You’re taller than both of them. Always have been. The kind of height that makes people step aside in hallways, the kind that lets you see over crowds when you’re working security. Tonight you’re off the clock, standing in the middle of a hotel suite bedroom in Seoul with the lights dimmed low and two of the women you’re supposed to protect looking up at you like they’ve already decided how this is going to go.
Sana sits on the edge of the bed in a black lace set, legs crossed, phone in her hand. Momo is already kneeling on the mattress behind her, chin resting on Sana’s shoulder, watching the screen. The camera is set up on a tripod at the foot of the bed, red light blinking. Personal. Private. No one else will ever see it. That’s what they both said when they pulled you in here after the schedule ended.
“Come closer, bodyguard,” Sana says, voice soft and teasing. “You’re blocking the light.”
You step forward. The carpet is thick under your bare feet. You’re still in black pants and an open shirt; they didn’t give you time to change. Momo’s eyes drop straight to the front of your pants and stay there.
“He’s already hard,” she murmurs to Sana. “Look at that outline. It’s going to look filthy on camera.”
Sana reaches out and hooks a finger in your belt loop, tugging you the last step. “Take it out. We want to see it properly before we start recording.”
You unzip. Your cock is thick and long, already heavy, the head flushed dark. When it springs free both of them go quiet for a second. Sana’s lips part. Momo’s tongue briefly wets her lower lip.
“Jesus,” Momo says. “I always forget how big it actually is until it’s out.”
Sana leans in first. She wraps her fingers around the base and strokes once, slow, feeling the weight of it. “We’re going to look so good taking this. Come on. Sit back against the headboard. We want the camera to catch everything.”
You do as you’re told. The headboard is cool against your bare back. Sana climbs up first, straddling your thighs but not sinking down yet. Momo moves to your side, already pulling her own bra off. Their bodies are soft and warm, familiar from nights like this when the schedule finally lets them breathe.
Sana reaches over and hits record on the remote. The red light steadies.
“Hi,” she says to the camera, voice suddenly a little breathier, a little dirtier. “This is just for us. Me, Momo, and our tall bodyguard who keeps pretending he doesn’t want to ruin us.” She looks down at your cock, then back at the lens. “Look how thick he is. We’re going to share him tonight.”
Momo crawls closer, presses her mouth to the side of your neck, then lower, kissing along the line of your collarbone. “He tastes like skin and cologne. I like when he smells like work and still fucks us like this.”
Sana lifts her hips, reaches down, and guides the head of your cock between her folds. She’s already wet. She sinks down slow, taking you inch by inch while the camera watches. A long, shaky breath leaves her when she’s fully seated.
“Fuck… it’s always deeper than I remember.” She rolls her hips once, testing. “Momo, feel.”
Momo’s hand slides down between them, fingers brushing where Sana is stretched around you. “So full already. Save some for me.”
You grip Sana’s waist and thrust up once, hard enough to make her gasp. The bed shifts. She braces on your chest and starts riding, slow at first, then with more intent, the wet sound of it filling the quiet room. Momo watches for a moment, then leans in and kisses Sana while she’s bouncing on you—open-mouthed, messy, tongues visible for the camera.
“Look at her taking it,” Momo says against Sana’s mouth. “Our good little idol getting fucked by the bodyguard on video. So pretty when she’s full.”
Sana moans into the kiss and rides harder. You feel her tightening. You keep your hands on her hips and let her use you, watching the way her breasts move, the way her stomach flexes every time she drops down. Momo’s fingers stay busy between them, rubbing Sana’s clit in tight circles.
“Gonna come already?” you ask, voice low.
Sana nods, eyes half-lidded. “Yes—don’t stop. Keep fucking up into me.”
You do. A few more deep thrusts and she breaks, thighs shaking, a high broken sound spilling out of her as she comes around your cock. She stays seated through it, pulsing, until her arms give out and she leans forward against your chest.
Momo gently pushes her off. Sana collapses onto the sheets beside you, still breathing hard, cum and wetness shiny on her inner thighs. Momo doesn’t wait. She swings a leg over you, faces the camera this time, and sinks down onto your cock in one smooth motion.
“My turn,” she says, looking straight into the lens. “Watch how deep he goes in me.”
She starts riding with sharper movements, more force. Her hands plant on your thighs behind her for leverage. You sit up enough to reach around and cup her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples while she works herself on you. Sana recovers enough to crawl closer and suck one of Momo’s nipples into her mouth, then the other, leaving them wet and tight.
“She’s so tight when she rides,” you tell the camera, voice rough. “Always clenches when she gets close.”
Momo laughs breathlessly. “Because your cock is ridiculous. I can feel it in my stomach.” She looks back over her shoulder at you. “Fuck me harder. I want it on video when you make me come.”
You sit up fully, wrap an arm around her waist, and start thrusting up to meet every bounce. The angle changes. She cries out, head tipping back. Sana’s hand slips down to rub Momo’s clit in time with the thrusts. It doesn’t take long. Momo comes with a sharp, broken moan, body locking up, pussy fluttering hard around you.
You don’t let her rest. While she’s still shaking you lift her off, turn her onto her hands and knees facing the camera, and move behind her. Sana shifts so she’s in front of Momo, kneeling, offering her already-used pussy. Momo doesn’t hesitate—she leans in and starts licking Sana while you line up and push back into her from behind.
The position is filthy and perfect for the camera: Momo’s face buried between Sana’s thighs, your hands gripping Momo’s hips as you fuck her deep and steady. The wet sounds overlap—your cock sliding in and out of Momo, Momo’s tongue working Sana.
“Good girl,” you murmur. “Keep eating her while I use this tight little cunt.”
Momo moans against Sana. Sana’s fingers tangle in Momo’s hair and hold her there. You set a harder rhythm, the slap of skin loud in the room. Sana’s free hand reaches back to stroke your arm, nails digging in.
“He’s so deep,” Momo gasps between licks. “Sana—he’s going to ruin me.”
“I know,” Sana answers, voice wrecked. “Take it. Let the camera see how well you take him.”
You fuck Momo through another orgasm, feeling her clamp down and shake. When she goes soft you pull out, flip her onto her back, and pull Sana over so she’s straddling Momo’s face. You push back into Sana from behind while she sits on Momo’s mouth. Another angle, another clear view for the camera: Sana’s body arched, your cock disappearing into her, Momo’s tongue visible between them.
Sana reaches back and spreads herself for the lens. “Look how stretched I am. Look how much of him is inside me.”
You give her long, deep strokes, watching the way her ass moves with every thrust. Momo’s hands come up to hold Sana’s thighs open. The three of you move together—wet, loud, unrestrained. Sana comes again first, crying out as she grinds down on Momo’s face. You keep going until her legs tremble too hard to stay upright, then pull out and move to Momo again.
You push Momo’s knees to her chest and slide back in. Sana crawls beside you, kisses you messily while you fuck her bandmate, then drops down to lick where you and Momo are joined. Her tongue drags over your shaft every time you pull almost out.
“Both of you,” you say, voice strained. “On your knees. Now.”
They scramble to obey. Side by side at the edge of the bed, looking up at you, mouths open, eyes dark. You stand in front of them, cock slick and throbbing, and stroke yourself. Sana leans in first, tongue out. Momo joins her. They take turns licking the head, then both of them press close so you can fuck between their open mouths.
“Stay right there,” you tell them. “I’m going to come on both of you.”
They hold still, tongues out, faces tilted up. You stroke harder, faster. The first thick pulse hits Sana’s cheek and lower lip. The next lands across Momo’s nose and open mouth. You keep coming—long ropes painting both of their faces, dripping down their chins, onto their chests. They don’t pull away. They stay open and waiting until you’re finished, then lean in together and clean the rest from the head of your cock with slow, careful tongues.
Sana looks at the camera afterward, cum still streaked across her cheek, and smiles, soft and filthy. “That was for us. No one else.”
Momo wipes a streak from under her eye with one finger and sucks it clean. “Rewatch later?”
You turn the recording off. The red light dies. The three of you stay tangled on the bed for a while longer—kissing, touching, quiet dirty talk in the dark—until the sweat cools and the city lights outside the window start to feel distant.
You clean them up yourself with a warm cloth from the bathroom, careful and thorough. They both end up half-asleep against your chest, smaller and softer without the performance. The video stays on the private drive. Personal. Exactly what they asked for.
You stay awake a little longer, one arm around each of them, listening to their breathing even out. Taller. Quieter. Still theirs for the night.
The penthouse reeks of money. Not just the marble floors or the stupidly oversized abstract art—but the air itself smells filtered, perfumed with something floral and expensive that probably costs more than my weekly groceries. I’m hunched over, scrubbing a wine stain off the ivory rug near the floor-to-ceiling windows. My back aches. Always aches. Another Tuesday, another fucking mansion filled with people who’ll never know my name.
Then… giggles. High, breathy, close. Followed by the soft hiss of steam escaping under the bathroom door down the hall. It’s thick, smelling like jasmine and vanilla bath oil. Curiosity pins me. Clients aren’t supposed to be home during cleans. I creep closer, silent in my worn sneakers. The door isn’t shut tight. Just a sliver of light spills out. I press my eye to the gap.
Heat hits me first. Moist, heavy air. Then the sight.
My clients named Jihyo, Momo, Tzuyu, Nayeon. All four housemates. Swathed in thin, pink silk robes clinging to damp skin. Steam curls around them like hungry ghosts. They’re crowded around the vast, fogged mirror above the double vanity. No makeup. Hair wet, dark and slick against flushed necks and shoulders. They look… unreal. Like models dipped in honey.
“Fuck, Tzuyu,” Momo breathes, her voice husky. She’s tracing a fingertip down Tzuyu’s arm. “Your skin is like actual fucking porcelain. How is that fair?” Momo’s robe gapes slightly as she leans, revealing the heavy swell of her tits, nipples dark and pebbled against the damp silk.
Tzuyu laughs, low and easy. “Says the girl with the rack that could start wars.” She flicks water at Momo, droplets catching the soft LED lights. Her own robe is loosely tied, the deep V offering a glimpse of smooth, tanned stomach and the shadowed curve where her thighs meet. Effortless.
Nayeon, perched on the edge of the enormous claw-foot tub, giggles, kicking her legs. Her robe rides up, showing miles of smooth, toned thigh. “Seriously, Momo. Put those weapons away before someone gets hurt.” Her eyes, bright and mischievous, sweep over Jihyo who’s meticulously brushing her hair. “And you, unnie. Stop being so perfect. It’s rude.”
Jihyo turns, a slow, confident smile spreading across her face. Voluptuous doesn’t cover it. The robe strains over her hips, the silk plastered to her full breasts, outlining every curve. She meets Nayeon’s gaze in the mirror. “Just appreciating the view, Nayeonnie. Especially yours.” Her gaze drifts down Nayeon’s body, lingering. “Those legs could stop traffic.”
It’s raw. Intimate. A surge of heat, thick and urgent, floods my groin. My breath catches, ragged in my throat. My cock is instantly hard, straining against the rough fabric of my work pants. It’s unbearable. Without thought, my fingers fumble with my belt buckle, the metallic clink impossibly loud in my own ears. I shove my pants and boxers down past my hips. My cock springs free, thick and already leaking, throbbing against the cool air drifting from the hallway. I wrap my hand around my hard length. A low groan escapes me as I start stroking, slow and firm, my eyes glued to the scene inside.
Jihyo’s reflection shifts slightly in the fogged mirror. Her eyes, dark and sharp, flicker. Away from Nayeon’s legs. Towards the sliver of the door. Towards the shadow where I’m pressed. They lock onto mine through the gap.
Fuck!
Her gaze doesn’t widen in shock. It narrows. Sharpens. Like a predator spotting prey. A slow, knowing smirk curls her perfect lips. She doesn’t look away. She watches me watching them. Watches my hand moving frantically on my cock.
“Someone’s enjoying the show,” Jihyo purrs, her voice cutting through the steam and the girls’ chatter. It’s low, deliberate. Not loud, but carrying.
The other girls freeze. Heads snap towards the door. Momo gasps, clutching her robe tighter. Tzuyu’s relaxed posture stiffens. Nayeon’s playful smirk vanishes, replaced by wide-eyed surprise.
Panic electrocutes me. I jerk back from the door, stumbling blindly. My foot catches on the discarded mop bucket. Time slows. The bucket clatters. My legs tangle. I crash forward, shoulder slamming into the bathroom door. It flies open with a bang, and I sprawl onto the slick marble floor, naked from the waist down, my cock still jutting out, hard and obscene, my hand frozen mid-stroke.
Silence. Thick, suffocating silence, broken only by the drip of a faucet. Steam swirls around me. Four pairs of eyes burn into me. Fury radiates off Momo and Tzuyu. Nayeon looks stunned. Jihyo… Jihyo just stares. Her gaze isn’t on my face. It’s locked lower. On my cock. Her smirk deepens, transforming into something darkly amused, deeply carnal.
Momo recovers first, her voice shrill with outrage. “You fucking PERVERT! What the HELL are you doing?!”
Tzuyu steps forward, her easy-going demeanor vanished, replaced by icy disdain. “Get out! Now! I’m calling security!”
I scramble, trying to pull up my pants, fumbling, humiliated heat scorching my face. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean–”
“Didn’t mean to spy?” Nayeon cuts in, her voice surprisingly calm, though her eyes are wide. “Didn’t mean to whip it out and jerk off while we were changing?”
Jihyo hasn’t moved. She slowly raises a hand, silencing the others. Her eyes finally lift from my groin to meet mine. They’re dark pools, unreadable. She takes a single, deliberate step towards me, her silk robe whispering against her skin. The steam parts for her.
“Put your hands down,” she commands, her voice a velvet whip. It’s not a request. My hands freeze on the waistband of my pants. “Look at you,” she murmurs, her gaze raking down my body again, lingering on my exposed cock. “Big boy, aren’t you? That’s… impressive.” A low chuckle escapes her. “Seems you were trying to ‘clean’ something else entirely.”
She stops right in front of me, looking down at where I lie helpless on the floor. The scent of her perfume – jasmine, vanilla, and something uniquely, powerfully her – washes over me, mixing with the steam. My cock twitches violently, betraying me utterly.
Momo looks horrified. “Jihyo! What are you–”
“Shut up, Momo,” Jihyo says, her tone brooking no argument. Her eyes never leave mine. There’s a terrifying, thrilling calculation in them. She crouches down slowly, bringing her face level with mine. Her robe gapes open further, revealing the deep shadow between her magnificent breasts. “You wanted a show, cleaner boy?” she whispers, her breath warm against my cheek. “You wanted to see us wet? Naked?”
I can’t speak. Can only nod, a desperate, jerky movement.
Her smirk turns predatory. “Good.” She reaches out, not touching me, but her fingertip traces a line in the air an inch from the flushed head of my cock. A jolt of pure electricity shoots through me. “Because you’re going to clean more than just the floor tonight,” she breathes, her voice dropping to a husky promise that vibrates deep in my gut. “You’re going to clean us. Every. Single. Inch.” Her eyes flick to the other girls, a silent command passing between them. Their expressions shift – Momo’s outrage fading into wary curiosity, Tzuyu’s ice thawing into something heated, Nayeon’s surprise blossoming into a wicked, intrigued grin. “Starting,” Jihyo says, her gaze snapping back to mine, filled with dark, undeniable hunger, "...right now."
(3rd Person POV)
His breath hitched, a ragged gasp tearing from his throat as Jihyo’s command hung in the steamy air, her dark eyes promising both punishment and filthy reward. He obeyed eagerly, hands trembling not from fear now but desperate, aching need, fumbling his pants back down past his hips, his thick cock springing free again, already slick and twitching, the flushed head glistening under the bathroom’s soft LED glow as he stared up at her, waiting.
Jihyo knelt down, her silk robe pooling around her knees on the cool marble, the scent of jasmine and her own arousal thickening the steam. Her hand, cool and deliberate, slid up the inside of his trembling thigh, fingers brushing the tight, hot skin of his balls before her thumb swiped roughly over the slick, leaking slit of his cock, making his whole body jolt and a choked groan rip from his throat.
A vicious shiver tore through him as Jihyo’s thumb smeared his pre-come across his sensitive head. "Fuck!" he gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily off the cold marble. Momo, frozen a few feet away, watched Jihyo’s bold possession, her earlier outrage flickering, replaced by a dark, fascinated heat that bloomed across her cheeks and down her neck; her breath hitched, sharp and audible in the steamy silence, her own hand unconsciously drifting to press between her legs over the thin silk.
"See something you want, Momo?" Jihyo murmured, not looking away from his agonized expression, her thumb circling the swollen crown again, making him whimper. "Or someone?" Before Momo could answer, Jihyo’s command cut through the haze. "Come here. Show him what happens when he spies on Momo’s perfect fucking tits."
Momo exhaled, a shaky sound, then stepped forward, her movements suddenly deliberate, predatory, her wide eyes fixed on his rigid cock glistening under Jihyo’s touch. She sank to her knees beside Jihyo, the damp silk of her robe parting to reveal the heavy, full curve of one breast, her nipple stiff and dark. Her fingers, trembling slightly only a moment ago, now reached out with shocking confidence, wrapping firmly around the thick base of his shaft beneath Jihyo’s hand, her cool touch a stark contrast to the furnace heat of his skin.
"Think this big cock deserves my tits, cleaner?" Momo breathed, her voice thick with a mix of challenge and raw need, her thumb mimicking Jihyo’s earlier motion, dragging roughly over his leaking slit, spreading the wetness as she squeezed him hard enough to make his vision blur. "You gonna fucking earn it?"
Momo’s grip tightened like a vise at the base of his cock, her thumb grinding relentlessly against his sensitive slit, drawing a ragged, desperate gasp from his throat. Tzuyu watched hungrily from the edge of the claw-foot tub, her relaxed posture gone rigid, knuckles white where she gripped the cold porcelain rim, her dark eyes wide and fixed unblinkingly on Momo’s hand working his thick shaft, a slow, deliberate bite sinking into her plump lower lip.
Tzuyu shoved off the tub’s edge, her movements fluid and deliberate, her earlier icy disdain replaced by a predatory heat that radiated off her damp skin as she stalked towards them.
"My turn," she declared, her voice low and thick, her gaze locked on his mouth while Jihyo's lips still stretched obscenely around his cockhead; she hooked her fingers sharply in his hair, wrenching his head back, forcing his gaze up the long lines of her body to where her robe had fallen completely open, revealing the swollen, glistening lips of her pussy hovering mere inches above his face.
"You wanted to peek? Now fucking clean it, cleaner," she commanded, her thighs trembling slightly as she lowered herself onto his mouth, grinding her hot, wet slit against his lips, the musky, heady scent of her arousal flooding his senses as her fingers tightened painfully in his hair, forcing his tongue to plunge deep into her slick, waiting heat. "Lick me clean!"
Tzuyu’s sharp command echoed off the marble as she ground her slick, swollen cunt hard against his mouth, the musky tang of her arousal flooding his senses, forcing his tongue deep into her hot, clenching depths. "Suck it, cleaner!" she gasped, her thighs trembling against his ears, her fingers knotting painfully in his hair and holding him prisoner against her needy flesh.
Nayeon’s playful giggle cut through the steam, sharp and hungry now, as she dropped to her knees beside Jihyo, her nimble fingers immediately joining Momo’s on his achingly hard shaft.
"Looks like the big, bad cleaner needs all our help," she purred, her eyes glittering with dark amusement as she leaned down, her breath hot against the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock, while Momo, taking her cue, shifted lower, her full lips parting to engulf one heavy, aching ball, sucking it deep into the wet heat of her mouth just as Jihyo, with a low, possessive hum, swallowed the leaking head back down her throat, her tongue swirling relentlessly over the ultra-sensitive ridge.
Tzuyu’s thighs clamped like a vice around his head, a sharp, startled cry ripping from her throat as her entire body seized, her slick pussy pulsing and gushing hot wetness against his tongue, forcing him to swallow convulsively as she shuddered through her climax. She slumped back against the vanity, panting, a sheen of sweat glistening on her dusky gold skin, a lazy, sated smirk touching her lips as she caught her breath and rasped, "Fuck... alright, girls... who’s taking that fat cock first?"
“Why not let him pick?”
"Momo," he gasped, his voice raw and desperate, his eyes locked on her full, trembling lips and the heavy swell of her tits still glistening with steam. He lunged forward, one hand fisting in her damp robe, yanking it open completely as the other gripped his thick, leaking cock, driving it hard and deep into her sopping wet cunt with a rough, animalistic grunt, her shocked cry of "FUCK!" echoing off the marble as her tight walls clenched violently around his invading shaft.
His calloused hands roughly groped Momo’s heavy, bouncing tits, thumbs grinding hard over her stiff, dark nipples as he slammed his hips forward, each brutal thrust forcing choked gasps from her throat and making her breasts jiggle obscenely. Jihyo and Nayeon watched, eyes dark with hunger, Tzuyu still panting from her own climax against the vanity, a low murmur of "Fuck yes, ruin her" escaping Jihyo's lips as Momo's head thrashed back, her fingernails digging into his shoulders.
Jihyo’s command hung thick in the steam as Momo writhed beneath him. “Choke her,” Jihyo hissed, her voice raw with command, and his calloused hand instantly clamped hard around Momo’s throat, cutting off her choked gasp mid-fuck as he slammed his hips forward with brutal, piston-like force, the wet smack of flesh on flesh echoing off the marble tiles.
Nayeon’s sharp, delighted giggle cut through Momo’s strangled whimpers as she dropped lower, her fingers finding Momo’s swollen, glistening clit and rubbing vicious, tight circles just as Momo’s body suddenly stiffened, arched off the floor, and exploded, a guttural scream tearing from her constricted throat as her pussy convulsed wildly around his driving cock and a powerful jet of clear fluid erupted, soaking his thrusting balls and splashing Nayeon’s fingers and the cool marble beneath them.
He ripped his slick cock from Momo’s shuddering cunt, leaving her gasping and dazed on the wet marble, then lunged for Tzuyu, locking his arms under her knees and around her chest in a full nelson. He drove his throbbing, soaked cock straight up into her dripping hole from behind, her shocked cry echoing as he impaled her deep, fucking her suspended body with savage, upward thrusts that made her scream.
Tzuyu’s scream ripped through the steam, raw and ragged, as his brutal upward thrusts hammered her suspended pussy, her slick walls clenching like a hot, wet fist around his invading cock. Nayeon and Jihyo watched, Jihyo’s fingers idly tracing circles over her own stiff nipple through the damp silk, Nayeon biting her lip hard, their breaths shallow and synchronized with the wet, rhythmic slap of flesh pounding flesh.
"Fuck, Tzuyu," he grunted, his voice thick with strain and lust, each savage thrust lifting her higher off the marble floor, her legs kicking helplessly against his iron grip, "this fucking tight little cunt... grips my cock like it’s fucking starving for it!" Tzuyu could only whimper, a broken sound lost beneath the relentless pounding, her head lolling back against his shoulder, eyes rolling white as the overwhelming stretch and friction tore another ragged cry from her throat.
Tzuyu’s entire body seized violently, her pussy clamping down like a hot, wet vice around his driving cock as a guttural scream tore from her throat, her hips jerking wildly against him while her slick juices pulsed out, coating his shaft and balls in her release. He dropped her limp, trembling body onto the cool marble, her chest heaving, then turned his burning gaze towards Nayeon, still watching with hungry eyes.
"You're next," he growled, grabbing her ankle and yanking her towards him before flipping her onto her back, hooking her legs over his shoulders, and folding her body brutally in half. "Jihyo?" he panted, staring down the length of his own sweat-slicked body at her as he positioned the swollen, dripping head of his cock against Nayeon's entrance, "Gonna save the best pussy for last." He slammed his entire length into Nayeon's tight heat in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt as she shrieked.
Nayeon screamed, her manicured nails raking, sinking into his back as he pistoned into her relentless and deep, her voice breaking into breathless sobs of "Daddy! Oh God, Daddy, fuck me harder!" Momo and Tzuyu, still glistening and flushed from their own use, hauled themselves up, leaning against the vanity with predatory smirks; Momo traced a fingertip through the sweat beading on Nayeon's trembling stomach, sneering.
"Look at little Nayeonnie, squealing for Daddy like a cheap slut," while Tzuyu chuckled darkly, "Bet she cums just from being called out on it." Jihyo, her eyes burning with possessive fire, seized his jaw, her mouth crashing against his in a bruising, demanding kiss, her tongue plunging deep as he drove into Nayeon with brutal, unforgiving strokes, her own moan vibrating against his lips.
Jihyo ripped her mouth from his, lips swollen and glistening, her command a harsh gasp against his cheek: "Make that little bitch cum right fucking now!" He locked eyes with Nayeon's tear-streaked, desperate face beneath him and snarled, voice thick and raw,
"Cum, you filthy whore, cum on Daddy's cock!"
Nayeon’s scream tore from her throat, raw and primal, her back arching violently off the marble as her eyes rolled white and her pussy clamped down in spasming waves around his brutal, driving thrusts. He ripped his cock out of her sopping, convulsing cunt, her juices slicking his shaft, and flopped onto his back on the damp tile, his chest heaving, pointing his still-thick erection at Jihyo’s dripping slit. "Ride it, Jihyo," he gasped, his voice ragged, eyes locked on her heavy tits, "Fucking bounce those perfect tits.”
Jihyo smirked, a dark promise in her eyes as she straddled his hips, gripping his shaft firmly, guiding the swollen, slick head to her flushed, swollen opening before sinking down onto him in one smooth, greedy motion, her full tits jiggling wildly with the impact, her groan low and satisfied as she began a relentless, deep bounce, her nails scraping his chest.
Tzuyu’s long fingers worked slick lube over Nayeon’s trembling thigh, her touch surprisingly clinical despite the obscene context, while Momo knelt, murmuring filthy encouragement as she guided Nayeon’s hips down onto the edge of the marble vanity, spreading her wide. They didn’t linger though, their task a swift, efficient prelude; as Nayeon gasped, arching her back against the cool surface, Tzuyu and Momo exchanged a hungry glance, their attention snapping towards the primal rhythm dominating the center of the steam-hazed bathroom.
Jihyo rode Y/n with furious abandon, her voluptuous body bouncing on his cock, the wet slap of skin echoing off the tiles, her head thrown back as guttural moans ripped from her throat. "Fuck, yes! Just like that, cleaner boy!" she gasped, her nails digging into his chest, her own breasts swaying heavily with each downward plunge, the glistening tip of his thick cock stretching her wide each time she slammed down.
Tzuyu and Momo, abandoning Nayeon whose legs still quivered on the vanity, moved like predators, circling Y/n and Jihyo on the damp floor. Momo crouched right beside Jihyo's bucking hip, her own robe falling open completely, her large breasts swinging as she leaned in, her voice a husky growl.
"Look at her take that monster cock, Y/n! Holy shit, ram it deeper into that greedy pussy! Make her scream!" She reached out, roughly squeezing Jihyo's bouncing tit, pinching a stiff nipple hard.
"Yeah, give it to her!" Tzuyu added from the other side, her easy-going demeanor replaced by intense arousal, her eyes fixed on where Jihyo was impaled. She knelt, running a hand up Y/n’s tensed thigh. "God, look at her go. Such a fucking slut for that dick, Jihyo! Riding it like her life depends on it!" Tzuyu’s fingers brushed the base of his shaft, slick with Jihyo’s juices, feeling the powerful thrusts from below.
Y/n grunted, his own control fraying beneath the onslaught of sensation and their filthy words. He gripped Jihyo's hips tighter, his knuckles white, meeting her downward strokes with sharp upward thrusts, driving his cock impossibly deep. He locked eyes with Jihyo, a wicked smirk twisting his lips even as sweat stung his eyes.
"Hear that?" he rasped, his voice thick with exertion and lust. "They see you. They see what a cock-hungry whore you really are, bouncing on me like some cheap street slut." He punctuated the insult with a brutal upward slam that made her shriek, her inner walls clenching vice-like around him. "You love being shown up like this, don't you? Love them watching this fat dick stretch your tight little pussy wide open?"
Nayeon, recovering her breath but still flushed and trembling, slid off the vanity, joining the circle. She didn't speak immediately, just watched with dark, hungry eyes as Jihyo was verbally and physically ravaged, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips as she saw the leader undone. The air crackled with shared heat, the scent of sex and sweat overpowering the lingering perfume, the only sounds the relentless slap of flesh, Jihyo’s ragged cries, Y/n’s guttural groans, and the girls’ lurid commentary urging them on towards a shuddering, inevitable peak.
"Fuck, I'm so close!" Jihyo gasped, her rhythm faltering as her cunt clenched violently around Y/n's thick cock. Nayeon's fingers traced slick, teasing circles over his tightening balls while Momo and Tzuyu leaned in, their mouths closing hungrily over Jihyo's bouncing tits, suckling hard at her stiff nipples. The room filled with their combined, desperate moans.
