then, unhurriedly, she stood up, water streaming down her body, forming little rivulets that disappeared into the deck's wood.
She took a step toward him. Then another.
When she stopped, she was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body, a temperature different from the sun's, denser, more dangerous. Lisa tilted her head back to look at him — he was tall, much taller than her, and the height difference made her feel small in a way that, surprisingly, didn't bother her.
"You're quiet, huh?" she murmured, a lazy smile playing on her lips. "I like that. I like a man who observes before he acts."
Her hand rose slowly, her fingers finding the fabric of the shorts he was wearing. Lisa bit her lower lip as her palm slid over the surface, feeling the volume beneath the cloth. Her eyes widened slightly.
"Wow..." the word escaped in a breath, almost involuntary. "That is... you're..."
She squeezed gently, confirming the sensation. The shorts hid nothing — or rather, they hid a lot, but what they hid was enormous. Lisa felt her own body respond, a heat rising from her belly, a dampness beginning to form between her thighs.
"Is that for real?" she laughed, a sound both nervous and excited. "You're not hiding a torpedo in there, are you?"
With a slow, deliberate movement, she slipped her fingers inside the waistband of his shorts and pulled down. The fabric slid down his thighs, pooling at his ankles, and the penis emerged before her — enormous, thick, dark, already partially erect and growing by the second under her fixed gaze.
Lisa held her breath.
"My God..." she murmured, her eyes fixed on that sight. "Look at that..."
She stood still for a long moment, just observing. The penis was darker than the rest of his skin, a deep brown that contrasted with the pale palm of her hand when she wrapped it around him, feeling the weight, the texture, the heat.
"It's so thick," she whispered, almost to herself. "So... perfect."
Her fingers could barely meet around the circumference. Lisa squeezed lightly, feeling the pulse, the blood rushing beneath the thin skin, the member hardening even more under her touch.
"And it's going to grow more?" she asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. "It's going to get even bigger?"
The answer came in the form of a stronger pulse in her hand.
Lisa smiled, a slow smile.
She knelt on the deck's wood, kneeling before him like someone preparing for a ritual. The position made her feel even smaller, even more vulnerable — and that excited her more than she expected.
With her free hand, she guided the penis to her face, letting the tip rest against her cheek. The weight was real, the temperature warm, and Lisa closed her eyes for a second, feeling.
Then she opened her eyes and looked at him.
"You think this fits?" she asked, her voice sweet, almost innocent, completely dissonant from the situation. "In my mouth? You think I can?"
She didn't wait for an answer.
She brought the tip to her lips, kissing it lightly first, like testing the water's temperature. Then she opened her mouth and tried to envelop the head.
She couldn't.
The head was too thick, occupying all the space, pressing against the roof of her mouth and her cheeks at the same time. Lisa tried to go down a little more and choked, pulling back with teary eyes.
"Sorry," she laughed, embarrassed, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. "Sorry, it's just... I've never sucked one this big before. I swear."
She looked at the penis, at the size, at the thickness, and then at him.
"You're going to have to teach me," she murmured, her voice lower. "Or at least be patient."
She leaned in again, this time slower. She licked the tip first, in slow circles, tasting it — salty, warm, masculine. Then she tried again to envelop it with her lips, but only managed the head.
"Like this?" she asked, her voice muffled, her eyes seeking his. "Is it good like this?"
She began to move, a clumsy back-and-forth motion that barely covered two centimeters of the member. Saliva ran down her chin, dripping onto her neck, falling on the deck. Lisa didn't care. She was focused, determined to learn, to discover how to please that man.
Her free hand held the base, massaging what her mouth couldn't reach, while her tongue explored the head in increasingly daring circles.
"Show me," she pleaded, taking her mouth away for an instant, her breath ragged. "Show me how you like it. Teach me."
Lisa leaned in again, but now her eyes didn't stray from that sight before her. The penis seemed even bigger up close, the veins running across the dark surface like maps of a territory she had barely begun to explore. She ran her tongue slowly along the side, feeling every ridge, every texture, her eyes half-closed in a mix of concentration and ecstasy.
"It's so big," she murmured against his skin, her lips brushing the shaft.
Her hand slid down, finding his balls. They were heavy, full, and Lisa cupped them carefully, feeling the weight, the heat. She lowered her face, burying her nose in the wrinkled skin, inhaling deeply.
The smell was strong — sweat, masculinity, that dense, animal odor rising from skin after a day in the sun. Lisa's eyes rolled back, her mouth opening in a muffled moan.
"My God," she whispered, her voice drunk with desire. "That smell... you smell so... so manly..."
Her tongue found its way, licking his balls with the same devotion she had given the penis. She tasted them, feeling the salty flavor of the skin, the sweat accumulated in the folds. Each lick was slow, deliberate, as if she were savoring a rare delicacy.
"I love this," she confessed, her voice muffled against his skin. "I love big dicks. Love it. I'm a slutty whore who loves big dicks, you know?"
She laughed, a drunken sound, as she continued licking, now alternating between his balls and the base of his penis. The hand not holding his balls massaged the shaft, feeling the thickness, the hardness.
"Look at this," she murmured, looking at her own fist that could barely close around the circumference. "My hand doesn't close. It doesn't close, can you believe it? And I'm going to have to put this in my mouth. In my throat."
She looked at him, her eyes shining with a mix of challenge and adoration.
"You're going to see me choke, huh? You're going to see little Lisa all drooly trying to swallow this trophy."
Before he could answer, she turned her face and began to move her tongue upward. She passed over his balls again, licking every inch, went up the base, up the shaft, and when she reached behind his balls, she found the way.
The rimjob.
Lisa pressed her face into that space, her tongue finding the sensitive skin between his balls and his ass. She licked there with the same devotion, feeling the smell even more concentrated, the taste even stronger. Her eyes rolled back again, a long, obscene moan escaping against his skin.
"That's it..." she murmured, her voice muffled. "Yes, that's it... what a taste... what a smell..."
Her tongue explored every fold, every inch of that sweaty perineum, while her hand continued to massage his penis in a slow, firm rhythm. She was lost, completely lost in that task, in the smell, in the taste, in the size of what she had before her.
"I could stay here all day," she confessed, her voice breaking. "All day licking you. Smelling you."
She licked deeper, the tip of her tongue brushing his asshole for an instant, and the moan that escaped her was almost a cry of pleasure.
"I want everything," she whispered. "I want your taste, your smell, your dick, your cum. I want everything inside me."
She finally pulled away, breathless, her face shining with her own saliva, her eyes glazed. She looked at the erect penis before her, pulsating, covered in the moisture she had left.
"Now," she said, her voice hoarse, "now I'm going to try again."
She opened her mouth as wide as she could and went down.
This time it was deeper. The head passed, the shaft began to enter, and Lisa felt the penis filling every space, pushing her tongue down, pressing against the roof of her mouth. She tried to relax her throat, tried to let it pass, but when it hit the back, she choked.
She pulled away coughing, eyes watering, saliva running down her chin in thick strands.
"Sorry," she laughed, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "Sorry, it's just too big. Too much. But I want it. I want it so much."
She went down again, determined.
This time she managed a little more. The head entered, the shaft slid, and she felt the taste get stronger, more concentrated. The smell of his body, the sweat, the excitement, everything mixed into an intoxicating perfume that made her want more.
Her eyes rolled back as his head hit the back of her throat. She felt the gag reflex but pushed, forced it, wanted more. Her free hand massaged his balls, feeling them contract, prepare.
When she finally pulled away to breathe, the penis was covered in saliva, gleaming under the afternoon light. Lisa looked at him with half-closed eyes, her mouth half-open, her breath ragged.
"I want your cum," she said simply. "I want it all. I want to fill my mouth. I want to swallow every drop."
She went down again, but now in a faster, more desperate rhythm. His head hit the back of her throat with each thrust, and Lisa tasted the pre-cum starting to appear — salty, slightly bitter, addictive.
"That's it," she murmured against his penis, her voice vibrating on his skin. "That's it, cum, cum in the whore's mouth, fill this slutty mouth..."
She felt when he started to pulse. The balls contracted in her hand, his whole body tensed, and then the first jet hit the back of her throat.
Lisa moaned, a muffled, happy sound, as the hot semen ran over her tongue, filled her mouth, went down her throat in an endless flow. It was a lot. More than she expected. More than any man had ever given.
Her eyes rolled back, her hands holding tight to her thighs, as she tried to swallow, tried to handle it all. But it was too much. The semen ran from the corners of her mouth, dripping onto the deck, running down her chin, mixing with saliva.
She choked.
But she didn't stop.
Even coughing, even with teary eyes, she kept her mouth on his penis, sucking every drop, licking the tip while the last jets still came out. When he finally stopped pulsing, Lisa slowly pulled away, her mouth full, her cheeks puffed.
She looked at him, eyes still watering, face dirty with cum and saliva, and opened her mouth to show.
Then she swallowed.
Slowly, deliberately, feeling each warm gulp go down her throat. When she finished, she licked her lips, cleaning the excess with her tongue.
"Mmm," she murmured, her voice hoarse. "Tasty. So tasty."
She ran her tongue over her lips again, tasting what remained.
A car was rushing through the street close to the suburbs. It ran borderline reckless, passing the speed limit. The driver knew the road was empty, and he knew the area well. There was a reason why he was driving with such extreme urgency.
The driver's name was Yeonhoon, a rookie journalist, a Dispatch journalist. Yeonhoon was so ambitious to reach the top of the industry, and to do that, he needed to get a big scoop, not only big, but a jackpot. Obviously, his seniors were gatekeeping all the sources for themselves, and as a rookie, Yeonhoon needed to start from scratch.
While his seniors were mostly into bigger celebrities and politics, Yeonhoon mostly stuck with idol shows such as music shows. But music shows were dry. There was almost no scandal that could help him getting promotion and a bonus. Idols were strictly controlled there, and many big names like BLACKPINK or BTS rarely attended such shows anymore, and even when they did, they would only do interviews with invited journalists.
But Yeonhoon wasn’t the type who easily gave up. He thought that if he couldn’t get a scoop of a scandal, let the scandal come to him.
For the last four weeks, Yeonhoon had spreading a bait. He told the staff of the music shows that there was a safe hotel in the suburb that was safe for celebrities to “meet up”. Yeonhoon just hoped that the staff would spill it to the idols who were performing there. Obviously, the “meet up” meant something that couldn’t be caught, as in “dating”. Yeonhoon knew the owner of the hotel, so if an idol took the bait, the owner would inform him.
It took four months and some desperation, but finally, Yeonhoon got the call from the owner that a female idol booked a room in that motel. It was 30 minutes ago, and Yeonhoon was driving like a maniac so he wouldn’t miss the jackpot that he had waited for.
I wonder what scandal it will be. For an idol to secretly come alone to that shady motel, it must be scandalous. What is it? Dating? Or even better, prostitution!
Yeonhoon couldn’t help but grin. The owner said he recognized the idol. If a man who was entertainment illiterate, like the owner of that motel, recognized the idol, then she must be a big figure.
Finally, the motel was in sight. It was a small hotel with three floors. The area around it was mostly a small shopping district that was only crowded in the morning.
Yeonhoon hurriedly parked his car and went to the receptionist. The owner was on duty himself, and when he saw Yeonhoon, he hurriedly picked the key for the room next to where the idol was staying. Why not the master key? Because if he gave him the master key, whatever Yeonhoon would do with those idols, the owner could get tangled directly if something bad happened.
“Hyung!” Yeonhoon called. The owner tossed him the key.
“Room 307.”
Yeonhoon was confused whether the room he mentioned was his room or the room where the idol was staying. But the confusion was easily cleared by looking at the number of the room on the key he just tossed: 306.
“Thanks, Hyung. Really.”
“You need to treat me if it works.”
“Obviously. I’ll treat you to alcohol until you're bored with it.”
Hurriedly, he ran to the third floor. Yeonhoon didn’t take the lift since he thought it would be slow.
“306… 306… 3…0…6!” After he found the door with a sign written “306” in fake gold accents, he hurriedly put the key while staring at the door “307”.
CLICK. The door was open. After closing the door, Yeonhoon carefully, but swiftly, put his camera bag on the bed. After quickly assembling it, he went to the balcony.
It was all planned. The motel rooms had a balcony each, and they were close. Room 307 was at the corner, and the balconies were even closer.
Carefully, without even jumping, just stretching his legs, Yeonhoon could reach the balcony. It was still risky, but getting his first scandal turned him into a daredevil.
The landing wasn’t the smoothest, but also not the quietest. It created noise, but it was closer to the quiet side. Yeonhoon was stunned at first, thinking he screwed up, but there was no one coming from the room.
He saw the glass door of the balcony was unlocked; no, he already asked his friend to break the lock, so it couldn’t be locked, so he could infiltrate the room from the balcony.
The white curtain of the glass window blocked him from what was happening inside, but from the gap of the door, he could hear moans. He thought it was clearly scandalous.
Carefully, he approached the door and opened it with his camera pointing at the center of the room.
“Holy—”
His heart almost stopped. Chill through his spine. Body trembling. Yeonhoon thought he was ready, but apparently not quite.
Since he had been covering idols in music shows, he was up to date with the faces, from the big fishes to the small fries. There were three particular idols he remembered at the moment:
First, Natty, a member of a group called Kiss of Life. She is a foreign member, a Thai, and exotic.
Second, Karina. Who didn’t know her? She is a top idol of the current generation. If, as a journalist who covers idol news, he didn’t know her, he should jump from the top of a building.
Three, Momo. One of the most famous Japanese members of the national idol group, TWICE. He knew her quite well because she was so popular among the men of his peer group.
Between those three idols, there was a similarity they shared: They were busty, the sex icons in their respective group, and also the most sexualized.
And those sex icons were together in that room, bare naked, crashing their beautiful, big, meaty, sweaty tits at each other. Both the seniors, Karina and Momo, were bullying the junior. At the edge of the bed, they sat together, pinning her in the middle. Momo was eating Natty’s lips, chewing them with her lips, dripping saliva on Natty’s exotic tits. At the same time, on the left, Karina was sucking Natty’s tits aggressively, sucking that chocolate nipple until her cheeks deflated while her right hand stretched down to between Natty’s legs, fingering her well-trimmed pussy.
Yeonhoon was ready for a dating scandal, but for a lesbian threesome? It was beyond his imagination. As soon as he saw those beauties in the room, it was an instant boner.
Fuck. Don’t freeze, dammit. This is it!
His hands were shaking as he aimed his lens from the gap of the door, aiming at that otherworldly eroticness, *SNAP*, aiming at those glistening milkers that kept slipping on each other's skin due to the sweat, *SNAP* aiming at the saliva that kept spilling from their lips, dripping and mixing with the sweat, *SNAP*, aiming at those bodies that jolting out of the ecstasy.
Momo tangled Natty’s dark hair with her fingers, yanking her head back to expose her throat. Karina’s tongue drew trails down on Natty’s trembling, faint abs. Natty’s thighs trembled around Karina’s wrist, her wet pussy clenching around those naughty fingers, her moans muffled against Momo, who was devouring her mouth.
Catching Momo off-guard, Karina hand grabbed her breast, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp. Momo bit Natty’s lower lip with her lips by reflex, drawing a whimper from Natty.
“You!” Momo giggled at Karina. She funnily glared at her junior, stretching her arms to catch Karina’s arms before pulling her closer.
“Kyaa!” Karina screamed girlishly, half laughing.
Momo pinned Karina down on the bed, getting on top of her, forcing Karina’s legs she forced to wide open. Her massive tits scooped Karina’s glistening tits, easily slipping in between. Their tits crushing each other, with Momo’s tits weighing from the top, deflated it slightly.
Punishing Karina, Momo’s lips crashed into her lips, her tongue forcing its way past Karina’s parted lips as her hands kneaded those slippery, plump, perky tits roughly from the side. Fingers dug deep into the supple flesh, making Karina’s nipples stiffen painfully. Momo’s own heavy breasts swayed against Karina’s chest. A muffled moan vibrated between their connected mouths.
Didn’t want to lose, Karina’s fingers dug into Momo’s soft, pillowy tits, her nails leaving faint crescent marks on Momo’s skin as she squeezed hard enough to make Momo hiss. Their swollen nipples brushed together, sending electric jolts down their spines. They were competing to see who could torture harder.
Natty joined the battle royale. She came behind Momo, stretching her right hand down. Her finger slid down on Momo’s clean butt crack and dipped into Karina’s wet pussy. At the same time, while her fingers started swimming inside Karina’s pussy, her forearm rubbed against Momo’s clit. Two birds with one stone. Natty made both her seniors look like they were electrocuted.
“O-Ouhh!!”
Yeonhoon could see juice squirting from Momo’s cunt. Obviously, he didn’t miss the picture, zooming it straight to Momo’s dripping pussy.
Apparently, Momo was weak with the rubbing attack. The intense tickling around her labia could shoot her to orgasm.
Momo changed her target back to Natty. But, before she could leave Karina, the girl grabbed Momo’s shoulder to stop her. Then, with Natty’s help, they outpowered Momo and threw her down.
“You can’t just do anything you want as you please, sunbae,” Karina said.
“Now, the hunter is hunted,” Natty smirked as she said that.
While Natty held Momo down, Karina climbed and sat on Momo’s face. Then, Natty went below, grabbing Momo’s slippery legs, pressing her own pussy against Momo’s, scissoring her.
Momo gasped as Karina’s pussy smothered her face, her thick thighs clamping around Momo’s head. Below, Natty ground her slick cunt against Momo’s, their swollen lips meshing together in chaotic rhythm. Momo’s body arched helplessly between them. Karina could feel Momo’s moans vibrating on her vagina. Every time Natty thrust Momo’s clit, the friction made both of them squeal.
It was such an intense scene. Even from where Yeonhoon hid, he could still hear Momo’s moan, wondering how loud her moan actually was. Karina’s thighs trembled as she rode Momo’s tongue, the fingers gripping the headboard for balance while Momo’s nose dug into her clit. Meanwhile, squirts launched repeatedly from where Natty’s swollen pussy crashed against Momo’s, and both of them were having an orgasm together.
Yeonhoon had a hard time breathing as if he were dancing with those beauties. His fingers trembled as he adjusted the lns, capturing every bounce and jiggle of their heavy tits. Droplets of sweat flew from their colliding bodies, the camera catching the glisten of their slick skin under the dim motel lights.
Natty, Momo, and Karina had been drowned in lust that they couldn’t hear the sound of Yeonhoon’s camera snapping their pictures. Lucky for Yeonhoon, but it wasn’t forever. After quite a while, *SNAP* Natty noticed the sound.
“Huh?” She stopped rubbing her clit against Momo’s clit.
*SNAP*
“Sunbae, you heard that?”
“Ahh hAHh OOuhH~ Don’t stop, Natty-ah~” Momo said, half of her words were muffled by Karina’s tight seal.
*SNAP*
Natty heard that sound again. Then, her eyes were drawn to the curtain that was blown by the wind. The sun was casting shadows from outside into the room. That was when Natty realized a human shadow.
“KYAA!!” Natty was hysterical. Her scream startled Momo, Karina, and even Yeonhoon.
“What is it?” Karina jumped off Momo’s face, panicking.
“There is someone on the balcony!”
“Crap!”
“Get him!” Momo screamed.
Natty and Karina ran for their life while naked. Their big tits were flapping violently as they jumped off the bed. Even though their legs were still trembling, they forced themselves to run. The crisis pumped their adrenaline.
Yeonhoon actually had enough time to escape, but the jump he needed to make to the other balcony was quite scary because he was panicking. One misstep and he could fall. And his hesitation to jump made Karina and Natty able to catch him.
“Got you!” Natty said as she and Karina grabbed Yeonhoon’s shirt and pulled him together.
“Fuck!” He gave quite a fight. Natty and Karina were having a tough time, but when Momo came, they could overpower him.
“Bring him inside, hurry!”
The trio dragged Yeonhoon inside. After that, Karina snatched Yeonhoon’s camera from his hands while Momo and Natty kept holding him.
“Hurry! Delete the photos!” Momo said.
“Huh?” Karina looked confused as she checked Yeonhoon’s camera. “There is no photo here!”
“Sunbae, check the memory card!” said Natty.
Hurriedly, Karina checked the side of the camera where the memory card slot was, but it was empty.
“No memory card!”
“He must be hiding it somewhere!” Momo said. “Natty, search him. Jimin-ah, help me hold him.”
“Yes, Sunbae.”
“Oh fuck!” Yeonhoon was frustrated.
In panic, Natty patted his body. No memory card. Her hands went down, checking his pants pocket. No memory.
Seeing no result, the trio grew frustrated. At first, Natty thought she had checked everywhere, but apparently not.
“Maybe…” She murmured as she slipped her hand under his pants, inside his underwear, rummaging Yeonhoon’s crotch.
“O-ohk!”
His breath hitched, and his body stiffened as Natty’s fingers brushed against his stiffening cock, her fingers probing blindly beneath his waistband. The soft pads of her fingertips traced the swollen vein along his shaft, groping for the memory card.
And finally…
“Got it!” Natty found the memory card below Yeonhoon’s sack, on the base of her underwear. When she pulled her hand, there were a few strands of his pube stuck on her fingers, but the memory card was in her hand, showing it to Karina and Momo.
