yoda_tzutzu🚂

[ 🇵🇭 𝟭𝟴+ / 𝗠𝗮𝗹𝗲 ] [𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆𝗲𝗿, 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳 𝗳𝗮𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗰, 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗵𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘆] Hello! you can call me Tzu, originally from Wattpad and trying to get back to writing fanfics again :D | FANPROSE

[yodatzutzu]

MASTERLIST

Some stories may contain trigger warning!

tw! - trigger warning! a - angst f - fluff au - alternate universe s - smut

ONESHOTS

i need somebody (Winter x Male OC) [au] [a]

marked by ink (Winter x Male OC) [au]

little dragon (Yeji x Male OC [au] [a] [f] [tw!]

[co-reborn]

Escort

Sana x Male Reader

view in AFF | view in Fanprose

890 Words

A/N: Part of Summer's Curated Companions

“What do you want to do?”

You’re not entirely sure. You don’t even know how this stunning woman ended up knocking on your hotel room door. The only clue you have is the text message from your friend: ‘Happy Birthday bro. Enjoy the gift :)’ 

“Can I see more of you?”

“Of course, dear.”

That sweet angelic voice of hers just pulls you in as you sit closer to the edge of the bed, eyes glued to the sinful performance. The slow pull of the zipper behind her, then the dress off her shoulders. When it finally falls into a crumpled mess by her feet, you’re salivating. Her figure looks great, and she looks a thousand times better when just in her bra and panties. It’s a sight to remember, you’re sure it’s going to be carved into your mind, but you want to keep a souvenir for the night. 

When you pick up your phone, Sana seems to get your idea and starts posing for you. First, she leans a little closer to you and brings her arms together to accentuate her cleavage. Then more pictures where a strap of her bra is off her shoulders, then both straps. Just as you’re waiting for the inevitable complete removal of her bra, she turns away from you and flaunts her ass. She’s bending over, looking back at the camera with a seductive smile. By this point, you’re in a trance and mindlessly clicking away to gather as many photos as you can. 

She sits on the bed next to you and leans in close. When you turn to face her, you find yourself face to face with her, nose almost touching hers, and the first thing you notice is how attractive her eyes truly are, followed by how good she smells. You barely realise when her hand is on your thigh and dangerously close to your bulge. 

“Do you want to spend all the time taking pictures? Your friend only paid for an hour.” She then whispers directly into your ear, “I can take good care of you if you want.”

You’re nodding like an idiot, confused and overwhelmed by the circumstances you’re in, and you find your pants being unbuttoned. Autopilot has taken over your system, you’re letting Sana have her way with you. It does seem that she knows what she’s doing given that she’s smiling while kneeling between your spread legs and your erect cock in front of her. Her lips press against your cock, her tongue teases your tip. You’re tense on the bed, nervous yet excited for the moment when she opens her mouth to take you in. 

The sheer hotness of her mouth all over you, the pure filth of her lips at the base of your cock in contrast with that happy glimmer in her eyes are all too much to take in. As much as you’d like to keep your eyes on Sana, you just can’t. You’re left gripping the bed sheets and tossing your head back to gather your composure. 

It’s almost a new experience for you. The expert mouth bobbing up and down your cock works in perfect tandem with her hands twisting the base of your length. Time feels foreign to you. You don’t know how much time has truly passed. All you know is that you’re about to cum and trying to hold it back is just going to end up with torn bed sheets. 

A quick peek down at Sana makes it tenfold worse. She’s so damn hot, especially when she’s making eye contact with you with those seductive eyes of hers. It’s like she knows how close you are. How could she not? You’re moaning without restraint. You can’t help it of course, but it seems like the louder you are, the more intense Sana gets with the blowjob.

The pleasure suddenly diminishes. “Where do you want to cum, dear?”

You struggle to choose, especially when she’s still jerking you off rapidly. “Your face. Please!”

“You might want to record this.” She winks before going back down on you.

Your hand is shaky, you can barely hold your phone up in place. You aren’t completely sure if it’s even capturing all the action. What you’re sure of is that Sana is blowing you faster than earlier and that you’re about to cum and that your other hand is guiding her head, almost pushing her deeper onto yourself as if that’s possible. Then your grip loosens, your self control vanishes. 

Without warning, you cum inside her mouth. She reacts quickly to the first shot, pulling your cock out and aiming the rest of your shots on her face. The pleasure is immeasurable. It’s been too long since you’ve relieved yourself and the volume of your load surprises her as her face is painted white.

“Fuck Sana!” 

You remain seated, exhausted, and appreciate the sight of Sana painted with your cum. She cleans herself up with her fingers and licks them clean while you catch your breath before she dresses back up. God how can a woman look so sexy putting clothes back on. 

“It’s a pity we don’t have more time together. It seems like you need it dear.” Right before she exits the room, you hear a faint “Call me again.”

You just might do exactly that.

[totalsellout]

WINTER LEMONADE (2026)

[elryuse]

Promiscuous

MEOVV Anna, AESPA Karina & KEP1ER Dayeon X Male Reader

Tags : Breeding, Obsession, Possesive Love, Femdom, Begging For Creampies, Vaginal Cum, Impregnation, Foursome, Lots of Moaning, Spanking, Forced Sex, Ahegao, Cheating, Dark Romance

Words : 4,986 Words

A Commision Work For My Friend @KariNeko From Ko-Fi. Hope Yall Enjoyed It.

The candles on the cake sputter, the wax dripping onto the chocolate frosting like a sick joke. You stare at the flickering flames, feeling the weight of three pairs of eyes drilling into the side of your head. The air in the apartment is stale, thick with the smell of cheap beer and the expensive perfume Karina and Anna drowned themselves in.

"So," Karina starts, her voice low, vibrating with a weird sort of tension that makes the hair on your arms stand up. She's leaning against the counter, arms crossed under her chest, pushing those heavy tits up until they're nearly spilling out of her tight black top. "You gonna tell us, or do we have to beat it out of you?"

You swallow hard. Your throat feels like sandpaper. "Tell you what?"

"Don't play dumb, asshole," Anna snaps from the couch. She’s kicking her legs back and forth, her skirt riding up high enough to show the lace tops of her stockings. She looks bored, but her eyes are sharp, glinting with something dangerous. "We know you've been sneaking around. Phone glued to your hand, smiling like a fucking idiot at the screen. Who is she?"

You glance at Dayeon. She’s sitting quietly in the armchair, hands folded in her lap, looking unassuming in her oversized sweater. But she’s watching you too, her gaze dark and unblinking. It’s Dayeon who scares you the most right now. She was always the quiet one, the one you saved from the bullies back in school. But ever since she came back from Seoul, there's a new edge to her.

"It's… it's Joona," you admit, the words feeling like lead as they leave your mouth. "We've been seeing each other for a few months. I was going to tell you guys, I just—"

The silence that follows is absolute. It’s the kind of silence that happens right before a gunshot.

"Joona?" Karina laughs, but it's a sharp, jagged sound. "That plain-looking girl from accounting? You're dumping us for her?"

"I'm not dumping anyone, we're just friends—" you start, standing up, trying to put some distance between you and the sudden shift in the room.

"We aren't just friends," Anna cuts in, her voice dropping to a whisper that screams across the room. She stands up too, moving with a predator's grace. "We never were. And you know it."

Before you can process what that means, the door clicks shut. You didn't see Dayeon move, but she’s suddenly standing by the entrance, locking the deadbolt with a deliberate, terrifying click.

"What are you doing?" You back up, your knees hitting the edge of the coffee table. "Dayeon?"

"We gave you everything," Dayeon says, her voice soft but carrying a terrifying weight. "We protected you. We loved you when no one else did. And this is how you repay us? By spreading your seed for some trash who doesn't deserve it?"

"Seed?" The word sends a jolt of panic through your system. "What the fuck are you talking about? Open the door."

Karina lunges. She’s faster than you remember, tackling you with enough force to knock the wind out of your lungs. You hit the floor hard, the back of your head slamming against the wood. Before you can recover, Anna is there, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head.

"Get the fuck off me!" You struggle, thrashing your legs, but Karina straddles your stomach, her weight pinning you down. She’s heavy, solid, and strong as hell.

"Shh, baby," Anna coos, leaning down close enough that you can smell the mint on her breath. "Stop fighting. You're only making it harder on yourself. We're going to take what's ours."

"We?" You gasp, staring up at them. Karina is grinding her hips against your stomach, a manic grin stretching her lips. Dayeon is walking over slowly, pulling a pair of scissors from her purse.

"You think we didn't see the way you looked at us?" Dayeon murmurs, kneeling beside your head. She runs the cold metal of the scissors down your cheek, sending shivers racing through your body. "All those years. Playing innocent. We were waiting for you to grow up. To realize you belonged to us."

"I—"

"Shut up," Karina barks, grabbing your face and forcing you to look at her. "You're ours. You hear me? This cock," she grabs your crotch roughly, her fingers digging in painfully, "is ours. And we're going to use it until you forget what that bitch Joona even looks like."

"Rip it," Anna commands, nodding at your shirt.

Dayeon doesn't hesitate. She slides the scissors under the collar of your shirt and snips. The fabric tears with a harsh sound, and she keeps cutting, slicing right down the middle until your chest is exposed to the cool air. They don't stop there. Karina grabs the ruined fabric and rips it apart, the buttons pinging against the floor like scattered bullets.

"Look at this body," Anna breathes, her hands roaming over your chest, her nails scratching hard enough to leave red welts. "We built this up. We fed you. Took care of you. It belongs to us."

"Please, guys, stop," you beg, but your protest is weak, drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears. The sheer absurdity of the situation warps your mind. This is a nightmare. It has to be.

"Stop?" Karina laughs, leaning down to bite your neck hard. You cry out as her teeth sink into your skin, sending a spike of pain mixed with a confusing rush of heat through your system. "We haven't even started yet."

She stands up briefly, tearing her own top off. Her massive tits bounce free, heavy and pale, her nipples hardening instantly in the air. She's not wearing a bra. She grabs your hands and places them on her breasts, forcing you to squeeze.

"Feel that?" she growls. "That's what you need. Not that flat-chested whore."

Anna follows suit, stripping out of her clothes with frantic urgency. She yanks her skirt down, kicking it away, then tears her panties off like they're made of paper. She climbs onto your legs, pinning them down, her wet pussy sliding against your jeans.

"He's hard," Anna observes, looking down at the bulge in your pants with a hungry smirk. "The little pervert likes it when we force him."

"No, I don't—"

"Liar," Dayeon hisses in your ear. She’s stripped too, her slender body pale and flawless. She straddles your face, her thighs pressing against your cheeks, cutting off your view of the others. The scent of her arousal hits you like a drug—musky, sweet, and overwhelming. "You've always wanted this. You just needed a push."

"Eat it," she commands, lowering her cunt onto your mouth.

You clamp your mouth shut, turning your head to the side.

"I said eat it!" Dayeon grabs your hair, yanking hard enough to bring tears to your eyes. She forces your head back, grinding her pussy against your lips. "Don't make me hurt you."

You have no choice. You stick your tongue out, lapping at her folds. She tastes salty and sweet, impossibly wet. She moans loudly, grinding down harder, smothering you with her flesh. You can't breathe, your nose pressed against her clit, your tongue working frantically to keep up with her rhythm.

"Fuck, yes," Dayeon whines, her head thrown back. "That's it. Take it all."

Meanwhile, you feel hands fighting with the button of your jeans. Karina rips the button off, the snap loud in the small room. She yanks the zipper down and tugs your pants and boxers down in one rough motion. Your cock springs free, slapping against your stomach.

"Look at this beautiful dick," Karina purrs, wrapping her hand around your shaft. Her grip is tight, almost painful. She strokes you roughly, her dry palm chafing your skin. "It's so big. So perfect for us."

She doesn't wait. She spits on your cock, using the saliva as lube as she jerks you off faster. Your hips buck involuntarily, the pleasure intense and humiliating.

"He's loving it," Anna laughs, watching your face. "Look at him, trying to hump Karina's hand. What a slut."

"I'm not a—" you try to shout, but your voice is muffled by Dayeon's pussy.

"Shut up and suck!" Dayeon grinds down harder, cutting off your air again.

The lack of oxygen makes your head spin. The combination of Karina's rough handjob and Dayeon's suffocating weight on your face is short-circuiting your brain. You feel your resistance crumbling, replaced by a primal, burning need. Your body is betraying you, reacting to their touch despite your terror.

"Get him wetter," Anna says, leaning down to spit on your cock too.

"I'm gonna ride him now," Karina announces. She climbs over you, positioning her dripping hole above your shaft. "I'm gonna milk every last drop out of him."

"No, wait!" You try to buck her off, but Anna grabs your shoulders, pinning you down.

"Take it, bitch," Karina snarls.

She slams down onto you.

You scream into Dayeon's pussy as Karina impales herself on your cock. She’s tight, so fucking tight it feels like she’s tearing you apart. She doesn't give you time to adjust, doesn't give a shit about your comfort. She starts riding you immediately, bouncing up and down with brutal force.

"Fuck! Yes!" Karina screams, her nails digging into your chest. "You feel so fucking good! Better than I imagined!"

Her pussy grips you like a vice, rippling around your length as she pistons up and down. The sound of skin slapping against skin is loud and wet, filling the room. Smack, smack, smack.

"Look at that face," Anna coos, stroking your cheek as you gasp for air whenever Dayeon lifts her hips slightly. "He's breaking already. Look at his eyes rolling back."

"He's thick," Dayeon moans, grinding her clit against your nose. "I can feel him throbbing inside you, Karina. He's gonna cum so hard."

"No," you gasp, your voice weak. "I don't want to—"

"Don't lie," Karina growls, slapping your face. The sting shocks you. "You love this. You love being used. Admit it!"

"Admit it," Anna echoes, pinching your nipples.

"I… I…" You can't form words. Your mind is fracturing under the onslaught of sensation. The pleasure is too intense, too sharp. It borders on pain, but it’s dragging you under.

Dayeon lifts off your face, finally letting you breathe. You gasp in huge lungfuls of air, your vision swimming.

"Say it," Dayeon commands, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at her. "Say you belong to us."

"Please…"

"Say it!" Anna slaps your inner thigh.

"I belong to you!" you scream, the words ripped from your throat.

"Good boy," Dayeon purrs. "Now fill Karina up. Breed her pussy."

"Breed me!" Karina shrieks, riding you even harder, her ass cheeks clapping against your thighs with bruising force. "Knock me up! Put a baby in me!"

The filthiness of it, the sheer depravity, snaps something inside you. The last threads of your resistance snap. You stop fighting. Your hips lift off the floor to meet Karina's thrusts, driving your cock deeper into her wet heat.

"Yes! That's it!" Karina howls. "Fuck me! Fuck me like you mean it!"

You grab her hips, your fingers sinking into her soft flesh. You hate yourself for it, but you're pounding into her now, matching her brutal rhythm. You want to cum. You need to cum. You need to fill her up just like she asked.

"See?" Anna laughs, watching you lose control. "He's just a breeding stud. That's all he's good for."

"My turn," Anna demands, pushing Karina off you.

Karina cries out in protest as your cock slips out of her, glistening with her juices. She collapses on the floor, panting, her legs twitching.

Anna doesn't waste a second. She straddles you reverse-cowgirl, her ass facing you. She grabs your slick cock and lines it up with her entrance.

"Watch this," she orders, looking back at you over her shoulder.

She sits down on your shaft, taking you balls deep in one smooth motion. She groans, her back arching, her head thrown back. She starts twerking on your dick, her ass bouncing up and down in mesmerizing circles.

"Fuck, his cock hits the spot," Anna moans, her hand reaching down to rub her clit furiously. "It's so deep!"

You stare at her ass, mesmerized by the way it jiggles with every thrust. You reach out, grabbing her cheeks, spreading them apart to see her asshole clenching as she rides you.

"Spank me," Anna commands. "Spank me hard!"

You bring your hand down on her ass with a loud crack.

"Harder!" she screams.

You slap her again, leaving a red handprint on her pale skin. You do it again and again, lost in the violence of the act. Your cock is throbbing, the pressure building to an unbearable peak.

"I'm close," you grunt, your hands gripping her hips so hard you're leaving bruises.

"Don't you dare cum yet," Dayeon warns. She's back, sitting on your chest, playing with her tits. "You have to breed all of us. That was the deal."

"I can't hold it," you gasp, your vision blurring.

"Hold it!" Karina snaps, recovering enough to crawl over and grab your balls. She squeezes them, just on the edge of pain.

You scream, your back bowing off the floor. The denial is torture, but it only makes the pleasure more intense.

Anna is bouncing wildly now, her pussy gripping you like a machine. "I'm gonna cum! I'm gonna cum all over his big dick!"

She screams, her body convulsing as her orgasm crashes through her. Her pussy clamps down on you, milking you, trying to pull the cum out of your balls.

"Switch," Dayeon says, pushing Anna off your dripping cock.

Anna rolls to the side, gasping, her body trembling with aftershocks.

Dayeon climbs on top of you, facing you this time. Her expression is calm, almost serene, contrasting with the madness of the last few minutes. She positions your cock at her entrance and sinks down slowly, savoring every inch.

"You're mine now," she whispers, leaning down to kiss you. It's a soft, tender kiss, completely at odds with the brutal fucking she starts next.

She moves her hips in a slow, grinding motion, swirling her walls around your head. It feels different—deeper, more intimate. She stares into your eyes, her gaze boring into your soul.

"You're never leaving us," she says, her voice hypnotic. "We'll lock you up. Keep you in this room. Use you every day until you're dry."

The thought should terrify you, but instead, it sends a jolt of dark ecstasy through your body. You grab her ass, pulling her down harder onto you.

"Do it," you growl, your voice unrecognizable. "Breed me. Use me."

"That's it," Dayeon smiles, a twisted, beautiful smile. "Break for me."

She starts riding you faster, harder. The other two girls crawl over, licking and biting at your nipples, your neck, your ears. It's sensory overload. The heat, the smell, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, the feeling of three bodies writhing against you.

"Cum inside her," Karina whispers in your ear. "Fill her cunt up."

"Do it," Anna licks your other ear. "Knock her up."

The pressure in your balls is critical. You can't hold back any longer. You roar, thrusting up into Dayeon one last time, burying yourself to the hilt.

"Fuck!" you bellow as your cock explodes.

Dayeon screams as she feels the hot spurts of cum flooding her insides. Her pussy spasms around you, milking you for every drop. You cum harder than you ever have in your life, your body shaking violently, your vision going white.

You keep cumming, pulse after pulse, filling her up until it leaks out around your shaft, dripping down your balls.

"Take it all," Dayeon gasps, her body going limp as she collapses onto your chest.

You lay there, panting, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. You're covered in sweat, scratches, and bite marks. Your body aches everywhere. But as the fog clears, you realize the horror isn't over.

Karina is already crawling between your legs, licking the excess cum off your softening cock. Anna is kissing Dayeon's neck, her hand moving down to play with Dayeon's cum-filled pussy.

"Round two," Karina looks up at you, her eyes wild. "You didn't think we were done, did you?"

She licks her lips, smiling. "We have all night. And you're going to breed us all until we can't walk."

The buzzing of your phone on the coffee table cuts through the heavy, panting silence of the room like a jagged knife. It’s a sharp, jarring sound, piercing the haze of sweat and sex that clings to the air. The screen lights up, casting a harsh blue glow across Karina’s naked, sweat-slicked back.

Joona.

The name hits you in the chest with the force of a physical blow. Panic, cold and sharp, spikes through your system, momentarily cutting through the fog of lust and exhaustion. You try to move, to reach for it, but your limbs feel like lead. Dayeon is still slumped against your chest, her breathing ragged, her pussy still pulsing around your softening cock, trapping you inside her heat.

"Ah, look at that," Karina purrs, her voice dripping with venom and amusement. She crawls over the floor, her movements sinuous and predatory, like a cat sizing up a wounded mouse. She grabs the phone before you can even twitch your fingers. "The little wifey is calling."

"Don't," you croak, your voice wrecked from screaming and moaning. "Karina, please. Don't answer it."

Anna laughs, a wet, throaty sound from somewhere near your legs. She’s sitting up, wiping a smear of cum from her chin, her eyes wide and manic. "Why not? It’s rude to ignore a call on your birthday, isn't it? Especially from your girlfriend."

"Please," you beg, but the protest is weak. Your body is betraying you again. Just hearing Joona’s name in this context—while your cock is buried deep inside Dayeon, while the smell of three different pussies saturates the room—sends a sick, twisted jolt of arousal through your gut.

Karina taps the screen, swiping the green icon with a flourish. She holds the phone up, her thumb hovering over the speaker icon. She looks at you, her eyes dark and cruel, and then she taps it.

"Hello?" Joona’s voice is small, tinny, and anxious. "Babe? Are you there? I’ve been trying to reach you. Why didn't you answer?"

Karina’s lips curl into a vicious smile. She locks eyes with you, savoring the terror on your face. "Hey, Joona," she says, her voice sugary sweet, laced with poison. "He’s a little… tied up right now."

"Karina?" Joona’s confusion is evident. "What… what are you doing there? Is everything okay? Put him on the phone."

"He can't really talk right now," Karina drawls, shifting her weight. She glances down at Dayeon, who is starting to stir. "He’s busy. Very, very busy."

"Busy?" Joona’s voice rises in pitch. "It’s his birthday! We had plans—"

"Plans changed," Karina snaps, the sweetness vanishing instantly. "And frankly, he doesn't want to see you anymore. He’s realized where he actually belongs."

You open your mouth to deny it, to scream at Joona to run, but the words die in your throat. Because Dayeon is moving again. She lifts her hips slowly, letting your cock slide out of her with a wet, filthy squelch. You’re covered in her cum, in yours, the mixture frothy and white on your shaft.

"Time for round two, baby," Anna whispers, her breath hot against your balls.

Anna ducks her head, her long hair tickling your thighs, and presses her lips against the sensitive head of your cock. She kisses it, soft and reverent, before her tongue darts out to lap at the mixture of fluids coating you. The sensation is electric. You groan, your hips bucking involuntarily.

"Who is that?" Joona demands, her voice shrill now. "What is going on? Let me talk to him!"

"Shh," Karina hushes the phone, her eyes never leaving your face. "Listen."

Dayeon doesn’t give you a moment to recover. She plants her hands on your chest, her nails digging in hard, and slams herself back down on your cock. She takes you to the hilt in one brutal stroke.

"Fuck!" you gasp, your back arching off the floor. She’s tighter than before, squeezing you like a vice, her walls rippling and massaging your length.

Dayeon throws her head back, her sweat-dampened hair sticking to her flushed cheeks. She starts to ride you, hard and fast. "Yes," she hisses, her voice loud and clear in the sudden silence of the room. "It’s still so big. Stretching me out."

"He's… he's…" Joona stammers on the other end of the line. "What is that noise? What was that sound?"

Karina giggles, a dark, delighted sound. She turns the phone around, angling the camera so it points directly at the spectacle on the floor. Dayeon is bouncing on you now, her tits jiggling wildly with every thrust, her ass cheeks clapping against your thighs. Anna is still down there, her tongue working frantically over your balls and the base of your shaft wherever she can reach.

"Just a second, Joona," Karina says, her voice thick with sadistic pleasure. "I think you need to see this. I think you need to see what your 'boyfriend' is doing right now."

She taps the screen again. "Video call. Accept."

There’s a pause, a second of terrified silence, and then the connection clicks. You can't see Joona’s face, but you know she’s seeing you. She’s seeing your sweaty, heaving body, pinned to the floor. She’s seeing Dayeon, your childhood friend who you rescued from bullies, riding your cock like a woman possessed. She’s seeing Anna, your neighbor, licking your balls like they’re her favorite treat.

"Happy birthday, babe," Karina whispers into the microphone, holding the phone steady like a director filming a masterpiece. "Look at him. Look at the mess he's making."

"He's a bull, isn't he?" Karina continues, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear, echoing in the small room. "And as you can see, Joona, he is breeding the three of us tonight."

"No," you whimper, your face burning with humiliation. But your body is on fire. The shame is washing over you, mixing with the overwhelming pleasure of Dayeon’s pussy, turning into a dark, narcotic heat that clouds your mind.

"Look at his face," Anna laughs, pulling away from your balls for a second to look up at the camera. "He loves it. He's fucking loving it."

"Is that… is that Dayeon?" Joona’s voice cracks. "And Anna? What… what are you doing?"

"We're taking what's ours," Dayeon moans, never stopping her rhythm. She looks down at you, her eyes glazed over with lust. "Tell her, baby. Tell her how good it feels."

"It feels… so good," you choke out, the words torn from your throat. You hate yourself for saying it, but the feeling is undeniable. Her pussy is gripping you, milking you, dragging the pleasure out of you with every stroke. "Fuck, Dayeon, it feels so good."

"You liar!" Joona screams through the phone. "How could you? You said you loved me!"

"We love him more," Karina barks back. "We've always loved him more. We just waited until he was ready to be a man. And now? Now he's our personal stud."

Dayeon picks up the pace, her thighs burning against your sides. The sound of skin slapping against skin is obscene, wet and loud, filling the room. Smack, smack, smack. The visual must be devastating—Dayeon’s slender body impaled on you, her head thrown back in ecstasy, your cock disappearing inside her over and over again.

"He's filling me up, Joona," Dayeon taunts the phone, her voice breathy and high. "He's so deep. He's gonna put a baby in me."

"That's disgusting!" Joona cries. "I'm calling the police! I'm—"

"Go ahead," Karina sneers. "But by the time they get here, we'll be round three. And I'll be the one carrying his next kid. He’s not going anywhere. He’s exactly where he belongs."

She tosses the phone onto the couch, keeping the call connected, the audio still broadcasting. Joona’s sobbing is just background noise now, a pathetic soundtrack to the debauchery taking place on your living room floor.

"Fuck her," Karina growls, turning her attention back to you. She straddles your face, facing Dayeon, her knees on either side of your head. "Forget about her. You don't need that skinny little bitch. You have us."

You are suffocating in pussy again. Karina’s heavy thighs clamp around your head, her wet cunt pressing down onto your mouth. The smell is intoxicating—musk, sweat, and pure sex. You stick your tongue out, licking her folds frantically, driven by a hunger you didn't know you possessed.

"That's it," Karina moans, grinding down on your face. "Eat me. Make me cum on your face."

"Share," Anna demands, crawling up to join them. She grabs Karina’s tits, squeezing them hard, and pulls her in for a bruising kiss. They are making out above you, their tongues tangling, while Dayeon continues to mercilessly ride your cock.

The sensory overload is breaking you. You can't see anything but Karina’s ass and pussy in front of your eyes. You can't feel anything but Dayeon’s tight, squeezing heat around your dick and Anna’s hands roaming over your chest and stomach. You can't hear anything but the wet sounds of sex, the girls' moans, and the distant crying of your ex-girlfriend on the phone.

"He's getting close," Dayeon pants, her rhythm becoming erratic. "I can feel him throbbing. He's gonna cum again."

"Not yet," Anna gasps, breaking the kiss with Karina. "I want it. I want him to cum in my mouth."

"He cums inside me first," Dayeon snarls, slamming down hard. "I’m not getting off until he floods my womb."

"Greedy bitch," Karina laughs, grinding her clit against your nose. "Let him decide."

They don't let you decide, of course. They just use you.

Dayeon’s pussy clamps down like a trap. The pressure is immense, her muscles rippling along your shaft in waves. You scream into Karina’s pussy as your second orgasm builds, violent and unstoppable.

"Do it!" Dayeon shrieks. "Breed me! Knock me up, you bastard!"

"Fuck!" You roar, your body arching, your toes curling.

You explode inside her. It’s even more intense than the first time. Your cock jerks and pulses, spurting thick ropes of cum deep into her cunt. Dayeon screams, her body convulsing, her pussy milking you for every drop, sucking the seed right out of your balls.

"Yes! Yes! Fill me up!" she cries out, collapsing forward onto Karina’s shoulder.

Your vision whites out. Your ears are ringing. You are dimly aware of Joona’s wails cutting off abruptly—maybe she hung up, maybe she couldn't bear to listen anymore. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters except the feeling of releasing everything you have into Dayeon.

Karina climbs off your face, giving you a chance to gasp for air. You are drowning in sweat, your chest heaving.

"Look at that," Anna breathes, watching the cum leak out of Dayeon’s pussy, running down your shaft and pooling on your stomach. "So much fucking cum. He really is a bull."

Dayeon lifts herself off you slowly, her legs trembling. Your cock slips out of her with a wet pop, followed by a flood of white fluid. It’s a visceral, nasty sight—your combined juices dripping onto your skin.

"Clean him up," Karina commands, pointing at Anna.

Anna doesn't hesitate. She dives between your legs, her tongue lapping up the mess. She licks your cock clean, then moves lower, scooping the cum off your stomach with a hungry groan.

"Tastes so good," Anna mumbles, her mouth full. "Mix of all three of us."

"My turn," Karina says, her eyes wild. She looks at your semi-hard cock, which is already twitching, showing signs of life despite the exhaustion. "Don't think you're done, stud. I haven't been bred yet."

She pushes Anna aside and straddles your hips. Her pussy is red and swollen, dripping wet. She grabs your cock, stroking it roughly, forcing it back to full hardness.

"Please," you whimper, your voice barely a whisper. "I can't."

"You can and you will," Karina snarls. She lines you up and impales herself in one brutal drop. "You're going to fuck me until I pass out. And then you're going to fuck Anna again. We're not stopping until your balls are empty."

She starts riding you, harder and faster than the others. She’s relentless, a machine built for sex. Her ass slaps against your thighs with bruising force. She leans forward, biting your neck, your shoulders, leaving marks all over your skin.

"You belong to us," she growls in your ear. "Forget Joona. Forget everyone. You're just a toy for our cunts. A breeder. Say it."

"I'm… I'm a toy," you gasp, your mind fracturing under the relentless assault. "I'm your breeder."

"Good boy," she moans, her nails digging into your chest. "Now fuck me back. Give me that baby."

You reach up, grabbing her heavy tits, squeezing them hard. You hate yourself for it, but you thrust your hips up to meet her, driving your cock deeper into her body. The night has only just begun, and you know, with a terrifying certainty, that by the time the sun comes up, there will be nothing left of the man you used to be. There will only be this—a rutting beast, broken and bred, owned completely by the three women who used to be your best friends. And deep down, in the dark, twisted corners of your soul, you realize you wouldn't have it any other way.

[elryuse]

CONFESSIONS

Yuna, Kazuha & Winter X Male Reader

Tags : Obsession, Mind Control/Hypnosis, Possesive Females, Personality Change, Dominant Female, Bully to Lover, Extreme Romance, Dark Romance, Kinky, Foursome, Complicated Romance, Harem, Impregnation, Creampie, Tied Up Sex, Blowjob, Deepthroat, Pussy Eating, Body Worship, Cock Worship

Words : 12,372 Words

The antique shop smelled like dust and forgotten memories. You hadn't meant to wander inside, really. Just needed to kill time between classes, and the narrow storefront wedged between a bubble tea shop and a dry cleaner had caught your attention with its jumbled window display of tarnished silver and faded porcelain.

Now you stood in the back corner, staring at a small wooden box no bigger than your palm.

"Find something interesting?"

The shopkeeper's voice made you flinch. You hadn't heard her approach. She was old, her face a roadmap of wrinkles, but her eyes were startlingly sharp behind wire-rimmed glasses.

"Just looking," you muttered, turning to leave.

"That one chooses its owner," she said, ignoring your dismissal. "The Wishing Wire. Very old. Very particular."

You glanced back at the box. Inside, resting on faded velvet, sat a tangle of red wire twisted into an abstract shape. It looked like something a child might make in art class. Cheap. Nonsense.

"How much?"

"For you? Five dollars. It wants to go home with you."

Right. Sure it did. You pulled out a crumpled five-dollar bill anyway, partly to end the conversation and partly because something about the wire's chaotic loops kept drawing your eye. The transaction took seconds. The shopkeeper pressed the box into your hand with fingers that felt surprisingly warm and dry.

"Twist it clockwise," she instructed. "Speak your wish. Let go."

"Uh-huh." You pocketed the box without looking at her again.

Outside, the afternoon sun felt too bright after the shop's dim interior. You squinted against it, checking your phone. Still forty minutes until your next class. Enough time to grab coffee, maybe find a quiet spot in the library.

Enough time to be alone with your thoughts.

Which was never a good thing, lately.

The harassment had started your first semester. You'd transferred in mid-year, a scholarship student who didn't know anyone, and Yuna had spotted you like a hawk spots a rabbit in an open field.

She was beautiful, you'd give her that. Tall and elegant with dark hair that fell past her shoulders in a sleek sheet, her eyes slightly narrowed in perpetual judgment. She moved like someone who knew exactly how much space she deserved to occupy. Her friend Kazuha was shorter, round-faced and deceptively sweet-looking, with a dancer's compact body and a smile that fooled people until she opened her mouth. And Winter—Minjeong, though everyone called her Winter—completed their trio with her pale coloring and sharp tongue, her slim figure always dressed in the latest trends.

They'd made your life miserable for two semesters now.

Little things, mostly. At first. Knocking your books off tables in the cafeteria. "Accidentally" spilling drinks on your notes. Whispering comments just loud enough for you to hear as you passed.

Then it had escalated.

Yuna had found out where you lived—somehow—and started leaving notes in your mailbox. Not threats, exactly. Just observations. Saw you at the coffee shop today. You looked pathetic. That blue shirt makes you look like a corpse. Why do you even bother coming to campus?

Kazuha had hacked your social media accounts, or at least figured out your passwords. She'd post embarrassing things and then delete them before you could prove anything. Comments on other people's posts that made you sound desperate, creepy, lonely. Which you were, but that wasn't the point.

Winter was the worst, though. She liked to get in your face. Literally. Cornering you between classes, pressing close enough that you could smell her expensive perfume, her voice dropping to a whisper as she dissected every flaw she perceived. Your posture. Your clothes. The way you talked. The way you didn't talk, which was apparently worse.

"Everyone pretends to like you," she'd told you just last week, her lips close enough to brush your ear. "But nobody actually does. We're all just waiting for you to disappear."

You'd gone home that night and stared at the ceiling for three hours.

Depression had become a familiar weight. Not the dramatic kind they showed in movies, where people couldn't get out of bed or stopped eating entirely. More like a constant low-level fog that made everything feel like wading through waist-deep water. You went to class. You studied. You existed.

But you couldn't remember the last time you'd felt something resembling joy.

The library was mostly empty when you found a table in the back corner. You pulled out the wooden box, turning it over in your hands.

The Wishing Wire.

What a stupid name. What a stupid thing.

You opened the lid. The red wire gleamed under the fluorescent lights, its twists and loops forming no recognizable pattern. Just chaos, frozen in copper and coating.

"Twist it clockwise," the shopkeeper had said.

You did. The wire was warm from your pocket, and it turned more smoothly than you expected, the loops shifting under your fingers like they wanted to be rearranged.

"Speak your wish."

"This is ridiculous," you said aloud, to the empty library. "This is just a toy."

But your hands kept twisting, and your mouth kept moving.

"I wish they'd stop." You swallowed. "I wish Yuna and Kazuha and Winter would just leave me alone. Stop the bullying. Stop the comments. Stop the notes and the looks and the whispers."

The wire shifted under your fingers.

"And if this actually works, which it doesn't…" You laughed, the sound hollow in your throat. "Make them fall for me instead. Make them obsessed with me the way they're obsessed with making my life hell."

You let go of the wire.

Nothing happened.

"Right," you said, closing the box. "Because it's just a toy."

You shoved it back in your pocket and opened your textbook, but the words swam in front of your eyes. After ten minutes, you gave up and headed to class, the wire heavy in your jacket like a secret.

That night, you dreamed.

Not of the bullies, for once. Not of the endless parade of small humiliations that usually populated your sleeping hours.

Instead, you dreamed of red wire, twisting and untwisting in an infinite loop. It wrapped around your wrists, your ankles, your throat—not choking, just present. When you opened your mouth in the dream, words came out that you hadn't chosen.

I wish. I wish. I wish.

You woke with a gasp, your alarm blaring, the wooden box somehow clutched in your hand even though you didn't remember taking it out of your jacket.

Morning came too fast.

You showered, dressed, ate breakfast without tasting it. The routine was automatic. Wake up. Survive. Repeat.

Campus was busy when you arrived, students crisscrossing the quad in the anxious shuffle of midterms season. You kept your head down, navigating toward the arts building where your first class waited.

Halfway there, you saw them.

Yuna stood by the fountain, her dark hair catching the morning light. Kazuha perched on the low wall beside her, legs crossed, face bright with laughter at something Winter had said. Winter herself stood with her arms crossed, her pale hair pulled back, her expression sharp even in profile.

Your stomach clenched.

This was the part where you'd normally turn around, find another route, accept the extra five minutes of walking to avoid their notice. But today, for reasons you couldn't explain, your feet kept moving forward.

They hadn't seen you yet. Yuna's gaze was fixed on something across the quad. Kazuha was examining her nails. Winter was—

Winter was looking right at you.

Her eyes widened.

Your whole body tensed, bracing for the cutting remark, the mocking smile, the signal to her friends that fresh prey had arrived.

But Winter's face did something strange.

Her sharp expression softened. Her lips parted. A flush crept up her neck, visible even from this distance, and she actually swayed on her feet like she'd momentarily forgotten how to stand.

"Guys," she said. You heard it from twenty feet away. Her voice was wrong somehow—breathless, shaky, nothing like the ice-edged tone she usually wielded. "Guys, look."

Yuna and Kazuha turned.

And their reaction was even stranger.

Yuna's perfect composure cracked. Her hand flew to her chest like she'd been struck, and her eyes went so wide you could see the whites all the way around the iris. Kazuha literally hopped off the wall, her dancer's grace momentarily abandoned, her sweet face transforming into something you couldn't read.

Then they were moving.

All three of them, walking fast, then jogging, then practically sprinting across the quad toward you.

People stared. You stared. Your feet were rooted to the pavement, your brain churning through possible explanations for what was happening. This was a prank, had to be. Some new form of public humiliation you hadn't experienced yet. They'd get close, then laugh, then reveal the joke, and you'd have to find a way to keep breathing through the shame.

Yuna reached you first.

She didn't insult you.

She threw her arms around your neck and buried her face against your chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"I found you," she breathed against your shirt. "Oh my god, I found you."

Kazuha slammed into you from the left, her arms wrapping around your waist, her cheek pressing into your shoulder blade. She was shorter than you'd realized, or maybe she was slouching, making herself small against your body.

