I like each position RV member prefers when they want to be bred, can you also make one for twice ?
Nayeon
Nayeon pushes you onto your back, straddling your hips with that bright, teasing grin. She prefers cowgirl when she wants to be bred. She controls the pace, grinds down on you slowly at first to feel every inch stretch her pussy.
You grip her waist as she sinks onto you, her tight heat swallowing your cock whole.
"Fill me up."
She rocks her hips in circles, breasts bouncing with each drop. Her nails rake your chest, urging you deeper. She leans forward, long hair curtaining your faces, kissing you messy while she rides harder.
"I want your cum so bad. Breed me right here."
You thrust up to meet her, hitting that spot that makes her gasp. Her pace quickens, thighs trembling as she chases her high.
"Don't pull out."
She demands, her pussy clenching around you. You feel her pulse, her body begging. One final grind and she has you spilling deep inside her cunt, flooding her. She stays seated, rocking gently to keep every drop in, smirking down at you.
"Good boy."
Jeongyeon
Jeongyeon pulls you close on the couch with her legs, until you're on top in classic missionary. She loves the weight of you pinning her, legs hooked over your shoulders for that deep angle when breeding is all she craves. You slide in slow, watching her eyes flutter shut.
"Harder."
She murmurs, hands on your back urging you on. Her walls grip tight as you thrust deep, pelvis grinding against her clit with every stroke.
"Breed me...give it all to me."
Her voice cracks with need. You pound steadily, feeling her pussy soak your cock more with each thrust. Her fingers dig into your shoulders.
"Deeper… I want to feel you cum inside."
You angle just right, hitting her cervix, and she arches, moaning low. Her cunt rhythmically tries to milk you for all you have. You burry yourself deep and shoot pulsing hot ropes into her. She holds you there, legs trembling.
"Stay… don't let a drop leak out."
Momo
Momo gets on all fours and arches her back perfectly. Doggy is her favourite for breeding because it lets you pin her down completely. Your hips flush against hers as you drive in from behind. You press over her, chest to her back, sliding your cock deep into her in one smooth thrust. She moans into the pillow, pushing back to meet you.
"Breed me like this… fill me up."
Her ass jiggles with each hard snap of your hips. You grip her waist, pounding relentlessly. The angle lets you go impossibly deep. She reaches back, spreading her cheeks wider.
"Right there...cum inside me."
Her body shakes as you grind against her spot. Her tight pussy pulls you over the edge. You groan, spilling thick and hot seed into her, flooding her cunt. She collapses forward, keeping you buried, rocking back lazily. Momo feels too full to say a word.
Sana
Sana loves spooning turned breeding. Just lying on her side, you behind her, one leg hooked over yours for easy access. She craves the closeness when she wants to be filled. You slide in from behind, arm around her waist, hand cupping her breast. She sighs happily, pushing back.
"Breed me slow… make it last."
You thrust lazy but deep, grinding circles inside her. She turns her head for messy kisses.
"I want your baby..."
Her hand guides yours between her legs, rubbing her clit as you pump steadily.
The build is torturous. Her moans are soft and cute. She makes her pussy clench around your cock, teasing you.
"Now… breed me now."
You speed up, burying yourself to the hilt inside her, and explode, pumping her full of cum, pulse after pulse.
Jihyo
Jihyo always demands you fuck her in a mating press whenever she's ovulating. Her legs folded back, pressing her tits together, knees by her ears, her pussy so close to her mouth, you could switch between both holes whenever you wanted.
Now, you pin her wrists above her head, your body weight folding her in half, thrusting deep and hard into her wet pussy.
"Take it all."
You groan, eyes locked on hers. Her body rocks with each powerful stroke, breasts bouncing.
"Fill me up. I need your cum so bad..."
She clenches tight, urging you on. You grind against her cervix, making her cry out.
Jihyo orgasms first. Her walls spasm around your cock, pulling your own release out of you. You flood her pussy with your cum, groaning as she milks every drop. Your cock paints her inner walls white, until she's almost overflowing. But with her hips raised like this, gravity helps you with keeping her full. Even after you pull out, she keeps her legs up, smirking at you.
"Not wasting any."
Mina
Mina prefers something slow, just like Sana. You sit cross-legged, her in your lap facing you, legs wrapped around your waist. It's intimate, eye-contact heavy when she wants to be bred softly but deeply.
She sinks down slowly, arms around your neck.
"Breed me… please."
You rock together, grinding deep, her forehead against yours. Her breaths hitch with each roll. Your entire cock is inside her snug pussy, barely moving. Just enough for both of you to feel a new level of pleasure.
"Inside… all of it."
You thrust up gently, hands on her ass guiding her.
She trembles in your lap, clenching to draw out your cum as she feels your cock pulsating inside her. You spill thick ropes of cum into her tight pussy, filling her completely, until tiny streaks of your semen start to leak out around your cock.
She stays seated, kissing you tenderly.
"It feels so warm…"
Dahyun
Dahyun moans as she continues to ride you in reverse. Her back is facing you. Her ass bounces as she rides your cock. She loves the control she has over you and the feeling of you enjoying the view.
She grinds eagerly, hands on your thighs.
"Cum in me...breed me good."
You grip her hips, thrusting up hard. Her moans turn needy, but the sound of her ass hitting your lap drowns them out.
"Deeper… fill me up."
She grinds down, circling her hips to feel you throb. Your hands wander to her ass, squeezing her cheeks. Dahyun's walls pulse around your shaft, and you can't hold it in a second longer. You let yourself spill your cum into her pussy. She doesn't stop moving, coaxing every single drop out of your body, until someone knocks on the door of her bedroom.
"Be there in a minute."
She calls out, before turning her head to look over her shoulder at you.
"What are you gonna do these next couple of hours, knowing your cum is filling my pussy while I'm at dinner with the girls?"
Chaeyoung
Chaeyoung loves to get carried around while you fuck her. Probably because of your size difference. She's so small in your arms, you can just pin her against a wall and breed her pussy. Her legs are locked around your waist, you holding her up for raw, urgent breeding. You thrust up hard into her, her back against the cool surface of the wall of Twice's dance practice room.
"Breed me rough."
She pants, nails in your shoulders. You are able to let go with one hand and move it up her body. Chaeyeong's eyes are wide open. The fact that you can carry her with one arm has her pussy dripping wet. Your free hand now slowly wraps itself around her throat. Each slam of your cock into her pussy makes her gasp.
"Cum inside your little fleshlight."
She whimpers, her entire body begging you to use her as a cum dump. You pound into her relentlessly, her body bouncing.
You unload deep insider her small body, groaning into her ear. She clings around you, her legs locked as she's helplessly pinned between you and the wall, unable to do much but take your load.
"Don't drop me."
She sighs and you're unsure if she's afraid you'll let her fall, or if she just wants to keep your cum locked inside her.
Tzuyu
Tzuyu loves how big your cock feels when she is lying on her back, both her legs over one of your shoulders. Her pussy squeezes you just a little tighter like that. And it enables you to use only one hand to hold her legs together, while the other reaches down to admire her smooth thighs, or play with her tits.