“Flush it!”
“No!”
Yeonhoon struggled with all his might, and finally, he could break free from Momo and Karina. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop Natty, who had a head start, running to the bathroom.
As soon as Natty stepped into the bathroom, she tossed the memory card into the toilet and flushed it.
Yeonhoon arrived too late. When he heard the sound of the flush, he screamed in frustration.
“NOOO!!” He saw the memory card already sucked into the toilet.
Natty avoided Yeonhoon and returned to Momo and Karina. They looked relieved, but they couldn’t slacken yet. After all, he was a man, and they were women.
Still, 3 against 1. The odd was good. Momo grabbed a cheap table chandelier; Karina grabbed her perfume bottle to use it as a throwable weapon; and Natty fortunately had pepper spray in her bag. The three of them were staying together, with fighting poses.
“Who are you?” said Karina. “Paparazzi? Sasaeng?”
Yeonhoon didn’t answer.
“Just give up. The memory card is gone. We’ll bring you to the police station!” Natty threatened.
Yeonhoon still didn’t answer. His head was full of thought.
What to do? My jackpot is gone. Now, I’m about to get arrested. His head was about to explode thinking about the gloomy future.
But Yeonhoon was a clever man. A bold idea suddenly crossed his mind.
Wait. Police station? Photos?
“Say something!” Momo yelled, half scared.
“Police station, you said?” finally, Yeonhoon answered. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“Yeah? Why not?”
“Because it is the same as you announcing that you three, or at least one of you, are booking this shady motel. Guess who will check the CCTV?”
Momo, Natty, and Karina looked at each other. They realized Yeonhoon was right. The police would check the CCTV to confirm their testimonies.
“Listen,” Yeonhoon said. “I can either tell the truth that you three had a blazing hot threesome in this hotel room, or lie, saying that you are having a shady date with someone.”
“No one will trust you,” Natty glared at him.
“Are you sure? Gossip is still gossip, especially if I can get the CCTV from the owner of this motel.”
“I saw where the CCTVs are on this floor. The most you can prove is that we three entered the same room.” Karina countered.
“Or…” Yeonhoon was urgently trying to find a better lie. “I… can… just…” he kept thinking. And he thought he got the right lie. “…yes, I can just show them the pictures of you three.”
“What?” Natty was confused.
“You think flushing my memory card is enough?” Yeonhoon tried to act as arrogantly as possible, bluffing that he had a hidden card.
“Nah, bullshit,” Momo said, but she sounded unsure, and Yeonhoon caught that.
“Listen… I’m Yeonhoon, from Dispatch.”
“Dispatch!?” The ladies looked surprised.
“I can show you my name card, but my wallet is in the next room. Shall we get it?”
“No, don’t!” Karina yelled. “Don’t be fooled. We get him outside, and he will run.”
“I’m not trying to fool you. My key is in the room, unfortunately… Alright, listen, destroying my memory card is useless, because we have a shared room, a cloud server. As soon as I snap the picture, it will be synced, and my boss can check it.”
Momo, Karina, and Natty’s eyes were wide open, learning about that truth. None of them were camera-savvy, and they didn’t know that the camera Yeonhoon used didn’t have the feature Yeonhoon told them.
But, seeing how confident and arrogant Yeonhoon was, the ladies believed what he was saying.
“S-sunbae!” Natty looked at both Karina and Momo. No, all of them were looking at each other. “What are we gonna do now?”
“I-I don’t know,” Momo weakly answered.
The room became quiet for a moment.
Seeing there was a shift of power, Yeonhoon confidently stepped out of the toilet. He could feel that Momo, Natty, and Karina were intimidated by him.
Yeonhoon wanted to make them even more panicked.
“If you have any better idea how to get out of your situation, you'd better hurry, because my boss will return to the office about 3 hours later and check his computer.”
“Ugh!” Momo sounded frustrated. “Delete the pictures.”
“Momo-ssi, you know you don’t have negotiation power here.”
“L-let’s just drop it. Okay? How’s that?” Karina said. “Let’s just make it as if nothing happened.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Then, what can we do to make you drop the scoup?”
Natty’s proposal made Yeonhoon’s eyebrows twitch. He was hiding his victorious smile.
“Well, if you ask… You see, your little ‘dance’ made me overly excited back then.”
Karina, Natty, and Momo glanced down, noticing a big bulge on his crotch. They looked disgusted as they had the gist of where the talk was heading. And suddenly, they dropped their weapons and covered their assets shyly, realizing that they were all naked. The conflict and the adrenaline made them forget about shame for a moment. Now, they remembered they were all women, and they were vulnerable.
“How about we start with—” his fingers reached his trousers. Swiftly, he unbuttoned it and yanked it down altogether with his underwear, showing his healthy, iron-hard cock that stuck on his sack, but gradually rising in the air, pointing at them. Yeonhoon looked relieved when he freed his dick as it felt suffocated trapped inside his underwear. “—this!”
“We haven’t agreed on anything,” Karina said.
“You talk as if you have another choice,” Yeonhoon said, casual but intimidating. “Come on. Three of you. You know what to do.”
As gays, it was disgusting to just imagine themselves sucking a man's dick. It was such a nightmare.
None of them moved. In such a conservative country, gays hadn’t really been accepted. But that would be the easiest scenario. The worst was if Yeonhoon could just put their pictures on porn sites, and once they spread, they would never disappear.
And it seemed like pleasing Yeonhoon was their real option for now.
Momo, Natty, and Karina looked at each other. Their expression wasn’t good. They knew they were driven to the corner.
As the oldest, Momo stepped up and approached Yeonhoon. Natty and Karina watched her get on her knees in front of his dick. With shaking lips, she kissed his glans, lightly sucked the peehole.
“Ouhh!” Yeonhoon raised his chin, moaning. He couldn’t believe it was really happening. He really made Momo, a member of the famous TWICE, sucking his penis.
Disgust was shown on Momo’s face, but she didn’t stop. After kissing it a few times, she widened the gap of her mouth and put his dick entirely into her mouth, straight to her throat.
Her lips gripping his shaft, sweeping strongly forth and back. On top of the strong grip, Momo’s big tits were pressing desperately against the inner side of his thighs.
“Damn!” The view was amazing. Yeonhoon boldly caressed Momo’s blond hair. He enjoyed the view.
Didn’t want Momo to take the burden alone, Karina and Natty finally stepped up, joining the party. They bent their knees in front of Yeonhoon, taking their place on Momo’s side: Karina on the right and Natty on the left.
Their lips were shaking as they opened, sticking their tongue, heading closer to Yeonhoon’s dick. Momo pulled out, leaving his glistening cock for Natty and Karina.
When their tongues touched Yeonhoon’s dick, Natty and Karina frowned. Their bodies trembled. Their lips recoiled instinctively. Both of them were hesitant, but they didn’t stop. Natty’s tongue flicked against the throbbing vein beneath his shaft, her nose wrinkling as the saltiness coated her taste buds. Karina’s breath hitched when the tip of his cock brushed her lower lip—her throat tightened, resisting the urge to gag. Momo’s finger dug into their shoulders, urging them closer. Their hesitant oral game made Yeonhoon twitch forward and groan pretty loudly.
Momo rejoined, her tongue swirling around the swollen tip while Natty lapped along the underside, her lips dragging wetly over the thick vein pulsing beneath. Karina took the base in both hands, pressing her pillowy lips against his balls.
The ladies worked together, licking different parts of his dick. Their movements were quite synchronized—Natty’s kittenish flicks, Karina’s deep suction, Momo’s expert twisting—sent Yeonhoon’s hips jerking forward.
Three busty idols kneeling before him. The space they shared between his legs was small. Their plush, heavy tits collided—Natty’s dark nipples brushing Karina’s perky pink ones, Momo’s full mounds squishing against both. The friction made their skin flush hotter, their breath hitching as slick flesh pressed tighter together.
Momo went and gave Yeonhoon a deepthroat before she started bobbing her head back and forth. Then, Natty went lower, putting his entire sack into her mouth, gobbling it gently. “Ohh! Fuck! O-OuHHH FFuck! Where did you two learn this?” Yeonhoon was overwhelmed by their sloppy teamwork.
With Momo and Natty claiming the entire set, Karina looked lost. She didn’t know what to do. Seeing that, Yeonhoon grabbed Karina’s chin, his thumbs pressing against Karina’s mole.
By dragging her chin, he forced Karina to stand up. Then, he kissed her deeply, tongue sweeping her gum, sucking her saliva.
...
Yeonhoon brought the game onto the bed. He leaned against the end of the bed, leaning on the headboard. Using his own phone, he filmed. Momo, Natty, and Karina crawled on the bed, following him lethargically. He repeatedly smacked his own lips as he felt horny watching those beauties swaying their ass, approaching him with intense gazes.
Karina put herself between his legs, trapping his twitching dick between her sweating mounds, and he couldn’t help but zooming at it. Natty leaned her front on his front, her breasts pressing against his left rib, and while she leaned, she locked lips with Yeonhoon. Momo did almost the same thing on the other side, but she went lower, breasts pressing on his right waist, and she sensually unbuttoned his shirts with him watching before she started licking his dark nipple, encircling his hairy areola with her tongue.
They basically treated him like a king.
Yeonhoon was struggling. As he was being overwhelmed by their coordinated ambush, he couldn’t film properly. He just taped them in selfie mode and tried his best to point the lens properly at him.
Momo’s finger trailed down Yeonhoon’s stomach, her nails scraping lightly through the coarse hair leading to his cock that was trapped between Karina’s heaving tits, whose nipples were stiffening as she rocked her chest up and down his shaft. Natty’s tongue plunged deeper into his mouth, her hips grinding against his thigh while Momo’s lips wrapped around his nipple.
“UhmMM~ Delicious~” Yeonhoon said as he licked Natty’s saliva that smeared around his mouth.
...
Momo stood up, standing over his crotch. Natty helped her by holding Yeonhoon’s dick straight as Momo descended. “Ugh~” Momo grunted as his dick easily slipped into her vagina. Slowly, very slowly, it filled her pussy. “A-ahh!” She gritted as her walls were being forced to spread.
When her pussy swallowed his dick as a whole, she moved her hips back and forth.
“HAhh Ahh UhmMM~”
Momo gasped as his dick swam inside her. Yeonhoon’s mind was blown by how tight her pussy was. Her swollen wall was clinging to him like a second skin. Her breathy whimpers vibrated through his core as she rocked her hips, her plush thighs trembling.
Yeonhoon feasted his eyes on Momo’s glistening tits. She sweated even harder, and it started dripping down her chest to his chest from the tip of her nipples. Watching Momo’s face contort as she snapped her hips made him impossibly high. He shoved the phone to Momo’s face, grinning proudly as his ego was fed.
Karina slid up from the right, her fingers finding Momo’s swollen clit in quick circles—her nails grazing her but just enough to make Momo’s thighs quake, making her choke.
Momo’s rhythm stuttered as the ecstasy intensified.
From the left, Natty’s tongue traced the sweat-slick curve of Momo’s shoulder, her teeth nipping lightly before her hand palmed Momo’s right breasts, squeezing the soft flesh until Momo’s nipple jutted painfully between her fingers.
“Ouuhh~” Momo whimpered.
What a heavenly view. It seemed like Momo, Karina, and Natty had determined. They weren’t shy anymore.
...
Yeonhoon sat on his knees. Grabbing Natty’s arm, he forced her to go on doggy. Then, Natty dragged Momo down and pushed her face onto her pussy. Yeonhoon put his hand on Natty’s sweaty back, on that exotic skin, before he speared him with his dick into her ass.
“AGGHH!!” Natty’s body curved, and her legs went numb.
“OgHHH~ Thailand’s pussy, babe. Hohoho~ I almost can’t feel my dick.”
Yeonhoon’s hips pistoned forward and pulled back, but Natty’s tight ass kept sliding away, getting dragged along with his hip movements. Her trembling thighs were unable to anchor her.
Growling, he dug his fingers into her waist and slammed her back down harder. Natty’s cheeks smacked against Momo’s pussy. Using her hips like handles, his balls slapping wetly against her clenching cheeks as he carved his rhythm.
Karina got on top of Momo, straddling Momo’s hips, her slick folds pressing flush against Momo’s as she leaned down, aligning. She kissed Momo intimately, their tongues tangled urgently—saliva dripping onto Momo’s chin—while their swollen pussies ground together in slow, sticky circles. Karina’s fingers gripped Momo’s hair as their breaths hitched between kisses.
Natty's face was buried between Karina and Momo's pussies and crashed further every time Yeonhoon smacked Natty's cheeks with his crotch. Each time his hip snapped, it mashed Natty’s nose painfully into Momo’s swollen clit while her mouth gaped open against Karina’s lower lips, tasting the leaking juice coming from both.
The relentless pounding made Natty’s jaw ache as Karina’s thighs squeezed around her head.
...
Down on her back, Karina’s legs were forced to open wide. Yeonhoon’s hands grabbed her ankle and yanked it to the sides as wide as possible. Then, he shoved his dick into her tight pussy, as hard as possible, making her curving upward and groan coming ragged from her throat.
“A-AHHH!! AHHh AHHH K-Keeuuh!!” Yeonhoon was rougher than before, and his rhythm was coming erratically. Clearly, he was closing in on the climax. It could be his last gallop.
Natty crawled up Karina’s trembling body, her fingers digging into the plush flesh of those perfect, round tits before pinching both nipples mercilessly. She leaned down, her hot breath ghosting over Karina’s stiff nipples before sealing her lips around one and sucking hard enough to pull it taut, her tongue flicking the tip in cruel little circles. Karina’s back arched violently off the bed as Natty’s teeth grazed her nipple.
Yeonhoon’s thrusts grew sloppier, his balls slapping wetly against Karina’s ass as Natty switched to the other nipple.
“K-kAHHH!! Natty! You daughter of a bitch!” Karina whimpered.
Momo came from the side, gripping Karina's thighs and licking Karina's clit while Yeonhoon was still pounding. Her lips sealed tight around the throbbing bud just as Yeonhoon’s hips hammered forward.
The double stimulation made Karina’s entire body convulse, her pussy clenching around Yeonhoon’s cock while Momo’s saliva dripped down to mix with their messy friction. Karina’s thighs trembled violently in Momo’s grip, her toes curling as her orgasm ripped through her, squeezing Yeonhoon’s dick.
“Ahhh AHHhh Fffuuck! Fuuckk!! G-g-aahh—” Yeonhoon’s body jolted so frequently out of the sudden. He knew he was reaching his limit. His mind was half blank. The orgasm squeezed the joy out of his brain. “Come here! Quick!”
Yeonhoon yanked his throbbing cock off Karina’s pussy, strings of her juices still connecting his swollen glans to her flushed lips. The ladies urgently moved, on their knees, leaning down, surrounding his ever-twitching dick. Momo on the right, Natty in the middle, and Karina on the left, giving him a triple blowjob, squeezing his glistening dick with their wet lips.
Their lips crashed around his cock. Momo’s plush mouth swallowed the leaking tip while Natty’s tongue swirled along the underside, her full lips smearing precum against Karina’s. Often, their mouths collide, tongues darting out to lick, accidentally kissing.
Their breath mingling as they licked his throbbing veins in tandem. Karina’s whimper vibrated against his cock when Momo’s teeth grazed her bottom lip mid-suckle.
“Ahh~ Ouuhh!! Uhmmff!! K-KKaahh—” Yeonhoon groaned loud as his balls tightened, blasting a river of cum, the first thick ropes slapping Momo’s face—her eyelids fluttering as warm streaks pained her cheekbones and lips. He pivoted his hips sharply, turning the erupting stream toward Natty’s gasping mouth, her tongue catching the next pulse as thick spurts flooded her throat, dripping down her chin in glistening trails. Karina leaned in, licking up the overflow from Natty's chin.
Momo, Natty, and Karina gave their best performance to please Yeonhoon. Karina and Momo licked the cum slipping from Natty that was flowing to her big tits.
Karina’s tongue darted out, lapping up the pearly streaks dribbling between Natty’s heaving cleavage, her lips chasing every stray drop down the valley of those chocolate-dipped tits. Momo moaned against Natty’s collarbone, her tongue swirling lazy circles through the mess as she pressed their slick bodies together—cum smearing between their sticky skin while Natty shuddered, her nipples stiffening under the dual assault. Yeonhoon’s breath hitched as Momo’s fingers suddenly pinched Natty’s left nipple, making a thick glob of his juice from her puckered tip, and Karina immediately sucking it clean.
After he emptied his sack, Yeonhoon hugged Momo, Natty, and Karina and collapsed together onto the bed. Momo, Karina, and Natty humored him by letting him cuddle them.
Yeonhoon felt like a king, lying on the bed with three sexy idols on his embrace—Momo, Natty on his left arm, while Karina was alone on his right arm.
“Ladies~ I’m dead, and you are the killers.” He said as he rubbed Karina’s and Momo’s shoulders, pressing those three closer to him, enjoying Karina’s and Natty’s sweaty tits pressing against his ribs.
“I take it that you were having fun,” Karina asked.
“Obviously. You three are everything I hoped for.”
“Then, our business is done, right?”
Upon hearing that, Yeonhoon retracted his arms from their shoulders. He slipped away to the other edge of the bed, grabbing his phone that was still filming—in the middle of their sex, he was just into it that he dropped the phone.
“H-hey, we are done, right?” Momo sounded worried because Yeonhoon hadn’t answered them.
“Well, not quite.”
“WHAT?!” Natty screamed. Momo and Karina were as shocked as her. “We’ve done what you asked!”
After having a taste of their bodies, Yeonhoon became greedy. Now, they wanted to enslave them.
“If you don’t want your ‘hot performance video’ hit the internet, you will be my agents.”
“Agents?” Momo was confused.
“Yeah, you’ll be my eyes and ears. My spies. You need to give me any useful information that I can use to blackmail other idols. The more scandalous the info is, the better.”
“You want me to what?” Karina looked furious. “You want me to sell my friends?”
“Choose! Your friend or your career?”
Karina suddenly became quiet.
While Momo, Karina, and Natty were quiet, Yeonhoon was busy operating his phone, so he didn’t say anything.
When he was done, he smirked suspiciously.
“Today is my lucky day. You know what? Let me tell you something.”
“What?” Natty said, coldly.
“To tell you the truth, I don’t have backup for those photos.”
“Huh?” The ladies were flabbergasted. They thought they heard it wrong. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, there are no more photos. Everything is gone when you flushed my memory card.”
Their eyes were wide open, realizing that he bluffed and forced them to sexually please him. Every single one of them looked enraged.
“YOUUUU!!!” Karina screamed, veins popping on her neck. Momo and Natty were behind her, ready to thrash Yeonhoon in a breath.
Strangely, Yeonhoon wasn’t panicking. He looked so confident as the ladies approached him with murderous intent.
“Forget photos. I have a better material.”
Yeonhoon pranked them. He loved it when their angry faces turned hopeless once again when he showed them the sex tape he filmed. They felt extremely idiotic when they realized they provided their sex tape themself.
When they thought he had their pictures, they didn’t think it could be worse when he filmed them. If only they knew he was bluffing.
“Oh! I love the faces you all make. And probably you also realized that I already backed this video up in my personal cloud. This time for real. Thank you for providing the material.” He laughed maniacally, laughing at their stupidity. “Now, why don’t you three dance again?” Since then, Momo, Natty, and Karina became his slaves.
☆ | description ; having two girlfriends is even more fun when they’re both obsessed with you.
☆ | content ; smut, a little bit of fluff, one line that could maybe count as angst. overstimulation. jihyo is a FREAK
☆ | notes ; here you go you FREAKS… also this is the fastest ive ever written and the wildest fic ive ever made idk what happened to me
☆ | word count ; 5.6k
You wake just as you always do; wrapped up in the arms of one of your girlfriends, with the other always within reach. Today, Momo's arms are warm around your waist, and Jihyo's shoulder apparently became the perfect headrest overnight.
They're already awake when you stir, talking in low voices. Momo's hand is charting across your skin, her fingers tracing invisible sketches over the skin, heat radiating from her palm.
Jihyo's hand comes to rest over Momo's, and the casual affection between the two elicits a small smile and a soft laugh from you.
You press your face into Jihyo's shoulder as her had turna to face you, a kiss being planted on your head. "Go back to sleep," she says, immediately. "It's too early, and you were up late last night."
"I'm awake now," you murmur, but the slow tempo of your words gives you away.
Momo leans over, resting her forehead on the back of your head. It's a tactic she uses often; you aren't very likely to want to move her, so she has a tendency to do that in order to keep you in place. "You're still tired," she states, truthfully. "It's two against one, baby. Majority wins?"
You grumble about the fact that she can read you so easily, but the low, soothing tone of her voice causes your eyes to lower nonetheless. Jihyo shifts closer, wrapping one arm around you.
With that, it's over. You can hardly argue with one of them, let alone both.
"You're both so annoying," you mumble, but it trails off into a yawn. Your eyes fully close as Jihyo's fingers comb through your hair.
It doesn't take very long before you fall asleep again, relaxed and safe in the arms of your two lovers.
-
You sleep for another two hours before finally waking at a normal hour.
The three of you are all going out with the other girls today; technically, only Jihyo and Momo were meant to, but they have a tendency to extend every invitation to you. And you, having the day off, would never willingly give up a chance to spend time with them.