"We've been looking for you everywhere," Kazuha said, her voice thick. "Every single day. We didn't know your face but we knew you were out there somewhere and we couldn't find you and it was killing us."

Winter completed the triangle, pressing in from the right, her slim body flush against your side. Her hand found yours and squeezed so hard your bones ground together.

"Don't let go," she whispered. "Please, please don't make us let go."

You stood frozen in the middle of campus, three women clinging to you like you were the last lifeboat on a sinking ship, and absolutely no idea what was happening.

The quad had gone quiet. Students had stopped walking. Professors had paused mid-conversation. Everyone was staring at the spectacle of the campus's most feared trio wrapped around the nobody they'd spent two semesters tormenting.

"Um," you managed.

Yuna pulled back just enough to look at your face. Her eyes were wet. Actual tears, tracking down her perfect cheeks, ruining her perfect makeup.

"There you are," she said, and smiled so brightly it hurt to look at. "I love you. I love you so much it feels like dying. I've loved you since the moment the world changed and I didn't even know your name yet but I knew I'd die without you."

"What," you said.

Kazuha laughed against your shoulder, the sound trembling and strange. "She's being dramatic, but she's not wrong. We all feel it. This pull. This need. We tried to fight it yesterday but it just got stronger and stronger until we couldn't think about anything except finding you."

Winter hadn't moved. Her grip on your hand hadn't loosened. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible.

"We were so horrible to you. I know we were. I remember every single thing we did and said and I want to carve out my own tongue for the words that came out of it." She finally looked up, and her pale eyes were red-rimmed, desperate, completely alien on her usually composed face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please let us be better. Please give us a chance to worship you the way you deserve."

Your brain was short-circuiting. The Wishing Wire. The stupid, impossible, ridiculous wish you'd made as a joke in an empty library.

No. No way. That wasn't real. Magic wasn't real.

But Yuna's tears were wetting your shirt. Kazuha's heartbeat was thudding against your back. Winter's hand was trembling in yours.

Something had changed.

And you had absolutely no idea what you were going to do about it.

The library had been your refuge for two semesters. A place to hide between classes, to breathe without looking over your shoulder, to exist in the marginal spaces where Yuna and Kazuha and Winter rarely bothered to venture.

Now it was a trap.

They'd followed you. Of course they had. The moment you'd tried to extract yourself from their tangled embrace on the quad, stammering something about needing to study, Yuna had seized your wrist with a grip that brooked no argument.

"We'll help you study," she'd said, and something in her dark eyes had glittered with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

Kazuha had nodded eagerly, bouncing on her heels. "We can be very quiet. We promise. Right, Winter?"

Winter hadn't promised anything. She'd simply moved close enough that her shoulder brushed yours, her pale gaze fixed on your face like you were the only thing worth seeing in the entire world.

So now you sat at your usual table in the back corner, three former bullies arranged around you like beautiful, terrifying bookends, and you had absolutely no idea how this had become your life.

"Just breathe," you muttered to yourself.

Yuna heard. Her head tilted, dark hair sliding over her shoulder. "Are you not breathing? Do you need us to help you breathe? We could—"

"No," you said quickly. "No, I'm fine. Just. This is weird."

"It's perfect," Kazuha corrected. She'd pulled her chair so close that her knee pressed against your thigh under the table, and every few minutes she'd shift in a way that made the contact electric. "This is exactly where we're supposed to be. I can feel it. Like the whole universe finally clicked into place."

Winter hadn't spoken since they'd cornered you against the bookshelves. She'd just watched, her pale coloring almost ghostly in the library's fluorescent lighting, her sharp tongue apparently stunned into silence by whatever force had rewritten reality overnight.

Your phone buzzed. You glanced down.

Unknown number: We can see you.

Your head snapped up. All three women were staring at you.

"My number's in your phone now," Yuna said calmly. "And Kazuha's. And Winter's. We put them in while you were sleeping last night. We had someone watching your apartment to make sure you were safe."

"You what."

"We needed to be able to reach you," Kazuha said, like this was perfectly reasonable. "What if something happened to you? What if you got hurt or sick or sad and we weren't there to fix it? We couldn't let that happen."

Your chest felt tight. "That's. That's called stalking."

"It's called devotion," Yuna corrected. She reached across the table and took your hand, her fingers lacing through yours with a possessiveness that made your pulse jump. "There's a difference."

Was there? You weren't sure anymore.

Winter finally moved. She rose from her chair without a word and walked to the end of the stacks, disappearing around the corner. You watched her go, torn between relief and a strange, nagging worry.

"Where's she going?"

Kazuha shrugged. "She does that. Wanders off sometimes when she's feeling too much. Winter's not good with feelings. She prefers to hide behind being cruel." A pause. "She's sorry about that, you know. About all of it. We all are. We just don't know how to say it properly yet."

Yuna's thumb traced circles on the back of your hand. The sensation was distracting, warm, sending little sparks up your arm. "Let us show you instead. Let us prove we can be different."

Before you could ask what she meant, Winter returned.

She was carrying something. A book—one of the ones you'd been assigned for your literature class, a thick hardcover that you'd been dreading reading all semester.

She set it on the table and opened it to a marked page.

"I read it," she said quietly. "Last night. After we found you. I read the whole thing so I could talk to you about it. So I could understand something that matters to you."

You stared at the book. Then at her.

"You read four hundred pages in one night?"

"I couldn't sleep." Winter's pale eyes met yours, and there was something raw there, something stripped of all her usual sharp edges. "Every time I closed my eyes, I saw your face. I kept thinking about how many hours I'd wasted making you feel small when I could have been learning how to make you feel seen instead."

Your throat felt thick. This was impossible. All of it. But Winter was standing in front of you with dark circles under her eyes and a desperately earnest expression, and Yuna's hand was warm in yours, and Kazuha was pressing closer against your side, and—

"We're sorry," Kazuha said. She took your other hand, the one Yuna wasn't holding, and pressed it to her chest so you could feel her heartbeat. It was racing. "We're so sorry. We were horrible. We were monsters. And we know we can't undo what we did, but please. Please let us try to be better."

Yuna stood. She moved around the table with a fluid grace that reminded you why everyone on campus was half-terrified of her, half-entranced. She stopped directly in front of you, close enough that her dark hair fell forward and brushed your shoulders.

"I need to show you something," she said. "May I?"

You nodded, because what else could you do?

She leaned in and pressed her lips to your forehead.

The kiss was soft, lingering, warm. Her lips stayed against your skin for a long moment, and you could feel her breathing, feel the slight tremble in her frame that suggested she was holding back something much more intense.

"Thank you for existing," she whispered against your skin. "Thank you for letting us find you."

Then she pulled back, and her eyes were wet again, and you realized you'd never seen Yuna cry before today. Hadn't thought she was capable of it.

Your resistance cracked.

"Okay," you said. "Okay. I don't understand this. I don't understand any of this. But okay."

Kazuha made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, and threw her arms around your neck from the side. Yuna bent and kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then the spot just below your ear that made your breath catch.

Winter watched with those pale, hungry eyes. But she didn't move to join. Instead, she stepped back, giving the three of you space, and you realized with a start that she was waiting for permission.

"Winter," you said. Her name felt strange in your mouth. "Come here."

She did. Instantly. She crossed the small distance between you and dropped to her knees beside your chair, her head bowing forward until her forehead rested against your thigh.

"Thank you," she breathed. "Thank you thank you thank you."

You weren't sure what she was thanking you for. But her breath was warm through your jeans, and her shoulders were shaking, and you found your hand moving to stroke her pale hair without conscious thought.

The library was silent around you. Empty shelves looming, dust motes floating in stale air. A hidden corner of the world where nothing made sense and everything had changed.

"We should go somewhere else," Yuna said eventually. Her voice had gone low, husky. "Somewhere private. Where we can properly apologize."

You swallowed. "Apologize how?"

Kazuha giggled. The sound was different from her usual mocking laughter—sweeter, more genuine, with an edge of nervousness that you'd never heard from her before.

"We have ideas," she said. "So many ideas. We've been planning since yesterday. Since the moment we realized what you mean to us."

"Which is everything," Winter added against your leg. "You mean everything. We'd do anything for you. Anything at all."

All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.

Yuna's apartment was nicer than anywhere you'd ever lived. Top floor of a building you couldn't have afforded to enter, let alone rent. Dark wood floors and white walls and windows that looked out over the city skyline.

You barely had time to take any of it in.

The moment the door closed behind you, all three women were on you. Not attacking—never attacking, not anymore—but surrounding, pressing close, hands and lips and warm breath.

"Let us," Yuna murmured against your throat. "Please. Let us show you."

You nodded. You'd been nodding a lot today.

They walked you backward through the apartment, six hands guiding you, until your legs hit the edge of a large bed. You sat down hard, suddenly grateful for the surface, and they stood over you in a loose semicircle.

"We talked about this," Kazuha said. She was already pulling her shirt over her head, revealing a simple black bralette underneath. Her body was compact and athletic, all smooth lines and dancer's muscles, and she caught you looking and smiled. "We're going to take turns apologizing. Properly. The way you deserve."

Winter moved first. She stepped forward and bent to kiss you—really kiss you, not the chaste presses from earlier. Her lips parted against yours, her tongue seeking entrance, and you opened for her with a groan you couldn't hold back.

She tasted like coffee. Like desperation. Like something sweet hiding underneath all that sharp exterior.

When she pulled back, her lipstick was smeared. So was your mouth. You could feel the waxy residue on your lips, the evidence of her painted against your skin.

"Next," she whispered, and stepped aside.

Kazuha didn't kiss your mouth. She knelt in front of you and pressed her lips to your stomach, pushing your shirt up to reach bare skin. Her mouth was hot, trailing a line from your navel upward, and each kiss came with words pressed into your flesh.

"Sorry." Kiss. "For the notes." Kiss. "Sorry." Kiss. "For the comments." Kiss. "Sorry for every single time I made you feel like nothing."

Her hands slid around to your back, holding you in place while she worshipped your torso with her mouth. Every apology was a brand, a promise, a prayer.

Yuna watched with those dark, hungry eyes. She'd removed her own shirt at some point, revealing a lacy bra that made your mouth go dry. Her breasts were full and perfect, practically spilling over the cups, and she caught you staring and smiled.

"Like what you see?"

"Yes."

The word came out without thought. Honest. Raw.

Her smile widened. "Good. I want you to like it. I want you to like everything about us. I want to make you feel so good you forget we were ever cruel."

She moved to the bed and climbed onto it, positioning herself beside you. Her hand found yours and guided it to her chest, pressing your palm against the lace-covered swell of her breast.

She was warm. Soft. Her heartbeat thudded against your palm, rapid and strong.

"Squeeze," she said. "Please. I need to feel your hands on me."

You obeyed. Her breath caught, her back arching, and a soft moan escaped her lips.

"Ohhh, that's. Yes. Just like that."

Her nipple hardened under the lace, pressing against your fingers. You rubbed your thumb over it experimentally, and her moan grew louder.

"Harder. Please. I can take it."

You pinched. Her whole body shuddered.

"Fuck. Fuck, your hands feel so good. I've imagined this since yesterday. Since the moment I saw you. I've been going crazy wanting your touch."

Kazuha had worked her way up to your chest now, her mouth leaving damp trails across your skin. Winter had rejoined the group, her pale fingers working at the buttons of your shirt, helping Kazuha push the fabric aside.

And then all three of them were touching you. Six hands on your bare skin, mapping every inch they could reach.

"This body," Kazuha breathed. "We tormented this beautiful body. We should be punished for that."

"Later," Yuna said, her voice ragged as you continued to knead her breast. "Punishment later. Worship now."

Winter leaned in and kissed your neck, her tongue tracing the line of your pulse. Her hands slid down your sides, hooking into the waistband of your jeans but not going further. Not yet.

"Tell us what you want," she whispered against your throat. "Anything. We'll give you anything."

"I don't. I don't know."

It was true. Your brain was short-circuiting, overwhelmed by sensation and confusion and the impossible reality of three women who'd spent months making your life hell now dedicating themselves to your pleasure.

"Then we'll figure it out," Yuna said. She pulled your hand from her chest and pressed it to her lips, kissing each of your fingers. "We have time. We have forever, if you'll let us."

Kazuha looked up from where she'd been pressing kisses to your ribs. Her round face was flushed, her eyes bright.

"Stay the night. All three of us. Let us spend hours making you feel good. Let us apologize until our mouths are sore."

Your breath caught at the image. Hours. Three women. All focused on you.

"I shouldn't."

"Shouldn't doesn't mean don't want to," Winter murmured. "We can see it in your face. You want this. You want us."

She wasn't wrong.

"Then stay," Yuna said. She leaned in and kissed you, deep and hungry, her tongue sliding against yours. When she pulled back, she was panting. "Stay and let us prove we can be what you need."

The room was warm, filled with the scent of three different perfumes mingling together, and you realized with a jolt that you were lying on Yuna's bed with three women pressed against you, and your shirt was somewhere on the floor, and Winter's hands were still hooked in your waistband, and—

"Wait."

They froze. All three of them, instantly, like you'd hit a switch.

"Too fast?" Yuna asked. Her voice was careful, controlled, with an undercurrent of desperation that suggested stopping was physically painful for her.

"A little."

Winter's hands withdrew from your waistband. Kazuha sat back on her heels, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths. Her black bralette was askew, one strap slipping down her shoulder, and her round face was flushed pink. She looked like she'd been running.

Maybe she had been. Running toward something she couldn't name until yesterday.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want," she said. Her voice was softer than you'd ever heard it. Gone was the mocking edge, the cruel giggle that had haunted your nightmares for months. "We just want to be close to you. However you'll let us."

Winter had pulled away too, kneeling beside the bed with her hands in her lap. Her pale hair fell forward, hiding her expression, but you could see the tension in her shoulders. The effort it took her to stay still.

Yuna was another story. She hadn't moved from her position beside you on the bed. Her dark eyes stayed fixed on your face, cataloging every micro-expression, every flicker of uncertainty. Reading you like a book she'd memorized.

"I can feel your pulse," she murmured. Her fingers were still wrapped around your wrist from when she'd kissed them earlier. "It's racing. You're scared."

"Yes."

"Of us?"

You considered the question. Really considered it, instead of just reacting.

"I don't know," you admitted. "Maybe. It's all happening so fast."

Yuna nodded slowly. "We can slow down. We will slow down. But I need you to understand something first." She lifted your wrist to her lips again and pressed a kiss against the thin skin over your veins. "This isn't a trick. This isn't some elaborate game we're playing to hurt you later. This is real. Whatever happened yesterday, whatever changed inside us—it's permanent. We're not going to wake up tomorrow and go back to the way things were."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I can't imagine it." Her dark eyes held yours. "I can't imagine ever wanting to hurt you again. The very thought makes me feel sick. Like something's clawing at my insides, trying to get out. I've spent the last eighteen hours wanting to crawl out of my own skin every time I remembered something cruel I said to you. Every insult. Every laugh at your expense." Her voice cracked slightly. "I don't know how to make you believe me. But I'll spend the rest of my life trying if you let me."

The room was quiet for a long moment. Outside, you could hear traffic. The distant sound of a siren. Normal city noises that felt surreal after everything that had happened today.

"Okay," you said again. It seemed to be the only word you could manage.

Winter lifted her head. Her pale eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Does that mean… you forgive us?"

Did it? You weren't sure forgiveness worked that way—instant and complete, granted in a borrowed apartment by a man who'd been ready to drop out of school just two days ago. But something had shifted in your chest. A wall you'd built brick by brick over months of torment, crumbling under the weight of three women who looked at you like you were the sun and they were drowning without your light.

"I don't know about forgiveness," you said carefully. "But I believe you. I think I believe that you've changed. And I want…" You swallowed. "I want to see where this goes."

Kazuha let out a shaky breath. Her hand found yours and squeezed. "That's enough. That's more than enough. We'll earn the rest. I promise."

All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.

Winter shifted on her knees, moving closer to the bed. Her pale coloring looked almost ethereal in the soft light of Yuna's bedroom, and her sharp features had lost their usual hard edge. She looked vulnerable in a way you'd never seen before.

"Can I show you something?" she asked. "Something I've wanted to do since yesterday?"

You nodded.

She reached for your hand and placed it on her chest, right over her heart. You could feel it pounding beneath your palm—rapid, desperate, like a bird trapped in a cage.

"This is what you do to me," she whispered. "Every time I look at you. Every time you speak. I feel like I can't breathe. Like my heart might explode." She covered your hand with hers, pressing it harder against her chest. "I spent so long trying to make you feel small because I was terrified of how big you made me feel. And now I just want…"

"What?"

"To be small for you." Her voice dropped even lower. "To let you have all the power. To give you everything I have and take whatever you want to give back."

The confession hung in the air between you. Raw. Honest. Stripped of all her usual defenses.

Kazuha had moved too, positioning herself on your other side. Her compact body pressed against your arm, her breath warm against your shoulder.

"We talked about this," she said. "The three of us. All last night. We took turns sharing what we were feeling and all of it kept coming back to the same thing." She kissed your shoulder through your shirt. "We want to belong to you. Completely. However that looks. Whatever that means."

Yuna's hand slid up your arm, tracing the line of your bicep. "But only if you want us. Only if this is something you choose. We won't force anything on you ever again. We're done taking. Now we only want to give."

Your head was spinning. The situation was impossible—three women who'd made your life a living nightmare now offering themselves to you like penance. Like prayer.

And the worst part? You wanted it. You wanted them. The attraction had always been there, buried under layers of hurt and resentment. They were beautiful. All three of them, in different ways. You'd have to be blind not to see it.

"I'm going to kiss you now," Yuna said. It wasn't a question, exactly, but there was space in the statement for you to say no. To stop this before it went any further.

You didn't say no.

Her lips met yours with a desperation that stole your breath. This wasn't like the earlier kisses—gentle, tentative, exploratory. This was hunger given form. Her tongue swept into your mouth, claiming, devouring, and you felt yourself falling backward onto the bed as she followed you down.

"Mmmm," she moaned against your lips. "I've wanted this. Fuck. I've wanted this since the moment I saw you yesterday and everything changed."

She broke the kiss to trail her mouth down your jaw, your neck, the hollow of your throat. Her hands worked at the remaining buttons of your shirt, pushing the fabric aside to expose your chest to the cool air of the apartment.

"So beautiful," she breathed against your skin. "How did we never see how beautiful you were?"

Kazuha had stood up from the bed, and now she was removing her bralette with quick, efficient movements. Her breasts were small and pert, with dusky nipples already peaked in the cool air. She caught you looking and smiled—a real smile, not her usual mocking smirk.

"Like what you see?" She crawled back onto the bed, settling on your other side. "You can touch. I want you to touch. I want your hands everywhere."

Winter hadn't moved from her position on the floor. But now she rose gracefully and began unbuttoning her own shirt, revealing pale skin and a delicate lavender bra underneath. Her movements were slower than Kazuha's—deliberate, almost ritualistic. Like she was unwrapping a gift.

"I want to try something," Winter said. "Something I've been thinking about since yesterday. Will you let me?"

"What?"

Instead of answering, she sank to her knees again—this time between your legs. Her pale fingers found the button of your jeans, and she looked up at you with wide, hungry eyes.

"Can I?" she asked. "I want to show you how sorry I am. I want to worship you the way you deserve."

Your throat was dry. "Yes."

She made quick work of your button and zipper, tugging your jeans down your hips with trembling hands. When she'd gotten them off entirely—leaving you in just your boxer briefs on Yuna's silk sheets—she sat back on her heels and just looked at you.

"I spent so long making you feel worthless," she said quietly. "I want to spend the rest of my life making you feel like a god."

Then she leaned forward and pressed her lips against your length through the thin cotton of your boxers.

The sensation made you gasp. Her mouth was warm, even through the fabric, and you could feel her breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. She kissed her way up your shaft, leaving damp patches on the cotton, before hooking her fingers in your waistband and pulling down.

Your cock sprang free, already hard and aching. Winter's eyes went wide.

"Oh," she breathed. "You're…" She swallowed. "You're perfect."

All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.

Yuna and Kazuha had been watching, their own hands wandering over each other's bodies in absent, distracted patterns. Now they both made sounds of appreciation, pressing closer to get a better view.

"He's gorgeous," Kazuha said. Her hand slid down her own stomach, disappearing between her thighs. "Winter, make him feel good. Show him what your mouth can do when you're not using it to hurt people."

Winter flinched slightly at the reminder of her cruelty, but she didn't argue. Instead, she leaned forward and ran her tongue in a long, slow stripe from the base of your cock to the tip.

The pleasure was immediate and intense. You groaned, your hands fisting in the sheets beneath you.

"Ohhhh, fuck," you gasped.

She swirled her tongue around the head, teasing, tasting. Her pale eyes stayed fixed on your face, watching every reaction, cataloging every gasp and twitch. She was learning you. Memorizing what made you feel good.

"You taste so good," she murmured against your flesh. "I've been imagining this. Dreaming about it. I woke up this morning with my fingers between my legs and your name on my lips."

Then she took you into her mouth.

The wet heat was overwhelming. She sank down slowly, inch by inch, her throat relaxing to accommodate your length. Her hand wrapped around the base, stroking what she couldn't fit, while her other hand cupped your balls gently.

"Winter, fuck," you groaned. Your hips twitched upward without your permission, and she made a small sound of surprise that vibrated through your cock.

She pulled back briefly, a string of saliva connecting her lips to your shaft. "Don't hold back. Use me however you want. This is for you."

Then she dove back in with renewed enthusiasm.

Yuna had grown tired of watching. She straddled your thigh, grinding her core against your leg while her mouth found your neck. You could feel the heat of her even through her jeans, the dampness that had already soaked through the denim.

"I'm so wet," she panted against your throat. "Watching her suck you… it's making me insane. I can feel myself dripping." She ground harder against your leg, chasing friction. "I want you inside me so badly. I want to feel you split me open."

Kazuha had positioned herself on your other side, but instead of grinding against you, she'd taken your hand and pressed it between her thighs. Her sex was bare—she must have removed her pants at some point—and soaking wet.

"Feel what you do to me," she whispered. Her hips rolled against your palm, smearing her arousal across your fingers. "I've never been this wet for anyone. Never wanted anyone this much. You're all I can think about."

Your brain was short-circuiting. Three women. Three beautiful, terrifying, formerly cruel women, all touching you, all wanting you, all desperate to make you feel good. It was too much. It wasn't enough.

Winter was working your cock with increasing urgency now, her head bobbing in a steady rhythm. Her moans vibrated through your flesh, and the sounds she made were obscene—wet and hungry and desperate.

"Mmmmph," she moaned around your shaft. "Mmm, you feel so good in my mouth. So hard. So perfect."

She pulled back with a gasp, saliva and precum stringing between her lips and your cock. Her hand replaced her mouth, stroking you rapidly while she caught her breath.

"I need you to know," she panted, "that I've never done this for anyone. Never wanted to. But for you…" She leaned forward and kissed the tip reverently. "For you, I'd stay on my knees forever."

Then she took you deep again, and this time she didn't stop. Her throat worked around your length as she swallowed you down, and you could feel yourself getting close. The pressure was building at the base of your spine, your balls tightening with the need for release.

"I'm going to—" you started to warn her.

She didn't pull back. If anything, she doubled down, her hand pumping what she couldn't fit while her mouth worked the rest with desperate enthusiasm. Her eyes stayed locked on yours, giving you permission, begging you to let go.

"Fuck, Winter, I'm—" The orgasm crashed through you like a wave. Your hips jerked upward, driving yourself deeper into her throat as you came. She swallowed around you, taking everything you gave her, and when you finally stilled, she pulled back slowly and pressed a kiss to your softening cock.

"Thank you," she breathed. "Thank you for letting me. Thank you for trusting me."

All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.

Yuna had stopped grinding against your leg to watch Winter finish you off. Now her dark eyes were blazing with need.

"My turn," she said. It wasn't a question.

But Kazuha made a noise of protest. "You went first yesterday. You got to hold his hand first. I want a turn."

"You can have the next one," Yuna promised. "I just need… I need him inside me. I need to feel him. I've been going crazy."

Winter had moved to the side, her pale cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from use. But she didn't look satisfied—she looked hungry for more.

"We can share," she said quietly. "We talked about this. We're a unit now. His harem. His to command. We don't have to compete."

The word "harem" sent a jolt through your spent body. You weren't sure if you were ready for another round yet, but your cock twitched at the thought.

Yuna considered this for a moment. Then she nodded slowly. "You're right. We share. That's the deal. That's what we agreed."

She climbed off your thigh and began removing her jeans, revealing long legs and a lacy thong that was visibly soaked with her arousal. Her body was incredible—toned and elegant, with full breasts that spilled over her bra and curves in all the right places.

"Kazuha," she said, "you wanted his hands. Take them. Winter, you can have his mouth. I'll ride him when he's ready."

The three women rearranged themselves around you with military efficiency. Kazuha took position by your right side, guiding your hand back between her thighs. Winter climbed up the bed and straddled your chest, facing you, her pale sex inches from your face. And Yuna settled between your legs, her mouth closing over your softening cock to bring you back to full hardness.

The sensation of three women pleasuring you—and themselves—simultaneously was overwhelming. Your brain couldn't process all the inputs: Kazuha's wet heat against your fingers, Winter's hands braced on your chest as she positioned herself, Yuna's talented mouth working you back to attention.

"Touch me," Kazuha pleaded, rolling her hips against your palm. "Inside. Please. I need your fingers inside me."

You obeyed, sliding two fingers into her slick channel. She was tight, impossibly wet, and she clenched around you with a moan.

"Ohhhh, yes. Just like that. Fuck." Her head fell back, her hips moving in a steady rhythm. "Your fingers feel so good. So much better than my own. I've been touching myself all night thinking about you and it wasn't enough, it was never enough—"

Winter had lowered herself to your mouth, and the taste of her filled your senses. She was sweeter than you expected, with a hint of musk that made your cock twitch in Yuna's mouth. You ran your tongue through her folds, finding her clit and circling it with the tip.

"Oh!" Winter cried out. Her thighs trembled on either side of your head. "Oh, fuck, your tongue, yes, right there, please don't stop—"

You wrapped your arms around her thighs, holding her in place while you feasted on her. Your fingers continued their rhythm inside Kazuha, and you could feel both women getting closer, their moans harmonizing in the quiet room.

Yuna had succeeded in her mission—your cock was hard again, aching for release. She pulled back and looked up at you with dark, hungry eyes.

"I need you inside me," she said. "Now. Please. I can't wait anymore."

Winter reluctantly lifted herself from your face, and Kazuha whimpered as you withdrew your fingers. But neither protested as Yuna positioned herself above you and sank down onto your length in one smooth motion.

The sensation of her enveloping you was indescribable. She was tight and wet and so hot you thought you might burn alive. Her back arched as she took you to the hilt, a moan tearing from her throat.

"Ohhhhh fuck, you feel so good. You're so big. You're stretching me so perfectly—"

She began to move, rolling her hips in a slow rhythm that drove you crazy. Her hands braced on your chest for leverage, her dark hair falling around her face like a curtain.

Kazuha had moved to sit beside you, her own hand between her legs, watching Yuna ride you with desperate hunger. Winter had positioned herself on your other side, one hand pinching her nipples while the other worked her clit.

"Tell us you're ours," Yuna panted, her hips speeding up. "Tell us you'll keep us. Tell us we belong to you."

The words tumbled out before you could stop them. "You're mine. All three of you. You belong to me."

The effect was instantaneous. Yuna's whole body shuddered, her rhythm faltering. "Say it again. Please."

"You're mine. You belong to me. I'm going to keep you."

She came with a scream, her walls clenching around your cock like a vice. The sensation pushed you over the edge too, and you spilled inside her with a groan of your own.

Kazuha and Winter had worked themselves to the edge watching, and they followed moments later, crying out in tandem as pleasure crashed through them.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was heavy breathing.

Then Yuna collapsed forward onto your chest, her dark hair spreading across your skin like ink.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for choosing us. We're going to spend the rest of our lives making you happy. I promise."

The other two curled against your sides, their bodies warm and soft. And for the first time in months—maybe years—you felt something like peace.

Whatever came next, you'd face it together.

However deep down. You still have a feeling. That something is not right. This whole thing is not right. Their love was not right. As you caresses Winter's head, You began to wonder. If all of this. Is just a dream come true. Or is it a Nightmare waiting to happen.

You woke slowly, consciousness returning in fragments. A warm, wet heat surrounded your cock. Your hips jerked instinctively, and a low groan escaped your throat before you were fully awake.

"Mmmm, he's waking up," Kazuha's voice came from somewhere to your left. Giggling. "We almost got him there."

Your eyes fluttered open. Morning light filtered through curtains you didn't recognize, and for a disorienting moment, you had no idea where you were. Then sensation crashed back—the warmth, the wetness, the soft weight of bodies pressed against yours.

Winter's head was between your legs, her pale hair spilled across your thighs like moonlight on water. Her mouth worked your shaft with desperate devotion, tongue swirling around the head before she took you deep. Her cheeks hollowed, and the suction made your vision blur.

"Ohhh, fuck," you breathed.

Yuna lay on your other side, her dark head resting on your chest, watching Winter work with possessive satisfaction. Her elegant fingers traced patterns across your stomach, nails dragging lightly across your skin.

"Good morning," she purred without looking up. "Did you sleep well? We tried not to wake you too many times during the night."

"During the—" You stopped. Tried to process. "How many times?"

"Four," Kazuha answered proudly. She was curled against your side, her compact body warm and soft. Her round face held a deceptively innocent smile. "You came in your sleep. It was so hot. We couldn't help ourselves."

"We had to have you," Winter pulled back just enough to speak, her pale eyes feverish. A string of saliva connected her swollen lips to your cock. "Every time you got hard, we needed to take care of you. It would be cruel not to."

This wasn't right. None of this was right.

Yesterday's memories crashed over you—the library, the confessions, the sex. The way they'd looked at you like you were the only thing keeping them alive. The desperation in every touch, every word. And underneath it all, that gnawing certainty that something was profoundly, terrifyingly wrong.

You tried to sit up. Three sets of hands immediately pressed against your chest, pushing you back down.

"Stay," Yuna said softly. Her dark eyes held yours. "Let us take care of you. We need to take care of you."

"No." The word came out hoarse. "We need to talk. This has to stop."

The effect was immediate and devastating.

Winter's face crumbled like you'd slapped her. Her pale skin went even whiter, her eyes going wide with genuine terror. She released your cock like it burned her, scrambling backward on the bed.

"Stop?" Her voice cracked. "You want us to stop? We can't—we can't. You don't understand, I can't exist without you now. I've tried to imagine it, tried to picture going back to how things were, and there's nothing there. Just emptiness. Just—"

"Shh." Yuna sat up, but her composure had cracked too. Her perfectly composed features were twisted with panic. "He doesn't mean it. He's just confused."

"I'm not confused." Your voice hardened. "I don't know what happened yesterday, but people don't just change overnight. This isn't normal. None of this is normal."

Kazuha had gone very still beside you. Her round face had lost its sweetness, replaced by something colder. More calculating.

"You're right," she said quietly. "It's not normal. We know it's not normal. We can feel how wrong it is, how our thoughts aren't our own anymore. But here's the thing—we don't care."

She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"I spent months making your life hell because it made me feel powerful. I liked watching you suffer. And now the thought of hurting you makes me physically ill. I can't do it. I literally cannot make myself be cruel to you anymore. My brain won't let me." Her smile was brittle. "So you can talk about normalcy all you want. But we're never going back. We can't. And we won't let you go."

"This is insane."

"Probably," Yuna agreed. Her breathing had steadied, but her hands trembled slightly. "But it's real. This is our reality now. You're our reality. And we're going to spend every moment proving that to you."

Winter had moved to the foot of the bed, her slender body curled into itself. She looked small. Fragile. Nothing like the sharp-tongued woman who'd terrorized you for months.

"Please," she whispered. "Please don't send us away. I know we don't deserve you. I know we've been horrible. But we'll do anything—anything—to make you happy. Just tell us what you want. Whatever it is. We'll do it."

The desperation in her voice made your chest tighten. This wasn't manipulation, wasn't performance. She genuinely believed every word.

And that was somehow worse.

"I need space," you said carefully. "Time to think. This is moving too fast."

Yuna exchanged glances with the others. Something unspoken passed between them—some decision made in the silence.

"No," she said softly.

"What?"

"We can't give you space." Her dark eyes held yours with unwavering intensity. "Every moment apart from you feels like dying. I'm not being dramatic. I mean it literally. My chest hurts. My head spins. I can't breathe properly when you're not near me."

"That sounds like a medical problem."

"It's a you problem," Kazuha corrected. "You're the only thing that makes it stop."

Before you could respond, Yuna moved. She reached beneath the pillow and produced something that glinted in the morning light—soft silk scarves, deep red, the color matching the wire that had started all this.

"We talked about this last night," she said calmly. "After you fell asleep. We knew you might try to pull away."

"You planned this?"

"We planned for every possibility." She nodded to Kazuha, who took your right wrist. Winter emerged from her huddle to take your left.

"Wait—"

"We're going to make you feel so good that you won't want to leave," Yuna continued, her voice steady and reasonable. "We're going to worship every inch of you until your brain melts and you understand that you belong with us. That we belong to you."

You tried to resist, but their grip was surprisingly strong. Three women working in concert, coordinated with the precision of a military operation.

"Hold him," Yuna commanded.

Kazuha threw her leg over your chest, pinning your torso. Her bare sex pressed against your stomach, and you could feel how wet she already was. She leaned forward, using her dancer's flexibility to press her forehead against yours.

"Don't fight," she whispered. "We'll make it so good. We'll make you forget everything except us."

All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.

The scarf wound around your right wrist—silk, smooth, tight enough to hold but not enough to hurt. Kazuha guided your arm up, tying it to the bedframe with practiced efficiency. Winter followed suit on your left, her fingers trembling but determined.

"Stop," you said again. But even you could hear how weak it sounded.

"We can't," Winter answered. Her pale eyes were wet with tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But we can't."

Yuna finished securing both wrists, then moved down the bed. She produced two more scarves from somewhere—how many had they prepared?—and began binding your ankles.

"You're going to thank us," she predicted. "Once it's over. Once you understand."

"This is kidnapping."

"It's devotion." She looked up at you, and her dark eyes held no irony. "We're devoted to you. Completely. Totally. The way nuns are devoted to God. The way martyrs are devoted to their faith. You're our religion now."

Your ankles secured, you were spread eagle on Yuna's bed, completely at their mercy. And despite everything—the wrongness, the panic clawing at the edges of your mind—your cock was already hard again.

Yuna noticed. Of course she did.

"See?" She smiled. "Part of you knows exactly what you need."

She climbed onto the bed, positioning herself between your legs. Her dark hair fell forward, creating a curtain around your cock as she leaned down.

"Let us prove ourselves to you," she murmured. Her tongue traced a line from base to tip. "Let us show you what devotion means."

Then she took you into her mouth, and thought became impossible.

The wet heat was overwhelming. She worked you with skill that spoke of practice—though you knew she'd never done this before yesterday. It was as if the wish had given them knowledge along with obsession. Her throat relaxed as she took you deep, her tongue swirling patterns that made your back arch.

"Ohhhh, fuck—" The moan tore from your throat.

Kazuha had moved to your side, her compact body pressing against you. Her mouth found your nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive skin before her tongue soothed the sting.

"You taste so good," she murmured against your chest. "I've been imagining this all night. The way your skin feels under my tongue. The sounds you make."

Winter had recovered from her panic, her natural sharpness returning. She climbed to your other side, her pale fingers wrapping around the base of your cock where Yuna's mouth couldn't reach.

"Let us drain you," she whispered. Her thumb pressed against the sensitive spot beneath the head. "We're going to take everything you have. Every drop. Until you can't think anymore. Until you can't remember why you wanted to leave."

Yuna pulled back with a wet pop. "Winter, share."

The pale woman obeyed instantly, moving down to join Yuna between your legs. Their faces pressed together, cheek to cheek, both of them looking up at you with hunger that bordered on madness.

They kissed each other—a deep, messy kiss with your cock inches away. Their tongues tangled, sharing the taste of you. Then they pulled apart and both turned to your shaft.

"Oh fuck—" The sight alone nearly made you come.

They worked in tandem—Yuna on one side, Winter on the other, their tongues tracing parallel paths up your length. When they reached the tip, their mouths met in another kiss, your cock between them.

"MMMMMMM," Winter moaned, the vibration traveling through your flesh.

"So hard," Yuna murmured. "So perfect. You were made for us."

Kazuha had climbed higher, straddling your chest again. Her wet sex pressed against your sternum as she leaned forward.

"I need you to touch me," she said. "Even tied like this. Figure out how."

She positioned herself so your chin could reach her core if you strained upward. The scent of her filled your nostrils—musky, sweet, desperate.

"Please," she begged. "I've been wet since last night. I need to feel your tongue on me. Please, please, please—"

You gave in. There was no point in resisting—not when every nerve ending screamed for release, not when your body had already surrendered.

Your tongue found her folds, and she screamed.

"AHHHHH! Oh god, oh fuck, yes, yes, YES—"

Her hips bucked against your face, grinding desperately. Her slick smeared across your chin and cheeks as she rode your tongue.

"More," she demanded. "Inside. Put your tongue inside me—"

You obeyed. Stiffened your tongue and pushed into her channel, feeling her clench around you.

"FUCK! Fuck fuck fuck—"

Below, Yuna and Winter had split duties—Yuna swallowing your cock while Winter's mouth worked your balls. The dual sensation was devastating. Wet heat surrounded your shaft while Winter's tongue traced the seam of your sac, then lower, teasing the sensitive skin behind.

"You're close," Yuna observed, pulling back briefly. "We can feel it."

"Let us have it," Winter added, her pale eyes feverish. "Give us everything."

All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.

Yuna sank down again, taking you to the root. Her throat constricted around your head as she swallowed. Winter's mouth closed around one of your balls, sucking gently.

Kazuha was grinding against your face with increasing desperation.

"I'm going to—" she gasped. "Your tongue is so deep, it's so deep—"

You felt her thighs begin to tremble against your head. Her whole body tensed.

"I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm—AHHHHHH!"

She gushed against your chin, her release coating your face in hot slick. The taste of her flooded your mouth—sweeter than you expected, with an edge of salt.

The sight and sensation pushed you over the edge.

Your hips strained against the bindings as you came, spurting into Yuna's throat. She swallowed convulsively, taking every drop, her dark eyes rolling back with pleasure.