Right now, you even take it a step further by making her cross her legs in the air as you slide in slow. She bites her lip, eyes softly looking up at you with pure love.
"Breed me… please."
You thrust deeper, as a steady rhythm starts to build. Her hands clutch your arm.
"I'm already so full. I need it. Please..."
You angle for her g-spot, making her arch odff the mattress.
Tzuyu orgasms silently, trembling, milking your cock. Unable to hold back, you spill your cum deep inside her pussy. You stay buried there, both of you holding eye contact as Tzuyu feels your cum filling her womb.
content: fem!reader, headcannons, jihyo can't keep her eyes to herself, workouts, an.... attempt to remain professional, reader is implied to be new to the gym, mohyo roommates, praise (help me), one use of good girl (again, help me), gisele from aespa is briefly here, suggestive at the end word count: 1.4k note: gym gf jihyo save me. also idk anything about the gym so i'm sorry if there are any inaccuracies!!
★ personal trainer!jihyo who always pushes you to your limits, knowing them better than you do
"no more, please," you beg, arms shaking as you hold yourself in the plank position for far longer than you'd like.
jihyo would never make you do anything you weren't comfortable with, or push you for longer than you can handle, but she does love to test your limits, steadily lowering them every session. she takes in your form, establishing how long you can realistically hold it for, and shakes her head, "you've got at least another minute in you."
"jihyo....." you nearly whine, looking up at her with pleading eyes.
her breath hitches at the sound, at your position on the floor, practically begging for her. still, she swallows and stays firm in her refusal, "keep going."
after another minute or so, you break the plank, arms burning. you're exhausted and sweaty, but proud at having beaten your personal best.
jihyo just smiles, "see, i told you so."
★ personal trainer!jihyo who always subtly makes sure you're eating and drinking enough
★ personal trainer!jihyo who is always very aware of the way you, biting your lip, watch her demonstrate on the machines
"this is a hip thrust," she explains, settling into the machine. "i think you're ready to move onto these."
you swallow, watching her movements with barely contained desire. faintly, you can hear her saying something, but it's drowned out by your focus on the way her hips move, the veins in her arms, the way her shirt rides up, the —
"you got it?" jihyo asks. shit, she was explaining everything you needed to do, and there you were, lusting over her instead of actually listening.
"um, yeah," you nod despite having no idea what she just said, a little breathless despite not having done anything yourself. "actually, can you show me again? i got a little...lost in thought."
"sure," she agrees, starting up again. you think you see her smirk, but it's gone so fast you must've been imagining it. "just make sure you're paying attention this time."
★ personal trainer!jihyo who praises you more than she probably should
"that's it, just like that," she affirms, watching you get the hang of pull ups. "can you do five more for me?"
"yeah," you reply, a little breathless from both the exercise and her words.
"good girl."
★ personal trainer!jihyo who can't help but get distracted by your gym clothes
"is something wrong?" you ask your trainer, snapping her out of the daze she was in.
"no. sorry," she shakes her head, then, "is that a new set?"
"oh yeah! i got it last week, i've been wanting to show you it," you beam. the set hugs your body in all the right places, accentuating your features. when you tried it on in the store, you knew instantly you couldn't go home without it, and if the decision to purchase was influenced by the thought of jihyo struggling to maintain her composure seeing you in it.....well then who could blame you?
jihyo nods, swallowing down the implications of you wanting to show her, "it looks good."
★ personal trainer!jihyo who gets irrationally jealous when someone hits on you
you're taking a water break when the girl approaches you, "hey, i'm giselle."
"oh, hi," you look up, taking her in. she's really pretty, wearing just a tank top and shorts with her brown hair held up in a claw clip. "did you need this space? we're just about to move."
she shakes her head, handing you a slip of paper, "i've seen you here a few times now and i wanted to give you my number, but no pressure if you don't wanna call it."
before you can even reply, she's walking away, waving back at you once and then heading towards where her friend is waiting at one of the machines.
"are you gonna call her?" jihyo breaks the awkward silence, and edge to her tone.
"i mean, i don't know. she was cool, so maybe—" you falter at her expression, never having seen jihyo so tense before. her jaw is clenched, nails digging into her crossed arms. you've seen her intense and focused before, but this is different, and your stomach flips at the sight. "probably not."
"you should, she's pretty," jihyo forces the words out through gritted teeth.
"i guess i'll think about it?" you shrug, knowing damn well you have no plans to even look at the number.
is she jealous? the thought makes you extremely flustered.
★ personal trainer!jihyo who always reminds you to breathe during exercises
★ personal trainer!jihyo who never cared much about the way her gym outfits looked until you come along
what has she become?
jihyo stands in front of her mirror, painfully aware she should probably be on her way to the gym by now, but she can't decide what to wear.
it's not that you make her insecure, quite the opposite, but she finds herself wanting to impress you. every time she gets ready, she can't help but wonder if you'll like it, if your eyes will rake over her body like hers do to you. today's tight compression top and sweats are sure to make you loose your mind, so there's just one more thing to figure out.
"momo, which hat looks better?" she calls out to her roommate, who looks at her like she's been possessed but points to the white one anyways, despite the fact that they both look the same.
jihyo nods like she was thinking exactly that, puts the cap on, grabs her keys and a protein bar off the counter, and darts out the door, "thanks! i'll see you later!"
★ personal trainer!jihyo who corrects your form in a very hands on way
"am i doing it right?"
"your core is off a bit, let me just—" jihyo suddenly stops herself. "can i touch you?"
"yeah, sure." it's not like jihyo hasn't touched you before, with permission of course, but the proximity still makes your breath hitch.
she stands behind you, her palm splayed over your stomach, so close you can feel her breath against the nape of your neck. "you need to engage here more."
you adjust your form, then turn your head to look at her. there's only a few inches separating her lips and yours, all it would take is one step to close the gap—
jihyo steps back suddenly, snapping herself out of it. a second longer and she would've been pressing you against the wall. "yeah, you've got it now."
★ personal trainer!jihyo who swore she would never get involved with a client until she meets you outside of your sessions
you enter the restaurant bathroom, just needing to freshen up before eating dinner, when you spot the most beautiful girl washing her hands, her arms so well defined you might as well be drooling. she's wearing the most gorgeous black dress, her brown hair flowing down her back. then, she turns, and you stop short when you see her face, "jihyo? is that you?"
her eyes widen when she sees you in something other than your gym sets for the first time. you can admit your dress is probably a little shorter than appropriate, so you don't blame her when her words just slip out, "holy shit, if you weren't my client i would...."
"you would what, jihyo?" maybe it's the few sips of alcohol you had getting to your head, or maybe it's the way jihyo is practically undressing you with her eyes, but whatever the reason, you feel bolder. it's about time you did something about this tension. "because i'm not your client right now, am i?"
she swallows, eyes darting to the door. there's no in here but the two of you, and with how empty the restaurant is at this time of night, she doubts anyone will walk in. "how long 'till your food arrives?"
"i don't know, maybe five minutes?" you estimate. is this really happening right now?