You check the weather; hot, apparently.
That's the only thing that you have in mind as you pick your outfit. A cropped tank top, along with a coincidentally form-fitting pair of pants.
The weather is the only thing on your mind. Practicality.
Your girlfriends, though… not so much.
-
As soon as you walk back into the bedroom to retrieve your jewelry, you feel eyes on you. You glance up curiously, only to find Jihyo staring at you intensely.
…Huh. It's going to be a long day.
-
There's constantly eyes on you. You wish you were joking, but you aren't; when Jihyo isn't staring at you, Momo is. When Momo isn't staring at you, Jihyo is.
You catch their eyes a few times, smiling, just praying they can hold themselves together for a couple hours. You do not want to be responsible for them losing their composure in public.
…Though, the image of Jihyo snapping suddenly is pretty attractive…
No, you scold yourself. Just wait.
It'll be fine.
-
It's summer, so it's hot. It's always hot during the summer.
…But something other than the sun is beaming into you.
When you turn your head, you find it to be Jihyo's smouldering gaze, right behind you.
Well, she clearly wants something.
It doesn't take a genius to figure out what that something is; it just takes a girlfriend.
"Jihyo," you warn under your breath.
She groans. "Come on," she draws out, one hand sneaking towards your waist. "There's a bathroom."
"And there's also a bedroom," you counter. "In our house."
"I can be quick," she promises.
"Jihyo," you warn, but you can't help the amused smile on your face. It's impossible to hold back; even when she's not trying to, she makes you laugh.
She sighs dramatically. You grin, tap her nose, and walk away.
-
You're in front of a vending machine, debating buying a drink, when you feel a presence behind you.
You don't even turn around. It's likely one of two people, and you already have a sneaking suspicion which one came to find you. It has to be Jihyo.
"Hi," you greet over your shoulder, a smirk forming on your face.
…You, as it turns out, are wrong.
"I assume you know how insane Jihyo is right now?" Momo asks, her arms looping around your waist from behind. You're pleasantly surprised, and more than happy to hear her.
You hum, leaning back into her. "Kinda figured, yeah," you murmur. Your hands absentmindedly stroke the skin of her arms. "She's been staring at me. And also trying to get me to go to the washroom with her, if you know what I mean. Should I be worried about whether or not I'll be able to walk tomorrow?"
"Oh! No, you don't need to worry," Momo says innocently. "I already know you won't, so there's no need to worry about figuring it out!"
Your laugh comes in the form of an amused snort, your head leaning back to rest on her shoulder as well as it can. "So you're not going to help me?"
"Oh, of course not," she tells you, voice bright. But from the way her hand subtly plays with your waistband… you've been dating long enough to know that the innocent tone of her voice is all for show. "I might make it worse, actually."
"Good to know," you sigh, patting her arm. "Okay, we should go, I think. Jihyo probably misses us."
She nods, giving you a final squeeze before removing her arms and backing up. "Let's go," she says, her voice even.
But as she leads you back to the rest of the group, her eyes linger on the exposed part of your stomach, and you know she's more affected than she's letting on.
-
Pretty much as soon as she sees you, the sun burning down onto you, Jihyo all but drags you away from the others.
She pulls you into a secluded room, pressing you to the door and leaning in to kiss you. Her chest rises and falls against yours, breathing heavy.
"Your outfit is driving me nuts," she mumbles into your lips, her nails digging into the bare skin of your shoulders. "Holy shit, you look so good—"
"It's just a tank top! Calm down!" you laugh against her, taking one of her hands and squeezing it playfully.
"I can't," she hisses. Her eyes close, and she leans her head forward until it thunks gently against your shoulder. "You're too pretty. I can't handle it. This is torture."
"That is wild, coming from you."
"No, it's just true."
"You literally have your abs on full display at almost every concert," you deadpan. "Momo, too. And I always just have to sit there and watch. And—"
A sharp, subtle pain in your shoulder interrupts you.
"Ow!" you hiss out. "Did you— Jihyo, did you just bite me?"
"I can't help it," she complains, kissing and— shit, she's licking at the skin to soothe it. Shit, she's hot.
You sigh, and it quivers just a little as she scrapes her teeth over your skin again. "Jihyo..."
You feel her smirk against your skin. "What?" she asks. "Can't I appreciate my girlfriend?"
"Can't you do it without trying to initiate sex in public?"
"Well, I could, but what if I don't want to do it like that?"
You shake your head, huffing out a soft laugh. "You're impossible," you grumble.
She turns her head, pressing her nose into your neck. "I'm in love," she sighs out dramatically.
"You're horny," you correct.
She snorts. "That, I can't argue with."
-
You and Momo head home before Jihyo does. She pouts as you leave, but you already know she'll be more than happy once she gets home.
The drive back to your house is quick and filled with laughter. Your hand is intertwined with Momo's the whole way back. If you were someone else, you'd call yourself a lovesick idiot for how you feel when she looks at you.
But you're not someone else. So, when your chest warms in response to her gentle smiles, you just settle for calling yourself an adoring girlfriend.
-
Jihyo, as it turns out, is not the only horny one in the relationship.
You find this out because, maybe ten minutes after you make it home, Momo is already making out with you messily. To make things worse—better,actually, if you're honest—the two of you are already in bed.
This, of course, means that she is by no means against allowing her lips to start roaming.
Momo presses you into the mattress, lips immediately moving to your collarbone. You tilt your head back on instinct, allowing her access to your neck if she wants it, and she hums appreciatively.
"Do you know how attractive you are?" she murmurs, her lips just barelyleaving your skin in order to get the words out. She travels to your shoulder, peppering quick kisses along the slope of it.
Your hand ghosts across her back, finding the skin revealed by her crop top. "Nowhere near as attractive as you," you snort, fingertips dragging against her sides in the hopes of making her shiver.
Momo stops for a moment, glancing up at you with a quizzical expression. "Are you serious? You literally drive me insane." She kisses your shoulder again, and then moves down to the exposed skin above the neckline of your shirt. "You're so hot. Just ask Jihyo; she's been losing her shit over you all day."
You shake your head as Momo toys with the hem of your shirt. "You're just saying that because you're my girlfriend," you say. You lift yourself to help her while she removes your shirt, shivering beneath her warm hands.
"I'm not a liar," she chides. Her head moves a little lower, mouth meeting the skin just above your breasts.
"I never said that." A breathy, needy sigh escapes you as she finally moves down, wrapping her lips around one of your nipples. "Just that you… could be a little biased."
She pulls back for a moment, looking at you like you're insane. "Stop that." She rests a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently, and moves to press a quick kiss to your lips. "I am not biased, you're just hot."
You smile. You're about to say something else, but then her mouth attaches to your other breast, and the words are lost. Whatever you were thinking escapes you with a long, quiet whine.
Momo wastes no time in pulling herself away and moving lower, looking up to lock eyes with you once. "Can I…?" she asks, nodding to the space between your thighs.
You nod, lifting your hips. She removes your pants with ease and tosses them somewhere over her shoulder; the location isn't important.
She kisses the inside of your right thigh, and then your left. She lingers there for a moment, smiling into your skin, basking in the position. You groan. Finally, when you reach down to clumsily pat at her shoulder, she moves to where she knows you want her.
The first press of her lips to your soaked cunt sends pleasure jolting through you, eliciting a long, drawn-out moan as she begins to put her tongue to good use.
"Shit," you breathe out, already feeling her starting to work you up. To be honest, she's a little too good at it.
You find your hand twisting into her hair. You don't apply too much pressure, not yet, but you do hold her where she is. You're feeling too good to let her move back; you're already feeling the knot forming in your stomach, winding just a little tighter, and you don't want to let that go.
You don't want to let her go.
Her palms are warm as the come around, holding your thighs just as they begin to quiver the slightest bit. She's focused in her work, in the expert strokes along your slit, tongue dipping inside of you slightly for just a moment before she returns to teasing between your folds.
She knows your body, knows just the perfect speed to go, knows the perfect movements to push and push as your edge draws closer. Her fingers dig into the skin of your thighs, her movements growing quicker just as your breathing and heartbeat do the same. It only lasts a moment, though; the increased speed is almost teasing, before she returns to the tempo she was going at before.
Not that you come down at all when she slows; in fact, you just get closer.
The strokes of her tongue are slow and languid, and you whimper and gasp as she takes your clit into her mouth.
She's almost infuriatingly gentle.
She moans against you, and the vibration runs through you. You mimic the sound, breathing short and fast, as pleasure shoots through you like a shock. You can already feel yourself nearing the edge.
One thought breaks through your lust-fogged haze, though; you manage to force out a strangled, breathy, "Jihyo—"
Momo hums into you, and your voice breaks into a cracking moan. "She'll have her fun later," she promises lowly against your cunt, her nails leaving small indents in your thighs as she returns to her task with a renewed determination.
She circles your clit with her tongue in teasing, effortless movements, and you moan again. As she carefully sucks, your composure breaks completely.
You come, crying out her name, and the nails digging into your thighs disappear. Her fingers run comfortingly over the slightly-pained indents as your high crashes over, still lapping at you throughout it.
As you come down, you sigh, your body relaxing back into the mattress. Your haand in her hair releases its grip, instead sliding down to cup her cheek and turn her face up towards you.
"Thank you," you mumble, meeting her eyes with a half-lidded gaze. She beams up at you from between your legs, the expression so bright that you can almost forget what she was just doing there.
…No, that's a lie. You can't forget it at all.
She removes herself from your body, shivering lightly as she separates your combined body heat. You shut your eyes, sleepy from the warmth of the day and the intense orgasm, while you wait for her return.
When Momo walks back into the room, you feel her carefully cleaning up the area between your thighs. Usually, you would take a bath, but it seems like both of you have come to the same conclusion; Jihyo will just want to do more, so it's no use.
She spends a short time cleaning you up, and then leaves to throw the towel into the laundry. Upon her return, she shifts you over a little, and then claims the spot right next to you.
When she nudges you, guiding your head to rest on her chest, you allow her to move you with closed eyes and a small smile. Your bare chest presses against her side, laying on your stomach. She presses a tender kiss to the top of your head, her hand rubbing circles into your back, and murmurs a quiet, "You down to take a nap?"
"Absolutely," you respond, not even opening your eyes.
You can't see her smile, but you can hear the soft puff of laughter that comes from her. She tilts her hand, instead running gentle lines across the slope of your back with her nails, and your body melts into hers.
Jihyo will be home soon enough, and you already know you'll need energy for that. So for now, you allow yourself to bask in the relaxation of napping with Momo, and prepare yourself for what will come later.
-
Jihyo returns about two and a half hours after you wake up, once the sky has already darkened.
You and Momo have already eaten dinner, as has Jihyo. The three of you have just been waiting to reunite, the few hours you've spent separated feeling more like years.
You perk up as soon as you hear the door open, already grinning. You pat Momo's shoulder and peek your head around the corner, warmth filling your chest at the sight of Jihyo.
She's placing down her bag. She turns, her expression quickly brightening, and reaches for you.
Momo isn't far behind as you hug and kiss Jihyo as a greeting. You make room for her, watching the two warmly, and then rest your head on Jihyo's shoulder from the side.
"I sure hope you have enough energy," is how Jihyo chooses to greet you. You blush, and she turns to Momo. "Hi, Momo. Miss me?"
Jihyo then turns back to you, taking your face into her hands. "I hope you know we aren't leaving that bed once we get to it," she promises, voice far too sweet for something like that.
You laugh, but you know she's serious. If she really has been losing her mind all day, you already know that, as soon as you let her start, she won't stop.
You just hope you still have enough energy.
-
She's sweet, once she gets you laying down.
Her eyes are warm and dark, a heavy tension of want resting over the three of you as she takes you in. You did put on a sweatshirt and pants after you and Momo woke up, but Jihyo makes quick work of those.
You find yourself shifting as Momo takes a seat, her hands already reaching for your waist. She pulls you towards her while Jihyo ties her hair back, her fingertips running soft lines along your hips.
"You're so pretty," she murmurs in your ear. You know she's just saying it to get you started, but that doesn't stop the shiver that runs down your spine.
Jihyo joins the two of you on the bed, leaning over you with a lopsided smile. "I've been waiting to do this all day," she says, as if you don't know that already.
You tip your head back, just slightly, and look her in the eye. "Then do it," you challenge playfully, shifting just a little.
Jihyo smiles, cupping your cheek. You feel Momo moving beneath your body, and then her arm wraps around you to keep you still.
With Momo holding you, Jihyo lets her hand travel lower. It reaches the space between your thighs, and she presses teasingly.
You whimper, just slightly. She smirks as your breathing begins to pick up a little.
"Momo told me she made you come hard earlier," Jihyo murmurs, her eyes meeting yours through her lashes as her fingers begin to tease. "I hope that didn't take all of your energy. You still need some."
"I have energy," you promise quickly, hips shifting just a little in the hopes of getting a little more feeling where you need it.
"Do you have enough?" she asks. Her fingers grow more insistent, but you aren't complaining; if anything, you're already getting desperate for her to do more.
You nod quickly, only a little bit frantically, and her eyes take in every movement. You want her, you want this, you need this and her and all of it.
Her fingers move around, and she just taps at your entrance. Doesn't go in. Doesn't give you what you want, not yet.
She just… taps at it. Once. Then twice.
It's all so underwhelming; too underwhelming. You need more, and you can tell by her expression that she knows that.
One finger dips into you, just for a second, and you whine. Then she pulls it back out, and traces the outline of your entrance with an eager grin.
"Jihyo, please," you find yourself exhaling, clenching and unclenching your fists as she works.
Jihyo glances up at you, gives a smug smirk, and continues her actions.
You pant, eyes squeezing shut. Your hips lift, just slightly, as her fingers circle and tease around your entrance.
"Oh, don't squirm," Momo murmurs, her hand gently running over your abdomen. You feel her head finding its way to your neck, her teeth tracing over the skin before biting and sucking a mark into it. Her arm only tightens around you as your back arches, coincidentally moving away from her.
Before you've recovered from Momo's bite, you feel two of Jihyo's fingers finally push into you.
Your voice breaks over a moan at the combination of feelings, eyes cracking open to take in the sight before you. That choice, however, only serves to fuel the blaze forming through your nerves, because, shit,the sight is hot.
Jihyo is leaning over you, her eyes flicking between her own fingers and your flushed face. When your eyes travel lower, you can see one of Momo's hands tracing shapes into your hip while she holds you against her; the hand that you can't see from your angle, you can feel tracing over your breast, her nails scratching so gently in all the right spots.
Your heart pounds erratically as Jihyo's eyes meet yours, her pupils dilated, her mouth twisted in a smirk. "Having fun?" she asks, voice lowin her throat, as she thrusts into you again.
A breathless moan punches out of you, and she smiles wider.
Momo hums from behind you. "I think she could be having more fun," she purrs. "I think she can handle a third finger. What do you think?"
"I think you're right, Momo," Jihyo agrees, pulling out of you slowly.
You whine at the loss, still panting, and she coos. "Oh, don't worry," she soothes. "Just a minute, okay?"
She lifts her fingers to her mouth, opening it to take them inside and sucking. She closes her eyes for a moment, her free hand rubbing circles into your hip, while you begin to catch your breath.
Her eyes open, a newfound shine in them, as she pulls her fingers from her mouth. "Momo, do you want a taste?" she asks, offering up the two fingers that she just licked clean.
Momo laughs from behind you. "I'd love to," she says, as if she hasn't tasted you more times than you can count, "but you just cleaned it all off your fingers…"
"Oh, that's not a problem," Jihyo says brightly, her eyes flicking back down to you.
Part of you wants to question what she means, but with your head spinning like it is, you don't get the chance.
Before you've fully processed her words, and the implication behind them, her fingers push back into you. You whimper, caught off guard, and your eyes roll back as her fingers curl inside of you.
She thrusts in and out one, two, three times. Her eyes are locked on your face when you finally open yours again, and the pure, unfiltered want in her gaze is enough to force another breathy moan out of you.
Then, without warning, she pulls her fingers out again.
"Problem solved," she murmurs, offering her fingers to Momo again. Her eyes finally leave you, now flicking up to meet Momo's.
Now, Momo leans over you as well as she can, taking Jihyo's fingers into her mouth. You watch them as they simply stare at each other, both of their chests heaving slightly.
When she releases Jihyo's fingers from her mouth, Momo smiles widely. "Amazing," she laughs. "But… you know what I think would taste even better?"
"I think I have a hunch," Jihyo teases, looking back at you. A shudder rolls through your body as her attention returns fully to you.
Her hand traces around your inner thighs, slowly, gently. And then her hand finds your core once again.
"Ready?" she asks, her voice even and calm. Much calmer than you, right now.
You nod quickly. Jihyo smiles.
When her fingers thrust into you—three of them, this time—you hiss out at the feeling of them stretching you lightly. Your body adjusts quickly, though, tense against Momo.
Momo herself still keeps her arm wrapped around you, tightening every time you move a little. Her lips return to your skin, mouthing at your neck and your shoulder and the slope between them. You feel her teeth every now and then, and you're sure she's leaving marks that you'll need to cover up, but another thrust from Jihyo tugs those thoughts out of you.
Momo's free hand, eventually, moves to your jaw. She holds it gently, keeping your head tilted just right, the side of her nose brushing against your throat as she kisses and licks along the skin of your neck.
The whole time, Jihyo just keeps thrusting into you, her other hand running along your body and occasionally helping Momo to keep you pinned. Her eyes don't leave you, and the glint in them is dizzyingwhenever you crack your eyes open.
The combination of sensations enveloping you is overwhelming, and you feel yourself nearing the edge very quickly. Not that it's an uncommon thing to feel; Jihyo and Momo are always great at getting you to this point, and fast.
"Fuck," you groan, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes from how tightly you squeeze them. "Oh, fuck— I'm— I'm close."
Jihyo hums, and you can hear the smile in her voice, and you're pretty sure you'll kill her if she tries edging you right now.
"What do you think, Momo?" she asks, low and teasing. "Should we let her come?"
"Please," you beg, hoping that maybe it'll sway the decision of the girl behind you.
Momo hums against your neck, but you recognize the tone. You sigh in relief, for a moment; she doesn't sound like she's going to suggest edging you, if you know her. And you'd like to think you know her well.
Sure enough, she finally says, "Well, I think she's been good. I think she deserves it."
Oh, you could cry.
Jihyo lets out a low noise from her throat above you. Her thumb finds your clit, drawing a moan immediately, and swipes back and forth once, then twice.
With a third swipe, another thrust into you, and her lips capturing yours, you tumble over the edge. Your moans are muffled by her mouth as she works you through it, her fingers beginning to slow but staying inside of you for as long as you need.
Slowly, your body begins to relax again. You come down gradually, your chest rising and falling heavily, your body trembling a little.
"…Shit," you pant.
Jihyo grins, running her hands over your stomach. "How was that?" she asks, her face lingering near yours.
You don't respond. You blink at her, a stupid, lovesick smile growing on your face. "Are you satisfied now?"
"No," she tells you honestly, but she leans away nonetheless.
The two of them give you a few moments to settle down, catching your breath and waiting for your heartbeat to slow. Once you calm down a little, you feel Momo dragging a hand along your arm.
"Think you can handle another round?" she asks, hooking her chin over your shoulder. The teasing tone of her voice is dropped, though, as she adds, "Only if you want."
Her hand travels just a little lower, and a low whine pulls from you. "Momo," you sigh, your body melting back into her. "Yes— yeah, sure, yes…"
There's a momentary pause, a wordless communication between your two girlfriends. And then Momo, head angled slightly downwards, gives one communicative nod.
Jihyo doesn't seem to need anything else to understand. She gently maneuvers you, murmuring sweet words of praise that you can't process into your ear, until you're situated atop Momo's thigh, your body now facing the opposite direction.
Momo's hands find themselves on your hips, fingers tapping gently in rhythmic strokes. You hiss out a breath as she pulls you down even further, tears forming in your eyes as your bare, sensitive core meets her thigh. She groans at the feeling, and it only serves to make you wetter.
You feel Jihyo's arms slowly snake around your waist, at the same time that Momo begins to guide you to grind down against her thigh.
For a few moments, she's guiding your movements, maneuvering you back and forth along her skin. But once you get into the rhythm of it, she's controlling your movements less and less. Your hand reaches, shakily, and lands on her shoulder for stability.
Jihyo presses gentle kisses to the back of your shoulder, still holding you. Her breath picks up again, and you begin to speed up a little.
You're still feeling very shaky and a little tired from your first orgasm, but your desperation is quickly reviving your energy and stamina.
"Momo," you groan, "Momo—"
"Keep going," she encourages, grasping at your free hand and lacing her fingers through yours.
You press yourself down harder, a stuttered moan drawing itself from your throat as you speed up. You feel it building up again, gasping, chasing your high.
"Good," Jihyo is praising from behind you. "You can do it. Good girl."
Your head lowers, your hair hanging over Momo's face and shoulder. Your breath comes heavy and fast as you slide back and forth, eyes rolling back once again.
Momo's grip tightens on where she's holding your hips, and she grinds you down harder against her. You cry out, movements growing jagged and frantic as you chase the feeling.