"MMMMMMM!" Her moan vibrated through your cock, prolonging your orgasm.

When you finally stilled, she pulled back slowly, licking her lips.

"Delicious," she breathed. "You taste like belonging."

Winter had released your balls and was looking at Yuna with hungry envy.

"Share," she demanded.

Yuna turned and kissed her, and you watched them pass your cum between their mouths. Their tongues tangled, sharing the taste of you, both of them moaning into the kiss.

"Again," Kazuha said from above. She hadn't moved from your face. "I need more. I'm still so wet—"

But you were spent. Your cock softened against your thigh, exhausted.

The three women exchanged glances.

"We'll get him ready again," Yuna said calmly. "We have all day. All week. However long it takes."

"We're going to milk you dry," Winter added, her sharp features softened with satisfied greed. "Every drop you have belongs to us."

They descended on you again—three mouths, six hands, working in concert to bring you back to hardness. Despite your exhaustion, despite the alarm bells screaming in the back of your mind, you felt yourself responding.

This was wrong. All of this was wrong.

But as Yuna's mouth found your cock again, as Kazuha's slick pressed against your lips, as Winter's nails dragged down your chest, you couldn't remember why.

You lost track of time. Could have been minutes, could have been hours. The three women worked you with tireless devotion, bringing you to the edge and backing off just enough to keep you hard without tipping over. They seemed to know your body better than you did—every sensitive spot, every trigger point, exactly how much pressure you could take before breaking.

Yuna's mouth was a revelation. She'd taken to sucking your cock like she'd been born for it, her elegant features stretched around your girth as she worked you with single-minded focus. Her dark hair fell across your thighs, the strands catching on your sweat-slick skin. Every few minutes she'd pull back to let Kazuha or Winter take over, but her eyes never left your face.

"We've been talking," Yuna said during one such rotation, her voice calm and conversational despite the obscene situation. Her hand continued stroking you where her mouth had been, keeping you on edge. "The three of us. While you were sleeping."

"Mmmph—" Winter's response was muffled by your cock, her pale head bobbing in your lap. She'd gotten startlingly good at deep-throating, her earlier gag reflex seemingly erased by sheer determination.

Kazuha lay curled against your side, her compact body warm and soft. She'd already come on your face twice, her slick drying on your chin and cheeks, but she showed no sign of being satisfied. Her fingers traced lazy patterns across your chest, nails dragging lightly through the hair there.

"We've come to a decision," Yuna continued. She met your eyes, and something in her gaze made your stomach clench—something beyond obsession, beyond devotion. Something absolute. "We want you to understand how serious we are. How permanent this is."

Winter pulled off your cock with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting her swollen lips to your head. "We want you to make us pregnant."

The words hung in the air. For a moment, even the sounds of breathing seemed to stop.

"What?"

"You heard me." Winter's pale eyes held yours with unnerving intensity. "We want your children. All three of us. We want to carry your babies, to be tied to you forever. To wake up every day with a piece of you growing inside us."

Your mind reeled. This was insane. This was beyond insane. Yesterday these women had been your tormentors, and now they wanted—

"You can't be serious."

"We've never been more serious about anything," Yuna said softly. She released your cock and climbed onto the bed, positioning herself above you. Her dark hair curtained around her face as she looked down at you with something that might have been love if love could be weaponized. "We discussed it all night. We want this. We need this. To show you how committed we are. To make sure you can never send us away."

"Because if we have your children," Kazuha added from beside you, her sweet voice carrying an edge of steel, "you'll have to keep us. You'll have to take care of us. We'll be bound together for the rest of our lives."

The scarves around your wrists and ankles suddenly felt tighter. You pulled against them instinctively, but they held firm.

"This is crazy. You can't just—"

"We can." Yuna lowered herself until her sex pressed against your shaft, her slick smearing across your length. She was soaked—had been since this started, maybe since yesterday. The heat of her was nearly unbearable. "We already stopped taking our birth control. We've been off it for weeks, actually. We were planning this even before—"

She stopped herself, a flicker of confusion crossing her elegant features. "Even before what? I can't remember why we started planning it. Just that we needed to. Needed to be yours completely."

The wish. The stupid, joking wish you'd made with that wire. You'd asked for them to fall for you, but this—this was something else entirely. This was obsession weaponized, desire twisted into something desperate and all-consuming.

"I don't want this," you said, but even you could hear how weak it sounded. Your cock was achingly hard between Yuna's wet folds, your body betraying every protest your mind tried to make.

"Yes you do." Yuna began to move, sliding her slick channel along your shaft without taking you inside. The friction was maddening. "Your body knows what it wants. What it needs. And we need it too—so badly it hurts. Every moment we're not filled with you, not claimed by you, it feels like we're dying."

"Please," Kazuha whispered against your ear. Her hand slid down your stomach to join Yuna's at your cock, both women touching you at once. "Please let us have this. Let us prove ourselves. We'll be such good mothers. We'll raise your children together, love them together, worship you together for the rest of our lives."

Winter had moved to kneel beside Yuna, her pale body a stark contrast to the other woman's darker coloring. Her sharp features were softened with something like reverence.

"We've been such terrible people," she said quietly. "We hurt you for months, made your life miserable, and we can never make up for that. But we can give you this. We can give you children, a family, a harem devoted solely to your pleasure. We can spend the rest of our lives serving you, loving you, being whatever you need us to be."

Her hand joined the others on your cock, three sets of fingers working you together.

"Just give us this one thing," she begged. "Give us your children. Let us be yours forever."

Yuna shifted her hips, and suddenly your cock was positioned at her entrance. The heat of her was incredible—wet and grasping, her body begging for yours.

"Say yes," she breathed. "Tell us you want this too. Tell us we can have your babies."

Your mouth opened. Closed. You wanted to say no, to tell them this was insane, that you couldn't possibly—

"Yesssss," you hissed as Yuna sank down onto your cock.

The sensation was overwhelming. She was tight, tighter than you expected, her channel gripping you like she'd been made for this exact purpose. Her back arched as she took you to the root, a keening moan tearing from her throat.

"OH GOD—oh fuck, you're so deep, you're so deep—"

She stayed there for a moment, impaled on your cock, her whole body trembling. Then she began to move.

Her hips rolled in slow waves, drawing you out almost completely before sinking back down. Each movement made her cry out—soft desperate sounds that spoke of pleasure almost too intense to bear. Her dark hair swayed with the motion, brushing against her shoulders, her back, your thighs.

"Fuck, you feel so good inside me," she gasped. Her hands pressed against your chest for balance, nails digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks. "So thick, so perfect, like you were made to fit inside me—"

Kazuha had moved to straddle your face again, her wet sex hovering inches from your mouth. The scent of her was intoxicating—musky and sweet, the taste of her previous orgasms still coating your chin.

"Please," she begged. "I need your tongue again. I need to come while you fill Yuna. Please, please—"

You gave in. What else could you do? Your tongue found her folds, and she screamed.

"AHHHHH! Oh fuck, right there, your tongue is so good, so good—"

She ground against your face with the same rhythm Yuna used on your cock, their movements synchronized in some unspoken harmony. Below you could feel your orgasm building—pressure at the base of your spine, heat pooling in your gut.

"I'm close," Yuna warned. Her movements had become erratic, desperate. "You're going to come inside me. You're going to fill me with your cum, make me pregnant, claim me forever—"

"Oh god—" Your voice was muffled by Kazuha's sex, but the words escaped anyway.

"YES, say it! Promise me! Promise you'll fill me—"

"I'll fill you," you heard yourself say. "I'll give you everything—"

"AHHHHH!" Yuna threw her head back and screamed. Her whole body seized around you, her channel clenching in rhythmic pulses that pushed you over the edge.

You came harder than you ever had in your life. Spurt after spurt of cum erupted into her, filling her, marking her. She ground down onto you, taking every drop, her body milking yours with desperate intensity.

"Yes, yes, YES! I can feel it, I can feel you coming inside me, so hot, so much—give me all of it, give me your baby—"

All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.

The orgasm seemed to last forever. When it finally ended, Yuna collapsed forward onto your chest, her dark hair spilling across your skin. You could feel her heart hammering against your ribs, feel her body still trembling with aftershocks.

"Perfect," she murmured against your neck. "That was perfect. I can feel your cum inside me, so warm, so right…"

Kazuha had pulled back from your face, her own orgasm apparently forgotten in the intensity of the moment. She looked at Yuna with something like envy.

"My turn," she said. "You promised. You said you'd give us all your children."

"Give him a minute," Yuna protested without lifting her head. "He needs to recover."

"He doesn't need anything except us," Winter interrupted. She'd been watching the whole scene with hungry eyes, one hand between her own legs, fingering herself in steady rhythm. "Look at him—he's already getting hard again."

She was right. Despite the orgasm that had just wrung you out, despite the exhaustion pulling at your limbs, your cock was stiffening inside Yuna's warmth. The wish, or whatever power that wire had given you, wouldn't let you stop.

Yuna felt it too. She lifted her head to look at you, dark eyes wide with wonder.

"You are perfect," she breathed. "Everything we always needed."

She lifted herself off you with obvious reluctance, your cum already starting to leak from her well-fucked hole. The sight of it—white and thick, dripping down her thighs—made something primitive stir in your chest.

"Kazuha's turn," Yuna said, moving to kneel beside the bed. "But first, we need to make sure he's ready."

She gestured to Winter, who immediately understood. The pale woman moved between your legs, her mouth descending on your cock before you could protest. She licked you clean—tasting Yuna's slick, your cum, the mingled flavors of your combined pleasure.

"So good," she murmured against your shaft. "You taste like ownership. Like belonging."

Kazuha had positioned herself above you now, her compact body hovering over your freshly cleaned cock. Her round face held an expression of desperate anticipation.

"I've never done this before," she admitted softly. "Not before yesterday, I mean. I was saving myself for—for something. Someone. I didn't know it was you until—"

She shook her head, confusion flickering across her features.

"Until suddenly it was all I could think about. Being yours. Being filled by you. Carrying your child." She lowered herself until your cock pressed against her entrance. "Make me yours. Please. I need it so badly."

She sank down onto you with a sharp cry.

"OH—oh fuck, you're so big—"

She was tighter than Yuna, her body gripping you like a vice. She stayed still for a moment, adjusting to the sensation of being filled, her face a mask of concentration.

"Move," you commanded, and the word surprised you. Something had shifted—some acceptance of this new reality, this strange power you held over them.

Kazuha's eyes flew open at your command, round face lighting up with joy.

"Yes—whatever you want, anything you want—"

She began to move, her hips working in a different rhythm than Yuna's. Where Yuna had been smooth and undulating, Kazuha was enthusiastic and eager, bouncing on your cock with almost frantic energy.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—you feel incredible, so deep, hitting places I didn't know existed—"

Yuna and Winter had moved to either side of you, both women watching Kazuha ride you with possessive satisfaction. Winter's hand found your face, turning your head toward her.

"Kiss me," she demanded. "While you fill her, kiss me—"

Her mouth found yours, and she kissed you with desperate intensity. Her tongue invaded your mouth, tangling with yours, tasting and claiming. When she pulled back, her pale lips were swollen and red.

"Next time," she whispered against your mouth. "You're going to fill me next. You're going to pump me so full of cum that I'll be dripping for days."

Kazuha's movements had grown more erratic, her breath coming in sharp gasps.

"I'm close—I'm so close—your cock is hitting my spot every time, it's too much, too good—"

"Come for me," you ordered, and she shattered.

"AHHHHHHH! OH GOD, OH FUCK, I'M COMING, I'M COMING ON YOUR COCK—"

Her channel clenched around you in rhythmic pulses, and the sensation pushed you over the edge again. You came inside her with a groan, filling her with your second load of the morning.

"YES! I can feel it, I can feel you coming, filling me up, giving me your baby—THANK YOU, thank you, thank you—"

She collapsed forward onto your chest, her compact body shaking with aftershocks. You could feel her tears against your skin—tears of pleasure, of relief, of something that might have been joy.

"Two down," Yuna observed from beside you. Her voice was calm, but her dark eyes blazed with intensity. "One to go."

Winter had already taken position, her pale body replacing Kazuha's above you. But instead of sinking down onto your cock, she turned around, presenting her back to you.

"I want you to see," she explained. "I want you to watch your cock disappear inside me. I want you to see your cum dripping out when you're done."

She lowered herself onto you with a moan, her tight channel gripping your oversensitive cock.

"OH—oh fuck, you're still so hard, how are you still so hard—"

The sight was obscene and intoxicating—your darkened shaft disappearing into her pale body, her round cheeks bouncing with each movement. Yuna and Kazuha had recovered enough to move beside her, both women running their hands across Winter's body as she rode you.

"So beautiful," Kazuha murmured. "Taking him so well. Being such a good harem-sister."

"Our turn to help," Yuna added. She reached between Winter's legs, her elegant fingers finding the other woman's clit.

Winter screamed.

"AHHHHH! Oh god, Yuna, what are you—OH FUCK—"

"Making sure you come hard enough to catch his seed," Yuna explained calmly. Her fingers worked Winter's clit in tight circles. "We need you convulsing around him, pulling his cum deep into your womb."

Winter's movements became frantic, her body chasing the pleasure Yuna provided. Each bounce on your cock drove you deeper, her channel gripping you like she was trying to pull you inside permanently.

"More," she begged. "Please, I need—I need—"

Kazuha leaned in and took one of Winter's pale nipples into her mouth, sucking hard. Winter's back arched, and a wail tore from her throat.

"I'M COMING—I'M COMING—FILL ME, PLEASE, FILL ME WITH YOUR CUM—"

You came for the third time, your body somehow finding more to give her. The orgasm was almost painful in its intensity, your cock pulsing inside her as you pumped her full.

"YES! I can feel it, so hot, so much—mark me, claim me, make me yours forever—"

She collapsed backward, your cock slipping from her body with an obscene wet sound. Your cum immediately began leaking from her stretched hole, dripping onto your stomach.

All three women lay around you now, breathing hard, their bodies slick with sweat and other fluids. The room smelled like sex—musk and salt and something sweeter underneath.

"Perfect," Yuna murmured. She pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "That was perfect."

"Now we wait," Kazuha added, her voice dreamy with satisfaction. "Wait to see if it takes. And if not—"

"We'll keep trying," Winter finished. She'd already begun cleaning you with her mouth, licking up the combined fluids from your stomach. "Every day. As many times as it takes. Until all three of us are round with your children."

She looked up at you, pale eyes feverish with devotion.

"You're never getting rid of us now. We're yours forever."

The worst part was, you weren't sure you wanted to be rid of them anymore.

[elryuse]

WORLD OF THE MARRIED

Wonyoung, Moon Ga Young & Karina X Male Reader

Tags : Housewives, Used, Breeding, Slut, Moaning, Reverse Cowgirl, Blowjob, Oral Fixation, Deepthroat, Creampie, Married Woman, Cheating, Gigolo Male Reader, Light BDSM, Teasing

Words : 26,544 Words

The GPS had led you through winding, tree-lined roads for the last twenty minutes, each turn taking you deeper into a neighborhood that didn't feel like Seoul anymore. The mansions here didn't even try to blend in, they announced themselves with wrought-iron gates and stone walls, with security cameras that tracked your car's movement like predator eyes.

Your hands were slick against the steering wheel.

Senior Park had called this morning, his voice crackling through the phone with that particular brand of amusement he reserved for special assignments. "New client. Young. Recently married." A pause. "You've seen her face before."

You'd seen her face everywhere. Billboard in Gangnam. Subway advertisement for soju. The thumbnail of every third video on your YouTube feed. Karina. Yu Ji-min. The face of AESPA, the woman whose wedding had crashed three different entertainment news sites, whose husband, some shipping magnate's son had apparently decided that a wife was something you acquired, not something you maintained.

"That's the job," Senior Park had said. "She called us. Not the other way around. Remember that."

And now here you were, sitting in your Hyundai at the security gate of a house that looked more like a modern art museum, trying to remember how to breathe normally.

The gate buzzed before you could press the intercom.

A woman's voice, softer than you'd expected. "Come in. The front door is around the fountain."

The gate swung open.

The walk from your car to the front door took exactly forty-three steps. You counted them. Anything to keep your mind from spinning out. The fountain in the driveway was one of those minimalist things, a black stone slab with water sheeting down the sides. Classy. Expensive. The kind of thing you could stare at and feel nothing about.

Your professional training ran through your head like a checklist Senior Park had drilled into you months ago. Posture. Eye contact. Don't stare. Let her set the pace. The first meeting is always about making them comfortable enough to admit what they want.

But none of the training had mentioned what to do when Karina opened the door.

She wasn't wearing makeup. That was the first thing you noticed, not what you'd expected. Every image you'd ever seen of her was polished to a high gloss, stage-ready, camera-ready. The woman standing in the doorway had her dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping at the temples. She wore an oversized gray sweater that hung off one shoulder, black leggings, bare feet on the marble floor.

And her face. Jesus Christ, her face.

The bone structure that launched a thousand fan edits. Lips that were slightly chapped, slightly parted. Eyes that held yours with something between curiosity and exhaustion.

"Come in," she said, stepping aside. "Take off your shoes."

You did. Brain on autopilot. The foyer was all white marble and indirect lighting, a staircase curving up into shadow. The house smelled like fresh laundry and something floral… lilies, maybe. A bouquet sat on a console table near the door, still wrapped in cellophane, the card unopened.

"I'm…" you started. "I know who you are." She was already walking toward what looked like a living room. "The agency sent me your file. Do you want something to drink?"

The living room was vast and somehow still felt empty. A sectional sofa big enough for twelve people. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a garden you couldn't see in the dark. No photographs on the walls. No magazines on the coffee table. It looked like a showroom, like no one actually lived here. "Water would be great," you managed.

Karina gestured toward the sofa. "Sit." She disappeared through an archway. You heard water running, the clink of glass. Your heart was doing something ridiculous in your chest—not racing exactly, more like it was trying to relocate to your throat.

The file Senior Park had given you was thin. Married eight months. Husband's name was Lee Joon-ho, heir to Lee Shipping & Logistics. According to the tabloids, he'd been spotted at clubs in Gangnam with actresses whose names you didn't recognize, while Karina attended industry events alone. The word "lonely" appeared in a lot of the articles, usually paired with photos of her looking wistful at award shows. "Here."

She was back, holding two glasses. One water, one something amber. Whiskey, maybe. Your eyes tracked the movement of her bare arm as she set the water down on the coffee table between you. "You're nervous," she said, settling onto the opposite end of the sectional. Not a question.

"A little."

"Why?"

Because you're Karina. Because every man in this country has fantasized about you. Because I'm sitting in your mansion and you're wearing that sweater and I don't know what I'm supposed to do with my hands. "New clients are always nerve-wracking," you said instead. "For both of us."

Something flickered in her expression. Amusement, maybe. Or skepticism. She took a sip of her drink—whiskey, definitely—and let her head rest against the back of the sofa. The movement exposed the long line of her throat, the delicate architecture of her collarbones where the sweater had slipped. "How long have you been doing this?"

"A year."

"And before that?" You hesitated. The training said honesty was valuable, but only in measured doses. "I was a personal trainer. Senior Park recruited me. Said I had the right… temperament."

"Temperament." She said the word like she was tasting it. "Is that what they call it?" The silence stretched. Outside, wind rattled something against the glass—a branch, probably. The house was so quiet you could hear the refrigerator humming from two rooms away.

"Why did you call the agency?" you asked. Karina's gaze slid toward you. "Aren't you supposed to know the answer to that?"

"I'd rather hear it from you." Another sip of whiskey. Her throat moved as she swallowed. "The agency brief didn't tell you?"

"It said you were recently married. It said your husband travels frequently for work."

"Travels." A short laugh, not especially warm. "Is that what they're calling it now?"

You didn't answer. Sometimes silence was the best tool you had. Karina set her glass down on the coffee table with a little more force than necessary. The sound echoed in the cavernous room. "He doesn't travel. He's in Seoul. He just doesn't come home." She was looking at the windows now, at her own reflection in the dark glass. "Three months. I've seen him three times in three months, and each time it was for less than an hour. Photo opportunities, mostly. His PR team coordinates them."

"That sounds lonely." Her jaw tightened. "Don't."

"Don't what?" "Don't do the sympathetic thing. I'm not paying for sympathy."

You shifted on the sofa, turning to face her more directly. "What are you paying for?"

The question landed differently than you'd intended. Karina's eyes snapped to yours, and for a moment the mask slipped—the idol mask, the one she wore in every interview and variety show appearance. Underneath it was something rawer. Something hungry and furious and so tired of pretending. "I want to feel something," she said. "Something that isn't…" She gestured vaguely at the house around her. "This."

"This?"

"Empty." The word came out smaller than the others. She picked up her whiskey again, took a longer drink. "Everything in my life is scheduled and managed and presented to the public in exactly the right light. My marriage. My career. My face." Another drink. "I wake up in this house and I feel like I'm already a ghost. Like I'm haunting my own life." You watched her fingers tighten around the glass. The knuckles went pale.

"So when you ask what I'm paying for," she continued, "I'm paying for something real. Something that isn't polite. Something that doesn't treat me like I'm made of glass." The air in the room had changed. Thicker, somehow. Charged with something you couldn't name.

"Have you done this before?" you asked. "With anyone from the agency?"

"No."

"And you understand how this works? The boundaries, the rules—"

"I understand." She cut you off with a look that was almost defiant. "I read everything. I know about the safeword protocols. I know I can stop anything at any time. I know this isn't…" She paused, searching for the word. "Conventional."

"It's not," you agreed. "Which is why I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me."

Karina raised an eyebrow, and for a second you caught a glimpse of the stage persona, the one who commanded thousands with a single glance. "Ask."

"Are you sure you want this?" The question hung between you. Outside, the wind picked up again, and somewhere in the house a door creaked—settling, probably, or the air pressure shifting. Karina didn't look away from your face.

"Do you want me to prove it?" she asked.

"I want you to tell me." She was quiet for a long moment. Then she set her glass down again, stood up from the sofa, and walked toward you. Her bare feet made almost no sound on the marble floor. The sweater slipped further off her shoulder as she moved, revealing the strap of something black and lacy underneath. When she stopped, she was standing directly in front of you, close enough that you could smell her perfume—something light, citrus and white flowers—and underneath it, the clean scent of her skin. "I've been thinking about this for three weeks," she said. "Ever since I found the agency's number in a forum I wasn't supposed to be reading. Ever since I realized that the only person who's touched me in eight months is my makeup artist." Her voice was steady, but there was a tremor underneath it. "So yes. I'm sure. I want this."

She held out her hand. "I want you to make me feel something. I don't care if it hurts. I don't care if it's ugly. I want to stop being Karina for a few hours and just be… a body. A woman. Whatever is left of me when all of this"—she waved at the house, at the empty walls, at the unopened flowers—"isn't here anymore." Your pulse was a drumbeat in your ears. Her hand was still extended, palm up, waiting.

"Tell me your safeword," you said.

"Red."

"And if you can't speak?"

"Three taps. Anywhere you can feel them." You'd said the same words to half a dozen clients before her, but something about the way Karina recited them back—steady, rehearsed, like she'd practiced them in front of a mirror—made your chest tighten.

"Okay," you said. And you took her hand. Her skin was warm. Soft, the way you'd imagined, but there was strength in her grip too—the hand of someone who'd spent years in dance studios, who'd trained her body to do exactly what she wanted it to. She didn't flinch when you stood up, which brought you close enough that you could see the individual lashes framing her eyes, the tiny mole near her left eyebrow, the way her lips had parted slightly.

"Before we do anything," you said, "I need you to understand something."

"What?"

"This isn't about your husband. This isn't about revenge or filling a void or proving something to yourself." You kept your voice low, even. "This is about what you want. Right now. In this room. Nothing else exists." Karina's eyes searched your face. Whatever she was looking for, she must have found it, because something in her expression shifted—a loosening, a letting-go.

"Nothing else exists," she repeated.

"Good girl." The words slipped out before you could stop them, but the effect was immediate. Karina's breath caught. Her pupils dilated, just slightly. The hand in yours tightened its grip.

"That's what you want?" you asked. "To be good?"

"I want…" She swallowed. "I want to stop thinking. I want someone else to be in charge. Just for a while." You lifted your free hand and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. The movement was gentle, almost reverent, and it made no sense with the things you were about to do—but that was the point, wasn't it? The contrast. The collision of tender and brutal that would short-circuit her brain and give her exactly what she was asking for.

"Your bedroom," you said. "Take me there."

She led you up the curved staircase, her hand still in yours. The upstairs hallway was lined with doors, all of them closed except one at the far end. Soft light spilled out of it, and as you got closer you could see the corner of a bed—a huge bed, king-sized at least, with white sheets and too many pillows. The master bedroom. Karina's bedroom.

The room that her husband had probably not set foot in for months. She paused at the threshold, and for a moment you thought she might hesitate. Might change her mind. Might realize what she was about to do and decide it was too much, too fast, too far outside the carefully constructed image of Yu Ji-min, beloved idol, perfect wife.

Instead, she turned to face you. "What do you want me to do first?" The question was genuine. Not a test. She was waiting for you to take the reins, willing to hand over control before you'd even started.

"First," you said, stepping into the bedroom and pulling her gently after you, "I want you to take off that sweater." Karina's hands moved to the hem of the gray wool. The fabric lifted, revealing the black lace you'd glimpsed earlier—a bralette, delicate and expensive-looking, the kind of thing you wore when you wanted to feel beautiful even if no one else would see it. The sweater came over her head and dropped to the floor.

Her skin was luminous in the low light. Pale and smooth, with the kind of muscle definition that came from years of dancing—toned arms, a flat stomach that tensed as she breathed, the curve of her ribs just visible beneath the skin. "Now the leggings." She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and pushed them down, bending at the waist. The movement was efficient, not seductive, but it didn't matter—the sight of her body unfolding as she straightened up, the black lace of her underwear matching the bralette, the long lines of her legs.

You circled her slowly. She stood very still, the way she'd probably been trained to stand for fittings and stage checks, but there was a tremor in her thighs that she couldn't quite control. Anticipation. Maybe fear. Probably both. "Lie down on the bed," you said. "On your back."

Karina did as she was told. The mattress barely dipped under her weight—memory foam, probably, the kind that cost more than your monthly rent. She arranged herself in the center of the white expanse, arms at her sides, looking up at the ceiling. "Close your eyes." Her lashes swept down against her cheeks. The room was silent except for her breathing, which had gone shallow and quick. You stood at the foot of the bed and watched her. The rise and fall of her chest. The way her fingers curled against the sheets. The faint flush spreading from her neck to her collarbones.

"How do you feel?" you asked. "Exposed."

"Good." You moved to the side of the bed and sat down on the edge, close enough that your hip nearly touched hers. Karina's breathing hitched at the proximity.

"Do you know what I'm going to do to you?"

A pause. "No." "I'm going to use you." The words came out rougher than you'd intended. "I'm going to take everything you're willing to give me, and I'm going to make you feel every second of it. Your body belongs to me tonight. Do you understand?"

Her voice was barely a whisper. "Yes."

"And you want that?"

"God, yes."

"Look at me." Her eyes opened. They were glassy already, the pupils blown wide. The composed idol from five minutes ago was already starting to dissolve, replaced by something more vulnerable and infinitely more real. "Your husband," you said. "Does he ever look at you like this?"

Karina flinched—a tiny movement, but you caught it. "No."

"Does he touch you?"

"No."

"Does he make you feel anything at all?" A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, tracking down her temple and into her hair. "No." You leaned closer. "Then forget him. Forget all of it. Right now, there's only me and you and what your body can take. Nothing else. No Karina. No Yu Ji-min. Just a woman who needs to be fucked like she matters."

The tears were coming faster now, but she wasn't sobbing—just leaking, silently, the release of pressure that had been building for months.

"Please," she said. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Make me forget." You stood up and began unbuttoning your shirt. Karina watched you through blurred vision, her chest rising and falling with breaths she couldn't seem to control. The black lace of her bralette had shifted, revealing the upper curve of her breasts, the skin there flushed and warm.

"Last chance to change your mind," you said, pulling your shirt off and letting it fall. Her eyes traveled over your chest, your arms, the line of your stomach. When she spoke, her voice was steadier than it had been.

"I'm not changing my mind."

"Good." You unbuckled your belt and pulled it free from the loops with a single smooth motion. The leather whispered against the fabric of your pants. "Because I'm just getting started." The belt was still in your hand. Karina watched it loop between your fingers, the leather dark against your palm. Her tears had left shiny tracks down her temples, disappearing into the hairline, and her breathing had gone shallow again—not from crying now, but from something else. Something that made her thighs press together on the white sheets.

“Sit up,” you said. She pushed herself upright, the bralette shifting as she moved. One strap slipped off her shoulder. She didn’t fix it. You folded the belt in half and ran your thumb along the smooth side. “You said you wanted to stop being Karina for a few hours.”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m going to take away your sight.” Her lips parted. A micro-flinch—not fear, not exactly. More like the body’s instinctive response to a cliff edge. The moment before the jump. “The blindfold,” you continued, “stays on until I take it off. If it becomes too much, you use the taps. Three of them. Anywhere you can reach me.”

“I know the rules.”

“I know you do.” You stepped closer, until your knees touched the edge of the mattress. “But I want to hear you say it. What happens if you need to stop?”

“Three taps.” Her voice was steadier now. “On you. Anywhere.”

“And what’s your word?”

“Red.”

“Good.” You reached down and brushed your knuckles along her jawline. The contact was feather-light, almost accidental. “Lift your hair.” She gathered the dark strands and held them up, exposing the nape of her neck. The movement arched her back slightly, pushed her chest forward. The black lace strained against her breasts. You brought the belt around her head. The leather was cool, supple from use. You positioned it across her eyes, careful not to catch her hair in the buckle, and pulled it snug against her temples. Not tight enough to hurt. Tight enough that she wouldn’t see anything but darkness.

“How does that feel?”

Karina exhaled. “Dark.”

“Can you see anything?”

“No.”

“Good.” You fastened the belt at the back of her head and let your fingers trail down the side of her neck as you withdrew. Her pulse hammered against your fingertips. “Now lie back down.” She lowered herself onto the mattress. The movement was different now—less controlled, more tentative. Without her sight, every shift of her body became a negotiation with the unknown. Her hands found the sheets and gripped them. You stood at the edge of the bed and looked at her. The idol that half of Korea fantasized about. The face on every billboard. Reduced to a blindfolded woman in black lace, her chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid cycles, her lips slick where she’d licked them.

“Spread your legs.” Karina’s thighs parted. The movement was slow, almost reluctant—but she did it. The matching black panties were cut high on her hips, the fabric thin enough that you could see the suggestion of her underneath. A dark shadow. A slight dampness already bleeding through.

“Wider.” She obeyed. Her knees fell open, exposing the full length of her. The panties pulled taut across her cunt. The outline of her lips. The little seam where they parted.

You didn’t touch her there. Not yet. Instead you climbed onto the bed, positioning yourself beside her. The mattress dipped under your weight, and Karina’s body shifted toward you instinctively—gravity pulling her toward the heat of your skin. “You’re going to use your mouth now,” you said. “And while you do, I’m going to play with these.” Your fingers found the strap of her bralette. You pulled it down. Then the other strap. The lace caught on her nipples for a moment—already peaked, already hard—before you tugged it free and let the fabric pool around her waist.

Karina’s breasts were full and pale, the nipples a dusty rose color that darkened at the tips. They stiffened further in the open air, and she made a small sound—something between a gasp and a whimper. “You like that.”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“You like being blindfolded. You like not knowing what’s coming next.”

“I… yes.” You traced a circle around her right nipple with your fingertip. The skin puckered. Karina’s back lifted off the mattress.

“Don’t move,” you said. “Stay still and let me touch you.” She forced herself down. The effort was visible—her abdominal muscles tensed, her hands fisting in the sheets. You circled the nipple again, closer this time, and then you took it between your thumb and forefinger and squeezed. The sound she made was not a moan. It was a broken exhale, a noise that started in her chest and caught in her throat. Her hips bucked once—an involuntary spasm—and then she forced them still. “That’s it,” you murmured. “Let your body react. Don’t fight it.”

You rolled the nipple between your fingers, working it slowly. The texture was fascinating—the way it tightened and pebbled under your touch, the way the areola crinkled around it. Karina’s breathing had gone ragged. A flush was spreading down her chest, past her collarbones, toward the swell of her breasts. “Does your husband ever touch you like this?”

“No—” The word came out strangled.

“Does he know what your body does when someone pays attention to it?”

“He doesn’t… he never…”

“He never what?”

“He never touches me.” The confession was barely a whisper. “He never—ah—” You’d switched to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. Roll. Squeeze. A gentle twist that made her gasp and arch before she remembered she was supposed to stay still.

“Then he’s a fool,” you said. “Because your body is extraordinary.” You leaned down and took her nipple into your mouth. Karina cried out. The sound was sharp and sudden, echoing in the vast bedroom. Your tongue laved across the tight bud, traced circles around the areola, and then you sucked—a long, pulling pressure that made her whole body go rigid.

“Oh—oh god—” Her hands came up, flailing in the dark, and found your shoulders. Her nails dug in. You didn’t tell her to stop. Instead you sucked harder, pulling the nipple deep into your mouth while your other hand continued working its twin—rolling, pinching, tugging in counterpoint to the rhythm of your tongue. She was making sounds now that had no words in them. Just vowels. Just broken, desperate vowels that rose and fell with the movement of your mouth. You released her nipple with a wet pop.

“Hands down,” you said. “We’re not done.” Karina’s fingers uncurled from your shoulders. She lowered her arms back to the bed. Her chest was heaving, both nipples now slick and swollen, darker than they’d been before. The blindfold had shifted slightly—just a millimeter—but she hadn’t tried to remove it. “Good girl. Now.” You unfastened your pants and pushed them down. Your boxers followed. “I want you to sit up. I want you on your knees. Can you do that?”

She nodded. The belt bobbed with the movement. Getting her upright was an exercise in trust. She couldn’t see the edge of the bed, couldn’t gauge the distance. You guided her by the shoulders—first into a sitting position, then turning her so her legs hung off the side of the mattress. “On your knees,” you said. “On the floor.” Karina slid off the bed. Her knees hit the hardwood with a soft thud. The position put her face level with your hips, and even though she couldn’t see you, she must have sensed your proximity, because her breath quickened. “You’re going to use your mouth now,” you said. “The way you’ve been thinking about since you first called the agency. The way you’ve imagined in this empty bed at night while your husband was god knows where.”

Her lips parted. Her tongue darted out, wetting them. “But you don’t get to use your hands. Not yet. Just your mouth. And while you work, I’m going to keep playing with your nipples. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” You guided yourself toward her mouth. The head of your cock brushed her lower lip—just a touch, just enough for her to feel the heat. Karina’s whole body shuddered. “Open.” She did. Her jaw dropped, and you pushed forward, sliding the tip past her lips. The inside of her mouth was hot. Wet. Her tongue met the underside of your shaft, tentative at first, then bolder—flattening against you, tracing the ridge of the head. You groaned. The sound was involuntary. “That’s it. Take more.”

She did. Her lips stretched around your girth, and you watched her jaw work as she accommodated the intrusion. There was no hesitation now—the blindfold had freed her from something. From the performance. From the expectation. From Karina Yu, the idol, and all the ways that identity constrained her. The woman kneeling on the floor was just a woman. A woman who wanted to suck cock. You reached down and found her nipples again. Both of them this time, one in each hand, rolling them between your thumbs and forefingers as she began to move.

Karina moaned around your shaft. The vibration traveled through you, up your spine, into the base of your skull. “Mmm—”

She pulled back, let her tongue swirl around the head, then pushed forward again—deeper this time. Her throat flexed. A gag reflex triggered, and she choked, but she didn’t pull away. She held herself there, breathing through her nose, letting her throat adjust to the intrusion. “Fuck,” you breathed. “You’ve done this before.” She couldn’t answer—her mouth was full—but the way she moved said everything. This wasn’t practice. This was muscle memory. Somewhere in her past, before the fame and the management and the carefully curated image, there had been a girl who knew exactly what to do with her mouth. You pinched her nipples harder. She whimpered. Bobbed her head. The wet sounds of her mouth filled the room—the slick slide of lips on skin, the soft suction when she pulled back, the obscene little pop when she reached the tip and let go for just a moment before diving back down.

“Look at you.” Your voice had gone rough. “The most famous woman in Korea. On her knees. Blindfolded. Choking on a stranger’s cock.” Karina’s response was a moan that vibrated through your entire shaft. She sucked harder. Faster. Her tongue worked the underside of your cock with the kind of precision that spoke to experience—flicking against the frenulum, tracing the vein that ran along the length, pressing flat and wide when she reached the base. You tugged her nipples in rhythm with her bobbing. Pull when she went down. Release when she came up. The coordination turned her body into an instrument—you played her nipples, and she played you with her mouth. Saliva dripped down her chin. It pooled in the hollow of her throat, ran in thin rivulets toward her collarbones. She was messy now. Undone. The composed idol from an hour ago was dissolving into something rawer and infinitely more beautiful.

“Deeper,” you said. “Take it deeper.” She pushed forward. Her throat constricted around the head of your cock—a tight, hot pressure that made your vision swim. She gagged again, harder this time, and you felt her throat spasm around you. “Stay there.” She held. Her shoulders trembled. A tear leaked from beneath the blindfold—not from crying, but from the physical reflex of her throat trying to expel the intrusion. The tear tracked down her cheek and mixed with the saliva on her chin. You released her nipples and cupped her face instead. Your thumbs traced the stretched line of her lips, the bulge of your cock visible through her cheek.

“You’re perfect like this,” you murmured. “Blind. Choking. Desperate. This is what you needed, isn’t it? To be used. To be nothing but a mouth.” Karina made a sound—half moan, half sob—and nodded as much as she could with your cock buried in her throat. You pulled back. Let her breathe. A thick strand of saliva connected her bottom lip to the tip of your cock.

“Don’t swallow yet,” you said. “Let it drip.” She obeyed. The saliva pooled and spilled, running down her chin and onto her chest. It made her skin glisten in the low light.

“Now use your hands. Both of them. Show me how you touch yourself when you think about this.” Her hands came up immediately—eager, almost frantic. One wrapped around the base of your shaft while the other cupped your balls. Her fingers were cool against the heat of your skin. She squeezed gently, testing the weight, and then her mouth was back on you—lips stretched wide, tongue working, throat opening. The blindfold was soaked now. Tears and sweat had darkened the leather around her eyes. You reached down and found her nipples again. Plucked them. Rolled them. Pinched them until she keened around your cock, the sound high and desperate. “You love this. You love being on your knees for a stranger. You love not being in control.”