"i can do five minutes." jihyo takes your hand, pulling you into the nearest stall and locking it shut. she has you against the cubicle door, chest pressed against yours. it's as close as you've ever been, so close she can feel your racing heartbeat thumping against hers. "are you sure?"
"jihyo, please...." it's all the confirmation she needs.
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.
I arched my back, my fingernails digging desperately into the taut muscles of my son’s shoulders. The bedsprings of my mattress were groaning in protest, a rhythmic creaking that would surely echo through the thin walls of our Florentine apartment, but in that moment, I couldn’t care less. The late-afternoon Tuscan sun was bleeding through the heavy velvet curtains, casting long, golden shadows across the room and illuminating the sheen of sweat slicking our bodies.
He was hovering over me, his lean frame tense with effort, his youthful stamina a stark contrast to the day’s languid heat. He looked down at me with those dark, intense eyes, a mixture of adoration and concentration that made my heart hammer against my ribs. I pulled him closer, mashing my heavy, heaving breasts against his chest, relishing the friction of his skin against mine. I could feel his pulse racing, thudding rapidly where his neck met his shoulder, betraying his inexperience even as he tried to mimic the lessons I had drilled into him. He was a voracious pupil, eager to please, his hips moving with a desperate, rhythmless need that I was slowly moulding into something useful. I ran my hands down his spine, feeling the dampness gathering there, savouring the power I held over him in this dim, stifling room.
"Slow down, boy," I breathed against his ear, though my body betrayed me, tightening around him instantly. "Let me feel you. Don't just rut; use what I taught you." He let out a shuddering moan, his face buried in the crook of my neck, inhaling the scent of my perfume mixed with the musk of our exertion. It was intoxicating to see him like this, usually so tranquil and reserved, now unravelling completely in my arms. I guided his hips, showing him the angle that made me gasp, my curvaceous body rising to meet his, demanding the pleasure he was built to provide.
Over his shoulder, through the haze of lust, my gaze drifted lazily toward the heavy oak door. I knew Yujin was just beyond it, likely in her own room, perhaps listening to the obscene sounds of her mother and her brother. The thought sent a dark, illicit thrill through me, tightening the coil in my belly. She wasn't a saint, my daughter; she knew exactly what went on within these four walls, maybe even craved a taste of it herself. I locked eyes with my son again, a wicked smirk playing on my lips as I clenched around him, determined to make him loud enough for the whole household to know exactly who he belonged to.
"You are so nasty," he moaned. He took my legs and placed them over his shoulders, his hands gripping the meat of my thighs with a strength that belied his lean build.
"And you love it," I retorted, breathless. "Don't stop."
He obeyed, his pace quickening, the bedframe slamming against the wall with a violent rhythm. The sounds of our bodies slapping together filled the room, a wet, carnal melody that echoed off the high frescoed ceilings. I was drowning in him, in the scent of his skin, in the heat of his body, in the way he was finally starting to understand just how to make a woman scream. My hands fisted in the sheets, my head thrown back, and my eyes squeezed shut as the pressure built to an excruciating peak.
"You are so demanding, but so worth it," he affirmed, voice contorted in the effort. "But you are so damn worth it."
The boy began to pound me for real, his youthful stamina finally kicking in to override his nerves. The pleasure was blinding, a white-hot heat that radiated outwards from my centre, obliterating every thought but the desperate need for more. I moaned, a long, broken sound that was half sob, half prayer. I was a woman possessed, a creature of pure need, and he was the only one who could satisfy me.
"Mum, I'm going to—"
"Not yet," I commanded, though my voice was trembling. "Not until I say so. Hold it."
His eyes darkened, seeing his climax being postponed. His fingers went between our connected bodies, his thumb finding my sensitive nub with a precision that made my entire body jolt. He began to rub circles, the sensation sending electric sparks up my spine. My breath hitched in my throat, and I knew I was close, dangerously close. The room was spinning, the colours of the sunset blurring into a kaleidoscope of red and gold.
"So bossy, and yet you are trembling," he taunted me.
I glared up at him, though the effect was ruined by the ragged gasps tearing from my throat. My usual composure was fracturing, splintering under the relentless pressure of his hips and the devilish precision of his thumb. The boy was learning far too quickly, his confident smirk replacing the shy uncertainty he used to wear. It was maddening. I dug my heels into his back, trying to regain control of the rhythm, but he was having none of it. He held me pinned, driving into me with a force that made my teeth rattle, obliterating the facade of the mother and leaving only the desperate, hungry woman beneath.
"You cheeky bastard," I hissed, my nails raking down his chest to leave red welts on his pale skin. The dual sensation of being filled and the friction on my clit was a sensory overload, dragging me closer to the edge with every brutal thrust. My toes curled, my thighs clamping around his head in a vice grip as the tension in my belly snapped, white-hot and blinding. I came with a silent scream, my back bowing off the mattress, my entire body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over me, drowning out everything but the roar of blood in my ears and the feel of him still moving relentlessly inside me.
As the aftershocks rippled through me, leaving me boneless and trembling, I felt his rhythm falter. But instead of continuing, he withdrew and let my legs drop. I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, watching the dust motes dance in the dying light as my heart slowly returned to a normal rhythm.
"So bitchy that you deserve to be workshipped."
He positioned himself on my side, mouth on my tits and fingers on my sensitive, swollen folds. He was focused on the task, his tongue swirling around the areola, his fingers tracing the entrance to my body, teasing me without entering. It was a torture I had taught him myself, a lesson in patience and anticipation.
I looked down at him, running a hand through his damp hair, pushing it off his forehead so I could see his face. He looked so innocent, but his actions were anything but. I closed my fingers in his hair and pulled his head back, forcing him to look at me. "And who taught you that, my love?" I asked, my voice husky with satisfaction and the lingering tremors of my release. "Who made you the man you are today?"
He looked up at me, a playful glint in his dark eyes. "You did, Mum," he whispered, leaning up to capture my lips in a searing kiss that tasted of salt and sin. "You taught me everything."
His fingers curled inside me, finding that spot that made my vision blur, and he began to pump them slowly, deliberately, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until I was a writhing mess beneath him. I broke the kiss, gasping for air, my head falling back against the pillows. "Don't you dare stop," I managed to choke out, my hips bucking involuntarily to meet his hand.
"Never," he promised, his voice thick with desire. He lowered his mouth back to my breast, biting down gently on the hardened peak, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core. He was insatiable, his youthful stamina a gift that kept on giving, and I was the lucky, if exhausted, recipient.
"You're getting too cocky for your own good," I chided him weakly, but there was no real heat behind my words. I loved seeing him like this, confident and in control, a far cry from the shy boy who had blushed the first time I touched him. He was becoming a man who knew what he wanted—and what he wanted was me. That knowledge was a potent drug, more addictive than any vintage wine we had in the cellar.