Jihyo's lips press to the back of your neck, and it's the final touch to shove you over the edge. You come with a sob, body collapsing down into Momo as you quiver.
Jihyo comes down with you, and suddenly you're a stack of three. You're sandwiched in the middle, stuck between them as they both try to hold you through it.
At that moment, it seems, an idea strikes Jihyo. You know this because she carefully flips you over, kissing your cheek, and then moves down your body.
"You're so good, so good," she murmurs as she travels, planting herself between your thighs. You can't focus, already lost in pleasure, lost in them, as she prepares herself.
By the time you can even start to come down, you're already feeling her tongue slipping between your folds.
You cry out helplessly, but a shaking hand comes down to hold her head anyway. Your hand tangles in her hair, instinctively pulling her into you.
Momo's hands are roaming, you realize distantly. But your attention is almost immediately pulled back down to Jihyo, who inserts two fingers while her mouth is working.
"Jihyo," you cry out, pretty much gone by now. "Fuck, oh—"
"Good girl," Momo rasps in your ear. "So good for us. So pretty for us. Come again for us, okay? One more time. You can do it."
You let out a desperate whine, fumbling to hold Momo's hand again. You squeeze it in a white-knuckled grip, tension building and building as Jihyo continues to fuck you.
Jihyo curls her fingers inside of you once, and then another time, and you swear you lose your vision.
Your third orgasm in a row crashes into you hard and fast, and it leaves you gasping as Jihyo helps you ride it out. Momo presses kiss after kiss to your neck, squeezing your hand even when your grip slackens.
You hardly come down before you're talking, just babbling without thinking. "Keep going," you sob out feverishly, "don't stop— fuck, Jihyo—"
At your request, she continues. She doesn't seem tired in the slightest; if anything, she moves with more energy than ever, eating you out like she'll never get the chance again, fucking you hard with her fingers the whole time.
Momo just keeps mumbling praises to you, keeps kissing your skin, but you can't even register her words at this point. You're incoherent, whimpering and gasping desperately.
It doesn't take very long for you to come again, nor does it take much effort. All it really takes is Jihyo giving a particularly intense suck to your clit, and a good thrust, and you're gone.
You genuinely lose awareness for a few moments, head falling back against Momo. Her arms wrap around your sides, holding you against herself gently, eyes shining as she watches you.
Jihyo leans away, pulling her fingers out and cooing quietly at the soft whine you let out. She watches your flushed face as you finally begin to come down fully.
Your thighs tremble and twitch as the two of them lay you down, Jihyo slotting herself next to you while Momo wordlessly gets up. She comes back a minute or two later—though you hardly notice the time passing—with a wet cloth, carefully cleaning you up.
Jihyo traces aimless shapes over your bare skin, still mumbling praise to you, holding you gently. Your breathing begins to calm, just a little, as she presses her forehead into your neck. She watches Momo clean you with a wordless kind of affection, hands moving to soothe your twitching, tired body.
By the time you fully return to yourself, both of them are laying down with you, one on either side. Your body feels heavy and weak, all of your energy having gone to… that.
"…I have never seen you keep going for that long," Momo remarks, wide-eyed.
You groan, long and exhausted. "I didn't know I could do that. You two better not be expecting me to do anything tomorrow morning."
"We'll see how you're feeling," Jihyo promises. Her smile is warm and attentive, as she drags a hand down your body. She slowly pulls the covers over all three of you.
You let your head drop onto her shoulder, your eyes heavy.
"Get some rest," Momo encourages, one of her legs moving to rest over both of yours. "That was intense."
You can't argue; you close your eyes, and when you fall asleep, you're warm and happy.
The wrestling mat still echoed in my mind—the sharp crack when my arm twisted wrong during that takedown drill, the coach yelling for ice, the blur of teammates crowding around. College practice had turned into an ER visit, and now here I was, right arm immobilized in a bulky cast from elbow to fingers, useless for everything from eating to zipping my pants. Mom and Dad were swamped with work, so they roped in Seol In-ah—my best friend since we were kids trading lunches in elementary school. Her parents lived two blocks away, and she'd always been the reliable one, the girl who'd bail me out of dumb scrapes without judgment. "We'll pay you to help out," Dad had said over dinner, and she just shrugged with that easy smile, her long brown hair tucked behind one ear, glasses perched on her nose making her look like the smart girl in every rom-com. "No need—he's like my brother. I'll handle it."
Handling it meant everything. The first few days were awkward but functional: she'd cut my food into bites at meals, help button my shirts, even tie my shoes with a teasing grin. "You're like a giant baby now," she'd say, her voice light, those soft eyes crinkling at the corners. In-ah was 20 like me, but she carried herself with this quiet confidence—slender build with subtle curves that showed in fitted tops, small but perky breasts that shifted naturally when she moved, a narrow waist leading to hips that swayed just enough to notice if you looked too long. Her skin was pale and smooth, always smelling faintly of green tea lotion, and her face was the kind that stuck with you: high cheekbones, full lips that curved into genuine smiles, and those glasses framing eyes that could go from playful to intense in a blink.
Showering was the real test. The cast couldn't get wet, so she wrapped it in plastic, but everything else required assistance. "We've done this before," she said the first time, standing outside the curtain in her tank top and shorts. "Remember summer camp when we were 10? No big deal." But it was different now—we weren't kids anymore. I'd strip down, step under the spray, and she'd reach in with the loofah, soaping my back, my chest, her hands efficient but careful. The water made her tank cling in spots, outlining her small nipples faintly, but I tried not to stare.
By day four, the inevitable happened. Under the hot stream, her hand brushing lower to wash my legs, my cock stirred—hardening despite my mental chants to calm down. It bobbed up, obvious and unignorable, the head flushing pink against my thigh. She paused, eyes flicking down, then up to my face with a raised eyebrow. "Seriously?" she muttered, but there was no real anger, just that familiar tease.
I seized the moment, guilt twisting in my gut but opportunity burning hotter. "In-ah... it's been days. I can't... you know, with the cast. It hurts. Please?" I made my voice pathetic, eyes pleading, leaning into the helplessness. "You're my best friend. Help me out?"
She sighed, rolling her eyes, but didn't pull away. "You're shameless." Her hand hovered, then wrapped around me tentatively—soft palm, fingers slender and warm from the water. She stroked once, experimental, and I groaned louder than necessary.
"Wait," I pushed, voice thick. "Let me see you. It's only fair—I'm naked here. Show me your body."
She froze, hand stilling. "What? No way." But I kept going, coaxing: "Come on, we've known each other forever. Just to make it easier. Please? It hurts so bad."
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn't let go. Instead, she flicked my balls—sharp snap of her finger that made me wince and double over, pain shooting up. "Ow—fuck, In-ah!"
"Beg," she said, a smirk tugging her lips. "Mercy?"
"Mercy, please—don't stop," I gasped, straightening. "Just... compromise? Show me your breasts while you do it."
She bit her lip, considering, then nodded once. "Fine. Pity you, loser." She stepped back, peeled off her tank—revealing those small, perky breasts, pale skin glowing under the bathroom light, nipples dark pink and already tightening from the steam. They sat high on her chest, soft handfuls with a natural bounce when she moved back in. Her hand resumed stroking—firmer now, twisting at the head, her thumb circling the slit where pre-cum beaded.
"You're so beautiful," I breathed, eyes locked on her chest. "The most gorgeous woman I've ever seen. My exes? Nothing compared to you. That girl I crushed on last semester—she's plain next to you." I layered the praise thick, stroking her ego, watching her cheeks deepen in color, her strokes quickening.
She smiled faintly, embarrassed but pleased. "Shut up."
When I pushed further—"Suck it? Please? Ride me after?"—she didn't snap. Her eyes widened, face heating, but she didn't pull away. "You're crazy," she whispered, but her hand didn't stop. I kept coaxing: "In-ah, I've had a crush on you forever. Fantasized about us—married, kids, the whole thing. Jerk off thinking of you every night."
She paused, breath catching, then that smile broke—barely contained, lighting her face. "Idiot... me too. Been in love with you since forever. Fantasized the same stuff." Her voice cracked with embarrassment, but she leaned in, lips parting to take my cock—warm mouth enveloping me, tongue flat along the underside as she bobbed slow, eyes flicking up shyly.
We moved to the bedroom after—her leading me by the hand, both dripping water on the floor. She stripped fully, revealing a body honed from casual workouts: slender arms, flat stomach with a faint navel dip, hips narrow but feminine, and between her legs a neat strip of dark hair above smooth lips already slick. We fucked clumsily at first—her on top, guiding me in, her tightness gripping like heat wrapped in silk. "Slow... you're big," she gasped, riding tentative, her small breasts bouncing with each drop. Post-nut hit hard after I came inside her—regret flooding as she curled against me, calling me "baby," "dear," her hands touching nonstop, chattering about marriage dates and baby names. "We'll have three—two girls like me, one boy like you." I hid the disgust, forcing a smile, her clinginess already feeling like weights on my chest.
But it stuck. She became this affectionate storm—texts every hour, showing up unannounced, her presence a constant hum. Mornings she'd wake me with kisses, her body pressed close, big breasts (wait, no—small perky ones) squishing against me. We'd fuck daily—intense sessions where she'd ride me facing away, ass cheeks spreading to show her pink hole winking, or me eating her out until she squirted, her taste tangy and addictive. Weird kinks crept in: her dipping food in her pussy juices for me to eat, or sucking me with cookie crumbs in her mouth for that rough texture. But the affection was overwhelming—her calling me pet names nonstop, planning our future in breathless whispers during sex: "Marry me soon, dear—kids right after." I nodded, hiding the growing unease, her love a beautiful cage I couldn't escape.
What would be the first thing you would do with each member of aespa if you could do whatever you want (no limits) for one night? Could be a good idea for a story too.
I would pin her against the wall the second the door clicks shut, rip her outfit and immediately lands a few rough slaps on her ginormous tits, perfectly hitting her nipples until they become red. Then, I would shove four fingers straight into her dripping hole while my mouth had its moment with Karina's tits until she's on the verge to cum like a broken faucet. Then, I'd flip her around, bend her over and slam my cock balls-deep into her pussy in one brutal thrust. I'll pound her pussy so damn hard the walls shake so hard that it creates an entire new universe inside the wall. I would pull her hair, making her scream my name until she begged for me to fill her womb.
The first thing I would do with Giselle is throw her face-down on the bed, yank her thong aside and bury my tongue straight into her tight little asshole, rimming her sloppy and deep while I finger-fuck her cunt until she’s shaking and begging. Then I’d spit a fat glob right on her puckered hole, line my cock up and force every inch into her raw ass in one savage thrust, reaming her mercilessly while I yank her hair like reins and slap her face into the pillow, making her scream in that raspy voice until tears stream down her cheeks and she’s creaming hands-free from anal alone. I’d pull out only to shove it down her throat, skull-fucking her until she pukes spit and precum all over her tits, then flip her back over and double-penetrate her with my cock in her ass and a fist in her pussy until she’s a shaking, cum-dripping mess begging me to ruin every hole for the rest of the night.
I would wrap my arm around her tiny neck, completely putting her into a chokehold while my free hand slapped her pussy non-stop to a point where a slight touch from me could trigger her orgasm. Then, I'd slap my heavy cock across her pretty face until it’s red and stinging, then force every inch down her throat until her nose is buried in my balls and mascara rivers down her cheeks. I’d skull-fuck her without mercy, balls slapping her chin, making her gag and drool like a broken fucktoy until she’s coughing up thick ropes of throat slime, then I’d throw her on the bed, spread her legs wide and destroy her tight little pussy with long, punishing strokes, choking her the whole time while I spit in her mouth and call her my useless cumrag.
I would tie both her wrists and legs on a chair, making her watch me humiliate, torture, and turn her fellow members into nothing but a vessel for me to release my cum into. Once I'm done fucking with the three of them, I would give the same treatment that those three got to Ningning. Letting the maknae experience what her unnie had to go through
The first time I saw her at the public pool, she was impossible to miss.
Karina—though she introduced herself as “Noona” that afternoon—was in her late 30s but looked like she could pass for mid-20s under the right light. Long, jet-black hair slicked back from swimming, water beading on marble skin, and a black one-piece swimsuit that hugged every dangerous curve: heavy, natural breasts straining the fabric so the deep V-neckline barely contained them, nipples faintly visible when the material clung wet; a narrow waist that flared into wide, childbearing hips; thick thighs that flexed when she climbed out of the water; and an ass so round and full it jiggled with every step. Her face was devastating—sharp cat eyes, high cheekbones, full lips painted a soft coral even at the pool, the kind of beauty that made housewives glare and husbands stare.
She caught me looking. Smiled. Waved me over like it was nothing.
We talked. She was bored. Husband worked long hours in finance, always overseas or late at the office. Daughter in elementary school. Days stretched empty after drop-off. “I swim to kill time,” she said, voice low and amused. “And to feel something.”
I was 21, college student, living with my family in my parents apartment while I “studied” online. I told her I had the place to myself most days. It was technically true.
She tilted her head. “Show me?"
We fucked that same afternoon.
Her swimsuit was still damp when I peeled it off in my living room. Her breasts spilled free—heavy, soft, dark pink areolas the size of coins, nipples already thick and erect like a cow's udder. Between her thighs, a neatly trimmed patch of black hair framed, her plump outer lips already glistening. She smelled like chlorine and aroused woman.
I ate her on the couch while she gripped my hair and whispered filthy encouragements in half-Korean, half-English. “Yes… there… lick deeper, baby… make noona cum…” When she came she squirted—a hot gush that soaked my chin and the cushions. Then she dropped to her knees, tits swaying, and swallowed my cock like she’d been starving for it. No gag reflex. Just hungry, wet suction until I painted filthy murals in her throat.
After that first time, she became my "daytime wife."
Mornings she’d drop her daughter at school, then drive straight to my place or invite me to hers. By 9 a.m. her clothes were usually on the floor.
Some days I’d wake to her already in my kitchen (after my parents left for work) —wearing only one of my oversized T-shirts tied around her stomach, ass peeking out as she cooked breakfast. She’d bend over the counter “accidentally,” letting me see the jeweled plug she’d started wearing at my suggestion. “Keeps me stretched for you,” she’d murmur, voice husky. I’d walk up behind her, slide the plug out, replace it with my cock, and fuck her ass slow while she stirred eggs. We’d chat about nothing—her daughter’s school project, my upcoming assignment—while my dick sawed in and out of her tight back hole.
“God, you’re so deep,” she’d sigh happily. “My husband never touches me there. Never even asked.”
Other days we’d stay at her house—her marital bed. She loved the risk. I’d pound her missionary on the same sheets her husband slept on, her legs hooked over my shoulders, tits bouncing wildly while she moaned, “Harder… ruin me for him…”
Her sex drive was insane. Late 30s and hornier than any girl my age. She confessed one afternoon, while riding me reverse cowgirl on my couch, ass cheeks clapping: “I used to think I was broken. My husband fucks me maybe twice a month—if I’m lucky. With you… I cum three, four times a day. Sometimes more. I didn’t know my body could do this.”
I’d grin, slap her ass. “That’s because you’re my wife now, noona.”
She’d clench around me and whimper, “Yes… your wife…”
Recently, we started recording.
First it was just my phone propped on a stack of books—me eating her pussy from behind while she knelt on all fours, face buried in a pillow, moaning into the fabric. Then a cheap tripod from amazon. We’d set it up in the living room, bedroom, kitchen—anywhere the mood struck.
She got off on the idea of OnlyFans without faces. “Just bodies,” she’d whisper while I lubed her asshole with cooking oil. “Let strangers watch you stretch me… fill me… but they’ll never know it’s the bored housewife from the neighbourhood.”
We filmed everything: her riding me anal on the kitchen counter while breakfast burned; me throat-fucking her until mascara ran in black rivers down her cheeks; her squatting over my face, grinding her soaked cunt and asshole on my tongue while she pinched her own nipples and begged for more.
One favorite: her on her back, legs spread wide, me kneeling between them sliding in and out of her pussy at a lazy pace so we could talk.
“You like that, noona?” I’d ask, cock buried to the hilt.
“Mmm… so full… keep going slow… I love feeling every inch…” She’d reach down, play with my balls, then slide a finger lower—teasing my asshole while I fucked her. “Can I…?” she’d ask shyly at first.
Now it was routine. She’d slip a finger—or two—inside me while I pounded her, massaging my prostate until I came so hard my vision whited out. “Good boy,” she’d purr, delighted. “Cum in Mommy’s pussy while I finger your tight little hole.”
She kept a small lotion bottle at my place—exactly the right girth. She’d walk around my flat wearing nothing but an apron, the bottle lodged deep in her ass while she vacuumed, cooked, folded my laundry. “Training,” she’d say with a wicked smile. “So you can fuck my ass whenever you want.”
And I did.
Her asshole went from reluctant to greedy. The first time I licked it—rimming her deep while she trembled on all fours—she sobbed in pleasure. “No one’s ever… oh god… your tongue is inside my dirty hole… I’m so ashamed and so wet…”
Now she begged for it. “Please… eat my ass again… make me feel nasty…”
I’d spread her cheeks, tongue-fuck her puckered ring until she dripped down her thighs, then slide my cock in—slow at first, then brutal. She’d scream into the pillow, “Yes—stretch me—own my ass—my husband doesn’t even know I like this!”
One evening, after I’d fucked her pussy raw and was buried balls-deep in her ass, she looked back at me—sweat-slick hair sticking to her face, tits swaying, eyes glassy with lust.
“I’ve had more sex with you in one week than with my husband in the last five years,” she confessed breathlessly. “You’ve been places he’s never touched… never even asked about. My pussy… my asshole… my throat… you own them all.”
I thrust harder. “Say it.”
“You own me,” she gasped. “I’m your daytime wife… your fuck toy… your secret slut… use me however you want…”
I came deep in her ass, painting her insides while she shuddered through another orgasm—fingers frantically rubbing her clit, lotion bottle discarded on the floor beside us.
Afterward she curled against me on the couch, still leaking my cum from both holes, head on my chest.
“Tomorrow?” she whispered.
“Tomorrow,” I promised. “Bring the camera. And wear the plug to school drop-off.”
Twelve different girls, twelve different roles, same corporate of endless lust. Professionalism isn't a word in their world of air-conditioning and coffee—but sex? Definitely something that keeps office romance steamy.
Kwon Eunbi, Secretary — @iznsfw
Miyawaki Sakura, Boss — @writerpeach
Kang Hyewon — @capslocked
Choi Yena, Event Coordinator — @worldsover
Lee Chaeyeon, Payroll — @nsfwrpg
Kim Chaewon, Data Management — @gangplanksorenji
Kim Minju — @capslocked
Yabuki Nako, Data Analytics Secretary — @leafostuff
The glass doors of SM Entertainment’s headquarters slid open with a pneumatic hiss, severing the connection to the outside world. The lobby’s air conditioning was aggressive, a sterile chill that instantly dried the sweat on your neck—a violent shift from the suffocating humidity of the Seoul summer.
Against your chest, the plastic laminate of your new ID badge felt heavy, though it was still warm from the printer. You were twenty-two, fresh out of university, and officially a cog in the machine. Junior Assistant. The title was small, but the assignment was monumental: Red Velvet’s Irene. The name didn't just sit in your mind; it loomed. Bae Joohyun. The Original Visual. You were to be her shadow, her logistical anchor, the invisible hand ensuring her world remained perfect.
"You’re the new hire."
The voice cut through the ambient hum of the lobby. Ms. Kim, a woman with a ponytail so tight it looked painful and a clipboard wielded like a weapon, stood before you. Her heels clicked a military cadence on the marble as she approached.
You nodded, the word 'yes' dying in a dry throat.
"Good. Walk with me," she commanded, already turning around. "Irene-ssi’s schedule is relentless this week. She requires absolute precision. No room for error. No room for fatigue. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Ms. Kim. Perfectly."
The elevator ride was a vacuum of silence, the rapid ascent making your ears pop. Your stomach churned, a volatile cocktail of adrenaline and dread. This wasn't just a job; it was an ascension to Olympus. You had spent years admiring the cool, untouchable aura of Irene from a pixelated distance. Now, you were about to step behind the curtain, inches away from the unvarnished reality behind the perfection.
The elevator arrived at the fourth floor with a soft, melodious chime that felt mocking given the tension in your chest. The doors slid open, revealing a hallway that was a stark contrast to the quiet lobby downstairs. It was a hive of activity—stylists rushing with garment bags, producers arguing softly into phones, and the muffled thump of bass leaking from soundproofed doors.
Ms. Kim didn't offer any more advice. She didn't warn you about Irene’s temper or give you a list of do's and don'ts. She simply stepped out and checked her watch, her face setting into a mask of grim determination.
"Studio B," she said, the words clipped. "Stay close. If you fall behind, I’m not coming back for you."
She moved with a speed that defied her heels, weaving through the corridor traffic like a shark through water. You scrambled to keep pace, clutching your bag, your eyes fixed on the back of her blazer to avoid making accidental eye contact with anyone famous who might be passing by.
She stopped abruptly in front of a heavy black door at the end of the hall. There was no knock, no pause for breath. She swiped her keycard, the lock beeped green, and she shoved the door open.
Inside the room is a whirlwind of motion. The air here was heavy, humid with the collective body heat of people pushing their physical limits. The bass of the unreleased track wasn't just heard; it was felt, thumping through the floorboards and rattling the teeth in your jaw.