“Mmmhmm—” The affirmation vibrated through your shaft.

“Say it. Pull off and say it.” She let you go with a gasp. Her lips were swollen, the color darkened to a deep rose. “I love it. I love being on my knees. I love—” She swallowed, her throat working. “I love not being in control.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Her blindfolded face tilted up toward your voice. “Because for once I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to be Karina. I can just be… this.”

“A mouth.”

“Yes.”

“A set of holes.”

She shuddered. “Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I’m a mouth.” Her voice cracked. “I’m a set of holes. I’m just—I’m just a body that wants to be used.” You stroked her cheek. “Good girl. Now open up.” She did. Her jaw dropped, tongue extended—a gesture of pure, shameless submission. You guided yourself back into her mouth and this time you didn’t let her set the pace. You fucked her throat with slow, deliberate thrusts, watching her lips stretch around you, watching her chest heave as she struggled to breathe through her nose.

Your hands never left her nipples. They were dark now, engorged, slick with the saliva that had dripped down from her chin. You twisted them in opposite directions and Karina screamed around your cock—a muffled, desperate sound that was swallowed by the column of flesh filling her throat. “Again.” Twist. Scream. Her thighs squeezed together, and through the thin black panties you could see her cunt clenching on nothing.

“You’re getting wet from this. From choking on a stranger’s cock while he twists your nipples.” She couldn’t answer. Could only whimper and bob her head and take it. You pulled her off again. She gasped, coughed, and then immediately tried to lean forward—to get you back in her mouth. You held her by the hair. “Not yet. I want to look at you.” Karina knelt there, chest heaving, lips swollen and slick, chin dripping. The blindfold was a dark slash across her face. Her nipples jutted out from the flushed mounds of her breasts, hard and dark and wet. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” you said. “And I mean that. Not Karina the idol. Not the image. This. Right here. A woman who finally stopped pretending.”

Her lips trembled. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me finish. Please let me taste you. Please—I need—I need to feel you—”

“You need to feel me come down your throat.”

“Yes.” The word was a sob. “Yes. Please. Use my mouth. Use my throat. I don’t care if I can’t breathe. I just want to feel it. I want to taste it. Please.” You guided her back onto your cock. She took you deeper than before—no hesitation, no slow build. She swallowed you whole, her nose pressing against your abdomen, her throat working around the intrusion like it was made for this. Made for you. Your hands found her nipples one last time. You pinched them hard—the hardest yet—and held the pressure as she sucked. Karina’s whole body convulsed. Her thighs pressed together so tightly that the muscles in her legs stood out in sharp relief. A muffled, keening sound escaped from somewhere deep in her throat. She was close. Even without touching her cunt, even without any stimulation below the waist—she was close. The nipple play and the blindfold and the degradation had wound her up to a breaking point.

You felt your own climax building. A tightening at the base of your spine. A coiling pressure that radiated outward. “I’m going to come,” you said. “And you’re going to swallow every drop. Do you understand?” Karina’s response was to suck harder. Her tongue worked the underside of your shaft, pressing and stroking in time with her bobbing. Her hand cupped your balls and squeezed—gently, then harder—and that was it. The orgasm hit like a punch to the spine. You groaned—a deep, guttural sound—and your hands tightened on her nipples as the first pulse of cum shot into her mouth. She swallowed. You felt her throat work around the head of your cock, milking you, drawing out every pulse. The second shot. The third. She took them all, her lips sealed tight around your shaft, not letting a single drop escape.

“Fuck. Fuck, Karina—” She pulled back just enough to let the last pulse land on her tongue. Then she closed her mouth and swallowed again, her throat moving in a long, deliberate gulp. When she finally released you, she sat back on her heels. Her chest was still heaving. Her nipples were dark and swollen. Her chin glistened. A single drop of cum had escaped the corner of her mouth and was tracking slowly down toward her jaw. You reached down and wiped it away with your thumb. Then you pressed your thumb to her lips. She sucked it clean.

“Thank you,” she whispered. You crouched down in front of her. The blindfold was ruined—soaked through with tears and sweat, the leather darkened to near-black. You reached behind her head and unbuckled it. The belt fell away.

Karina blinked. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, the pupils so dilated that her irises were barely visible. Tear tracks striped her cheeks. Her lips—swollen, bruised-looking, the lipstick she hadn’t been wearing long since replaced by a deeper, more honest color. She looked wrecked. She looked free. “How do you feel?” you asked.

A long pause. Then a smile—small, fragile, but real. “Like I’m still here. Like I’m actually… in my body. For the first time in months.” You brushed the hair away from her face. “We’re not done.” Karina’s smile widened, just a fraction. “I know.” “Lie back down on the bed. On your stomach this time.” She rose on unsteady legs and climbed onto the mattress. The black panties were soaked through now—a dark, wet patch that spread from the gusset all the way to the waistband. She arranged herself face-down on the white sheets, her arms stretched above her head, her legs slightly apart.

The position made her ass look incredible. Round and full, the cheeks peeking out from beneath the lace.

You climbed onto the bed behind her. Your cock was still half-hard, already stirring again at the sight of her. “I’m going to take these off now,” you said, hooking your fingers into the waistband of her panties. “And then I’m going to find out just how wet choking on a stranger’s cock made you.”

Karina’s voice was muffled by the pillow. “Yes. Please. Touch me.” You pulled the panties down. And stopped breathing. The panties slid down the curve of her ass, the black lace peeling away from skin that glistened with moisture. The gusset left a shining trail across the backs of her thighs—a snail's track of arousal that caught the bedroom's low light. You stopped breathing.

Karina's cunt was laid bare before you, the lips puffy and flushed a deep rose, parted just enough to reveal the darker, wetter flesh within. Her arousal had coated everything—the inner thighs, the neat strip of dark hair above her mound, the puckered swirl of her asshole that winked at you as she shifted on the mattress. The scent hit you next: salt and musk and something sweeter underneath, the raw perfume of a woman who'd been sucking cock while her nipples were tortured and had loved every second of it.

"Fuck," you breathed. Karina's response was muffled by the pillow. "What? What is it?"

"You're dripping. You're actually—" You ran one finger along the seam of her cunt, not pushing in, just gathering the slick that had pooled there. The touch made her whole body jolt. "You're soaked. All the way down your thighs."

"I know." Her voice cracked. "I could feel it. While I was—while you were in my mouth—I could feel myself getting wetter and I couldn't do anything about it."

"Did you want to?"

"Yes. God, yes. I wanted to touch myself so badly. But you told me not to move. So I just… leaked." You brought your slick-coated finger to your mouth and tasted her. Salty. Slightly bitter. Clean. The flavor bloomed on your tongue, and something in your chest tightened—not just lust, though there was plenty of that, but something closer to awe. The most famous woman in Korea was face-down on her marital bed, her cunt drooling onto the sheets, waiting for a stranger to decide what to do with her.

"Please," Karina whispered. "Please touch me. I've been waiting. I've been so patient. Please."

"How long has it been since someone touched you here?"

"Eight months. Since before the wedding. He never—Joon-ho never—" She choked on the name. "He never wanted to. Even before we got married. He said it was… messy. He said he preferred—"

"Preferred what?"

"His hand. His own hand. While I lay next to him pretending to be asleep." The confession hung in the air. You looked at the perfect curve of her ass, the trembling muscles of her thighs, the slick heat of her cunt that some man had decided wasn't worth his time. "His loss," you said. "Don't move." You positioned yourself behind her, kneeling between her spread legs. The position gave you a view of everything—the long line of her spine, the flare of her hips, the dark cleft of her ass, and at the center of it all, her cunt. Swollen. Wet. Waiting.

"Two fingers," you said. "I'm going to put two fingers inside you. And you're going to scream into that pillow." Karina grabbed the pillow and pulled it to her face. You pushed your middle finger into her first.

The heat was staggering. Tight—god, she was tight—but so wet that your finger slid in to the second knuckle without resistance. Her inner walls clenched around the intrusion, a rippling squeeze that traveled from base to tip. Karina's back arched. A strangled sound escaped the pillow.

"One," you said. "Here comes the second."

Your index finger joined the first. The stretch made her gasp—a sharp intake of air that she cut off by biting the pillow. You pushed both fingers deep, curling them upward, searching for the rough patch of tissue that would make her see stars.

You found it.

Karina screamed.

The sound was muffled by the pillow but still loud enough to echo in the vast bedroom. Her hips bucked backward, driving your fingers deeper. Her cunt clamped down with a force that made your knuckles ache.

"There it is," you murmured. "That's what you needed, isn't it? Someone to find it. Someone to touch it. Someone who isn't afraid of a little mess."

"Don't stop—please don't stop—"

You didn't stop. You fucked her with your fingers in slow, deep strokes, curling them against that spot every time you bottomed out. The wet sounds were obscene—a slick, squelching rhythm that filled the room. Her juices coated your hand, dripped down your wrist, pooled on the sheets beneath her.

"Listen to yourself," you said. "Listen to how wet you are. You sound like a—"

"Like a whore." The word came out muffled but clear. "Say it. I want you to say it."

"You sound like a whore. A dripping, desperate whore who's been neglected for eight months and finally has someone's fingers in her cunt."

Karina moaned—a long, wavering sound that rose in pitch as you increased your pace. Her fingers clawed at the sheets. Her ass lifted higher, presenting herself more openly, and you watched her cunt stretch around your fingers, the lips clinging to your knuckles every time you pulled back.

"More," she gasped. "More. I need more. I need—"

"You need what?"

"I need to come. Please. Please let me come. I've been so good. I swallowed everything. I didn't spill a drop. Please."

You slowed your fingers. Stopped them entirely, buried to the hilt inside her.

Karina whimpered. "No—no, why did you stop—"

"Because I want to hear you beg properly." You leaned down, your lips brushing the shell of her ear. "You're not Karina right now. You're not an idol. You're just a wet hole that wants to be filled. So beg like one."

A shudder ran through her body. Her voice, when it came, was smaller than before—stripped of the polish, stripped of everything except raw, naked need.

"Please fuck me with your fingers. Please make me come. I've been empty for so long. I've been so empty and so lonely and the only thing that's made me feel anything in months is your cock in my throat and your fingers on my nipples and now I need—I need you to let me finish. I need to feel something break inside me. Please. I'm begging you. I'm begging like the desperate slut I am. Please."

"Good girl."

You resumed fucking her with your fingers. Faster this time. Harder. The curl against her G-spot became a pounding rhythm, and Karina's whole body began to shake. Her thighs quivered. Her ass clenched and unclenched. The pillow was soaked with saliva and tears.

"I'm close—I'm so close—"

You pulled your fingers out.

"No!" The word was a howl. Her cunt gaped for a moment, empty and clenching on nothing, and then she collapsed forward onto the mattress. "Why? Why did you—I was right there—"

"Turn over."

She rolled onto her back. Her face was a wreck—eyes wild and glassy, cheeks blotchy with tears, lips still swollen from the blowjob. Her chest heaved. Her nipples stood out like dark berries against the pale swell of her breasts.

"Spread your legs."

She did. Her cunt was even more obscene from this angle—the lips engorged and spread, the inner flesh a slick, vivid pink, the hood of her clitoris pulled back to reveal the pearl beneath. Everything glistened.

"Touch yourself."

Karina's hand flew to her cunt. Her fingers found her clit and began rubbing in tight, frantic circles. Her other hand grabbed her breast, squeezing, pinching the nipple.

"That's it. Show me how you make yourself come when you're alone in this empty house."

"It's always you," she panted. "Not you—not you specifically—but someone. Someone who isn't him. Someone who wants me. I imagine—I imagine being taken. Being used. Being ruined." Her circles grew faster. "I imagine a stranger's cock. A stranger's hands. I imagine being bent over and fucked until I can't walk. Until I can't think. Until I forget my own name."

"And does your husband ever make you come?"

"Never. Not once. Not even—not even when we—ah—"

"Don't stop. Keep rubbing."

Her fingers were a blur on her clit. Her hips lifted off the mattress. The muscles in her stomach stood out in sharp definition. She was close again—you could see it in the flush spreading across her chest, the way her mouth fell open, the frantic, jerky movements of her hand.

"Please," she gasped. "Please let me—"

"Stop."

Her hand froze. A sound came out of her that wasn't human—a guttural, animal keen of pure frustration. Her clit twitched visibly, denied its release. Her cunt spasmed, squeezing around nothing, gushing a fresh surge of fluid that soaked the sheets.

"Fuck!" She slammed her fist against the mattress. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

You grabbed her wrist and pinned it above her head. "Look at me."

Karina's eyes met yours. They were wet and desperate and furious and grateful all at once.

"You said you wanted to be ruined. Ruined doesn't mean easy. Ruined doesn't mean I let you come the moment you ask nicely. Ruined means I take you apart piece by piece until there's nothing left but the animal underneath. Do you understand?"

"Yes." The word was barely a whisper.

"Do you still want this?"

"God, yes. Yes. Ruin me. Please. I want to be ruined."

You released her wrist. "Then get on your hands and knees. I want to see all of you."

Karina scrambled into position. The movement was ungraceful, uncoordinated—the idol's dancer precision abandoned in favor of pure, sloppy need. She presented herself on all fours, her back arched, her ass lifted high. The position opened her completely—her cunt a dark, wet gash between her thighs, her asshole a tight pink knot, everything glistening with the evidence of her arousal.

"Spread your ass cheeks."

Her hands reached back. Her fingers dug into the full flesh of her buttocks and pulled them apart, exposing herself more completely. The vulnerability of the gesture made your cock throb.

"Wider."

She stretched herself open until the pink of her cunt gaped slightly, until you could see the dark entrance of her body, the place where her wetness pooled and dripped in a slow, viscous thread onto the sheets.

"Please," she breathed. "Please ruin my pussy. I need your cock. I need it inside me. I've needed it since you walked through my door. Since before that. Since I first saw your picture in the agency file. Please. Fuck me. Fuck me like you hate me. Fuck me like I'm nothing."

You positioned yourself behind her.

Your cock was fully hard again—thick and veined, the head an angry purple, a bead of precum already forming at the slit. You gripped the base and ran the tip along her slit, coating yourself in her slick. The contact made her shudder.

"Is this what you want?"

"Yes—"

You pushed the head against her entrance. The heat of her cunt kissed the tip of your cock.

"Say it again. Louder."

"YES. Fuck me. Please fuck me. Ruin my pussy. I want to feel you in my womb. I want to feel you for days. I want to walk into my next schedule and still feel where you've been. Please—"

You thrust forward.

One motion. No gradual entry. No easing her open. You buried yourself to the hilt in a single, brutal stroke, and Karina's plea dissolved into a scream that had no words in it.

Her cunt was impossibly tight. The wet heat of her gripped every inch of you—a clenching, rippling pressure that traveled from base to tip. You felt the head of your cock butt against her cervix, felt the resistant give of that deepest barrier, and then you pushed past it.

Karina's scream pitched higher.

"Oh fuck—oh fuck, you're so deep—you're in my—"

"Your womb. I know."

You stayed there for a moment, buried to the root, letting her body adjust to the intrusion. Her inner walls fluttered around your shaft—spasms of sensation that were half pleasure, half shock. Her fingers were still digging into her ass cheeks, holding herself open, and you could see exactly where your bodies joined. The stretched ring of her cunt. The way her lips clung to the base of your cock. The shine of her fluids on your skin.

"You're taking all of it," you said. "Every inch. You feel that? Feel how deep I am?"

"Yes—yes, I feel it—I feel you in my stomach—"

"Good."

You pulled back. The drag of her walls against your shaft made your vision swim. Then you slammed forward again, harder than before, and Karina's head dropped between her shoulders, her whole body rocking forward from the force.

"AH—"

"Again."

Another thrust. Harder. The sound of your bodies colliding was a wet slap that echoed off the bedroom walls. Her ass rippled with the impact. Her breasts swung beneath her.

"You wanted to be ruined," you growled, gripping her hips. "So I'm going to ruin you. I'm going to fuck this tight little cunt until you can't remember your own name. Until you can't remember his name. Until the only thing in your head is my cock and how deep it is and how hard I'm using you."

"Yes—yes—fuck—harder—"

You gave her harder.

The rhythm you set was brutal—deep, driving strokes that bottomed out against her cervix with every thrust. The wet sounds of her cunt filled the room. Your balls slapped against her clit. Sweat dripped from your forehead onto her back, tracing rivulets down her spine.

Karina was making sounds that didn't belong to any language. Guttural moans. High-pitched whines. Broken syllables that might have been words if she'd had enough control to form them. Her fingers had released her ass cheeks and were now fisting in the sheets, knuckles white, arms trembling.

"Look at you. The most famous idol in Korea. On her hands and knees. Getting her pussy destroyed by a stranger. Moaning like an animal. This is what you needed, isn't it? Not the fame. Not the money. Not the perfect husband and the perfect house. This. Just this. Just a cock in your cunt and someone who knows how to use it."

"YES—YES, THIS—THIS IS WHAT I—OH FUCK—"

You reached around her body and found her clit. The bundle of nerves was swollen and slick, hard as a pebble under your fingertip. You pressed down and circled—not gently, not teasingly, but with the same brutal intensity as your thrusts.

Karina's whole body convulsed.

The orgasm hit her like a wave breaking against rocks. Her cunt clamped down on your cock with a force that almost hurt—a rhythmic, pulsing squeeze that traveled in waves from her core outward. Her back arched impossibly. Her head flew up, mouth open in a silent scream, eyes rolled back so far that only the whites were visible.

Then the sound came. A wail. A keening, animal cry that started low in her chest and rose to fill the room. Her arms gave out. She collapsed forward onto the mattress, but you followed her down, never stopping, never slowing, fucking her through the orgasm with the same relentless pace.

"Thaaaat's it—don't stop—don't stop—don't—I can't—it's too much—"

"You can take it. You wanted to be ruined. You're going to take every thrust until I'm done with you."

"It's too much—it's—oh god—OH GOD—"

A second orgasm crashed over her before the first had fully subsided. This one was stronger—violent, almost. Her cunt gushed around your cock, soaking your thighs, soaking the sheets. Her screams dissolved into sobs. Her body shook with a force that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than muscle, somewhere primal.

"Please—please—I can't—I can't take any more—"

"One more. Give me one more."

"I can't—I can't—"

"You can. Feel that? Feel how deep I am? Feel how full you are? That's what you needed. Not his empty house. Not his empty promises. This. A cock that fills you up. A body that knows how to use yours. Come for me again, Karina. Come on this cock like the desperate whore you told me you are."

Her response was unintelligible. A stream of syllables that might have been Korean, might have been English, might have been neither. A confession. A prayer. A surrender.

You drove into her harder—deeper, if that was even possible—and pressed your thumb against her clit. The stimulation was merciless. Her cunt seized around you. Her sobs pitched higher.

And then she shattered.

This orgasm was different from the others. Quieter. Deeper. Her body went rigid for a long, suspended moment—every muscle locked, every breath held. Then the release came, and it came with a flood. Her cunt gushed around your shaft—not just wetness this time, but a clear, copious fluid that sprayed against your thighs and soaked into the mattress beneath her.

Karina's voice broke on a single word: "Fuuuuck—"

Her body went limp. Completely limp. She collapsed into the wet sheets, her chest heaving, her limbs twitching with aftershocks. Her cunt still pulsed weakly around your cock—little flutters of sensation that traveled up your shaft.

You slowed your thrusts. Eased to a stop. Buried yourself deep inside her one last time and held there, feeling the heat of her body, the slick grip of her cunt, the violent thudding of her heart that you could feel through the walls of her core.

The room was silent except for her breathing—ragged, broken gasps that gradually slowed to something approaching normal.

"Are you still with me?" you asked.

A long pause. Then, muffled by the mattress: "I don't know. I think so. I think… I think that was…"

"That was what?"

"That was the first time. The first time anyone's ever—" She swallowed. The movement traveled through her whole body. "The first time anyone's ever made me come. Not just during sex. Ever."

You pulled out slowly. Her cunt made a wet, sucking sound as you withdrew—reluctant, almost, as if her body didn't want to let you go. A gush of fluid followed, clear and viscous, pooling on the already-soaked sheets.

Karina whimpered at the emptiness.

"Turn over," you said. "Look at me."

It took her a moment to find the strength. When she finally rolled onto her back, the sight of her made your chest tighten.

She was wrecked. Absolutely wrecked. Her face was blotchy with tears, her eyes swollen and glassy. Her lips—still puffy from the blowjob—were parted, a thin trail of drool connecting the corner of her mouth to her chin. Her nipples were dark and angry-looking, surrounded by faint marks where your fingers had been. Her thighs were slick with her own fluids. Her cunt gaped slightly, the lips engorged and spread, still pulsing with aftershocks.

She had never looked more beautiful.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You don't have to thank me."

"I know. I want to." Her voice was hoarse—fucked raw, used up. "I've been numb for so long. I didn't even realize how numb until… until you made me feel all of this. The pain. The pleasure. The—the shame. The humiliation. I felt all of it. I'm still feeling it."

"And right now? How do you feel?"

Karina's eyes found yours. The glassiness was fading, replaced by something clearer. Something almost peaceful.

"Full," she said. "And sore. And wet. And tired. And…" A pause. "Alive. I feel alive."

You reached down and brushed a strand of sweat-damp hair away from her forehead. The gesture was gentle—a stark contrast to everything you'd just done to her body.

"Good," you said. "Because we're still not finished."

Her eyes widened. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her wrecked face—small and fragile and utterly genuine.

"I know," she said. "I was counting on it."

The shower was a rainfall fixture, wide enough for two, the water coming down in a steady, warm curtain. Steam fogged the glass enclosure. You stood behind Karina, cupping water in your palms and letting it run down her back. The rivulets tracked the geography you'd already memorized—the dip of her spine, the flare of her hips, the twin dimples just above the swell of her ass.

She leaned against the marble wall, forehead pressed to the cool stone.

"I can't feel my legs," she mumbled.

"That's normal."

"Is it?" A laugh, breathy and exhausted. "Good to know."

You reached for the body wash—something expensive, sandalwood and bergamot—and worked it into a lather between your hands. When you touched her shoulders, Karina sighed. The sound was different from the ones that had filled the bedroom an hour ago. Softer. Quieter. The sigh of a body that had been wrung dry and was finally allowed to rest.

Your hands moved down her back in slow circles. Over the faint red marks your fingers had left on her hips. Across the small of her back where sweat had pooled and dried. Down to the curve of her ass, where you kneaded the muscle with careful pressure.

"You're going to be sore tomorrow," you said.

"Good." Her voice was muffled against the marble. "I want to be sore. I want to remember."

"Remember what?"

She turned around. Water sluiced down her front, plastering her hair to her neck and shoulders. The mascara she hadn't been wearing was long gone, but her eyes were still rimmed with red, still slightly swollen. The marks on her nipples had darkened. Her lips—still puffy, still that deep bruised rose—curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"That I'm a real person. That someone wanted me. That for a few hours, I wasn't just a photograph."

You cupped her face. Your thumbs traced her cheekbones. "You were never just a photograph."

"You know what I mean."

"I do." You leaned down and kissed her forehead. Then the bridge of her nose. Then each eyelid, feather-light, the way you'd close a book you weren't finished reading. "But you need to hear it anyway. You're not what he made you feel. You were never what he made you feel."

Karina's breath shuddered out. Fresh tears mixed with the shower water—silent ones this time, not the wrenching sobs from before. She didn't answer. Didn't need to. You held her there in the steam until the water started to cool.

Later, wrapped in a robe that probably cost more than your monthly car payment, Karina walked you to the front door.

The foyer was different now. Less cavernous. The unopened flowers still sat on the console table, but something about them had shifted—they looked less like an accusation and more like a relic. A fossil from a life she was leaving behind.

She pressed a small folded paper into your palm.

"My real number," she said. "Not the one the agency has. Not the one my manager screens." Her fingers lingered on your wrist. "Call me. Or text me. I don't care which. Just… don't disappear."

You unfolded the paper. The handwriting was neat, precise—idol training, probably, years of signing autographs until every stroke was perfect. Ten digits. No name. She didn't need one.

"I won't disappear," you said.

"You say that now."

"I mean it." You caught her hand and lifted it to your lips. Kissed her knuckles. Then the inside of her wrist, where the skin was thin and the pulse still fluttered. "You survived eight months of being invisible in your own house. The least I can do is answer a text."

She laughed—a real one this time, short and surprised. "That's a low bar."

"I'm a simple man."

Karina pulled her hand back, but slowly, the way you set down something fragile. "Go. Before I ask you to stay."

You didn't say goodbye. The training had taught you better than that. Goodbye implied an ending, and endings were the one thing clients like Karina didn't need more of. Instead you stepped out into the cool night air, the paper clutched in your hand, and let the door click shut behind you.

Three weeks passed.

Senior Park called on a Tuesday.

"New client," he said, the way he always did—like he was offering you a gift and daring you to guess what was inside. "Young. Married. The usual story."

"The usual story" had become a kind of shorthand between you. Rich husband. Neglected wife. A mansion full of expensive things and no warmth. You'd heard it so many times now that the details blurred together—only the faces changed, and even those were starting to feel familiar. Actresses. Idols. The wives of men who'd acquired beauty like a stock portfolio and then forgotten to check on it.

"Who is it?" you asked.

A pause. Park was savoring this.

"Jang Wonyoung."

The name hit you like a bucket of cold water.

"Wonyoung? From IVE?"

"The one and only." You could hear the grin in his voice. "Married at twenty-eight. To Kim Seok-joong. The producer. You know him?"

Everyone knew him. Kim Seok-joong had produced half the hits on the charts for the last five years—a genius behind the mixing board, a tyrant in the studio, and, according to every rumor mill in the industry, a man who treated marriage vows like a suggestion. The tabloids had run photos of him leaving clubs with trainees young enough to be his daughters. Wonyoung's name always appeared in the same articles, usually paired with words like "humiliated" and "trapped."

"She called us directly," Park continued. "Apparently she heard about us through a mutual acquaintance. Someone who spoke very highly of your work."

You thought of Karina. Of the paper still folded in your wallet.

"Mutual acquaintance?"

"I don't ask. I don't want to know. I just make the arrangements." The rustle of paper on his end. "She's in Hannam-dong. The penthouse. Tomorrow night, nine o'clock. Don't be late."

The line went dead.

Hannam-dong at night was a different kind of wealth than the gated mansions of the suburbs. Here the money went vertical—glass towers that stabbed into the sky, each floor a monument to someone's ambition. The penthouse elevator required a code, which Senior Park had texted you an hour earlier along with a single line: She's nervous. Go slow.

The elevator ascended in silence. No muzak. No mirrored walls. Just brushed steel and the soft hum of hydraulics. You watched the floor numbers climb and tried not to think about the fact that Jang Wonyoung was waiting at the top of this building. Jang Wonyoung, who'd debuted at fourteen and been famous before she could legally drive. Jang Wonyoung, whose face had sold a million magazines. Jang Wonyoung, who'd married a man twice her age and apparently regretted it before the ink on the certificate was dry.

The doors opened onto a private foyer.

The penthouse was smaller than Karina's mansion—everything in Seoul was smaller than Karina's mansion—but it made up for it in verticality. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the Han River, the city lights reflected in the water like scattered coins. The furniture was minimalist: a low white sofa, a glass coffee table, a single orchid in a concrete pot. No photographs. No personal touches. It looked less like a home and more like a hotel suite where someone had been staying for too long.

Wonyoung stood at the window with her back to you.

She was taller than you'd expected. Taller than she looked on stage, where the camera angles and the choreography and the other members had a way of shrinking her. In person, barefoot on the marble floor, she was statuesque—long legs, a narrow waist, the kind of proportions that designers fought to dress. She wore an ivory silk robe that fell to her ankles, her dark hair loose and straight, still damp at the ends as if she'd just showered.

"It's a nice view," you said.

She didn't turn around. "I used to think so."

Her voice was different from Karina's. Lower. Flatter. Where Karina's words had crackled with suppressed fury, Wonyoung's came out like the air leaking from a tire—slow, deflated, resigned.

You stepped further into the room. "Senior Park said you wanted to meet me."

"Meet you." A short laugh. "That's a polite way of putting it."

"I can leave."

"Can you?" Now she turned. The sight of her face hit you like a physical force—the kind of beauty that felt almost aggressive, all sharp angles and full lips and eyes that were too big for her face. But there was something hollow behind them. Something that had been scooped out and never filled back in. "You can leave. You can stay. You can do whatever you want. I'm just… here."

"How long have you been 'just here'?"

Wonyoung crossed her arms over her chest. The robe was silk, thin enough that you could see the outline of her body beneath it—the curve of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach, the long lines of her thighs. She wasn't trying to be seductive. She wasn't trying to be anything. That was the most unsettling part.

"A year," she said. "Maybe longer. I stopped counting."

"A year of what?"

"Of waiting. Of pretending. Of showing up to award shows on his arm while everyone in the audience knows he fucked one of his backup dancers the night before." Her jaw tightened. "Do you know what that's like? To smile for cameras while your husband's mistress is standing ten feet away, adjusting her earpiece?"

You didn't answer. You'd learned with Karina that sometimes the best response was no response—just the space to let the words hang in the air until they lost their poison.

Wonyoung uncrossed her arms. Let them fall to her sides. "I'm not looking for sympathy."

"Then what are you looking for?"

"The same thing everyone who calls your agency is looking for." She met your eyes, and for a moment the hollowness flickered—replaced by something harder. Something almost defiant. "I want to feel like I exist. Like I'm not just… a decoration. A trophy. Something he acquired and then forgot about."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-nine."

"And how old is he?"

A pause. "Fifty-two."

You let the number sit there. Fifty-two. Older than her father, probably. Old enough to know better. Old enough to treat a twenty-eight-year-old bride like a collectible—desirable right up until the moment the paperwork was signed, and then irrelevant.

"What does he say when you confront him?" you asked.

Wonyoung's laugh was empty. "He doesn't. He just… leaves. Goes to the studio. Comes back three days later smelling like someone else's perfume. And I'm supposed to pretend I don't notice. I'm supposed to be grateful. He made my career, after all. Half my songs were his. Half my image. Half my life." Her voice cracked on the last word. "I was nineteen when I met him. I didn't know anything. I thought it was love."

"What do you think it was now?"

"Ownership." The word came out flat. "He didn't want a wife. He wanted a muse. Something beautiful to inspire him. And now he's inspired by someone else, and I'm just… here. In this penthouse. With this view. Waiting for him to come home and pretending I don't know where he's been."

You moved closer. Not close enough to touch—not yet—but close enough that she had to tilt her head slightly to keep meeting your eyes.

"What do you want from tonight?"

Wonyoung held your gaze. The defiance was back, stronger now, warring with the exhaustion. "I want to stop waiting. I want to be touched by someone who actually wants to touch me. I want…" She swallowed. "I want to feel like a woman instead of a photograph. Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense."

"And you can do that? You can… give me that?"

"I can give you whatever you're willing to take." You held out your hand, palm up, the same way you had with Karina three weeks ago. "But I need to hear you say it. I need to know you're sure."

Wonyoung looked at your hand. The hesitation was visible—the same hesitation every client had, the moment before they crossed the line from thinking about it to doing it. The moment where the life they'd been living warred with the life they wanted.

Then she took it.

"I'm sure," she said. "I've been sure for six months. I just didn't know who to call."

"Your safeword?"

"Red."

"And if you can't speak?"

"Three taps. Anywhere you can feel them."

Her palm was cool against yours. Her fingers were long and slender—pianist's fingers, though you knew she didn't play. The silk of her robe brushed against your wrist.

"Before we start," you said, "I want you to know something."

"What?"

"This isn't about your husband. This isn't about revenge. This isn't about making him feel what you've been feeling." You squeezed her hand gently. "This is about you. Right now. In this room. Nothing else exists. Do you understand?"

Wonyoung's lips parted. For a moment she looked younger—not twenty-nine, but nineteen again, standing in a studio somewhere and believing that the famous producer who'd noticed her was offering her the world.

"I understand," she said.

"Good. Now take off the robe."

She released your hand. Her fingers went to the sash at her waist, the silk loosening with a whisper. The robe slipped off her shoulders. Pooled at her feet.

Underneath she wore nothing at all.

Her body was long and lean, with the kind of proportions that seemed almost impossible outside of a magazine spread. Small, high breasts with nipples the color of pale tea. A waist that nipped in dramatically before flaring into hips that had launched a thousand fan cams. Long legs, smooth and toned, the muscles of a dancer visible beneath the skin. A dark triangle of hair at the junction of her thighs, neatly trimmed.

But what struck you most wasn't the beauty. It was the stillness. Karina had been trembling with suppressed energy, her body practically vibrating with need. Wonyoung stood completely motionless, her arms at her sides, her expression unreadable. She looked like a statue—beautiful and cold and utterly detached from the body she occupied.

"You're very beautiful," you said.

"I know." Not arrogant. Just… factual. "People tell me that a lot."

"Do you believe them?"

A flicker of something—surprise, maybe, or confusion. "What?"

"Do you believe them? When they tell you you're beautiful. Do you feel beautiful?"

Wonyoung's brow furrowed. "I don't… I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do." You circled her slowly, the way you'd circle a sculpture in a gallery. "You've been told you're beautiful your whole life. It's on every magazine cover. Every comment section. Every introduction. But when you look in the mirror, what do you see?"

Her voice was quieter now. "I see what everyone else sees."

"That's not what I asked."

You stopped behind her. The view from here was just as striking—the sweep of her back, the curve of her ass, the way her hair fell in a dark curtain between her shoulder blades. She hadn't turned to follow you. She was still facing the window, still looking at the river and the lights.

"I asked what you see," you continued. "Not what they see. Not what the cameras see. What you see."

The silence stretched. Outside, a boat moved across the Han River, its lights reflecting in the dark water.

"Nothing," Wonyoung said finally. "I see nothing. I see a body that exists to be looked at. A face that exists to be photographed. When I look in the mirror, I don't see a person. I see…" She trailed off.

"A product."

"Yes." The word was barely audible. "A product. Something that was packaged and sold before I understood what I was agreeing to."

You stepped closer. Close enough that the heat of your body registered against her bare back. Close enough that if she leaned back even an inch, she'd be touching you.

"That ends tonight," you said. "Tonight, you're not a product. You're not a photograph. You're not what your husband neglected or what the cameras captured. You're a woman. Just a woman. And I'm going to make you feel like one."

Wonyoung's breathing had changed. Shallower. Faster. Her shoulders rose and fell in the window's reflection.

"How?" she asked.

"First, I'm going to touch you. Not the way a photographer touches you. Not the way a stylist touches you. I'm going to touch you the way a man touches a woman he wants." You raised your hand and let it hover just above her shoulder—not making contact, but close enough that she could feel the heat of your palm. "And you're going to stand right here and let yourself feel it. All of it. Every sensation. Do you understand?"

Her voice was a whisper. "Yes."

"Good."

You let your hand settle on her shoulder.

The contact was light—just your palm against her skin, your fingers curving over the ridge of her collarbone. But Wonyoung's reaction was immediate. Her breath stuttered. Her spine stiffened. The muscles beneath your hand went rigid, then slowly, gradually, began to soften.

"When's the last time someone touched you?" you asked.

"I don't…" She swallowed. "I don't remember."

"Months?"

"Longer. Before the wedding, maybe. He was… interested then. Before he had me. After that…" She shook her head.

You moved your hand down her arm. Slowly. Deliberately. Letting your fingers trace the curve of her bicep, the dip of her elbow, the smooth skin of her forearm. Goosebumps rose in the wake of your touch.

"Close your eyes," you said.

She did. Her lashes swept down against her cheeks, dark against the pale skin.

"Now I want you to focus on what you're feeling. Not what you're thinking. Not what you're worried about. Just the physical sensation. My hand on your skin. The heat of my body behind you. The cool air on the rest of you. Can you do that?"

"I can try."

"Don't try. Just do."

You brought your other hand to her waist. The silk of the robe had been thin, but her bare skin was thinner—softer, warmer, alive in a way the fabric never could be. You felt the slight give of flesh over muscle, the delicate architecture of her ribs. Wonyoung's lips parted. A tremor ran through her.

"Good," you murmured. "That's it. Stay present. Stay here."

Your hands moved together now—one sliding up to cup her breast, the other tracing the curve of her hip. The contact was gentle, almost reverent. You weren't trying to arouse her yet. You were trying to wake her up. To remind her body that it was capable of sensation beyond the clinical touches of stylists and makeup artists and the indifferent hands of a husband who'd long since stopped seeing her as anything but an acquisition.

Her breast was small and firm, fitting perfectly in your palm. The nipple was already tightening—an involuntary response, the body's language for yes, this, more. You circled it with your thumb, not quite touching the peak, letting the anticipation build.

"Oh," she breathed. Just that. Just the single syllable, but it was the most human sound she'd made since you'd arrived.

"You feel that?"

"Yes."

"What does it feel like?"

"Warm. It feels… warm. And tingly. Like—like pins and needles, but soft."

"That's your body waking up." You brushed your thumb across her nipple, finally making contact. The peak was hard now, pebbled and tight. Wonyoung's breath caught. Her hips shifted—an instinctive movement, barely conscious. "That's your body remembering what it feels like to be touched."

"Don't stop," she whispered.

"I'm not stopping. I'm just getting started."

You turned her around to face you. Her eyes were still closed, her lips slightly parted, a flush spreading across her chest. The cool, detached statue from five minutes ago was already beginning to thaw.

"Open your eyes," you said.

She did. The hollowness was still there, but it had receded slightly—pushed back by something warmer. Something hungrier.

"Lie down on the bed," you said. "On your back. I'm going to touch every inch of you, and you're going to stay present for all of it. No disappearing. No retreating into your head. You're going to feel everything. Do you understand?"

Wonyoung's voice was steadier now. "Yes."

"Good. Then let's begin."

She walked toward the bedroom—the same statuesque stride, but looser now, less guarded. The ivory robe stayed in a puddle on the floor behind her, already forgotten.

You followed her. The penthouse bedroom was all windows on one side, the city lights glittering below like a mirror image of the stars. A king-sized bed dominated the center of the room. White sheets. Too many pillows. The same story, different setting.

Wonyoung lay down in the center of the mattress. Arranged herself with her arms at her sides, her hair spread across the pillow, her legs slightly apart. The position was almost clinical—like she was posing for a photograph. Muscle memory.