The thought of Yujin lingered at the edges of my consciousness, a tantalising spectre in the next room. She was her mother's daughter, possessing the same insatiable appetite and a body that rivalled my own—taller, perhaps, but cut from the same cloth. I knew she wasn't oblivious; the walls in this old palazzo were paper-thin, and the sounds of our depravity must have been drifting under her door for weeks. A dark, delicious curiosity took hold of me, wondering if she was lying on her bed right now, touching herself to the rhythm of her brother's grunts and my moans. Perhaps she was even imagining herself in my place, wondering what it would feel like to have that well-endowed boy stretching her open instead. The idea of corrupting them both, of keeping this twisted pleasure strictly within the confines of our little family, made my pulse race all over again.
I pulled him up for another kiss, tasting the salt on his lips, my hand wandering down to grip his heavy length. He was still hard, a testament to his youthful resilience, and I stroked him slowly, feeling the throb of his heartbeat against my palm. "You've ruined me for anyone else, you know," I murmured against his mouth, my voice a sultry purr. "No other man could ever compare to what you do to me, how perfectly you fill me up." It was a dangerous thing to say, perhaps, but it was the truth. I had trained him to fit me like a glove, to know every curve and crevice of my body, and to anticipate my needs before I even voiced them. He was mine, crafted by my own hands and desires, a lover made specifically for me.
"Good," he growled, his eyes darkening with possession as he rolled us over, settling me on top of him. "Because I'm not done with you yet, Mum." His hands gripped my waist, holding me steady as I sank onto him, taking him to the hilt. I threw my head back, revelling in the stretch, the feeling of fullness so exquisite it bordered on pain. The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, leaving the room bathed in the soft, violet glow of twilight, the shadows dancing across our entwined bodies like silent witnesses to our sin. I began to move, riding him with a slow, rolling grind of my hips that made us both groan, knowing that tonight was far from over and that in the quiet of Florence, we would push each other to the brink until dawn.
"Make cum, please," he begged me.
I obliged him instantly, knowing what he liked. I leaned forward, giving him access to my swaying breasts. I braced my hands on his chest and started to ride him in earnest, my thighs burning with the effort, but the pleasure was too great to stop. His hands roamed over my body, gripping my arse, fondling my tits, urging me on. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a heavy, primal atmosphere that felt entirely separate from the world outside our window.
"Harder," he urged, his voice a strangled gasp. "Fuck me harder."
I rode him as a woman possessed, my hips slamming down onto his, the sound of flesh meeting flesh filling the room. The coil in my belly wound tighter and tighter, the pressure building until I thought I might explode. I was so close, teetering on the edge, just needing that final push to send me over.
"Look at me when you come," I commanded breathlessly, sweat dripping from my forehead onto his heaving chest. I didn't let up, grinding down onto him with a ferocity that bordered on violence, chasing that final precipice. His eyes flew open, wild and unfocused, locking onto mine as his hands bruised my hips, pulling me down to meet his erratic upward thrusts. With a guttural roar that I was sure had startled the pigeons on the terracotta roof outside, he emptied himself inside me, the heat of his release triggering my own second climax. I shattered around him, my vision whiting out as my inner muscles clenched rhythmically, milking him for every last drop while the world narrowed down to nothing but the pulsing connection between our bodies.
We collapsed in a tangled heap of limbs, the air in the room now stifling and heavy with the musk of our exertion. For a long while, the only sounds were our ragged gasps for air and the distant chiming of a church bell signalling the hour of Ave Maria. I rested my head against his damp chest, listening to the frantic thud of his heart slowly returning to a steady rhythm, a stark contrast to the tranquillity of the Florentine evening settling over the city. A satisfied lethargy began to seep into my bones, but even as my body relaxed, my mind began to sharpen once more, the familiar hunger stirring in the back of my thoughts like a waking beast.
I lifted my head to look at him, smoothing the dark hair plastered to his forehead with a possessive tenderness. He looked utterly wrecked, his lean frame spent and pliant beneath me, but I knew it wouldn't be long before that youthful stamina of his recharged. The knowledge that I was the one who had moulded him, who had taken his innocence and shaped it into this weapon of pleasure, was a heady rush that not even exhaustion could dim. "Rest now, my love," I whispered, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, tasting the lingering salt and sex on them. "But don't think for a moment that we are finished for the night."
"Shouldn't we have dinner?" he questioned; after that, his stomach growled.
I laughed, a low, throaty sound that vibrated against his chest. "We will eat eventually," I promised, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on his stomach, feeling the muscles twitch beneath my touch. "But for now, I need to recover. And besides," I added, a mischievous glint returning to my eyes as I thought of my daughter just a wall away, "I'm sure Yujin is wondering what's keeping us. It would be rude to leave her waiting too long, don't you think?" The implication hung heavy in the air, a silent acknowledgement that the boundaries of family were blurred and rewritten in the heat of the Tuscan night.
I pulled myself from the tangled sheets, the cool air of the room pricking at my overheated skin as I padded barefoot across the terracotta tiles. The antique mirror over the vanity caught my reflection: dishevelled hair, flushed skin, and the satisfied smirk of a woman who had just been thoroughly worshipped. I took a moment to smooth my hands over my curves, admiring the marks he’d left on my thighs, visual proof of his desperate need. The silence of the apartment felt heavy now that our noises had ceased, but the air was still thick with the scent of us, a musky perfume that I knew would linger long after we’d cleaned up.
With a silk robe loosely belted at my waist, I slipped out into the corridor, the dim light from the streetlamps outside casting long shadows against the frescoed walls. I paused instinctively outside Yujin’s door, my hand hovering over the wood. The thin partition offered no secrets; the faint, rhythmic creaking of her own mattress reached my ears, accompanied by the soft, hitched breaths that were unmistakably not ones of sleep. A dark, satisfied curl touched my lips as I leaned my forehead against the cool frame, realising my daughter was indeed touching herself to the sounds of our depravity, proving she was every bit the creature I was.
Deciding to leave her to her fantasies for a moment longer, I continued to the kitchen, my bare feet silent on the cold stone. The apartment was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of Florence nightlife drifting up from the street. I moved to the counter, my body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, and poured two glasses of chilled Chianti. The condensation beaded instantly on the glass, cool against my fingertips as I turned back towards the bedroom, my mind already racing with the possibilities of the evening to come. The glasses almost dropped on the floor when Yujin walked out of her room all decked out in a revealing dress.
She looked a vision, a younger, taller mirror of me, poured into a dress that clung to her curves like a second skin. The fabric was a deep emerald green that contrasted sharply with the pale flush of her skin, the cut low enough to showcase the ample cleavage she had inherited from me, with a slit that rode dangerously high up her thigh. She stood in the hallway, her hair loose and tumbling over her shoulders, her eyes dark and unreadable in the low light.
"Mum," she said, her voice steady, though a faint blush coloured her cheeks. "I thought... I thought I'd go out for a bit."
I leaned casually against the doorframe, the silk robe parting slightly to reveal the fresh marks marring my skin, and took a slow, deliberate sip of wine. "Do you?" I asked, my voice laced with a dry amusement that cut through the thick tension in the hallway. My eyes swept over her, taking in the meticulous makeup and the deliberate allure of her outfit. It was far too much effort for a solitary night stroll in Florence. "Dressed to kill like that? I thought you were... occupied."