They moved with a terrifying synchronization, a single organism with many limbs. But in the center of the formation, serving as the gravitational pull for the chaos, was Irene.
She was mesmerizing. Her movements possessed a razor-sharp duality—hitting the beats with mechanical precision while maintaining a fluid, almost liquid grace that made the grueling choreography look effortless. Sweat slicked her hairline, catching the harsh studio lights like diamonds, but her expression was locked in a trance of absolute focus.
"Cut," Ms. Kim said, her voice sharp enough to slice through the wall of sound.
The choreographer, a lean man with eyes that seemed to track every mistake, killed the music instantly. The silence that followed was ringing and heavy, filled only by the harsh, synchronized panting of the members.
The formation broke. Irene froze mid-gesture, then slowly lowered her arms. She turned, her chest heaving rhythmically. For a split second, her gaze was unfocused, still trapped in the rhythm of the dance. Then, she blinked, and the idol mask slipped just enough to reveal the human beneath. Her dark, intelligent eyes swept over you, carrying a surprising warmth that contrasted the icy intensity of her performance just moments ago.
"Irene," Ms. Kim announced, her hand waving a dismissive, vague gesture in your direction, as if presenting a piece of office furniture. "This is your new assistant. He will be handling your daily logistics."
Irene reached up to wipe a stray lock of damp hair from her cheek. She didn't look at Ms. Kim; she looked at you.
"Hello," she said. Her voice was lower, raspy from exertion, and far softer than you expected—a gentle murmur against the studio’s hard edges. She offered a small smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes but felt genuine in its politeness. "Welcome."
Your heart hammered against your ribs. "Thank you, Irene-ssi." The words tumbled out, your voice cracking into an embarrassingly high pitch that betrayed the knots in your stomach. "I—I’m honored to be working with you."
Irene held your gaze for a second longer, her expression softening as if she recognized the panic in your eyes. She nodded once, a slow, acknowledgment, before reaching for a towel.
→ Read Intro + Character Brief | Start Chapter 0 | Full Masterlist
Five years of secrets. One weekend in paradise where everything unravels.
For five years, Minho and Hwang Yeji have kept their arrangement perfectly hidden - stolen nights, careful distance, and an unspoken rule: never name what this really is. A summer vacation on Jeju Island was supposed to be simple. Sun, saltwater, and the same careful dance they've perfected.
Instead, jealousy becomes a lit match. Intimacy becomes a knife. And suddenly, the thing they've been too afraid to name demands to be spoken.
Characters: Male Reader x ITZY members, aespa Karina (+ cameos)
tw: nsfw/Plot-Heavy Smut
What starts as indulgent smut becomes a character-driven romance-drama about what it means to love, to be desired, and to be real in an industry that only trades in fantasy. Each chapter unfolds like a different film: absurd Baywatch horniness, neo-noir breakdowns, golden hour bittersweetness, Wes Anderson comedy, candlelit goddess worship.
Through reckless debauchery and tender confessions, through masks cracking and truths surfacing, the story asks: what happens when desire stops being enough? When the person you've been running from is the one you can't stop running toward?
Themes: Hidden relationships, jealousy as catalyst, K-pop industry shadows, sisterhood dynamics, intimacy as transformation, smut as character development
You are Karina’s unofficial date for the gala. This, of course, means you get to stand next to the most desirable woman in the room—while everyone assumes you’re either her gay best friend or an ambitious charity case.
The ballroom smells like money. Old money, new money, clean money, dirty money—and then there’s you: no money. It doesn’t matter that the tuxedo fits perfectly (courtesy of Karina dragging you to her personal tailor while you begged her to let you just rent something). It also doesn’t matter that you have a literal angel on your arm; you can still sense the invisible barcode on everyone else in the room and feel all the eyes scanning you only to come up with insufficient funds.
Needless to say, you feel like a complete fraud.
“Breathe,” Karina whispers, her hand tightening around your arm.
You look down at her and immediately feel under-qualified to breathe the same air.
She looks downright devastating in black—a dress so elegant that it brings you physical pain. It clings to her skin like her body has its own gravity, emphasizing every single curve that you have to consciously avoid thinking about every time you look at her.
“I am breathing,” you say, swallowing hard. “I’m just calculating how many months of rent are currently hanging from that chandelier.”
She looks up with you. “And what’s the verdict?”
“I’m going with maybe 86. Minimum.”
“And max?”
“Somewhere in the hundreds, surely.”
“How about we stop doing math?” She leans into you. “You’re my human shield tonight, remember?”
Yes, you remember. Of course you remember, but unfortunately, the shield is already cracking.
“If anyone asks,” you say, scanning the room, “I’m telling them I’m the entertainment.”
This, of course, is very believable considering how much of a clown you look like next to her.
You watch as a dozen pairs of eyes glide over Karina like she’s a limited-edition asset, and to nobody’s surprise, it takes exactly thirty seconds for the first son-of-someone to appear.
“Yoo Jimin-ssi,” he says excitedly, as if her name itself is a down payment to his next apartment complex. “You look absolutely stunning tonight.”
She smiles and bows politely while covering her chest. He’s visibly disappointed.
“Thank you. It’s nice to see you again,” she says, although you truly wonder if she actually remembers who he is.
He glances at you with the kind of look rich people reserve for valet staff. “And you are…?”
“Her emotional support employee,” you mutter.
Karina’s mouth twitches. “He’s a good friend of mine,” she corrects. “We work together.”
The man’s eyes do a quick calculation of your net worth based on your shoes, and looks back at her like he’d just received permission to flirt. “I’m Lee Daesung. My father—”
“I know who your father is,” Karina interrupts pleasantly, like she’s just complimenting his tie. “He’s the one who keeps calling mine to ‘catch up’ but somehow never forgets to mention that you’re single now.”
Daesung laughs too loudly, causing her to nearly flinch. He’s already failing the audition.
A second man slides in. Then a third.
They descend on her like vultures in fancy designer suits and shiny million-dollar watches. The sons of board members, the heirs to generational fortunes, the type of “promising young executives” her father wants to merge portfolios with.
They smile at you—polite yet dismissive smiles—before physically maneuvering their shoulders to box you out. Somehow, you’re slowly, strategically pushed away from your own date.
“Jimin-ssi, did you summer in Como this year?”
“Jimin-ssi, you simply must see the new gallery opening.”
“Jimin-ssi, pardon my forwardness, but your father mentioned that you broke up with your high school sweetheart?”
You stand there, holding her bag for half a second, then her drink, then nothing, then eventually the remnants of your own dignity, which isn’t much.
She flashes you an apologetic look over the shoulder of a man whose belt costs more than ten times your life insurance payout, but is then swept away by the tide of social obligation and familial piety.
So much for human shield, you think.
You step back, grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing tray just to have something to do with your hands so that you don’t end up throwing them at some billionaire’s son.
That’s when you see her.
Across the room, standing like an ice sculpture, is Winter. She’s wearing all white, practically glowing in the sea of black suits and dresses.
Her ex is also there, of course. He’s dressed like he’s auditioning for Most Punchable Man of the Year, one hand over her back like he’s guiding her through an angry crowd. Except the crowd isn’t what she needs to be saved from. It’s him. He’s the problem.
He’s your problem.
Winter tilts her head as she listens to him talk about something to someone. God, you hate that. Why does she even care about what he has to say?
You know that it makes no sense to feel this way, but your jaw tightens anyway. Jealousy claws up your throat, and all you can do is wash it down with expensive champagne.
It shouldn’t even matter. You came here with Karina, the woman who laughs at your dumb jokes and listens to your work rants like they’re Ted Talks. The girl who looks at you with soft eyes and wears your cheap gift on her five-to-six digit handbags. You should be focused on her.
But instead, your eyes are glued to the way Winter’s ex’s thumb brushes the bare skin of her shoulder, and that makes you want to walk over there and break his hand.
“You’re doing it again,” a voice purrs beside you.
You don’t jump—you’re used to it now.
Ningning appears next to you, sipping a martini. She has no date. She doesn’t need one—she’s treating all the men in the room like a buffet and sampling freely. If anything, having a date would be detrimental.
“I’m not doing anything,” you mutter, taking another drink from a passing server.
She steps closer to you, voice dropping. “He looks smug, doesn’t he? Thinking he’s the king of the castle.”
“He looks like he owns her,” you say, the words tasting more bitter than the liquor.
“Relax,” Ningning says, clinking her glass against yours. “The night is still young. We haven’t even sprung the trap yet.”
You open your mouth to ask what trap, exactly, but she doesn’t even look at you—her attention already flew past your shoulder.
You turn—and immediately feel like you’re about to get arrested.
Standing there, right behind you, is Yuna.
The first thing that you notice is that she looks good. Insanely good. She’s wearing a dress that is simply not shy to show off her absolutely ridiculous proportions. She’s ethereal—she’s a renowned model for a reason, and seeing her now in person makes you finally understand why.
“Ning Yizhuo, is that you?” Yuna says, her voice mockingly bright and airy. “What a pleasure. I almost didn’t recognize you without all the filters.”
Ningning’s expression shifts into a smile that is terrifyingly artificial, even by her standards. “Shin Yuna!” she exclaims. “Oh my god, hi! Wow, I love your dress. My grandmother has a tablecloth just like it.”
Yuna’s smile doesn’t even flicker. “It’s vintage Dior. But I wouldn’t expect you to know that. You seem more of a fast-fashion girly.”
“You know, speaking of fast—I saw your campaign before it got pulled,” Ningning says sweetly. “You’re truly so brave. To wear that color with your skin tone.”
Yuna steps closer, clutching her champagne glass. “The campaign didn’t get pulled. It was reimagined.” Her eyes narrow. “But it’s funny—ever since you crawled out of whatever Instagram DM they found you from, all our billboard spots suddenly belong to Aespa.”
“That’s the magic of working with a real Creative Director,” Ningning hums. “Kim Minjeong knows talent when she sees it. But you wouldn’t get understand. We know Ryujin only hires family.”
“Look, I don’t know what kind of messy game you’re playing to get your boss the top spot, but just a heads up—if you play dirty, people will eventually smell it.”
“Don’t worry,” Ningning chirps, batting her eyelashes. “I shower often. You should try it sometime. We can smell all the married executives underneath that perfume. What is it—Chanel No.5?”
Yuna’s grip on her glass tightens. “Careful,” she says, dropping the bubbly act. “Heels are tricky on this floor. Would be so embarrassing if you suddenly tripped and broke something. Like your nose.”
Ningning leans in just another centimeter. “Good news—it’s real, so it’ll heal,” she says, then pulls back with a smirk. “Enjoy the food, Yuna. I hear they have sour grapes. Your favorite.”
Yuna holds the stare for one second longer before flipping her hair and turning away.
Ningning keeps smiling until she disappears into the crowd. “Bitch,” she mutters, her face instantly dropping into a scowl.
You blink, trying to process whether all of that was scary or arousing. “You guys really do not like each other.”
“Did you see her shoes?” she hisses. “Last season. Embarrassing.”
She downs the rest of her champagne in one go, then her eyes snap back to you. “Anyway. Forget about that rat.” She nods past your shoulder. “Look who’s coming.”
You look toward the center of the room, where two women have just entered, parting the crowd like the Red Sea.
One of them is excruciatingly doll-like, with a smile that looks both sweet and terrifyingly practiced. The other has a sharp, charismatic gaze and a stride so confident it feels like she owns the entire building and is considering evicting everyone else by midnight.
“Who are they?” you ask, unable to even blink. “And why is everyone staring at them like they’re royalty?”
“That,” Ningning says, swirling her drink, “is the competition.”
“Competition,” you repeat. “Like… our company’s competition? Or your competition. Because you seem to have a lot of those.”
“Both.” She points a manicured nail discreetly. “Meet Jang Wonyoung and An Yujin. The crown jewels of IVE Corp.”
You glance again. Jang Wonyoung is already doing the whole smile-and-wave thing—soft laughs, perfect eye contact, hands on forearms like she’s collecting alliances one touch at a time. An Yujin stays half a step behind in a permanent, sweet smile, scanning the room like she’s identifying friends from foes with just one glance.
“Wonyoung is the face—handles the press, the image, the dazzling. Yujin is the muscle—handles the strategy, the execution, the burying of bodies.”
You’re still staring. “So one smiles and one murders.”
Ningning leans her chin on her hand, watching them work the room in perfect sync. “Exactly. They’re a perfect unit. They don’t fight—they just win. That’s what the Chairman wishes Winter and Karina were—if they weren’t so busy playing ‘who has more childhood trauma’ and fighting over scraps of validation.”
She takes a sip of her drink, her gaze drifting back to Winter, who is currently being steered by her ex toward a group of investors like a prize poodle.
“Instead, he has a fractured dynasty of daddy issues,” Ningning murmurs. “But luckily for him, he does have us.”
“What, two underpaid interns?”
“Batman and Catwoman,” she corrects. “Except you’re not rich.”
A sigh involuntarily escapes you. “Thanks for the reminder.”
“Don’t worry. At least I’m hot,” she adds, taking a sip. “Especially in a leather suit.”
Before you can ask if she actually owns one, the double doors swing open again.
The Chairman has arrived.
Winter’s father isn’t a large man, but he always sucks the air out of the room like a vacuum. Ever since his “minor heart procedure” last year—which was definitely major surgery, judging by the stock dip—he’s been walking with a cane that he clearly doesn’t need anymore. Nowadays, he uses it less for support and more like a scepter to whack people out of the way.
On his arm is Giselle. She looks triumphant, clinging to him like she’s physically tethered to his wallet, soaking in the camera lights and the whispers.
“Look at her,” Ningning says, delighted. “She’s glowing. Or maybe that’s just from all the diamonds she bought with Aespa’s cash reserves.”
The Chairman steers her through the crowd like he’s showing off a new acquisition. You watch closely as the camera flashes speed up the more she waves.
He introduces her to Winter, who looks like she’s trying to swallow a lemon whole but bows politely—a full 45 degrees.
Then, he introduces her to the ex.
“And this is Minjeong’s boyfriend,” the Chairman says proudly. “He came to join us all the way from London.”
You immediately want to jump off the balcony.
The ex smiles—that smooth, practiced smile that makes you want to physically tear off—then takes Giselle’s hand and bows low, not just shaking it, but lifting it to kiss her knuckles.
“Did you see that?” Ningning hisses, gripping your wrist hard enough to leave a mark.
“See what? The performative kiss-assery?”
“His thumb,” she whispers, her voice tight with excitement. “He caressed her palm. Right in front of Winter.”
You look again. Winter is staring at them. She saw it too. Her face is pale, her jaw locked tight, but she says nothing. She can’t. Not in front of the father she’s so terrified of disappointing.
“God, I love it.” Ningning exhales. “This is messier than reality television.”
A shark-like grin spreads across her face, but something on the other side of the room suddenly catches her attention. “Okay, stay put,” she says, already moving. “I need to check the perimeter. Don’t die of jealousy while I’m gone.”
“For what—Ning, wait!” you hiss.
But she’s already slipped away into the shadows, leaving you standing alone with a potted fern that looks like it’s laughing at you.
After a few minutes of silently fuming and wishing you had another drink, a hand gently touches your elbow.
It’s Karina.
She looks exhausted. Not physically, but socially, like she’s just run a marathon of small talk.
“Karina,” you breathe, relaxing immediately.
She slides into the space beside you, using your body as a shield against the room. “Hide me,” she murmurs, pressing her shoulder against yours. “I’ve shaken hands with three people who didn’t know my name and one who called me Winter.”
“Who would mistaken Glinda for the Wicked Witch of the West?” you ask, pulling her closer.
“My face hurts from smiling.” She sighs, resting her forehead briefly against your arm. “Is my eye twitching? Be honest—do I look crazy?”
You look down at her. She looks perfect—terrifyingly so.
“Yeah,” you say, letting the alcohol take the wheel. “Crazy pretty.”
Her eyes widen. She opens her mouth to say something—maybe a thank you, maybe a deflection—but a voice cuts through the moment, as if the universe has a strict policy against nice things.
“Miss Yoo.”
She pulls away from you instantly.
A man in a sharp suit—one of her father’s assistants—is standing there, looking impatient, to say the least. He looks at you with the expression of someone scraping gum off their shoe, then ignores you entirely.
“Your father is asking for you,” he says to her, checking his watch. “The dinner ceremony is starting soon. He expects you at the main table.”
“Of course,” she says, straightening her back. “Be right there.”
Karina takes a breath, then looks back at you. “Let’s go,” she says lightly.
You blink. “Me? I’m not allowed over there. You know that.”
She reaches out, fingers brushing your wrist in a way that makes your pulse jump. “Sure you do. You’re my human shield, remember?”
The transition from cocktail hour to sit-down-and-be judged is immediate. You move to follow Karina toward the main dining area, trying to purposely lag behind, aiming for a table near the kitchen where you can eat bread rolls in anonymity, but Karina has a death grip on your elbow.
So instead, you harness all your strength to ignore every pair of eyes glaring at you before finally arriving at the head table—just as Karina’s father is taking his seat.
He looks up, eyes beaming the moment he sees her. “Jimin-ah!” he says, standing to greet her. “There you are. I was just telling the Kangs about your time in Paris.”
Then his eyes slide to you. “Oh, and who is this?” he asks, extending a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Are you with the Choi family?”
“Appa,” Karina interjects, her smile bright but the tendons in her neck are visibly tight. “This is my good friend. We met at work.”
Her father’s eyebrows lift just a fraction as she tells him your name.
“Is that so?” he says, shaking your hand firmly. “A pleasure to meet you. And which firm do you represent?”
You open your mouth to construct a vague, impressive-sounding lie, but Karina beats you to it, her chin tilting up in that stubborn way she usually reserves for when Winter has something bad to say about you.
“He works with us,” she says, confidently. “With Minjeong.”
“Minjeong?” He looks at you again, searching for the luxury watch or the expensive cufflinks that would make this acceptable. He finds neither. “In what capacity?”
“He’s an intern. In Creative.”
The temperature around the table basically drops ten thousand degrees.
Her father’s smile doesn’t vanish, but something dies in his eyes. He stares at you. Then at Karina. Then back at you. It’s not even anger; it’s confusion, as if Karina has brought a stray dog to a dog show expecting it to win.
“An intern,” he repeats.
At the next chair over, Winter pauses mid-sip of her water. Beside her, her ex leans back in his chair, watching the scene unfold like it’s his favorite sitcom.
“He’s incredibly bright and talented,” Karina adds quickly, stepping slightly in front of you. “Uncle loved his work on the holiday campaign. He personally approved the copy.”
“The Chairman also loves the janitorial staff when the floors are clean,” her father counters, his voice dropping to a low, lethal register meant only for family ears. “That does not mean he wants to eat dinner with them.”
“He’s also done some great—”
“Jimin-ah, look around you.” He leans in closer to Karina, lowering his voice further. “Felix Lee is sitting three tables away. The heir to Enhypen Group and both of his brothers are all here and currently single. Of all the men in this room—men who own islands, men who could merge portfolios with ours—you brought him?”
“I brought someone whose conversation and presence I actually enjoy,” she snaps back, quiet but sharp. “Would you prefer I bring Julian Kim so we can discuss his yacht insurance for three hours?”
“I would prefer you bring someone who doesn’t depreciate your market value just by standing next to you,” her father hisses.
Her breath stutters. “Market value?”
“This is a statement, Jimin. And the statement you are making is that you do not take your future seriously.”
“Appa, he is my guest,” she says, voice shaking now. “It would be incredibly rude to move him last minute—”
“No. It is rude,” her father corrects, “to seat staff next to the Chairman. It insults the board. And it insults me.”
Karina opens her mouth to argue like she’s one sentence away from nuking her own inheritance, but you touch her arm lightly, silencing her.
Then you turn to her father and bow. Lower than you’ve ever bowed before.
“You’re absolutely right, Mr. Yoo,” you say, straightening up with a smile. “I wouldn’t want to disrupt the seating arrangement. The head table is for family and partners.”
Her father blinks, clearly surprised by the lack of resistance.
“I apologize for the confusion,” you continue calmly. “I’ll find a seat elsewhere. Please, enjoy your evening.”
His expression shifts from disdain to begrudging approval. He looks at you like a dog that has successfully learned to stay off the furniture.
“At least he understands his place,” he mutters to Karina, then turns away, satisfied.
Winter’s ex chuckles softly, swirling his wine. Winter shoots him a glare, then her eyes flick back at you. Her expression is rather unreadable, but it’s definitely not happy. For once, you don’t care enough to stick around to decode it.
Karina stares at you like you’d just slapped her. “Why did you—”
“It’s fine,” you whisper, stepping back. “Go.”
You swallow any pride you have left and turn to walk away, straightening your spine as much as possible while resisting the urge to sprint to the nearest exist. You can literally feel a hundred eyes on your back like they’re laser sights.
“Jimin, sit down,” her father warns from behind you. “Do not chase him. Do not make a scene.”
You don’t look back. You just focus on the marble pattern. Left foot, right foot. Don’t trip, don’t die in front of rich people—they won’t mourn, they’ll think it’s inconvenient during dinnertime.
Then you hear it—the scrape of a chair, and then the sharp, unmistakable sound of heels against the floor.