"Relax your arms," you said. "Above your head."

She lifted them. The movement pulled her breasts higher, flattened her stomach.

"Close your eyes."

Her lashes swept down.

You knelt on the bed beside her. In the silence, you could hear her breathing—quicker than before, but still controlled. Still holding onto something. You would need to break through that control. Not with force. With patience. With attention. With the kind of touch she'd been starved of for years.

"Now," you said, letting your hand hover over her stomach. "Let's find out what Jang Wonyoung feels like when she stops being a photograph and starts being a woman."

Your palm settled on her skin.

And Wonyoung began to tremble.

Your palm settled on Wonyoung's stomach.

The trembling started small—a flutter of muscle beneath warm skin—then spread outward, rippling through her thighs, her belly, the flat plane of her chest. She kept her eyes closed, arms still arranged above her head in that posing-for-a-photograph way that had become second nature.

"You're shaking," you said.

"I know." Her voice was thinner now. "I can't seem to stop."

"Don't stop. Let it happen."

Your hand moved in a slow circle, tracing the faint definition of her abdominal muscles. The skin here was softer than you'd expected—yielding, warm, the kind of softness that came from being young and healthy and well-cared-for in every way except the one that mattered. Wonyoung's breath stuttered when your palm grazed the bottom of her ribcage.

"What are you feeling?"

"Your hand." A pause. "It's… warmer than I expected."

"What else?"

"I don't know. It's been so long since—" She swallowed. The movement traveled down her throat, a subtle ripple. "Since anyone touched me without an agenda. My stylists touch me to adjust my clothes. Photographers touch me to fix my hair. Seok-joong…" The name came out like a curse. "He doesn't touch me at all."

You traced the lower curve of her breast. Not the nipple—not yet—just the swell where her chest began to rise. The skin was impossibly smooth, pale as cream in the city light streaming through the windows.

"When's the last time you touched yourself?"

Wonyoung's eyes opened. The question had surprised her. "What?"

"You heard me."

"I don't…" Her brow furrowed. "I don't do that."

"You don't masturbate?"

The word made her flinch. A tiny recoil, barely visible, but you caught it. "That's not something I—I mean, I've never really—"

"Never?" You kept your hand where it was, still and warm against the curve of her breast. "You've never made yourself come?"

Wonyoung closed her eyes again. A flush was spreading from her chest up her neck, blooming across her collarbones like spilled wine. "Once. Maybe twice. A long time ago. Before I debuted. Before everything got so…" She trailed off.

"So controlled."

"Yes."

"Show me."

Her eyes flew open. "What?"

"Sit up." You withdrew your hand and sat back on your heels. "I want to watch you touch yourself. I want to see how Jang Wonyoung pleasures her own body when no one else is looking."

The hesitation was visible—a war playing out behind her eyes. The trained idol, the curated image, the woman who'd spent her entire adult life being looked at without ever being touched. Then something shifted. A crack in the facade. Her lips parted.

"Okay," she whispered.

She sat up slowly. The movement was graceful despite her trembling—dancer's muscle memory, the body knowing what to do even when the mind was unmoored. She propped herself against the headboard, the white sheets pooling around her hips. Her breasts were small and high on her chest, the nipples still tight from your earlier attention.

"Lie back," you said. "Spread your legs. Let me see all of you."

Wonyoung arranged herself against the pillows. Her thighs parted with visible reluctance—not resistance, but the shyness of a woman who'd been taught that her body was a commodity, not a source of pleasure. The dark triangle of hair between her legs was neatly trimmed, the lips beneath barely visible in the dim light.

"Touch your breasts first," you said. "The way you like it."

Her hands lifted. The movement was hesitant, almost clinical, like she was examining herself rather than pleasuring herself. Her fingers brushed her nipples and she gasped—a sharp, surprised sound.

"That's it. They're sensitive, aren't they?"

"Yes—I didn't know—no one's ever—"

"No one's ever played with your nipples?"

"No." The word came out strangled. Her fingers circled the tight peaks, tracing the areolae with tentative strokes. "Seok-joong said breasts were for—ah—for looking at. Not for—"

"Not for touching."

"Not for touching."

You watched her hands grow bolder. The circles became pinches—gentle at first, then harder, the way you'd done earlier. Her back arched slightly. Her mouth fell open.

"Good girl. Now move one hand lower. Touch yourself between your legs."

Wonyoung's right hand slid down her stomach. The trembling was worse now—her whole body vibrating with a tension that had nothing to do with cold and everything to do with the forbidden nature of what she was doing. Her fingers reached the dark curls and stopped.

"I don't know if I can—"

"You can. Part your lips for me. Show me your cunt."

The vulgar word made her gasp. But her fingers obeyed—they slid through the trimmed hair, parted the outer lips, exposed the pink flesh within. Even from where you knelt, you could see the gleam of moisture. The way her inner lips clung together, then separated with a wet, sticky sound.

"You're wet," you said. "You're wet and you haven't even touched your clit yet."

"Is that—is that normal?"

"It's more than normal. It's beautiful. You're beautiful." You leaned closer. "Now find your clit. The little pearl at the top. Touch it."

Wonyoung's middle finger found the swollen bud. The contact made her whole body jerk. A sound escaped her—half moan, half whimper—and her thighs snapped shut around her hand.

"Keep them open. I want to watch."

"I can't—it's too—"

"You can. Open your legs, Wonyoung. Let me see what your body does when you stop being a photograph."

She forced her thighs apart. The effort was visible—muscles trembling, breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts. Her finger began to circle her clit in slow, tentative strokes. The hood pulled back with each pass, revealing the slick pearl beneath. Her other hand stayed on her breast, pinching and rolling the nipple in counterpoint.

"There," she breathed. "Oh—there—that feels—"

"What does it feel like?"

"Tight. Hot. Like—like something's building. Like I need to—" Her circling grew faster. "Like I need to—"

"You need to come."

"Yes." The word was a sob. "Yes. I need to come. Please. I've never—not with anyone watching—not with anyone—"

"Come for me, Wonyoung. Let go. I've got you."

Her body seized. Her back arched off the mattress, her head thrown back, her mouth open in a silent scream. The hand between her legs moved frantically—rubbing, pressing, chasing the climax that was crashing over her. A keening sound escaped her throat, high and desperate.

Then she collapsed.

Her chest heaved. Her thighs quivered. The hand on her breast fell away, and the other remained pressed against her cunt—not moving now, just holding, as if she couldn't bear to let go of the sensation.

"That was your first orgasm with an audience," you said.

Wonyoung's laugh was breathless, almost giddy. "That was my first orgasm. Period. I don't think the other times—I don't think they were real. Not like that."

"Not like that."

"No." She opened her eyes and looked at you. The hollowness was gone—replaced by something brighter, something almost hungry. "I want more. I want—" She swallowed. "I want you inside me. But I want to be in control. Just this once. I want to decide."

You raised an eyebrow. "You want to ride me."

"Yes." The word came out stronger now. "I've spent my whole life being positioned. Being told where to stand and how to pose and what to wear. I want—just this once—I want to be the one who decides. Does that make sense?"

"It makes perfect sense."

You stood up from the bed and unbuckled your pants. Wonyoung watched with open curiosity—the way her eyes tracked the movement of your hands, the way her lips parted when you pushed your boxers down and your cock sprang free. She'd seen it earlier, of course, but now she looked at it differently. Like she was sizing it up. Like she was planning.

"It's thicker than I thought," she murmured.

"Is that a problem?"

"No." A small smile played at the corner of her mouth. "It's just… I've never seen one this close before. Not like this. Seok-joong and I—the few times we—it was always in the dark. Always over quickly. He never let me look."

"Look all you want."

She did. Her gaze traveled the length of your shaft—the vein that pulsed along the underside, the ridge of the head, the way the skin pulled tight when you were fully hard. Her tongue darted out and wet her lips.

"Lie down," she said. "On your back."

You obeyed. The sheets were cool against your shoulders. Wonyoung rose on her knees and swung one long leg over your hips, straddling you. The position put her cunt directly above your cock—you could see the pink of her inner lips, still slick from her orgasm, still parted and ready. A drop of her arousal fell onto your stomach.

"Like this?" she asked.

"Reverse."

"What?"

"Turn around. Face my feet. Reverse cowgirl."

Wonyoung blinked. Then understanding dawned, and with it came something you hadn't seen on her face before—a flicker of genuine excitement. "I've seen this position. In… things I've watched. When I was alone."

"Then you know how it works."

She turned around. The movement was awkward—she had to lift one leg, then the other, bracing herself with a hand on your thigh—but the awkwardness was part of the appeal. She wasn't performing. She wasn't posing. She was just a woman figuring out how to take what she wanted.

When she settled into position, facing away from you, the view was spectacular. The long sweep of her back. The curve of her ass, round and firm. The dark cleft between her cheeks, and below that, her cunt—still wet, still open, positioned directly above your cock.

"Reach back," you said. "Take hold of me."

Her hand fumbled behind her. Fingers brushed your shaft, then your balls, then closed around the base. Her grip was tentative—too light, too careful—but she guided the head to her entrance anyway. The contact made her gasp.

"Oh god. You're so—I can feel how big you are just from this—"

"Take your time. You're in control."

Wonyoung lowered herself an inch. The head of your cock pressed against her opening, parting the slick lips. The heat of her was incredible—wet and tight and pulsing with the aftershocks of her orgasm. She stopped there, breathing hard, her thighs trembling on either side of your hips.

"I don't know if I can—"

"You can. Slowly. Just a little at a time."

She sank down another inch. The head slipped inside her, and Wonyoung cried out—a sharp, startled sound that was half pain and half pleasure. Her inner walls clenched around you, a rippling squeeze that traveled from tip to base.

"Fuck—fuck, you're stretching me—"

"You're doing so well. Take what you need."

Another inch. Then another. Her cunt was impossibly tight—tighter than Karina's, tighter than anyone you'd been with in recent memory. The walls gripped you like a fist, hot and slick and pulsing. Wonyoung's breathing had gone ragged. Her head dropped forward. Her hands braced on your thighs, nails digging in.

"I'm only halfway—oh god—I'm only halfway and I already feel so full—"

"Keep going. You wanted control. Take it."

She took it. Her hips dropped the rest of the way, and your cock buried itself to the hilt inside her. Wonyoung screamed. The sound was raw and uncontrolled—nothing like the polished idol voice, nothing like the careful, measured tones she'd used earlier. This was pure animal. Pure sensation.

"Oh fuck—oh fuck—you're in my stomach—I can feel you in my stomach—"

"Good. Now move."

She lifted her hips. The drag of her walls against your shaft made your vision swim. When she dropped back down, the impact sent a visible ripple through her ass. The cheeks jiggled with the force of it.

"Yes—" She did it again. Faster. "Yes—this is—this is what I wanted—this is what I needed—"

"Tell me what it feels like."

"Full. So full. Like—like I'm being split open. Like I'm being—ah—like I'm being claimed." She was moving faster now, finding a rhythm, her hips rolling in a way that spoke to years of dance training. The muscles in her back flexed and released with each stroke. "But I'm the one claiming you. I'm the one—I'm the one in control—"

"That's right. You're in control. Take your pleasure, Wonyoung. Take all of it."

Her pace quickened. The wet sounds of her cunt filled the bedroom—a slick, rhythmic slap every time she bottomed out. Your cock was coated in her arousal, glistening in the city light. She reached back with one hand and grabbed your chest—not for balance, but for leverage, pulling herself harder onto you with each stroke.

"Touch my—touch my breasts—please—I need—"

You reached up and cupped her breasts from behind. The position was awkward but the effect was immediate—Wonyoung's rhythm faltered, then resumed faster than before. You pinched her nipples and she sobbed.

"Yes—yes—harder—"

You twisted. She keened. Her hips became a blur—up and down, up and down, fucking herself on your cock with a desperation that bordered on violence. Her head was thrown back now, her dark hair cascading down her spine, her whole body sheened with sweat.

"I'm close—I'm getting close again—I can feel it building—"

"Look at you. Jang Wonyoung. The nation's sweetheart. Riding a stranger's cock in her marital bed. Moaning like an animal. Dripping down my thighs."

"Yes—yes—I'm dripping—I'm making a mess—Seok-joong would hate this—he'd hate how wet I am—he'd hate how—how much I love it—"

"How much do you love it?"

"So much—so fucking much—I love being full—I love being stretched—I love being in control—I love that you're letting me—" Her voice cracked. "I love that you're letting me take what I need—"

The tears started then.

They came without warning—a sudden spill from her eyes, tracking down her cheeks and dripping onto your thighs. Her rhythm faltered. Her breathing hitched and broke into sobs.

"I'm sorry—I'm sorry—I don't know why I'm—"

"Don't stop." You squeezed her breasts gently. "Don't apologize. Keep moving. Let it out."

"I can't—I can't stop crying—" But her hips kept moving. Slower now, but still moving. "It's just—it's been so long—I've been so alone—"

"I know."

"No one touches me. No one looks at me. No one wants me. I'm just—I'm just a thing he bought and forgot about—"

"You're not a thing. You're a woman. A beautiful, passionate woman who deserves to be touched and wanted and pleasured. Keep moving. Let yourself feel it."

The sobs grew louder. Her hips moved faster, chasing the release that was building despite—or maybe because of—the tears. Her hand tightened on your chest, nails digging crescents into your skin.

"I want to come—please—please let me come—"

"It's yours. Take it. Come on my cock, Wonyoung. Come while you're crying. Come while you're in control. Show me what you look like when you let go."

She shattered.

The orgasm hit her like a wave—a convulsive, full-body spasm that made her back arch and her thighs clamp around your hips. Her cunt seized around your shaft, a rhythmic pulsing that milked you from base to tip. The scream that tore from her throat was wordless and raw, echoing off the penthouse windows.

And then she squirted.

The fluid gushed around your cock—a hot, copious flood that soaked your thighs and the sheets beneath you. Wonyoung's hips kept moving through it, grinding down onto you, drawing out every pulse of her climax. The squelching sounds were obscene. Her sobs mingled with moans.

"Oh god—oh god, I'm still—it's still going—I can't stop—"

"Don't stop. Take everything."

She rode the orgasm until her thighs gave out. Then she collapsed backward, her spine landing against your chest, her head falling back onto your shoulder. Her cunt was still spasming weakly around your cock. Her chest heaved. Her face was a wreck—tears and sweat and smeared mascara that she hadn't been wearing.

You wrapped your arms around her waist and held her.

The silence stretched. Outside, the Han River glittered in the darkness, indifferent to everything happening in this penthouse. Wonyoung's breathing gradually slowed. The tremors in her thighs subsided.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You don't have to thank me."

"I know. I want to." She turned her head, her cheek pressed against your chest. "No one's ever… I've never cried during sex before. I've never cried at all. Not since the wedding. I thought I'd forgotten how."

"Tears are just your body's way of releasing what you've been holding too long."

She laughed—a small, wet sound. "You sound like a therapist."

"I've had practice."

Silence again. Then, quieter: "Will you stay? Not—not for more sex. Just… stay. Until I fall asleep. I don't want to be alone tonight."

You pressed a kiss to her damp temple. "I'll stay."

Wonyoung sighed. The sound was different from before—not resignation, but relief. The relief of a woman who'd finally let go of something she'd been carrying for years.

"Good," she murmured. "That's good."

She closed her eyes. In the penthouse bedroom, with the city lights glittering below and your cock still half-hard inside her, Jang Wonyoung finally stopped trembling.

You held her until her breathing evened out. Until her body went slack against yours. Until the tears on her cheeks dried to salt and the wetness between her thighs cooled on your skin.

Tomorrow, you'd leave. Tomorrow, she'd go back to being Jang Wonyoung, idol-turned-trophy-wife, and you'd go back to whatever Senior Park had lined up next.

But tonight, she wasn't a photograph. Tonight, she was just a woman who'd remembered how to feel.

And that, you'd learned, was worth more than any paycheck the agency could offer.

Waking came in stages.

First, the soft gray light of early morning pressing against your eyelids. The penthouse windows had no curtains—Wonyoung liked to wake with the sun, you'd learn later—and the Han River was a sheet of hammered silver outside the glass.

Second, the weight. Or rather, the absence of it. Sometime in the night she'd shifted off your chest, and now the mattress beside you was warm but empty.

Third, the sensation.

Wet. Hot. A rhythmic pressure that started at the base of your cock and traveled upward in slow, deliberate pulls. Your hips stirred before your mind caught up—an instinctive response, the body recognizing pleasure before the brain had finished booting up.

You opened your eyes.

Wonyoung was between your legs.

Her dark hair spilled across your thighs in a tangled mess, still sleep-mussed from the night before. The sheet had slipped off her shoulders, leaving her bare—the long sweep of her spine, the curve of her ass, the soles of her feet crossed at the ankle behind her. She'd positioned herself on her stomach, propped on her elbows, and her mouth was wrapped around your cock.

She was still learning. The technique was messier than Karina's had been—more enthusiasm than skill, more eagerness than precision. Her tongue moved in uncertain patterns, tracing the ridge of the head, then the vein underneath, then back again as if she couldn't decide which part she wanted to taste most. Saliva pooled at the corners of her lips and dripped down your shaft, slicking her fingers where they curled around the base.

But what she lacked in experience, she made up for in something else. Something rarer.

She was happy.

You could see it in the way her cheeks bunched—the muscles straining to smile even with her lips stretched wide. In the little hums that vibrated through your shaft every time she took you deeper. In the way her hips wiggled slightly, a tiny dance of satisfaction, like a cat kneading a favorite blanket.

You chuckled. The sound was rough with sleep.

Wonyoung's eyes flicked up to meet yours. They were clearer than they'd been last night—the hollowness replaced by something bright and mischievous. She didn't stop sucking. If anything, she redoubled her efforts, her head bobbing faster, her tongue working the underside of your shaft with renewed determination.

"What a cheeky girl," you murmured.

Your hand found her head. Your fingers threaded through the dark tangles of her hair, not pulling, not directing—just holding. Just letting her feel the weight of your palm against her scalp. Wonyoung's eyes fluttered closed. The hum she made this time was different—softer, more satisfied. A sound of pure contentment.

She pulled back until just the tip remained in her mouth. Her tongue circled the head—once, twice, a slow figure-eight that made your breath catch. Then she pushed forward again, taking you deeper than before, and you felt the head of your cock bump the back of her throat.

She gagged. Coughed. Pulled back with a wet, gasping laugh.

"Too much?" you asked.

"Not enough." Her voice was hoarse—fucked raw from the night before, from the screaming and the crying and now this. "I wanted to… I woke up and you were still here and I just wanted to…"

"To what?"

"To taste you. Before you left." She rested her cheek against your thigh, her breath warm on your damp skin. "Is that weird?"

"No." You stroked her hair. "It's not weird."

"I've never done that before. The morning thing. I've never woken up next to someone and thought… I want to make them feel good. Just because." Her fingers traced idle patterns on your hip. "I've never woken up next to anyone, actually. Seok-joong never stayed the night. Even when we were engaged. He said he couldn't sleep in unfamiliar beds."

"His own bed was unfamiliar?"

Wonyoung's laugh was bitter. "I was the unfamiliar part."

You sat up. The movement dislodged her from your thigh, and she rose with you—sitting back on her heels, her hair a wild curtain around her shoulders, her lips swollen and slick. The morning light caught the angles of her face, the sharp cheekbones and the full mouth, and for a moment she looked exactly like the magazine covers. The nation's sweetheart. The girl who'd debuted at fourteen and never stopped smiling for cameras.

But the smile she gave you now was different. Smaller. Realer. A smile that belonged to her and no one else.

"Come here," you said.

She came. You gathered her in your arms and lifted her—bridal style, her long legs draped over one arm, her head cradled against your shoulder. She was lighter than you'd expected. All those years of dieting for comebacks, probably. All those years of being told she needed to be smaller, thinner, more perfect.

"The shower," you said. "We're both a mess."

"Your fault." But she was grinning as she said it.

"Entirely."

The bathroom was all white marble and chrome fixtures, with a rainfall showerhead even larger than Karina's. You set Wonyoung down on the heated tile floor—her bare feet made a soft sound against the stone—and reached into the glass enclosure to turn on the water. Steam began to fill the room almost immediately.

She stepped into the shower first. You followed.

The water was hot but not scalding, beating down on your shoulders and back in a steady rhythm. Wonyoung tilted her face up into the spray, letting it run over her closed eyelids and down her throat. The mascara she hadn't been wearing was still absent, and without it she looked younger. Not twenty-nine. Not the weary trophy wife from last night. Just a woman in the morning, clean and bare and unguarded.

You reached for the body wash—something floral, jasmine maybe—and worked it into a lather between your palms.

"Turn around," you said.

She did. You started with her shoulders, the same way you had with Karina. The same ritual. The same aftercare. The same reminder that what happened in the bedroom wasn't just about sex—it was about being seen. Being handled. Being treated like a body that mattered.

Wonyoung sighed as your hands moved down her back. "You do this for all your clients?"

"The shower?"

"The… gentleness. The talking. The staying until morning."

"Most of them." You worked the soap into the dip of her spine, the curve of her hips. "The ones who need it."

"And how do you know which ones need it?"

You turned her around to face you. Water sluiced down between you, washing away the suds. Her eyes were level with your collarbone; she had to tilt her head back to meet your gaze.

"Because they're the ones who cry," you said. "And you cried."

Wonyoung's expression flickered—something passing through it too fast to name. Then she reached up and took the body wash from the shelf behind you. Poured some into her own palm. Worked it into a lather.

"Your turn," she said.

Her hands on your chest were tentative at first—the same hesitance from last night, the same uncertainty about what she was allowed to do. But as she grew bolder, her touch firmed. Her palms traced the lines of your pectorals, the ridges of your abdomen, the V of your hips. She was washing you, but she was also learning you. Mapping the geography of a body that wasn't hers.

"You're different from what I expected," she said.

"Different how?"

"I don't know. Less… transactional." She rinsed her hands under the spray. "When I called the agency, I thought it would be like ordering room service. Something mechanical. Something I could pretend didn't happen afterward. But this is…"

"This is?"

She looked up at you. The water had plastered her hair to her skull, darkened it to near-black. Droplets clung to her lashes.

"Real," she said. "This feels real."

You cupped her face in your hands. Your thumbs traced the sharp line of her cheekbones, the soft skin beneath her eyes. She leaned into the touch—pressed her cheek against your palm like a cat seeking warmth.

"It is real," you said. "Whatever happens in this room, whatever you feel—it's real. The pleasure is real. The tears are real. You're not pretending anymore. You're not performing. You're just… here."

"Just here." She tested the words. "I like that. I've never been 'just here' anywhere. There's always been a camera. Or a manager. Or a husband who wanted me to be somewhere else."

"Not here."

"Not here." She rose on her toes. Her lips brushed yours—soft, tentative, a question more than a statement. "Thank you."

"You already thanked me."

"I know. I want to do it again. Properly." She kissed you again, deeper this time. Her lips parted, and her tongue traced the seam of your mouth—asking permission, not demanding it. You opened for her, and she made a small sound, something between a sigh and a hum, as her tongue met yours.

The kiss was different from the ones last night. Last night had been hungry. Desperate. A woman starving for contact and finally given permission to eat. This kiss was slower. Sweeter. A kiss of gratitude rather than need.

Her arms wrapped around your neck. Your hands found her waist. The water beat down on both of you, and the steam rose around you like a curtain, and for a long moment there was nothing in the world but this—the heat and the wet and the soft pressure of her mouth on yours.

When she finally pulled back, her lips were pinker than before. Kiss-swollen. The color had risen in her cheeks.

"I put my number in your phone," she said.

"You what?"

"While you were sleeping. Earlier. Before I…" She gestured vaguely downward, toward the general vicinity of your crotch. "I wanted to make sure you had it. In case you wanted to call. In case you wanted to…"

"To what?"

"To see me again. Not as a client. Not through the agency. Just… me." Her voice had gone smaller. The confidence from moments ago was fading, replaced by the same vulnerability you'd seen last night. "Is that allowed? Is that something you do?"

You considered the question. The agency had rules about this—Senior Park was very clear about keeping things professional, about not blurring the lines between service and relationship. But Senior Park wasn't here. And Wonyoung was looking at you with those too-big eyes, the ones that had been empty last night and were now full of something fragile and hopeful.

"It's allowed," you said. "But I should warn you—I'm not a boyfriend. I'm not going to be. Whatever this is, it's not going to become something else."

"I know." She didn't look disappointed. If anything, she looked relieved. "I don't want a boyfriend. I don't want another man who owns me. I just want… someone who sees me. Someone who touches me like I'm real. Someone who'll answer when I call." A pause. "Will you answer?"

"Every time."

She kissed you again—quick and fierce, a press of lips that was more gratitude than passion. Then she stepped back, out of the spray, and reached for a towel.

"You should go," she said. "Before I ask you to stay again."

The elevator ride down was quiet. No muzak. No mirrored walls. Just brushed steel and the soft hum of hydraulics and the memory of Wonyoung's voice: Please… call me again.

You checked your phone in the lobby. There it was, in your contacts, added sometime in the early morning hours while you were still asleep: Wonyoung ♡. The heart was a nice touch. A little cheeky. A little hopeful.

You smiled despite yourself.

Three days passed.

Senior Park called on a Friday.

"New client," he said, the same way he always did—that particular lilt in his voice that meant he was enjoying himself. "Actress. Very famous. Very married. Although her marriage is…" A pause. "Complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"You'll see. She's been asking for you specifically. Apparently your reputation is spreading."

"Who is it?"

"Moon Ga Young."

The name made you stop walking. You were on the street in Gangnam, the afternoon sun beating down on your neck, and for a moment you just stood there with the phone pressed to your ear.

"Moon Ga Young? The actress?"

"The one and only. Star of True Beauty. The Interest of Love. Half a dozen other dramas I've never watched but my wife loves." The rustle of papers on his end. "She's staying at the Signiel. Suite 2704. Tonight, eight o'clock."

"Wait." You stepped into the shade of a building, out of the flow of pedestrian traffic. "Moon Ga Young is married? I didn't know that."

"Neither did anyone else. She kept it quiet. Very quiet. No press, no announcement, no wedding photos in the tabloids." Park's voice had gone sly. "The husband is some finance executive. American. Works in New York. They've been married for two years, and in those two years, he's been in Seoul for a total of six weeks. You do the math."

Six weeks out of a hundred and four. You did the math.

"Same story," you said.

"Same story, different window. The view from the Signiel is nicer, though. She's booked the suite for the whole weekend. Says she wants to take her time." Another pause. "She also said—and I quote—'Tell him I'm not fragile. Tell him I don't need the gentle version.' End quote."

You raised an eyebrow. "She said that?"

"Word for word. I think you're in for an interesting night."

The line went dead.

The Signiel Seoul occupied the 76th through 101st floors of the Lotte World Tower. It was the kind of hotel where the lobby was on the 79th floor and the elevator ride up made your ears pop. The kind of hotel where the staff wore suits that cost more than your monthly rent and the vases in the hallways were probably worth more than your car.

Suite 2704 was at the end of a quiet corridor. The door was a slab of dark wood with a brass number, and when you knocked, the sound was swallowed by the thick carpet.

"Come in. It's open."

The voice was lower than you'd expected. Smokier. The kind of voice that belonged in a noir film, all shadows and secrets.

You pushed the door open.

The suite was magnificent. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the Seoul skyline, the city lights glittering below like a spill of diamonds. The furniture was modern and understated—a low gray sofa, a glass coffee table, an abstract painting that was probably worth more than everything you owned. The bedroom was visible through an open doorway, the bed enormous and white and untouched.

And there, on the balcony, stood Moon Ga Young.

She was smaller in person than she appeared on screen. The camera had a way of adding presence, of making actors seem larger than life. In reality, she was petite—barely over five feet, with delicate wrists and a narrow frame that made her look almost breakable. Her hair was long and dark, falling past her shoulders in loose waves. Her face was the same one you'd seen in a dozen dramas—the wide eyes, the full lips, the delicate bone structure that made her look younger than her thirty-something years.

But the robe she was wearing was anything but delicate.

It was silk, pale champagne in color, and almost entirely transparent. The fabric clung to her body like a whisper, revealing the outline of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the dark triangle between her thighs. She wore nothing beneath it. The robe was held closed by a single sash, loosely tied, and as she turned to face you, the front gaped open slightly—just enough to confirm that yes, she was completely naked under there.

In one hand, she held a flute of champagne. The liquid was pale gold, the bubbles rising in lazy spirals.

"You're punctual," she said. "I like that."

"Senior Park said you didn't want the gentle version."

"Did he?" A smile played at the corner of her mouth. "I said I didn't need it. There's a difference." She raised the champagne flute to her lips and took a sip. Her eyes never left yours. "Would you like a drink? There's a bottle on the minibar. It's not cheap—I made sure of that."

"I'm working."

"So am I. Or at least, I'm about to be." The smile widened. "One drink won't hurt. Consider it part of the negotiation."

You crossed to the minibar. The champagne was vintage, the label one you recognized from a previous client's penthouse. You poured yourself a glass—not because you wanted it, but because refusing would mean ceding the rhythm of the encounter to her. And Ga Young, you were already beginning to understand, was someone who was used to setting the rhythm.

She joined you at the sofa. The robe gaped further as she sat, revealing the pale curve of one breast. She didn't bother to adjust it.

"So," she said, settling back against the cushions. "You're the man who made Karina cry."

You paused with the glass halfway to your lips. "She told you?"

"She told someone, who told someone, who told me. The idol world is small. Smaller than you'd think." Ga Young swirled her champagne. "The rumor is that you were… thorough. That you gave her exactly what she needed. That you didn't treat her like glass."

"I don't treat anyone like glass."

"No. I don't imagine you do." She leaned forward, setting her glass on the coffee table. The movement made the robe fall open completely, exposing the full length of her body. She didn't seem to notice. Or if she noticed, she didn't care. "Here's the thing. I've been married for two years. In those two years, I've had sex exactly four times. All of them on our wedding night. After that, my husband decided he preferred New York to Seoul. He calls me once a week, usually from his office, usually while he's doing something else. Reading emails. Checking stocks. He's never once asked me how I'm feeling."

"Does he know you're here?"

"He knows I'm at a hotel. He doesn't know why." Ga Young's smile was sharp. "He probably thinks I'm having a spa weekend. That's what he'd do, if he thought about it at all. 'Ga Young's having a spa weekend. How nice for her.'" The mimicry was cruel and precise. "He doesn't know me well enough to suspect anything else."

"And what are you looking for tonight?"

She leaned back. The robe fell open completely now, pooling on the cushions around her. She was leaner than Karina, leaner than Wonyoung—the body of a woman who'd spent years in front of cameras, who'd been told she needed to be thinner, always thinner. Her breasts were small, the nipples a pale pink. Her stomach was flat. The hair between her thighs was dark and neatly trimmed.

"I'm not looking for therapy," she said. "I'm not looking for someone to hold me while I cry. I'm not looking for validation or reassurance or any of the things your other clients probably need." She uncrossed her legs and crossed them again. The movement was deliberate. Performative. "I'm looking for a good fuck. That's it. That's all. I want to be fucked so hard I forget my own name. I want to walk bowlegged tomorrow. I want to feel like a woman instead of a mannequin. Can you do that?"

You set your champagne glass down next to hers. "Safeword?"

"Red."

"Tap-out?"

"Three taps. Anywhere." She cocked her head. "You're very professional. I like that too."

"Part of the service."

"Then let's get started." She stood up. The robe stayed on the sofa, a champagne-colored puddle of silk. "The bedroom's through there. I want you to use every inch of that bed. I want you to use every inch of me. And I want you to stop treating me like I'm going to break." She walked toward the bedroom, her bare feet silent on the thick carpet. At the doorway, she paused and looked back over her shoulder. "I'm not going to break. I promise."

The bedroom was all windows on one side, the city lights spread out below like a circuit board. The bed was king-sized, the sheets white, the pillows arranged in a perfect geometric pattern. Ga Young climbed onto the mattress and positioned herself in the center—on her back, her arms above her head, her legs slightly apart. The pose was deliberate. A parody of submission. The same way she'd done everything so far—with a wink, with a smirk, with the implicit understanding that she was playing a role.

"The last time I had sex," she said, "was my wedding night. He was drunk. I was nervous. It lasted maybe six minutes. He fell asleep immediately afterward, and when I woke up the next morning, he was already on a plane to New York." She looked at the ceiling. "I didn't have an orgasm. I've never had an orgasm with another person. Not once. I'm thirty-four years old, and I've been faking it since I was twenty."

You unbuttoned your shirt. "You don't have to fake anything tonight."

"I know. That's why you're here." She watched you undress with open appraisal, her eyes tracking the movement of your hands. "I've done my research. I know about the agency. I know about Senior Park. I know about the other women you've been with. The idols. The heiresses. The wives. I know you're discreet. I know you're skilled. I know you're exactly what I need."

"Which is?"

She met your eyes. The smirk was gone. For the first time since you'd walked through the door, her expression was completely serious.

"Someone who isn't afraid of me," she said. "Everyone's afraid of me. My husband's afraid of me. My managers are afraid of me. The directors I work with are afraid of me. I'm Moon Ga Young. I'm the nation's sweetheart. I'm the girl next door who's been in a dozen dramas and never had a scandal." Her voice was flat. "People think I'm delicate. They think I'm fragile. They think I need to be protected. No one's ever looked at me and thought—she wants to be destroyed."

"Do you?"

"Yes." The word was barely a whisper. "God, yes. I want to be destroyed. I want to be ruined. I want someone to look at me and see what I really am, not what the cameras see. Not what my husband sees. Not what the public sees." She swallowed. "I want to feel something real. Even if it's pain. Even if it's rough. Especially if it's rough."

You finished undressing. Your clothes made a pile on the floor—shirt, pants, boxers. Your cock was already half-hard, responding to the challenge in her voice, the directness of her gaze. Ga Young looked at you and didn't flinch.

"Good," she said. "Now come here. I've been waiting two years for this. I'm not waiting any longer."

Moon Ga Young watched you undress with the eyes of a woman who'd spent two decades being looked at and had finally decided to do some looking of her own.

"On your knees."

The command landed in the space between you. Her lips curved—not quite a smile, more a recognition. This was what she'd asked for. This was what she'd been waiting two years to receive.

She slid off the bed. The movement was liquid, all those years of dance training and red carpet practice translating into something that looked effortless. Her knees met the carpet with a soft thud. The city lights through the window painted her bare skin in shades of amber and gold.

"Hands behind your back."

She complied. The position made her small breasts lift, the nipples still pale pink and tight. Her eyes stayed on yours. Defiant. Hungry. The smirk was still there, but it had thinned—become something sharper, more expectant.

You picked up the champagne-colored robe from where it had fallen on the sofa. The silk was cool and slippery in your hands. You pulled the sash free with one sharp tug, and the fabric whispered against itself as it came loose.

"Wrists."

Ga Young's smirk flickered. "You're going to tie me up?"

"I'm going to do a lot of things." You crouched behind her, looping the silk around her wrists. Not too tight—you knew the difference between restraint and injury—but snug enough that she'd feel the pull every time she moved. "You said you wanted to be destroyed. Destruction requires surrender. You can't be in control and be ruined at the same time."

"I know." Her voice was quieter now. The bravado was still there, but something else was bleeding through. Something that sounded almost like relief. "I know. That's the point."

You tied the knot. Tested it with two fingers. "Too tight?"

"No."

"Good."

You stood and walked around to face her. From this angle, with her wrists bound behind her back and her knees pressed into the carpet, she looked smaller than before. More vulnerable. The nation's sweetheart, stripped of her armor, kneeling naked in a hotel suite with her pulse visible in her throat.

"Open your mouth."

Ga Young's lips parted. Her tongue was pink, wet, waiting. You took hold of your cock—fully hard now, thick and veined, the head already slick with the first bead of precum—and guided it toward her waiting mouth.

"Wider."

She stretched her jaw. The corners of her lips went taut. You pressed the head against her tongue, and she made a sound—something between a hum and a whimper—as the taste of you filled her mouth.

"Good girl. Now take it. All of it."

You pushed forward.

The first few inches slid in easily. Her tongue moved beneath your shaft—uncertain at first, then finding its rhythm, tracing the ridge of the head, the sensitive spot just beneath. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked. The suction was strong, practiced, the muscle memory of a woman who'd done this before even if it had been years.

Then you pushed deeper.

The head of your cock hit the back of her throat, and Ga Young gagged. The sound was wet and sudden—a choked, spluttering cough that made her whole body convulse. Her bound wrists strained against the silk. Her eyes watered. A thick string of saliva dripped from the corner of her mouth and landed on her chest.

"Don't fight it. Relax your throat."

She tried. You could feel her trying—the way her muscles fluttered around your shaft, the way she forced herself to breathe through her nose. But the gag reflex was strong, and when you pushed another inch deeper, she convulsed again.

"Fuck—" The word came out muffled, garbled around your cock.

You pulled back. Let her gasp. A bridge of saliva connected your shaft to her bottom lip, stretching, then breaking.

"I can't—" She coughed again. "I can't take it all. It's too thick—"

"You can." You grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back. Her throat was exposed now—a long, pale column, the skin delicate and unmarked. "You said you wanted to be ruined. Ruined means taking cock down your throat until you can't breathe. Ruined means gagging and choking and still pushing deeper. Do you understand?"

Ga Young's eyes met yours. They were wet now, the first tears clinging to her lashes. But behind them, something was blazing. Something that looked almost like joy.

"Yes."

"Then open your mouth."

She did. You pushed inside again, and this time you didn't stop. Your cock slid past her tongue, past the soft palate, into the tight grip of her throat. Ga Young's whole body seized. A guttural, choking sound vibrated through your shaft. Her bound hands clawed at the air behind her back. Her throat muscles clamped down around you—spasming, fighting, then slowly, gradually, yielding.

"There you go. Take it. Take all of it."

Your hips met her face. Your cock was buried to the hilt in her throat, and Ga Young's nose was pressed against your pubic bone. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. Could only gag and choke and let the tears stream down her cheeks while you held her there, impaled on your length.

You held the position for a count of five. Then ten. Her face was turning red. Her body was writhing—not fighting, not trying to escape, but writhing with the sheer overwhelming sensation of being so completely filled.

You pulled back.

Ga Young gasped. The inhale was ragged and desperate, followed by a coughing fit that made her whole body shake. Saliva dripped from her chin. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks blotchy, her carefully arranged hair a tangled mess.