A flicker of defensiveness sparked in her eyes, quickly masked by a feigned innocence that didn't quite reach the corners of her mouth. She adjusted the strap of her dress, her gaze darting momentarily towards the open door of my bedroom where the boy lay. "I just needed some air, that's all. It’s stuffy in the apartment. And unlike you, I don't like staying cooped up inside all evening." She stepped closer, the scent of her floral perfume mixing with the musk still clinging to me, a heady cocktail of innocence and depravity. "Besides, I didn't realise I required a schedule to leave the house."
I pushed off the frame and moved into her space, close enough that she could smell the sex on me, close enough to see the dilation of her pupils. I reached out, smoothing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, my touch lingering on the warm skin of her neck. "You don't, sweetheart," I murmured, my tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But the way that you are dressed ... It tells a different story. You’re looking for trouble, aren't you? "I let my hand trail down her arm, feeling the gooseflesh rise under my fingertips. "Or perhaps," I added, my eyes darting back towards the bedroom, "you’re just hoping to run into someone who can give you what you’ve been hearing through the walls."
Yujin swallowed hard, her composure cracking under my scrutiny. She glanced at the bedroom door again, then back at me, a mix of shame and longing warring in her expression. "I... I'm just going for a walk," she insisted, though her voice lacked its earlier conviction.
I took a slow sip of my wine, savouring the way her eyes tracked the movement of my throat. "Don't lie to me, Yujin. It’s unbecoming. I know exactly what you were doing in your room. I heard you." Her eyes widened, panic flaring briefly, but I didn't let her look away. "Did you finish, or did the sounds of us make it too difficult to concentrate?"
The colour in Yujin’s cheeks deepened to a dark, mortified crimson, her attempt at nonchalance shattering completely. She looked like a trapped animal, her chest heaving slightly under the tight fabric of her dress, unable to meet my gaze. I could practically smell the arousal radiating off her, a scent that mirrored my own, proving that despite her supposed innocence, she was every bit the creature of desire that I had raised her to be. It was intoxicating to see her this way, the power dynamic shifting effortlessly between us; the daughter who tried to assert her independence was now standing bare before my scrutiny, her secret desires laid as naked as the thoughts running through my own mind.
"It's not fair to tease me like that, Mum," she whispered finally, her voice trembling with a mixture of frustration and need. Her eyes darted back to the open doorway of my bedroom, where the low, heavy breathing of my son could still be heard. "You have everything I want... right there in the next room." She shifted her weight, the slit in her dress falling open to reveal a long, toned leg that quivered ever so slightly. "I just wanted to go out to forget, but I can't stop listening. It drives me mad."
I stepped closer, invading her personal space until our bodies were almost touching, the heat radiating from her seeping through the thin silk of my robe. I reached out, my fingers brushing the soft skin of her exposed thigh, relishing the sharp intake of breath she couldn't suppress. "I know you are frustrated; I would be as well if I were you in this situation," I replied softly, my voice a velvet caress that belied the sharp edge of my authority. "But you are my daughter, and you will not go out there dressed like a common tart looking for a stranger to scratch an itch. If you need some air, your brother will come alongside with you." I gestured vaguely towards the bedroom. "I need to rest anyway. I'm sure he would love to see Florence by night. He’s been studying too hard; he needs the distraction."
The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy with unspoken implications. Yujin stared at me, her lips parting in shock, the flush on her cheeks spreading down her neck to her chest. The proposal hung in the air, scandalous and laden with a dark, delicious irony. Sending her out with him—the very source of her frustration—was a cruelty born of my own possessive nature, a way to mark my territory even while I relinquished his physical presence for a few hours. I watched the realisation dawn on her face, the gears turning behind her eyes as she weighed the humiliation against the overwhelming desire she was so desperately trying to hide.
"But... Mum," she stammered, her eyes wide and glistening. "You can't be serious. You... you just..."
"I just finished with him, yes," I cut her off with a nonchalant shrug, taking another slow sip of wine to hide the dark thrill racing through my veins. "He's exhausted, Yujin, but he's young. A bit of fresh air and the promise of a beautiful view will do wonders for his recovery. And you..." I let my eyes rake over her figure again, lingering on the heave of her chest. "...you look like you need to burn off that excess energy before you do something regrettable with a stranger. Consider it a favour. I’m letting you borrow him."
I turned before she could formulate a protest, calling out into the dim room where my son lay. "Darling, get up. Yujin is going to take you out for a walk. She needs some air, and you’ve been cooped up inside studying all day." I heard the rustle of sheets and a low groan of confusion, but I didn't wait for his agreement. I pressed the wine glass into Yujin’s trembling hand, my fingers lingering over hers, feeling the frantic pulse at her wrist. "Take him to the Piazzale Michelangelo," I ordered softly, my voice dropping to a possessive murmur. "The view is exquisite at this hour. Just remember... bring him back in one piece. He’s still my favourite toy, after all."
With a final, enigmatic smirk, I retreated into the shadows of my bedroom, leaving them standing in the corridor, the air between them thick enough to choke on. I closed the door just enough to hide myself from view but left it slightly ajar, the better to hear the sound of their voices as they prepared to leave. I poured the remainder of the bottle into my glass and settled back onto the tangled sheets, the scent of our exertion still rising from the mattress to greet me, patient and predatory as I waited for the silence to return, wondering just how long it would take before my son realised he wasn't the only one in the family who was insatiable.
As the hours stretched thin and the cool night air of Florence seeped through the cracks in the window, I found myself drifting in and out of a light doze, the wine heavy in my limbs and the exertions of the evening taking their toll. The apartment was silent again, save for the settling of the old building and the distant hum of the city below. It was peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaotic lust that had ruled the earlier hours, but the peace was fragile, waiting to be shattered.
The sound of the front door clicking open and shut jolted me back to consciousness, followed by the heavy tread of footsteps in the hallway. I sat up, the silk robe falling from one shoulder, listening intently. It wasn't the sound of two people; it was the solitary, heavy gait of my son. He paused at my door, his shadow stretching across the floorboards from the hallway light, before pushing it open fully. He stood there, carrying his sister, who was moving against his body like a second skin, her mouth fused to his.
My heart gave a traitorous leap, not of jealousy, but of dark, twisted approval. The hallway light spilt over them, illuminating the scene with clinical precision. Yujin’s dress was hiked up to her waist, her long legs wrapped tightly around his waist, her fingers buried in his hair as she devoured him with a hunger that mirrored my own. He stumbled into the room, kicking the door shut with his heel, the darkness of the room swallowing them whole.
I didn't move. I merely watched from the bed, my eyes adjusting to the gloom, taking in the way his hands gripped her thighs, supporting her weight with an ease that made my breath hitch. He was hard already; I could see the outline of his arousal straining against his trousers even in the dim light. The scent of the night air clung to them, mixed with the sharp tang of alcohol and perfume, but beneath it all was the raw, animalistic scent of arousal that I knew so well.
"I tried to stop her," he rasped out, though his actions betrayed his words as his hands roamed over her body, cupping her backside and pulling her flush against him. "She was all over me the moment we got to the Piazzale."