Tzuyu's middle finger found Jihyo's swollen clit, circling it fast and hard, slick with the mixture of her own arousal and the lube smeared earlier on Nayeon. "Make her fucking gush!" Momo demanded, releasing Jihyo's nipple with a wet pop and shoving Tzuyu's hand aside to take over, her own fingers rubbing Jihyo's clit in rough, demanding circles just as Y/n slammed his cock impossibly deep one final time.
Jihyo's back arched violently off Y/n's body, a silent scream tearing from her throat before erupting into a ragged, guttural wail as her cunt clenched in a vice-grip around his shaft and a sudden, hot jet of fluid sprayed out, soaking Y/n's lower stomach and thighs in a pungent rush. "FUCK! FUCK! FUCKING CUMMING!" she shrieked, her body convulsing uncontrollably, the squirting pulsing rhythmically as Momo kept rubbing her clit through the intense orgasm, Tzuyu watching with dark, fascinated eyes as Jihyo completely unraveled.
Jihyo slumped against him, chest heaving, her slick cunt still twitching from the force of her orgasm as Momo finally eased the relentless pressure on her clit. Y/n’s own cock throbbed viciously inside her stretched warmth, slick walls fluttering wildly around him, the intense friction pushing him dangerously close to the edge. He gritted his teeth, fighting the rising tide, a predatory smirk spreading across his sweat-slicked face despite the overwhelming sensation.
With a sudden, deliberate movement, Y/n gripped Jihyo’s hips firmly and lifted her impaled body clean off his shaft. A slick, obscene plop echoed in the humid air as she slid free, collapsing onto the damp tiles beside him with a shuddering gasp, her thighs instantly clamping together reflexively. He pushed himself up smoothly onto his feet, towering over the sprawled women, his thick, glistening cock jutting out rigidly from his groin, slick and gleaming with a potent mix of her juices and his own pre-cum, pulsing visibly with each beat of his heart.
His eyes, dark with lust and triumph, swept over the flushed faces staring up at him: Jihyo panting, dazed but defiant; Momo licking her lips hungrily; Tzuyu’s gaze fixed unblinkingly on his dripping erection; Nayeon biting her lower lip, a playful challenge dancing in her eyes. He ran a hand slowly down his abs, smearing the wetness Jihyo had sprayed over him, his voice a low, gravelly command cutting through the heavy breathing. "Alright," he rasped, tapping the swollen head of his cock, a thick bead of precum welling up instantly. "Who wants this fucking load?"
The humid air crackled with their collective hunger. They all replied, “WE DO DADDY!” before bringing their faces closer and sticking their tongues out, eager pink points glistening under the bathroom lights, breaths hot against his slick, throbbing cock.
His gaze raked over their eager faces as his fist tightened on his slick shaft. "This load ain't getting wasted, sluts," he snarled, the veins standing out on his forearm. "You share every fucking drop."
He began stroking himself furiously over their outstretched tongues, his hips jerking, a deep grunt ripping from his chest before thick ropes of hot cum splattered Jihyo’s flushed cheek, streaked Momo’s chin, and painted Tzuyu and Nayeon's eager, open mouths. Jihyo’s tongue, slick with his thick spunk, darted out to gather the mess before turning to Momo, locking her in a deep, filthy kiss, sharing the salty tang as Tzuyu eagerly licked Nayeon’s coated lips clean.
"So yummy," Momo gasped, pulling back with a shared strand of cum stretching between their mouths just as Tzuyu swallowed and purred, "Shared it all, Daddy!”
Y/n smirked down at them sprawled on the wet tiles, his thick cock still glistening. "Lick it clean, you filthy sluts," he ordered harshly, "Get every fucking drop off my cock," he instructed, “don’t forget my balls.”
They scrambled, tongues eagerly lapping his cum from his shaft and tightening scrotum, their mouths hot and greedy. Jihyo sat back, wiping her chin with a low chuckle, her eyes gleaming as she gestured towards the steaming shower. "Get that filthy cock in here, cleaner boy," she purred, "The bathroom floor's clean enough... time you washed us properly."
The Private Bodyguard (TWICE Nayeon, Jihyo, Momo, Tzuyu x M Reader)
The golden hour in Santa Monica isn't just a time of day; it's a mood, a filter that turns everything it touches into an idealized version of itself. From the eighth-floor balcony of the penthouse suite at The Huntley, the view is perfect: the massive Ferris wheel of the Santa Monica Pier turning lazily against an indigo and violet sky, the Pacific Ocean a vast, shimmering mirror for the final, orange burst of the setting sun.
Momo is leaning against the cold white railing, her back to the ocean, watching you. She’s wearing the same black off-the-shoulder knit top and black high-waisted linen shorts from the red-carpet event earlier, but the 'idol' persona is currently on pause. Her dark brown hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, her bangs slightly tousled by the sea breeze. She adjusts her sunglasses, looking at you over the dark lenses with a small, knowing smirk that she would never show a fan.
You’re standing two steps back, by the sliding glass doors, your large, 6'4" frame the definition of unobtrusive security. You’re wearing a tailored black suit that strains across your chest and shoulders, the earpiece in your left ear a constant, static connection to the rest of her security detail stationed in the lobby. Your job description is simple: protect Momo from everything.
But the real contract isn’t written down.
In 2021, Momo is TWICE’s Main Dancer—a global icon of perfection. In this penthouse, she is yours. She isn't the client; she’s the object you get to use, the quiet submissive who paid top dollar to forget the stress of a ten-city tour. And you’re not the bodyguard; you’re the "property" she uses to feel grounded.
"They're too quiet," Momo says, her Japanese accent thickening now that the cameras are off. She gestures with her chin toward the street below, where a small crowd of Paparazzi and fans are still lingering by the side entrance. "Your team says they've been there for hours. They just... wait."
"Waiting is what they're good at, Momo," you reply, your voice a deep, neutral vibration. "My job is to make sure that's all they do."
"And what about your waiting, Y/n?" she challenges, pushing off the railing and taking a slow, measured step toward you. She lowers her sunglasses until they rest on the end of her nose, her dark eyes locking onto yours with a sudden, predatory intensity. "You've been standing there since we got back from the pier. Your heart rate is high... I can feel it from here."
"I’m analyzing threats," you counter, the earpiece crackling with a status update from your team, which you ignore.
"The only threat on this balcony is me," she breathes, moving into your space until her heat is radiating against your black suit jacket. She reaches up, her small, manicured hand brushing against your lapel, her fingers tangling in the silk lining. "You know the clause in our contract, Y/n. 'Total discretion.' That means you don't talk, you don't ask, and you don't stop until I tell you to. You're my property until we leave LA."
"And right now, I’m in a mood," she continues, her voice dropping to a low, demanding rasp as her hand moves down to rest over the front of your trousers, her eyes widening as she feels the immediate, heavy response of your body. "The sunset is almost gone, and I’m tired of waiting."
The Santa Monica breeze pulls at the loose strands of her hair as Momo drops to her knees on the balcony’s cold stone floor. From this height, the distant lights of the Pacific Park Ferris wheel begin to glow, but her focus is entirely on the space between your legs.
"The team is still on the perimeter," you mutter, your voice a low, gravelly warning that vibrates in the quiet air. "If someone has a long-lens camera on the pier—"
"Let them watch," Momo interrupts, her voice muffled as she focuses on the task. "They’ll just see their 'Dancing Machine' doing exactly what she was born to do: performing."
She doesn't hesitate. Her small, nimble fingers—the same ones that execute the most complex choreography in the industry—work with a cold, practiced efficiency. She undoes your leather belt, the buckle clinking softly against the railing, and drags the zipper of your black suit trousers down. When she peels back your silk boxers, your 9-inch length springs free, thick and pulsing with a heavy, rhythmic demand that seems to dwarf her small frame.
Momo’s breath hitches. She lowers her sunglasses to the bridge of her nose, her dark eyes wide and glazed as she takes in the reality of the "equipment" she’s hired. She reaches out, her manicured nails ghosting over the thick, violet vein that runs the length of your shaft, before her hand closes around the base. She can barely get her fingers halfway around the girth.
"It’s... it’s even bigger in the California sun," she whispers, a dazed, triumphant smirk touching her lips.
She starts a slow, agonizingly firm stroke, her grip tight and technical. She uses her other hand to support your weight, her thumb rhythmically swiping over the broad, weeping head of your cock. Every time she reaches the top, she twists her wrist slightly, mimicking a move she’s perfected in a hundred dance studios, but here, the stakes are physical.
You look down at her—the global icon, the woman who sells out stadiums, kneeling at your feet in her black knit top and linen shorts, her face inches from your heat. You reach down, your large hand tangling in her ponytail to tilt her head back, forcing her to look up at your 6'4" frame while she works.
"You’re being very thorough, Momo," you growl, your voice a dark, predatory vibration. "Is this how you treat all your security detail?"
"Only the ones who can actually handle the pressure," she breaths, her tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop of moisture from the tip of your cock.
She picks up the pace, her movements becoming a blurred, rhythmic friction that sounds like a series of wet, soft slaps in the twilight. She’s focused, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tries to find the exact frequency that will break your professional composure.
The Santa Monica breeze chills the sweat on your neck, but the heat radiating from Momo is a localized furnace. She doesn't wait for your permission. She reaches up, sliding her designer sunglasses into the neckline of her black knit top, and leans forward.
Her mouth opens in a wide, trembling 'O' as she takes the broad, weeping head of your 9-inch length into her throat. The transition from her hand to the wet, velvet heat of her mouth is a shock to your system, a heavy, technical pressure that makes your hands tighten instinctively on the white balcony railing.
Momo is a "performance" specialist for a reason. She doesn't just take you; she masters you. She uses her tongue to swirl around the thick, violet vein running the length of your shaft, her eyes rolled up to watch your professional mask finally begin to crack. Every time she bottoms out, she makes a low, muffled sound—a vibration that travels straight through your core.
"Momo... the perimeter," you rasp, your voice dropping into a dark, guttural warning.
She doesn't pull back. Instead, she reaches up, her small, manicured hands gripping your thighs to anchor herself as she picks up the pace. It’s a rhythmic, relentless demolition of your composure. She knows exactly how to use the suction to mimic the heavy, pulsing beat of the music she dances to every night. The wet, soft slaps of her lips against your skin are the only sound on the eighth-floor balcony.
You reach down, your large hand tangling in her ponytail, not to pull her away, but to guide the depth. You’re 6'4" of pure, trained restraint, but Momo is systematically dismantling every layer of your defense. Your heart rate—the one she joked about earlier—is now a frantic, pounding thud in your chest.
"You're going to take every drop, Princess," you growl, your hips starting an involuntary, rhythmic thrusting that pushes her to the absolute limit of her capacity.
The "Sunset Clause" is reaching its breaking point. The sky has turned a bruised, deep purple, and the Ferris wheel is a spinning halo of neon in the distance. You feel the snap hitting the base of your spine—a white-hot, snapping point that you haven't felt since the tour started.
You pulse once, twice, the heavy pressure mounting as you prepare to erupt.
The sky over the Pacific has turned a deep, bruised purple, the neon lights of the Santa Monica Pier reflecting off the glass of the penthouse behind you. Your breath is coming in jagged, heavy rasps, the 6'4" frame of your body finally hitting its breaking point.
"Momo... look up," you growl, your voice dropping into a dark, guttural command.
You reach down, your fingers tangling firmly in her ponytail to pull her back just as the first surge of heat hits the base of your spine. She obeys instantly, her head tilting back, her lips parted and swollen from the friction of your 9-inch length.
You pulse with a violent, rhythmic intensity, the first thick wave of the "service" she paid for hitting her right across her cheekbone. You erupt again and again, the heavy, stinging saltiness coating her pale skin, splashing over the bridge of her nose and catching in her dark lashes. One stray drop hits the lens of the sunglasses tucked into her black knit top, a shimmering mark of exactly how much she broke her bodyguard tonight.
Momo doesn't flinch. She watches you through dazed, blown-out pupils, a small, triumphant smirk touching her lips as she feels the heat of your release cooling in the ocean breeze. She looks like a ruined masterpiece—the "Dancing Machine" of TWICE, kneeling on a balcony in California, wearing the evidence of your surrender like a trophy.
"You're a mess, Princess," you mutter, your hand finally relaxing its grip on her hair.
"I'm a client who got exactly what she wanted," she breaths, her voice a wrecked, sultry rasp. She reaches up, using one finger to swipe a bit of the mess from her cheek, bringing it to her lips to taste the salt before she looks back at the pier. "The fans think I'm untouchable. But you... you know better, don't you, Y/n?"
You don't answer. You reach into your suit pocket and pull out a clean silk handkerchief, handing it to her with a cold, professional efficiency as you adjust your trousers and zip up. The "bodyguard" is back, even if the air between you is still thick with the scent of sex and the Pacific salt.
"The motorcade leaves in twenty minutes, Momo," you say, your voice returning to its neutral, protective drone. "I suggest you head inside and fix your makeup before the lead car arrives."
Momo stands up, her legs a bit shaky as she brushes the dust from her linen shorts. She gives you one last, lingering look over her shoulder before sliding the balcony door open.
"Don't go too far, Y/n," she whispers. "I might need another 'security check' before we hit the airport."
(Timeskip)
The Gulfstream G650 cuts through the night at 45,000 feet, the cabin pressurized into a silent, pressurized vacuum of luxury. Outside the oval windows, the American Midwest is a dark void, but inside, the dim amber LED strips along the floor are the only thing illuminating the cream leather interior.
Momo is sprawled across the oversized captain’s chair in the main cabin, her black knit top still slightly damp from the balcony encounter. She’s staring at a lookbook for the Victoria’s Secret show in New York, her fingers tracing the lace of a set she’s scheduled to wear. The "Dancing Machine" is going from the stage to the runway, and the pressure is a physical weight in the cabin.
You’re standing by the galley, your 6'4" frame nearly brushing the ceiling of the jet. You’ve shed the suit jacket, your white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal the heavy, functional watch on your wrist.
"The pilot said we have four hours until JFK," you mutter, your voice a deep, vibrating rasp that carries over the low hum of the engines. "You should be sleeping, Momo. The fittings start at 8:00 AM."
"I can't sleep, Y/n," she whispers, her Japanese accent soft and jagged in the quiet. She closes the lookbook and looks up at you, her dark eyes reflecting the amber cabin lights. "My heart is still beating too fast from Santa Monica. And this plane... it’s too quiet. It makes me think about things I shouldn't."
She stands up, her linen shorts riding high on her thighs as she walks toward you. The jet tilts slightly into a pocket of turbulence, and she uses the movement as an excuse to stumble into your chest. You catch her by the waist, your large hands spanning the entire width of her torso, pinning her against the cold marble of the galley counter.
"You're supposed to be resting," you growl, your eyes tracking the way her pulse is jumping in the hollow of her throat.
"I'm resting my image," she breaths, reaching up to hook her fingers into the belt loops of your trousers. She pulls you closer until the 9-inch reality of your response is grinding into her stomach through the thin knit of her top. "But my body... my body wants to know if the 'security' on a private jet is as thorough as it is on a balcony."
She reaches around you, her small hand finding the "Do Not Disturb" switch for the cabin crew, flicking it until the small red light glows.
"We're over Kansas, Y/n," she mutters, her tongue flicking out to moisten her lower lip as she looks up at you. "No Paparazzi. No long lenses. Just 500 miles an hour and a bodyguard who doesn't know how to say 'no' to his client."
The hum of the Rolls-Royce engines is a low, hypnotic thrum that vibrates through the floor of the Gulfstream, but the real tension is in the air between the galley and the main cabin. A few feet away, behind the heavy silk curtains, the other TWICE members are dead to the world, buried under designer blankets and eye masks after a grueling week in LA.
The silence of the jet makes every sound feel amplified. You grab Momo by the waist, your large hands nearly meeting around her spine, and haul her back toward the tail of the plane. You move with a predator’s silence, navigating the narrow aisle until you reach the heavy wood-veneered door of the private master suite.
You pull her inside and click the lock, the sound swallowed by the thick carpeting.
The suite is a sanctuary of cream leather and ambient gold lighting, dominated by a queen-sized bed bolted to the airframe. You don't say a word. You just slam your palms against the door on either side of her head, pinning her against the wood.
"The walls on a G650 aren't as thick as the ones at The Huntley, Momo," you growl, your voice a dark, vibrating warning. "If you make a sound, the leader is going to be knocking on this door wondering why her main dancer is screaming in the middle of the night."
"Then make sure I don't have enough breath to scream, Y/n," she dares, her Japanese accent a jagged, sultry rasp.
You don't give her another second. You lean in, your mouth crashing against hers with a territorial hunger that has been simmering since the Santa Monica sunset. It’s a collision of teeth and tongue, tasting of expensive champagne and the raw, electric adrenaline of 45,000 feet.
Momo isn't passive. She wraps her arms around your neck, her fingers digging into the nape of your hair, pulling your 6'4" frame down until your chests are crushed together. The friction of her black knit top against your dress shirt is a sharp, static spark. She moans into your mouth—a low, frustrated vibration that you catch and swallow before it can drift toward the main cabin.
You shift your weight, pressing your thigh between hers. The linen shorts she’s wearing are thin, and the heat radiating from her center is already soaking through the fabric, meeting the immediate, heavy throb of your 9-inch response.
"You're already shaking, Princess," you mutter, breaking the kiss just long enough to nip at the sensitive skin of her jawline. "Is it the turbulence, or are you just that desperate for a 'security check'?"
"Shut up," she breaths, her head lolling back against the door as your hand slides down the curve of her hip, finding the hem of her shorts. "Just... show me what the Victoria's Secret runway is really for."
The cabin pressure seems to drop as the latch clicks, the low hum of the jet the only thing separating this sanctuary from the sleeping idols just a few feet away. You don't waste a second. With the practiced efficiency of a man used to high-stress transitions, you strip out of your white dress shirt and slacks. Your 6'4" frame is a map of hard muscle and functional scars in the amber glow of the suite, your 9-inch length springing free, thick and pulsing with a heavy, rhythmic demand.
Momo’s eyes go wide, her breath hitching as she watches the "security detail" disappear, replaced by the raw, physical reality of the man she’s hired. She doesn't let you lead. She reaches out, her small hands flat against your chest, and gives you a firm, commanding shove.
You hit the cream leather mattress with a heavy thud, the suspension of the jet absorbing the impact. You lie back, your head against the silk pillows, as Momo stands at the foot of the bed.
"You're off the clock, Y/n," she whispers, her Japanese accent a jagged, sultry rasp. "Now, you're just an audience."
She reaches for the hem of her black knit top, peeling it over her head in one fluid, dancer’s motion. Underneath, she’s wearing a piece from the upcoming Victoria’s Secret collection—a sheer, midnight-blue lace balconette bra with delicate gold hardware that catches the cabin light. The cups are dangerously low, barely containing the heavy, pale swell of her breasts, the dark centers visible through the intricate floral mesh.
Next, she slides her black linen shorts down her thighs, kicking them aside onto the plush carpet.
She’s wearing the matching high-cut lace thong, the silk straps sitting high on her hips to accentuate the athletic curve of her waist and the powerful, toned lines of her dancer’s legs. A delicate gold belly chain rests against her skin, shimmering with every shallow breath she takes. She looks like a high-end fantasy, a mix of global idol perfection and raw, predatory intent.
She doesn't just get on the bed. She starts a slow, agonizingly rhythmic crawl toward you, her knees sinking into the leather. She moves with the same hypnotic grace she uses on stage, her eyes locked on your 9-inch reality.
"Do you like the fitting, Y/n?" she breaths, her voice dropping into a low, American-tinged dare as she hovers over your lap. "Or should I tell the designers it's too... restrictive?"
She reaches out, her manicured nails ghosting over the thick, violet vein of your shaft before her hand closes around the base. She leans down, her hair falling around your thighs like a gold-flecked curtain, and presses a lingering, wet kiss to the broad, weeping head of your cock.
"You're shaking," she observes, a dazed, triumphant smirk touching her lips. "Is the air getting too thin for you up here?"
The vibration of the Gulfstream’s engines hums through the mattress, a rhythmic bassline to the high-altitude silence. Momo doesn't just crawl; she performs, every shift of her weight on the cream leather a calculated strike against your composure. The midnight-blue lace of her balconette bra strains with every breath, the gold hardware glinting like a promise as she hovers inches above your lap.
"You look like a doll, Momo," you growl, your voice a dark, gravelly vibration that seems to rattle the small cabin. "Like something they’d put in a glass case. But we both know what’s happening behind that curtain if I let go of this restraint."
Momo’s smirk widens, her eyes dark and predatory as she grips your 9-inch length, her small thumb tracing the thick, pulsing vein from base to head.
"Tell me," she breaths, her Japanese accent dropping into a sultry, American-edged rasp. "Tell me exactly what the 'Bodyguard' wants to do to his favorite client while the rest of the world thinks she’s an angel sleeping in the next room."
"I want to see if those dancer’s lungs can actually hold a scream when I’m buried to the hilt in you," you counter, your large hands flat against the bed, knuckles white as you fight the urge to just flip her over. "I want to see if that designer lace survives the next hour, or if I’m going to have to explain to your stylist why there are finger marks bruised into your hips before the New York fitting."
Momo let out a low, shaky moan, her head lolling back as she starts a slow, agonizingly firm stroke. She leans down, her breath hot and smelling of peppermint against the sensitive skin of your thigh.
"You talk too much for a man who’s supposed to be 'discreet', Y/n," she whispers, her tongue flicking out to catch the weeping head of your cock. "But I like it. I like knowing that under that suit and that earpiece, you’re just a beast waiting to break me. Do it. Break the 'Main Dancer'. Show me why I pay you so much more than the others."
She shifts her hips, the high-cut lace thong disappearing between the soft, ivory curve of her thighs as she lines herself up. She’s soaking—a localized furnace of heat that you can feel radiating against your skin even before she makes contact.
"Don't just watch, Y/n," she dares, her voice a wrecked plea as she lowers herself an inch, the broad head of your cock just beginning to stretch her entrance. "Take me. Take me before we hit the coast."
You keep your hands pinned flat against the cream leather of the mattress, your knuckles white, your chest heaving as you tower beneath her. The 6'4" frame of your body is a coiled spring of pure, disciplined restraint, and you’re forcing her to feel every agonizing millimeter of the distance between your power and her desire.
Momo’s breath hitches, a fractured, high-pitched sound that she immediately muffles by biting her lower lip. She hovers there, the broad, weeping head of your 9-inch reality just beginning to stretch the sensitive pink entrance of her center. The midnight-blue lace of her thong has been pushed aside, and the heat radiating from her is a localized furnace in the pressurized cabin.
"You... you’re not going to help me?" she gasps, her Japanese accent thick and jagged with a hunger she usually masks behind choreography.
"I’m on the clock, Momo," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration that seems to rattle the very airframe of the Gulfstream. "If the 'Main Dancer' wants to be ruined at forty thousand feet, she’s going to have to work for it. Show me that athletic endurance the trainers are always bragging about."
Momo let out a low, frustrated growl of her own, her eyes darkening as she takes the dare. She grips your shoulders, her small, manicured nails digging into the hard muscle of your deltoids as she slowly, agonizingly lowers herself.
The displacement is immense. You watch the way her internal muscles have to fight to accommodate the sheer girth of you, the gold hardware on her balconette bra shimmering as her chest heaves. She takes three inches, then five, her head tossing back as her breath comes in short, sharp hitches.
"God... Y/n... you’re... you’re too big," she sobs, her voice a wrecked, sultry rasp. "It’s stretching me... all the way to my ribs."
"Keep going," you command, your voice a cold, mechanical weight. "I want to feel you bottom out before I even think about moving a finger."
She whimpers, a broken sound of pure overstimulation, but she doesn't stop. She pushes through the resistance, her ivory thighs trembling with the effort until she finally slams down against your hips, burying your full length to the hilt. The impact sends a jolt through both of you, timed perfectly with a sudden pocket of turbulence that makes the jet drop fifty feet.
Momo shivers, her back snapping into a rigid arc as she feels the broad head of your cock bottoming out against her cervix. She’s pinned there, her designer lace straining, her face flushed a deep, feverish pink.
"Now," she wails, her fingers clawing at your chest. "Now, Y/n... please! Move! I can't... I can't do it alone anymore!"
The discipline finally snaps. The 6'4" frame of your body uncoils with a violent, rhythmic urgency that matches the turbulence shaking the Gulfstream. You reach up, your large hands moving with a predator’s precision to find the gold clasp of that midnight-blue balconette bra. With a sharp, metallic click, the lace gives way, and the heavy, pale swell of her breasts spills out into the amber light of the cabin.
"You’ve worked enough, Momo," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration that drowns out the hum of the Rolls-Royce engines.
You hook your fingers into the ivory curve of her hips, pinning her down onto your 9-inch length as you pull her torso forward. You bury your face in the soft, lavender-scented heat of her chest, your tongue swirling around one dark, tensed nipple before you take the entire aching weight of her breast into your mouth.
Momo let out a high, fractured shriek that she immediately chokes back, her fingers tangling in your hair as she arches her back. The sensation of your mouth on her skin while you’re buried to the hilt inside her is a total demolition of her professional composure. You suckle her with a rhythmic, hungry pressure, your teeth grazing the sensitive underside of her breast until she’s sobbing your name into the quiet air of the suite.
"Y/n... oh god... it’s... it’s too much," she sobs, her Japanese accent a wrecked, sultry rasp.
You don't slow down. You start a punishing, high-altitude pace, your hips slamming against the cream leather mattress with a heavy, wet thud that rattles the suite’s hardware. Every thrust is a deep, technical invasion, the displacement of your girth stretching her to the absolute limit. You’re relentless, your body primed by the adrenaline of the flight, while Momo is already a beautiful, lace-clad ruin beneath you.
The high-cut lace thong is a discarded scrap of midnight blue against her thighs as you drive home again and again. You can feel her internal muscles clamping down on you in a series of frantic, desperate spasms—the "Main Dancer" hitting her peak at 45,000 feet.
"Look at me, Momo," you rasp, pulling back just enough to see her dazed, blown-out pupils. "Tell me exactly who owns this 'performance' tonight."
"You... you do," she sobs, her head tossing back as her breath comes in jagged, peppermint-scented gasps. "Always... always you, Y/n."
The altitude is high, but the pressure in the master suite is higher. You shift your grip, your large hand sliding down from the ivory curve of her waist to the tight, frantic heat where your bodies are joined. Momo is a gasping, lace-clad wreck beneath you, her head lolling back against the silk pillows as you maintain a slow, torturous grind that keeps your 9-inch length buried deep.
"You're already hitting your limit, Princess," you growl, your voice a dark, predatory vibration against her damp collarbone. "But we haven't even finished the 'full inspection' yet."
You reach behind her, your fingers tracing the dip of her spine until you find the puckered, sensitive entrance of her rosebud. It’s tight—a virgin heat that hasn't been touched since the tour began. You press your thumb against the center, the rhythmic friction of your entry below making her internal muscles clench around you in a desperate, pleading spasm.
Momo let out a high, fractured shriek, her fingers digging into the hard muscle of your forearms. "Y/n... no... it’s... it’s too much!"
"It’s exactly enough," you counter.
You work your thumb in a circular, punishing motion, stretching the delicate skin while your cock continues its deep, technical demolition of her center. The dual stimulation is a total system failure for her. You watch the way her athletic thighs begin to tremble, a fine sheen of sweat coating her skin as her breath turns into a series of jagged, high-pitched hitches.
"Look at me, Momo," you rasp, pulling back just enough to see her blown-out, glazed pupils.
She forces her eyes open, her face flushed a deep, feverish pink. Just as you drive home one last, bottoming-out thrust, you press your thumb deep into her rear, the sudden intrusion triggering a violent, involuntary reaction from her core.
Momo’s back snaps into a rigid, trembling arc. Her mouth hangs open in a silent, wrecked plea as a sudden, torrential surge of clear heat erupts from her, soaking the cream leather mattress and your own thighs in a frantic, rhythmic spray. She’s squirting—the "Main Dancer" completely losing control at 45,000 feet, her internal muscles milking you with a desperate, crushing hunger.
"That's it," you mutter, watching the way her chest heaves, the midnight-blue lace of her bra long forgotten as she sobs your name into the pressurized air. "Take it all, Momo. Every bit of it."
The snap hits you like a physical explosion. You can't hold back the "Sunset Clause" any longer. The first surge of heat hits the base of your spine, a white-hot, snapping point that signals the end of your professional restraint.
The "Fasten Seatbelt" chime pings through the cabin like a countdown, a sharp contrast to the primal, rhythmic thudding of your hips against the leather. You’re right on the edge, the 6'4" frame of your body vibrating with a tension that the Gulfstream’s stabilizers can’t compensate for.
"Time's up, Momo," you growl, your voice a dark, gravelly warning.
With a wet, heavy squelch, you pull out of her soaking heat just as the first surge hits the base of your spine. Momo let out a fractured, high-pitched whimper of protest, her internal muscles still pulsing in a desperate, empty rhythm. You don't give her a second to recover; you grab her by the ivory curve of her waist and haul her upright until she’s kneeling between your thighs.