“Yoo Jimin!” her father hisses.
You don’t turn around, but the footsteps stop right behind you. You can hear her breathing—quick, shallow breaths that brush against the back of your neck.
“You’re going to get disowned,” you say quietly, still facing forward. “I’ve seen enough K-dramas to know how this ends.”
“Let him be mad,” she replies as her hand slips into yours.
Her palm is warm, fingers tightly threading through yours, like she’s afraid you might disappear if she loosens her grip.
You quickly turn and pull her away behind a pillar, out of sight from all the eyes of VIPs, where the shadows feel safer.
“Karina, what are you—”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, fierce and breathless. “I shouldn’t have put you in that position.” Her eyes are huge and drowning in frustration. “And you shouldn’t have apologized to him. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I de-escalated,” you say quietly. “Besides, he’s right. I don’t belong up there. I don’t even know which fork is for the salad.”
“The small one,” she answers without thinking. “And you belong where I am. I asked you to come here. So let’s find another table together.”
For a moment, the noise of the gala fades. It’s just her, looking at you with those big, soft eyes, holding your hand like it’s the only anchor she has in a room full of sharks. Except you don’t actually know how to swim here. Not in this ocean.
“Listen,” you say, squeezing back. “Go back. Sit with him. Don’t ruin your night because of me. We can talk later. I’ll text you snarky commentary on the award speeches.”
She searches your face, like she’s memorizing it one last time. “Promise you won’t disappear at midnight?”
You force a smile. “Promise. My suit might expire and vaporize though.”
She hesitates. She looks at her father’s table, then back at you. Then she nods, squeezes your hand one last time, and lets go.
Then she slips away, back into the light. You stay where you are, watching her leave as the warmth of her touch fades from your skin.
“Depressing, isn’t it? Trying to date fifty leagues upwards.”
You don’t flinch. It’s a law of physics at this point: Ningning somehow always appears at the right time—especially when it hurts most.
She slides next to you, right where Karina’s warmth is fading. She doesn’t care to even look at the dinner table. She’s staring at her phone, where a terrifying grin is illuminated by the blue light.
“Come with me,” she says, tugging your arm. “I have an update that will make you forget all about your newfound trauma, Romeo.”
You follow Ningning out of the ballroom, slipping between servers and clusters of executives who have snuck out to take calls. She leads you down a short hallway and ducks into a most empty side lounge, aside from a vase the size of a small child and a painting that looks more like a tax write-off than decor.
“Okay,” you say, leaning against the doorframe to block the view. “What did you do now?”
Ningning’s grin is sinister, like she had just ruined a life or two before coming to find you.
“I flirted with Winter’s ex by the bar during cocktail hour.”
“That was the perimeter?”
She continues. “Turns out he’s extremely vulnerable to sustained eye contact, mild admiration, and a hot girl laughing at jokes that aren’t funny. A real textbook case of narcissism.”
“That’s not news. That’s his factory settings. And it’s probably every other guy here.”
“That’s not all.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a sleek, heavy-looking black pen. “You see this?” she says, swirling it around her fingers like a magician.
You blink. “Is this your Catwoman debut? Stealing a pen?”
“I have a twin.” She taps her phone screen. An app opens—audio levels dancing on a timeline. “Slipped the other one into his jacket pocket while he was distracted by my cleavage.”
You stare at her. “You bugged him.”
“Don’t make it sound so tacky.” She scrolls back on the timeline, humming a little tune. “Anyway, our boy had a very interesting chat immediately after I left. Take a wild guess with who.”
Your stomach tightens. “Giselle.”
“Bingo.” She holds the phone up between you and presses play.
The audio is scratchy, but the voices are unmistakable despite all the crackles.
“…I told you to stop texting me during family events,” he says, clearly irritated. “You’re going to make this harder than it has to be.”
“Oh, I’m making it harder?” she scoffs. “You’re the one who talked me into this circus to begin with. Marry him, baby. We’ll bleed him slow, he won’t even feel it. That was you, by the way.”
You feel your stomach dip.
Ningning watches your reaction with delight—in the way that only someone who thrives on chaos can. “Wait. It gets better. Or worse. Depends on your morals and how much you enjoy villain monologues, I guess.”
The recording rustles—fabric shifting and the dull clink of glasses hitting a table.
“We have to stick to the plan,” the ex says, sliding into that annoying, condescending tone. “You marry the Chairman, smile for the cameras, play the devoted fiancée, then the wife. Then you get access to the accounts. Meanwhile, I’ll keep Minjeong dangling. Between the two of them, we wipe your debts, my bad investments, and still have enough left to disappear somewhere with actual beaches.”
Giselle exhales a laugh—lower now, closer to the mic. Close enough that you can picture the angle of it. She must be right next to his jacket.
“And when you say disappear,” she says, “you mean just us. Right? Not a family package deal.”
“Obviously just us. You think I want to spend the rest of my life babysitting a neurotic ice cube and her control-freak father?”
“And if your little princess finds out you used her and her father?” Giselle asks. “She’s not stupid. Like, at all. She’s actually terrifyingly sharp.”
“But she’s insecure,” he corrects. “That’s even better than stupid. Insecure people are predictable. You tell them they’re special, that you see the real them, and they’ll crawl over broken glass to keep that illusion alive.”
You feel your hand curl into a fist without your permission.
“And you don’t feel… anything?” Giselle presses. “Guilt? Attachment? You’ve been with her for years.”
“Attachment?” He laughs. “To what? A walking bundle of daddy issues who only relaxes when you’re telling her she’s garbage? She’s a habit, not a person.”
Ningning quietly reaches over and pries your fingers open, thumb brushing your knuckles like she’s un-crumpling paper.
“Don’t break my phone,” she says mildly. “I need it to blackmail people.”
The recording continues.
“You’re cruel,” Giselle says, but there’s admiration in it.
“I’m resourceful,” he replies. “You didn’t fall in love with me because I’m nice.”
There’s a pause. Then the wet, sharp sound of a kiss.
“…and you’re not exactly innocent either,” he murmurs against her mouth. “Sleeping with the daughter’s boyfriend and then marrying the dad? Iconic.”
Giselle laughs, low and pleased. “Fine. So I marry him, you keep stringing her along. And when we’re done?”
“We cash out and go,” he says. “New names, new passports, new everything. No board meetings, no quarterly reports, no Minjeong crying because I didn’t text back in thirty minutes.”
“She cries?” she asks, seemingly amused.
“Constantly. You tell her she’s worthless during sex, she cries. You tell her she’s only good as a stress toy, she cries. Then she comes harder than anyone you’ve ever seen and thanks you for it. It’s pathetic.”
Your chest physically hurts from anger.
“You really think you can keep her in line forever?” Giselle says. “She doesn’t exactly look submissive out there.”
“That’s the fun part. No one suspects the golden girl wants to be wrecked. That’s my advantage. She’s terrified someone else will see that side of her, so she keeps coming back to the only person who already has. Me.”
“And the hotel thing?” she asks after a moment. “You’re sure that’s not overkill?”
“Relax.” He chuckles. “I already set up cameras in one of the suites here. She’ll think I’m planning some kind of romantic getaway. Tonight I’ll get something useful—full face, tears, begging. Insurance. If anything goes wrong with this plan, I leak the videos and she’s done. Her dad will throw her out of the boardroom so fast she won’t know what hit her.”
Your hands are shaking uncontrollably now. You knew he was low, but this is beneath the ground.
“God, you’re awful,” she says.
“Here’s a second key. Meet me up there later tonight. We’ll… celebrate.”
There’s a longer rustle, a muffled sound that’s unmistakably a kiss deepening.
Ningning taps her screen. The lounge drops back into silence, but the air feels toxic now.
“You wanted the truth,” she says lightly, slipping the phone back into her bag. “There it is. Uncut, unhinged, and deeply on brand for this company’s taste in men.”
“This has to be a prank,” you manage, rubbing a hand over your face. “Some sort of sick joke.”
You know it isn’t. You just wish it was.
“Like I said. He’s not just garbage. He’s organized garbage. That’s the worst kind.”
You drag your hand through your hair. “So we tell Winter’s dad. Or security. Or—”
“And say what?” she cuts in. “Hi, Mr. Chairman, sir. We illegally recorded your future son-in-law and your future wife discussing how they’re going to siphon your money and weaponize your daughter’s trauma.”
She scoffs. “He will nuke us before he lets this get public. The man hates scandal more than he loves his own last name on the building.”
You hate how accurate that sounds. The Chairman would absolutely sign your death warrant to save the stock price.
“So what do we do?” you ask, pressing your temples. “Just let it happen?”
“We make sure his little insurance policy never exists,” she says casually. “No sex tape, no leverage, no bargaining chip.”
You blink. “You want to find the camera.”
“Correct.” She checks her reflection in the darkened window. “He said one of the suites. That means somewhere in this hotel.”
You lean back against the wall, brain trying to catch up. “And how are we supposed to find a hidden camera in a random suite during a gala, surrounded by a couple hundred witnesses and a small army of security?”
Ningning’s eyes glitter like this is her favorite part. “And that,” she sings, “is where your tragic emotional attachment to a girl who treats you like garbage comes in handy.”
You just stare.
She pats your chest twice, like she’s testing structural integrity. “You are going to keep Winter busy.”
Your heart stutters. “Busy how?”
“I don’t know. Ask her how she’s doing. That usually pisses her off.”
“So you want me to annoy her.”
“Finally, a job you’re naturally gifted at,” she says with a smirk. “Your goal is to keep her downstairs, away from him. Meanwhile, I’m going to go turn the charm up and stick to the ex like glue until he’s drunk enough or horny enough to flash his keycard. Then I steal it, and we’ll have a room number and a key. Simple.”
Your brows furrow. “What? That’s not simple. That’s—”
“Another Friday for me,” she says, shrugging. “Once we have the key, you and I pay a discreet little visit to the love nest, rip out anything with a lens, and get out before he decides it’s showtime.”
“And if he drags her upstairs before we’re done?” you ask.
“Then we improvise. But regardless, he does not leave this building tonight with a camera full of leverage.” She opens her bag and pulls out a stick of lipgloss. “He wants to turn this place into a cash cow? Dream on. I’m not letting anyone milk this company but me.”
You’re quiet for a moment, processing the sheer insanity of the plan.
She snaps her fingers in front of your face. “Hey. Focus. Mission first, feelings later. Do not let Karina’s eyes, hair—or tits distract you from keeping Winter occupied long enough for me to pull this off. Got it? You can go back to yearning after we’ve defused the bomb.”
She straightens her dress, rolling her shoulders like a fighter before round two.
“Alright. Game time,” she murmurs, already moving toward the door. “Go irritate your favorite disaster. I’ll go flirt with hers.”
The ballroom feels even louder when you step back into it, as if the music and conversations have been cranked up to max volume just to mess with your head even further.
When dinner is over, Winter is exactly where you expect her—near the edge of a crowd, close to the exits, yet far from any real escape. She’s standing alone with a nearly-empty glass in hand and a posture screaming “approach at your own risk.”
You take a deep breath and walk over.
She immediately sees you coming and exhales like the night has personally decided to test the last of her patience by sending you.
“Shouldn’t you be in the back with the other interns?” Winter asks, eyes flicking over your tux like she’s surprised you even own one. “Or did they run out of napkins to fold?”
“You must’ve missed the memo,” you say, stopping right in front of her. “I got promoted to Decorative Plant.”
She doesn’t laugh, obviously. “Congratulations on the lateral move. Go photosynthesize somewhere else.”
“Can’t,” you say sorrowfully. “It’s so much better over here next to this ball of sunshine.”
She sighs, a short, sharp exhale through her nose. “What do you want?” she asks, not looking at you. “I don’t have time to babysit you.”
You could—and probably should—go with Ningning’s plan and start poking at sore spots, but the words that come out betray you.
“Are you doing okay?” you ask, quieter than you meant to.
There it is—the smallest hitch in her expression. Her fingers tighten almost unnoticably around the stem of her glass.
She doesn’t look at you when she answers. “Don’t,” she huffs.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t start. You’re an intern, not my therapist.”
“I’m serious,” you say, lowering your voice further. “You look miserable. Your dad’s parading you around like a trophy. Your ex is—” You stop yourself before you say something that can’t be unsaid. “Are you okay?”
Winter finally looks at you. Her gaze lingers on your face like she’s searching for an ulterior motive and hating that she’s not finding one.
“This is my life,” she says firmly. “This is normal. I don’t need concern from you.”
“You don’t want it,” you correct. “There’s a difference.”
“Why do you do this?” she snarls. “Why do you always have to push? Can’t you just take an order and walk away?”
“God forbid someone actually gives a shit about you without asking for a stock option in return.”
Her mouth opens, then snaps shut. She stares at you, caught off guard by the sincerity in your voice. For a fleeting moment, she’s neither Kim Minjeong nor Creative Director Winter—just an overwhelmed, exhausted girl ready to fall apart.
“This isn’t the time and place,” she says, quickly gathering herself. “I have to survive tonight. That’s it. That’s the whole task.”
“It’s a gala, not a hostage situation.”
“Is there a difference?” Her eyes flash. “Has it ever occurred to you that nothing in my life is a celebration?”
“Then maybe you should change that—”
Your phone suddenly buzzes in your pocket.
You quickly pull it out under the cover of your jacket—just in case it’s Ningning giving you an update on your first official mission as Batman and Catwoman.
Winter, of course, notices right away. She notices everything. Except the knife currently being sharpened for her back.
Yoo Jimin:
hey human shield
kind of need you right now
they’re tag-teaming me about a “strategic marriage”
if one more person says “two dynasties” i’m going to stab the dessert table
You glance over. Sure enough, Karina is across the room, surrounded by a semi-circle of men in suits who look like they learned how to flirt from tech entrepreneurs.
But then you remember Ningning’s warning—mission first, yearning later—and shove the phone away before you can do something stupid, like go save her.
“Sorry,” you say, putting it back in your pocket. “I’m supposed to be somewhere right now.”
“Where? Holding hands with the Head of Design in front of the board?”
You freeze.“I wasn’t holding hands. She grabbed me.”
“And you let her.” Her eyes narrow. “You looked like a lost puppy she picked up at the shelter to annoy her father. It was embarrassing.”
You tilt your head. “Are you jealous, Ms. Kim?”
The question slips out before you can stop it. It’s reckless. It’s stupid. But it’s exactly what Ningning told you to do: keep her busy.
Winter freezes. For a second, you think she might actually throw her drink in your face.
“Jealous?” she repeats. “Over what? An intern who can’t even tie his own bowtie properly?”
She reaches out, her fingers brushing your throat as she fixes the knot. The brief contact sends a jolt of something straight through your body.
“I don’t get jealous over things I own,” she whispers, staring up at you through her lashes. “I get annoyed when they’re misplaced.”
Your breath hitches. “I wasn’t aware I was still your property.”
“Check your contract,” she says, mindlessly fixing your collar now. “You belong to my department. That means you don’t go running off to play Prince Charming for my cousin just because she smiled at you.”
“She needed a plus-one.”
“She needed a prop,” Winter corrects, eyes snapping back up to lock with yours. “Don’t tell me you think the great prodigy Yoo Jimin didn’t predict exactly how that played out earlier. She didn’t bring you there because she enjoys your conversations. You’re just a tool she used to flip off her dad so that he would be too mad to introduce her to any more of his friends’ sons. And you’re so eager to be used, aren’t you? As long as the person using you is pretty enough.”
“Strange coming from the person who calls me at 2am because she forgot her next-day presentation material.”
Her nostrils flare. “You choose to answer.”
“Yeah. I do. Guess why,” you say, instantly regretting it.
She freezes for a second, but then ignores it completely. “I call you because as much as I hate to admit it, you get things done.”
You scoff. “Just last week you told me that my very existence was an HR violation.”
“It is,” she says, fixing a strand of hair falling over your face with an annoyed look. “But tonight, you’re seemingly determined to be a PR violation, too.”
You catch her wrist before she can pull away. Her warmth is nostalgic, and her pulse dances under your thumb.
“The only PR violation tonight is your dumb boyfriend over there flirting with your father’s fiancée in front of all those cameras and people.”
You turn to the bar, where the ex is standing next to Giselle, bodies angled toward each other like magnets. Ningning is already there, squeezing herself between their conversation, laughing at something he’s said that you’re certain isn’t funny.
Winter stares at them and then back at you—furious, but just so painfully beautiful. For a fleeting moment, everything around you blurs away. It’s just her, looking at you like she wants to either slap you or kiss you.
“You are infuriating,” she says, pulling her arm out your grip. “Worry about your own love life.”
Your phone buzzes again.
Winter’s eyes flick to your pocket. “Popular tonight. Jimin unnie again? Asking you to come save her from a conversation about golf?”
Yoo Jimin:
they’re bringing up golf metaphors now
this is a cry for help
Ningning’s voice is loud in your head: Mission first, feelings later. Do not let Karina distract you.
You swallow, lock the screen, and then turn back at Winter. “She does hate golf.”
“Go then,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “Go be her hero. Go wag your little tail.”
“No, I think I’ll stay,” you say, leaning against the wall. “The view is better here.”
Winter blinks. “You’re such an idiot,” she mutters, looking away, though the corner of her mouth fights a losing battle against a smile.
“And you’re out of wine,” you say, nodding at her drink. “Let’s get you another glass.”
As you walk away, your phone buzzes again. You don’t even look this time.
You’re just about to signal the bartender—just about to lean in and cement the distraction—when a frantic voice cuts in.
“Director! Director Kim!”
It’s Manager Yoon, Winter’s personal assistant. She’s a tiny woman who always looks like she’s five minutes away from a nervous breakdown, permanently clutching a tablet to her chest like a shield.
Winter stiffens instantly, the playful anger vanishing. “Yes?”
“The Chairman is asking for you,” her assistant says, not even looking at you. “President Jang from IVE Corp has just arrived.”
Winter’s mask slams back into place, sealing away the girl who was just blushing at you. She lets out a short, sharp exhale through her nose. “Of course. I’ll be right there.”
Manager Yoon nods fervently and scurries off to clear the path.
Winter hesitates. She looks at the bar, then back at you. For a split second, her shoulders slump—like a kid being dragged away from the playground.
Yoo Jimin: you owe me a dance later
--
“Mission status?”
Ningning has a new drink in hand. Her lipstick is slightly smudged in a way that feels absolutely intentional, and her eyes are bright with the adrenaline of a cat that just knocked a vase off a shelf on purpose.
“She’s staying downstairs,” you say, keeping your voice low. “For now.”
“Excellent,” she purrs. “Because phase two is officially a go.”
Ningning lifts her bag just enough for you to see the thin rectangle tucked between her manicured fingers.
A hotel keycard.
“You actually got it,” you breathe, staring at it like it’s a loaded gun. “You’re insane, Ning.”
“Please. He’s tragically predictable. Compliment his tie, laugh at his joke, touch his arm—he’ll show you his portfolio, his room number, even his childhood trauma if you give him ten minutes.” She tilts her head. “Giselle helped, actually.”
You blink. “How?”
“Ironically, she doesn’t like sharing,” she says, amused. “She saw me getting too close and dragged him into the hallway to mark her territory. He got distracted trying to calm her down, tossed his jacket on a chair… and, well, you can guess the rest.”
Your stomach twists. “And you said they’re meeting later?”
“In that same room.” She taps the sharp corner of the card against your chest. “Which means we have a very narrow window to sanitize the crime scene. So suit up and let’s go.”
“Right now?” you ask, pulse jumping.
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, right now. We go up, we sweep the room, we steal anything with a lens or a blinking light, and we get out before anyone realizes their little porn set has been shut down.”
“If someone notices we’re gone—” you start.
“They won’t,” Ningning says confidently. “We’re interns. We are, tragically, forgettable. That’s exactly why only we can do this.” She pauses. “Unless you’d rather stay here and keep making moony eyes at Tits and Waist while they both ignore you for rich men.”
“Fine.” You exhale, turning your back on the ballroom. “Lead the way, partner.”
“I love it when you let me take charge,” she coos, looping her arm through yours and steering you toward the side corridor.
The elevator doors slide open on a carpeted hallway that smells like a very expensive air freshener. Everything is quiet and muted—basically the opposite of the chaos downstairs.
Ningning leads the way, counting room numbers under her breath until she stops in front of one that matches what’s on the keycard sleeve.
“Here,” she whispers. “This one.”
You both stand there for a second, listening. No voices. No movement.
“Okay, last chance to bail,” she says, voice barely audible. “We can go back, pretend we never heard anything, and just let this place implode on schedule.”
“You’re trying to talk me out of this now?” you ask, shivering despite your suit jacket.
“Not really. I just like giving people the illusion of choice.” She turns to the door. “Ready?”
You sigh one last time. “Not even a little.”
“Too late, Batboy,” she replies, and swipes the card.
The lock clicks. She pushes the door open, and the two of you step into the suite.
The room is immaculate. Too immaculate, even by five-star hotel standards. Bed made, pillows fluffed, a bottle of champagne on ice waiting patiently on the table.
“God, how tacky,” Ningning mutters, walking over to the ice bucket. She picks up the bottle, inspects the label, and sneers. “Who buys Moët for a blackmail scheme? At least go for Dom if you’re going to ruin someone’s life.”