I couldn't help the low, dark chuckle that escaped my throat, reverberating in the quiet room. It was absurd, really, that he thought he needed to apologise for fulfilling the very destiny I had orchestrated for him. The irony was delicious; I had sent them out to test his resolve, to see if he would crumble under the temptation of a body so similar to my own, and he had returned with the proof of his failure—or perhaps, his success—tightly wrapped around his waist. "Stop her?" I teased, leaning back against the headboard, the silk robe slipping further to pool at my hips. "Oh, my sweet, naive boy. You didn't stand a chance. Look at her. She’s been starving for it, listening to us, imagining exactly what you were doing to me. You didn't fail; you just gave her exactly what she was begging for."
He didn't answer with words, but the groan that tore from his lips as Yujin ground herself against his trapped erection was a response enough. He carried her to the foot of the bed, dropping her unceremoniously onto the mattress where I had just lain. She landed with a soft bounce, her hair spilling across the duvet like spilt ink, her chest heaving with anticipation. She looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes, then her gaze shifted to me, seeking my approval or perhaps my permission. I offered her a slow, predatory smile, raising my glass in a silent toast to her corruption. It was a heady power trip, sitting there like a queen on her dais, watching my daughter prepare to take the place I had just vacated. The air was thick with tension, the scent of their mingled arousal overpowering the lingering smell of my own exertions, and I realised I wasn't repulsed; I was fascinated, eager to see how my lessons would translate to this new, eager student.
"Don't disappoint her, darling," I murmured, my voice husky and thick with renewed desire. I reached out, trailing my fingers down Yujin’s exposed calf, feeling the muscle tense beneath my touch. "She has the same appetites as her mother, perhaps even more voracious because she's had to wait so long. Show her that I haven't been lying about your talents." As he fumbled with his belt, his eyes never leaving mine, I felt a spark of electricity shoot through me. This was no longer just about us; it was a legacy of sin I was passing down, a shared addiction that would bind the three of us together in this decadent Florentine apartment. I settled in, preparing to enjoy the show, knowing that when they were finished, it would be my turn again, and this time, I would have them both.
The belt clattered to the floor with a sharp, metallic sound that seemed to echo through the silent room, a starting gun for the debauchery that was about to unfold. He didn't bother undressing her fully; the urgency was too palpable, the need too raw. Instead, he simply hiked that emerald dress up around her waist, exposing the delicate lace of her knickers, which were already soaked through. He hooked his fingers into the fabric and tore them aside with a guttural growl, making Yujin gasp, her back arching off the mattress in anticipation. I watched with rapt attention as he freed himself, his cock springing forth heavy and eager, glistening with the pre-come that betrayed his own desperation. He didn't wait for her to adjust; he lined himself up and thrust into her in one brutal stroke, claiming her with a possession that made my own breath hitch in sympathy. Yujin cried out, a sound of shocked pleasure that was halfway between a sob and a moan, her legs instinctively locking around his waist to pull him deeper, erasing the line between brother and sister in an instant.
I took another sip of wine, the dark red liquid staining my lips, as I watched the rhythm of their bodies find a violent sync. It was mesmerising, seeing my son move with the same expertise I had drilled into him, yet applying it to a body so fresh and eager. Yujin was no passive participant; she met him thrust for thrust, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, her head thrown back in ecstasy as she finally experienced what she had been listening to through the walls for so long. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, interspersed with their ragged breathing and the creak of the bed frame, a cacophony of sin that stirred the embers of my own desire. I saw his hand slide between them, his thumb finding her clit with the same precision he had used on me earlier, and within moments, she was shattering beneath him, her body convulsing as she screamed his name, a sound of pure, unadulterated release that seemed to shake the very foundations of the old palazzo.
Even as Yujin trembled through the aftershocks of her climax, my son showed no signs of stopping, his youthful stamina driving him onwards as he chased his own end. He looked over at me then, his eyes dark and wild, locking onto mine with a silent plea that sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core. He was fucking his sister, but he was looking at me, seeking my approval, my presence, my guidance in this twisted trinity we had become. I set the wine glass down on the nightstand and crawled towards them, the silk robe falling away completely, leaving me bare. I reached out, gripping his sweat-slicked hair and pulling his face towards mine, kissing him deeply, tasting the lingering salt on his lips and the ghost of Yujin’s breath. "Fill her up," I whispered against his mouth, my voice a dark command. "Give her everything you have. And then," I added, grazing my teeth against his lower lip, "you’re going to come back to me.”
With a guttural roar, he obeyed. His hips slammed forward one final time, burying himself so deep I could see the tension in his abdomen, the corded muscles standing out in sharp relief as he spilt inside her. Yujin arched off the mattress, a silent scream tearing from her throat as she milked him for every drop, her body shuddering in the throes of her own overwhelming release. The room seemed to spin, the heavy velvet curtains blurring into the darkness as the silence rushed back in, punctuated only by our ragged gasps for air. I collapsed back against the pillows, pulling them both down with me into a tangled, sweaty heap of limbs, feeling the rapid thud of two hearts beating in sync with my own, revelling in the dark.
"Mum", he addressed my attention. "I long for you."
He stood off the bed, offering me a hand. The room was steeped in shadows, the only light coming from the city outside filtering through the cracks in the shutters. He pulled me up, his grip firm and possessive, and I went willingly, my body humming with a strange, electric energy that defied exhaustion. He pulled me into his arms, his chest heaving against mine, the heat of his skin searing through the thin silk of my robe.
I looked up at him, smoothing the damp hair away from his forehead. He looked wrecked, his eyes dark and unfocused, but the intensity of his gaze was anchored solely on me. "I know," I whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, tasting the lingering salt and the musk of Yujin on his lips. "What do you want to do?"
He spoke with his hands; my robe was left pooling at my feet before I could even protest—though protest was the furthest thing from my mind. His touch was desperate, needy, mapping every inch of my skin as if he needed to reassure himself of my presence. He guided me towards the open window, the cool night air of Florence washing over my heated skin, raising gooseflesh along my arms. The Arno river glittered black and silver below, the lights of the city reflecting in the dark water like fallen stars.
I gasped as he turned me around to face the window, bending me slightly forward over the sill. The stone was cold against my palms, a stark contrast to the feverish heat of his body pressing against my back. "Someone will see," I breathed, though the thrill of the risk shot straight to my core, making my knees weak. My voice was a mix of warning and enticement, knowing full well that the height and the angle offered a view of the ceiling to anyone looking up, but the thought of being watched—of the city witnessing my corruption—only made the pulse between my thighs throb harder.
"No one will see if you can stifle your moans," he murmured in my ear, his breath hot against my neck. He entered me in one smooth stroke, filling me, the sudden stretch making me cry out. His hand immediately clamped over my mouth, stifling the sound, his other hand gripping my hip to hold me steady as he began to move.
I braced myself against the stone sill, the cool night air teasing my hardened nipples as they brushed against the frame. His rhythm was relentless, a deep, grinding pace that forced me onto my toes with every thrust. The position was demanding, bending me at the waist, the stone digging into my palms, but the pleasure was blinding. I could feel every inch of him, the thick head of his cock dragging against my inner walls with a precision that made my eyes roll back in my head. He had learnt well, too well; he knew exactly how to angle his hips to hit that spot inside me that made my vision blur and my toes curl.