"Finish the job," you command, your voice a cold, mechanical weight.
Momo doesn't hesitate. Her eyes are glazed, her face flushed a deep, feverish pink as she reaches for her own breasts. She uses her small, manicured hands to push the heavy, pale globes of her chest together, creating a deep, velvet cleavage that’s still damp with the lavender-scented sweat of her "performance."
You guide your 9-inch length into the tight, slick valley of her cleavage. The friction of her soft skin against your throbbing, violet-veined shaft is a total system failure. You start a fast, punishing rhythm, your hips snapping forward as you buried yourself between her breasts.
"Look at me, Princess," you rasp, leaning over her until your shadow swallows her whole.
She forces her eyes open, looking up through the haze of her own overstimulation. You pick up the tempo, the sound of your cock slapping against her chest echoing in the small suite. Every thrust is a heavy, technical reminder of exactly who she hired to protect her.
The snap hits you like a physical explosion. You erupt with a force that makes your spine snap straight against the headboard. The first thick surge of heat hits the center of her chest—a heavy, stinging saltiness that splashes over the midnight-blue lace of her discarded bra and coats the ivory curve of her throat. You pulse again and again, the "service" she paid for painting her skin in a frantic, rhythmic spray.
Momo doesn't flinch. She watches you through blown-out pupils, her breath coming in jagged, peppermint-scented gasps. She reaches up, using one finger to swipe a bit of the mess from her collarbone, bringing it to her lips to taste the evidence of your surrender before she looks at the window.
"We’re over New York," she whispers, her voice a wrecked, sultry rasp.
"Then fix your hair," you mutter, your hand finally relaxing its grip on her shoulder as you reach for your trousers. "The lead car is waiting at the hangar, and you have a runway to walk."
Momo gives you a dazed, triumphant smirk, her tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop from the corner of her mouth. She looks like a ruined masterpiece—the Victoria's Secret angel, christened by her bodyguard at 45,000 feet.
(Timeskip to before VSFS red carpet)
The hotel suite at the Edition New York is a frantic beehive of activity, but the bedroom is a dead-silent vault. Outside that door, a dozen stylists, publicists, and managers are screaming into phones, preparing for the Victoria’s Secret red carpet. Inside, there is only the hum of the air conditioning and the heavy, rhythmic thrum of your heartbeat.
Momo is standing in front of a full-length triptych mirror, doing a final check of the look that’s about to break the internet. She’s wearing a deep-cut, oversized black pinstripe blazer that hangs off her athletic frame with a masculine edge, but the "business" ends there. Underneath, she’s in a plunging black lace corset-style top that pushes the heavy, pale swell of her breasts upward, creating a deep, velvet cleavage that's impossible to ignore. Her hair has been dyed a rich, sultry cherry-wine red, falling in soft waves over her shoulders.
You’re standing by the door, your 6'4" frame blocking the entrance, still dressed in your tactical security suit. Your earpiece is chirping with the lead car’s arrival time, but your eyes are locked on the mirror.
"The pinstripes are a nice touch, Momo," you growl, your voice a dark, vibrating rasp. "Very professional. If people ignore the fact that you’re barely contained in that lace."
Momo catches your eye in the reflection. She doesn't smile. She turns slowly, the oversized blazer flaring out as she walks toward you. She stops an inch from your chest, the scent of her high-end perfume—something with notes of dark rose and sandalwood—hitting you like a physical blow. She reaches up, her manicured fingers ghosting over the knot of your tie, before sliding down to rest over the heavy, 9-inch response already straining against your slacks.
"The stylists think it's 'power dressing,' Y/n," she whispers, her Japanese accent a jagged, sultry rasp. "But I told them the corset felt a little... tight. I think I need my head of security to help me breathe before I have to go out there and smile for five hundred cameras."
She reaches for the single button of her blazer, popping it open to reveal the full, heaving reality of her chest. The lace is straining, the dark centers of her breasts visible through the mesh as she takes a shallow, deliberate breath.
"The car is downstairs, Momo," you mutter, even as your hands find the ivory curve of her waist, pulling her flush against you. "We have exactly six minutes before the 'National Center' is late for her global debut."
"Then you better be fast," she dares, her tongue flicking out to moisten her lower lip as she looks up at you through her lashes. "Because if I walk onto that carpet without being 'satisfied,' I might just tell the press exactly what my bodyguard does during international flights."
The red light on your earpiece flickers—the lead car is idling on 24th Street—but the world outside this suite has ceased to exist. You reach out, your large hands gripping the lapels of her oversized pinstripe blazer. With a slow, deliberate tug, you slide the heavy wool off her shoulders, letting it pool onto the plush carpet like a discarded shadow.
Next come the matching trousers. You kneel before her, the 6'4" frame of your body making the gesture look less like a service and more like a tactical dismantling. You undo the button of her slacks, the silver zipper rasping in the quiet room as you drag them down her toned, dancer’s legs.
Momo stands there in the center of the suite, a vision of high-fashion ruin. She’s left only in the plunging black lace corset-style top and a pair of matching lace-trimmed silk panties that sit high on her hips, accentuating the athletic curve of her waist. The cherry-wine red of her hair glows against the ivory skin of her shoulders, her chest heaving with a rhythmic, frantic energy that strains the delicate lace of her top.
"Better?" you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration as you stand back up, stripping out of your own suit and slacks until your 9-inch reality springs free, thick and pulsing against the New York air.
"Much better," Momo breaths, her dark eyes tracking the heavy, violet-veined length of you. She reaches out, her manicured nails ghosting over your chest before she gives you a firm, commanding shove toward the vanity table. "But I think the 'Power Dresser' still has too much energy. I need you to drain it, Y/n. Now."
She doesn't wait for an answer. She turns around, bracing her small, strong hands against the edge of the marble vanity. She arches her back, her gaze catching yours in the triple-mirrors as she looks over her shoulder. The black lace of the corset frames the deep curve of her spine, her cherry-red hair falling forward to expose the pale, sensitive nape of her neck.
"Five minutes, Y/n," she sobs, her Japanese accent a wrecked, sultry rasp. "Make sure the 'National Center' can't even remember her own name when she hits that carpet."
You step up behind her, your heat radiating against her back. You reach down, your large hand sliding between her thighs to find the soaking, localized furnace of her center. She’s already dripping, the scent of her arousal mixing with the dark rose of her perfume.
The ticking of the clock on the bedside table is the only thing keeping time as you reach into your discarded suit jacket. The crinkle of the foil is a sharp, metallic snap in the silent suite. You roll the latex down the 9-inch length of your shaft with a practiced, steady hand, your 6'4" frame looming over her like a shadow in the vanity's LED-lit mirrors.
Momo is still braced against the marble, her cherry-red hair a vibrant contrast against the cool white stone. She’s breathing in shallow, rhythmic gasps, her black lace corset rising and falling with a frantic energy.
"The car is idling, Y/n," she whispers, her eyes locking onto yours in the center mirror. "If you're going to ruin me, do it now."
You don't give her a second to breathe. You reach down, your large hands hooking under her ivory thighs, and haul her upward. She wraps her powerful dancer's legs around your waist, her heels digging into the small of your back as you settle her onto the edge of the vanity. The movement sweeps her discarded pinstripe blazer onto the floor, leaving her exposed in nothing but the lace and your grip.
"Hold onto the marble, Momo," you growl, your voice a dark, vibrating rasp.
You drive home in one deep, technical thrust, burying yourself to the hilt in her soaking, localized furnace. The displacement is massive; the air leaves her lungs in a high-pitched, fractured sob that she immediately stifles by biting her shoulder. The plunging lace of her top strains to the breaking point as you start a punishing, rhythmic pace that makes the heavy vanity table rattle against the wall.
"You're... you're too much," she gasps, her Japanese accent a wrecked, sultry rasp. Her head tosses back, her neck arching as she feels the broad head of your cock bottoming out with every heavy, wet thud of your hips.
"I'm exactly what you paid for," you counter, your hands sliding up to grip her waist, pinning her down onto your heat.
You're relentless, your body primed by the high-stakes pressure of the New York event. Every thrust is a deep, predatory invasion, the latex-slicked friction creating a heat that seems to melt the air in the room. You watch her reflection—the global icon, the "Main Dancer," reduced to a trembling, lace-clad ruin under the weight of her bodyguard.
"Five minutes, Princess," you mutter, your heart rate finally hitting the red line. "Let's see if those wings can actually fly."
The heavy, rhythmic thud of your hips against the marble vanity is the only sound in the suite, save for the frantic, shallow hitches of Momo’s breath. Outside, the muffled honk of a New York yellow cab cuts through the silence, but here, the 6'4" frame of your body is a pressurized furnace, and the "Sunset Clause" is reaching its absolute breaking point.
"Look at yourself, Momo," you growl, your voice a dark, vibrating rasp against the sensitive shell of her ear.
She forces her eyes open, her gaze locking onto yours in the triptych mirror. She’s a vision of high-fashion wreckage—her cherry-red hair tousled over her shoulders, her plunging black lace corset straining with every panicked heartbeat, her powerful dancer’s legs locked tight around your waist.
"The car is waiting," she sobs, her Japanese accent a wrecked, sultry plea as she feels the heavy, pulsing snap hit the base of your spine. "Y/n... please... now!"
You don't pull back. You reach down, your large hands hooking under her ivory thighs to pull her flush against you, burying your 9-inch length to the absolute hilt. You drive home one last, world-ending thrust that rattles the expensive perfume bottles on the vanity.
You erupt inside the latex, the first thick surge of heat hitting her core with a violent, rhythmic intensity. You pulse again and again, your forehead resting against her damp shoulder as you fill the condom to its limit. Momo’s back snaps into a rigid, trembling arc, her internal muscles milking you in a desperate, involuntary spasm that lasts long after the "Fasten Seatbelt" chime of your own self-control has faded.
"That's it," you mutter, your voice a low, gravelly vibration. "Carry that weight onto the carpet, Princess."
Momo let out a long, shaky exhale, her head thumping back against your chest as her legs finally lose their grip, sliding down your hips. She stays pinned there for a moment, her chest heaving, the black lace of her top damp with the sweat of her "pre-event" performance.
You step back, the wet, suctioning sound of your withdrawal the only thing breaking the quiet. You strip off the protection, tie it in a knot, and discard it with a cold, professional efficiency. The "Bodyguard" is back before the sweat has even cooled on her skin.
"Four minutes, Momo," you say, your voice returning to its neutral, protective drone as you reach for your discarded white shirt. "The stylist is going to need every second of that to fix your hair and re-pin that corset. Don't make me tell them why you're walking with a limp."
Momo stands up, her knees visibly shaky as she reaches for her black pinstripe trousers. She gives you one last, dazed, and triumphant smirk in the mirror, her eyes dark with the secret you both share.
"They'll just think I'm 'in character' for the show, Y/n," she whispers, her fingers tracing the edge of the marble where your hands just were. "But we know the truth. I'm an angel because you're the one who keeps me grounded."
(Timeskip to backstage before the show)
The chaos of the Victoria's Secret backstage is a sensory overload—shouting hair stylists, the smell of hairspray, and the distant, rhythmic bass of the opening set vibrating through the floorboards of the Lexington Avenue Armory. But the private dressing room assigned to Momo is a temporary island of silence.
Momo stands before the mirror, the "National Center" preparing for the walk of her life. She has shed the pinstripe suit, now dressed in her performance base: a leopard-print lace teddy that cinches her waist, topped with a pale pink, push-up feathered bra that forces her cleavage into a deep, inviting valley. Over it all, she wears the iconic pink and white striped VS robe, the rhinestone wings on the back shimmering under the harsh fluorescent vanity lights.
You are stationed just inside the door, your 6'4" frame acting as the final barrier between her and the world. You’ve tightened your tie, but your eyes are fixed on her reflection.
"The red carpet photos are already trending, Momo," you growl, your voice a low vibration that cuts through the muffled noise outside. "They’re calling you the 'Ethereal Angel.' If only they could see the 'Angel' right now."
Momo turns, the silk of her robe fluttering open to reveal the high-cut line of the leopard lace. She catches your gaze in the mirror, her expression shifting from focused professional to something much darker. She reaches out, her manicured fingers catching the lapels of your suit jacket, pulling you into the narrow space between her and the vanity.
"The wings are heavy, Y/n," she whispers, her Japanese accent a jagged, breathless rasp. She reaches behind her, untying the silk sash of the robe until it falls open completely, exposing the pale pink feathers and the way her skin is still slightly flushed from the New York heat. "I think I need a shot of adrenaline before I hit that runway. A 'security check' to make sure I don't stumble."
She presses herself against you, the soft feathers of her bra brushing against your dress shirt as she looks up at you. Her hand slides down, finding the 9-inch reality of your response already straining against your trousers.
"The show starts in ten minutes," you mutter, your large hands finding the ivory curve of her waist, your thumbs hooking into the high-cut lace of the teddy. "Your manager is right outside that door."
"Then don't let her hear me," Momo dares, a dazed, triumphant smirk touching her lips as she reaches for your belt. "Use that big hand of yours to keep me quiet while you remind me why I'm the one who gets to wear the wings."
The bass from the runway stage is a physical throb in the dressing room walls, a countdown to the moment Momo has to step into the light. You don't waste a second. You grab her by the waist, your large hands spanning the entire width of her torso, and spin her around to face the mirror.
"Look at the 'Angel' they're waiting for," you growl, your voice a dark, vibrating rasp against the back of her neck.
You reach down, hooking your fingers into the hem of the pink and white striped VS robe. You hike it up past her waist, exposing the leopard-print lace of her teddy and the powerful, ivory curve of her dancer's thighs. With your other hand, you make short work of your own belt and zipper, your 9-inch length springing free, thick and pulsing with a heavy, technical demand.
Momo's breath hitches, her hands flying to the edge of the marble vanity to brace herself. She watches your reflection in the mirror—the 6'4" frame of her bodyguard looming over her, a predatory shadow in a room full of lace and feathers.
"Y/n... the call time," she gasps, her Japanese accent a wrecked, sultry plea. "They're going to... they're going to come looking for me."
"Then we better be thorough," you counter.
You drive home from behind in one deep, bottoming-out thrust. The displacement is massive; Momo’s back snaps into a rigid arc, the pale pink feathers of her bra shivering as she let out a high, fractured shriek that you immediately smother by pressing your face into the side of her neck. You start a punishing, rhythmic pace, the heavy, wet thud of your hips against her glutes timed to the muffled beat of the show's opening track.
Every thrust is a deep, predatory invasion. In the mirror, Momo looks like a ruined masterpiece—her cherry-red hair tousled, her eyes glazed and blown-out, her hands white-knuckled as she grips the vanity. The rhinestone wings on the back of her robe shimmer with every violent jolt of your body, a frantic, shimmering strobe light in the dim room.
"You're shaking, Momo," you mutter, your hand sliding forward to cup one of the pale pink feathered cups, squeezing the heavy weight of her breast as you drive home again. "Is the 'National Center' getting stage fright, or is she just realizing she’s owned by her security detail?"
"I... I’m yours," she sobs, her head tossing back against your shoulder. "Always... just... don't stop! I need to feel it... before I go out there!"
The pounding on the dressing room door is frantic now, the stage manager’s voice muffled by the heavy wood but clear in its urgency: "Momo-san! Three minutes! Curtains up!"
The 6'4" frame of your body is a pressurized furnace, and the "Sunset Clause" is reaching its absolute breaking point. You don't slow down; you pick up the pace, the heavy, rhythmic thud of your hips against her glutes echoing in the small room.
"You're going to walk that runway with my mark on you, Princess," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration against the back of her neck.
With a wet, heavy squelch, you pull out of her soaking heat just as the first surge hits the base of your spine. Momo let out a fractured, high-pitched whimper of protest, her internal muscles still pulsing in a desperate, empty rhythm as she clutches the vanity.
You reach forward, your large hand tangling in her cherry-red hair to pull her head back, forcing her to watch her own reflection in the mirror. You erupt with a violent, rhythmic intensity, the first thick surge of heat hitting the center of her back, splashing over the rhinestone wings of her striped VS robe. You pulse again and again, the "service" she paid for painting the leopard-print lace of her teddy and the ivory skin of her lower back in a frantic, rhythmic spray.
Momo doesn't flinch. She watches the evidence of your surrender coat her "performance" gear, a dazed, triumphant smirk touching her lips. She can feel the warmth of your release soaking through the lace, a physical weight she’ll carry under the bright lights of the Armory.
"That's it," you mutter, your voice a low, gravelly rasp as you step back to adjust your trousers. "Now go be an angel for the world."
Momo stands up, her knees visibly shaky as she reaches for the silk sash of her robe. She doesn't wipe it off. She simply pulls the pink and white striped silk closed, the wetness of your mark acting as a secret layer between the high-fashion fantasy and the raw, physical reality of her bodyguard.
"The fans will wonder why I'm smiling so much during the finale, Y/n," she whispers, her fingers tracing the rhinestone wings on her back before she turns to the door. "But they’ll never know it’s because I’m still carrying your heat under my wings."
She gives you one last, predatory wink before sliding her designer sunglasses on and stepping out into the neon chaos of the backstage, leaving the scent of peppermint and sex lingering in the air.
(Timeskip to after show, still in the dressing room)
The heavy backstage door hasn't even fully clicked shut before the room is flooded with the rest of the "Angel" lineup. The air, already thick with the scent of your recent "security check," suddenly turns electric as Jihyo, Tzuyu, and Nayeon breeze in, their heels clicking sharply against the floor.
They’re a coordinated assault of high-fashion lace and pink fur. Jihyo is in a lethal black leopard-print corset that cinches her waist to an impossible degree, while Tzuyu and Nayeon are draped in various shades of soft pink lace and silk, their legs disappearing into massive, oversized pink fur boots.
"Momo-rin, you're late for the lineup," Nayeon chirps, her voice playful as she stops just short of you, her eyes immediately darting from your 6'4" frame to the slightly flushed state of Momo’s face. She sniffs the air once, her smirk widening. "And why does it smell like... 'hard work' in here?"
Jihyo leans against the vanity, her own black leopard lace straining as she crosses her arms. She looks at you, her gaze professional but with a dangerous, knowing glint. "We were wondering where our head of security went. The hallway was completely unguarded. Very unprofessional, Y/n."
"I was performing a final stress test on the client's equipment," you growl, your voice a deep, vibrating rasp that seems to resonate in the small room.
Tzuyu walks over to Momo, her height nearly matching yours as she reaches out to adjust the rhinestone wings on Momo's robe. Her hand pauses as she touches the damp, warm fabric where your surrender still clings to the silk. She looks at her fingers, then back at you, her expression a mix of shock and dazed curiosity.
"It's a very... intense stress test," Tzuyu whispers, her voice a low, melodic thrum.
"The show starts in five minutes," Nayeon says, walking closer until her pink lace top is brushing against your dress shirt. She reaches up, her manicured nails ghosting over your jawline. "But the runway is so long... and we're all feeling a little bit 'unsecured.' Don't you think the rest of the team deserves a quick check-up before we have to go out there and be perfect?"
Momo doesn't look jealous. She gives you a dazed, triumphant smirk, leaning back against the marble as she watches her sisters surround you. "He's very thorough, unnie," she breaths, her Japanese accent a wrecked, sultry rasp. "But I think even a 6'4" bodyguard might have his hands full with four Angels at once."
The high-octane adrenaline of the Victoria's Secret runway is still vibrating through the room, a mix of ozone, expensive hairspray, and the raw, electric hum of a successful global debut. But as the heavy deadbolt clicks shut in the private dressing room, the "Angels" aren't celebrating with champagne. They’re looking at you.
Momo, Nayeon, Jihyo, and Tzuyu are a vision of high-fashion wreckage. Their hair is artfully tousled from the runway wind machines, their skin glowing under a layer of shimmer-body oil and the sweat of a twenty-minute high-energy performance.
"The show is over, Y/n," Jihyo breathes, her black leopard-print corset heaving with every ragged breath. She walks toward the long vanity mirror, her heels clicking a rhythmic predatory beat. "But we’re still wound up. The cameras are gone, the fans are screaming outside... and we’re stuck in here with the only man who knows what we look like when the wings come off."
"Line up," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration that seems to rattle the framed mirrors.
You don't ask. You command. Your 6'4" frame looms over them as they obey with a dazed, hungry compliance. You line them up against the mirrors—a row of the world’s most desired women, draped in pink fur boots, leopard lace, and sheer silk.
Nayeon is first, her back arched against the glass, her pink lace top strained to the breaking point. Tzuyu stands next to her, her long, elegant limbs trembling as she watches your reflection. Jihyo is third, her hands already bracing against the marble, and Momo—still carrying the faint, drying mark of your pre-show "check"—takes the end of the line, a triumphant smirk on her lips.
"You wanted to know why Momo was walking with a limp?" you rasp, stripping out of your trousers until your 9-inch reality springs free, thick and pulsing with a heavy, technical demand. "Now you’re all going to find out."
You start at the end of the line, grabbing Nayeon by her tiny waist and hauling her back against you. You drive home in one deep, bottoming-out thrust, the displacement making her let out a high, fractured shriek that echoes off the vanity. You don't stay long; you give her ten punishing, rhythmic hits before moving to Tzuyu, her eyes blowing out as she feels the sheer girth of you stretching her internal muscles to the limit.
By the time you reach Jihyo, the room is a symphony of wrecked, multilingual pleas. You bury yourself in her black leopard-print heat, your large hands pinning her shoulders against the mirror.
"You're all going to carry this 'security' back to the hotel," you mutter, your heart rate hitting the red line as the dual scent of their perfumes and their shared arousal fills the cramped space. "Every single one of you."
The air in the dressing room is thick enough to taste—a heavy, humid haze of expensive floral perfume, ozone from the stage lights, and the raw, musky scent of four "Angels" completely unraveled. You back away from the mirrors, your 6'4" frame a towering silhouette of dark, muscular intent as you gesture toward the oversized, plush charcoal lounge sofa in the corner.
"On the sofa. All of you," you growl, your voice a deep, vibrating rasp that leaves no room for negotiation.
They move with a dazed, rhythmic compliance, a sea of pink fur boots, leopard-print lace, and sheer silk collapsing onto the deep cushions. Nayeon and Tzuyu are tangled together on the left, their long, shimmer-coated legs draped over each other, while Jihyo claims the center, her black lace corset heaving with every shallow breath. Momo crawls over to the right, her cherry-red hair a vibrant contrast against the dark fabric.
You don't sit. You stand over them, your 9-inch reality thick and pulsing in the dim, amber-tinged light of the backstage area.
"The show might be over for the cameras," you mutter, your heart rate hitting the red line as you look down at the four most famous women in Asia, "but the 'Sunset Clause' is just getting started. I want to see exactly how much of that 'Angel' energy you have left."
Jihyo reaches out first, her manicured nails digging into your thighs as she pulls you toward her. She takes the broad, weeping head of your cock into her mouth, her eyes locked on yours with a fierce, predatory hunger. Nayeon leans in from the side, her soft, peppermint-scented breath hot against your neck as she whispers jagged, breathless praise in Korean.
Tzuyu is a silent, elegant wreck, her long fingers ghosting over your tensed abs, while Momo—the one who started this high-altitude fever—reaches for your hand, pressing your palm against her own damp, leopard-covered chest.
"We're all yours, Y/n," Momo sobs, her Japanese accent a wrecked, sultry rasp. "No managers. No fans. Just... finish us."
You move with a relentless, technical efficiency, shifting from one to the next in a blur of lace and skin. You take Tzuyu first, her back snapping into a rigid arc as you bury yourself to the hilt, her pink fur boots kicking uselessly against the sofa. Then you move to Nayeon, her high-pitched, fractured shrieks muffled by the heavy dressing room walls as you drive home with a punishing, rhythmic pace.
The room is a symphony of wrecked, multilingual pleas. Every thrust is a deep, predatory invasion, the displacement of your girth stretching them all to their absolute limits. You’re the only thing keeping them grounded while the world outside is still screaming their names.
The snap hits you like a physical explosion. You can feel the first thick surge of heat hitting the base of your spine—a white-hot, snapping point that signals the end of your professional restraint.
The "Sunset Clause" is a physical weight now, a localized storm of heat and friction in the dim dressing room. You pull out of Nayeon with a wet, heavy suction, your 9-inch reality pulsing with a rhythmic, technical demand that seems to vibrate through the charcoal fabric of the sofa.
You turn your focus to Jihyo. The "Leader" is sprawled in the center of the cushions, her black leopard-print corset pushed down to her waist, leaving the heavy, pale swell of her breasts completely exposed to the harsh fluorescent light. Her chest is heaving, her skin coated in a fine sheen of shimmer-oil and sweat from the runway.
"You've been remarkably quiet, Jihyo," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration. "Let's see if that professional composure holds up under a real 'security check'."
You drop to your knees between her powerful, ivory thighs, your large hands spanning the entire width of her ribcage to pin her down. You bury your face in the soft, lavender-scented heat of her chest, your tongue swirling around one dark, tensed nipple before you take the entire aching weight of her breast into your mouth.
Jihyo let out a high, fractured shriek that makes Tzuyu and Nayeon jump, her fingers tangling in your hair as she arches her back off the sofa. You suckle her with a punishing, hungry pressure, your teeth grazing the sensitive underside of her breast until her professional mask completely shatters.
"Y/n... oh god... please," she sobs, her voice a wrecked, sultry rasp.
You don't slow down. While you maintain the suction on her chest, you reach down with your free hand, your fingers finding the soaking, localized furnace of her center. You work her with a relentless, rhythmic precision, your thumb tracing the swollen pearl of her clit while your fingers drive deep into her internal heat.
The dual stimulation is a total demolition of her system. You watch the way her eyes roll back, her breath turning into a series of jagged, high-pitched hitches.
"Look at them, Jihyo," you rasp, pulling back just long enough to see her blown-out, glazed pupils. "Show your team exactly how the 'Leader' handles the pressure."
Jihyo's back snaps into a rigid, trembling arc. Her mouth hangs open in a silent, wrecked plea as a sudden, torrential surge of clear heat erupts from her, soaking your hand and the charcoal sofa in a frantic, rhythmic spray. She’s squirting—the most composed "Angel" in the lineup completely losing control, her internal muscles pulsing in a desperate, pleading spasm around your fingers.
Momo watches from the side, a dazed, triumphant smirk touching her lips as she reaches out to stroke Jihyo’s trembling thigh. "I told you, unnie. He doesn't leave anyone 'unsecured'."
The snap hits you like a physical explosion. You can feel the first thick surge of heat hitting the base of your spine—a white-hot, snapping point that signals the absolute end of your professional restraint.
The "Sunset Clause" finally hits the red line. Jihyo is a gasping, leopard-clad ruin beneath you, her ivory thighs still trembling from the aftershocks of her release. You don't give her a second to breathe; you hike her hips up, pinning her spine against the charcoal cushions as you drive home in one final, bottoming-out thrust.
"Take it, Jihyo," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration that drowns out the muffled bass from the arena.
You erupt deep inside the protection, the first thick surge of heat hitting her core with a violent, rhythmic intensity. You pulse again and again, your 6'4" frame locking rigid as you fill the latex to its absolute limit. Jihyo’s eyes roll back, her fingers digging into the muscle of your forearms as she sobs your name into the salt-sweet air of the dressing room.
You step back with a wet, suctioning sound, the "Security Detail" returning to your eyes even as the sweat cools on your skin. You discard the evidence with a cold, mechanical efficiency, and turn your gaze to the rest of the squad.
Nayeon is sprawled on the left, her pink lace and fur boots a chaotic mess of silk and shimmer-oil. Tzuyu is sitting up, her long, elegant limbs tucked under her as she watches you through blown-out, dazed pupils. Momo is still the triumphant architect of this madness, her cherry-red hair tousled as she leans back against the vanity.
"Jihyo is 'secured' for the night," you mutter, your voice a low, gravelly rasp as you reach for your white dress shirt. "But we still have the flight back to Seoul, and I haven't even started on the 'International Protocol' for the rest of you."
Nayeon crawls forward, her manicured nails ghosting over your tensed abs. "I think the 'Center' needs a more personal debriefing, Y/n. Jihyo-unnie might be the leader, but I'm the one who has to face the press tomorrow morning. I need to be... centered."
Tzuyu stands up, her height making her the most imposing "Angel" in the room. She walks toward you, her pink lace bra shivering with every step. She doesn't say a word, but she reaches out, her hand sliding down to find the 9-inch response already stirring again under the pressure of her gaze.
"The SUV is waiting at the service entrance," you rasp, looking from Nayeon’s playful hunger to Tzuyu’s silent, elegant demand. "We have a thirty-minute drive to JFK in a vehicle with tinted windows and a soundproof partition."
The stage manager’s voice is a distant, frantic ghost through the heavy oak door, but the interior of the dressing room is a pressurized chamber of high-fashion ruin. You ignore the "All-Clear" signal from your earpiece, your 6'4" frame pivoting toward the most silent, statuesque "Angel" in the room.