"More," she rasped. "Give me more."

You slapped her.

The crack of your palm against her cheek echoed through the suite. Ga Young's head snapped to the side. A red mark bloomed on her pale skin—the shape of your hand, stark and undeniable.

"Did I tell you to speak?"

She shook her head. The defiance was still there, but it was muted now—submerged beneath something deeper. Something that looked almost like peace.

"Then don't speak. Your mouth has one purpose right now. Do you understand?"

She nodded. Her cheek was still red. The tears had multiplied, tracking mascara-less lines down her face.

"Good. Now show me you understand."

She opened her mouth. Leaned forward. Took your cock between her lips with a hunger that bordered on worship. This time, when you pushed into her throat, she didn't gag. She swallowed around you—a deliberate, rhythmic clenching that traveled from her throat to the base of your shaft. The sensation was electric. Your vision swam.

"That's it. That's my good little throat-whore."

She moaned. The vibration traveled through her throat and into your cock, and the pleasure was so intense that your hips bucked involuntarily. You grabbed her head with both hands—fingers tangled in her hair, thumbs pressed against her temples—and began to fuck her face in earnest.

The rhythm was brutal. Deep, driving strokes that bottomed out against the back of her throat with every thrust. The wet sounds were obscene—squelching, choking, gagging, the slap of your balls against her chin. Ga Young's bound hands clenched and unclenched behind her back. Her body swayed with the force of your thrusts. Her eyes were squeezed shut, tears streaming freely, but she never pulled away. Never tapped out. Never gave any signal that she wanted this to stop.

"You love this. You love being used like a toy. Tell me you love it."

She couldn't speak—not with your cock buried in her throat—but she moaned again. The sound was desperate. Affirmative. Broken.

"Then take it. Take every inch. I'm going to come down your throat, and you're going to swallow every drop. Do you understand?"

Another moan. Higher-pitched. Almost frantic.

You fucked her throat faster. The tension was building—a coiling pressure at the base of your spine that spread outward, downward, gathering force with every stroke. Ga Young's throat muscles were fluttering around you now, spasming in rhythm with her muffled moans. Her body was trembling. Her bound hands had gone limp behind her back, all the fight drained out of her.

"I'm close—fuck, I'm close—"

You slammed into her throat one last time and held there. Buried to the hilt. Her nose crushed against your pelvis. Her throat working desperately around your shaft, trying to swallow, trying to breathe, trying to do everything at once.

The orgasm hit you like a freight train.

The first pulse of cum shot directly down her throat—thick, hot, copious. You felt her swallow reflexively, the muscles of her esophagus contracting around your shaft. The second pulse followed immediately, and the third, and the fourth, each one painting her throat white with your seed. You kept your grip on her head, holding her in place, making sure she couldn't pull away until every last drop was drained.

"Swallow. All of it."

She did. You felt her throat constrict again and again, gulping down your cum with an eagerness that bordered on desperation. When you finally pulled back, a thick string of saliva and semen connected your cock to her bottom lip. Ga Young's mouth hung open. Her tongue was coated white. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, staring at something only she could see.

She swallowed once more. Licked her lips. The taste of you was still on her tongue, and she savored it—closing her eyes, letting out a small, satisfied hum.

"Thank you," she whispered.

The words were hoarse. Fucked-raw. Barely audible. But the gratitude in them was real.

"We're not done."

Ga Young's eyes opened. The smirk was back—smaller now, more fragile, but still there. "I know."

You untied her wrists. The silk sash left faint red marks on her skin—nothing that would bruise, nothing that would last, but enough to remind her tomorrow of what had happened tonight. She rubbed her wrists absently. Then she looked up at you, and the question in her eyes was clear: What now?

"Against the wall."

She rose. Her legs were unsteady—the long minutes of kneeling had left her knees red, her thighs trembling. She crossed to the floor-to-ceiling window and pressed her palms against the glass. The city lights glittered below, indifferent to the scene unfolding above them. Her reflection stared back at her—naked, disheveled, marked.

"Spread your legs."

She did. The position opened her completely—the long line of her spine, the curve of her ass, the dark cleft between her cheeks. Her cunt was visible from this angle, the lips swollen and glistening. She was wet. Had been wet since the moment you'd pushed into her throat, probably. Maybe since the moment you'd walked through the door.

You stepped behind her. Your left hand found her throat—not squeezing, not yet, just resting there, a reminder of who was in control. Your right hand slid down her back, over the curve of her ass, between her cheeks. You spread her open, exposing the tight pink knot of her asshole, the darker, wetter flesh of her cunt below.

"Look at you. Moon Ga Young. The nation's sweetheart. Bent over against a hotel window with her cunt dripping and her throat full of cum. What would your fans think?"

"I don't care." Her voice was raw, almost defiant. "I don't care what they think. I don't care what anyone thinks. Just fuck me. Please. Fuck me like you mean it."

You tightened your grip on her throat. Not enough to cut off air—just enough to make her feel the pressure. Just enough to remind her that you could.

"Beg."

"Please." The word came out strangled. "Please fuck me. I've been waiting two years. Two years of empty beds and empty phone calls and pretending I'm fine when I'm dying inside. Please. I need this. I need you. I need your cock inside me. I need to feel something real. Please—"

You thrust into her cunt in one brutal motion.

Ga Young screamed.

The sound was raw and animal—nothing like the polished, controlled voice she used in interviews. This was a scream torn from somewhere deep inside her, a scream that had been building for two years and finally found its release. Her cunt was tight—tighter than you'd expected, the walls clenching around your shaft with a force that made your breath catch. She was soaked, though, and the slick heat of her made the brutal entry possible.

"Oh fuck—oh fuck—you're so deep—"

You didn't give her time to adjust. You pulled back and slammed forward again, harder than before. The impact made her palms squeak against the glass. Her breasts pressed against the window, leaving smears of sweat on the pristine surface. Your left hand stayed on her throat, your right hand gripping her hip, and you fucked her with a rhythm that was punishing.

"This is what you wanted. This is what you begged for. To be fucked like an animal. To be used like a toy. To be ruined."

"Yes—yes—harder—"

You gave her harder. The wet sounds of her cunt filled the suite—squelching, slapping, the rhythmic thud of your hips meeting her ass. You could see her reflection in the window—her mouth open, her eyes half-closed, her cheeks flushed and tear-streaked. The idol image was gone. Completely obliterated. What was left was just a woman, raw and desperate, taking cock like she'd been starving for it.

You tightened your grip on her throat. Squeezed. Not enough to cut off her air entirely, but enough to make her lightheaded. Enough to make the edges of her vision go dark. Ga Young's eyes rolled back. Her mouth opened wider. A strangled sound escaped her—half moan, half gasp.

"That's it. Feel that? Feel how deep I am? Feel how full you are? This is what you needed. Not the fame. Not the money. Not the perfect husband who never touches you. This. Just this. Just a cock in your cunt and someone who knows how to use it."

"YES—YES—THIS IS—"

You released her throat. She gasped—a huge, ragged inhale that made her whole body shudder. Then you grabbed her hips with both hands and fucked her even harder. The pace was brutal now—piston-like, relentless, each thrust driving her against the window with a force that made the glass vibrate. Her ass rippled with every impact. Her breasts bounced. Her reflection stared back at her with wild eyes and a slack mouth, and she looked at herself like she didn't recognize what she was seeing.

"Look at yourself. Look at what you've become. You're not an actress right now. You're not a wife. You're just a wet hole. A set of holes. A body that exists to be fucked. Do you see her?"

"I see her—" Ga Young's voice was broken, sobbing. "I see her—I see myself—"

"And what do you see?"

"A whore." The word came out on a sob. "A desperate, dripping whore who's been neglected for two years and finally has a cock inside her. I see a whore. I see a whore. I see—"

You felt her cunt seize around you. The orgasm was sudden and violent—a convulsive, full-body spasm that made her back arch and her legs give out. You caught her before she collapsed, pinning her against the window with your body, and kept fucking her through it. The clenching of her walls was rhythmic, almost painful in its intensity, milking your shaft from base to tip.

"That's it—that's it—come on my cock—come while you're watching yourself—"

"I'm coming—I'm coming—oh god, I'm—"

She squirted. The fluid gushed around your cock, soaking your thighs, splashing against the window, dripping down the glass in long, obscene rivulets. Ga Young's scream was wordless, primal, a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than her throat. Her body convulsed in your arms. Her cunt pulsed and fluttered around your shaft, and the sensation was so intense that you felt your own orgasm building—a tightening pressure at the base of your spine.

But you weren't done.

You pulled out of her. Ga Young whimpered at the emptiness. Her cunt gaped for a moment, then clenched around nothing, gushing another pulse of fluid onto the carpet. You turned her around—roughly, hands on her shoulders, spinning her like a doll—and pushed her back against the window. Her shoulder blades hit the glass. Her eyes were wild, unfocused, still hazy from the orgasm.

"Hold onto me."

Her arms wrapped around your neck. Her legs wrapped around your waist. You gripped her thighs and lifted her, positioning her cunt above your cock, and thrust inside her in one smooth motion.

Ga Young's head fell back against the glass. "Oh ffffuuuuck—"

"You wanted to be ruined. I'm not finished ruining you."

You fucked her against the window. The position was different—deeper, somehow, the angle letting you hit spots inside her that you hadn't reached before. Ga Young's moans were continuous now, a stream of broken syllables and guttural sounds that didn't belong to any language. Her nails dug into your shoulders. Her heels pressed into the small of your back. Her cunt was a mess—slick and swollen and pulsing, still gushing intermittently with the aftershocks of her orgasm.

"Harder—please—harder—"

You slammed into her. The window rattled. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered that there were probably people in the building across the street, people with binoculars, people who might be watching. Let them watch. Let them see what Moon Ga Young looked like when she was being fucked properly. Let them see the nation's sweetheart with her legs wrapped around a stranger, her cunt dripping down his thighs, her mouth open in a scream that had no end.

"Look at me."

She forced her eyes to focus. They were glassy, tear-filled, but they met yours.

"You're going to come again. You're going to come on this cock while I'm choking you. And you're going to watch yourself in the reflection while you do it. Do you understand?"

"Yes—yes—"

Your left hand found her throat again. Squeezed. Harder this time. Ga Young's face began to flush. Her lips parted. Her eyes rolled back. But she didn't tap out. Didn't signal. Didn't do anything except moan—a thin, wheezing sound that vibrated against your palm.

"That's it. Let go. Let yourself fall."

You fucked her harder. The rhythm was punishing—deep, driving strokes that bottomed out against her cervix with every thrust. Your right hand found her clit, the swollen bundle of nerves slick and hard under your fingertip. You pressed down. Circled. Ga Young's body convulsed.

Her orgasm hit like an explosion.

This one was different from the first—quieter, deeper, more devastating. Her cunt clamped down on your cock with a force that almost hurt. Her whole body went rigid, every muscle locked, every breath held. Then the release came, and it came with a flood. Her cunt gushed around your shaft—not just wetness this time, but a clear, copious fluid that sprayed against your thighs and soaked the carpet beneath you.

"Fuuuuuuuck—"

Her voice broke on the word. Her body went limp. Completely limp. She collapsed against you, her head falling onto your shoulder, her arms sliding from your neck. Her cunt was still pulsing weakly around your cock—little flutters of sensation that traveled up your shaft.

You released her throat. She gasped—a huge, ragged inhale—and then she started to laugh.

It wasn't a happy laugh. It wasn't bitter, either. It was the laugh of a woman who'd been holding something inside for years and had finally, finally let it out. The laugh turned into sobs, and the sobs turned into silence, and through all of it you held her against the window, your cock still buried inside her, your hands gentle on her back.

"Thank you," she whispered again. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

She kept saying it. Over and over. Like a prayer. Like a confession. Like the only words she had left.

You carried her to the bed. Laid her down on the white sheets. Her body was marked—red impressions of your fingers on her throat, faint bruises already forming on her hips, her cunt swollen and gaping and still leaking onto the mattress. She looked up at you with eyes that were clearer than they'd been all night.

"Stay," she said. "Please. Just until I fall asleep."

You climbed into the bed beside her. Pulled the sheets over both of you. Ga Young curled against your chest, her face pressed into the hollow of your throat, her breath warm on your skin.

"I haven't felt this alive in years," she murmured. "I haven't felt anything in years."

"Feel it now."

She did. Her breathing slowed. Her body relaxed. The tension that had been coiled in her muscles since the moment you'd walked through the door finally, fully released.

Outside the window, the city glittered on, indifferent and eternal. Inside the suite, Moon Ga Young closed her eyes, and for the first time in two years, she slept without dreaming of being somewhere else.

The morning light through the Signiel's floor-to-ceiling windows was the color of honey. It pooled on the white sheets, caught the edge of the champagne flute still sitting on the coffee table, painted Ga Young's bare shoulder in shades of gold.

She was still asleep.

Her breathing was slow and even, her face half-buried in the pillow, her dark hair fanned across the cotton like spilled ink. The marks from last night were already fading—the faint impressions on her throat, the bruises on her hips. In sleep, she looked younger. Softer. The sharp, sardonic edge that had defined her when you'd walked through the door had melted away, replaced by something unguarded.

You slid out of bed carefully. The sheets whispered against your skin. Ga Young stirred but didn't wake—just shifted, her hand reaching out to the empty space where you'd been, her fingers curling around nothing.

You dressed in silence. Shirt. Pants. Belt. The routine was automatic, muscle memory from a dozen similar mornings. The suite was quiet except for the distant hum of the HVAC system and the soft shush of traffic eighty floors below. Your shoes were by the sofa where you'd kicked them off. You bent to pick them up.

"Where are you going?"

The voice was sleep-roughened but still unmistakably hers—that smoky, noir-film cadence that made everything sound like a secret. You turned.

Ga Young was sitting up in bed. The sheet had fallen to her waist. Her hair was a tangled mess, her eyes still puffy from sleep and last night's tears. She looked nothing like the polished actress from the dramas. She looked like a woman who'd been thoroughly fucked and had slept better than she had in years.

"Home," you said. "You were asleep. I didn't want to wake you."

She laughed. The sound was low and warm and entirely unselfconscious. "Nuh uh." She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, crossing the room toward you with the sheet still trailing behind her like a train. "I'm still your client. The weekend, remember? You're not going anywhere."

She reached you and wrapped her arms around your waist from behind. Her cheek pressed against your spine. Her bare breasts flattened against your back, and the warmth of her body seeped through your shirt. She smelled like sex and sleep and the faint floral remnants of whatever expensive soap the Signiel stocked in its bathrooms.

"Ga Young—"

"Shh." Her arms tightened. "You're not leaving. Not yet. Not until I say so."

The suite door clicked open.

You heard it before you saw it—the soft sound of the electronic lock disengaging, followed by the whoosh of the door swinging on its hinges. Two voices drifted in from the hallway, mid-laugh, the kind of easy, familiar laughter that came from years of friendship.

"—and then he said, 'That's not a prop, that's my actual—'" The voice cut off.

Karina stood in the doorway.

Wonyoung was right behind her.

They were both carrying shopping bags—the discreet, expensive kind that came from boutiques in Cheongdam-dong, the logos embossed in subtle gold foil. They were both wearing black outerwear—Karina in a long trench coat, Wonyoung in a cropped leather jacket—and they were both staring at you with expressions that shifted from surprise to recognition to something else entirely.

Something hungrier.

"Unnie!" Ga Young's voice was delighted. She released you and stepped around, completely unbothered by her nudity, the sheet slipping from her shoulders and pooling on the floor. "You're early. I thought you weren't coming until noon."

Karina's eyes flicked from you to Ga Young and back again. A slow smile spread across her face. "We wanted to surprise you." She stepped into the suite, and Wonyoung followed, closing the door behind her. "But it looks like you're the one with the surprise."

"Wait." You looked at Ga Young. Then at Karina. Then at Wonyoung. "You three know each other?"

"We're best friends." Wonyoung's voice was light, almost teasing. She set her shopping bag down on the console table by the door. "We've been best friends for years. Since trainee days. Did you really think it was a coincidence that we all ended up calling the same agency?"

"We talk," Karina said. She was still smiling, but there was something sharper beneath it—a blade hidden in silk. "We talk about everything. The husbands. The loneliness. The emptiness." She paused. "The men we hire to make us feel alive again."

Ga Young had retrieved her robe from the floor—the champagne-colored silk, still wrinkled from last night—and was tying it loosely around her waist. "When I heard that Karina unnie had found someone who actually made her come, I had to see for myself. And then Wonyoungie called me the next morning, practically glowing, and I knew." She turned to you, her eyes bright. "I knew I had to book you. And I knew I had to make it a weekend."

"A weekend?"

"Senior Park didn't tell you?" Karina's trench coat was already unbelted. She shrugged it off her shoulders, and it slid to the floor in a whisper of black fabric. Beneath it, she was wearing lingerie—not the practical black lace from your first encounter, but something deliberately chosen. A deep burgundy set, the color of aged wine, the bra cupping her breasts in a way that made them look fuller, the panties high-cut and sheer. "This booking is for all three of us. The whole weekend. Friday to Sunday."

Wonyoung was unzipping her leather jacket. Her movements were slower than Karina's, more deliberate, but no less confident. The jacket came off, and beneath it was a pale lavender set—the color soft against her skin, the fabric delicate, almost bridal. The contrast between the innocent lingerie and the knowing look in her eyes was intentional. You could see it in the way she tilted her head, the way she watched you watching her.

"Three clients," she said. "Three women who need to be reminded what it feels like to be touched." She stepped closer. "Three women who've been talking about you for weeks."

On the coffee table, you noticed for the first time a folded piece of paper. It was propped against the champagne bottle, your name written on the front in Senior Park's precise, old-fashioned handwriting. You crossed to it and picked it up.

Your client for this weekend is the three of them. They've been planning this for a month. Don't disappoint them. — SP

You swallowed.

The sound was audible in the quiet suite. Ga Young heard it and laughed—that same low, warm laugh from before. "Nervous? The man who made me come twice against a window is nervous?"

"Not nervous." You folded the note and tucked it into your pocket. "Just… recalibrating."

"Recalibrate faster." Karina had crossed the room to stand beside Ga Young. The two of them together were a study in contrasts—Karina's burgundy against Ga Young's champagne, the idol's sharp, aggressive beauty against the actress's delicate, knowing allure. "We've been waiting a long time for this. All three of us. We've been planning it ever since Wonyoungie called me the morning after your session."

"I didn't just call her." Wonyoung had moved to your other side, bracketing you between the three of them. Her lavender lingerie made her skin look luminous, the pale tea-colored nipples visible through the sheer fabric. "I told her everything. Everything you did. Everything you said. Every way you made me feel." Her voice dropped, became something softer, more intimate. "And she told me what you did with her. And then Ga Young unnie said she wanted to find out for herself, and we decided—why not all three of us? Why not a weekend?"

"Because none of us has ever had this." Ga Young's hand found your shoulder. Her fingers traced the line of your collarbone through your shirt. "None of us has ever had a man who knew what he was doing. Who cared about making us feel good. Who looked at us like we were women instead of objects." She paused. "We wanted to share you. Just for a weekend. Just to remember what it feels like."

"To be alive," Karina said.

"To be wanted," Wonyoung added.

"To be fucked properly," Ga Young finished.

The three of them were close now. Close enough that you could smell them—Karina's perfume, something floral and expensive; Wonyoung's shampoo, jasmine and vanilla; Ga Young's skin, still warm from sleep, still carrying the faint musk of last night's sex. They were looking at you with the same expression. The same hunger. The same desperate, aching need that you'd seen in each of them individually but never all at once.

"Take off your shirt," Karina said.

The command was soft but firm. The same voice she'd used when she'd first welcomed you to her mansion, but stripped of the nervousness now. This was a woman who'd spent three weeks waiting for this moment. This was a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.

You unbuttoned your shirt. Slowly. Deliberately. The three of them watched every movement—the slide of each button through its hole, the parting of the fabric, the reveal of your chest. When you shrugged the shirt off your shoulders, Wonyoung made a small sound—a quiet, involuntary hum of appreciation.

"His body is different in the daylight," she murmured. "I couldn't see it properly last time. It was dark. I was…" She swallowed. "I was distracted."

"You were crying," Ga Young said. Not unkindly. Just matter-of-fact. "You told me you cried."

"I did. I cried a lot." Wonyoung's eyes met yours. "But I also came. Twice. The first real orgasms of my life."

"Mine too." Karina's voice was quieter now. "The first real ones. The only real ones."

Ga Young's hand slid from your shoulder to your chest. Her palm was warm against your skin. "And I came twice last night. The first time I've ever come with a partner. The first time I've ever come without faking it." Her fingers traced the line of your pectoral, down to your abdomen. "So you see, we have a lot to thank you for. And a lot more we want to experience."

"Together," Karina said.

"Together," Wonyoung echoed.

The word hung in the air between you. Together. Three women who'd spent years being neglected, being ignored, being treated like accessories to their husbands' careers. Three women who'd found each other in the loneliness and decided to do something about it. Three women who were looking at you now with the same expression—expectant, hungry, alive.

"Are you going to be able to handle all three of us?" Ga Young's voice was teasing, but there was a genuine question beneath the playfulness. "We're not going to be gentle with you. We've been planning this for a month. We have… ideas."

"Three days," Karina said. "Three women. One man." She stepped closer, close enough that her breasts—still encased in that burgundy lace—brushed against your arm. "Think you can keep up?"

"Senior Park seemed to think so." You looked at the note still folded in your pocket. "He wouldn't have booked me if he didn't."

"Senior Park is a smart man." Wonyoung had moved behind you. Her hands found your shoulders, her fingers pressing into the muscle, kneading gently. "He told us you were the best. He told us you could handle anything. He told us you wouldn't break."

"I won't break."

"Good." Ga Young's hand was still on your chest, her thumb tracing idle circles over your sternum. "Because we're not going to break you. We're going to use you. All three of us. However we want. Whenever we want. For the whole weekend." She looked up at you, and her eyes were dark and serious despite the smile playing at the corner of her lips. "Is that understood?"

"Understood."

"Good boy." She patted your chest and stepped back. "Then let's get started. The bedroom's big enough for all four of us. I checked."

She turned and walked toward the bedroom, the champagne robe trailing behind her like a whisper. Karina followed, her hips swaying with that dancer's grace she'd never lost despite years away from the stage. Wonyoung released your shoulders and moved around you, her lavender lingerie pale against the gray walls of the suite, and when she reached the bedroom doorway, she looked back over her shoulder.

"Are you coming?"

The question was simple. The answer was simpler.

You followed them into the bedroom.

The bed was still rumpled from the night before—the sheets twisted, the pillows scattered, the faint impressions of Ga Young's body still visible on the mattress. The morning light was stronger here, flooding through the windows, making everything look clean and bright and new. The three women arranged themselves on the bed with the ease of long practice—Ga Young in the center, propped against the headboard; Karina on her left, sitting cross-legged with her burgundy lingerie stark against the white sheets; Wonyoung on her right, her long legs stretched out in front of her, her lavender set a soft contrast to the sharper colors around her.

They looked at you. Waiting.

"Clothes off," Ga Young said. "All of them. We want to see what we're working with."

You unbuckled your belt. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Three pairs of eyes tracked the movement of your hands—the slide of leather through the buckle, the pop of the button, the hiss of the zipper. Your pants fell to the floor. Your boxers followed.

Your cock was already half-hard. Responding to the attention, the anticipation, the sheer overwhelming presence of three beautiful women watching you undress. Ga Young's eyes flicked down, then up again. The corner of her mouth twitched.

"He's bigger than I remembered," Karina murmured.

"He's thicker than I remembered," Wonyoung added.

"And he knows how to use it." Ga Young's voice was satisfied. "He used it in my throat last night. And in my cunt. And against the window." She gestured at the glass, still faintly smeared from where her body had pressed against it. "I left a mark."

"So did I." Wonyoung's voice was soft, almost wistful. "At my penthouse. On the sheets. I haven't washed them yet. I keep thinking I should, but I can't bring myself to do it."

"I know what you mean." Karina's eyes met yours. "I still have the sheets from my first time with him. They're in the back of my closet. Joon-ho never goes in there. He never goes anywhere in that house except his study and his bedroom." She paused. "He has his own bedroom. We've always had separate bedrooms. He said it was better for his sleep."

"Seok-joong has his own apartment." Wonyoung's voice was flat. "He lives there with his current girlfriend. A trainee. She's nineteen."

"My husband has his own continent." Ga Young's laugh was bitter. "He's been to Seoul for six weeks in two years. Six weeks. He's probably slept with half of Manhattan in that time."

The three of them were quiet for a moment. The morning light poured through the windows, and the city glittered below, and the three women on the bed were looking at each other with an expression that was part grief and part fury and part something else—something that looked almost like hope.

Then Ga Young shook her head. "No. No more talking about husbands. That's not what this weekend is for." She looked at you, and the fire was back in her eyes. "This weekend is for us. For pleasure. For release. For everything we've been denied." She patted the mattress beside her. "Come here. It's time to earn your paycheck."

You climbed onto the bed.

The mattress dipped beneath your weight. The three women shifted to accommodate you—Ga Young making room in the center, Karina and Wonyoung flanking her on either side. You ended up face-to-face with Ga Young, close enough to see the faint lines around her eyes, the small scar on her chin from some childhood accident, the way her pupils were already dilating with anticipation.

"Kiss me," she said. "Kiss me, and then kiss them. We've been waiting. We've all been waiting."

You kissed her.

It was different from last night's kisses. Last night had been about dominance—the rough press of lips, the battle for control, the assertion of power. This kiss was slower. More deliberate. A kiss of greeting rather than conquest. Ga Young's lips parted beneath yours, and her tongue met yours with a soft, exploratory touch. She tasted like sleep and champagne and something indefinably her.

When you pulled back, she was smiling. "Now Karina."

You turned. Karina was watching you with dark eyes, her burgundy lingerie stretched tight across her breasts, her breathing already uneven. She didn't wait for you to lean in. She closed the distance herself, her hands coming up to frame your face, her kiss hungry and urgent and full of three weeks of waiting.

"It's been too long," she whispered against your mouth. "Three weeks. Three weeks of thinking about you. Three weeks of touching myself and pretending it was your hands."

"And now?"

"Now I don't have to pretend." She kissed you again—quick and fierce—then pulled back. "Wonyoung's turn."

Wonyoung was the shyest of the three. She'd been hesitant last night, tentative in the penthouse, uncertain about what she was allowed to do. But now she leaned in with more confidence, her lips brushing yours with a gentleness that was almost teasing. Her hand found your chest, her palm flat against your sternum, feeling your heartbeat.

"I've been thinking about you too," she murmured. "Every night. Every morning. I've been thinking about what you did to me. What you made me feel." She kissed you again—longer this time, deeper. "I want to feel it again. All of it. Everything."

"You will."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

She smiled. The expression transformed her face—made her look younger, lighter, more like the idol she'd been before the marriage and the neglect and the loneliness. "Good. Then let's get started. Ga Young unnie's been waiting the longest. She should get the first turn."

"Agreed." Karina was already shifting on the bed, repositioning herself to give Ga Young more room. "We've got three days. We can take our time."

"Three days," Ga Young echoed. She was lying back against the pillows now, her champagne robe falling open, her body bare and waiting. "Three days, three women, one man." She looked up at you, and her smile was sharp and hungry and full of promise. "Let's see what you're made of."

[eightsh8pe]

Different Boy

Genre: Fluff

Length: +2k words

Le Sserafim Kazuha x Male Reader

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You've never been much of an "alpha male", and frankly, you're fine with that. Your childhood is a classic tale: always last picked in school sports, struggled to make many guy friends, called every homophobic slur under the sun just for having basic hygiene. Despite it all, you ended up in an alright place—a quiet and unassuming existence.

Then, you met Kazuha, and your quiet and unassuming existence turned upside down.

"He ordered the chicken sandwich, not the burger," she scolds, dropping the tray of food onto the counter with enough force to send a couple fries flying.

You meekly tug her sleeve. "It's fine, really—"

"Hush, baby." In an instant, she shuts you up with a quick glance with those piercing eyes. "Let momma handle this."

"I'm so sorry, ma'am," the cashier says with his squeaky, prepubescent voice. "I'll have the kitchen put a rush on his chicken sandwich right away. Uh, may I interest you in a free dessert for your troubles?"

Kazuha turns to you, patiently waiting for your answer.

"Uh, I guess a vanilla milkshake wouldn't be so bad—"

"Vanilla milkshake," she repeats, leaning against the counter. "And no cherries. My boyfriend doesn't like cherries."

The cashier gulps, his Adam's apple practically disappearing in sheer terror. "U-uh, yes ma'am. No cherries. Understood."

"Good." Kazuha shoots him one final glare before taking your hand and leading you back to your booth.

"You didn't have to do that," you mutter. "I would've been fine with the burger."

She slinks into the seat across from you with a huff. "It's not what you ordered though. And I know how much you like the chicken sandwich at this place."

You shrug. "The burger isn't that bad."

"Then why didn't you order the burger?" She raises her brow in that "I'm right and you know it" kinda way that you're all too familiar with.

"Well…"

Kazuha reaches across the table and lifts up your chin, forcing you to meet her eyes. "Repeat after me: Thank you for fixing my order, Kazuha. You're the best," she says in a high-pitched voice.

You chuckle softly. "I don't sound like that."

"Say it."

"Thank you for—"

"Do it in the voice."

"Wha—I'm not gonna do t—"

"Do it!"

Her outburst attracts some unwanted attention from other tables, making you shrink in your seat. "Kazuha, people are looking…"

Her lips curl into that smirk—the one that never fails to make your heart do a somersault even after eight months of dating. "Aw, sorry," she brushes her thumb against your bottom lip, "did I embarrass you, baby?"

"W-whatever." You pull away before you do something that'll get both of you kicked out for overt PDA. "Thanks for fixing my order. You're the best," you utter flatly.

Kazuha sits back, arms behind her head and chin held high like those cool kids in old movies. "I know. I'm pretty fuckin' sick."

"And humble too."

The cashier from earlier drops off your food, making an effort to avoid looking Kazuha in the eye. "Here you go, is there anything else I can get you two?" he asks.

Kazuha looks over at you for an answer. "No, thank you," you say. You swear you see him breathe a heavy sigh of relief as he walks away. Poor guy.

"I feel bad," you unwrap your chicken sandwich, the one you ordered initially. "He's probably got enough things going on without us giving him grief."

"Relax babe, we're doing him a favor. Now he knows not to mess up people's orders," she points out, coolly tossing a fry into her mouth.

"Still," you linger on the flakes of salt on her lip for a second too long, "you know how badly service people are treated on the daily. I don't wanna add to that."

"Then don't. I'll do it for you," she smirks.

"Kazuha, that's not funny."

"What, I didn't laugh."

"Yeah, but you're smiling."

"I'm smiling because you're cute."

You bite your tongue, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of a grin. Unknowingly or not, she sets her food to the side and leans forward, eyeing you like a piece of art.

"Ugh, I hate when you do that," you mutter.

"Do what? I'm just lookin' at ya." Her eyes trace over your lips, and you wonder if she'll like the taste of that new chapstick you just bought.

"I'm trying to eat."

"Am I disturbing your eating?" You feel her foot press against your calf, drawing slow lines with the toe of her boot.

Trying to win against Kazuha is a sisyphean task. She does what she wants, and you follow her around like a loyal puppy. Behave well enough, she'll give you a treat—and just like any puppy, you like your treats.

"Not here, at least," you pout. "I haven't had a single thing to eat all day."

"Aww." She gives you one last drag against your leg before settling back into her seat. "Okay, I'll let you eat."

"Thank you."

Even then, you find your foot gently rubbing against hers as you eat. You can act annoyed all you want, but face it: you're completely smitten with Kazuha.

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"Baby?" Kazuha grabs a leather jacket off of the rack and holds it up to her torso. "What do you think?"

"I think," you sigh, "you have way too many leather jackets."

"What's wrong with that? I'm a collector."

"That looks exactly like the one you bought last week." You take a closer look at the oddly familiar looking tag. "I'm pretty sure that is the exact same one."

"Oh." She takes one last look at it before putting it back. "See, this is why I like having you around. I've probably saved, like, a billion dollars thanks to you."

"Whatever," you chuckle, linking your arm with hers. It's just common sense, you think, but the warmth of her compliment is leagues better than being right.

The two of you pass by racks and racks full of the new wave of summer trends. Personally, you've always been a fan of the fall—cardigans, sweaters, the ability to wear jeans without your legs feeling like tinfoil-wrapped burritos. You and summer are just a match made in Hell. Inevitably, it comes around to torment you for three months out of the year and you're forced to scramble for a wardrobe that won't burn you alive.

"See anything you like?" Kazuha asks.

You scan the men's section, grimacing at the typical suspects that plague the shelves—tank tops, cargo shorts, ugly graphic tees with abominations like "summer vibes" written all over them. "Not really."

"You sure?" She grabs a simple black tank top off the rack. "This one seems pretty nice."

You physically restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. Something like that would only look good on her, with her pretty arms that are deceptively strong, and when she flexes, you can see the shadows dance around her biceps, which reminds you of that one time she put you in a chokehold as a joke and you could feel her muscles pushing against your throat, and you were so mesmerized by the feeling that you forgot to fight back, and—

"Baby?" Kazuha shakes you out of your trance. "You okay?" she chuckles.

"I-I'm good." You wipe away the droplet of drool that almost leaked from your lips. "Let's keep looking."

Deeper and deeper through the men's section you go, yet nothing seems to tickle your fancy. Go figure. You knew looking for clothes this time of year would be futile, but Kazuha wanted to hang out and you already said yes before realizing how much of a waste of time this would amount to.

"Ugh, these all suck," you groan.

"Maybe we'd have found something by now if you weren't so picky," Kazuha points out, brow raised at you.

"Not all of us were born to look good in just about anything," you bite back with a cheesy grin. "Some of us have to put effort into looking nice."

"Hey, don't blame me for being sexy." She drapes her arm around your shoulders, and for a split second, you think she's going to put you into another chokehold. So close. "I don't want you overheating just because you're being stubborn, baby."

"I'm not being stubborn, I just—"

You glance over at the women's section and stop at one of the mannequins. It's wearing a simple outfit, fitting for the weather, but what catches your eyes is the skirt—floor length and ruffled, made of a pure white cotton that seems to dance, even on the still mannequin. 

For one reason or another, you can't take your eyes off of it. It wouldn't be too hard to fit into your current wardrobe, and it's a much nicer alternative to the dull beige of all the cargo shorts that seems to infect every corner of the men's options. But, it's just—you're a guy, and Kazuha, well—you already wonder why she even likes you, and—

Kazuha follows your gaze. "Are you getting the hots for the mannequin?" she teases.

"W-what? No, I just—maybe we can find somewhere else to—"

She grips your hand before you have a chance to escape. "Hey, be honest with me." Her voice turns softer, more sincere compared to her usual mischief. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, I—" You peer into her round eyes. They're void of any kind of judgment or disgust, the usual reaction you expect when girls you're interested learn of your 'peculiar tastes'. "I just thought the skirt was pretty. That's all."

"Pretty on me, or pretty on you?"

"Well, of course you'd look pretty in it—"

"Hey." She tilts your chin up, the tip of her thumb pressing your bottom lip. You practically sink into her touch. Never have you felt a presence safer than Kazuha's.

"I… wanna try it on," you admit shyly. "Is that okay?"

She bares her pretty white teeth at you before pressing a soft kiss onto your lips. "Of course you can, baby. You don't need my permission to wear whatever you want."

Heat creeps up your cheeks like lava bubbling to the top of a volcano. "Thanks," you utter, biting back your excitement at the thought of looking pretty.

The second your staring at your reflection in the dressing room mirror, the ruffled skirt in your hands, it all starts to feel a little too real. Your first ever skirt. The thought has crossed your mind a handful of times before, but you never thought you'd actually get to this point. If it weren't for Kazuha and her charming eyes, this moment would just be another figment of your imagination.

You take a deep breath, and you put it on—it fits. Your reflection doesn't look half bad either. The breeze between your legs will take some getting used to, and you'll need to be wary of what color underwear you wear with these, but for now, you're just in awe of how good it looks. How good you look.

You do a little twirl for fun, giggling at the way the dress flows like petals on a blooming flower. Kazuha knocks against the dressing room door. "Did you try it on yet? I wanna see."

"Yeah! Come in."

As soon as Kazuha sees you, her expression drops. In that moment, worry starts to creep into your mind.

Does she not like it?

Does she not like you?

Will she leave just like the rest of them?

All your anxieties are laid to rest as Kazuha envelops you into a tight squeeze. "Holy fuck, my boyfriend is so pretty," she breathes, rocking you back and forth in her arms. You immerse yourself in her warmth, the kind of warmth that steadies your heart and quiets your mind; the kind you want to feel every day until you die.

"Does that mean you like it?" you ask.

"I love it," she says, pecking your lips. "I'm totally buying you every single color they have."

You chuckle at her enthusiasm. "Maybe we can just stick to this one for now? Until I get used to it, at least."

"That's fine with me." Her lips find yours once again, this one a little longer, a little more tender. "It really suits you, baby."

This kiss leaves you wobbly-kneed and blubbering, reduced to a puddle of lovestruck goop in her arms. Her strong, toned arms that you somehow fit perfectly in between.

"Let's hurry up and pay for it so I can take it off you later tonight," she winks, shutting the door behind her and leaving you to feel like the luckiest boy on the planet.

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The two of you kick off your shoes by the front door of your apartment, tossing the shopping bags haphazardly on your coffee table. Those will be for future you to deal with; right now, your feet are dead from all the walking and your body is in desperate need of a bed to collapse on.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," Kazuha urges, dragging you to your bedroom. In there, she collapses back onto your bed, arms above her head and her eyes staring you down like a hawk to a little mouse. "Hurry up and take me, pretty boy."

"O-oh." You gulp. "You mean, like, right now? Um—"

"What's that?" Kazuha asks, a smirk growing on her lips. On your usually tidy desk, a small pile of crumpled tissues sits next to your closed laptop, and the memory of what you did last night hits you all at once.

"W-wait, it's not what it looks like—!"

"You little freak!" Before you have a chance to explain yourself, Kazuha jumps to her feet, grabbing at your laptop with the cunning of a fox. "Ooh, let's see what kind of perversions you were watching!"

"Kazuha, don't—"

She flips open your laptop, and on the screen lies a still of the last scene you had watched—a boy with cerebral palsy and his grandma overlooking the edge of a mountain.