"You are insatiable," he groaned against my ear, his voice rough with exertion. He didn't let up, his hand still firmly over my mouth as he drove into me, the wet sounds of our coupling obscenely loud in the quiet room. I could hear Yujin shifting on the bed behind us, watching, perhaps even touching herself again at the sight of her mother being taken like this. The thought made me clench around him, my body eager for more, eager to be used and filled until I was nothing but a vessel for his pleasure.
The cool stone of the windowsill was a harsh anchor against my palms, contrasting sharply with the feverish heat radiating from my son's body as he pressed me forward. He moved with a renewed, almost punishing rhythm, each thrust forcing a muffled cry into his palm that he kept firmly clamped over my mouth. Below us, Florence slept in ignorant bliss, the golden glimmer of the Ponte Vecchio stretching across the dark Arno like a static bracelet of light, oblivious to the debauchery playing out in the shadows above. The risk of exposure was a live wire, sparking through my veins and heightening every sensation until I felt entirely suspended between the cold night air biting at my exposed breasts and the inferno of his possession behind me.
I could feel Yujin’s gaze burning into my back from the tangle of sheets, a silent witness to the second act of this twisted performance. My son’s grip on my hip tightened, his fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to bruise, claiming me with a primal urgency that bordered on violence. He pulled me back to meet his thrusts, the wet slap of our bodies echoing rhythmically against the glass, a carnal percussion that seemed to drown out the distant sounds of the city. "Look at you," he growled, his voice hot against my ear, his hand finally loosening over my mouth to allow my desperate gasps to escape unimpeded into the night air. "Taking it like a greedy bitch right in front of the window. You love that they might see, don't you?"
My legs were trembling violently, the coil in my belly winding tighter and tighter until it threatened to snap. The dual stimulation of being filled so completely while the world turned lazily beneath us was overwhelming, stealing the air from my lungs and replacing it with pure, unadulterated need. I pushed back against him, silently demanding he give me everything he had, uncaring of the neighbours or the scandal that would erupt if the city chose to look up at this exact moment. My sweet boy delivered as trained; he railed me with wild abandon, the sound of flesh meeting flesh wet and rhythmic, his grip on my hips bruising. I squeezed my eyes shut, seeing stars behind my eyelids, my mouth opening in a silent scream as the tension in my core snapped, sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating outwards to my fingertips. I came hard, my inner muscles clamping down on him like a vice, my body convulsing as the world narrowed down to the point where we were joined.
He rode out my orgasm with a few deep, grinding thrusts, prolonging the pleasure until I was a trembling mess, barely able to hold myself up against the window. He didn't stop there, however. With a dominant growl, he pulled me back from the sill and spun me around to face him, lifting me effortlessly as if I weighed nothing. My legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, my arms circling his neck as he stumbled back towards the bed, falling onto the mattress with Yujin.
We landed in a tangle of limbs, Yujin shifting to make space for us, her eyes wide and dark as she watched us, her hand drifting between her own legs once more. He didn't give me a moment to recover. He was inside me again before I could catch my breath, the angle allowing him to hit even deeper than before. I cried out, my head falling back against the pillows, my nails digging into his shoulders as he set a rhythm that was purely for his own satisfaction now. He was taking what was his, marking me as his territory, and I let him, revelling in the loss of control. He leaned forward, capturing my lips into a searing kiss, swallowing my moans as he moved, his weight pinning me to the bed, making me feel small and possessed.
On my other side, Yujin shifted closer, her hot breath fanning against my neck. She reached out, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw before tangling in my hair, turning my face towards her. She didn't speak, but her eyes were full of a dark, hungry curiosity. She leaned in, her lips brushing against mine in a tentative, exploring touch that tasted of wine and shared secrets. I opened for her, deepening the kiss, my tongue duelling with hers as my son continued to pound into me, the sensory overload pushing me dangerously close to the edge again. The three of us moved together, a tangled knot of limbs and desire, the boundaries of our family blurring until they ceased to exist altogether.
He groaned into the kiss, his hips stuttering as he watched his sister and mother kissing above him. The sight seemed to push him past his limits. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he found his second release. I felt the hot flood of his seed deep inside me, triggering my own final climax. I shuddered around him, my body arching off the bed, a silent scream tearing from my throat as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me. The room spun, the shadows dancing on the ceiling merging into a kaleidoscope of colour, and then, darkness descended as I collapsed back onto the pillows, utterly spent.
"We have a morning lesson tomorrow at the Uni," Yujin whined, curling beside her brother as he plopped on his back.
I lay panting in the tangle of limbs, my chest heaving as I stared up at the dark ceiling, the frantic thrum of my heart slowly beginning to decelerate. The heavy scent of sex and sweat permeated the room, a musk that clung to our skin like a second layer, far more potent than the stale air of Florence drifting through the window. I turned my head on the pillow, watching the lazy rise and fall of my son's chest, his lean, exhausted body glistening with a sheen of exertion in the dim light, and felt a dark, possessive swell of affection that had nothing to do with maternal instincts. He had pleased us both, exceeding the expectations of even my rigorous tutelage, and as I reached out to trace the damp, sweat-slicked contours of his abdomen, I realised with a thrill that I had created a masterpiece of desire.
"Oh, stop your whining," I chided softly, though my voice was thick with satiation and lacking any real bite. I shifted, the ache in my muscles a delicious reminder of the vigorous workout I had just endured, and propped myself up on one elbow to look down at my daughter. She looked the picture of debauched innocence, her emerald dress ruined and twisted around her hips, her eyes glazed and heavy as she curled instinctively towards the source of her pleasure. "You can miss one lecture, Yujin. Consider it a practical session in human anatomy. I’m sure you learnt far more tonight than you ever would in a dusty lecture hall surrounded by bored Italians."
He chuckled weakly, a sound that vibrated against my ribs where I was pressed against his side. His hand came up to rest possessively on my hip, his fingers digging in slightly. "She's right, you know," he murmured, his eyes closing as he basked in the afterglow, the youthful energy that had driven him to such heights finally ebbing into a heavy, contented lassitude. "Besides," he added with a tired smirk, his hand drifting lazily to rest on Yujin’s waist, pulling us both closer into his warmth, "if you went to class, you'd just be thinking about this anyway. Better to stay here and get some rest. We're going to need it if Mum is planning any more... lessons."
so when rumors sprung about a so-called 'monster' lurking in the woods, you were of course interested. the woods of your small town had always been a mystery to little you. as a kid you were warned to never even near the tree line - but of course, the kids in your town would always play games near it, and dare each other to peek inside or see how long a sniveling kid could last standing just five centimeters within it.
as you grew, however, you felt more and more compelled toward the forest. you felt almost drawn to it, wanting to know it's secrets and what hid behind the thick foliage.
and so, here you were.
chest rising and falling slowly as you stood outside of the treeline, staring into it's intimidating branches and vines. this was stupid, you knew that, but you'd spent all of your formative years cowering under it's presence and now - as an adult - you had to see what it all was. and if anything happened to you then so be it, at least you died trying to see something cool.
probably.