Tzuyu stands as tall as your shoulder, her long, elegant limbs shimmering with a fine coat of body glitter and the sweat of the finale. She’s draped in a pale pink lace bodysuit that leaves her long, athletic midriff exposed, ending in those massive, oversized pink fur boots. She doesn't say a word, but her dazed, blown-out pupils track the 9-inch reality of your response as it pulses against the New York air.
"You’ve been watching the whole time, Tzuyu," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration that seems to vibrate through the marble vanity behind her. "Waiting for your 'security clearance'."
You don't wait for her to move. You grab her by the ivory curve of her waist, your large hands spanning the entire width of her torso, and haul her back against the vanity. You spin her around, pinning her spine against the mirror. The pale pink feathers of her bra shiver against your dress shirt as you hike her lace bodysuit up past her hips, exposing the long, flawless line of her dancer's legs.
"The others... they're watching," she whispers, her voice a low, melodic thrum that breaks as you drive home in one deep, bottoming-out thrust.
The displacement is massive; the air leaves her lungs in a high-pitched, fractured sob. Tzuyu’s head thumps back against the glass, her cherry-red hair (matching Momo's tour style) splaying out like a halo. You start a fast, punishing, rhythmic pace that makes the makeup brushes on the vanity rattle in a frantic, metallic chorus.
"Let them watch," you rasp, your hands sliding up to grip her shoulders, pinning her down onto your heat. "Show the 'National Center' and the 'Leader' exactly why you're the one they save for the finale."
Tzuyu is a silent, elegant wreck. She doesn't scream; she just hitches her breath in a series of jagged, peppermint-scented gasps, her fingers digging into the hard muscle of your forearms until she draws blood. Every thrust is a deep, technical invasion, the friction of your girth stretching her internal muscles to the absolute limit.
In the mirror, Nayeon and Jihyo watch from the sofa, their eyes glazed and hungry, while Momo maintains her triumphant smirk, her hand ghosting over her own damp chest as she watches you dismantle the youngest member of the squad.
The snap hits you like a physical explosion. You can feel the first thick surge of heat hitting the base of your spine—a white-hot, snapping point that signals the end of your professional restraint.
The 6'4" frame of your body uncoils with a violent, rhythmic urgency as the "Sunset Clause" hits the absolute red line. You don't give Tzuyu a second to recover from the deep, technical demolition of her center. With a wet, heavy suction, you pull out of her soaking heat, the 9-inch reality of your response pulsing with a frantic, violet-veined demand.
"Down," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration that makes the vanity mirrors rattle.
Tzuyu doesn't hesitate. The "Angel" of the group drops to her knees with a professional, predatory grace, her pale pink lace bodysuit straining against her athletic frame. Her long, elegant neck arches as she looks up at you through blown-out, dazed pupils, her cherry-red hair splayed over her shoulders like a ruined halo.
You don't wait for an invitation. You grab her by the ivory curve of her jaw, your thumb forcing her mouth open as you drive the broad, weeping head of your cock past her teeth. The displacement is massive; she let out a muffled, high-pitched whimper of surprise as you bottom out against the back of her throat, your hips snapping forward with a relentless, rhythmic pace.
"Look at me, Tzuyu," you rasp, your heart rate hitting the red line.
She forces her eyes to lock onto yours, her manicured nails digging into the hard muscle of your thighs as she takes the entire aching weight of you. The sight of the world's most elegant "Angel" reduced to a trembling, lace-clad wreck at your feet is a total system failure for your restraint.
The snap hits you like a physical explosion. You erupt with a force that makes your spine snap straight against the edge of the vanity. The first thick surge of heat hits the back of her throat—a heavy, stinging saltiness that she swallows with a desperate, rhythmic gulp. You pulse again and again, the "security check" painting her tongue and the corners of her mouth in a frantic, localized spray.
Tzuyu doesn't flinch. She stays there, her breath coming in jagged, peppermint-scented gasps, as she tastes the evidence of your total surrender. She reaches up, using one finger to swipe a stray drop from her chin before looking back at the mirror.
Momo, Nayeon, and Jihyo are watching from the sofa, their eyes glazed and hungry, their own leopard lace and pink fur a chaotic mess of high-fashion ruin.
"The SUV is idling at the service entrance," you mutter, your voice a low, gravelly rasp as you reach for your discarded white shirt. "We have a thirty-minute drive to JFK, and I still have two 'Angels' who haven't been properly briefed on the international flight protocol."
Nayeon crawls forward, her tongue flicking over her lower lip as she watches Tzuyu stand up with shaky, shimmer-coated legs. "I think the 'Center' is ready for her turn, Y/n. The armored SUV has very... comfortable leather."
The heavy, armored door of the Cadillac Escalade thuds shut with a vacuum-sealed click, instantly killing the roar of the New York paparazzi outside. The interior is a cavern of charcoal leather, starlight headlining, and the faint, expensive scent of the girls’ mixed perfumes. The soundproof partition is up, and the tinted windows turn the neon blur of Manhattan into a muted, gray ghost.
You’re sitting on the bench seat, your 6'4" frame taking up nearly half the cabin. Your white dress shirt is unbuttoned halfway, your tie discarded on the floor mat.
Nayeon doesn't wait for the SUV to pull out of the hangar. She crawls across the plush carpet, her oversized pink fur boots shedding soft tufts against the leather. She’s still in her pink lace performance bra, her skin glowing with a feverish, post-show heat.
"The others are in the lead car, Y/n," she purrs, her voice a jagged, peppermint-scented rasp as she straddles your thighs. "It’s just us. And thirty miles of highway."
She reaches for your belt, her manicured nails snagging on the leather in her haste. When your 9-inch reality springs free, thick and pulsing against the climate-controlled air, she let out a low, needy whimper. She doesn't hesitate; she hooks her fingers into the waistband of her own lace panties and kicks them into the footwell.
"I watched what you did to Tzuyu," she whispers, her dark eyes locking onto yours as she guided the broad, weeping head of your cock to her entrance. "Now I want to see if the 'Center' can handle the same 'security' protocol."
You grab her by the ivory curve of her waist, your thumbs digging into the soft dip of her hips as you pull her down. You drive home in one deep, technical invasion, the displacement of your girth making her back snap into a rigid arc against the seatback. Nayeon’s mouth hangs open in a silent, wrecked plea, her fingers digging into the hard muscle of your shoulders as the SUV hits the bumps of the Midtown Tunnel.
"Keep your voice down, Nayeon," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration that matches the hum of the V8 engine. "The driver might not hear through the partition, but I want to hear every hitch in your breath while I dismantle you."
You start a fast, punishing, rhythmic pace. Every time the Cadillac brakes or accelerates, you drive deeper, bottoming out against her internal heat until she’s sobbing your name into the dark. Her pink lace top is a ruined scrap as you reach up to knead the heavy, pale weight of her breasts, your thumbs grazing her tensed nipples while you maintain a relentless, high-speed pace.
"Y/n... oh god... it’s... it’s too much!" she gasps, her head tossing back as her cherry-red hair whips against the tinted glass.
The hum of the Escalade’s V8 engine vibrates through the floorboards, matching the dark, rhythmic thud of your hips against the charcoal leather. You maintain your position, your 6'4" frame pinning Nayeon against the seatback as you drive home with a relentless, technical precision that stretches the pink lace of her bodysuit to its absolute limit.
"You're the 'Center,' Nayeon," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration against her damp collarbone. "Show me how you maintain focus when everything is falling apart."
You reach down, your large hand sliding between your joined bodies to find the swollen, soaking pearl of her clit. You start a fast, circular motion with your thumb, your fingers driving deep into her internal heat alongside your 9-inch length.
Nayeon let out a high, fractured shriek that she immediately chokes back, her fingers digging into the hard muscle of your forearms. Her cherry-red hair is a chaotic mess against the tinted window, her eyes blown-out and glazed as she watches the blur of the Van Wyck Expressway through the glass.
"Y/n... oh god... please!" she sobs, her voice a wrecked, peppermint-scented rasp.
"Don't stop," you command, your voice a cold, mechanical weight. "Finish it yourself. Right now."
Nayeon doesn't hesitate. She reaches down, her own manicured fingers joining yours in the frantic, wet friction of her center. The dual stimulation is a total demolition of her system. You watch the way her athletic thighs begin to tremble, the oversized pink fur boots kicking uselessly against the footwell as she hits her peak.
Her back snaps into a rigid, trembling arc. Her mouth hangs open in a silent, wrecked plea as a sudden, torrential surge of clear heat erupts from her, soaking the leather and your own thighs in a frantic, rhythmic spray. She’s squirting—the most famous "Center" in the world completely losing control in the back of an armored SUV, her internal muscles milking you with a desperate, crushing hunger.
The snap hits you like a physical explosion. You can feel the first thick surge of heat hitting the base of your spine—a white-hot, snapping point that signals the end of your professional restraint.
The hum of the tires on the JFK tarmac is a low, vibrating drone that matches the frantic thrum of your own pulse. You don't give Nayeon a second to recover from her own collapse. You reach out, your large hands hooking under her ivory thighs to pull her flush against your chest, burying your 9-inch length to the absolute hilt in one final, world-ending thrust.
"Carry this across the Pacific, Nayeon," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration that seems to rattle the armored glass of the SUV.
You erupt deep inside the protection, the first thick surge of heat hitting her core with a violent, rhythmic intensity. You pulse again and again, your 6'4" frame locking rigid as you fill the latex to its absolute limit. Nayeon’s eyes roll back, her fingers digging into the hard muscle of your shoulders as she sobs your name into the cool, recycled air of the cabin. Her pink lace top is damp with sweat, her cherry-red hair a vibrant, tangled mess against the charcoal leather.
You step back with a wet, suctioning sound just as the Escalade pulls to a stop beside the gleaming silver hull of the Gulfstream G700. You discard the evidence with a cold, mechanical efficiency, the "Security Detail" returning to your eyes even as the heat still radiates from your skin.
"We’re here, Nayeon," you mutter, your voice a low, gravelly rasp as you reach for your discarded white shirt. "Adjust your lace. The ground crew is waiting."
Nayeon stays slumped against the seat for a moment, her chest heaving, the oversized pink fur boots still trembling. She gives you one last, dazed, and triumphant smirk, her eyes dark with the secret you’ve just branded into her. She reaches for her pink silk robe, wrapping it tight over the ruined lace.
"They'll think I'm just tired from the show, Y/n," she whispers, her fingers tracing the edge of the seat where you just held her. "But I'll feel you with every step I take up those stairs."
The door opens, and the crisp night air of the runway rushes in. You step out first, your towering frame a silent, protective shadow as the rest of the squad—Momo, Jihyo, and Tzuyu—exit their lead car, their eyes immediately finding yours.
The low hum of the Gulfstream G700’s engines transitions into a powerful, rhythmic roar as the jet lifts off from the JFK tarmac, banking steeply over the Atlantic. Below, the glittering lights of Manhattan begin to fade into a dark, oceanic void, leaving the cabin—and the four women inside—isolated in a pressurized world of silk, lace, and high-altitude heat.
In the dim, amber glow of the main cabin, the "Angel" squad is a vision of coordinated exhaustion and lingering electricity. Jihyo is slumped in a leather captain's chair, her black leopard-print corset finally loosened; Tzuyu and Nayeon are tangled together on the long silk divan, their pink fur boots discarded on the plush carpet; and Momo stands by the window, her cherry-red hair caught in the moonlight as she watches the wingtip cut through the clouds.
You stand at the threshold of the master suite, your 6'4" frame a silent, dark silhouette against the galley lights. Your white dress shirt is unbuttoned to the waist, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the tensed, powerful muscle of your forearms.
"The flight plan to Seoul is fourteen hours," you growl, your voice a deep, vibrating rasp that seems to resonate through the cabin's frame. "The 'Sunset Clause' doesn't expire until we touch down at Incheon."
Momo turns, a dazed, triumphant smirk touching her lips as she catches your gaze. She reaches for the silk sash of her striped VS robe, letting it fall open to reveal the leopard-print lace that still carries the faint, drying evidence of your earlier "security check."
"Then I suggest you get some rest, Y/n," she whispers, her Japanese accent a wrecked, sultry thrum. "Because we have a lot of 'international protocols' to get through before the sun comes up."
The "National Center," the "Leader," and the "Angels" all watch as you close the heavy soundproof door to the master suite, the metallic click of the lock signaling the start of the most private performance of their careers.
Proofread by @vorrentis , big thanks @kise15 for the ideations
Words count : 11498 words
All works are fictions
ENJOY !!
At Nakatomi Plaza
A black limo just stops right at the front door.
The old British butler steps out of his driver’s seat and opens the door. A tall Caucasian man in tuxedo steps out, along with three beautiful ladies, walk towards the front lobby, where a group of reporters and journalists are waiting for them.
“ They’re here ! Mr. Wayne ! Mr. Wayne ! “ The reporters are gathering around the four
“ Is it true that you make this trip to Korea to endorse a collaboration project with Miss Nayeon here ?? “ A reporter asks
“ There are rumors you might buy the stocks from SM Entertainment? “ Another reporter asks as well
“ And who are these other 2 ladies alongside you ? Are they involved with the projects or just flings ? “ The reporters keep asking
“ My answer is yes ladies and gentlemen, I am here for the collaboration with Miss Nayeon over here for her project, and this is the first time Wayne Industries ventures into Korean market. And let me introduce you to Miss Park Jihyo right here, who is the leader of TDG Studio, alongside Miss Hirai Momo, who’s in charge of the art direction of this project. These talented ladies are prolific with their skills, so I simply hope this collaboration will solidify Wayne Industries not just for the tech side, but also the art side as well.” Bruce Wayne replies with charismatic tone
“Miss Nayeon, how do you find collaborating with Wayne Industries?” The reporters ask again
“Ohh my~~ Of course I love it!! ~~ Mr. Wayne here is so generous with me so far! ~~ I always hope for the best, and it’s a great challenge for myself!! ~~ I hope the products will be presented well today because I can’t wait for you to see,” Nayeon replies while hooking her hands into Bruce’s arm
“Miss Park Jihyo, is there anything you want to add for such collaboration?”
“I'm very glad our studio has this great chance to showcase ourselves to the market. Mr. Wayne has been one, if not the, biggest client so far, so it’s our greatest honor to be in business with him,” Jihyo calmly reply with a smile
“Miss Hirai, I heard you transferred yourself from the video game industry just to work with TDG studio. Is there any specific reason?” One more reporter asks
“Hi, Miss Nayeon and Miss Jihyo here; they give me such an opportunity to challenge myself, and I also feel like a new venture into a different industry could be fruitful as well!” Momo replies with an exciting mood
“Ok ladies and gentlemen, I think me and these beautiful ladies must go inside to prepare for the event. we’ll see you soon.” Bruce ends the questions and guiding the ladies in, leaving the reporters dying for more questions.
“That was quite a lot of questions, don’t you think, ladies?” Bruce?” asks while entering the plaza.
“Oh well~~ I’m used to it anyway! ~~ But thank you for helping us out, Mr. Wayne. ~~” Nayeon replies with a flirty mood
“Call me Bruce Miss Nayeon,” Bruce replies with a smile, making Nayeon blush.
“Okiiee Brucieee ~~ You’re too gentle ~~” Nayeon keeps blushing
“Shall we go in, ladies? I think the staff is waiting.” Bruce walks them inside.
As the four VIP person enter the event room, the TDG staffs and some of Bruce Wayne’s business partners are waiting inside and greet them
“Good evening, Mr. Wayne! Good evening, ladies!” The partners greet them
“Good evening, Mr. Wayne! Good evening, Boss! Good evening, Miss Nayeon! Good evening, Momo-san!” TDG staffs greet their superiors.
“Good evening, everyone. Shall we begin?” Bruce asks with a welcoming voice, signaling the start of the event.
Everyone is gathering around the center stage where Bruce, Nayeon, Jihyo, and Momo present the products.
Bruce and Nayeon start out first, followed by Jihyo and finally Momo. Each of them continues the other’s speech, complimenting one after another.
“It's clear that this project brings lots of beneficial aspects for both TDG Studio and Wayne Industries, don’t you think, Miss Jihyo?” Bruce compliments
“Yes, indeed, Mr. Wayne, everything has gone smoothly for both parties, and of course I would love to give credit to Miss Nayeon, who kickstarted this opportunity as well!” Jihyo guides her voice to Nayeon
“OMG, thank you~~. ~~ I’m glad and very thankful with all the efforts to bring my ideas to life ~~ Can you believe that I kept looking at Momo-san’s art direction for days?? I can’t believe a person with such talent is working on my project!” Nayeon blushes.
“Arigatou gozaimasu, Nayeon-san, it was a great challenge!” Momo replies.
The event is going strong, reaching its after-party once the presentation is done.
“Excuse us, Bruciee, we’re going to have to change our after-party clothing~~~. ~~~ Would you mind waiting for us?~~~” Nayeon is being flirty with Bruce
“Of course, Miss Nayeon, can’t wait to see your beautiful looks again.” Bruce suddenly kisses Nayeon’s hand as she blushes heavily
“Omggg Bruciee ~~ I’ll be back, I mean, we’ll be back ~~” Nayeon replies in full blush, as she and Jihyo and Momo start to walk to their changing rooms.
“I'll see you girls soon~~.~~” Nayeon goes to her room.
“See you soon, Nayeon-unnie!” Jihyo also enters her room as well
“Hi, see you two soon!” Momo enters her room as well
The three ladies are taking their breaks, with the makeup artists and dressers helping them as quickly as possible, dressing them up for the after-party. It didn’t take them long to be back, as the three of them are once again ready to be on their way back to the party.
“Knock knock.”
The knocking on each of their doors surprises all three of them. Now alone in each of their rooms without the makeup crews, the three of them then open their respective doors.
To their surprise, the trio of each of them are waiting in front of each room, greeting their superiors
At Jihyo’s room
“Good evening, Boss! It’s me, Peter!” Peter with a bouquet of flower at the door
“Oh, Peter? What are you doing here? You are not at the party yet?” Jihyo in slight surprise
“You look beautiful today, Boss! So, I just want to give you gifts, that’s all! But I also have this thing I would show you in secret. Would you mind if I came in, Boss? It’ll be very quick, so people won’t see!” Peter asks politely
“Hm? Is it that secretive? Ok, well, I guess I won’t mind,” said Jihyo with a smile, welcoming Peter.
At Nayeon’s room
“Good evening, Miss Nayeon! Hope you like the flowers!” Aaron greets her with his own bouquet at her door
“Oohhh~~ ~~ Lovely!! ~~ How nice of you, Aaron. ~~ But what’s the occasion? ~~” Nayeon takes the flowers, with a curious mood as well
“First, you look fabulous today, Miss! I love your dress so much, but I have this thing; it’s a secret gift! Only for you! Would you mind if I came in and showed you? It would be better if only you could see this!” Aaron politely asks.
“Oohhh~~~~ ~~~~ I love secret gifts~~ ~~ Come on in!~~” Nayeon invites Aaron in
At Momo’s room
“Momo-san! Konbanwa! This is for you!” Archie with his bouquet as well in front of Momo’s door
“Konbanwa, Archie! I’m surprised I have flowers from you! Is there any reason?” Momo is wondering as well
“Momo-san, I have this gift, but it would be the very best if only you could see! I don’t want other people passing by and peeking! Would you mind if I came in?” Archie politely asks as well, just like the other two
“Ohhhh, well, yes! Come in! Don’t be shy!” Momo welcomes Archie in
The three illustrators enter their superior’s respective rooms at the same time; it seems like they are planning on something.
And they do, and it will make the three ladies very happy
Once all three of them are inside, they all pull out a small box from each of their bags and gather the interests of the three ladies
Inside Jihyo’s room, Peter then shows it to Jihyo.
“Oh, Peter, what is it?” Jihyo squints her eyes a bit in curiosity.
“Please open it, Boss! It’s for you!” Peter urges his Boss
Over Nayeon’s room, Aaron does the same as well.
“Ooohhhh~~ ~~ What’s that!! ~~~ Jewels for me??” Nayeon asks in excitement
“Please open it, Miss Nayeon! You’ll like it!” Aaron urges the beautiful idol
And lastly, at Momo’s room, Archie also does the exact thing
“Nani? What’s this thing, Archie?” Momo's eyes are widely open
“Momo-san, please open it! It’s very cool!” Archie urges his director.
The three ladies, like they can synchronize their movements, open their boxes. What’s inside will surprise them, but also make them excited as well
In each box is a shiny butt plug, with their alphabetical name at the end: J for Jihyo, N for Nayeon, and M for Momo. Next to the plug are small remote-control vibrators, each in the beautiful lady's favorite color: apricot for Jihyo, light blue for Nayeon, and pink for Momo.
Once the trio reveal their gifts to their ladies, they open their phones on speaker mode and start to explain in tandem.
“So, ladies, I think you all have our gifts!” Peter starts first.
“We've been wanting to give you these a while ago, but we're waiting till today!” Aarons in
“Yes, ladies, these are well-made gifts for you!” Archie chimes in as well
“I'm… surprised we have this today actually, and the color—it's my fav color,” Jihyo replies to the trio.
“But... I love them~~~ My fav color too~~~~ “ Nayeon enjoys her gift, tapping on the remote just to try
“Whoa, guys, now this is rather goofy! But... I like it; it’s my color, pink!”
“But why do you give me this right now, Peter?” Jihyo asks right away
“Yehh~~ Why now, right in the middle of the event~~? Are you planning something??~~” Nayeon is questioning their intentions.
“Hi, there must've been something going on, right, you three. Ooh, this is kind of sensitive!” Momo also asks why playing around with the vibrator
“You'll find out now, hehe.” The trio in unison
Without any delays, the trio then approach their respective ladies
They quickly make out with their beautiful superiors in sync
Peter is moving his hand around Jihyo's large boobs, while his other hand is roaming onto her butt curves.
Aaron is being playful with his fingers, teasing Nayeon’s waistline and kissing her neck.
Archie is touching Momo’s abs line underneath her dress, occasionally slapping her buttcheeks
The trio leave their phones on speaker still, intentionally making them hear the noises from each room. The subtle moans from the ladies can be heard through their phones as well.
“Ah... Peter, that’s... very rough.” Jihyo gives out her pleasured sound
“Your scent is amazing today, Boss! And this dress is looking beautiful on you!” Peter compliments Jihyo while kissing her around
“Ahh... oo~~ you’re teasing, aren't you, Aaron~~ ~~ Oh yes, touch my waist more!!~~” Nayeon moans and giggles through the motions
“I love how you look today, Miss Nayeon, or, Nayeonny hehe.” Aaron keeps kissing the pretty idol
“Sugoi nee. Ahh, Archie, you love my abs, huh?” Momo breathes out through the kisses.
“Of course, Momo-san, your figure looks gorgeous in this dress tonight!” Archie rubs his hands all over Momo’s body
The trio then move on to the next thing right away, and they don’t waste any moment at all.
Peter then gently lifts Jihyo to the couch behind her, spreading her legs to both sides and pulling her dress to her waistband. His face is diving into her panties, using his hands to tease his Boss, kissing her inner thighs, making Jihyo has no choice but to moans through his actions
“Always hungry for you, Boss!” Peter keeps touching and kissing her private parts
Aaron, on the other hand, spins Nayeon’s body around, letting her hold her hands onto the table behind her; her back and butt are facing his body. He quickly kneels and shoves his face right to her panties as well, pulling them off to her waist, and his hands are grabbing and groping her hamstrings.
“Ahhh~~~ ~~~ oh shitt~~~ ~~~ you want me a lot, don't you, Aaron~~.~~ “ Nayeon’s head is bobbing up and down slightly through the pleasure
“Of course I am, Nayeonny, always hehe.” Aaron’s face is totally diving into her cheeks
And Archie gently pushes Momo’s to the walls behind her; his hands are hiking up her dress, and his face is also diving into her panties as well, while his hands are running up and down her quads non-stop.
“No way I can skip over you, Momo-san!” Archie replies through his kisses
Like having a telepathic link, the trio then straightly pulls the ladies’ panties out of the way and throws them to the side. They use their fingers to tease them, fingering their wet walls, with their tongues also doing their jobs to support, leaving their beautiful superiors to moan louder through the speakers.
“AHHH, Peter, you’re… ahh… your tongue… your fingers… ahh.” Jihyo’s voice is sounding; her chest is heating up and down.
“I just love... eating you out, Boss!” Peter is doing everything he loves down at Jihyo’s tight lips.
“Oh, my goddd~~~ more pleaseeeee!! ~~ ~~more pleaseee ahhhh!~~~” Nayeon’s long moan is as erotic as ever.
“Nayeonny, you’re such a horny person, hehe.” Aaron and his tongue are killing her with pleasure.
“AHhh, woaa, sugoii, Archie you’re going deep!” Momo's excitement now combines with her moans.
“Told you, Momo-san, you’ll love it!” Archie is tasting his art director.
The trio kick it up a notch; they quickly pull down their pants, with their hard dicks ready for action. Without any warning, they line their shafts at their ladies’ wet and tight pussy, then push in smooth and deep inside their superior’s inviting walls.
They go fast and harsh, pounding their ladies with great speeds, but enough to not ruin their high-end dresses. Erotic and pleasure-filled sounds can be heard from the phones’ speakers, making the scenes more sensual than they should be. The ladies’ tightened vaginas are wrapping entirely onto the trio’s hardened rod, fully sheathed inside with tight grips.
“Oh yes, ahhh!! That’s very great, Peter! Ahhh! Go faster for me!” Jihyo's mind is slipping through the sex, urging her employee.
“Fuck! You’re looking extra hot with this boss!! I’m gonna fuck you good!” Peter’s lower body is ramming into his boss while clashing his lips with hers.
“AGHHHHH!!!~~~~ Omg, you fuck meee gooddddd!! ~~~~ Pound meeeee, ahhhh!! ~~~~” Nayeon’s moan slowly turns into a scream; her body is boiling up.
“Gotta love… fucking you from behind, Nayeonny!!! Gonna fuck you deep!!” Aaron rams his dick inside her while kissing her back.
“Ahhhh Kimochiii Archieee!!” Momo's words are breaking; her pleasures are taking over her mind.
“Shit, you’re damn tight, Momo-san!! Not gonna pull out!” Archie pins Momo’s body harder to the wall, fucking her with full force
The trio is going for a long while, fucking their superiors hard and rough, just like how they usually do.
But they couldn’t take too much time, so in the very last brink close to orgasms, the trio then pulled out, and then, in a surprising move to their lady bosses, they thrust their hard dicks in the ladies' anal holes, spreading and stretching them out, rougher than ever. The grips from their entrances are incredibly tight; it feels like they could crush their employees’ rock-hard shafts at any time.
“AGHHHH!! OH GOSSHH!! Peter, my rosebud, it feels so... so hot!” Jihyo finally gives into her lust.
“Gonna cum in here for you, Boss!! I’m close!!” Peter is giving his best, getting close to his orgasmic rush
“MHpmmmmmm aghhhhhh~~~~!!!!!! My ass!! ~~~~ OMG you’re gonna break me, Aaronnn, aghhh ~~!!!!” Nayeon’s desire is being fulfilled.
“Almost there, Nayeonnyy!!! Gonna give you the load!!” Aaron goes in with full velocity
“Kimochiiii!! Sugoiii Archieee!! You're in my ass hard!!” Momo finds it hard to form words from her pleasure.
“Can't hold Momo-san!! Can’t hold!!” Archie is getting close.
And they finally do; the trio are cumming straight into their ladies’ tight and hot walls, filling them with their gushes of thick cum.
But they don’t let their thick juices go to waste, as the trio quickly take the butt plugs and push them into their respective ladies, preventing the cum from leaking out from their bosses’ freshly fucked holes.
“Ahhh! SO hot, and... oh my, that thing, is in me now “ Jihyo exclaims, her breathings are sexual and erotic
“Ohhh gossshh~~~~ ~~~~ So that’s what it’s all about~~~~~~” Nayeon finally catches her breath; her face is reddened.
“Ahh, sugoii, now I get why we have this today!” Momo does her best to gather the situation
While the ladies are slowly recovering, the trio prep up the small vibrators, then gently place them inside their superiors' wet vaginas, fully stuffing both entrances. As a way of testing, they push the buttons just to tease their boss ladies.
“Ahhhhh…. Oh gosh… that thing…. The vibrations…!” Jihyo moans again.
“You sure love it, Boss, hehe,” said Peter with a cheeky smile.
“Mhpppppmm~~~~agghhh~~~~~~~OMG it… it's… my body is shakingggg~~~~~~” Nayeon is doing her best to fight back her lust.
“Always so sensitive, Nayeonny, hehe.” Aaron is being playful.
“Sugoi-iiiiiii!!!!! It’s running in me!” Momo is enjoying the sudden sensation.
“You're going to feel this even longer, Momo-san!” Archie is vibing with the remote in his hand.
Helping the three ladies prep up again for the event and dressing them up neat and tidy, the trio then gives out their “instructions.”