You walk to the giant windows of the corner suite. The view of the city is breathtaking, but the reflection in the glass just shows two interns in over their heads, moonlighting as vigilantes.
“Alright, time to find those cameras,” you say, taking a deep breath.
You start with the obvious places, immediately moving to the dresser mirror, squinting at the frame.
Ningning, however, isn’t searching for lenses. Instead, she opens the wardrobe door, then checks under the bed, then opens the door to a large walk-in closet near the bathroom like she’s checking out the place for herself.
“Ning! Come on. They’ll be here any minute.”
“Relax, we have time,” she says, dropping her bag on the desk. She wanders toward the bathroom, then pivots to a large set of double doors. “He’s probably stuck in the elevator making small talk with a crypto bro.”
She opens the doors. “Oh hello, what’s this?”
“What are you doing?” you hiss, running your finger along the vanity lights.
“Looking for a hidey-hole just in case,” she replies, stepping inside the walk-in closet. “This one’s huge. Good acoustics, too.”
“Ning, focus—”
Beep. Click.
The sound of a keycard on the door cuts you off like a gunshot.
You freeze, your hand still hovering over the desk lamp.
Ningning stops mid-twirl. “Shit!” she hisses.
She lunges out, grabs your arm, and yanks both you and her handbag into the darkness of the walk-in closet just as the suite door swings open.
You stumble in, tripping over a rack of hotel robes, and she pulls the door shut. The space is surprisingly large—deep enough for luggage racks and a full-length mirror—but right now, pressed against Ningning in the dark, it feels suffocatingly intimate. You can smell her floral perfume clearly as her neck presses against your face. For a split second, you realize how much you miss her scent.
Through the slats of the door, you see two figures enter.
It’s the ex and Giselle.
“I told you, I lost mine,” he says, voice smooth and irritated. He walks straight to the minibar and pours himself a glass of whiskey. “I must have dropped it when I was talking to the investors.”
“You’re so careless,” Giselle snaps, sounding different than she did in the lobby—less confident, more anxious. “If the Chairman sees me up here—”
“He won’t,” he says, taking a sip. “He’s busy showing off his perfect daughter to the IVE execs. That meeting will take twenty minutes, minimum.”
“I don’t know if I like this,” she says, hugging her arms. “Minjeong isn’t stupid. If she sees a camera—”
“She won’t see anything,” he laughs, setting the glass down. “I put them in the blind spots.”
“What blind spots?”
He walks over to the desk. “One here in the floral arrangement,” he says, tapping the large vase. “Catches the entry, the bed, and the conversation. Audio is crisp, too.”
Giselle watches him with a look of distaste. “And the other one?”
He turns, pointing up toward the ceiling, directly above the pristine white bed.
“Smoke detector,” he says with a grin. “Top-down view. Catches everything on the mattress.”
She follows his gaze to the bed, at the crisp white sheets, the fluffed pillows, the perfect stage he’s set so carefully.
“You sure went through a lot of trouble,” she scoffs.
He shrugs. “Presentation is everything. If the set looks cheap, the star won’t perform.”
“The star,” she repeats bitterly. She crosses her arms, still staring at the pillows. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You’re not just doing this for leverage. You actually want to fuck her.”
He pauses, then sets the glass down and looks at her.
“Uh oh,” he purrs, taking a step toward her. “Someone’s jealous.”
“I am not—”
“You are,” he interrupts, closing the distance. “You’re mad that I’m going to fuck Minjeong’s brains out in this room, on that bed, while you go back downstairs and play trophy wife for her middle-aged father.”
Giselle flinches, but she doesn’t back away.
“Come here.” He grabs her waist and pulls her flush against him.
She lets out a small gasp, gripping his jacket. “What are you—”
He kisses her neck, and she melts into it instantly.
“You’re the biggest asshole I know.” She starts to pull him backward, toward the pristine white mattress.
“Ah-ah,” he says, stopping her cold.
He holds her in place, his grip tightening on her waist. “Not the bed,” he says, his voice dropping. “I need those sheets fresh for Minjeong later.”
Giselle freezes. For a second, you think she might slap him.
“I hate that bitch so much,” she breathes, her eyes oozing with resentment.
“Don’t worry,” he says, snickering. “It’ll be all worth it soon, babe.”
He spins her around, slamming her against the wall next to the closet door—inches from where you and Ningning are hiding. The impact rattles the hinges, sending a vibration straight through your shoulder where you’re pressed against the wood.
“Lift it,” he orders. “Show me that slutty little pussy of yours.”
Giselle stands frozen for a second with her back to him, staring at the wall next to the closet door. You can see her reflection in the full-length mirror—her eyes are wide and filled with an undeniable want.
She reaches down. Her hands shake visibly as she bunches the fabric of her dress up around her waist.
“God, you’re easy,” he mutters, shaking his head with a smirk that you can hear in his voice. “You were wet the second you walked in the door, weren’t you?”
He hooks his fingers into the delicate fabric of her panties, yanking it aside without bothering to take them off. The sound of the elastic snapping against her skin feels extra loud in the quiet room.
Giselle lets out a sharp yelp as he drops to his knees behind her. His hands slide up her smooth thighs, gripping her hips to hold her in place, digging into the soft, jiggling flesh.
“Please,” she whimpers, pressing her forehead against the wall. “Do it. I’ve missed you so much—”
He laughs, a muffled sound against her thigh. “You know I don’t even do this for Minjeong. She doesn’t like it. Probably thinks she’s too pristine to have her pussy licked.”
Ningning’s head tilts ever so slightly, and amidst the storm surging on the other side of that door, you find a tiny sliver of peace in knowing how completely wrong that statement is.
Giselle shudders, her fingers digging into the wallpaper. “Stop talking about her.”
He chuckles and runs his tongue up the back of her thigh slowly, teasing the very edge of her slit but refusing to give her what she wants yet.
“Tell me, Aeri,” he taunts. “Does the great Chairman Kim ever get on his knees for you?”
“Shut up,” she gasps, her hips twitching involuntarily, trying to chase his mouth.
He pulls back, denying her again. “Does he even look at you when he fucks you? Or does he just close his eyes and think about his dead wife while he pumps into you for two minutes?”
“Stop it!” she cries, but she doesn’t move away. Instead, she presses back against him even more.
“He doesn’t eat you out, does he? He probably thinks it’s beneath him. A man of his status, slobbering over a trophy wife?”
He finally buries his face between her legs, slurping her with a hunger that sounds almost violent. It’s not even affectionate; it’s a demonstration of ownership.
Giselle’s knees buckle. She has to brace her hands wider against the wall to even stay upright while her head is involuntarily falling back.
“Oh god,” she moans, biting her own lip to keep the volume down. “God—it’s been so long—”
“I know,” he murmurs against her, not stopping. “You’re starving. You’re dripping down my chin because your future husband is useless.”
He works her relentlessly, finding the rhythm that breaks her composure. Low, broken moans escape her throat while her hips grind back against his face.
Inside the closet, Ningning is frozen. She’s not looking away—her eyes are fixed on the sliver of lights in front of you as her hand finds yours in the dark, squeezing hard. Her body is so close to yours now that you can feel the heat radiating off her skin as she continues watching.
Outside, the ex pulls back suddenly, right before Giselle reaches her climax, causing her to let out a frustrated whimper as she slumps against the wall.
“Look at you,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stands up. “You act like a lady downstairs, but up here, you’re just a little slut.”
“Come on,” she begs. “Just fuck me already. Please.”
“So impatient. Are you sure you can even play the long game?”
He undoes his belt and immediately grips her hips, thumbs digging into her flesh.
“Say please,” he teases.
“Ple—”
He suddenly thrusts into her from behind, hard and without warning.
She cries out—a sharp, high sound that is immediately muffled as her face hits the wall.
“How does it feel, Aeri?” he asks, grabbing her hair and yanking her head back. “An engaged woman getting fucked by someone who isn’t her fiancée?”
“So good,” she cries, eyes rolling back. “Oh god, it feels so good.”
“Does he do this?” he sneers, slapping her ass. “Does the Chairman fuck you like this?”
“No!” she wails, shaking her head frantically. “No, he could never!”
“He’s too old, isn’t he?” He laughs. “Does he even get it up?”
“He’s useless!” she groans. “I hate it. I hate him. Please… please don’t stop.”
“You starved little bitch,” he growls, driving deeper. “You’re so desperate for a working cock you’re letting your future stepdaughter’s boyfriend use you like a toy.”
“I don’t care,” she gasps, drool slipping from the corner of her mouth. “Just fuck me. Fill me up. I’m so empty all the time without your cock.”
“You’re such a cock-thirsty slut, Aeri. Lucky for you… I like them extra slutty.”
He continues to fuck her hard against the wall with a brutal pace, every thrust shaking the door frame you’re leaning against.
She takes it obediently, her head falling back. “Is this… is this how you fuck her?” she gasps.
“That’s what you’re worried about right now?” He drives deeper, making her toes curl on the carpet. “How I fuck my girlfriend?”
“Tell me,” she begs, her voice trembling. “Do you fuck her like this?”
“No,” he says, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “I don’t. Not like this. Because Minjeong isn’t a desperate whore like you.”
She lets out a wounded sound, half-sob, half-moan, as his words sink in deeper than his thrusts.
“Turn around,” he commands abruptly, pulling out.
Giselle stumbles as she turns, her face completely flushed, eyes wet with a toxic mix of humiliation and lust.
He grabs her right leg, pulling it high over his hip until she’s balanced on one foot.
Then he thrusts back into her from the front, burying himself deep. She gasps, her head knocking back against the wall, nails digging into his shoulders to stay upright.
“Look at me,” he growls, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look him in the eye while he pumps into her. “Admit it. You’re jealous of Minjeong.”
“I’m not—” she starts, but a hard thrust cuts her off.
“You are.” He slaps her cheek lightly. “You’re jealous that she’s younger, prettier, and smarter. You’re jealous that she’s the real heiress and you’re just the replacement wife. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” she breathes, her hips snapping forward to meet him, unable to fight it anymore. “Yes, I am.”
“Say it properly,” he demands, increasing the pace until she’s gasping for air. “Tell me how much you hate it.”
“I’m jealous of her, okay?” she wails, the confession tearing out of her. “I feel so inferior next to her! She has everything. Even back then, when we were classmates, she always got better grades and had more friends. And now… she even has you.”
“That’s right,” he says, grinning as he watches her break. “She has me. And do you want to know the difference, Aeri? Do you want to know why she’ll always win?”
“Tell me,” she whispers, eyes rolling back.
He leans in, lips brushing her ear. “Because she’s so nice and tight,” he growls. “Her pussy’s basically made for my cock. And she’s got that tiny body that feels like fucking heaven in my hands. Mm, that little snatched waist… those slender legs that she wraps around me when she begs me not to pull out. It drives me crazy. It makes me fuck her so hard that she passes out sometimes.”
Giselle sobs openly now, tears streaming down her face.
“And tonight?” he continues, relentless. “Tonight I’m going to make her beg. I’m going to tie her to that headboard with her own panties. I’m going to edge her until she’s crying, until she’s completely broken, and then I’m going to record every second of her pleading for my cock.”
He pulls back to look at her face—at the absolute devastation he’s caused.
“You’re just my cum dumpster, Aeri. She’s the real prize. Do you understand now?”
“I hate her!” Giselle cries, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping her standing. “I hate her so much!”
“Good,” he snickers. “You should. You’ll never be her.”
He gives her a few more punishing, deep thrusts, watching the light go out of her eyes as she surrenders to the jealousy ripping her apart. Then, abruptly, he pulls out.
“Now,” he says, stepping back and looking down at her. “Show me you know your place. On your knees.”
Giselle slides slowly down the wall until her knees hit the floor. She looks up at him—not with love, but with a pathetic devotion.
“Finish me off,” he orders, tangling one hand into her hair and tilting her head back. “I want to be empty so I can last all night with her.”
She doesn’t even react. She’s past the point of pride.
“All night?” she whispers, her voice trembling. “What are you going to do all night?”
“I’m going to make sure she remembers who owns her,” he says, staring at the ceiling as if visualizing it. “And you’re going to help me get ready for it.”
He presses his thumb against her bottom lip, dragging it down. “Open.”
She opens her mouth, and he pushes himself into her, forcing her to take him deep.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, watching himself in the mirror. “Take it. All of it.”
The only sounds in the room are the wet, rhythmic noise of her obedience and his heavy breathing. She works harder, sucking with a frantic intensity, as if trying to prove she’s worth something.
“Swallow it,” he commands suddenly, his hips snapping forward, voice straining. “Don’t you dare spill a drop. I want to be clean for Minjeong.”
She makes a choked sound and bobs her head faster, taking him all the way down as he releases into her mouth with a loud groan. He holds her head in place, fingers tightening in her hair.
She stays on her knees for a moment, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, looking up at him like a dog waiting for a treat.
“Good girl,” he says, patting her cheek lightly. “Now go fix your face. You have a party to get back to.”
--
The room falls into a heavy, deafening silence as the door finally closes behind them.
“Jesus,” Ningning breathes, stepping out into the suite, fanning herself with her hand. She immediately walks to the mirror, checking her hair. “I really need another drink after that.”
“A drink and maybe a priest.” You stumble out after her, legs stiff. “But first, we need to find those cameras and get the hell out of here.”
“Right—cameras,” she says, snapping into focus.
You grab a chair from the desk and drag it to the center of the room. “I’ll get the one up here.”
You climb up, unscrewing the smoke detector cover. Sure enough, there’s a small black square taped inside, just as he brag.
“Found it,” you say, yanking it out.
Ningning is already at the desk, digging through the flowers. “Found the other one. What’s with villains and exposing all their secrets when they think no one’s listening?”
She pulls the tiny device out and holds it up to the light.
“Check it out,” she says, tossing it to you. “It’s just a camera. No transmitter.”
You catch it and look closely. She’s right. It’s a local storage unit—recording to a micro-SD card.
“He’s not streaming or saving it anywhere,” you realize. “Just recording it physically. Either doesn’t trust the hotel Wi-Fi or too cheap to pay for cloud subscription.”
“Which means that if we take these, he has nothing. No backup either. Just an empty slot where his 720p blackmail porn used to be.”
She pops the SD card out of her unit and slips it into her bra. You stare at her.
“What?” she hums. “We need it. For leverage.”
You roll your eyes and pocket the other camera. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”
The only thing stopping your celebration is the sound of footsteps and chatter in the hallway. Multiple.
You freeze.
“What the actual hell?” Ningning hisses. “Already?”
Beep. Click.
The lock engages.
“It’s only been like ten minutes—”
You grab Ningning’s hand and dive back toward the walk-in closet just as the handle turns, tripping over your own shoes and practically throwing her into the bathrobes just as the handle turns.
“Come on, Minjeongie,” the ex says sweetly—a completely different tone from how he spoke to Giselle. “Don’t be like that. Julian flew all the way from London just to see us.”
“No. Absolutely not,” Winter says. “You didn’t say anything about—”
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he cuts in. “We talked about this, Minjeong. Remember? You said you wanted to try it again.”
“I meant with another stranger,” she says, glancing nervously at the guy named Julian. “And somewhere in Europe, not down the street from my house with my entire family and company downstairs.”
“You trust me, don’t you?” He steps closer, stroking her arm. “Julian is a friend, yes. But he knows the rules. He knows who you belong to. It’s less messy that way. Besides, don’t pretend you don’t remember Berlin. You weren’t exactly shy with him then. You made out with him months before we even met.”
“It was at a party,” she argues weakly. “And we were drunk.”
“We can be drunk now,” he counters, eyeing the bottle of wine on the table. “Or we can just be honest. You liked it last time, Minjeong. You liked having two pairs of hands on you. You liked not knowing who was touching you.”
Julian smiles, leaning against the doorframe, loosening his tie. “Listen, I’m just here to help, Minjeong. It’s been a while since we all hung out like this. And honestly, after the way your cousin shot me down downstairs, I could use a little comforting.”
Winter blinks. “Jimin unnie rejected you?”
“Brutally,” Julian sighs, walking over to pour himself a drink. “Looked at me like I was a smudge on her glasses. Gave me some speech about boundaries and professionalism, but you could see it in her eyes. She thinks she’s above everyone.”
He takes a sip, grimacing.
“She acts like this perfect, untouchable saint,” he sneers, turning back to Winter. “But you know what I think? I think she’s broken. I think underneath that act, she’s hollow. Empty. Not like you, Minjeong.”
Winter’s expression shifts. She’s listening now.
“You’re real,” he says, stepping closer. “Yoo Jimin is just a mannequin. A perfect little doll for the shareholders to look at. But you? You’re a woman.”
Winter looks between them. The frustration is there, but so is something else—a twisted curiosity, a lingering exhaustion, and an undeniable spark of competitiveness.
“I can’t,” she whispers. “If anyone finds out…”
“No one will know,” her ex says, guiding her hands to his waist. “Just us. Just for an hour. Minjeong—look at me. You’re vibrating. You’re going to snap down there if you don’t let go.”
He leans in, whispering directly into her ear. “Aren’t you tired? Tired of your father comparing you and Jimin to Jang Wonyoung and An Yujin? Tired of being asked why Aespa Group continues to fall short to IVE Corp?”
Winter’s eyes squeeze shut. Her resistance is visibly crumbling before them.
“You don’t have to be the perfect daughter in here,” he continues. “You don’t have to be the future CEO of anyone’s legacy. You can just be… a body. A toy. No decisions. No responsibilities.”
She shudders. You see the fight drain out of her shoulders through the slats of the closet door. She lets out a long, shaky breath that sounds like a surrender.
“Admit it,” he murmurs triumphantly. “You need this. You need to stop thinking tonight.”
“I just…” She swallows hard, voice trembling. “I just want it to be quiet. I want my brain to stop.”
“We can make you forget about everything,” Julian says softly, moving closer to circle her like a shark. “We can make everything else disappear.”
“That’s right.” Her ex kisses her forehead. “Just be a good girl and let us take care of you.”
He slides his hands down her body, cupping her ass through the fabric, squeezing it firmly.
Winter gasps loudly, her head falling back against his shoulder.
“You like this, don’t you?” he murmurs against her ear. “You like how good it feels when you stop fighting.”
He spins her around before she can answer, pushing her right into his friend. He catches her easily, one hand on her waist, the other coming up to cup her jaw.
“It’s been years,” Julian says, his thumb brushing her lower lip. “Do you remember how I taste, Minjeong?”
Winter looks up at him, her eyes hazy. The fight is gone. “Yes,” she whispers. “I remember.”
“Prove it,” he growls.
He crashes his mouth onto hers. It’s not a gentle kiss. Winter makes a small, desperate sound in her throat and grabs his shirt, pulling him closer, kissing him back with a hunger that surprises even him.
Her ex laughs, a low, satisfied sound, and kisses down the side of her neck while she’s occupied. “There she is,” he purrs. “The real Kim Minjeong.”
When Julian finally pulls back, Winter is breathless. She looks defeated already, and they haven’t even taken her clothes off.
“Please,” she begs, looking between them. “Do it. Use me.”
“Are you sure?” he asks condescendingly.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she breathes. “Please.”
Her ex smiles and reaches for the zipper of her dress. She doesn’t even flinch now. She leans into his touch, eyes fluttering shut, surrendering completely.
In the closet, you lunge forward. You can’t help it. The sight of them touching her—after what he just did to Giselle, after everything. Ningning immediately slams her body weight against you, pinning you to the back wall and clamps her hand over your mouth, her nails digging into your cheek.
“Don’t,” she mouths, shaking her head. “You can’t.”
Outside, the white dress is already on the floor. Winter stands in just her lingerie, completely exposed.
“Beautiful,” Julian murmurs, eyeing her like a product at the market. “Just so fucking beautiful.”
“She loves being looked at,” the ex says, guiding her toward the bed. “Don’t you, Minjeong? You’ve missed this.”
“Can’t you at least turn off the lights?” Winter swallows, looking away. “It’s too bright in here. ”
“I have an even better idea,” her ex says smoothly.
He reaches into his pocket—or maybe he grabs a tie from the dresser, you can’t tell from the angle—and produces a strip of black silk.
“Let’s turn everything off Minjeongie, including your eyes.”
He ties the blindfold around her head, securing it tight. The moment her vision is gone, her posture changes. The tension in her shoulders drops. She lets out a long exhale, finally surrendering to the dark.
“Better?” he asks, running his hands down her bare arms.
“Yes,” she says, tilting her head back against his chest. “Much better.”
“Good,” he grins at Julian over her shoulder. “Now… let’s see if we can make you forget your name.”
“Kneel,” the other commands softly.
Winter sinks to the plush carpet, her knees hitting the floor with a soft thud.
She tilts her head up, seeking them out, her lips parted. “Where are you?” she whispers.
You hear the sound of zippers. Two of them.
“Right here,” her ex says, stepping in front of her.
He doesn’t wait. He presses the head of his cock against her lips, and she opens instantly, taking him in with a desperate obedience.
“God,” he groans, his hand tangling in her hair. “You’re so eager tonight.”
She takes him all the way in, wrapping her lips around his flesh as if she’d been waiting all night.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “Such a good girl.”
She pulls off with a wet pop, gasping for air. “Both,” she demands. “I want both.”