"alright, lets go." minutes of hyping yourself up wasted by, until finally, you shook your head and bravely took a step forward. the foliage clung to you sweetly as you began to walk in deeper, the light of your town fading as the overall darkness of the forest took hold of you. slowly but surely you made your way in deeper, until you could no longer see the clearing. the forest seemed to swoon to you, matching it's breathing with yours.
it felt alive in the best way possible.
you walked blindly, staring at the ground until your foot bumped something.
a step.
looking up, you gawked. "holy shit..."
an entire mansion stood before you. not the modernized ones you were used to seeing in high expense neighborhoods, but an older one. almost victorian, made of deep red and black. despite being so old, it looked so pristine. the veins that did curl around it shifted in a way that was, for lack of better terms, aesthetically pleasing to the eye. you felt... at ease.
swallowing and steeling yourself, your feet led you up the stairs and to the door. you couldn't see any light coming, but still your hand grabbed the old knocker, giving three short thumps.
silence drifted in the forest like a bated breath.
waiting.
but nothing came. despite yourself, you reached, opening the door. it preened into your touch, warming under your palm. the door didn't stick, didn't even creak as you opened it. from the corner of your eye, red and quick. you froze, squinting, but it was gone.
"hello?" your voice was gentle, soft.
you didn't expect a reply.
huffing, wind fluttered in behind you, as if urging you inside. blindly you stumbled, the door shutting tight. darkness swallowed briefly, before light illuminated in a room a few steps away. you shivered, feeling suddenly cold and naturally desperate to escape to the warmth of light. rounding the corner, you still at the sight of a fire place, warm with fire. not only that - but a woman.
she sits, rather elegantly, one hand holding a smooth glass, the other resting on her thigh. her exposed thigh, peaking from a black sheer robe. her eyes are playful, already on you when you enter. "I wasn't expecting company.."
your cheeks flush immediately. her voice is lower than you expected and curls around you nicely. "i-i.. I'm sorry, I didn't realize anyone lived-" you squint, because what can you really say? the forest was unknown practically. inhabitant wise.
she smiles playfully, swirling around deep crimson liquid in her class. "relax, dear, it's quite alright. why don't you sit down? your poor feet must be so tired."
you swallowed, nodding despite yourself. initially, you try to move to the opposing couch, but just as you reach it - a slick gray cat jumps up, claiming the spot as it's own. the mysterious woman chuckles, leaning on her hand. "apologies, dear. he likes his space. come, sit next to me."
you swallow, turning, and she pats the spot for good measure as if you were too dumb to see it.
padding over, you hesitantly sink into the plush furniture, a few inches of space between the two of you. her eyes practically glint, as she shifts to face you more. "aren't you adorable..." her eyes slip down your form, and back up. "what's your name, little one?"
inside your chest, your heart pounds rapidly. "...y/n."
you confess it like a sin, and she gratefully drinks it up, humming it it's taste. "beautiful. you can call me jihyo."
"jihyo," you test the name softly - and her smile widens. "that's..i've never heard a name like that."
"oh, i'm not from around here."
you hum, glancing away and around the manor. strangely enough, you don't feel uncomfortable. infact, it feels like the house wants you here. or maybe - jihyo does.
her hand shifts - setting down her drink as her leg brushes yours. she leans her arm against the couch, turning to you fully - her hand pushing into her hair in a way that makes her look entirely alluring. "tell me, little one, why are you all the way out here all alone?"
your body heats under her gaze. "i- um.. I just wanted to see what was in the forest.."
"mm," her free hand comes up, softly tucking some of your hair behind your ear. "is that so? you entered my forest expecting what, little baby rabbits maybe?" she teased you easily, eyes glaring into your neck.
you shivered. "n-no just.."
"such a sweet thing.." jihyo brushed closer, her pointer running down your pulse point. "gods... you smell so divine.."
your eyes shut, body shivering. jihyo takes this chance to move closer, slowly pressing you back against the couch as she sniffs at your neck, something akin to a rumble in her throat. you whimper. "w-what are you doing-"
"shhh," comes her swift response. "you're the one who came into my home uninvited, sweet thing, I'm only taking what I'm owed..."
your heart beats out of your chest as her breath fans over your neck, eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of something sharp dragging along the column until - "ah!"
jihyo's lips are against your neck - but more than that, two prominent teeth have dug into your skin. your hands flinch, weakly gripping onto her sheer robe and slightly tugging it down her right shoulder on accident. she purrs against you, free arm looping around your back and dragging you up against her - as the feeling of something lightweight takes over. briefly do you feel at peace - before you fall back, now against the silk duvets of a bed.
jihyo kneels, looking down at you with a sort of satisfied smirk on her face - and from her lips leaks drips of your blood. you whimper, reaching up to your neck, and indeed you feel your fingers dip into something wet. "y-you- what- what are you?"
the older woman above you hums, reaching to the tie at her stomach and slowly tugging it apart, dragging the robe down her body. your eyes fall naturally. "what do you mean, sweet girl?" she coos. "I'm everything you need..."
her eyes shine a bit - a red hue on them.
you feel compelled to listen - a low whine bubbling from your throat. jihyo coo's, tossing her robe aside and pressing her body down against yours, lips finding your own easily. your hands trembled, grasping her hips as a grunt escapes you from the metallic taste on your tongue. her fangs nip your lips, hand escaping down to your pants and pushing past them, teasing you through your panties.
your hips buck almost instantly, a whine escaping. you cant - even for a second - believe this is actually happening right now. a smile creeps onto jihyo's lips, and she breaks the kiss.
"its your first, sweet girl?"
an embarrassed hue rises on your cheeks, and shyly you look away, nodding.
jihyo smirks, hands inching down your pants and panties until she's tossed them aside. then she kisses down your body, positioning between your thighs. tiny bites here and there finally lead her to your core - tongue slipping out to lap up and down your cunt slowly, tasting each and every bit of you as you whimper and squirm, hiding your face.
"m-miss jihyo-!"
"mm, I like that," comes her warm purr. her lips wrap around your clit, tiny sucking ministrations making you shiver and whine loudly. your body bucks against your better judgement, pushing you further into her mouth. Jihyo purrs, easing down until her tongue teased your entrance, circling slowly before easing in.
you whimpered, shifting at the new sensation. weak little moans tumbled free, your hand inching to grasp her hair. jihyo hummed, threading her tongue in and out of you. a warm heat began to bubble, curing up your body until it swirled in your stomach and grew tighter. your moans were shorter, weaker, body squirming.
jihyo hummed, stroking your thigh as she shifting her tongue out, lapping at your folds and circling your overly sensitive clit until you broke, a mess of whimpers that you failed to bury into the pillow at your head.
greedily, she drank up every drop, pulling away and licking her lips clean.
slowly, she advanced up your body, low rumbles leaving her chest as she curled against you like a big cat, petting your head. "adorable little thing," she cooed.
you whimpered, eyes slipping shut.
the last thing you heard before sleep took over being her soft chuckle, and one single sentence.
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