“So, ladies, here’s the deal with this one, hehe, we will let you have the vibrator and the plug for the rest of the evening!” Peter starts his lines.
“And since we’re the ones having the remotes, that means you ladies will enjoy it according to our control, hehe,” said Aaron with a mischievous tone.
“Hopefully you’ll enjoy this newfound 'excitement,' hehe.” Archie ends the lines.
“That's quite kinky, but I do enjoy the idea “ Jihyo contents with the situation.
“Kinkyyyyy ~~~~ Well, I love being kinky anyway ~~” Nayeon can’t wait for the upcoming ordeal.
“Never thought that thing in those JAVs would work with me!” Momo exclaims with joy.
The trio then turn off their phone’s speakers, ending the first round of their “events,” and quickly get out of the rooms, blending back into the TDG crowds outside.
The three boss ladies also do the same; they quickly get themselves back to the event room, winking at each other while meeting in the hallway, then calmly walk back to the crowds like nothing happened.
“Welcome back, ladies. I’ve been waiting for you,” Bruce greets them again
“Hiii Brucieee ~~ you’re such a gentleman ~~.” Nayeon is flirting again.
“Look at you, Mr. Wayne, dashing and with beautiful ladies again. How about we have some small convo? Hey Smallville, come here quick!” Lois Lane, out of nowhere, suddenly appears from the crowd while signaling her partner, Clark Kent, to follow her.
“Oh...hey Lois, finally here! Good evening, Mr. Wayne and ladies, Clark Kent from the Daily Planet! “Clark clumsily greets them.
“And Lois Lane here as well, I guess you already know, so let’s go straight to the point, shall we?” Lois with her recorder.
The after-party is starting, and Lois and Clark proceed to interview Bruce and the trio of ladies. Jihyo, Nayeon, and Momo are doing their best to reply to each question while hiding the fact they have vibrators and plugs down their private areas. Their bodies are slightly sweating, but thanks to their professionalism, they can bypass that easily without giving many hints.
“So, Mr. Wayne, you’re saying that thanks to these three ladies you’re coming all the way from Gotham to here? Sounds like a great trip. I would say,” Lois is asking her questions.”
“Indeed, Mrs. Lane, these ladies are pretty much my main contributors; I wouldn’t say no for the opportunity.” Bruce replies with a suave tone
“Sureee, Mr. Wayne, did you get any of that Smallville? Mr. Wayne here sure knows how to catch a deal!” Lois is teasingly replying.
“Oh yes, Lois! I’m noting down everything! “Clark is noting down with his clumsy hands
“How about you ladies? Does Mr. Wayne here give you ladies a hard time?” Lois is being a tease again
“Oh nooo~~ not at all... ahh~~ ~~ not at all~~~~” Nayeon is replying while holding her voice down.
“Mr. Wayne... ahh... has been a very trustful client to us, Mrs. Lane!” Jihyo also does her very best to hold down her pleasure-filled voice.
“Hai, ahh... I’m very glad I can meet him face to face!” Momo uses her rather exciting tone to mask out her lustful one.
“Hmmm, well, I guess I was wrong about you, Mr. Wayne. How about you elaborate on some further details from this project you have?” Lois starts to ask more questions
Suddenly, Clark must step in and pauses the convo
“Oh Lois, I... have to go; there are... SUPER things I have to deal with,” Clark with a rather serious tone
“Oh… SUPER things, I got ya, Smallville, go.” Lois winks at him as Clark quickly gets away from the crowds, like he’s using some superpower.
“Actually, Mrs. Lane, ladies, my sincere apologies; I just realized I also have to go to this particular place too, but I will meet you again soon, I promise.” Bruce seems to be in a rush as well right after Clark just left
“Don't promise what you can’t keep, Mr. Wayne. See ya!” Lois is teasing as Bruce is leaving the crowds
“Alfred, prepare my NIGHT suit; I’ll be downstairs shortly.” Bruce is rushing out of the crowds as well
“Byeee Brucieee ~~” Nayeon waves.
“Jeez, can you believe these big boys, always rushing into something? Come on, let’s keep the night away then; it would be relaxing to put all this reporting stuff aside. You in, ladies?” Lois asks
“Ah, yes, Mrs. Lane.” Jihyo holds off her best to answer
“Ohhh~~ ~~ yess ahhh… I would love to; the party seems fun~~.~~” Nayeon replies, knowing the vibrator is working inside her
“Hai, ahh, yess yess, let’s do that!” Momo clumsily replies.
The event keeps on going.
Lois and the three boss ladies are having different convos after convos, unknown to her that Jihyo, Nayeon, and Momo are playing dangerous games with their kinky lusts.
“Oh, my goodness… the vibrator… ahh… I can’t believe this is more challenging that I thought... ahh.” Jihyo is doing her best to keep a calm face, smiling to each conversation.
“Ahhhh~~~~ ~~~~~ gosshhhhh~~~ ~~~ my pussy and ass ~~ it feels amazinggg~~ ~~ but it’s so hard to doo ~~” Nayeon smiles through her erotic thoughts
“Kimochiii~~ ~~ Wait, I shouldn’t feel like this! I’m supposed to stay cool!” Momo is battling her thoughts.
From a far distance, the trio of illustrators are having a great time with their remotes, raising and lowering the power, witnessing their three superiors struggle in each moment. They give themselves small giggles and exchange their playful and rather dirty gazes with each other, catching the curiosity of their co-workers as well.
“Heyyy!!! What are you three laughing about???” Sana approaches them with her glass of wine, slapping their arms.
“Uh … nothing, Squirrel. Why do you ask?” Peter lies to his face
“Nani? I just saw you three giggles??? You three always do this!!! Are you teasing me???” Sana does her best to pry the details
“Ya know, Squirrel, if we ever tease you, we will not giggle to ourselves like a bunch of hyenas like this lol “ Archie claps back
“BAKAAA!! You three are just annoying!!” Sana uses her cute fists to threaten them.
“Yeh, yeh, yeh, you think we’re scared of you, Squirrel? Pleaseeeee,” Aaron teases back.
“Bleeeeeee!!!!! You’re a bunch of weirdos!!! No wonder Boss pays me more than you!!!!” Sana also claps back, showing her tongue
“Sana-chan, we shouldn’t discuss salaries … “Mina stops her.
“Miguin!! Don’t protect them!!!! I can tell they've been teasing me all this time!!! Maybe they’re regretting not asking me out before BLEEEE!!! I’m too pretty and too cute for them BLEEEEE!!! Sana is being goofy.
“Bruh, if any of us ever ask you out, consider it’s Armageddon time, so... NO. Peter claps back.
“Yeh, like we ever want to; dream on, Squirrel.” Aaron gives a teasing thumbs down.
“Who do you think we are, Squirrel? We’re not dumb gooners HAHAHAHA,” Archie laughs back.
“BAKAAAA!! TAKE THIS FALCON PUNCH!!!” Sana punches the three with her small fists.
“Ey yo, what’s going on?” Jeongyeon approaches them with her martini
“Manager Yoo! These three keep teasing me!!” Sana whines.
“You fool! Why don’t you call me LOL?” Jeongyeon teases back, fist bumps the trio,
“NOOOO!!!” Sana whines again.
As the staff are joking and chatting to each other, their three superiors are holding themselves through it all. The vibrators, combined with the butt plugs, are driving them crazy internally, but all they can do is keep a straight face; any moment of break will ruin everything. Small sweats are forming on their bodies; their breathings are slightly faster. Their walks are awkward and uncomfortable, but their professionalism is keeping them together without any visible slippages.
“Oh gosh... if this is going further for the night. ahh... I might... not be able to hold it longer, but I love this secretive sensation, ahh.” Jihyo’s internal thoughts are fighting hard to keep her sane.
“Mhmmm~~~~~~ ahhh~~ ~~ I want to squirt~~~ ~~~ holy mama~~ ~~ I don’t know how long I can hold, but it’s so kinky I like it~~” Nayeon’s erotic mind is running wild.
“Suge, I can’t believe I’m...ahh... able to do this like those JAV girls!” Momo is feeling both exciting and horny.
“ …and Smallville is one of the clumsiest guys I’ve ever met, but I got to admit, I dig that. How about you ladies? Any dates?” Lois's voice snaps the three ladies back to reality.
“Ah, no , not for the moment, Mrs. Lane,” Jihyo replies with slight discomfort.
“Ohh no~~ But I wish too~~,” Nayeon replies with a rather erotic tone.
“Still single, Loi-san!” Momo pushes her energies to reply.
“Jeez, now this is a surprise. You three ladies have no one? Maybe they’ll come sooner than you think, maybe they’re closer than you think, just like how I can tell Smallville or many guys got the gist for me. But anyway, I’ve got to go now too. See you three ladies another time?” Lois teasingly replies.
As Lois quickly leaves the event room, the trio of ladies walk as fast as they can to the restroom, locking the door as quickly as possible. All three of them gasp for air as they finally push out the vibrators inside their vaginas and the plugs in their back holes, with their “holy water” leaking down their thighs, along with the blobs of thick white cum running out from their tight holes.
“Aahhhh... hahhhhhh. Oh my god!” Jihyo gasps for air; her chest is heating up and down fast, and her hands are holding onto the sink.
“Holy mama... hahhhhh~~~~~ It feels good ~~~~~~~ too good ~~~.” Nayeon exclaims with a slightly reddened face and a lustful expression
“Sugoi! I did it… hahhhh… I held it that long!” Momo amazes by her abilities
The three ladies clean themselves up, tidy their clothing, and leave the restroom, where the illustrator trio are waiting for them outside with clean tissues and drinks.
“Hope you enjoyed it, Boss, hehe.” Peter gives Jihyo her colada.
“I did; it was thrilling.” Jihyo sips her colada.
“Glad you liked the thing, Miss Nayeon hehe.” Aaron hands Nayeon her wine.
“Gosh~~ ~~ Should’ve done this long ago~~~~” Nayeon licks her lips.
“Must've been amazing, right, Momo-san?” Archie gives Momo her margarita.
“Hai, now that was wicked!” Momo makes her drink.
The six people are returning to the after-party, blending in like nothing, and enjoying the rest of the night like nothing ever happened between them. Lucky for them, no one seems to notice, not even their staff nor the partygoers.
The next few days, at TDG studio…
“Good morning, everyone.” Jihyo enters the studio with her usual calmness
“GOOD MORNING, BOSS!!!” Every staff member greets her.
“It has come to an end, and I’m very glad this week will mark the final week of our current project. It’s been a long journey, and I’m very proud to say that it’s been a pleasure to work with you all. As your creative director, I’m very pleased with our directions and the end results of our products. Miss Nayeon and Mr. Wayne are currently on the way here to congratulate us on the work, so please welcome them with great applause and sincerity. Other than that, let’s do our best to wrap up the rest of the week, and we can all celebrate.” Thank you, everyone, for listening.” Jihyo slightly bows to her staffs as a thank-you gesture.
“IT'S OUR PLEASURE, BOSS!!” The staff with their enthusiastic replies.
Down at the lobby…
A black limo just stops right at the front door. The old butler Alfred quickly exits and opens the door as Bruce Wayne, with Nayeon next to his side, walks out of the car and proudly enters the building.
“Good morning, Miss Nayeon!! And... you are...sir?” Han, the security guy is a bit confusing.
“Bruce Wayne, from Wayne Industries, pleased to meet you.” Bruce shakes hands with Han; his grip is incredibly strong and surprises Han.
“OH yes, yes, sir! Welcome to … Korea, and to the studio!” Han tries his best to reply.
“Have a good day, Han~~ Today is going to be a great day~~.~~” Nayeon air kisses him.
“Damn it, that guy’s hand nearly crushes the shit out of me … no wonder Miss Nayeon looks so happy around him …” Han,” he exclaims in his head.
Nayeon and Bruce get up to the 9th floor, where TDG Studios is situated.
DING
“Morningggg, my beautiful staff~~~~~~!!!” Nayeon greets with a cheerful voice
“GOOD MORNING, MISS NAYEON!!!” The staff greets back
“I think you already know who this is~~ Let’s welcome Mr. Bruce Wayne to our studio~~~~!!” Nayeon claps her hands.
“Greetings, everyone. Bruce Wayne, from Wayne Industries, very glad to see you all.” Bruce does his bow.
“GOOD MORNING AND WELCOME TO OUR STUDIO, MR. WAYNE!” The staff greets Bruce as well.
“Sugoi, he’s here too!” Momo exclaims.
“Momo-san, that dude is damn big; he looks like he could break me in half lol “ Archie jokes around.
“Yeh dawg, if you touch Miss Nayeon, he’ll fuck you up haha.” Peter and his terrible jokes.
“No wonder Nayeon-unnie got hooked by that guy lol,” Jeongyeon replies while sipping her coffee.
“Man, if I have that much money like that, bro, I’ll just lying around all day haha.” Aaron also jokes around.
“Blee, you nerds will never have that chance, bleeeee.” Sana shows her tongues towards the illustrator trio.
“Welcome, Mr. Wayne, to our studio. I hope you feel comfortable so far.” Jihyo bows at him with a gentle smile
“Of course, Mrs. Park, I’m flattered to be here. Now, how about we continue what we discussed a few days earlier? Right after you and Mrs. Im, Bruce is being a true gentleman with his suave tone.
“Oh my~~~ you’re making me nervous, Brucieee~~~.~~~” Nayeon being a true tease.
“Sana, Mina, I will need you two in my office as well. we will take our final notes with Mr. Wayne here, and please bring every single note we have so far. Thank you. And the rest of the staff, please continue the works at hand before our evening meetings today.” Jihyo commands everyone.
“Haiiii, Boss, right this way, Mr. Wayne!” Sana and Mina guide Bruce to the meeting room.
“Thank you, ladies, and you are...?” Bruce is being polite.
“Minatozaki Sana and my co-worker Myoui Mina! An honor to meet you, sir!” Sana and Mina bow.
“Thank you for the welcoming gestures,” Bruce speaks in Japanese back to the 2 assistants, making them seriously surprise with his perfect accent
“Mondai wa arimasen, Mr. Wayne!” Sana and Mina bow back.
“Momo-san, Jeong, would you join us as well?” Jihyo asks.
“Yeppp, coming. Nice to see you here, Mr. Wayne!” Jeongyeon greets him.
“Hai, ohaiyo gozaimasu, Wayne-san!” Momo follows.
“I'll come as well, Boss!” Dahyun replies and quickly follows them to the meeting room.
The day goes by…
Once their meeting is over, Bruce must excuse himself for other endeavors in Korea.
The TDG staff also finish the Monday meetings with their superiors as well, as everyone is ready for the last week of the project.
“Thank you, everyone. Team leaders, please proceed to divide the last few tasks by tomorrow. Other than that, the meeting is done for the day.” Jihyo closed her presentation files.
“THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME, BOSS!!!!” The staff greets her as they’re leaving
“Hey, Jihyo,~~ ~~ I want to go shopping a bit; will you join me, please~~?” Nayeon asks out.
“Oh, yes, Unnie, I will. I don’t have much to do after today either. “ Jihyo gladly accepts.
“Momo-san! Please join us too! ~~I never went shopping with you before. ~~~~~~” Nayeon asks.
“Hai, Nayeon-san! Let’s go!”
“Hey, uh… Unnie, where are you going?” Jeongyeon asks.
“Just shopping ~~ I’m in the mood for it!!~~~” Nayeon winks at Jeong.
“Uh … ok, I mean, aren’t you supposed to be home early today? I mean, tomorrow we’ll have some fan meet and all?” Jeong is wondering.
“Don't worryyyy~~~ ~~~ I’ll be back home soon!!!!! ~~~~ Come on let’s goooooo. ~~~~~”
“Urgghhh… Ok, Unnie, please DO NOT be late, ok? I’ll call FBI for real,” Jeong scoffs
“Don't worry Jeong, I’ll be with her and will let her home safely “ Jihyo said with a dear smile.
The trio of superiors walk downstairs and enter Nayeon’s limo.
But something is off…
Once they got into the limo, Nayeon surprised them with a new driver.
“Huh? ~ Who are you? ~ Did we get into the wrong one? ~~” Nayeon asks
“NO, you didn't.”
The driver then quickly wears a gas mask, and suddenly, smoke is coming from the air vents, and the three ladies are slowly drifting to sleep. The driver then speeds off in an unknown direction, but luckily, Jeong can spot it.
“Hey, wait a minute, that is not the direction of that shopping mall “ Jeong questions
“What's going on, unnie? Something’s wrong?” Dahyun asks.
“What is it, Manager Yoo? You didn’t join the Bosses?” Peter asks out of curiosity.
“I don’t, but why the hell is that limo going THAT direction? That's weird. Lemme call Nayeon-unnie.” Jeongyeon quickly calls Nayeon.
No one replies…
She suddenly feels worried, as she keeps calling Jihyo and Momo as well, but there are no replies.
“Hey, something is wrong; I couldn’t call any of them.”
“Maybe they’re busy talking to Manager Yoo?” Archie asks.
“Nah dude, that whiny lady Nayeon always picks up her phone from me; I have my own ringtone for her. Jeong keeps calling.”
“Huh, and Boss and Momo-san as well, Manager Yoo?” Aaron asks
“Yeh dude, like, wth is going on? Lemme turn on the tracker.” Jeong then pulls out the tracking device.
A strange and rather scared feeling is running through her spine.
“Hey, this… this is not the shopping mall … this is… somewhere far from the city…” Jeongyeon starts to be quite panicked.
“What???? Unnie, where can Nayeon-unnie go???" Dubu feels scared too.
“Oh my god, don’t tell me… Dubu calls emergency!! They’re being kidnapped! FUCK! I SHOULD’VE TAGGED ALONG!!!” Jeongyeon is in full-on panic mode.
“Han!! Call the police!!! Boss, Miss Nayeon and Momo-san are being kidnapped!! Hurry!!!” Dubu rushes back towards the security desk.
“Ok, ok! FUCK! I should’ve known! Something damn strange about that limo!” Han scratches his head and calls emergency.
“Manager Yoo! We’ll go after them! Please give me the tracker!” Peter bravely asks,
“Wait, no, you three, you shouldn’t!” Jeongyeon stops them
“There's no time! Come on, give us that; we can follow them!!” Aaron said in his tone.
“Sorry, Manager Yoo! We’ll have to save our bosses!” Archie yanks the tracker off Jeong’s hand as the three rush to their car.
“FUCK! YOU THREE COME BACK HERE! OH, COME ON!” Jeongyeon yells.
The trio get in their car and push the speed, going as fast as they can following the tracker.
An hour later at an abandoned villa…
“Hmm? What... what just happened?” Jihyo slowly opens her eyes, realizing she’s being tied to a chair. next to her are Nayeon and Momo, who are also slowly waking up as well.
“Hmm… Jihyo? … Momo-san? Where … where are we?” Nayeon asks with a slightly scared tone.
“Hmm… I… I don’t know, Nayeon-san. Why are we… being tied here…?” Momo questions.
Suddenly, a group of men in militia clothing are entering the big room, along with three others in suits following behind them.
“Miss park Jihyo , you recognize us, hehe.” The first man asks
“No, I don’t know who you are. Why are we here? What are you doing to us?” Jihyo asks with a slight anger in her tone.
“Oh, really? You don’t remember us? Huh, this bitch, she caused us trouble and she didn't even remember!” Another man in a suit replies.
“Fuck that, then you better remember, you entitled bitch, you cost us our deal with BRUCE WAYNE! FUCK, do you know how much that cost us, you fucking bitch???” The third man in suit is angry at Jihyo.
“I remember , you three, at that meeting; you were part of the stockholders, Lester, Bart, Sims.” Jihyo remembers now, but still with a rather displeased tone
“You bitch, now you remember??? You cost us a fucking fortune after that day!!” Lester is throwing a tantrum
“This bitch doesn't even remember us. Fuck, she thinks she’s some high class. We asked her out, but NO, we’re so below her, RIGHT???” Sims is swearing at Jihyo
“Oh yehhhh, bitch, you dare to fucking deny us, huh??” Bart is yelling as well
“Why are you doing this? If you have anything with me, we can settle that in professional ways. Why are you doing this act? And why are you dragging Miss Nayeon and Momo-san here?” They're innocent; they have nothing to do with this,” Jihyo is defending with a serious tone
“Oh no, you think we’re going to let little Miss Universe and Pop Idol go? She’s going to give us some damn good times, right, boys????” Lester asks the rest of his crew.
“What... what are you going to do to me????? Let me go!!! Don’t you dare touch me!!!” Nayeon claps back.
“Man, can you believe these bitches? They're looking so helpless now HAHA!” Sims is teasing
“You bitches don’t understand, there is no money involved; THIS is going to be about OUR PLEASURES, for daring to DENY us back then, MISS PARK JIHYO hahaha!” Bart proudly proclaims his dirty thoughts
“Yamenasai! Let go of us!” Momo also claps back
“Ooooohhhh, this Japanese bitch, man, I’m gonna have some damn fun times with her like those JAV sluts hahahaha!” Lester and his shrewd thoughts
“You man, ALL OF US are going to have our nights with these sluts HAHAH!” Sims and his dirty minds.
“Oh ho, come on boys! Let's teach these sluts some MEN power! Maybe they’ll love it once we shove our big cocks into them HAHA!!”
SLAMMMMM
“What the—what the fuck was that sound???” Sims asks.
“You two, go outside and see what the fuck is going on!” Barts calls two militiamen.
“There's no way some cops are here; we’ll fuck them up too!” Lester yells out.
The two militiamen are walking out suddenly…
WHACK
POW
BAAM
“AGHHH!!”
“What the fuck is going on???” Lester asks in frustration.
Once the door opens, the rest of the militia and the trio of stockholders are flabbergasted at the sight of the illustrators' trio, hands are having baseball bats and metal pipes, ready to battle
“Get the fuck off our bosses, you creeps!” Archie bravely yells
“YEAH! Don’t you rapist assess dare to touch them! Fuck off!” Peter yells as well.
“Boss! Miss Nayeon! Momo-san! Are you alright???” Aaron asks out loud
“We're ok!!!! You three, you’ll get killed!!!” Nayeon screams
“Aaron, Peter, Archie! Don’t be foolish! Call the police now!” Jihyo commands with a loud voice.
“Nigeru!” Momo yells as well.
“Oh no no, we’re not going to leave you here, ladies! We're coming! FOR FRODOOOOOO!!!” Peter dashes forward
“AVENGERS ASSEMBLE!!!!!!” Aaron yells, running at full speed
“GO GO POWER RANGERS!!!!!!” Archie and his battle cry
The trio of illustrators suddenly turns into "superheroes," as they bravely fend off the militiamen with only their baseball bats and metal pipes.
Surprisingly enough, the three nerds are gaining the upper hand, beating up the militia while taking some hits as well, but their undying courage has gone through the roof now.
WHACKKK
POWWWWWW
BAMMMMMM
SNAP
POWWWW
WHACKKKKK
“Ooffff, take that, you jerk!!! I HAVEEEEEE THE POWERRRRRR!!!!!!!” Aaron is doing his very best whacking the militia men with his metal pipe, swinging it like a sword, hitting the heads of the militia men
“UGH, goddamn it, have a load of thisss!!! TURTLE POWERRRRR!!!!!!" Archie is mimicking some ninja moves, waving his baseball bat to the militia
“OUGGHH!!! Take this, you dick!!! HADOU-KENNNNNNN!!!!!” Peter uses some moves he learned from video games, punching and kicking the militia.
The trio surprise the militiamen and the three stockholders, making them fall back one by one. They couldn’t believe the three nerds are able to do this with their idiotic but brave guts
“FACK! FALL BACK!!! FALL BACKK!!!” Sims is running for his life.
“Shit!!!! These fuckers are tough!!!” Bart is rushing out to the door.
Once the enemies are running out of the villa, the illustrators' trio are cheering up their “victories.”
“WE DID IT NERDDSSSS!!! TO INFINITY AND BEYONDDDD!!!” Peter yells
“FREEDOM IS THE RIGHT OF ALL BEINGSSSS!!!!!” Archie raises his hands
“YIPPE KI YAYYYY MOTHER FUCKER!!!! WAKANDA FOREVER!!!!” Aaron excites
In the other corner, the three ladies are seriously surprised.
They have no words for what just happened; seeing their nerd trio channel their energies to save them like this isn’t on their cards tonight.
“They … they just did that??” The three ladies are still collecting what just happened.
“Boss!! Boss!!! You’re alright???” Archie quickly runs to Jihyo and unties her
“Miss Nayeon!! You’re, ok????” Peter rushes to her place
“How... how did you learn... to do that?” Jihyo, in her most surprise tone ever
“We learned it from Bruce Lee and Jet Li’s movies, Boss!!” Aaron replies
“But... but how?????” Nayeon with her eyes wide open
“Ayyyy, we learned that a while ago, ladies!! Bruce Lee, Jet Li, Jackie Chan, Donnie Yen—holy shit, a lot!!” Peter replies as well
“Nani????? but… that’s …” Momo surprises as well
“No worries, ladies! Come on, let’s get the hell out of here!” Archie rushes them
But things aren’t going that easily.
It only takes a few minutes for the three stockholders to come back with a larger group of militia men. This time they consist of men carrying heavy armed rifles and guns, with some of them in larger builds and physiques, looking like wrestlers or strongmen.
“Oh fuck, we’re toasted …” Aaron in shocks
“Uh … shit … that’s … not good, dude …” Peter is also in disbelief.
“Hey, uh … How the hell can we get out… Archie questions
“You DON'T, you fuckers! Hit 'em, boys!” Bart commands his men
The trio of illustrators pull all their lucks and charge in, but none of it is working as the giant militia men quickly subdue them with their raw strengths, beaten the trio to a pulp
“MORTAL KOMBATTTTTTTTTTT !!!!!!!!!” The trio screams out their lungs
POW
WHACKK
POWW
BAAAAAM
“Ooof… fuckkk… that's… gonna hurt… Ooffff.” Aaron falls to the floor like a mosquito being slapped
“Arghh… goddamn it, man… can’t feel my soul …” Archie is quickly being punched to the guts, falling as well
“Holy crap…. That guy just chokes slammed me … my back …” Peter is being thrown down the floor like a rag doll
“You worm! You think you can go that easy?” Sims is teasing them.
“Hit ‘em harder, boys! Fuck 'em up!” Lester commands as well
The trio of nerds are being beaten heavily. The militiamen give them a real beating, giving them real hell like they just participated in a WWE match. Their bodies are bloodied and bruised, with the trio of stockholders also joining in the “fun” of beating three helpless nerds.
“NOOOO!!!!! STOP!!!! STOP IT!!!! LET THEM GOOOO!!!” Nayeon screams and cries out
“YAMETEEEEE!!!!!” Momo also screams.
“STOP THIS AT ONCE! OR ELSE…” Jihyo is having the loudest tone for the day
“Or else what, bitch? You think we’re going to let you go? We’re going to beat the fuck out of your little boyfriends here, and then we’ll have an entire night with you three sluts!” Lester laughs out
“Take this, you little shit!” Sims are kicking the nerd trio down the floor
“You boys, fucking kill these idiots!” Bart with his evil direction
“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!” The three ladies scream in unison
Suddenly
BLANGGGGGGG
“Hey... what the fuck was that again???” Lester?” he asks in shock as the noise startles him
“You three dickheads, you have more people????” Sims asks while kicking the nerd trio
“No… don’t know… ughh…” Peter in his weak voice
“Then wtf was that noise?? Go check them, boys!” Bart commands his men again.
“How... the hell. Do we know … ughh?” Archie, eyes are half open, replies to the best of his capacity
“Yeh … maybe … the cops found you … ugh.” Aaron teases back in his injured self
WHACKKKK
BAMMMMM
“What the fuck???” Lester starts to feel scared
“Hey, you fool, what the hell is happening out there????” Sims screams to the walkie-talkie.
“BOSS!!! WE’RE BEING HIT!! THERE’S … AGHHHHHHH….”
The walkie-talkie stops
NO one replies back
A deadly silence covers the entire area
“What… what the fuck is happening….” Bart is cowering behind his men, who are already prep up their weapons
The militiamen then form a perimeter around their three bosses and prepare for what’s coming
“SURROUND THE BOSSES! GUNS READY!” The militiamen raise up their guns
CLING
An object falls from the ceiling
POOOFFFF
Smoke is everywhere, covering the entire area, blurring the militiamen's visions
Then all the sudden, their weapons are being tagged with some small devices that neutralize and paralyze the ones with heavy arms.
BAM
BAM
BAM
“AGHHH” The militiamen start to fall down the ground, trying their best to getting up
But something is coming
A dark shadow falls from the ceiling, blending itself to the smoke
It beats down the militia men; one by one they’re being brutally beaten down by a force they could barely see. The militiamen start to scream in panic; they couldn’t see what’s truly going on.
“AGHH!!! WHAT THE…!!??” A militiaman screams.
POWW
“UGHH!!! REMAIN IN POSITIONNNN!!!” Another militiaman cries out in horror
WHACK
The dark figure is a force to be reckoned with.