“What a greedy girl,” Julian laughs. “Turn your head.”
She obeys blindly, turning her face to the side. He steps in, guiding himself into her mouth while her ex moves to her other side.
“Look at her,” the ex says, running his hand down her throat, tracing the movement as she swallows Julian down. “Look how perfectly she takes it. You’d never know she was the Chairman’s daughter right now, would you?”
“She’s a natural,” Julian agrees, thrusting into her mouth. “You like this, Minjeong? You like being used like this?”
“Mmph,” she moans, her hand coming up to stroke her ex’s length since her mouth is occupied.
“Use your words later,” he says, guiding his cock to her lips as Julian pulls back for a breath. “Right now, just keep your mouth open.”
She switches back and forth between them—licking, sucking, bobbing her head. The sounds of their pleasure and her wet, needy noises fill the room, suffocating you and Ningning in their intensity.
“That’s it,” Julian teases, slapping her cheek lightly. “Make me forget about your cousin.”
At the mere mention of Karina, Winter seems to work harder. Her throat tightens, her pace increasing as if she’s trying to suck the very thought of her perfect cousin out of him.
“On the bed now,” her ex commands. “On your knees.”
Winter lets go of their throbbing shafts and obediently climbs onto the mattress like a starved puppy. The white sheets nearly blend in with her skin as she positions herself exactly as told—head bowed, back arched, legs spread, ass up.
The ex grabs Winter’s hair, pulling her head back. “Tell him what you are.”
“I-I’m a toy,” she says, voice trembling.
“And?”
“And I want you to use me,” she chokes out. “Please. Both of you. Do whatever you want to me. I’m yours. All yours.”
The sounds that follow are gut wrenching. The rustle of clothes, the heavy breathing of the two men, and Winter’s soft, broken gasps as they use her, passing her between them like she’s something they bought together.
In the closet, you’re vibrating with anger and violence. You are going to kill them. You are going to tear the door off its hinges and—
Ningning kisses you.
It’s not romantic. At all. It’s a distraction, and fortunately, it’s a really good one.
She crushes her mouth against yours, biting your lip hard, grabbing your hand and forcing it between her legs before grinding against you with a desperation that mirrors the chaos outside.
“Focus on me,” she whispers against your mouth, eyes wild. “Hate-fuck me if you have to. But do not open that door or we’re both screwed.”
You try to obey, but the sounds from the bedroom aren’t just audible—they’re overwhelming.
“That’s it,” Julian’s voice drifts in, low and encouraging. “Take it all, Minjeong. Show me how good you can be.”
“She’s such a good whore,” the ex laughs. “Aren’t you, babe? This is what you were made for. Not spreadsheets. Not meetings. Just this.”
You press your eye to the gap in the closet door. You shouldn’t, but your body moves on its own.
Winter is on all fours on the bed, completely stripped of her lingerie, with Julian’s cock buried in her mouth while the ex kneels behind her, running his hands over her body as she’s leaning into them, desperate for more.
“Look at her,” the ex says, squeezing her ass firmly. “The Chairman’s precious daughter. On her knees where she belongs. Completely dripping wet while two men have their way with her.”
“Deeper,” Julian commands gently but firmly, hand in her hair. “I know you can take more. You’re doing so well.”
Ningning yanks your face back to hers, her nails biting into your jaw.
“Eyes on me,” she hisses. “Don’t watch or else—”
She doesn’t even finish the threat. She shoves her panties down and hikes her dress up, backing you against the hanging suits.
“Fuck me,” she orders. “Right now.”
You fumble with your zipper, hands shaking not from fear, but from fury. Outside, the bedsprings start their rhythmic creak.
“God, she’s so fucking tight. There’s really nobody like you, Minjeong.”
“You miss taking two cocks at once, don’t you? You wanted this.”
“Yes,” Winter moans, the word muffled. “Please—”
“Please what? Tell us what you want.”
“Please keep using my pussy,” she sobs. “I need it. I need you to use me.”
You slam into Ningning—hard. She almost cries out, her back hitting the wall of suits with a light thud, but she clamps a hand over her own mouth just in time.
“Just like that,” Ningning breathes against her palm, her eyes locking onto yours. “Don’t think about her. Focus on me.”
You grab her hips, digging your fingers in, and thrust into her with a force that shakes the rack of clothes.
But you still look back at the slats. You don’t even know why. You’re not hers, and she’s certainly not yours—you’re just the intern she tolerates at best. But watching her surrender like this, dismantling herself piece by piece just to escape her own head, breaks something inside you. It’s a frustrating, irrational pull—a sudden, desperate need to step in and shield her from the very thing she’s begging for.
The ex has Winter bent over now, face pressed into the mattress. He’s pounding into her from behind while his friend feeds her his cock from the front, both of them using her like she’s nothing but holes.
“You love being spit-roasted, huh?” the ex asks, leaning down to bite her shoulder. “Tell him, Minjeong. Tell him how much you love having both ends filled.”
“I love it,” Winter chokes out around Julian’s length. “I love being your fucktoy.”
“That’s right, babe. No thinking. Just feeling. Just a pretty little toy for us to play with until we’re satisfied. That’s all you’re good for.”
“Please,” she wails. “Please, I’m close—I can’t—I’m gonna come—”
“Don’t you dare cum yet,” Julian commands, thrusting deeper into her mouth. “Not until we say so.”
“Aah—no—I’m sorry—I’m coming—”
There’s laughter. “I wonder what would daddy think if he saw his little princess like this? Getting used like a whore in a hotel room while the board drinks champagne downstairs?”
Winter screams around Julian’s cock, her body convulsing violently, thighs trembling uncontrollably against the ex’s hips as she screams and sobs through the orgasm.
Rage boils over you. You grab Ningning’s hair, pulling her head back just like the ex is doing to Winter.
“Is this what you want?” you growl into her ear. “To be used like her?”
“Yes,” Ningning whimpers, biting her lip. “Ruin me. Pretend you’re hate-fucking her. I know you’re so mad right now.”
She kisses you, roughly and desperately, her tongue shoving into your mouth. Her walls clench hard around your cock, every part of her body demanding your attention.
You bury your face in her neck and thrust harder, faster, trying to drown out the nightmare happening ten feet away.
“Switch,” Julian commands outside. “I want her pussy now.”
There’s a shuffle, the creak of the mattress shifting, and Winter gasps as she moves. You look through the slats.
She’s straddling Julian now, bouncing up and down on him in a frantic rhythm, her head thrown back, breasts bouncing freely. But she’s not just riding him. She’s leaning forward, wrapping her lips around the ex’s cock as he sits on the edge of the bed, her hand stroking him in time with her hips.
“God, she’s completely soaking wet,” he laughs, sounding delighted. “You really are desperate cumslut, aren’t you, Minjeong?”
“Yes,” she wails. “I am. I’m a worthless little fucktoy. Please don’t stop. I want to come again and again and again. Please.”
“Good girl,” the ex demands. “Keep begging. Beg for my cock while he ruins your pussy.”
You look again. Winter’s face is a ruin of smeared makeup, tears, and lust as she’s licking his cock like it’s keeping her alive.
“That’s it. That’s a good girl. Finally letting go. Finally honest about what you are.”
“Yes, I’m a whore,” Winter gasps between licks. “I’m really just a whore. I can’t believe it.”
She’s sprawled across the sheets, legs pried apart as Julian drives into her, the mattress shaking with every thrust. But she’s not even looking at him.
Her head is dipped back, trapped in her ex’s grip as he holds her jaw steady, stroking himself while she frantically licks him from below.
“Whose whore?” he asks, rubbing his balls against her tongue.
“Yours. Both of yours.”
“Where do you want us to finish?” Julian demands.
“On my face,” Winter cries. “Cover me. Please cover me with cum.”
Ningning drops to her knees in the cramped space. Without any warning, she just takes you into her mouth. You can barely see her. Instead, all you see is Winter on the other side of those doors, begging them for their cum.
“Our little cum dumpster. Take it all. Every last drop.”
Winter screams—a shattered, euphoric sound—as he slams into her repeatedly.
“Oh my god—please—don’t stop—” she sobs, her hands scrabbling uselessly against the sheets. “I’m coming! I can’t stop com—”
She cuts herself off with a shattered scream, her body arching off the mattress as the pleasure rips through her again. She’s not even breathing between the cries anymore, just sobbing uncontrollably as she rides out the peak, completely undone.
It breaks you. The sound of her pleasure, directed at them, shatters your control. You look down at Ningning—at her dark hair, her desperate eyes, the way she’s slurping you in the dark while Winter gets destroyed in the light.
You grab her hair, thrusting into her mouth as she takes it deep, gagging slightly but never stopping, her throat tightening around you.
“Fuck—I’m coming, Minjeongie,” the ex moans outside.
He erupts on Winter’s face—thick waves landing on her cheek and her chin. Julian joins in, painting her chest and neck in white.
At the exact same moment, you spill down Ningning’s throat. She swallows it all silently, her eyes locked on yours as you pulse into her throat.
Winter takes it all, her tiny body trembling, her chest heaving, and a look of satisfaction and relief fills her face.
Ningning slowly pulls off of you, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She stays on her knees, panting, looking just as pleased as Winter on the bed.
For a long moment, there is only the sound of soft, ragged breathing in the closet, and the hot, heavy panting from the bedroom.
“Good girl,” the ex says softly outside. “This is what you deserve, Minjeongie. Nothing more and nothing less.”
And as you look through the cracks, at the way Winter lies breathless on the bed in a hopeless daze, covered in their mess, you finally realize something.
Maybe it’s not her who needs to be saved from him.
It’s you who needs to be saved from her.
--
The ballroom is now a blur of noise and light that hurts your ears and stings your eyes. You’re standing near the entrance, leaning against a marble pillar because your legs are still too traumatized to function.
It took nearly thirty minutes. Thirty minutes trapped in a closet, crouching in the dark while Ningning forces your head between her legs, silently begging you to pleasure her while waiting for the three of them to clean up their crime scene and leave the suite.
“God,” Ningning sighs, adjusting her dress as she scans the crowd. She looks irritatingly fresh, her lipstick reapplied, hair perfect—as if she feels more rejuvenated now instead of hollow inside like you. “Suddenly it feels like heaven out here.”
“I want to go home,” you mutter, staring at the floor. “I want to bleach my brain.”
“Don’t be dramatic. You survived. And we got the goods.” She pats her chest, where the SD cards are safely tucked away. “It’s New Year’s Eve. Live a little. The night is young and so are we.”
“The night is a nightmare and I’m leaving.”
“Not yet you’re not,” she says, nodding toward the far corner of the room. “Look.”
You follow her gaze.
Karina is there. She’s swaying slightly, clutching a wine glass with both hands. And she’s not alone. A man in a sharp tuxedo is standing close—leaning in with a rather earnest, concerned expression. He’s handsome in a wholesome, non-threatening way that instantly makes you want to jump down a flight of stairs.
“Well,” Ningning hums, patting your arm. “I’ll leave you to that.”
“What are you going to do?”
“First, I’m going to secure a midnight kiss or two. I’m thinking those VPs from IVE with the limited edition Rolexes.” She winks. “And then… Phase Three.”
You sigh. “There’s a Phase Three?”
“Of course. But don’t worry, this part’s all me. I’m gonna go pay Winter’s ex another visit and introduce him to Little Miss Yuna,” she says, her grin turning wicked. “Watching two narcissists collide sounds like great entertainment.”
You sigh. “And then what?”
“Wait and see, Batboy.” She lifts her chin in Karina’s direction. “You should go save your princess before Prince Charming over there snatches her for the night. You’ve earned the right to continue yearning.”
She vanishes into the crowd, leaving you alone with the noise, the stolen cameras, and the sudden, overwhelming need to get to Karina.
You make your way over, weaving through the crowd of drunk executives and couples awkwardly moving to the slow music. Your eyes lock onto the corner near the terrace doors where Karina is standing.
You recognize him vaguely from the seating chart you weren’t allowed to be on. Lee Heeseung from Enhypen Group. Old money, a prestige family line, and probably has a wing of some hospital named after his grandfather.
You slow your pace, hesitation crawling up your spine.
Karina hasn’t texted you since you left her to deal with Winter. And now, seeing her with him—someone who belongs in this room, someone who was probably invited to sit at the Chairman’s table while you were sneaking around in a closet—it hits you.
You’re just an intern. You’re the guy who carries things and replies to emails. Heeseung is the “good match” her father was probably lecturing her about all night.
You stop ten feet away. They look comfortable. He’s smiling gently, saying something that makes her nod. Meanwhile, you look like you’ve been dragged through a war zone. Your bow tie is barely clinging on, and you realize that Winter was right—you really don’t know how to fix it.
You decide to turn away.
Because you should. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong anywhere near Karina. You don’t deserve her. You should just go home. You should just disappear before you embarrass her and yourself further.
You’re two steps from the exit when a hand grabs your arm.
It’s not a gentle touch. It’s a grip—tight, desperate, fingers digging into your bicep through the suit jacket.
You turn. Karina is there, alone. She’s looking up at you, her eyes glassy and huge, searching your face with a mix of both relief and sorrow.
“Are you leaving me again?” she says, her voice slurring from alcohol and hurt.
“I wasn’t leaving,” you lie. “I was just giving you space.”
“Liar,” she murmurs, her grip on your arm tightening rather than loosening. “You were running away. I saw you turn.”
She sways, and you instinctively reach out to steady her, your hands settling on her waist. She feels warm, like the only real thing in a night that has felt like a fever dream.
“I didn’t want to interrupt,” you admit, nodding slightly toward Heeseung, who is watching from a polite distance, looking confused but not angry. “He looks… like someone your dad would approve of.”
Karina lets out a short, bitter laugh. “My dad’s been trying to marry me off to him since I was in middle school.”
“But too many golf metaphors?” you try to joke, but it doesn’t even land anymore.
She shakes her head. “No, he’s actually one of the better ones. He’s kind, honest, considerate. Pretty sure he’s liked me since high school.”
“So then why aren’t you there with him?” you ask softly.
She shrugs, a small, fragile movement. “Maybe the person he likes isn’t really me. Maybe he just likes the idea of me.”
She wobbles again, her heel slipping on the marble.
“Okay,” you say, tightening your grip. “That’s enough philosophy for one night. Let’s get you upstairs.”
“I’m not drunk,” she protests weakly, though she doesn’t pull away.
“You can’t even stand straight.”
“Fine,” she mumbles. “Maybe a little.”
“Come on. I’ll walk you.”
You drape your jacket over her shoulders and guide her toward the elevators. The noise of the party fades behind you, replaced by the quiet hum of the elevator. She leans against the mirrored wall, watching you.
“So where’d you go tonight?” she asks, her voice quieter now.
“Somewhere I shouldn’t have been,” you admit, thinking of the closet, the cameras, the smell of sex. “I should’ve just stayed with you.”
“Was she pretty?”
Your heart skips a beat. “Who?”
“Minjeong.”
You don’t answer. You just watch the numbers climb.
“I know you went to find her,” she says, not accusingly, just stated like a fact. “You always do.”
“Maybe I should stop.”
“Did you find her? Did you save her?”
“I found her,” you whisper. “But I don’t think she wants to be saved. Meanwhile, I left you waiting all night.”
She smiles, but she doesn’t look happy. “Kind of sad, isn’t it? The heart wants what it wants. You can’t stop it.”
You exhale.
“Maybe it’s for the better, anyways,” she mutters, looking down at her shoes.
You look at her. “What do you mean?”
She pauses. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t defend you at dinner. I was a coward.”
“You’re not a coward,” you say firmly. “You did defend me. You did everything you could.”
“That’s what everyone always says,” she whispers bitterly. “You did what you could, Jimin. It’s not your fault.”
The elevator dings, opening onto her floor. She stumbles out, and without thinking, you sweep her up into your arms.
“What are you doing?” she gasps, wrapping her arms around your neck, burying her face in your shoulder.
“Trying to see how heavy with guilt you are,” you joke weakly.
You carry her down the hall as her head rests on your shoulder, her breathing evening out.
“You never sent me any snarky commentary about the award speeches,” she mumbles into your neck.
“I actually missed the whole thing,” you say, stopping at her door. “Were they any good?”
You fish the keycard from her bag, scanning it with a soft beep. The angel keychain sways from the touch, the crystal reflecting a bit of the light from the ceiling.
“Not at all,” she says, lifting her head slightly as the door swings open. “You know, it was supposed to be our gala but for some reason Jang Wonyoung won everything. She really is the ace around here.”
“You’re the only ace in my eyes. Everyone else is just either blind or has no taste.”
She pouts. “Don’t be mean. She’s a nice girl.”
“Just calling a spade a spade.”
You step inside, and the difference hits you instantly.
The suite you were in earlier felt like a crime scene. This room is warm. The soft golden glow from the lamp sweeps over the plush furniture, and there’s a faint scent of vanilla in the air, probably from a diffuser. It feels gentle and safe. Just like her.
You set her down gently on the edge of the bed, and she kicks off her heels with a sigh, wiggling her toes.
“Water,” you say, pouring her a glass. “Drink it. All of it.”
She smiles, amused. “Someone’s bossy tonight.”
While she drinks, you wander toward the living area. On the sideboard, there’s a vintage record player spinning silently. You glance at the sleeve resting next to it—some old jazz album. You drop the needle, and a soft, relaxing rendition of Fly Me to the Moon fills the room.
You walk to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city actually looks peaceful from this height. It’s hard to believe that down there, people are screaming counts and setting off fireworks. Up here, it’s just quiet.
You stare at your own reflection in the glass—hair disheveled, bowtie loose, eyes tired. And yet somehow, someway, Karina still wants you near her.
“My father hates this song,” she says softly from behind you.
You turn. She’s standing in the soft glow of the lamp, barefoot now, holding her glass of water with both hands. Without her heels, she looks smaller. Less like the Yoo Jimin from the gala and more like the girl who buys you pastries when you’re tired.
“Perfect,” you joke. “Then he hates everything that’s in this room with you now.”
She steps closer, setting the glass down on a side table. “We should’ve done this hours ago.”
“What?”
“Disappeared,” she says, slowly walking toward you. “Together. Hide from the world.”
“The night isn’t over. We still can.”
“Good,” she says, looking up at you through her lashes. “Because I believe you still owe me a dance.”
“You can barely stand,” you say as yours hands brush her arms.
“Then hold me up,” she says simply, wrapping her arms around your neck. “I trust you.”
The world outside those windows becomes a distant backdrop that doesn’t matter anymore. In here, the universe has shrunk down to the size of this room, filled only with the sound of the music and the warmth of her body.
You rest your hands on her waist and begin to sway, moving slowly to the relaxing jazz rhythm. It’s intimate, far more intimate than you’ve ever been with her. But after the violence of the closet, this tenderness feels both dangerous and necessary.
“Why do you even waste your time with me?” you ask, holding her close.
“You’re not a waste of time,” she whispers against your chest, her eyes closing. “When I’m with you, I don’t have to be Yoo Jimin. I can just be Karina.”
You blink. “There’s a difference?”
“Yoo Jimin is Head of Design,” she says bitterly. “FIT graduate. Eldest daughter of the Yoo family. Kim Minjeong’s older, more established cousin. She’s not allowed to make mistakes. She has to be perfect.”
“Bold of you to assume that I don’t think Karina is perfect.”
She pulls back to look at you, eyes shimmering in the dim light. “I’m not perfect,” she says softly, cupping your face. “I’m so far from it.”
“You are to me.”
She shakes her head, almost fearfully. “No,” she whispers. “Trust me. I’m not who you think I am. I’ve done some really horrible things in my life.”
“I don’t believe that at all.”
“You should,” she says, her hands tightening in your hair. “Because one day when you find out, you’ll just run away again.”
“I don’t know what ghosts you’re fighting,” you say gently, lacing your fingers through hers. “But I know that you’re gentle even when no one is watching. I know you’re kind even when you’re exhausted. Sorry, but I’m not going anywhere.”
For a long moment, she just looks at you, as if there were a thousand words screaming in her head that couldn’t be said out loud. And in that gaze, you realize that you haven’t had another sip of alcohol, and yet the room is spinning.
Outside, the sky fractures. The first firework detonates—a bloom of gold and violet light reflecting in the floor-to-ceiling glass, illuminating the inches of space left between you. The boom rattles the windowpane, but neither of you flinch.
“It’s midnight,” you say, eyes still locked with hers.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” she breathes, her voice barely audible.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re going to kiss me.”
“Should I—”
She doesn’t wait. She kisses you first.
It’s soft, tasting of champagne and longing, a stark contrast to Ningning’s violence and Winter’s emptiness. Her lips gently tug against yours, politely squeezing in the space between them with a sweetness that robs the oxygen from the room.
She pulls back, breathless, resting her forehead against yours. “Happy New Year,” she says, smiling against your face.
“Happy New Year, Karina,” you say, rubbing your nose against hers, still chasing the taste of her lip balm.
“Are you going to disappear now?” she asks, tracing the line of your jaw.
“Do you want me to?”
She shakes her head. “No. Stay here. With me.”
You kiss her again. Slower, more tenderly, more lovingly—as if everything in the world led to this moment that you don’t want to end.
“…But if your suit still wants to vaporize,” she whispers, biting her lip. “I won’t complain.”
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