"What?" Kazuha asks. "Where's the porn?"

"I wasn't watching porn," you sigh in embarrassment, "I was watching a movie."

She gasps. "An adult movie?!"

"No!" 

Kazuha falls into a fit of giggles. Real mature of her.

"I was watching a… sad movie." You point at the pile of tissues. "I was crying…"

"Aw." She holds your head to her chest, kissing the top of your scalp. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make of fun of you for crying."

"It's fine." It's impossible to be upset with her when she feels this nice.

"Was it good? Can I watch it with you?"

"You want to? What about the whole, um, 'taking you' thing?"

She chuckles softly. "Maybe some other time. Walking around all day has got me feeling lazy." Kazuha crawls into your bed, cozying up under your covers. "C'mon, I wanna watch!"

You relent, following her onto your bed. "I might cry again."

"That's okay," she wraps you in her embrace, "mama's here."

You drag the little red dot all the way to the beginning and hit play, safe and sound in her arms.

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"Grandma?" Chunhe utters, cradling the box of his beloved cat's ashes in his arms.

"Hmm?" she replies.

"After you take me to school, I'll buy you a meal at the cafeteria."

His grandma smiles at him. "All right."

"And then," Chunhe continues, "Buy yourself a train ticket and go wherever you want. Go look around. Go have some fun. Let me walk the rest of my path my way. All right?"

His words may be slow or clumsy, but his sincerity cuts through like the sharpest blade, and his grandma knows this. No more is Chunhe the helpless little boy he once was; now, he stands tall against the prejudice that the world throws at him.

Even after knowing how it ends, it doesn't get easier the second time around.

"There, there," Kazuha coos, gently brushing your head. "It's okay, baby."

"Sorry," you sniffle, "It's just—"

"I know."

She holds you to her chest, letting you sob your little heart out for what feels like forever. For every tear that falls, Kazuha is there with a brush of her thumb or a comforting kiss to pick up all the broken pieces that the movie left you in.

It feels unfair, undeserved, you think, to know such tenderness like it's home. In the original script, the roles would be reversed—Kazuha sobbing into your arms while you comfort her. 

But they aren't. And even in this tenderness that you cherish so deeply, inklings of insecurities that you've long held still manage to seep through.

"Can I ask you something?" you say, wiping away at the last of your tears.

"What is it, baby?"

You breathe, slowly. "Why do you… why do you like me?"

She leans into you, the soft weight of her cheek resting on your head. "Hmm… Well, other guys just suck," Kazuha answers simply.

"Don't you ever wish I was more, uh, 'manlier' or something?"

"Hell no," she grimaces. "Those kinds of guys are the worst. I say one funny thing and they're all like 'Damn, your energy is different, for real!' and it's so annoying! I just have a personality!"

Kazuha holds you tighter, and it becomes clear just how much she wants you over any other guy. "Besides, I like my boys on the softer side." She kisses your damp cheek. "It means they have a soul."

The two of you share a chuckle, holding each other underneath the covers until the fatigue of today catches up to both of you. Your insecurities quelled, body warm, and heart undeniably owned by this miracle of a woman; for the first time in your quiet and unassuming existence, you feel like you're right where you belong—wrapped up in Kazuha's arms.

[jupiterpilgrim]

Business Babes

word count: 18K

Enami Asa x Huh Yunjin x Jeon Somi x Lee Chaeyoung x Ning Yizhuo x Yeh Shuhua x m!reader

You've been sitting here for three or maybe four hours. You're not sure anymore. The numbers on your laptop stopped making sense a long time ago, but you're finally close to finishing your review for Tuesday's exam.

At some point over the years, this corner of the library basically became your spot. Your territory. Nobody ever comes back here. Seriously, nobody. You could probably disappear into this corner for weeks and they'd only notice sometime next winter.

The shelves are packed with dusty reference books nobody's touched since, apparently, 2011. The closest outlet had been hidden behind a filing cabinet you literally had to drag aside yourself.

It's the perfect place for the absolute silence studying requires. Completely forgotten by society.

Nothing bad could possibly happen here.

Then two hands suddenly cover your eyes from behind, and before you can react, a soft, sugary voice drifts right beside your ear, "Guess who."

...

Well.

Looks like your territory's been invaded.

Soft skin. Slim fingers. Cool against your temples. You reach up, thumb brushing across her knuckles. Small hands. Smooth skin. Expensive perfume. "Gotta be the janitor," you say. "Pretty sure we're moving way too fast, though."

The hands pull back immediately. Then a tiny offended noise. Footsteps around the table.

"Ha. Ha. You're sooo funny, nerd. I like you already.”

Enami Asa steps into your line of sight and every coherent thought you had about thermodynamic equilibrium just evaporates. She's wearing all black. Cropped top, short skirt, boots that go halfway up her calves. Red lipstick that makes ignoring her full lips completely impossible. Her black hair falls straight past her shoulders and she's looking at you with this amused little tilt of her head.

You blink hard and rub your eyes. Enami Asa: one of the most beautiful girls on campus. Right there, in the dead zone of the university library. Staring at you. What the fuck is happening?

"You know you're insanely hard to find, right?" she says, placing her backpack on the table before dropping into the chair across from you. She crosses her legs and leans back, eyes drifting over the dusty shelves. "Do you always hide out back here? I literally did two full laps around the building.”

"I was studying," you say, closing your laptop halfway. "Can I help you with something?"

She grins. Not in a nice way.

And you're not dumb. You get it. You've spent enough time here to understand how the whole social hierarchy thing works. Girls like Asa don't go looking for guys like you in some forgotten library corner unless they want something. Notes. Homework help. A study guide. Some favor they can cash in with a cute smile and forget about a few hours later.

"You can, actually," she says. "In fact, you might be the only person who can help me right now."

"That's a bold statement."

"I'm a bold girl," she says, adjusting in her seat until she's comfortable. Then she casually drops, like this is the most normal topic ever, "So there's this challenge going around on Twitter."

"X."

"Eat shit, it's literally the same app." She waves you off. "Anyway. It's trending right now. Me and my friends got into it too. Sort of a competition, I guess. NSFW stuff.”

Your pen stops moving.

"Oh…"

"Yeah." Now she's fully studying your face, looking way too entertained by the horror slowly spreading across it. "The idea's simple. You record yourself getting facefucked, upload it, get some likes, drive more people to your OF. Then gooners start ranking clips and arguing in the comments over which one's best. It's become this whole thing. Hashtags and all.”

You look left. You look right. You check behind you to make sure nobody has a camera pointed at this table. "Are you serious right now?" you ask.

"Of course I'm serious," she says, sounding almost offended. "Why the hell would I walk all the way to the ass end of this library and say that kind of shit to a guy like you if I wasn't serious?"

"I genuinely don't know. It's just... a pretty strange request."

"Don't be scared. Be flattered."

"I am neither of those things." You lean back in your chair. "Look, there are like ten thousand guys at this school. You literally have a different one on your arm every week. Go ask one of them."

Asa shakes her head. Just one slow motion. "Nah. Can't do that. We set a rule that every one of us has to find a different guy for the video." She leans back a little. "Has to be a nerd. Someone who'd normally have zero chance with any of us. That's the whole trend."

You stare at her for a few long seconds. "Damn, Asa. Really appreciate you putting me in the 'absolutely no shot' category.”

She laughs, loud enough that it echoes through the shelves and instantly makes you paranoid someone nearby heard the conversation. "Don't take it like that. Seriously. It's not even an insult. Think of it as charity." Her head tilts slightly. "Besides..." Her eyes narrow a little as she looks at you. "You've actually got something going on. Nerd glasses, messy hair… It's kinda cute."

"Amazing. Please engrave that on my grave."

"Stop being so dramatic."

"No. That's my final answer," you say immediately. "Find another victim.”

Asa gets to her feet. Then she does something that completely fries your remaining brain cells. She circles the table at an annoyingly calm pace and sits right in your lap. Just... casually. Her arm drapes over your shoulder while she gives you this ridiculous pout.

"Pleeease?" she says, all soft and sweet. "It'll take like five minutes. Nobody comes back here anyway. You've been hiding in this corner for hours and not one person walked past." She adjusts herself slightly. “I just need you to lend your cock and hold the phone. That's it."

You blink at her. "I can't believe this trend actually exists."

"Oh, it exists.” She already has her phone out. She pulls it from her skirt pocket and drops back onto your lap, scrolling lazily. “See? Hashtag RuinThePrettyFace. It blew up like four days ago.”

She holds the phone inches from your face. One clip after another. Smudged eyeliner. Sloppy expressions. Girls posing for the camera after getting absolutely wrecked. Your eyebrows climb higher with every swipe. Then she opens her own profile. Asa’s account is basically curated nude photography. Soft lighting. artsy filters. Careful angles. Nude after nude after nude.

“Hold on. This is your account?”

“My NSFW alt, yeah.” She shrugs. “Got twelve thousand followers. So?”

"No. Never.”

"Why not?"

"Because I have dignity. And you should try having some too. What you're describing is slutty."

She pulls back just enough to look you dead in the eyes. Zero shame. Zero hesitation. "But I am a slut," she says simply. "So that argument doesn't really work on me. Please," she repeats. "I'll do anything."

"Anything?”

"Anything." A pause. Then she laughs, catching herself. "Well. I can't exactly offer you sex as a reward because that's basically what's already going to happen. So that's off the table as a bargaining chip." She taps her chin, pretending to think. "Buuut you'll have my gratitude. My eternal, undying gratitude!”

"And what the fuck am I supposed to do with your gratitude?"

"I don't know, maybe shove it up your ass and stop playing hard to get?!" She hops off your lap and does a little spin in the aisle between shelves, arms out, letting you look. She stops facing you, one hand on her hip. "Look at me," she demands. "I'm hot. I'm perfect. Any guy on this campus would sell a kidney to be sitting where you're sitting right now. And you're telling me no? Be so fucking for real, dude.”

You rub your temples. "You're actually insane."

"Maybe. But I'm also not leaving until you say yes. I'll sit here all night. I'll follow you to your car. I'll show up at your next class. I will make this so much worse for you if you keep being difficult."

"That's called harassment."

"Call campus security then. Tell them Enami Asa won't stop asking you to let her suck your dick. See how much sympathy you get."

You let out a long breath through your nose. She's got you cornered and she knows it. You can see it all over her pretty face already, that smug little grin spreading because she's realized she's winning.

"Fuck me..." you mutter.

"Is that a yes?!"

You close your laptop with a soft click. Pinch the bridge of your nose beneath your glasses. Then you look up at her. At the ridiculously gorgeous girl standing between rows of dusty shelves in that little black outfit, red lips, and absolutely zero sense of shame. You make a decision that's either going to haunt you forever or randomly hit you at age eighty and make you smile. "Fine. Make it quick.”

Asa actually lights up. She bounces on her heels and claps once before she can stop herself. "Yes! Okay! Perfect!" She grins at you. "You seriously won't regret this.”

"I already regret this." She starts to lower herself to her knees right there, but you raise a hand and she freezes. "Wait," you say. "Can we at least make out a little first? Just to, you know… set the mood. I can't just go from thermodynamics to getting my dick sucked with no transition."

She stares at you for a second before rolling her eyes so hard it's honestly impressive.

"Oh my god." A sigh. "Fine. Sure. Whatever you need."

She comes back and sits on your lap again, this time facing you fully, her knees on either side of your thighs in the library chair. Your hands find her waist on pure instinct, settling on the strip of bare skin between her top and her skirt. She's warm. Unbelievably warm.

"You're unfairly hot, by the way. I'm having a hard time believing this is a real situation right now."

"I know," she says immediately, completely shameless. Her hands slide onto your shoulders. "Now enough with the compliments. Kiss me.”

You kiss her. It starts slow because you're still half convinced this is an elaborate prank and someone's going to jump out from behind the reference section with a camera. But Asa's lips are soft and she tastes like mint and whatever that expensive lipstick is made of, and your brain stops looking for the trap pretty quickly. Your hands settle on her waist, thumbs pressing into the narrow strip of bare skin above her skirt. She's tiny under your palms. You can almost feel her ribs.

She's good at this. Obviously she's good at this. Her tongue finds yours and she tilts her head just right, and there's this little sound that comes out of her, this quiet, pleased hum against your mouth that makes your fingers tighten on her waist without you meaning to. She shifts on your lap, pressing closer, and her hands slide from your shoulders to the back of your neck.

You're getting into it. Really getting into it. Your hand starts to drift up her side and she makes another sound, breathier this time, and you can feel the vibration of it through her whole body. Then she turns her head, breaking the kiss, and her palm lands flat on your chest. "Okay, okay. Enough."

"What?"

"I said enough." She wipes the corner of her mouth with her pinky finger, checking for smudges. "You're going to ruin my lipstick before we even start. My makeup needs to get destroyed on camera, not during the warm up."

"You have very specific priorities."

"I have excellent priorities." She rolls her hips once on your lap, settling her weight, and then goes completely still. You watch her expression shift. Her eyes drop down between your bodies, then come back up to your face. "Well," she says, and there's something new in the way she's looking at you. "I think we can start."

She picks up her phone from the table, slides off your lap, and drops to her knees on the library carpet. She taps the screen a few times, opens the camera app, and holds the phone out to you. "Here. You're filming."

You take it. "Vertical or horizontal?"

“Of course it’s vertical. This is Twitter content, not cinema.”

You angle the phone. She reaches for your belt. Her fingers work the buckle loose, then the button, then the zipper, and she's efficient about it, tugging your jeans down your thighs with a little help from you lifting your hips. Your boxers are still on. The outline of you through the fabric is, well… it's pretty obvious.

Asa pauses. Her hands don't move, still resting at your waistband, but her eyes do. They settle on the bulge and stay there.

"Huh?'' she mutters.

Then she pulls your boxers down. Your cock springs free and bobs once, heavy and thick, settling against your lower stomach. The shaft is fat, veiny, flushed. In the dim lighting of the library corner, it looks even bigger than usual, and Asa is just kneeling there, looking at it, her hands frozen in midair. "Wow," she says quietly. Then, louder, like she's trying to convince herself as much as you. "Okay. This might be harder than I imagined."

You look down at her. "You can always give up."

Her head snaps up. The shock on her face converts instantly to pure, offended determination. "Excuse me? You think I'm afraid of a big cock? Are you seriously sitting there telling Enami Asa to give up?"

"I'm just saying."

"Don't underestimate me." She wraps her fingers around the base and the tips barely meet her thumb. She stares at that for a second, jaw flexing, then shakes it off. "Okay. Here's how this works. I'm going to suck your dick first. Get it nice and wet, do my thing. Then when I tap your thigh twice, like this," she demonstrates, two quick pats on your leg, "that's your signal. That means you can start fucking my face. Got it?" You nod. "Use one hand for the phone, one hand on the back of my head. And keep the angle tight on my face. This isn't about you, this is about me looking good."

"And then looking bad."

"And then looking incredible while looking bad." She adjusts her position on her knees, straightens her back, flips her hair over one shoulder. "You can start recording."

You hit the red button. The timer starts counting in the corner of the screen.

The shift is immediate. Asa was already pretty, already the kind of person who pulled attention without trying, but the second the camera goes live, something changes. Something clicks into place. Her posture straightens slightly. Her chin lifts. A slow smile pulls at her lips. Suddenly she isn't looking at you anymore. She's looking at the lens. Looking at the people on the other side of it. The ones who'll watch this alone in bed at some stupid hour of the night.

And just like that, she's performing.

She leans forward and presses her lips to the tip of your cock. Just a kiss. The red lipstick leaves a faint mark on your skin and she pulls back to admire it, still smiling at the camera. Then her tongue comes out, flat and pink, and she drags it across the head in one slow pass. Another kiss, this time on the underside, right where the shaft meets the ridge. She's teasing. Taking her time. Making sure the camera catches every angle of her pretty face against your thick cock.

She licks a long stripe from the base to the tip, her dark eyes locked on the lens the entire time. Then another. Then she swirls her tongue around the head, slow and wet, collecting the precum that's already beading at the slit. She holds it on her tongue for a beat, letting the camera see it, then swallows and licks her lips clean.

She opens her mouth and takes you in. The feeling is insane. Her mouth is hot and tight and her tongue does this thing where it presses flat against the underside of your shaft as she sinks down, creating this slick pressure that makes your toes curl in your shoes. She takes about half of you on the first pass, which given the girth is genuinely impressive, and her cheeks hollow as she pulls back up.

And she looks so fucking beautiful doing it. Enami Asa, on her knees on the library floor, with her black outfit and her red lipstick and her sharp little face stuffed full of your cock. The visual is so absurd, so completely disconnected from everything your life has been up to this point, that you almost forget to keep the phone steady.

She sucks you with purpose. Bobbing her head in a steady rhythm, taking a little more each time, letting the spit build up until it's coating your shaft in a slick layer. She pulls off with a wet sound and spits on your cock, a thick string that drips down the length, and then her fist wraps around you and pumps, spreading it, twisting at the head. She jacks you off with both hands for a few strokes, watching the way your cock throbs in her grip, and then she's back on it, hungrier this time.

You can feel her jaw stretching around you. Can see the effort in the way her brow furrows slightly, the way her throat works as she tries to accommodate the width. But she doesn't stop. Doesn't slow down. She finds her rhythm and sticks with it, her head moving in smooth, controlled bobs, her lips sealed tight, her tongue working the underside.

She pulls off just long enough to glance up at you. Not at the camera this time. At you.

"You better be getting my good side," she murmurs, her fist still pumping slowly.

"You're kind of busy to be giving direction."

"I'm always giving direction." She licks the tip once more, then sinks back down.

A minute passes. The wet sounds of her mouth on you fill the quiet corner of the library, obscenely loud in the silence. Spit drips from her chin onto her black top. Her lipstick is starting to smear, red bleeding past the edges of her lips, staining your shaft in uneven rings.

Then you feel it. Two quick taps on your thigh. She takes you back into her mouth, both hands dropping to rest on your knees, and tilts her head up so the camera can catch her full face. Her eyes are glassy. Her lips are swollen. She looks up at you through her lashes and gives the smallest nod.

You adjust the phone in your right hand, making sure the frame is tight on her face. Then your left hand slides to the back of her head, fingers threading through her dark hair, and you grip.

Your fingers tighten in her hair. You guide her head forward, slow, feeling the resistance of her throat as your cock pushes deeper than she was taking it on her own. Asa's hands grip your knees and her jaw stretches wide, lips pulling taut around your girth. She gags once, a tight spasm at the back of her throat, and you pull her back. She gasps, spit connecting her lower lip to your shaft in a thin strand, and before she can fully recover you push her down again.

The rhythm is careful at first. You're testing how much she can handle, reading the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers flex against your legs. Each push goes a little deeper. Each pull gives her just enough time to suck in a quick breath before you feed her your cock again. The wet sounds are filthy in the silence of the library. Every gag, every slick glide of her lips echoes off the bookshelves.

Asa's brow creases. She's concentrating, trying to relax her throat, but the girth keeps catching her. You can feel it, the involuntary tightening each time the thickest part of your shaft hits the back of her mouth. Her eyes water. Not crying, just the reflexive response of her body fighting what her brain has decided it's going to do. She breathes hard through her nose, hot bursts against your pelvis, and pushes through.

You set a pace. Your hand guides her head in smooth bobs, your hips rolling up to meet her on the downstroke. Spit builds and spills from the corners of her mouth, running down her chin in messy lines. The red lipstick is wrecked now, smeared in wide streaks across her cheeks and along your shaft, leaving your cock painted in uneven bands of crimson. Her mascara holds for a while, longer than you'd expect, but the constant watering finally wins and dark smudges start bleeding beneath her lower lashes.

She pulls off your cock abruptly, gasping, a thick rope of saliva stretching from her lips to your head before snapping and landing on her chin. She coughs once, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing the lipstick further. Her eyes are glassy and red rimmed when she looks up at you.

"How is it," she asks between breaths. "How do I look?"

You angle the phone down at her, making sure the frame catches everything. The ruined lipstick, the mascara tracking down her cheeks, the spit glistening on her chin and neck, the way her usually perfect hair is sticking to the damp skin of her forehead.

"Beautiful," you say. "Completely ruined. You look incredible."

"Good," she says. "That's the point." She opens her mouth and takes you back in, and this time you don't start slow. Your grip tightens in her hair and you thrust up into her mouth with real intent, your hips snapping, the back of her throat meeting your cock on every stroke. Asa groans around you, the sound vibrating through your entire shaft, and her hands fly to your thighs for balance.

The pace is punishing now. Her head bobs in your grip, guided by your hand, and the sounds coming from her mouth are obscene. Wet, choked, guttural. Drool pours freely, coating your balls, dripping onto the carpet between her knees. Her black top is spotted with dark wet patches. She gags hard on a deep thrust and you hold her there for a second, your cock buried to the hilt, her nose pressed against your pelvis, feeling her throat convulse around you before you let her up.

She pulls back just far enough to breathe, her lips still brushing the head, and looks up at you with those ruined, watery eyes.

"Fuck," she pants. "This cock is so thick. I can barely fit it in my mouth." She jacks you with one hand, spit making the motion effortless, her small fingers unable to close around the circumference. "How does a little nerd end up with something like this? It's not fair."

"Genetics," you manage.

"Shut up." She licks a flat stripe up the underside, collecting the mess of spit and precum. "I'm serious, this thing is fat. My jaw is going to be sore for a week." She presses her lips to the head, almost affectionately, then opens wide and takes you deep again.

You fuck her face harder. The library is dead quiet except for the relentless, sloppy rhythm of your cock in her throat. Asa has given up trying to look composed. Her eyes are squeezed shut, tears cutting clean tracks through her smudged mascara. Her cheeks are flushed pink beneath the mess of ruined makeup. Spit and drool coat her entire chin, dripping in long strings onto her chest. She looks nothing like the sharp, immaculate girl who sat down across from you twenty minutes ago.

She looks better.

Your balls tighten. The pressure that's been building low in your stomach pulls into a hard knot and you feel the edge approaching fast. Asa must feel it too, the way your cock swells, the way your grip shifts in her hair, because her eyes open and lock onto yours. She doesn't pull back. She grabs your hip with one hand and pulls you deeper, taking your cock into her throat until her lips stretch around the base, and holds herself there.

You cum. The first shot fires directly into her throat and Asa's eyes go wide. You can see the muscles in her neck working, trying to swallow around the sudden flood. Your cock pulses again, a second thick load, then a third, each one making her throat bob as she struggles to keep up. It's a lot. More than she expected, clearly, because her eyes start to water fresh and you can hear this strained, gurgling sound as she tries to swallow without pulling off.

She manages. Barely. Her throat works overtime, gulping, swallowing, her fingers digging into your thigh hard enough to leave marks. Some of it escapes, a thick white trail leaking from the corner of her sealed lips, running down her chin, dripping onto her collarbone. She stays on you through the last few pulses, her throat milking every drop, until you finally stop throbbing and your grip in her hair loosens.

Asa pulls off slowly. Your cock slides from between her lips with a slick, heavy sound, and she sits back on her heels, breathing hard.

Her face is destroyed. The red lipstick exists only in faint, smeared traces across her cheeks and chin. Her mascara has bled into dark streaks that reach almost to her jawline. Her eyes are bloodshot, rimmed in red, lashes clumped together with moisture. Drool and cum coat her chin, her neck, the front of her top. Her hair is tangled and damp where your fingers gripped it.

She looks at the camera and smiles. This wide, satisfied, absolutely filthy smile, cum still glistening on her lower lip. She holds the look for a few seconds, letting the camera drink it in.

You stop recording. The timer reads eleven minutes and forty seven seconds. Your thumb hits the red button and the screen freezes on the last frame. Asa on her knees, wrecked, smiling. "How'd it turn out," she asks, her speech slightly hoarse. She reaches for the water bottle on the table and takes a long drink.

You scroll back through the footage, skimming. "Pretty good, actually. You have a genuine talent for this."

"I have a talent for most things." She holds her hand out. "Let me see." You pass her the phone and she watches sections of the clip, scrubbing through with her thumb, pausing on certain moments. Her expression is clinical now, analytical. She's reviewing footage, not reliving the experience.

"When are you posting it," you ask, pulling your boxers back up, getting your jeans situated.

"Probably tomorrow. Or maybe the day after. I still need to throw the video into Premiere and polish the edit a bit.”

"...You're editing blowjob footage in Premiere. Okay, sure. I don't know why I'm still surprised."

"Well yeah?" She looks at you like you're the weird one. "The lighting back here was awful. I need to fix the exposure, warm up the colors a little, cut out the dead space at the beginning..." She swipes through the footage. "Probably clean up the framing too. Blur anything that points back to you. Add captions… I'm not uploading raw footage. Be serious.”

You stare at her. "Is all that really necessary? It's a blowjob video, not a short film."

"It is absolutely necessary. You can't just upload raw footage like some amateur. Quality matters. Presentation matters. This is going on my page, and my page has an aesthetic."

She puts the phone down, reaches for her backpack on the table, and pulls out a small face towel and a compact mirror. She flips the mirror open and examines her reflection, tilting her head side to side, cataloguing the damage. Then she starts cleaning up, wiping the mascara streaks, the spit, the residue from her chin and neck.

"Thank you, by the way," she says, not looking up from the mirror. "Your dick is really nice. Genuinely. It looked great in the video. The size contrast between me and that thing is pretty hot."

"Thank you. I guess."

"You're welcome. I guess." She mimics your tone without missing a beat, still dabbing at her face. "You can leave now. I need to finish putting myself back together and I can't do that with you watching me."

You gather your laptop, your notes, your pens. Everything goes into your backpack. You zip it shut and stand up, pushing the chair back under the table. "Hey. One thing."

"What."

"Change my voice in the video. Pitch it up or down, whatever. Just alter it enough that nobody can identify me."

She waves dismissively. "Already planned on it. I'll run it through a filter. I'm a pro at this stuff." She meets your eyes in the mirror's reflection. "Now bye."

"Bye, Asa." You sling your backpack over your shoulder and walk out of the dead zone of the library, past the dusty reference shelves, back toward the main floor where normal people are doing normal things. The late afternoon sun hits you through the library's front windows as you push through the doors. Fresh air fills your lungs. You adjust your glasses, fix your hair, and start walking toward the parking lot.

It was a little degrading. You're aware of that. You just let a girl you barely know use you for content, boss you around, and treat you like a prop in her social media strategy. That part stings, a bit, if you think about it too hard.

On the other hand, it was also one of the best orgasms of your life. So maybe sitting with it too long isn't necessary.

—

The girls have officially taken over the theater lobby.

Ning’s holding a popcorn bucket almost as big as she is, carefully picking out the best coated pieces first. Shuhua has already loaded up on candy and a slushie. Yunjin’s in the middle of debating the water bottle policy with the cashier. Somi’s texting someone nonstop. Chaeyoung is fully invested in the ingredients list on a candy box for reasons nobody understands. Asa is standing slightly apart from the group, examining her nails.

“Has anyone recorded it yet?" Ning asks, popping a kernel into her mouth. "The challenge, I mean. I haven't even picked a guy."

General murmurs of negation ripple through the group. Shuhua shakes her head. Yunjin is still fighting the cashier. Somi doesn't look up from her phone. Chaeyoung quietly puts the candy box back on the shelf.

"I have," Asa says.

Every head turns.

"Already?" Shuhua's eyes go wide. "It's been like two days since we agreed on this."

"It was this afternoon, actually." Asa inspects a cuticle with surgical focus. "I finished about four hours ago."

Ning abandons her popcorn curation entirely. "Send it. Right now. Group chat."

"Absolutely not. I haven't finished editing. The raw footage needs color correction, the audio is unbalanced, and I want to add text overlays for the—"

"Oh my god, just send the raw version,” Ning groans.

"No. You'll see it when it's ready."

Shuhua leans in, lowering her tone even though nobody else in the lobby is paying attention. "Is it someone from our college?"

"Yes."

"Someone we know?"

Asa lets out a short laugh. “Absolutely not. He’s literally just some random library guy. Total loser. But Jesus Christ, his dick is huge. Like, weirdly huge. I was not mentally prepared for that at all.” Ning's eyebrows climb her forehead. "It was fucking hard to handle," Asa continues, touching her throat absently. "My throat still hurts a little, honestly. The girth on that thing was insane."

"The quiet ones always pack," Yunjin offers, having apparently won her water bottle argument. She rejoins the group with the confidence of a courtroom victor. "It's like a rule of the universe."

Chaeyoung has been quiet this whole time, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. She clears her throat softly. "I've been thinking, and I might not do the challenge. I don't think I can just walk up to some random guy and ask him to, you know. I'd rather die."

Somi finally looks up from her phone. She crosses the gap between them in two long strides and puts her hand on Chaeyoung's shoulder. Firm. Decisive. "You're not backing out," Somi tells her. "I won't allow it."

"But I literally cannot approach a stranger and say those things to his face. I would combust."

"Then don't. You're recording with me. We'll do it as a duo."

Chaeyoung blinks. "Wait, really?"

Yunjin nods encouragingly. "If you want, we can help you find someone too. I know a few guys in my econ lecture who would probably pass out if you looked at them."

Somi cuts her off. "No need. I already have someone picked out. Chae records with me, I handle the talking, she just needs to show up and look pretty." She squeezes Chaeyoung's shoulder. "Easy."

Relief floods Chaeyoung's face. "Okay. If we're doing it together, then yeah. I'm in. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Just bring lip gloss and a hair tie."

Asa tilts her head, considering the arrangement. "A duo is smart, actually. The contrast will look really good on camera. Two girls, one cock. The timeline will eat that up."

"It's going to be so hot," Ning agrees, pulling out her phone to check the trending hashtag.

Armed with popcorn, candy, and oversized drinks, the six of them file into the theater. They talk about the movie previews, assignments, dumb campus gossip. As if they’re not all going into this week with the exact same goal: finding someone with a nice dick.

—

The next day arrives. You're walking through the main corridor on the second floor, laptop bag over your shoulder, earbuds in, heading toward your next lecture. The hallway is busy. Students moving between classes, conversations overlapping, the usual controlled chaos of midday foot traffic.

"Hey, you!"

You don't react. That shout belongs to someone else's life.

"Hey! I'm talking to you! Glasses!"

Still probably not you. Lots of people wear glasses. You keep walking. Fast footsteps come up behind you, then a manicured hand lands on your shoulder and whips you around surprisingly hard.

Jeon Somi stands in front of you.

Blonde hair spilling over her shoulders in soft waves. A designer jacket thrown over a top that’s doing absolutely nothing to hide her massive breasts. Long legs wrapped in fitted jeans. Sharp cheekbones, light brown eyes, and a look that feels dangerously close to a threat.

“Are you deaf?” she asks bluntly.

“Sorry. Didn’t realize you were talking to me. People don’t usually yell at me in hallways.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Her gaze drags over you from head to toe, quick but thorough, leaving you feeling weirdly inspected. “You’re coming with me.”

“Where? Why?”

She doesn't answer. She grabs your hand and starts walking. Not beside you. Ahead of you. Pulling you behind her like a rolling suitcase. Her grip is strong and her strides are long and you have to half jog to keep up without tripping. People notice immediately. Heads turn. Conversations pause. You catch students doing double takes as you pass. Two guys from your programming class nearly short-circuit when they see Jeon Somi towing you down the hall.

And yeah, you get why. Everyone knows who she is. The leaked nude scandal last semester made sure of that. So did the endless rumors afterward, the guys she’s been seen with, the stories people tell about her like she’s some campus celebrity. Someone like her choosing someone like you feels fundamentally wrong to everyone watching.

By tomorrow, half the school is probably going to know your name too.

Somi takes you up a stairwell. First floor, second floor, third floor. Down a corridor that gets progressively emptier. Past classrooms that are clearly in use, then past ones that aren't. The fluorescent lights up here flicker intermittently. One of the ceiling tiles has a water stain shaped like Florida.

"Somi. What do you want so badly that you had to physically drag me across the building."

"It's just a favor," she says over her shoulder.

And there it is. That word again. Favor. The exact same word Asa used yesterday at your table in the library, right before she dropped the most insane proposition you’d ever heard in your life. Suddenly the pieces line up perfectly in your head. They know each other. Asa and Somi. Same friend group. Same social circle. Same weird fucking challenge.

Yesterday it was Asa. Today it’s Somi.

You stop walking and pull your hand free from her grip. She turns around, annoyed, "What?!"

"This is about that challenge. The Twitter thing."

Somi stares at you for a beat. "You know about it?"

"I'm familiar, yeah."

"Great. So I don't need to waste time explaining." She folds her arms under her chest, drawing your attention exactly where she probably expects it to go. “Are you in?”

"Why me specifically?"

"Because you're the most pathetic looking guy on this campus." She says it without a shred of hesitation or remorse. "But you're also decent enough that I wouldn't gag just from touching your dick. That's a narrow window, and congratulations, you fit through it."

"That's the worst compliment anyone has ever given me."

"It wasn't a compliment." The two of you are standing outside a classroom at the very end of the corridor. A laminated sign taped to the door reads CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE.

"This is where you picked," you say, looking at the sign. "A room that's closed for maintenance."

"Nobody will come in here. It's been shut for two weeks."

"A ceiling panel could literally fall on our heads."

"It's not going to." She pushes the handle and the door swings open. "Stop making excuses and get in."

You step into the classroom. The room is dim, lit only by thin strips of sunlight slipping through the blinds along the far wall. Desks have been shoved aside in crooked rows, and dust drifts lazily through the light. Half-erased equations still cover the whiteboard, leftovers from whatever class used this room last. And at the front of the room, perched casually on the professor’s desk, is a girl you’ve seen around campus but never spoken to. She has a pretty, sculpted face, big round eyes and dark hair with faint highlights catching the light. She's wearing an oversized cream colored sweater and a plaid skirt; the whole look makes her seem way too cozy and cute for a place this depressing.

She sneezes violently out of nowhere.

“Somi!” she groans, rubbing at her nose. “This room is disgusting. I’ve been here fifteen minutes and I’m pretty sure I’ve developed lung disease.”

"Stop being dramatic, Chae. A little dust never killed anyone." She closes the door behind you and strides further into the room. She motions between you and the girl on the desk like she’s hosting introductions at some awkward social event. “This is the guy I was talking about. Nerd boy, meet Chaeyoung. Chaeyoung, meet nerd boy.”

Chaeyoung hops down from the desk, landing lightly on her sneakers. She’s almost the same height as Somi, though Somi still has a couple inches on her. "I've seen you around before," she says. "You're usually in the library, right? Or sitting by the fountain near the engineering building."

"Yeah, that's my usual orbit."

"We've never actually spoken, though." She extends her hand. "I'm Chaeyoung. Lee Chaeyoung."

You shake it. Her grip is gentle, her palm warm. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too."

Finally, you think. Someone with basic social skills and a functioning sense of decency. You glance between the two of them. They're both wearing a noticeable amount of makeup. Chaeyoung has this soft, glowy look, peachy tones and delicate details. Somi went heavier. Contoured cheekbones, defined brows, lips glossed to a mirror finish. They look like they're ready for a photoshoot, not a afternoon on the third floor of a building with water stained ceiling tiles.

"Great," Somi announces, clapping her hands once. "Now that we all know each other and we've done the little handshake thing, let's record."

You lean against one of the pushed aside desks. "Can I ask what the point of this is? Genuinely. What do either of you gain from recording this?"

"Likes," Somi says immediately. "Followers. Engagement. Clout. Take your pick."

"And that's worth it?"

"We don't care what you think. It's none of your business what we do with the video." She crosses her arms. "You're here to provide a service. That's it."

Chaeyoung shifts her weight, tugging at the cuff of her oversized sweater. "I almost gave up on the whole thing, honestly. I know it's kind of crazy. Like, objectively, this is insane behavior."

"It is insane behavior," you confirm.

"But she's here now," Somi cuts in, putting her arm around Chaeyoung's shoulders. "And she is not backing down. Right, Chae?"

"Right. Yeah. I'm here. I'm doing it."

Somi turns her attention back to you, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Speaking of which. Your dick. Is it at least big? Because I swear to god, if I dragged you up three flights of stairs and you pull out a micropenis, I will be furious."

"It's decent."

"Decent, huh? That's exactly what guys say when they have a tiny cock. Every single time. 'It's decent.' 'It gets the job done.' And then you pull their pants down and it's like finding a AA battery in a sock."

"That's a very specific image. Sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"Don't test me right now."

Chaeyoung steps forward, putting herself slightly between you and Somi. "Can you stop being so mean to him? He's already doing us a favor by agreeing to this. The least you can do is be civil."

Somi rolls her eyes with her entire body. Her head tilts back, her shoulders drop, her hands fly up. "Please. Look at him, Chae. Look at this guy. He has never received a blowjob in his life. We are going to be the first people to ever touch his dick. He should be on his knees thanking us for the privilege."

"That's not true," you say. "I've had sex before."

"Sure you have."

"I'm serious. I actually got a blowjob yesterday."

Both of them look at you. Chaeyoung with genuine curiosity. Somi with theatrical disbelief. "Oh, really?" Somi takes a step closer, tilting her head. "Who gave you a blowjob yesterday? Name and surname, please."

The name almost leaves your mouth. It sits right there on the tip of your tongue, ready to go. And for a split second you consider it, because telling Somi that her friend already used you for this exact challenge would probably create enough chaos to shut this whole thing down. Asa mentioned that every girl had to pick a different guy. If Somi finds out she's not the first, that Asa already had you, she'd lose her mind.

Better to keep that card in your back pocket.

"It's personal," you say.

Somi stares at you for two full seconds, then turns to Chaeyoung. "See? Obvious lie. He panicked and couldn't even make up a name." She points at a chair near the center of the room. "Now sit over there."

You grab your backpack, drop it in the corner by the door, and sit in the chair she indicated. It's one of those standard classroom chairs with the little desk arm attached, but you push the arm out of the way and settle in. Somi is already moving around the room, scouting angles. She finds a spot on a shelf near the whiteboard, props her phone against a stack of old textbooks, and adjusts the lean until she's satisfied with the frame.

"The phone stays here,” she explains, tapping the screen. “It'll get both of us in the shot."

"Professional setup,” you say.

"I don't do amateur." She walks back toward you, Chaeyoung falling into step beside her. "Here's how this works. It's simple. The goal is for us to get facefucked until our makeup is ruined. That's the whole point of the trend. Cute face goes in, wrecked face comes out. So you need to not cum in thirty seconds like some premature disaster. Hold it together until our makeup is properly smudged. Can you manage that?"