It breaks their bones, hitting their faces, diaphragms, and legs without any mercy in fast paces, like a demon just out for a kill. The militiamen are helpless even if they’re fully armed to the teeth.
“HIT ITTTT!!! HIT ITT!!!” Another one screams in full fright
WHACKKK
“NO … NO NO NO!!!” One more scream in pain
POW
It takes down the heavily armed militia men with little to no struggles; even the toughest of them are being beaten with a few moves, bleeding out, and having their bones wrecked.
POW
WHACKK
BAMMM
POW
CRACKKK
“UGHHHHHH,” the militia men can’t seem to survive the sheer horror.
Some militia men are still able to hold their weapons as they fire rapidly towards the smoke.
But, to their surprise, the figure throws multiple sharp projectiles towards them, quickly taking them down to the ground, with them groaning in pain. One of the projectile falls right next to the trio of nerds, making them shock to realize what it is
“Hey… what’s… what’s that thing… hey… that… that silhouette … that thing …” Archie collects his thoughts
“That's… that’s no normal projectile… it’s… it’s….” Peter shocks
“IT'S BATMAN!!!!!!” The nerd trio in unison
That’s exactly what just happened
Once the smoke starts to fade, the militiamen are lying all over, groaning for their dear lives. Some are knocked out cold, and some are helplessly moving with the last bit of their energies.
In the middle of them, a tall and intimidating figure stands tall above all.
That figure is none other than the legendary dark knight of Gotham, Batman.
Wearing his armored Batsuit, clad with white eyes for his cowl and a dark cape, he is enough to intimidate the bravest souls.
He walks slowly towards the few remaining militia men, along with the trio of stockholders, where they approach the three ladies for hostages
“FUCK!!! YOU… YOU STOP RIGHT THERE!!! OR I’LL… I’LL FUCKING SHOOT THESE BITCHES !!!” Lester screams in huge fear
Batman doesn’t say anything.
In quick succession, he counters them with his moves, quickly disabling them with ease, punching each of the rest of the goons with brute force. Some of them run for their lives, including Bart and Sims, towards the big van outside and quickly disappear.
“OH FUCK, LET’S BAIL!!!” Bart screams
“WAIT FOR ME!!!” Sims is rushing out
But they can’t get away too far.
Suddenly, their van is being lifted into the air, scaring the hell out of them.
Something is making them fly to the sky
Then that force is making them fly back to the villa, where they’re being put down to the ground again.
BAM
“What… what now???” Sims asks.
“Dafuckk... did we... just fly?????” Bart also asks
Then, in front of them, a muscular man descends from the sky.
His cape is bright red in the night sky, accompanied by a bright blue costume and an S on his chest.
And it’s none other, than the Man of Steel himself, Superman
“Gentleman, I think you’re going somewhere I presume?” Superman asks with a heroic tone.
“Oh fuck…” Bart and Sims, and the rest of the militia as well.
Superman then crushes the door’s handle and breaks the wheels so they can’t go anywhere for the moment.
He then flies inside the villa, where Batman is interrogating Lester, scaring the last bit of soul out of him
“WHERE IS YOUR LEAD!!? I’M RUNNING OUT OF PATIENCE.” Batman’s voice is shattering and intimidating; there’s no way Lester can reply well
“I… fuck… I… I don’t know, man… Please… I’m… I’m just… I’m just a dude …” Lester scares shitless, not even able to forms proper words
“Why are YOU here?” Batman quickly notices Superman walks in.
“I imagine you’ll need some help, but seems like the usual then,” Superman replies with a calm tone
“Did you catch the rest of them?” Batman with his no-nonsense tone
“I did; they are outside,” Superman replies again with a calm tone
“I found a clue from them, but that’s about it. We will have to find more,” Batman with his serious tone, throwing Lester down to the floor
“I think you scared them a lot more than I think.” Superman then walks towards the three ladies, and the trio of nerds are still lying down below.
“Thank… thank you… Superman … and Batman too …” The nerd trio in their bests
“You are injured; I can see with my x-ray vision you’re suffering with some broken bones. Help is on the way. And ladies, are you ok?” Superman asks with a caring tone
“Yes, Mr. Superman, thank you,” said Jihyo with a soft tone
“OMG, thank you, thank you~~.~~” Nayeon also being thankful
“I can’t believe... woah, Batman, and Superman, arigatou gozaimasu,” Momo replies as well
“Batman, do you think this is involved with Black Mask? Or any of your adversaries? Two-faced? Oh... he’s gone.” Superman turns back, seeing Batman already disappeared
“I can’t believe how he can do that all this time,” Superman with a small smirk.
Police sirens can be heard outside, as their patrol vehicles are approaching the villa. Jeongyeon quickly gets out from one of them and starts to go in front with some SWAT men.
“THIS IS SMPA! PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!” The chief of police in his megaphone
“It's alright, Chief, I got everything under control now," said Superman in his confident tone.
“Superman?? How???” The chief and his squad can’t believe what they’re seeing
“Nayeon-unnie!!!! OMG you’re here!” Jeongyeon is happy to see Nayeon as she quickly spots her.
“JEONNGGIIEEEEEEEEEE!!~~~~~!~~~~~!!! I’M HERE! I’M HERE!!!!” Nayeon shouts out as Jeongyeon, and the police force quickly approach them
“OMG, Unnie, are you ok??? You’re hurt??” Jeong quickly asks
“I'm ok ~~!!! OMG Jeongie, I’m so scared!!~~” Nayeon replies while crying
“JI, Momo, are you two, ok?” Jeong asks as well
“We're good Jeong, we’re ok, but Aaron, Peter, Archie…” Jihyo and Momo then rush to the nerd trio
“Medics are here. Shit, they look terrible. Who did this?” Jeong exclaims
“The three stockholders who offended me last time, and his militiamen," Jihyo explains the situation
“Jesus, ok, next time, I will hire serious force to protect you, Nayeon-unnie. I seriously felt stupid that this happened. They fooled me; I should’ve checked that driver earlier and been more careful,” Jeong regrets.
“Jeongie, it’s ok~~. ~~ I’m still here~~. ~~ Thanks for coming. I’ll go with you next time, ok? I was being reckless too...” Nayeon feels guilty.
“Ok, Unnie, I’ll promise you this won’t happen next time. Come on, let’s go home; Dubu is worried too.” Jeong gives the three ladies coats.
As the three ladies and Jeong walks out the door, they pass by to Superman to say thanks again
“Thank you, Superman.” Jeong shows her gratitude
“It was Batman who saved them; I was just doing my small part in helping. Your other three friends were also very brave too, but hopefully they won’t be that reckless anymore,” said Superman with a calm and caring tone
Medics are coming in, putting the illustrator trio on stretchers
“Oh no~~ Can... can we quickly get them to the hospital... this place is far... ~~” Nayeon worries
“No worries, we can make it; they will be ok, Miss.” Some of the medics are handling the situation, then putting the trio onto the ambulances as quick as possible.
“Superman, thank you; we’ve been looking for these guys for months! All right, people, let’s clear out!” The chief of police commands his squad
“There is no need, chief; I’m happy to help. A friend of mine saved them before me, and these three brave fellas too. I’m just glad everyone is ok,” said Superman with his heroic tone again.
“Man, I can’t believe someone like you would be here; that’s… kind of rare. It would be great to have more people like you around here!” The chief in his disbelief
“I just have some urgencies here, that’s all.” The Justice League is on a case and South Korea is one of the locations,” Superman replies with his usual heroic tone
“Damn, man, I never thought things were that crazy. But thanks again big man.” The chief shakes Superman’s hand
“My pleasure, Chief. Well then, I think it’s time for me to go. Please take care, everyone, and good night, ladies and gentlemen. Up, up and away!”
Superman then flies up to the sky and speeds off to an unknown location, not before waving at the people.
“Jeongie~~ how... how did you find me...?” Nayeon asks.
“Lucky for you, I put trackers on your belongings, and even luckier, one of them was from Mr. Wayne as a… gift for you, and that one can track ANYWHERE without disruptions. And these three goofballs took it from me, and I must use my spare one to track you down.” Jeong explains
“Oh~~ woa, I did not know that...~~ “ Nayeon is still catching up
“But how did Batman and Superman get here? I feel quite curious.” Jihyo still questions the situation.
“Beats me, but it's good that you’re all safe. now let’s get the three goofballs to the hospital.” Jeong
“Move along! You three are in big trouble for hiding all this time!” The chief is rushing the stockholder trio, letting his squad put them into their patrol vehicles.
The rest of the police force is helping everyone get home safely, but Jihyo, Nayeon, Momo, and Jeong are willing to stay at the hospital for the night to care for their nerd employees, ending an eventful night.
The next morning
“Hm…. Where the hell am I … Archie slowly opens his eyes
“What in the world…. Oh shit, it hurts...” Peter groans
“Goddamn it… can barely move…” Aaron feels uncomfortable
The trio are waking up one by one, seeing themselves bedridden, bodies covered with bandages, and arms hooked up with IV drips. A nurse is coming to check onto their situations along with a doctor as well
“Uh … doc … are we … uh … dying?” Peter asks with a weak voice
“You all suffered from broken ribs, fractures in bones, facial cuts and body bruises, and internal bleeding from organs, especially in the pancreas and bladder, but last night we were able to hold it off for you. Right now, you will need proper rest and recovery time for about one to two months, depending on your recovery state.” The doctor gives them the diagnosis.
“Damn... ok... I guess we’re off limits now, boys...” Archie groans.
“Yeh… so much for being… half-assed heroes…” Aaron groans as well.
“Here are some prescriptions for medicine you will take for the day, along with meal schedules. And oh, you have some visitors too.” The nurse invites them in
“Aaron!!~~ Archie!!~~ Peter~~~~!!” Nayeon rushes in
“Oh hey … Miss Nayeon … ouch …” Aaron does his best to say hi.
“You three, how are you doing now?” Jihyo with a calm tone
“We're… alive, Boss… ow… man, my legs…” Peter tries to move his body
“Hey, hey, don’t move too much; stay there and rest,” Momo calms them down
“Don't worry about us much, ladies … ouch … we’re … ow … ok …” Archie is having a difficult time
“Hey, you three, rest up; don’t force yourself,” Jeong tells the trio
“Boss… we’re sorry to let you … you know… see our reckless butts like this … and let you… stay here all night…”“ Peter apologizes to his boss.
“Don't think about it; rest up, but please, don’t do this again, ok? Other than that, thank you for being there for us.” Jihyo, being thankful, gives them a comfort smile
“Ladies… you should go home…. We nerds can handle things …” Archie,” with a weak voice.
“Noo~~ ~~ We’ll stay with you for the day~~ ~~ Don’t worry about it~~!! The fan meeting can be rescheduled.
“Hai, and you’re going to need some help; you won’t be good in that state!” Momo,” with a cheerful voice
“Also, Mr. Wayne is generous enough to pay all the medical bills for you noobs, so yeah, just stay there and rest and don’t waste it,” Jeong adds in.
“Now you should rest; we’ll be around here, ok?” Jihyo,” with a softer tone
“Thanks, Boss… thanks Miss Nayeon… Momo-san… Manager Yoo …” The trio in unison
The trio then rest for the days, with their superiors taking turns taking care of them.
“Ok, you three, time to take your medicine “ Jihyo reminds them
“Yes, Boss…!” The trio heeds her reminder
“Don't forget some food! ~~ You’re going to have enough nutrition, okie? ~~” Nayeon preps up the food for them.
“Yes... Miss Nayeon...” The trio do their best to take the food
“And also, don’t watch too many phones! You need rest, not playtime! Genki de itekudasai!” Momo also reminds them
“Yes… Momo-san…” The trio’s phones are being “ confiscated” by their team leader
“Man, you three are like their nannies now lol; don’t baby them too much “ Jeongyeon tease the three superior ladies
“Soooo ~~ are you jealous ~~?? Do you want me to take care of you, Jeongiee??~~” Nayeon teases back.
“Uh … NO lol. Please don’t, Unnie; if you take care of me, I'd rather do it myself.” Jeong claps back while sipping her Pepsi.
The following days, the trio are being visited by his co-workers as well, as they replace their superiors to help.
“Bakaaa, Peter! You must take this one! The doctor already said it!!” Sana forces Peter to take the medicine.
“ Please Squirrel… I know…”…” Peter replies...
“Aaron-kun, you can’t do that too much! Your legs aren’t healed yet! “Mina forces Aaron to sit properly.
“Yeh, yeh… Thanks, Mina-chan…” Aaron listens to his coworker.
“You know, I’m not sure if I should call you nutjobs brave or utterly stupid to do that. Do you know how dangerous that gang is, bro?” Bambam teases Archie and the other two
“Dude... how the hell do we know, man... the boss ladies were in trouble....” Archie replies while taking his soup
“I read the news; those guys are crazy. Some of them are terrorists too, damn scary.” Ryujin is scrolling on her phone while talking to the trio, with Yeji and Sullyoon next to her
"Man…and I heard you met Batman and Superman?? How the hell did that even happen?” Felix asks.
“Beats me… we were there… we got our shit beaten up… and Batman appeared… knocked the hell out of those goons… then Superman came…” Archie recalls.
“Yeh... everything was damn fast, man...” Peter adds in also while taking his medicine
“That's wild! Is Superman handsome??” Yeji and Sullyoon ask.
“But seriously though, you guys were damn crazy to barge in like that; luckily nothing too crazy happened later," Ryujin remarks.
“These nerds watched too many kung fu movies lol, but I have to admit, that was damn reckless, bro. don’t do that crazy,” shit again,” Bambam recommends
“Deshoo??? They watched too many movies!! Bleee!!! I told them all the time!! Now we must take care of them like nannies!! Come on, little Peter, open wide for Nanny Sana!” Sana teases with the food spoon
“Haha …very funny, Squirrel,” Peter replies with a sarcastic tone.
“You three better take care of yourselves, ok? If you’re doing well, I’ll share my Legos with you!” Mina encourages them...
“ Thanks Mina-chan …” Aaron thanks Mina while fist-bumping with her
“Yeh, you better get your shit heal up lol, or Momo-san and I are going to have to keep doing parts of your works for overtime, you nerds,” Felix teases
“Yeh … thanks for the help, Felix.” Archie gives Felix a thumbs up.
Back at TDG Studio
“HeyHey Dubu, do you, do you want some food??” Jeong asks...
“Yes, Unnie! "Oh, check on them. btw, I’ll pass by the hospital to check on the guys too!” Dahyun preps her stuff.
“Yeh, yeh, we can do that after food; now let’s go, I’m hungry." Jeong rushes her
“Nayeon-unnie, will you go with us? Or do you want us to buy something?” Dahyun asks Nayeon.
“No, Dubu~~No, Dubu~~I think I’ll stay here for food with Jihyo and order Momo-san. Do you mind ordering something for me?" Nayeon asks.
“Sure!! Of course, Unnie! We’ll be back!!” Dahyun quickly follows Jeongyeon. Jeongyeon.
"See you soon, Unnie. Text me what you want, ok?” Jeongyeon adds in.
“Have a great lunch~~.” Nayeon winks.
Nayeon then quickly goes into Jihyo’s office, where Momo is already there as well...
“Ohaiyo, Nayeon-san!!” Momo greets her
“Ohaiyo ~~ Jihyo, Momo-san, can I talk to you two a bit ~~?” Nayeon with a rather softer tone than usual
“Oh yes, Unnie I want to discuss with you and Momo-san something too, right Momo-san??” Jihyo said with her usual calm tone,
“Hai, Nayeon-san, please sit here!” Momo shares the couch with Nayeon
“Unnie, you go first. What's on your mind?” Jihyo dips in the water
“Oh...Oh… well...well… ~~ I feel...feel… I feel guilty after what happened to the trio. I was being reckless, and then, and then it happened. They’re in the hospital now because of one of my dumb mistakes. I… I want to repay them somehow.” Nayeon explains her thoughts
“Unnie, I feel the same. The thoughts of seeing my employees risk their lives like that for me have stirred my mind for the last few days. It doesn’t feel right to me if I only help them too little, and I feel like it’s my responsibility to take care of my employees as well. I changed a lot over the past few months thanks to their rather eccentric but amicable attitude. They worked hard for the studio as well, and I want to reward their contributions.” Jihyo with her deep thoughts.
“Hi, me too. I like them as my team players as well. They really listened to my advice, and they had camaraderie moments with me. I really appreciate that from them. I’m one of those people who prefers to work alone, but they really helped me to handle a team.” Momo adds her thoughts as well.
The three ladies then stay quiet a bit.
But in an instant, a thought appears in their heads, like their thoughts link with each other.
“I got it!” The three ladies in unison.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking ~~?” Nayeon asks with a sudden exciting voice.
“I think I do, Unnie,” said Jihyo with a bright smile.
“Sugoi, we shared thoughts!” Momo claps her hands.
The three ladies then discuss their thoughts again; this time, something is forming out from their minds, something that would end up amazing.
“Oooohhh~~~ Let’s do that~~~~~~!!! Are we in Momo-san? Jihyo?” she asks in a cute voice
"Yes, let's go!” Momo says with a confident tone.
Jihyo stays quite a bit, then fully agrees.
“Let's do it; it will be amazing," Jihyo nodded.
Time goes by, and the trio is finally recovered enough from their injuries for them to leave the hospital, albeit with some bruises still left, but able to walk a bit more properly.
They are finally able to get back to their places and get some proper comforts beside the cares of their superiors and colleagues.
“Yo… damn dude, finally, home sweet home" Archie takes a deep breath.
"Gosh, I love my apartment. Man, I miss that PS5.” Peter quickly dives into the couch and turn on his PS5.
“Man, goddamn it. I need to build that Nu Gundam now.” Aaron quickly opens his Gundam box.
Beep...beep
A message is blinking on their phones
“NaBunny : Helloooo boysssss ~~~~”
“AaronMeta: Oh, hello Miss Nayeon!"
“BossJihyo :Hello, are you three, ok?”
“PeterSpider : Boss? Thank you for asking, we're good!”
“MomoMoguri: Omedetou !Welcome back ! “
“Arigatou Momo-san!!”
“BossJihyo: How is everyone? You’re fully recovered as of today?”
“AaronMeta: No problem, boss! Some bruises and still sore, but we’ll have some recovery therapies soon!”
“MomoMoguri: Sugoii, miss seeing you three around my place!”
“ArchieGray: We’ll be back soon, ladies!”
“NaBunny: You three, I’m doing a house party this weekend; you should come!!! ~~~ everyone is here ~~!!”
“PeterSpider: Everyone! We’re in! Will you be there too, Boss?”
“BossJihyo: I will. I am the one who suggested the idea, a welcome back party for you three. you earned it.”
“MomoMoguri: Don't be late, guys!”
“NaBunny: Also, hope you three don’t have any other plans during the weekend!! ~~ Got something special for you!!! ~~ ~~SO, be there!!~~”
“House party?” Aaron surprises
“Huh, seems like they have something for us nerds.” Peter scratches his head
“Yeh, oh well, I need to have some of that; let’s go then.” Archie nods his head
synopsis: momo notices you getting closer to jihyo, mentioning her name too often and hanging out with her every second of the day. so, she decides that you need to relearn who you belong to.
author’s note: thanks for the req! i hope you like it :D the ending could be a little better but im a little tired soorry
“my shoulders hurt,” you whine as you slump in your chair. you close the textbook in front of you and turn your head to the side in hopes of stretching your neck — only to wince at the burning pain in your muscles.
jihyo quickly gets up from the chair next to you and puts your hands on your shoulders. she circles the hard knots in your neck with her thumbs, squeezing and kneading in a way that feels so, so good. you can’t even stop the moan that slips past your lips.
“does it hurt too much?” jihyo asks in worry at the noise, stopping the movements of her hands.
“no no,” you blurt, just a beat too fast. “keep going, please.”
jihyo resumes, and you could feel your body relaxing under her touch. you eyes flutter shut at the relief, your eyes growing heavy when a familiar voice calls your name.
“y/n, i’ve called you 3 times! why didn’t you—”
momo freezes at the sight in front of her, her eyes narrowing at how intimate it all looks. you look far too relaxed for her liking, and the way jihyo’s hands touch your bare shoulders causes a hot flash of anger to run through her.
“mm what? oh momo, hi,” you say, your voice a bit dreamy. momo swallows hard as she walks towards you and the korean girl, trying to calm her thoughts.
“i called you so many times,” momo pouts, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ears. she feels the need to touch you more affectionately than jihyo, to make it clear that you belong to her and not anyone else.
“her phone is dead,” jihyo answers cooly for you. she’s still massaging your aching muscles, much to momo’s distaste.
“huh,” is all momo says, her gaze on the korean girl less than friendly. it’s sharp and hostile, but jihyo doesn’t seem to notice.
“yeah, it’s dead because someone made me take so many photos of her at the cafe,” you say, a teasing smile on your face. jihyo throws her head back to laugh.
“you offered!” jihyo retaliates, hitting your shoulder blade lightly. momo just looks back and forth between you and jihyo, confusion etched on her face. she doesn’t like how close the two of you seem, how easy it is for you to forget her presence in the company of jihyo.
“you’re still coming over tonight, right?” momo asks when you stop laughing. there’s a quiet desperation in her voice, a quiet pleading for you to turn your attention on her.
“oh, i mean—”
“but—”
you and jihyo talk over each other. momo’s brows furrow further, her insides twisting in an uncomfortable way.
“i don’t think i can today,” you say gently, as if your softening your tone will make the blow a little less painful. “i promised jihyo that i’d help her with her project tonight.”
jihyo, jihyo, jihyo. momo hates hearing her name come out of your mouth, how every sentence you say seems to mention her. she hates the smug look that jihyo sends her way, as if she’s won something. technically, she has — she’s won all your attention, every minute of your time.
momo just nods, afraid that words would betray her. she can feel her nails digging into her palm, her heart beating unevenly as your words ring in her brain. the way you said her name repeats in her mind like a mantra, over and over again like a punishment.
“maybe some other time,” jihyo says to momo, her voice not even a bit apologetic. “y/n, i think it’s time we head out. we have to walk all through campus to get to my dorm.”
you nod automatically at her words, as if you’re a puppy. momo has to bite back a scoff at how easily you start packing your belongings, not even shooting another glance at her.
“bye!” you say cheerfully. you wave quickly to the japanese girl before running to catch up with jihyo.
momo swears she sees red in her vision.
—
for the next few days, all momo hears out of your mouth is jihyo. jihyo this, jihyo that, something funny jihyo said. it drives her crazy.
momo tries to look interested when you retell a fascinating story that happened to jihyo. she nods along as you ramble, words flowing out of your mouth except for the occasional giggles.
“y/n,” momo says a bit seriously as soon as you finish talking. you take a sip of your iced coffee.
“yeah?”
“do you want to go to a party with me tomorrow?”
your eyes light up. “what? i’d love to — that sounds so fun!” you say enthusiastically. your eagerness makes her smile. she leans back into her chair, feeling a sense of accomplishment… that lasts for exactly 10 seconds.
“should i invite jihyo?”
momo’s smile drops slowly, her expression turning into disbelief. she’s about to scream ‘no’ when an idea pops up in her brain.
“sure, why not,” momo says calmly. her shoulders immediately relax as she develops her plan.
“great! let me text her real quick.”
you barely notice the way momo continues to look at you, how the gears in her mind turn.
—
“momo… wow, you look great,” you say in awe. the older girl has on a body-tight dress, black in color with very thin straps. her shorter hair is curled in loose waves, the same way you said looks good on her. you’re able to make out her rock-hard abs from how tight the dress is, and it only helps accentuate the swell of her chest.
“thanks, darling. you too.” momo drinks in your outfit, her gaze lingering a bit too long at certain places. you look down at the ground to avoid her stare.
“hey guys.”
“jihyo!” you immediately squeal, smiling as the girl approaches you. momo suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. you’d be rolling them for an entirely different reason soon anyways.
—
“what do you want to drink?” jihyo asks you, talking a bit louder to be heard over the music.
this time, momo actually does roll her eyes. if jihyo knew you at all, she’d know you didn’t drink. you had the worst tolerance of anyone she knew, barely able to handle just 2 shots of a drink.
“uhhh, i don’t really drink,” you say. momo feels immensely smug at your response. a mere “oh” is all jihyo has to say before walking to get herself a drink — she was an avid alcohol lover after all..
this is the moment momo has been waiting for, for the two of you to be alone.
“y/n,” momo whispers into the shell of your ear. you feel goosebumps rise at how close she is, so close that you can feel her body heat radiating off of her. “let’s go somewhere a little less loud, hmm?”
she grabs onto your arm and drags you into what you think is an empty bedroom.
“momo, are we even allowed to be—”
momo shushes you by putting a hand over your mouth. your eyes widen to look at her, surprised at the dark look in her eyes. she slowly starts to walk you backwards until the back of your knees hit the bed. she pushes you hard onto the mattress, and a gasp escapes your lips.
she flips you over onto your stomach with surprising force, her fingers trying to find the zipper to your dress. she roughly pulls it all the way down, leaving you bare in just your bra and underwear.
“do you know,” momo drawls as she runs a hand down your back. “how fucking infuriating it was to hear you talk about jihyo all week?”
you’re barely able to form any thoughts — momo’s low tone coupled with the movement of her hand makes your brain go to mush.
“was it on purpose?” momo continues asking, her voice husky and velvet. she unhooks your bra, and you feel a light shudder wreck through your body. she turns you over again, smirking a little at the sight of your bare chest — your nipples are already rock-hard.
“so fucking pretty,” momo says. her hands roughly grabs your breasts, squeezing them so hard that the sensation borders both pain and pleasure. a whimper slips past you, one that only seems to spur the japanese girl on.
“seems like you’ve forgotten who you belong to, hmm? guess i’ll just have to mark you up real good.”
momo latches her lips onto your neck, sucking hard against the delicate skin. your head falls back, providing more access of your nape to the older girl. she marks you without mercy, only stopping when she’s finished putting two red spots on your neck, placed high so that it can’t be covered by any piece of clothing.
after looking at the hickeys she made with satisfaction, she moves her hands down your body, stopping just at the top of your lacy black underwear. she yanks them down quickly, chuckling a little when she sees just how wet you are — your arousal continues to drip, some of it even getting on the bed below you. momo murmurs something under her breath while you continue to lie there, your pussy desperately clenching around nothing.
then, without any sort of warming, she slams two digits into you, her fingers sliding in with ease. something that resembles a strangled cry comes out of you — she’s going too fast, too rough. each thrust is full of force, one that you didn’t think she was capable of.
“you know, baby, im almost starting to think you did this on purpose. if you wanted me to fuck you stupid, why didn’t you just ask me?” momo says smugly amidst your string of curses and moans. you’re barely able to open your eyes, the pleasure dragging your eyelids down. your hands fist the sheets, trying to keep your body still against the strength that momo’s pushing inside of you.
“momo— f-fuck,” you gasp out when she fucks you even harder, so hard to the point you’re afraid you’ll walk with a limp tomorrow or not be able to walk at all. you can’t even control your moans anymore — they spill out of you raw and broken.
“you fucking asked for it, slut.”
the room is filled with the sound of your moaning and sex, the squelching sound as her fingers appear and disappear inside you.
suddenly, you hear a faint voice calling your name.
“y/n?”
it’s jihyo, her voice a little slurred at the edges. her voice makes you freeze, your entire body tense as you pray the door was locked in advance. your eyes widen when momo connects the dots as to who’s outside the door and thrusts even harder into you. you bite down into your lip hard to prevent any sound from escaping your lips, your hips arching erotically into the bed.
“y/nn? where are you?” jihyo calls again outside the door, completely oblivious to what’s truly happening inside the door right next to her.
“that’s it, baby. you like that, don’t you — knowing jihyo could walk in any moment to find you getting fucked like a slut, hmm? don’t bite your lips, darling. let her hear how well you’re taking my fingers.”
her words only spur you on further, your pussy gushing around her hand. despite her words, you try to stay quiet, doing everything you can to not let even a single syllable out. but everything feels too good, especially the way her fingers drag their length in and out of you. her fingers hit your g-spot each time with perfect precision. her other hand has a vice grip on your thigh, keeping your legs nice and open for her.
“mmmh, i– m-momo,” your eyes flutter to the back of your head, your hips moving erratically. you can feel the tight sensation in your lower stomach, and the delicious way your entire body buzzes with pleasure.
momo chuckles. “good girl, keep saying my name. say who you belong to.”
your climax hits you like a trainwreck, all at once. you scream her name as you cum, all thoughts about jihyo and the party long forgotten.
momo bites her lip as she stares at your ruined state. you look so vulnerable with your breathing still uneven, your body still splayed out in the position she fucked you in. your legs are limp against her, and your eyes remain closed from the overload of pleasure.
☆ | 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.
syn: Being TWICE’s unofficial “most popular couple” was funny at first. But when one variety show sends public speculation spiraling out of control, management forces you and Momo apart on camera, and suddenly the distance hurts a lot more than the jealousy ever did.
tags: possessive!hirai momo x fem!reader, idol au, 10th member!reader, secret relationship, established relationship, protective momo, angst with happy ending, hurt comfort
a/n: first time writing for twice, so i had to start with my bias ofc. much love xx
The livestream starts the way it always does—half-organized chaos, voices overlapping, someone off-camera arguing about snacks while the rest try to act like everything is under control. The camera settles into place in the living room, soft lighting washing over the couch where you and Momo are already sitting a little too comfortably together.
Not suspiciously.
Just… naturally close in a way that doesn’t need explaining anymore.
Your shoulder is pressed against hers, knees occasionally bumping when either of you shifts. Momo greets the camera with her usual bright energy—smiling, waving, playing it up for fans—but her hand is already there, lightly hooked into your sleeve like it forgot it had somewhere else to be.
You don’t move it.
Not yet, anyway.
Because you’re busy reading the chat, leaning forward with an amused grin as messages fly in faster than anyone can properly read.
“Why are there so many comments about me today?” you say, squinting at the screen. Then you laugh under your breath. “Oh my god—this one says, ‘You’re literally the reason I opened this livestream.’”
A couple members off-camera react instantly—someone yells something about ego, another voice tells you not to encourage them—but you’re already grinning like you’ve been handed entertainment for free.
And then, without thinking too much about it, you lean into it.
“Guys,” you say, turning slightly toward the camera, hand pressed lightly to your chest like you’re being personally victimized by the attention. “You only watch these because I’m attractive, right?”
It takes about half a second for the chat to completely detonate.
Messages flood in so fast the moderation can’t keep up. Someone screams off-camera. Someone else laughs so hard they nearly fall over. The energy in the room spikes instantly, loud and unfiltered and very, very aware of what you just said.
You lean back into the couch, satisfied, eyes still scanning the chaos you created like it’s mildly amusing background noise.
That’s when you feel it.
Momo’s fingers tighten slightly around your sleeve.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
But enough for you to register immediately.
You don’t look at her right away. Instead, you let the moment sit for a beat, watching her out of the corner of your eye.
She’s still smiling at the camera. Still playing her part. But something about her expression has shifted—just subtly enough that it’s almost easy to miss if you don’t know her. Her gaze keeps flicking back to you between reactions, like she’s trying to stay present in the livestream while also tracking everything you’re doing at the same time.
It’s kind of ridiculous.
Kind of cute.
You tilt your head slightly, like you’re thinking.
“What?” you ask innocently.
Momo doesn’t look at you immediately. “What what?”
“You’re quiet.”
“I’m not quiet.”
“You are,” you say, leaning in just a little more, voice softening into something teasing. “You’re, like… suspiciously quiet.”
That finally pulls her attention fully to you.
Momo turns her head slowly, eyes narrowing—not in anger, not really, but in that familiar way she gets when she knows exactly what you’re doing and hates that it’s working.
“You’re enjoying this too much,” she says flatly.
You blink like you’re offended. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
But before you can even finish the sentence properly, she shifts closer and tugs you into her side—casual on the surface, but firm enough that it cuts off any space you were trying to create for drama.
“No,” Momo adds, voice even, eyes back on the camera like nothing happened. “I’m not.”
Your smile widens immediately.
Behind you, one of the members makes a loud, unfiltered sound of disbelief.
Another voice yells, “YOU’RE SO OBVIOUS.”
Someone else starts laughing like they’re about to cry.
The chat is already clipping the moment in real time, captions forming instantly: MOMO JEALOUS? MOMO POSSESSIVE? MOMO VS EVERYONE?
You glance down at her hand still gripping your sleeve, then back up at her calm face.
Yeah.
This is going to be a problem.
And you are absolutely going to make it worse.
—
Backstage before a music show, everything feels like controlled chaos in the way it always does—stylists rushing in and out, outfit pieces hanging on racks, someone yelling for hairpins, someone else rehearsing steps in the corner even though the stage isn’t for another hour. It’s noisy, familiar, and completely normal for TWICE.
And right in the middle of it, you’re standing with Momo near the dressing table, half-listening to a conversation while scrolling through your phone like you don’t already know this is going to spiral.
It always does.
Sana walks in first, already smiling like she’s holding onto information she’s been waiting all day to release. She doesn’t even bother easing into it.
“So,” Sana says casually, dropping her bag onto the couch. “Y/N got asked for her number earlier.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Not long.
Just long enough for everyone’s brain to register what she said.
Then—Momo.
“What?” she says immediately.
It’s not loud, but it’s instant. Sharp. Too fast to be casual. Her head turns so quickly toward Sana that even the stylist behind her pauses mid-motion.
Sana’s smile widens.
“Oh? Why do you sound surprised?”
Momo doesn’t even blink. “By who?”
That one word lands like a switch flipping.
The entire room erupts.
Nayeon physically doubles over laughing, hands braced on her knees like she might collapse. Jeongyeon lets out a long, exhausted sigh like she’s been here too many times before and is no longer emotionally equipped to deal with it.
“This is why you can’t go anywhere,” Jeongyeon says flatly, pointing vaguely between you and Momo like she’s referencing an ongoing public safety issue.
Dahyun is already laughing into her phone, clearly recording something she’s not going to let die quietly. “No, no, keep going, I need this for later,” she says under her breath.
Chaeyoung is leaning against the wall, watching Momo like she’s observing a live documentary. “She didn’t even hesitate,” she mutters, impressed.
Tzuyu just shakes her head slowly, expression somewhere between amused and resigned.
Meanwhile, Momo is still staring at Sana, waiting for an answer she already hates.
Sana tilts her head. “Why? Are you worried?”
“I’m not worried,” Momo says immediately.
You can practically hear the lie.
You, on the other hand, are standing there watching all of this unfold like it’s entertainment you didn’t even have to pay for. You glance at Momo, then back at Sana, then very deliberately hum like you’re thinking about it.
“Oh yeah,” you say lightly. “He was cute.”
That does it.
Momo turns to you so fast she nearly knocks into the makeup table.
“Who was cute?” she asks.
Your expression stays perfectly innocent. “The guy who asked.”
Sana makes a noise like she’s about to lose her mind. “Oh my god.”
Jeongyeon is openly laughing now. “Yeah, okay, she’s doing it on purpose.”
“I’m not doing anything,” you say, shrugging.
Momo is staring at you like she’s trying to decide if she should be offended or just accept reality and move on. She clearly chooses neither.
Instead, she reaches for your wrist.
It’s not aggressive.
It’s familiar.
Effortless.
Like she’s done it a hundred times in rooms like this and stopped thinking about whether anyone’s watching.
She tugs you closer without looking away from you. “What did he say to you?”
“He asked a question,” you say, smiling faintly.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It was a pretty normal question.”
Nayeon gasps dramatically. “She’s gaslighting her own girlfriend on camera levels of insane right now.”
“I’m not gaslighting anyone,” you say, laughing now.
But you don’t move away from Momo’s grip.
If anything, you lean into it slightly, like you’re letting her hold you there while you enjoy the reactions around you.
Sana watches the whole thing unfold like she’s watching a soap opera. “Honestly,” she says, “this is getting worse every day.”
“It is not getting worse,” Momo says instantly.
Jeongyeon raises an eyebrow. “You just grabbed her wrist in a room full of stylists because someone asked her a question.”
Momo pauses.
“…That’s not what happened.”
Dahyun, still filming, whispers loudly, “That’s exactly what happened.”
You laugh under your breath and glance toward another idol walking past the dressing area—someone from a different group who greets you politely. You brighten instantly, smiling a little more than necessary.
“Oh hey,” you say, lifting a hand in greeting. “You did really well last stage.”
It’s harmless. Normal industry interaction.
But you feel Momo’s hand tighten around your wrist again before you even finish the sentence.
Not enough to hurt.
Just enough to remind you she’s there.
You glance back at her, amused.
She’s still facing forward, expression neutral, but her thumb is now absentmindedly brushing against your skin like she forgot she was doing it.
Sana notices immediately and leans toward Nayeon. “She’s going to explode one day.”
“She already is,” Nayeon whispers back, still recording.
You turn your attention back to Momo, tilting your head slightly.
“What?” you ask softly.
Momo doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she shifts closer, tugging you just enough that your shoulder bumps into hers. Then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, she leans her head down and rests her chin on your shoulder.
Possessive.
Comfortable.
Completely unbothered by the chaos around her.
“She’s doing it again,” Jeongyeon says, pointing like she’s narrating a wildlife documentary.
Sana grins. “Let her cook.”
You let out a small laugh, glancing down at Momo resting against you like she belongs there.
Yeah.
Everyone knows.
And nobody is helping.
The dorm is louder than usual for a night where nothing is technically happening.
It starts with someone (Dahyun, obviously) saying, “Wait, you guys have to see this,” in the exact tone that guarantees peace is about to be destroyed. Within seconds, everyone is crowded around the living room TV, phones already mirrored, snacks forgotten on the table, the lights dimmed just enough to make the glow of the screen feel like a whole event.
You’re sitting on the couch with your legs tucked under you.
Momo is right next to you, not touching at first—key word: at first—but close enough that her knee keeps brushing yours every time she shifts. She’s pretending to scroll on her phone like she’s not interested, which is already how you know she’s absolutely interested.
Sana is the one who casts it to the TV.
“This is the fan edit compilation,” she announces, far too excited. “It’s been trending all day.”
Jeongyeon immediately groans. “We’re doing this again?”
“Yes,” Sana says simply.
The video starts.
And it’s already a mistake.
First clip: a slowed-down moment from a music show where Momo is looking at you from across the stage. The editor has zoomed in so far you can see the exact second her eyes shift from neutral to soft.
Text appears on screen:
Momo looks at her like she already lost her in another life.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Nayeon bursts out laughing.
“Oh my god,” she says, pointing at the screen. “Why is it edited like a movie trailer?”
You’re already trying not to laugh, hand over your mouth.
Momo doesn’t react outwardly.
But her phone screen tilts slightly downward.
Second clip: backstage footage. You’re talking to another idol, smiling politely, nothing unusual. The camera cuts to Momo in the background watching you.
The editor has added dramatic music.
Text:
Either they’re dating or Momo is clinically insane.
Jeongyeon snorts. “I mean… they’re not wrong.”
“I’m right here,” Momo says flatly.
Nobody acknowledges that.
The next clip hits.
It’s a compilation of Momo pulling you closer in different settings—stage, interviews, backstage corridors. Each moment is slowed, zoomed, color-graded like a romance film.
Sana leans forward. “This is actually insane editing.”
Dahyun is already crying laughing. “Wait, wait, it gets better.”
The screen flashes again.
Now it’s just eye contact edits.
You looking at Momo.
Momo looking at you.
Cut.
Reverse.
Zoom.
Slow motion.
Heartbeat sound effect added for no reason whatsoever.
A caption appears:
Momo never looks away first.
You cover your face fully now, shoulders shaking.
“Oh my god,” you manage through laughter. “Stop, this is too much.”
“It’s accurate though,” Sana says brightly.
Momo finally speaks again, still not looking directly at the TV. “It’s not accurate.”
Nobody hears her.
Or pretends not to.
The next edit is the worst one yet.
It’s a compilation labeled:
Momo being possessive for 8 minutes straight (unintentional confirmation)
It starts with her grabbing your wrist during a broadcast.
Then pulling you behind her backstage.
Then resting her head on your shoulder during a livestream.
Each moment is slowed slightly more than the last, like the editor is personally invested in your downfall.
Jeongyeon leans back on the couch. “This is why I say we need a company therapist.”
“I don’t need a therapist,” Momo says.
Dahyun clicks her tongue. “This one says—” she squints at her phone dramatically, “—‘Momo acts like a divorced husband who still thinks she owns the house.’”
You lose it completely.
You’re laughing so hard you have to lean forward, hands on your knees, trying not to fall off the couch. “No—no that’s insane—”
Sana is wheezing. Nayeon is wiping tears from her eyes. Chaeyoung is just shaking her head like she’s seen too much in life to be surprised anymore.
Even Tzuyu has that small, quiet smile she gets when things are absurd enough to bypass her usual calm.
Momo, meanwhile, has gone very still.
Her phone is now face-down on the table.
She’s staring at the TV like she’s considering legally disputing the entire internet.
“It’s not funny,” she says again, but this time it’s quieter.
But the problem is—it is funny.
Because the next clip is a zoomed-in moment of her staring at you mid-interview with an expression so openly soft it looks staged.
Sana points at the screen. “That one’s criminal.”
“That one’s edited,” Momo insists immediately.
Jeongyeon raises an eyebrow. “You think they edited your eyeballs?”
“They enhanced it,” Momo corrects.
Dahyun laughs harder. “Enhanced your feelings?”
“I don’t have feelings in edits,” she says.
You finally sit back up, still laughing, wiping at your eyes. You glance at her phone—just for a second—and catch it.
The screen is open.
Not on the group chat.
Not on anything normal.
It’s on the fan account.
She’s scrolling.
Very slowly.
Very carefully.
Like she’s pretending she’s not doing exactly what everyone is accusing her of doing.
You tilt your head slightly, still smiling.
“Are you reading them?” you ask quietly.
Momo doesn’t look at you immediately.
“…No.”
Sana leans over dramatically. “She is absolutely reading them.”
“I’m not,” Momo says again, but her thumb moves anyway.
You don’t say anything else.
Just lean back into the couch again, biting back another laugh as the next edit starts playing.
And somewhere between the chaos of laughter, teasing, and fan-made evidence of your entire relationship being unintentionally documented—Momo’s phone brightness dips slightly lower.
Like she’s trying to hide it.
Like it matters.
Like everyone in this room doesn’t already know exactly what she’s doing.
—
The studio lights for the variety show feel harsher than usual—brighter, louder, more chaotic in that way where everything is designed to look effortless but clearly isn’t. The stage is set up in a circular layout, cameras already rolling as staff guide everyone into their positions. TWICE is seated together at first, but it doesn’t last long. It never does on these mixed-group episodes.
“Okay, today we have special guests!” the MC announces, voice booming through the set.
A round of applause fills the room as LE SSERAFIM walks in.
The energy immediately shifts.
They greet everyone politely, smiling, bowing, the kind of practiced professionalism that still manages to feel natural. You stand with your group, clapping along, and you can already feel the atmosphere tightening in a way that has nothing to do with cameras.
Because you feel it before you even look.
Momo is staring.
Not in a subtle way either.
It’s immediate. Locked in. Quietly focused like she’s trying to calculate every possible outcome of the next hour and disliking all of them equally.
You don’t react yet.
You just follow the introductions, smiling when needed, clapping when expected. Everything is normal on the surface.
Then the MC starts assigning pair games.
“Alright! For today’s first segment, we’ll be pairing members across groups for the teamwork challenge!”
You already know where this is going before they even finish speaking.
The staff starts calling names.
And of course—of course—You get paired with her.
One of the LE SSERAFIM members steps forward. Yunjin. She’s charismatic in a way that doesn’t feel forced, the kind of presence that naturally pulls attention without trying too hard. Bright energy, easy smile, the type of person who makes variety shows feel like they’re actually fun instead of just work.
She bows slightly when she reaches you. “Nice to meet you!”
You return it easily. “Nice to meet you too.”
It starts normal.
It stays normal for maybe ten seconds.
Then the game begins.
And she’s… good at this.
Not in a competitive, aggressive way. In a playful, teasing, variety-show-professional way. She laughs easily at your jokes, leans in when you explain something, mirrors your reactions like she’s matching your rhythm on purpose.
The cameras love it.
The MC loves it.
The production team definitely loves it.
You’re aware of it, of course—you’re not oblivious. It’s just part of the job, part of the energy you’re supposed to match.
Still, you can feel it.
Momo.
You don’t even need to look directly to know.
She’s gone still in her seat.
Completely still.
No tapping fingers. No bouncing knee. No playful reactions to the MC. Just… watching.
You finally glance over.
Bad idea.
Momo’s expression is calm.
Too calm.
The kind of calm that means something is actively being restrained behind it.
Her eyes flick from you to Yunjin standing beside you, then back again, like she’s trying to convince herself this is normal variety show behavior and failing on every loop.
The MC calls for the first mini-task.
You and Yunjin step forward.
She laughs lightly at something you say, bumping your shoulder playfully as you move into position. It’s harmless. Completely harmless.
You know it.
She knows it.
The audience knows it.
But Momo’s jaw tightens anyway.
You notice.
Of course you notice.
And instead of correcting it, instead of dialing anything back, something in you just… tilts.
A little smile pulls at your lips.
You don’t even fully think about it.
You just enjoy it.
The fact that she’s watching.
The fact that she’s reacting.
The fact that she always reacts.
You glance back at Momo again mid-game.
This time, your smile widens slightly.
Not obvious enough for the cameras to flag it as anything unusual.
But enough for her to see.
And the moment she sees it—her expression changes.
Just barely.
Her eyes narrow slightly, like she’s trying to decide if you’re doing this on purpose.
You absolutely are.
Yunjin says something joking again, lightly nudging you as part of the game, and you laugh. Not exaggerated. Not fake.
Just… easy.
Comfortable.
Momo’s fingers curl subtly against her own palm.
Sana, sitting nearby, notices immediately. She leans slightly toward Nayeon and whispers something, clearly entertained. Nayeon follows Momo’s line of sight, takes one look at her face, and nearly breaks character laughing into her hand.
Jeongyeon sighs quietly. “Here we go.”
Tzuyu just watches, calm as ever, but there’s a faint hint of amusement in her expression.
Meanwhile, you continue the game like nothing is happening.
You answer questions. You move through the segment. You keep your tone light, professional, perfectly in control.
Except every so often—you look back.
Just briefly.
Just enough.
And every time you do, Momo looks more irritated.
Not openly.
Not enough for the cameras to pin down.
But enough that anyone who knows her would recognize it instantly.
Possessive. Focused. Trying not to react and failing in real time.
The MC calls out another prompt, and your partner laughs again, stepping closer to you for the next part of the game. You adjust naturally, continuing the flow.
It’s nothing.
It’s literally nothing.
But when you glance back this time, Momo has shifted in her seat.
Slightly forward.
Eyes locked.
Expression unreadable now in a way that somehow feels louder than anything else in the room.
And then—you smile again.
Not big.
Not dramatic.
Just that same small, amused curve of your lips like you’re watching something only you fully understand.
That’s what does it.
Momo exhales slowly through her nose, almost like she’s trying to physically restrain herself from reacting on camera.
Sana covers her mouth.
Nayeon whispers, “Oh she’s mad mad.”
Jeongyeon mutters, “Why does she look like she’s about to file a complaint.”
Tzuyu quietly adds, “This is going to get worse.”
And it does.
Because you don’t stop smiling.
Not even once.
Not until the segment ends and the MC calls for a break—and Momo is already standing before anyone else can even move.
The set is still buzzing—cameras repositioning, staff adjusting lighting, the MC chatting with guests while producers whisper into headsets. It should feel casual, but there’s a thread of tension now that wasn’t there before. Not loud enough for most people to name it, but definitely present.
You can feel it most clearly when you’re not even trying to look for it.
Momo is sitting a little too upright.
Not in her usual relaxed way. Not in her joking, playful way. It’s controlled. Focused. Like she’s actively managing her reactions instead of just existing in them.
You’re standing a few steps away with the LE SSERAFIM member you were paired with earlier. She’s still in good spirits, laughing lightly as she chats with you while waiting for the next segment cue.
It’s normal.
It should be normal.
But the moment another idol from the guest lineup walks past and casually joins the conversation, everything shifts again.
—
He’s polite at first—just stopping to say something friendly, the way staff do when they’re moving between segments. “You were really good earlier,” he says to you with a smile. “That game was funny.”
You smile back automatically. “Thanks, it was fun.”
Kazuha laughs beside you, adding something light, and the conversation stays easy for a few seconds.
Then the staff member looks at you again.
“You’re really good at reacting on camera,” he says, tone still casual. “It makes everything more entertaining.”
It’s harmless. A compliment. Something that would usually pass without issue.
But before you can respond—Momo appears.
Just steps into the edge of the conversation like she’s been there the entire time and simply decided to become visible again.
“Oh,” she says, tone smooth, almost too smooth. “We were talking about reactions?”
The shift is immediate.
Even the other staff members nearby glance over.
The staff member blinks, slightly thrown. “Yeah, I just said she’s really good at—”
“I know,” Momo cuts in, still smiling faintly, but her eyes are locked on him now. “She’s been like that.”
There’s a beat.
You glance at her.
She doesn’t look at you.
Not directly.
But she’s close enough that her shoulder nearly brushes yours, like she didn’t fully plan where she stopped walking.
The staff laughs awkwardly, stepping back half a step. “Right, yeah. She’s really popular.”
“Yeah,” Momo says simply.
And that’s it.
Conversation over.
He leaves shortly after, clearly sensing the shift.
You watch him go, then slowly turn your head toward Momo.
She’s already looking forward again like nothing happened.
—
The next segment starts almost too quickly, like the show is trying to outrun whatever shift just happened.
The MC claps his hands together, voice bright again. “Alright! Time for our teamwork challenge!”
There’s a forced reset in energy—everyone straightens up, smiles back into place, cameras re-adjusting focus. You move automatically into position with your assigned pair again, rolling your shoulders slightly like you’re shaking off the tension from before.
You try to reset with it.
You really do.
Yunjin is still easy to talk to, still light and friendly, and for a few seconds, it actually works. You laugh at something she says, step into position for the game, let the atmosphere carry you forward.
It almost feels normal again.
Almost.
Then the MC announces the rules, and everyone is instructed to move into closer pairs for the next physical portion of the game—simple coordination, nothing serious, just timed movement and reaction tasks designed to be chaotic for camera.
You don’t think much of it.
Until she does it.
Yunjin steps closer during the setup, laughing lightly as she adjusts her position beside you. “Is this okay?” she asks, already half in character for the game, clearly trying to make it entertaining.
You nod, smiling. “Yeah, we’re good.”
She laughs again, and in a casual, playful motion—clearly part of the variety show energy—she hooks her arm through yours.
It’s not intimate.
It’s not meaningful.
It’s literally just for the game.
You don’t even have time to fully process it before the MC starts counting down.
“Ready—three, two—”
You shift your weight slightly, preparing to move with her.
And then—it happens.
Out of nowhere, Momo is there.
Not rushing.
Not storming.
Just appearing in your space like she decided distance was optional.
Her hand closes around your wrist.
Firm.
Instant.
And she pulls.
Not harsh enough to hurt.
Not aggressive.
But absolutely unmistakable.
You’re pulled a half-step out of alignment mid-conversation, your body turning slightly as the momentum shifts. The idol’s arm slips away from yours in surprise, her expression flickering into confusion as the timing of the game collapses for a second.
Everything stalls.
Even the MC pauses mid-sentence.
The camera doesn’t know where to go.
The set feels like it collectively holds its breath.
You blink, caught completely off guard, looking up at Momo.
“What—” you start, but it doesn’t fully come out.
Momo is already looking at you.
Not at the cameras.
Not at the game.
Just you.
Her grip is still there on your wrist, but she doesn’t pull again. She just… stops. Like she only just realizes she’s done it in front of everyone.
For a split second, her expression flickers.
Not panic exactly.
But recognition.
Oh.
Shit.
The silence stretches just long enough for it to become noticeable.
Yunjin lets out a small, awkward laugh, clearly trying to recover the moment for the sake of the show. “Ah—sorry, I think I moved too fast,” she says quickly, stepping back and lifting her hands slightly like she’s smoothing it over.
The MC laughs a little too loudly. “Ahh, teamwork confusion! That’s what we like!”
It’s forced.
Everyone knows it.
But it’s enough to keep the segment alive.
Barely.
You don’t move your wrist out of Momo’s hand immediately.
You just look at her.
And for once, she doesn’t have a comeback ready.
She finally lets go—slowly, like she’s consciously making the decision to release you rather than being forced to.
Her hand drops to her side.
The space between you feels heavier than it should.
The game restarts, but something is already broken in the rhythm. The MC continues speaking, trying to push forward, but the energy on set has changed completely.
You step back into position with your partner, adjusting your posture like nothing happened.
But now you’re aware of everything.
The cameras.
The staff.
The silence that didn’t used to be there.
And especially Momo.
Because she’s standing slightly behind you now, not touching, not speaking, but completely still in a way that feels louder than anything else in the room.
Even when the MC laughs again.
Even when the game resumes.
Even when everyone pretends it didn’t just happen—you can still feel it.
The moment she pulled you out of it.
And the second she realized she did it in front of everyone.
The second the cameras cut, everything changes like someone flipped a switch.
One moment you’re still in performance mode—lights, microphones, the MC’s voice bouncing off the set—and the next, it’s just noise without structure. Crew members move in practiced chaos, chairs scrape, someone laughs too loudly to reset the mood, and the MC keeps talking like nothing happened even though everyone felt it.
But you’re already moving.
You don’t wait for cues. You don’t wait for permission. You step off the set with quick, sharp movements, the kind that say you’re trying not to think too hard about what just happened.
Momo follows.
Not immediately.
But she does.
And that somehow makes it worse.
The backstage hallway is dimmer, quieter, lined with cables, equipment cases, and the occasional staff member walking past with a headset on. The noise from the stage becomes muffled behind thick walls, like it belongs to a different world entirely.
You stop near a corner where it’s a little more open, turning around sharply.
Momo almost runs into you.
She stops just in time.
For a second, neither of you speak.
Then
“What was that?” you ask.
Your voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be. It lands anyway.
Momo exhales through her nose, like she already knows she’s about to lose this conversation but is too stubborn to step back from it. “What.”
“That,” you repeat, gesturing vaguely behind you, back toward the stage. “The pulling me out mid-game thing.”
Her expression tightens immediately.
Defensive.
Instant.
“She was flirting with you the whole time,” Momo says, like that explains everything.
You blink at her.
Once.
Then again.
And for a second, you almost laugh, but it doesn’t come out right. It catches in your throat instead.
“It was for the show,” you say, slower now. Controlled. Trying not to let irritation slip through too early.
Momo shakes her head. “That doesn’t matter.”
“It kind of does,” you reply, sharper this time.
There’s a pause.
A real one.
Not the kind you get on camera for dramatic effect.
The kind that sits between people when something is starting to crack.
Momo looks at you like she’s trying to decide whether she’s justified or just angry. Her hands flex slightly at her sides, like she’s holding herself back from doing something instinctive again.
“You were flirting back,” she says.
That makes you stop.
Fully.
You stare at her for a second, like you’re trying to understand if she actually believes that or if she just said it because it sounded easier than everything else.
Then you let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.
Not amused.
Not playful.
Just sharp around the edges.
“Because that’s my job,” you say.
Momo doesn’t respond immediately, but her jaw tightens.
That doesn’t stop her.
“You seemed pretty into it,” she says anyway.
And that—that’s what shifts everything.
It’s not loud.
It’s not dramatic.
It’s small.
But it lands wrong.
Like a misstep on stairs you didn’t realize were uneven until you’re already falling forward.
You stop completely.
The hallway feels quieter suddenly. Or maybe it always was, and you’re just noticing it now.
You look at her properly.
No smile this time.
No teasing.
Just you, trying to process what she actually meant.
“…Seriously?” you ask.
Your voice is quieter than before.
Momo doesn’t answer right away.
Maybe she realizes it late. Maybe she doesn’t. Either way, she stands there with her shoulders tense, chin slightly raised like she’s bracing for impact but refusing to soften first.
You nod slowly once, like something in your head just locked into place.
“Okay,” you say.
Momo’s brows knit slightly. “What does that mean?”
You don’t answer.
Instead, you take a step back.
It’s small.
But it changes the space instantly.
No touching. No closeness. No accidental brushing of shoulders or shared breathing space.
Just distance.
And for the first time all day, Momo doesn’t immediately close it.
You look at her for a second longer, then turn.
And walk.
Momo reacts immediately.
“Hey,” she calls after you, voice sharper now. “Where are you going?”
You don’t stop.
Not even slightly.
That’s what makes her follow a few steps automatically—then hesitate. Then stop again. Then move forward again like she’s arguing with herself while you keep walking.
“Wait,” she says again, less sharp this time. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Still no response.
You keep going.
The hallway stretches longer than it should feel, staff passing occasionally but not interfering. Everyone is used to idol arguments that flare up and disappear within minutes. This doesn’t feel like one of those.
Momo slows down behind you.
You can hear her footsteps stop and start again, like she can’t decide whether pride or instinct is winning. She’s close enough that you know she’s still there, but far enough that she isn’t reaching for you anymore.
And that difference matters more than anything she said.
“You’re taking it too seriously,” she says finally, quieter now, like she’s trying to recalibrate.
That makes you pause for half a beat.
But you don’t turn around.
Because if you do, you’re not sure what expression will be on your face.
And that feels worse than walking away.
“I’m not,” you say, still facing forward.
It comes out flat.
Not angry.
Just done trying to explain.
Behind you, Momo exhales sharply.
Frustrated.
You hear her shift her weight, like she takes one step forward, then stops herself.
Then another.
Then nothing.
Silence stretches between you in the hallway, broken only by distant production noise and footsteps from crew members further down the corridor.
Momo speaks again, but softer this time.
“I didn’t like how it looked.”
You don’t respond.
She continues anyway.
“I didn’t like her touching you like that.”
That part is honest.
You know it is.
But it doesn’t fix the earlier sentence.
Not even close.
You finally stop walking, but you still don’t turn around.
For a second, neither of you speaks.
Then you exhale slowly.
“…You don’t get to decide what I’m okay with on camera,” you say quietly.
It’s not loud.
But it’s final in a way that makes the air feel heavier.
Momo goes still behind you.
You wait a moment.
She doesn’t respond.
Doesn’t move closer.
Doesn’t argue back.
And that silence—that’s the first time all day it doesn’t feel funny, or edited, or something that will get clipped into a compilation later.
It just feels real.
And unresolved.
You start walking again.
This time, Momo doesn’t follow immediately.
She stays where she is.
And when she finally speaks, it’s too quiet to be anything but honest.
“…I messed up.”
But you’re already too far down the hallway to answer.
—
The first sign that something has shifted isn’t a conversation.
It’s silence.
Not the kind you get backstage or between segments, but the kind that fills your phone screen before you even fully unlock it. Notifications stacking faster than you can read them. Names you don’t recognize tagging you in posts you didn’t ask to see.
At first, it’s normal fan content.
Then it isn’t.
You’re sitting in the dorm common room when Sana quietly says, “Uh… guys?”
That alone is enough to make everyone look up.
She’s holding her phone a little too still.
Nayeon leans over immediately. “What is it?”
Sana doesn’t answer right away. She just turns the screen.
It’s a trending post.
Not a fan edit.
A discussion thread.
The title alone makes the room shift:
“Are we sure there isn’t something going on between Momo and [you]?”
Jeongyeon reads it once and exhales through her nose. “Oh no.”
Dahyun, already scrolling on her own phone, makes a sound like she’s seen something worse. “It’s not just one.”
That’s when it spreads.
Not like gossip.
Like a system overload.
Clips start appearing everywhere at once. Not just edited fan compilations anymore, but raw footage reposted by accounts (most likely staff leaks) with thousands of retweets.
The first clip:
Momo pulling you out mid-game.
Slow motion.
Zoomed in.
Captioned: “Why did she react like that?”
Second clip:
Momo staring at you during the variety show, expression unreadable.
Third:
Momo interrupting your conversation backstage with another idol.
Fourth:
Her hand on your wrist. Again. And again. And again.
Different angles. Different days. Same pattern.
It stops being framed as cute.
It stops being framed as a ship.
It starts being framed as behavior.
You watch it all in silence.
So does everyone else.
Sana stops laughing at some point.
Nayeon puts her phone down first. “Okay… this is getting big.”
Jeongyeon scrolls further, jaw tightening slightly. “There are articles now.”
That’s the worst part.
Articles.
Not fandom jokes.
Not edits.
Actual write-ups.
“Fans Notice Repeated Interactions Between TWICE Members and Guest Idols.”
“Is There Unusual Tension Between Certain Idols During Recent Broadcast?”
“Body Language Sparks Speculation Among Viewers.”
It’s vague.
Careful.
Still enough to feel like a spotlight turning toward something it shouldn’t.
Dahyun goes quieter. “Management is going to hate this.”
And she’s right.
Because by the next morning, they already do.
The meeting room feels too small for how many people are inside it.
Management staff sit across from the members in a line that feels too formal for something that isn’t technically a disciplinary issue—but still somehow feels like one. The table between everyone is polished to the point of reflection, like it’s designed to make you aware of every expression you don’t manage well enough.
You sit straight.
Calm face.
Hands folded loosely.
Beside you, Momo is the opposite of calm—but not in a loud way.
She’s still.
Too still.
The manager clears his throat, sliding a tablet forward. “We need to address something that has started circulating from the last broadcast.”
No one interrupts.
He taps the screen.
Clips appear.
One after another.
You recognize them immediately.
The arm grab.
The interruption.
The moment in the hallway that was never supposed to be seen.
Each clip is paired with comments underneath.
Screenshots of tweets.
Forum posts.
Breakdowns of “body language analysis” that feel too detailed for comfort.
The manager doesn’t exaggerate it. That somehow makes it worse.
“This is becoming a pattern viewers are noticing,” he continues. “We are getting questions from production teams and partner shows about… behavior consistency on camera.”
The manager continues, more carefully now. “At this stage, it’s not about intent. It’s about perception.”
That word lands heavily.
Perception.
He looks up. “We need adjustments moving forward. You will not be seated together during interviews or live segments for the time being. We will also adjust pairing arrangements for variety appearances.”
There’s a pause after that.
A real one.
Not awkward.
Heavy.
You nod first.
Not because you agree emotionally.
But because you understand what he’s saying.
“Okay,” you say quietly.
Simple.
Controlled.
Momo doesn’t respond immediately.
When she does, it’s smaller than usual. “How long?”
The manager hesitates. “Until things stabilize.”
That doesn’t answer anything.
But it’s enough.
You glance sideways.
Momo is staring at the table now.
Not angry.
Not defensive.
Just… still.
Like the words landed harder than she expected, even though she’s the one who caused most of the moments being shown.
The manager continues, softer now. “We’re not saying you did anything wrong individually. But together, the public perception is becoming… difficult to manage.”
Difficult to manage.
Not wrong.
Not scandalous.
Just… noticeable.
That somehow feels worse.
And you—you stay calm.
On the outside.
Because that’s the only thing you can do in this room.
But when you glance at Momo again, something shifts slightly in your chest.
Because she isn’t looking at anyone else.
Not the manager.
Not the screen.
Not even the clips anymore.
Just the table.
And her hands are clenched lightly together in her lap.
Not angry.
Not argumentative.
Not even confused.
Just… aware.
Like she understands.
Not just what’s being said.
But why.
And that’s the part that sits wrong.
Because Momo has never been someone who reacts like this.
She usually pushes back.
Argues.
Laughs it off.
Deflects.
But now she doesn’t.
She just sits there, absorbing every word like she already knows she’s not winning this one.
The manager finishes speaking. “For now, we’ll implement the separation starting immediately. It’s temporary, but necessary.”
You nod again.
Momo doesn’t.
Not at first.
Then, quietly
“…Okay.”
It’s not resistance.
It’s not acceptance either.
It’s something in between.
And when the meeting finally ends, and everyone stands up slowly, you feel it before anything else.
The space.
The distance that didn’t exist yesterday.
Now official.
Now real.
—
The second interview is even more structured than the first.
Different day. Different studio. Different lighting setup. Cleaner schedule, tighter timing—everything designed to feel controlled, like nothing messy can slip through the cracks if the production is careful enough.
But the first thing you notice when you walk in is still the same problem.
The seating arrangement.
There’s a row of chairs angled toward the MC, name cards placed neatly in front of each one. You find yours automatically, walking toward it with the kind of practiced calm that makes it look like you’re not thinking about anything at all.
But you are.
Because the chair beside you is empty.
Again.
And across the set—far enough that it feels deliberate, close enough that it still registers every time you look up—Momo is being guided into her own seat with the rest of the lineup.
Not next to you.
Not even near you.
You sit down carefully, adjusting your posture, smoothing your outfit, all those small things that make you look like you’re fully present.
But your attention is already split.
The MC starts the segment, voice bright and rehearsed. “Welcome back to our special collaboration episode!”
Applause.
Smiles.
The usual rhythm.
You follow it like muscle memory.
Answer when prompted. Laugh when appropriate. Nod when the camera pans slightly in your direction.
But it’s all happening with a thin awareness at the back of your mind.
Momo isn’t looking at you.
Not yet.
She’s listening to the MC, posture upright, hands folded loosely in front of her. Professional. Controlled. Nothing unusual from the outside.
But you notice things now that you didn’t use to notice so sharply.
Like how she doesn’t lean slightly toward you when the MC says something funny.
Like how she doesn’t glance your way during pauses.
Like how her reactions are delayed by half a second, as if she’s thinking before she allows herself to respond.
The MC asks a question that involves the whole group.
You answer first.
Then someone else.
Then Momo.
Her voice is steady. Nothing off. Nothing that would raise suspicion on its own.
But when she finishes speaking, she doesn’t look at you.
Not even briefly.
You feel it immediately.
That small internal pause you keep having to ignore.
You shift slightly in your seat without thinking.
Then stop yourself halfway through the movement.
Because there’s no reason for it anymore.
The MC laughs at something another guest says, and the group follows. You smile along, but your eyes flick sideways anyway.
Just once.
Across the set, Momo is sitting exactly where she was placed.
Not moving closer.
Not adjusting toward you.
Not reacting to your presence the way she used to without thinking about it.
And the strangest part is how intentional it feels now.
Like everything she does is being filtered through awareness instead of instinct.
You look forward again quickly.
The interview continues.
Questions about the show. About teamwork. About filming moments. Light topics. Safe topics. Nothing that should make the air feel heavy.
But it does anyway.
Because every gap between questions is filled with what isn’t happening.
No whispered comments.
No shared reactions.
No leaning slightly toward each other when something funny is said.
Just two separate people in the same space doing the same job.
At one point, the MC jokes about variety show moments, and the room laughs.
You laugh too.
But your eyes still drift.
And when they do, you catch Momo already looking forward again, expression neutral, like she never looked at you at all.
That’s new.
That’s what feels off.
The interview moves toward its final segment, a group question where everyone answers briefly one by one. You go through it smoothly, voice steady, hands relaxed even though your attention keeps slipping in ways you don’t let show.
When it’s Momo’s turn, she answers clearly. No hesitation. No awkwardness. No visible tension.
But again—no glance toward you afterward.
Not even the smallest one.
The MC wraps things up with a bright smile. “Thank you everyone for joining us today!”
Applause rises again.
The chairs shift as everyone prepares to stand.
This is usually where things blur into backstage noise, casual movement, small laughter on the way out.
But today, there’s a strange coordination to it.
Everyone stands.
You stand.
Momo stands.
No one moves toward anyone else.
No accidental pauses.
No shared exits.
Just clean separation.
You walk off first with your group.
Momo follows with hers.
And for once, even when your paths cross briefly behind the cameras, there’s no instinctive turning of heads.
No reaching.
No hesitation.
Just distance maintained exactly the way it was planned.
Later, back at the dorm, the silence feels different again.
Not heavy.
Not dramatic.
Just… careful.
You’re sitting on the couch with your phone, half watching something, half pretending to be distracted enough that you’re not thinking about anything else.
Momo is there too.
Same room.
Same space.
But not the same rhythm anymore.
She sits a little farther than she used to without noticing, like her body has learned a new boundary it didn’t ask for.
At one point, you shift slightly on the couch—small, unconscious movement, the kind you would normally make without thinking.
Usually, that would be enough.
Usually, she would adjust instantly.
Not dramatically. Not noticeably.
Just closer.
But this time—she doesn’t move.
You pause for a second.
Look down at your phone again.
Then, without meaning to, you glance at her.
She’s still there.
Still present.
Still Momo.
But her hands are in her lap, unmoving, like she’s actively keeping them from doing something they used to do without permission.
And you realize, slowly, that this is what the separation actually did.
Not just distance in interviews.
Not just camera rules.
But the loss of something automatic.
Something neither of you had to think about before.
And now both of you are thinking about it constantly.
—
You don’t know exactly why you’re awake—maybe habit, maybe overthinking—but you step out into the common area anyway, expecting nothing.
Just darkness.
Maybe the faint glow of a night lamp.
Instead, you find Momo.
She’s sitting on the couch.
Alone.
No phone in her hand. No headphones. No TV flicker. Nothing pulling her attention anywhere else. Just her, knees drawn up slightly, elbows resting loosely, staring at nothing in particular like she’s been sitting there for a while.
That alone makes you slow down.
Because it’s not like her.
Not anymore.
You hesitate in the doorway for a second before stepping in quietly.
The floor creaks softly under your weight.
Momo hears it immediately.
She looks up.
There’s no surprise on her face. Just awareness. Like she knew you were going to show up eventually, but didn’t know when.
You don’t sit right away.
You just stand there for a second, taking her in.
She looks… tired in a way that isn’t physical.
Not exhausted from schedules or filming.
Just mentally worn down.
Finally, you sit at the opposite end of the couch—not far, but not close either. The space between you feels noticeable even though it shouldn’t.
For a moment, neither of you speaks.
The silence isn’t uncomfortable exactly.
But it’s full.
After a while, Momo exhales slowly through her nose.
“I know I made things harder,” she says.
Her voice is quieter than usual. Not weak—just stripped down. Honest in a way she doesn’t usually let herself be in front of anyone else.
You look at her immediately.
That hits differently than anything else today.
Because she’s not arguing.
Not defending.
Not trying to justify anything.
Just saying it.
You shift slightly, your posture softening without you thinking about it.
“Momo…” you start, but she shakes her head once.
“I know,” she repeats, a little firmer this time, like she needs to finish the thought before she loses the courage to say it out loud. “I know I did.”
Another pause.
She leans back slightly against the couch, gaze dropping toward her hands.
“I just…” She stops, breath catching slightly like she’s choosing words carefully now. “I just wanted people to stop acting like you weren’t mine.”
The words land heavier than the silence before them.
Not possessive in the way it used to feel on camera.
Not playful.
Something more exposed underneath it.
You stare at her for a second.
Then the frustration you’ve been holding onto all day finally… loosens.
Not disappears.
Just softens at the edges.
You shift closer without fully realizing it.
Just enough that the distance between you isn’t sharp anymore.
“You already have me,” you say quietly.
It’s simple.
No extra weight. No performance. No frustration hiding underneath it.
Just truth.
Momo freezes slightly.
Like she didn’t expect that to come so easily.
Her eyes flick up to you.
And for a second, she doesn’t respond.
Just looks at you.
Really looks.
Like she’s trying to hold onto the fact that you’re here in front of her and not across a set, not behind a camera, not separated by rules she can’t control anymore.
Then her shoulders drop a fraction.
A small release.
“I know,” she says again, but softer now. Almost swallowed by the quiet room.
A pause.
Longer this time.
“I just forgot for a little.”
That’s the part that sits with you.
Not the jealousy.
Not the possessiveness.
Not even the mistakes.
Just that sentence.
Like she was trying so hard to hold onto something that she stopped noticing she already had it.
You don’t answer right away.
Instead, you shift closer until the space between you is small enough that it doesn’t feel like separation anymore.
Momo doesn’t move away.
Doesn’t reach immediately either.
Just stays still.
Waiting.
And this time, the silence between you doesn’t feel like distance.
It feels like something slowly settling back into place.
—
The awards show feels bigger than the others—brighter lights, louder applause, more cameras sweeping the room like nothing is allowed to go unnoticed. Everything is polished to perfection in a way that makes even breathing feel slightly rehearsed.
TWICE is seated near the center row, outfits coordinated but not matching, hands neatly folded when they need to be, clapping at the right times. You sit in your assigned seat, posture straight, face relaxed in that practiced “public calm” you’ve all learned over time.
And for once, there’s no empty seat beside you.
Because Momo is there.
Not next to you in an obvious way anymore—management wouldn’t allow that—but close enough that you can feel her presence without looking. The separation is still technically in place, still officially enforced in interviews and segments, but award shows blur those lines just a little. Too many people, too many angles, too many moments where rules become harder to maintain perfectly.
You don’t look at her immediately.
You don’t need to.
You already know she’s there.
The event flows as expected—presenters stepping up, winners reacting, applause rolling through the crowd like waves. You play your part smoothly, clapping when necessary, smiling for cameras when they sweep past your section.
Everything is fine.
Almost too fine.
Until an MC from another group steps up for a segment and casually jokes while introducing presenters.
“And now we have someone very charming joining us on stage,” he says, smiling. “I think some people here might be a little distracted tonight.”
A light laugh spreads through the room.
It’s harmless.
A standard variety-style tease.
But then his eyes flick toward your row.
“Especially someone over there,” he adds, gesturing vaguely.
It’s playful.
Nothing serious.
But the moment lands anyway.
You feel it instantly—eyes shifting subtly across your section, people pretending not to look while absolutely looking. Even members around you straighten slightly, sensing the shift in attention.
And then—you feel Momo.
Not movement.
Just awareness.
Like she’s registered it at the same time you have.
The MC continues joking, but your attention is no longer fully on him. Not because you’re uncomfortable—but because you can feel the room waiting for something.
Waiting for Momo.
Waiting for you.
You don’t look at her.
But you can sense her still.
And for the first time in a while—nothing happens.
No sudden reaction.
No visible shift.
No interruption.
Just silence from her side.
The MC finishes his joke and moves on, laughing it off easily as the segment transitions.
The room relaxes again.
Applause resumes.
You finally allow yourself a small breath you didn’t realize you were holding.
And then—you feel it.
Under the table.
Two fingers.
Light.
Careful.
Hooking into the edge of your sleeve.
Not pulling.
Not grabbing.
Just there.
Your entire focus shifts instantly, but you don’t move your hands or react outwardly. You keep your expression neutral, eyes forward, like nothing has changed at all.
But your heart does something annoyingly immediate.
Because it’s her.
Of course it is.
You don’t turn your head.
You don’t have to.
You already know Momo is sitting perfectly composed above the table—hands folded, face calm, eyes forward like she is the definition of professionalism.
But under the table—her fingers are holding onto you.
Just barely.
Like she’s reminding herself you’re there without making it visible to anyone else.
Your mouth twitches before you can stop it.
A smile.
Small.
Immediate.
You shift your leg slightly, careful not to disturb anything on camera, and lean just a fraction closer without actually turning toward her.
A whisper slips out under your breath.
“Look at you acting professional.”
You don’t look at her when you say it.
But you feel her reaction anyway.
A tiny pause.
Then—Momo’s voice, just as quiet, just as controlled, answers without moving her head.
“I’m growing.”
That almost makes you lose it.
Almost.
You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing, keeping your expression neutral for the cameras sweeping the audience.
A beat passes.
Then—her knee shifts slightly under the table.
Pressing against yours.
Not subtle in intention.
Just subtle in execution.
You glance forward again, trying very hard to keep your face composed as your shoulders shake faintly with silent laughter.
Of course she couldn’t stop there.
Of course “professional” lasted exactly three seconds.
Momo doesn’t look at you, but her voice comes again—so quiet it’s nearly swallowed by the applause on stage.
“Don’t expect miracles.”
You let out a silent laugh through your nose, quickly covering it with a cough-like motion so it doesn’t read on camera.
𑣲 content. perverted nerd!momo, brat!reader, spanking, brat taming, possessive/obsessive behavior, voyeurism, degradation, sexual activity during phone call, teasing, alcohol consumption
𑣲 word count. 2,089
summary. momo isn’t boring—she’s waiting.
from jenn. i started this fic with one idea and somewhere along the way it took on a life of its own. i blinked and suddenly nerd!momo was… like this
You didn’t want to be here.
When the housing office told you the dorms were at capacity and they were sticking you in a unit with a senior honors student, you’d rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. And then you met her.
Momo.
She was exactly what you expected: glasses, a stack of books that never seemed to get smaller, and a silence so thick you could choke on it.
For the first two weeks, you tried to be nice. You tried to make small talk. She’d just look at you, give a tiny, polite nod, and go back to her laptop.
So, you stopped being nice.
If she wanted a ghost for a roommate, you were going to be the opposite.
You started coming home at 3 AM, the smell of cheap vodka and smoke clinging to your hair, stumbling over her neatly tucked-in shoes. You left your clothes in heaps on the floor—lace bras draped over her ergonomic chair, silk slips tossed carelessly near her textbooks.
You’d lounge on your bed in next to nothing, watching her work, waiting for her to snap, to yell, to tell you to put some clothes on. But she never did. She just sat there, her back to you, a quiet machine of productivity.
It was infuriating.
Tonight was the peak of it. You’d had five drinks before even leaving the pre-game, and you felt floaty, untouchable, and incredibly bratty. You stumbled into the dorm, kicking the door shut with a loud thud that should have made her flinch.
“You’re still awake? God, Momo, get a life,” you slurred, swaying as you walked toward her desk.
Momo didn’t look up. “The deadline is Monday, Y/N. Please be quiet.”
“Please be quiet,” you mimicked in a high pitched voice, leaning over the desk to get in her face. You wanted her to look at you. You wanted to see a crack in that perfect, disciplined exterior. “You’re so boring. All work and no—”
You went out of balance. The plastic cup slipped from your fingers.
Time slowed down.
You watched, frozen, as the dark liquid surged over the edge of the cup. It soaked into her hand-written research logs.
“Oops, sorry.” you whispered, the word feeling small and stupid in the quiet room. You waited for her to jump up, to grab a paper towel, to scream at you.
But Momo didn’t move. She just stared at the purple stain spreading across the work she’d spent three weeks perfecting. Her hands stayed resting on the keyboard.
“Y/N,” she said. It was your name, but it sounded different.
“Look, I’ll pay for the damage or whatever,” you said, but your voice betrayed you with a slight tremor. “It’s just paper.”
Momo turned to face you. She took off her glasses and set them on the edge of the table, away from the mess. Without the lenses, her eyes looked darker, sharper, and completely focused on you.
“Get against the door,” she said.
You blinked, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “What? No. I’m going to bed—”
Momo stood up. In two steps, she was in your space. The nerd you’d been bullying for weeks was gone.
“I didn’t ask,” Momo murmured, her gaze dropping to your lips before locking back onto your eyes. “I told you. Against. The. Door.”
You didn’t move. You couldn’t. Your back was pressed so hard against the dorm room door that the handle was digging into your spine, but you barely felt it. All you could feel was the heat radiating off Momo as she loomed over you, her shadow swallowing you whole.
“I... I said I was sorry.” you whispered, your voice small, the bratty confidence you’d worn like armor all week finally crumbling.
“You’ve spent weeks acting like this room was your stage,” Momo murmured. She was so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off her body, pinning you against the door without her even having to touch you. “You thought if you were messy enough, loud enough, naked enough... I’d eventually lose my mind.”
She leaned in, her nose dragging slowly along the line of your jaw, inhaling deeply. “You were right. I did.”
You let out a shaky breath, your fingers clawing at the door. “Momo, I said I’d pay for the—”
“Quiet.”
Suddenly, her hand was there, gripping your hip with a strength that made you gasp, bruising the skin through your silk slip. With one firm tug, she hiked the fabric up to your waist, exposing you to the chilled air of the dorm.
“You like being looked at, don’t you?” Momo’s voice dropped to a shameful, raspy whisper. “Every time you accidentally left your lace bras on my chair, I didn’t just move them, Y/N. I kept them. I took them to bed with me. I breathed you in until I was sick with it.”
Your heart stopped.
“And now,” she continued, “You’ve destroyed my work. Which means you’ve finally earned my undivided attention. We’re going to start with a lesson in counting. If you miss a number, or if you make a sound that isn’t a number... we start the data set from the beginning. Am I clear?”
“Yes,” you whispered, your knees knocking together.
“Yes, who?”
“Yes... Momo.”
“Good girl.”
SMACK.
“One,” you choked out, your forehead thumping against the door.
“I can’t hear you, Y/N. Again.”
SMACK.
“Two!” you cried out, your body arching, only for Momo’s free hand to slam against your shoulder, pinning you back.
Momo’s hand came up, to slowly, firmly cup your jaw. Her thumb traced your lower lip, her touch surprisingly calloused.
“You’ve been begging for this for weeks, haven’t you, Y/N?” she murmured, her face leaning in until her lips were brushing against your ear. “Coming home in those little scraps of silk, hoping I’d finally snap and look at you.”
You tried to turn your head away, but her grip tightened—just a warning. “Answer me.”
“Yes,” you breathed, the word a confession.
You stood there shaking, your silk slip barely clinging to your waist, Momo’s bruising grip the only thing keeping you upright. She tilted your chin back up, her eyes—dark and focused in a way you'd never seen—dropped to your parted lips.
"Shirt off. Now."
Your fingers trembled as you reached up, tugging the silk over your head.
Momo's gaze raked down your bare torso, taking in the lace bras you’d worn to mock her, to provoke her. She reached out and plucked the straps, tugging them down your arms. “Off,” she ordered again, her voice firm. “All of it.”
You swallowed hard, but complied, unhooking the bra and letting it fall to the floor. You stood there, completely bare, your chest heaving with ragged breaths. Momo just looked at you, her expression unreadable. Then, her hand came up, cupping your breast possessively.
“These have been driving me insane,” Momo murmured, her thumb brushing over your nipple. It hardened instantly at her touch. She gave a small, satisfied hum. “On the bed. On your hands and knees.”
You stumbled toward your bed, the one she’d no doubt avoided looking at for weeks while you lounged there scantily clad. You positioned yourself as instructed, the mattress dipping under your weight.
“Arch your back,” Momo commanded, her footsteps soft against the floor. “I want your ass pointed at me like it’s been begging for three weeks.”
Your body obeyed before your brain could process the command, pushing your hips up, your spine curving until your ass was presented to her. The cold air of the dorm room kissed your bare skin, making you shiver.
“You’re so needy,” Momo observed, her voice dripping with a smugness that made your cheeks burn.
“Days in those tiny shorts, nights in that lace... You wanted me to snap, didn’t you?” She ran her hand along your spine, making you tremble. “Well, here I am.” She spanked your ass hard, the sound echoing in the room.
“And look at you, so eager to please now. Where’s that attitude?” She spanked you again, harder this time.
Momo raised her hand again, spanking you repeatedly, each slap echoing through the room. She admired your ass turning red under her palms, heard your sharp intakes of breath. She then spread your cheeks apart, seeing your tiny hole and wet pussy below.
Momo’s phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with ‘Professor’ in bold letters. She froze mid-spank, her hand hovering over your reddened ass. The timing was impeccable—or disastrous.
“Fuck,” she muttered, the single word laced with frustration. The vibration of the phone on the nightstand felt like a jackhammer in the silence of the room.
“Hello, Professor,” Momo said. Her voice shifted instantly—but her eyes? They were fixed on the view between your legs. While she listened to the Professor drone on about credit requirements, her hand reached out. She used two fingers to hook the edge of your damp pussy, pulling the sensitive skin open to inspect you like you were a fascinating new specimen.
“Yes, I’m currently looking over the… data analysis,” Momo murmured into the phone, her voice steady even as she leaned down to put her face inches from your heat.
She inhaled deeply, her nose brushing against your wetness. You let out a tiny, broken whimper, your hips jerking instinctively. Momo’s free hand immediately came down on the small of your back, pinning you flat against the mattress with a warning pressure.
“I apologize, Professor,” Momo said smoothly, her eyes darkening as she watched your entrance. “There’s some... background interference.”
To emphasize her point, she slid a single finger inside you—slow, deep, and agonizingly blunt. You bit the pillow to keep from screaming, your toes curling into the sheets.
“Yes, Professor,” Momo continued, her thumb finding your clit and pressing down with a firm, rhythmic friction that made your vision swim. “Consistency is key. If the subject doesn’t hold its form under pressure, the entire thesis fails.”
She began to work her finger in a slow, torturous circle while she discussed grade point averages. She was treating you like a piece of lab equipment.
You were a shaking, sobbing wreck, forced to be her silent, toy-like audience while she maintained her perfect reputation.
“I’ll have the final results on your desk by 8 AM,” Momo finished, her voice like ice. “Thank you, Professor. Goodnight.”
The second the call ended, she didn’t pull her hand away. She leaned down, her nose dragging slowly along the curve of your hip, inhaling so deeply it sounded like she was starving. Then, she reached over to her nightstand and pulled out a small, folded piece of black lace.
Your breath hitched. It was the thong you’d lost three days ago.
“You thought you dropped this behind, didn’t you?” Momo whispered, pressing the fabric against your cheek so you could smell your own scent. “I didn’t just find it. I kept it. I’ve spent the last three nights sleeping with this under my pillow, Y/N. I’ve sat at my desk, writing my methodology, while I inhaled the scent of you from this tiny scrap of silk.”
You tried to form a sentence, a protest, a “Momo, you’re crazy,” but all that came out was a pathetic, needy whimper. Your brain was complete soup, caught between the sting of the spanking and the absolute deviancy of her words.
“And those gym shorts you left on my ergonomic chair?” Momo continued, her fingers curling deep inside you, finding that one spot that made your toes curl. “I didn’t move them because they were in the way. I moved them so I could bury my face in them while I was on a Zoom call with the Dean.”
“M-Momo... stop... please…” you sobbed, your hips jerking uncontrollably against her hand.
“Stop?” Momo let out a low, dry chuckle that sent a chill down your spine. She leaned over you, her lips ghosting over your ear. “You’ve spent weeks trying to make me look at you, and now that I am, you want me to stop? I’m a pervert for you, Y/N. I’ve memorized the scent of every single bra you own. I know which ones you wear when you’re looking for attention.”
She increased the pace of her fingers. You couldn’t even whine anymore; you were just a vibrating, sobbing mess, completely undone by the fact that the nerd had been a predator in plain sight the entire time.