"I think I can handle it," you say.

Somi raises an eyebrow. "You think?"

"... I'll handle it," you correct.

She nods once and starts heading toward the phone to hit record, but you lift a hand.

"Wait. One thing."

She stops and turns. "What now?"

"Can you show me your tits? Just... help me out a little. Get things moving."

The look she gives you is lethal. You're genuinely not sure if she's about to slap you or walk out. "You're such a pervert."

"You're about to do all this for Twitter likes. I don't think I'm the only pervert in this room.”

Chaeyoung lets out a laugh, immediately stifled behind her hand. Somi shoots her a look and Chaeyoung straightens her face, pressing her lips together.

"Fine," Somi mutters, then reaches back and taps the record button on her phone. She walks back over to you, stops right in front of your chair, and shrugs off her jacket with way more force than necessary, tossing it onto the floor. Then, without hesitation, she grabs the hem of her top and pulls it over her head in one smooth motion. She'd been going braless this whole time.

And her breasts are genuinely, absurdly large. Full and round on her narrow frame, heavy enough to bounce slightly from the motion of pulling her top off. Her skin is smooth, even toned, her nipples a soft pink against the pale expanse.

She stands there with her hands on her hips, topless and defiant. "Happy now, pervert?"

Chaeyoung is pulling at the collar of her cream sweater, fanning herself. "God, it really is hot in here. No ventilation at all." She tugs the sweater over her head and folds it neatly, setting it on a desk. Underneath she's wearing a simple white bra. Her chest is small, barely filling the cups, her collarbones delicate and pronounced above the band.

The contrast is staggering. Somi's huge, bare breasts next to Chaeyoung's petite frame in her little white bra. The tall, aggressive blonde towering over the soft, nervous brunette. Both of them in front of you, half undressed, in a locked classroom on the third floor of a building nobody visits.

Your cock is hard. Fully, uncomfortably hard, straining against the front of your jeans. There's no hiding it and you don't try. "Okay," Somi says, her eyes dropping to your lap for a fraction of a second. "Let's begin."

She kneels in front of the chair. Chaeyoung follows, settling on her knees to Somi's right. Somi's hands go to your belt, her long fingers working the buckle with efficiency. She yanks your jeans down your thighs with both hands, and your boxers come with them. She doesn't bother with the slow reveal. She pulls everything to your ankles in one sharp tug and your cock springs free, slapping against your stomach, thick and fully hard.

Somi stops. Her hands are still on the bunched fabric at your knees. Her eyes are locked on your cock. Her lips part, just slightly, and you watch her throat move as she swallows. "What the fuck," she mutters.

Chaeyoung, kneeling beside her, has gone completely still. Her mouth is open. Her eyes are wide. She's staring at your cock the way people stare at car accidents. Unable to look away, unable to process what she's seeing.

"Okay, that's..." She cuts herself off and stares for another second. "No. Hold on… That is actually the biggest dick I've ever seen in my entire life." She looks back up at you. "I'm being serious.”

Somi recovers. She flips her hair over one shoulder and wraps her fingers around the base. They don't close. Her fingertips fall about a centimeter short of her thumb.

"Well," she says, tone forcibly casual. "At least you won't embarrass us in the video."

"That's all you have to say?" Chaeyoung is still gaping. "Somi, look at this thing."

"I'm looking at it. I'm literally holding it. Stop acting like you've never seen a cock."

"Not one like this."

Somi starts stroking. Slow, tight pulls from base to tip, her grip adjusting to accommodate the girth. Her palm is slick with nothing but her own sweat and it's not enough, so she leans forward and spits. A thick, glossy string that lands on the shaft and she spreads it with her fist, twisting on the upstroke. Chaeyoung reaches out tentatively and wraps her smaller hand around the shaft just below Somi's. Her fingers look even more inadequate against the thickness. She strokes in tandem, following Somi's rhythm, and you can see the fascination on her face. She's studying your cock like it's a specimen, tilting her head, watching the way the veins pulse under her fingers.

"I literally do not know how I'm going to fit this in my mouth," Chaeyoung says quietly.

"The harder it is to take, the hotter it'll look on camera," Somi says, pumping steadily. "Trust me. You're gonna look amazing struggling with it. Just try not to throw up on his cock. I'm not doing another take because your gag reflex decided to betray us."

Chaeyoung immediately scrunches up her face. "Ew. Why would you even say that?"

"Because I'm thinking ahead.”

You lean back in the chair, watching both of their hands work your shaft. "Somi, quick suggestion: instead of talking about vomit, maybe switch gears and give me a titjob. Feels a lot more productive.”

Somi's head snaps up. "Who do you think you are? Asking me for a titjob? This isn't about your pleasure, this is about our content. You have no rights here. You're a prop."

Chaeyoung glances between you and Somi. "Actually, that would look really good on camera,” you explain.

"Excuse me?"

"Think about it," you say, keeping your tone light, reasonable. "Your tits wrapped around my cock, all wet and shiny with spit. Glistening in the light. That's premium content. The timeline would lose their minds."

"God, fine!” Somi snaps. "But only because it'll look good. Not because you asked." She shifts forward on her knees, positioning herself between your legs. She grabs your cock and angles it straight up, then presses her breasts together around the shaft.

The visual is pornographic: your thick cock disappearing into the soft, warm valley of her massive tits, the head poking out from the top of her cleavage on every upstroke. "Chae, spit on it," she orders.

Chaeyoung leans in and spits on the head of your cock, a neat string that drips down the shaft and into Somi's cleavage. Somi starts moving, sliding her breasts up and down, using her hands to press them tight around you. The friction is insane. Warm and slick and pillowy, her soft skin squeezing your girth from both sides.

She finds her rhythm, bouncing her tits on your cock with smooth rolls of her torso. More spit from Chaeyoung. More from Somi herself, leaning down to drool on your shaft before pressing it back between her breasts. The saliva mixes with the thin sheen of sweat building on her skin, and soon her entire chest is glistening, your cock sliding effortlessly through the slick channel.

"There," Somi says, watching the head of your cock emerge from her cleavage on each upstroke. "Happy now?"

"Extremely."

"Enjoy it. This is the only titjob you'll ever get from these." She works you for another minute, her breasts bouncing and jiggling with each motion, wet and gleaming in the dusty light filtering through the blinds. Your cock throbs between them, flushed and leaking, leaving trails of precum that mix with the saliva coating her skin. Eventually Somi pulls back, her breasts separating from your shaft with a slick sound.

"Okay. Enough warmup. Time for the real thing." She grabs your cock and angles it toward her face. "Don't go easy on me. I can handle whatever you've got."

You put your hand on the back of her head. Blonde hair, silky and thick between your fingers. You pull her forward and your cock slides past her glossy lips, stretching them wide. Somi takes half of you on the first push, her jaw straining around the girth, and you feel her throat clench as you hit the back of her mouth. You pull back, then push again, deeper. Her eyes water but she doesn't flinch. She grabs your thighs and braces herself, and you start fucking her face with real momentum.

Somi is aggressive even when she's the one being used. She pushes back against your thrusts, trying to take more, making these low grunting sounds in her throat every time you bottom out. Spit builds fast, coating your shaft in thick, frothy ropes that drip from her chin onto her bare chest. Her lipgloss is the first casualty, smearing in wide, shiny streaks across her cheeks and along your cock.

You pull out and she gasps, spit hanging from her lower lip in long strings. "Harder," she demands. "Come on, nerd. That's all you've got?"

You grab a fistful of her hair and shove her back down. Harder this time. Faster. The slapping of her lips meeting your pelvis fills the classroom, wet and rhythmic and obscene. Her mascara starts to run. Dark streaks bleeding from the corners of her eyes, tracking down her cheekbones. Her contour, her foundation, all of it softening and smudging under the assault of spit and tears.

You pull out of Somi's mouth and angle your cock toward Chaeyoung. She's been kneeling beside Somi this whole time, watching with flushed cheeks and parted lips, her hands resting on her thighs. "Your turn," you say.

Chaeyoung takes a breath and opens her mouth. You guide yourself in gently, slower than you did with Somi. Her lips stretch around the head and she whimpers, high and soft, her brow creasing as the girth fills her mouth. You push in a few inches and feel her gag, her throat tightening, her hands flying to your hips.

You stop. Let her adjust. She breathes through her nose, her eyes squeezed shut, and then nods slightly. You push again, easing into a shallow rhythm, just the first half of your shaft sliding between her stretched lips. She's struggling. Her jaw isn't built for this. But she's trying, god is she trying, her tongue working the underside of your cock, her lips sealed tight despite the strain.

"Relax your throat," Somi coaches from beside her. "Stop fighting it. Let him in." Chaeyoung adjusts her angle, tilting her chin up, and on the next stroke you slide an inch deeper. She gags again but pushes through it, her fingers gripping your thighs, her eyes watering. The peachy blush on her cheeks is bleeding, her subtle eye makeup starting to track.

You alternate. A minute in Somi's mouth, rough and fast, her mascara running in black rivers while she glares up at you with those defiant eyes. Then a minute in Chaeyoung's, slower, gentler, watching her struggle and adapt and gradually take more of you. Between rounds, they lick your cock together. Somi on one side, Chaeyoung on the other, their tongues meeting at the tip in a messy, overlapping tangle. Chaeyoung giggles when their lips brush. Somi pretends she doesn't notice.

Somi grabs the back of Chaeyoung's head suddenly, fingers tangling in her dark hair, and pushes her down on your cock.

"Deeper," Somi orders. "Don't be a pussy about it. Take it." Chaeyoung's eyes go wide and she gags hard as your cock hits the back of her throat, but Somi holds her there, keeps her down. You feel Chaeyoung's throat spasm around the head of your cock and her fingers dig into your thighs. Somi eases up after a few seconds and Chaeyoung pulls off gasping, a thick web of spit connecting her lips to your shaft.

"See?" Somi says. "You can take it. You just needed a push."

"You're crazy," Chaeyoung breathes. But she's smiling.

She leans back in, licking along the shaft, and takes you into her mouth again on her own terms. Deeper. More confident. Her eyes find yours and stay there, glassy and adoring. Then Somi pushes Chaeyoung aside and swallows your cock to the base. All of it. Her nose pressing into your pelvis, her throat bulging, her eyes rolling back for just a second before she catches herself. She holds you there, breathing through her nose in sharp bursts, then pulls off and jacks you with both hands.

"Fuck," Somi mutters, staring at your cock. "Why does your stupid dick feel so good in my throat." She says it like she's genuinely annoyed about it.

You fuck her face until her foundation is gone entirely, until the careful contour is just a memory and her cheeks are flushed and raw and wet with tears and spit. You fuck Chaeyoung's face until her peachy blush is smeared sideways and her mascara has bled into dark smudges beneath her lashes. They take turns. They share. They kiss each other around the head of your cock, their ruined lips meeting in sloppy, wet passes, tasting each other and tasting you.

The pressure in your stomach is winding tight. The balls deep thrusts into Somi's willing throat, the sweet suction of Chaeyoung's eager mouth, the visual of two beautiful, wrecked girls on their knees fighting over your cock. You won't last.

"I'm close," you tell them.

Somi pulls off immediately, gripping the base of your cock with one hand. "On our faces. Stand up."

You stand. Your legs are shaky but you manage. Somi and Chaeyoung press their cheeks together, kneeling side by side in front of you, looking up. You stroke your cock over their faces. Fast, tight pulls, your fist slick with the accumulated spit of both their mouths. Somi's hand comes up and wraps around yours, helping you pump, her eyes locked on the head of your cock inches from her face.

And then you cum. The first shot catches Somi across the bridge of her nose and her right cheek, a thick white rope that clings to her skin and starts to drip. She flinches and then holds still, jaw clenched, taking it. The second hits her forehead and tracks into her hairline. The third you aim at Chaeyoung, a long, heavy streak from her eyebrow down across her cheek to the corner of her open mouth. She gasps, her tongue darting out to catch what landed on her lips, and she moans.

More. A fourth shot across Chaeyoung's nose, landing on Somi's cheek where their faces are pressed together. A fifth that paints Chaeyoung's chin in a thick, dripping coat. A sixth, weaker, that drips from the tip of your cock onto Somi's chest, landing between her glistening breasts.

Chaeyoung is glowing, cum splattered across her flushed face and dripping down to her collarbone. She's smiling like she means it. Genuine and gorgeous. She licks the mess off her lips and laughs, breathless and bubbly, like getting painted with your load is the highlight of her day.

Somi wipes cum out of her right eye and stares at the evidence stringing between her fingers. "Okay," she admits, chest still heaving. "That was pretty fucking hot.”

She stands, crosses to the shelf where her phone is propped, and brings it close to their faces. She angles the screen so the camera captures both of them in tight frame. Glazed, ruined, beautiful. "Say goodbye," Somi tells Chaeyoung.

Chaeyoung waves at the lens with her fingers, cum still webbed between them. Then Somi turns Chaeyoung's face toward hers and kisses her. Soft, brief, their cum smeared lips pressing together and pulling apart with a slick sound. Both of them grinning when it's done.

"That turned out great," she announces, scrubbing through the footage. "The angle caught everything. The titjob, both of us choking, the facial, the kiss. This is premium content."

Chaeyoung wipes her cheek with the back of her hand and looks at you. "Thank you. Seriously. That was actually really fun."

"Anytime," you say, pulling your boxers and jeans back up.

Somi goes to her bag, pulling out wet wipes and a compact mirror. She starts cleaning her face with brisk, efficient motions, checking her reflection between each pass. Chaeyoung walks up to you while Somi is distracted. She's still got traces of cum on her jaw and she doesn't seem to care. She pulls out her phone.

"Can you follow me on Insta? I'd love to chat sometime. Outside of, you know, this whole situation."

You take out your phone. She tells you her handle and you type it in. Her page loads. Aesthetic photos, cute selfies, pictures of coffee and cats. You hit follow.

"I'll text you tonight," she promises. "For real. Not just saying that."

"I believe you."

Somi's reflection catches Chaeyoung in the mirror. "Chae, you know you're way too pretty for him, right? You could do so much better."

Chaeyoung rolls her eyes. "Don't listen to her. She's like that with literally every person on the planet."

"I'm used to the type," you say.

Somi snaps her compact shut. "Okay, we're done here. You can leave now. We don't need you anymore. Go study or whatever it is you do."

You grab your backpack from the corner, sling it over your shoulder. Chaeyoung gives you a little wave, her fingers wiggling, that warm smile still on her face. You wave back.

"Bye, nerd," Somi calls without looking up from her phone.

You push through the heavy door and step into the empty hallway, adjusting your glasses and shifting your backpack as you start toward the stairs. Behind you, through the closed door, you can still hear Chaeyoung complaining about the dust.

Two days. Two separate encounters. Two groups of gorgeous girls actively searching for you because of the same completely insane Twitter challenge. At this point, you're not even questioning it anymore.

This is very quickly becoming the best week of your life. And, to be honest, you’re more than ready to see how much weirder it gets.

—

The lecture hall slowly empties around you while you're still shoving your laptop into your bag. Your phone vibrates against the desk. Instagram DM. Chaeyoung. Her name appears with the little sparkle emoji from her profile, and you catch yourself smiling.

hey! how was class? hope ur not dying of boredom 🥲

You type back as you walk into the corridor. The conversation flows easier than you expected. She tells you about her morning, complains about her statistics professor, asks what you're studying. You mention you've been into a sci fi book lately and it turns out she's read it twice. She sends a screenshot of her bookshelf and half the titles are ones you own. The exchange feels weirdly normal. Like she's a person, not the girl who was on her knees beside Somi yesterday with cum dripping off her chin.

Then a notification slides down from the top of your screen.

Instagram DM. Huh_Yunjin.

You stop walking in the middle of the hallway.

hey 🤍 you free rn?

You open the DM and instantly do what literally anyone would do. You tap her profile. Black and white profile pic. Dark lipstick. Looking unfairly good for no reason. Almost a million followers. Yeah. That tracks. You scroll a little. Pictures that somehow survive Instagram moderation by the smallest possible margin. Sheer tops. Suspicious camera angles. Captions written like ongoing jokes between her and her followers. A tiny link in her bio leads exactly where you'd expect.

You know what this is about. You'd have to be brain dead not to. You reply:

wyd?

wanna give you a little something. trust me, you’re not gonna regret it

where r u

the theater room. building C, the big one with the stage. place is empty rn. just me. come find me 😈

how do i know this isn't some prank

Typing dots. Gone. She gives up on whatever she was typing. Then an Instagram notification slides onto your screen.

Photo • View Once.

Yunjin is in front of a full length mirror backstage somewhere, phone angled to catch herself in profile. Her plaid skirt is bunched up around her hips. No panties. The curve of her ass is right there, the dip of her lower back, one hand lifting the fabric to show you everything. A cropped top that barely contains her. Heels. Her face turned slightly toward the camera with a smirk that says she does this kind of thing on Tuesdays for fun.

The photo disappears. A new message pops up almost immediately.

does that seriously look like a prank? been watching you for a while you're cute i'm interested. but hurry up. i'm not sitting here waiting all day

omw🏃

You shove your phone in your pocket and start walking faster.

Building C is across the quad. You take the path behind the library, the longer one, less foot traffic. Halfway there you stop and dig into the small zippered pocket of your backpack. A little plastic bag, sealed tight, three gummies left inside. Small, innocent looking, red and shaped like cartoon bears. You bought a whole bulk order after that stream went viral last year. The one with the two streamers who lost their minds on camera. You only tuned in because Hyeju was supposed to make a guest appearance, and you stayed because, well, the clips that came out of that night are still floating around the seedier corners of Twitter for a reason.

You pop one into your mouth and bite down. Sweet. Faint chemical aftertaste. You feel it start to dissolve under your tongue.

This thing is going to load your balls up like you've been edging for a week. The first time you tried one you came so much you genuinely thought something was wrong with you. Now you keep them around for special occasions, mostly solo sessions, but lately the universe has been throwing special occasions at you like it owes you back pay.

Four girls in three days. All from the same circle. This whole hot little clique of certified sluts is going through you like a relay race, and you're still undecided on whether that should hurt your pride or massively inflate your ego.

You push through the theater doors and lock them behind you with the inside latch. The auditorium is dark. Rows of empty seats descending toward the stage, which is lit warm and amber by the work lights overhead. You walk down the center aisle, your sneakers quiet on the carpet.

"Are you sure this is a safe place for this," you call out as you reach the stairs leading up to the stage.

A figure straightens up from behind one of the prop tables near the back of the stage. She steps into the warm pool of light, and yeah. Okay.

Yunjin in person is something else.

Tall. Legs that go forever, made even longer by the black heels strapped around her ankles. The plaid skirt from the photo, riding high on her thighs. A black crop top with thin straps, her stomach toned and bare, the slight curve of her chest visible underneath. Her hair is blonde. Freshly done, by the look of it, that bright platinum that catches every bit of stage light. Full pouty lips painted a glossy plum that's already smudged slightly at one corner. Sharp eyes. Mischief lives in them.

"My friend works here," she says, stopping a step away from you. "She runs lighting for the drama department. She told me the building is dead until evening rehearsal. We've got at least an hour, probably more." She looks you up and down, slow, taking inventory. "I'm glad you actually showed up."

"You called me."

"I did call you." She grins. "Not gonna do the whole introduction thing because everyone here knows who I am. Let's save the time. There's this Twitter challenge going around right now. Me and my girls all jumped on it. The premise is pretty simple. I need to get absolutely ruined on camera by a guy who looks exactly like you." Her hands come up and find the collar of your shirt, fingers playing with the fabric. "You're perfect for this," she tells you. "Glasses, the messy hair, the whole shy genius thing. I clocked you in the cafeteria last week. You were mumbling to yourself about some equation, and I thought, yeah. Him. Definitely him."

"I've heard about the challenge."

Her eyebrows lift. "Oh, really?"

"Word gets around." You hold her gaze. "I'm in."

"Smart boy." Her hand drops from your collar and slides down your chest, your stomach, and lands square on the front of your jeans. She squeezes lightly. "Oh, look at this. You're already hard. Is that for me?"

"That picture would make a dead man hard."

She laughs, head tipped back, her throat exposed. "Listen to you. I expected some stuttering little nerd, all sweaty palms and broken sentences. You're way more confident than I gave you credit for."

Your hands find her waist. She's warm under your palms, her skin smooth where your thumbs rest against her bare stomach. You let one hand slide down and around, palming the curve of her ass through the skirt. Squeezing. It's even better than the photo suggested. Thick and full and firm under your fingers.

"Mm." She presses into your hand. "Yeah, okay. You can definitely keep doing that." She squeezes your cock through your jeans again, harder this time, mapping out the shape of you. Her grin widens. "Wait. Hold on." She squeezes again. "What are you packing under here? This feels promising."

"You'll find out."

"I'm finding out right now, apparently." She leans her face close to yours, plum lips almost brushing your mouth. "This video is gonna be way better than I planned. I was expecting cute and mid. This is feeling more like cute and dangerous."

"I'll do my best."

"Yeah? Tell me what you're gonna do."

"I'm going to make you gag on it until you can't talk straight. I want to see you wrecked. Drooling on yourself. Huh Yunjin choking on my cock until your makeup is in your lap."

"Fuck yes. That's the energy." She closes the distance and kisses you.

She kisses like she's trying to eat you alive. Plum gloss smearing, tongue immediately in your mouth, both hands fisting the front of your shirt and pulling you against her. You back her up two steps until she hits the prop table behind her, and your hands are everywhere. Up her sides, palming the soft swell of her chest through that thin top, down to grab two handfuls of her ass and pull her tight against you. She rolls her hips into your bulge and groans into your mouth.

You make out for what feels like a while. Long enough that you're both breathing hard, her gloss completely gone from her lips and smudged across yours, her hair mussed where your fingers tangled in it. She pulls back, panting. "Okay. Okay, let's actually do this before I get carried away and just ride you in a folding chair." She steps out of your reach. "I'm gonna get undressed."

"All the way?"

"All the way." She's already reaching back to unzip the skirt. "If we're doing this, we're doing it properly. None of this half clothed business. I want my whole body in frame."

She undresses without an ounce of self consciousness. The skirt drops to the floor and she steps out of it. The crop top comes off over her head and her hair tumbles back down around her shoulders. Just heels left. She stands there in the warm stage light, completely bare, hands on her hips, watching you watch her.

She is staggering. Toned legs flowing up into thick thighs that gap at the top. Her ass round and full behind her. Her chest is small, soft, her nipples pierced with delicate silver bars catching the light. A subtle line of definition down her stomach. Her plum lips swollen from the kissing, her eye makeup still mostly intact, sharp and dark.

"Well," she says, doing a slow turn for you. "What's the verdict, professor?"

"You're perfect."

"Correct answer." She picks up her phone from the table, taps it into camera mode, and hands it to you. "Don't drop it. And try to keep me in frame, but don't worry about being artsy. The chaos is the point." She sinks down to her knees on the wooden stage floor, looking up at you. The amber lights catch her hair and turn it almost gold. She tilts her head, smirks, runs her tongue slowly along her lower lip. "Alright, babe. Let's see what we're working with."

Her hands settle on the front of your pants.

Yunjin’s fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants with an ease that makes it immediately clear this isn’t new territory for her. And definitely not the weirdest place she’s done it. She keeps looking up at you while she works the button open, her glossy lips curved in that teasing little smile, blonde hair falling over one shoulder as she tugs the zipper down.

“You’re trying so hard to look calm,” she says, amused, her knuckles brushing the hard outline of you through your underwear. “It’s cute. I can feel your dick jumping every time I touch you.”

“You’re naked on your knees in front of me,” you answer. “I’d be more worried if I looked calm.”

She laughs under her breath and pulls your pants down with your underwear in one smooth motion. Your cock springs out hard, heavy, already leaking precum from the kissing and the gummy spreading heat through your veins. Yunjin actually goes silent. You watch the reaction hit in stages. First surprise. Eyes widening. Taking a second look. Then comes the grin. Slow, filthy, pure excitement.

“Oh my god,” she says, sitting back on her heels. “No fucking way.”

You glance down at her, trying not to grin too much. “Still think I’m just cute and dorky?”

“Shut up, I’m processing.” She wraps one hand around the base, and her fingers don’t close all the way. That makes her smile wider. “I knew it. I fucking knew it. Quiet guys are always hiding something evil in their pants. This might be the biggest dick I’ve ever had in my mouth, and I’m not even saying that to boost your nerd ego.”

“That’s a pretty strong review.”

“I have experience. My review matters.” She strokes once, slow, her thumb dragging along the underside. “Jesus. It’s not even just long. It’s fat. Like, I’m gonna feel personally disrespected by my own jaw in ten minutes.”

She leans in and spits directly onto the head, letting the saliva slide down before she spreads it with her palm. Her hand moves over you with immediate ease, slicking you up, twisting around the ridge, cupping the head, rubbing the wetness down the shaft until your cock gleams under the stage lights. She watches the shine build with open appreciation.

“Pretty,” she murmurs, smiling to herself before lightly tapping your cock against her cheek. Once. Then again. Soft little smacks against skin. She tilts her head, looking way too pleased. “Jesus. Look at this thing.” Her grin widens. “This is absolutely gonna ruin me.”

She drags the underside over her lips, leaving a wet smear of saliva and precum across the plum gloss. Her mouth opens slightly, tongue slipping out to trace the swollen head. She gives you one slow lick, then kisses the tip like she’s flirting with it, her eyes staying locked on yours the whole time.

“You know what’s dangerous?” she says, rubbing your cock along her lower lip. “I can already tell I’m gonna be stupid about this. I’m supposed to make a cute little challenge video and go home, but this dick looks like it could ruin my plans for the week.”

“You’ve barely started.”

“I know. That’s the problem.” She opens her mouth wider and lets the head rest on her tongue. “I’m excited.” Then she takes you in.

The first slide into her mouth is hot, wet, and far too smooth for something that should be difficult. Her lips stretch around the girth, glossy and plush, sealing tight as she sinks lower. You feel her tongue flatten beneath you, guiding the shaft in a practiced line, easing the thickness over the middle of her tongue and toward the back of her throat. She doesn’t rush. She doesn’t panic. She makes room.

You swear under your breath when she takes more than half of you on the first try. Yunjin hums around your cock, pleased with the reaction, and pulls up slowly until only the head remains between her lips. Her cheeks hollow, suction tightening in a way that nearly makes your knees buckle. She swirls her tongue around the ridge, collects the slickness gathering there, then sinks down again, deeper this time, both hands on your thighs for balance.

Yeah, okay. She absolutely knows what she’s doing. There’s skill in the way she moves, not just enthusiasm. She angles her head to take the girth without scraping teeth. She uses her tongue constantly, dragging it along the underside, pressing into the sensitive strip beneath the head whenever she pulls back. Her lips never loosen. Every inch of you gets attention, and when she reaches the point where most girls would stop, she relaxes her jaw, breathes through her nose, and keeps going.

Your cock hits the back of her throat. She gags once, barely, more like her body acknowledging the size than refusing it. Her hands squeeze your thighs. Her eyes flutter, watery already, but she forces another inch down until her lips are close to the base. Then, with a slow, obscene determination, she swallows around you and noses against your pelvis.

“Fuck,” you say, because there isn’t anything smarter available in your brain.

She pulls off with a slick gasp, saliva stretching from her mouth to your cock before breaking across her chin. Her lips are swollen and wet, the plum gloss already smeared beyond repair. “See?” she says, breathing hard but grinning. “Made for it.”

“You weren’t exaggerating.”

“I never exaggerate about head. That’s sacred.” She strokes you in one hand while the other drops to your balls, cupping them with a reverence that surprises you. Her eyes lower. “Oh, these are heavy. What the hell are you feeding them?”

“Would you believe gummy bears?”

She looks up sharply, amused. “Don’t joke with me while I’m worshipping your balls.”

“I’m not joking.”

She studies your face for a second, then laughs. “You’re weird. I like it.” Her fingers roll your balls gently, feeling the weight, her tongue slipping out to lick along the base of your shaft. “These are going to make an insane mess of me, aren’t they?”

“That’s the plan.”

“That better be a promise.” She bends lower and takes one of your balls into her mouth, lips sealing around it, tongue moving with slow, wet attention. Her hand keeps stroking your cock while she sucks gently, then switches to the other, giving it the same treatment. The stage lights catch every trail of saliva on her chin, every smudge of makeup beginning to soften around her mouth. She looks completely at home like this, naked, kneeling, eyes bright with hunger.

“You have no idea how hot this is,” she says between kisses along your shaft. “Your cock is stupid big, your balls are full, and you look like you still think this is a weird dream you’re gonna wake up from.”

"It’s crossed my mind, yeah.”

“Don’t wake up. I’m not done being a slut for you.” She goes back down on you, more aggressive now. Her hand grips the base while her mouth works the upper half, fast and wet, tongue flicking, lips dragging, throat opening whenever she decides to take you deep. She alternates between worship and hunger, kissing your shaft, licking the veins, spitting on it again when she wants more slickness, rubbing the mess over you with her palm before swallowing you down.

Your phone stays in your hand, recording, the frame centered on her face. It catches everything. The way her lips stretch around you. The way her eyes lift to the lens whenever she takes you deep. The slow collapse of her makeup. Plum lipstick smeared across her chin, mascara damp at the corners, saliva slipping down her neck and onto the small rise of her chest.

She pulls off, panting, and slaps the head of your cock against her tongue twice before rubbing it over her lips. “I’m getting attached,” she says, almost accusatory. “That’s so unfair. You show up with this fat thing and expect me to act normal after?”

"You invited me."

"Yeah, and now this cock is mine. I'm calling dibs." She plants another wet kiss on the tip, then smiles up at you from below with spit running down her chin and eyes half-lidded from sheer arousal.

Yunjin leans in and swallows you deep again, this time she doesn't pull back when her throat tightens, the discomfort is part of the pleasure, swallowing repeatedly, forcing herself to adjust, her eyes watering harder, completely red now. You feel the muscles contracting around your cock, feel her body working to accept every inch. You watch as her thighs press together beneath her, the shine between them highlighted by the overhead stage lights when she shifts.

"Fuck, you're soaked," you groan.

She pulls off just enough to speak, lips still brushing the head. "Obviously I am. Do you have any idea what it's like having this monster prying my mouth open? My pussy's been dripping since I saw it." Her hand slides between her legs for one quick touch, collecting the proof of just how much of a slut she is, then she shows the wet shine on her fingers to the camera with a shameless smile.

"See? Your fault." She licks her own fingers making an obscene sound that makes your cock throb, then looks up at you. "Okay. I want it now."

"Want what?"

Her smile turns wicked. "Don't play dumb. Grab my hair and use my throat. I've been nice to your dick. Now ruin me for the video. Fuck my face, I know you're dying to do it."

"Alright, since you insist." Your free hand slides into her blonde hair, gripping close to the scalp. Yunjin opens her mouth immediately, tongue out, waiting, that look of a bitch in heat as deliberate as it is involuntary. You guide her forward and push your cock between her lips. Yunjin accepts the first thrust with a deep inhale through her nose, then braces her hands against your thighs.

You start hard right away. There's no need to build a rhythm when you already know what Huh Yunjin is capable of. Your thrusts are deep, each one pressing into her throat, nothing brutal yet but firm enough that her body has to be actively working to keep from gagging badly on your cock. Her eyes start watering again. Her lips stretch around you, swollen and slick. Saliva spills from the corners of her mouth almost immediately, pooling under her chin before dripping onto her chest.

Yunjin takes it beautifully.

The more you give her, the more alive she looks. She doesn't retreat from the roughness. She leans forward, seeking more force, gripping your thighs and letting you control the angle while she focuses on relaxing her throat around every thrust. A professional cocksucker, indeed. Your cock slides in and out of her mouth with wet sounds that echo louder and louder across the vastness of the theater, the camera catching her face coming undone in real time like a painting in the rain.

The lipstick is no longer neat, smeared across her cheeks and your shaft, purple and red streaks mixing with spit. Her mascara begins to run in thin lines, and when Yunjin looks up at you through wet lashes, you see genuine happiness stamped across her ruined face; it's beautiful to witness such raw passion in simply being the biggest slut on campus.

"Fuck, Yunjin," you say, driving deeper. "You really can take it."

She tries to answer around your cock and only manages a garbled, eager sound. Her hands go to your hips, pulling you forward — a clear signal for you to pick up the pace. So you fuck her mouth harder. Your hips slam into her face, your hand holding her in place, and every deep thrust makes her throat bulge and clench. She gags, recovers, takes it again. Tears spill freely now, cutting through the makeup on her cheeks. Drool runs down her neck in thick streams, sliding over her collarbone, dripping onto her small breasts and leaving glossy trails across her nipples.

You pull out to let her breathe. She inhales sharply, laughs, and spits a filthy string of saliva onto your cock.

"That's it. That's the clip. Holy shit, keep going. We're making history. My pussy is literally dripping onto the stage right now. How do I look?"

"You already look completely ruined," you tell her. "In other words: pretty fucking hot."

"Good. Make it worse then." Yunjin rubs her cheek against your shaft, nuzzling affectionately like she has genuine fondness for the thing destroying her face. "This cock is too fucking good. I hate that I found you through a trend. I should've hunted you down weeks ago. My bad."

You push back into her mouth, and she takes you with that same hunger. Now the rhythm is getting rougher and less careful, driven by the gummy bear's effect creeping through your bloodstream. Your balls feel heavy, too full, aching with all the pressure, and Yunjin notices. Her hand reaches down to cup them while you fuck her throat, squeezing gently, rolling them between her fingers.

The rhythm is partially interrupted when you see her thighs starting to tremble. You notice a full-body tremor rolling through her before she finally locks up completely. Both hands clench around you, fingers digging in, her throat contracts hard around your cock in thick, rhythmic pulses. She's cumming. Unironically, she's cumming right there on her knees with your cock buried in her throat, cumming just from having a cock in her mouth. Her eyes blow wide, then roll back until only the whites are visible, lashes fluttering as tears cut down her ruined face. Her whole body shudders and her hips jerks against nothing. You've never seen anything this hot in your life.

When you pull back to let Yunjin breathe again, you ask: "Holy fuck, d-did you just cum?"

She slumps forward with forehead pressing against your thigh, laughing in these ragged, wrecked little gasps. "I told you I was a slut." She tilts her face up and there's mascara smeared everywhere, along with spit, tears, and pure satisfaction. "Don't act so surprised." She drags the back of her hand across her chin and only smears it worse. "A cock like that shoved down my throat? Yeah. That's what happens."

"That's, like, really insane."

"That's talent, babe. Now put it back." You do, of course, and she gives herself over with even less restraint. The next stretch is messy beyond any salvation. She alternates between taking full-on facefucking and pulling you out to worship the head, tongue circling, lips sucking hard, hands pumping the base. The dirty talk pours out nonstop whenever her mouth is free because she simply can't contain herself, and you love that about her.

"This is mine now," she says, pumping you with both hands. "I'm serious. You don't get to walk around campus with this fat cock pretending it's public property. I found it, I choked on it, I came from it, so I have rights."

"Okay so you're making legal claims now?"

"Sexual claims. Way more serious." She kisses your tip, leaving a ruined smear of lipstick and spit. "You know, I'm going to think about this in class from now on. I'm going to be sitting there pretending to take notes while remembering how your cock stretched my throat open.”

Your orgasm starts building for real, low and heavy, dragged out by the gummy until it feels almost too intense. Yunjin senses the shift and pulls off, wrapping both hands around your cock. Her grip is slick, fast, frantic, using all the spit coating you. “You close?”

“Yeah.”

“On my face,” she says instantly. “All over it. Don’t waste a drop anywhere boring. I want to look disgusting.”

She jerks you harder, her hands sliding from base to tip in quick, wet strokes. Her ruined face is right below the head of your cock, eyes locked on you, mouth open, tongue visible between glossy lips. “Come on,” she urges. “Make me pretty. Paint this slutty face. I want it in my hair, on my lips, down my neck. Give me that huge nerd load. I know you’ve got it.”

The pressure snaps. The first jet hits her cheekbone hard, thick and white, streaking toward her ear. Yunjin gasps, delighted, and doesn’t stop stroking you. The second shoots across her forehead and into the roots of her blonde hair. The third lands over her nose and upper lip, splattering hot across the smeared makeup. She laughs, breathless and amazed, pumping you faster. “Holy fuck,” she says. “There’s so much.”

More comes. Another heavy rope spills over her open mouth, coating her tongue before sliding down her chin. She tilts your cock with one hand, aiming the next burst at her neck, and it paints a thick line down her throat. She drags the head lower, still milking you, and more cum spurts across her collarbone and small breasts, catching on her nipples and dripping toward her stomach.

It keeps going. The gummy turns the orgasm into something ridiculous, relentless, your cock pulsing over and over while Yunjin works every contraction out of you. She aims you back at her face for the final spurts, letting them splatter across her lips and jaw, adding more white to the ruined plum and black makeup already smeared everywhere.

By the time the last weak pulse drips from the tip, she is covered. Face, neck, chest, the top of her stomach. Cum clings to her lashes, streaks through her hair, sits thick on her lips. She stares down at herself, stunned for half a second, then bursts into laughter.

“Oh my god,” she says, genuinely amazed. “What are you, a fucking fire hose?”

You’re still catching your breath, phone aimed directly at her. The frame catches her kneeling there in the stage lights, naked and trembling, grinning through a mask of cum and destroyed makeup.

Yunjin lifts her chin toward the camera and smiles like she knows exactly how filthy she looks. She drags one finger through the cum on her cheek, brings it to her mouth, and tastes it slowly.

“Yummy,” she says, making sure the camera catches the way her tongue cleans her fingertip.

Then she pouts at the lens, exaggerated and sexy, lips glossy with your cum, eyes half lidded and sparkling with trouble. She holds the pose long enough to make the ending perfect.

You stop recording. For a moment, both of you just stand there in the afterglow of it, the empty theater silent around you except for Yunjin’s uneven breathing. She rises carefully, one hand finding the edge of the prop table to steady herself. Her knees shake a little, and she laughs again when she notices.

“That,” she says, pointing at you with a cum covered finger, “was the best blowjob, deep throat, facefucking situation I have ever been part of. And I’ve got an extensive resume.”

You pull your underwear and pants back up, still sensitive enough that even the fabric brushing you makes you wince. “Glad I ranked highly.”

“Highly? Babe, you broke the scale.” She looks down at the mess on her chest, then back at your jeans like she can still see through them. “I’m obsessed. That’s so annoying. I was supposed to film a hot clip, post it, brag in the group chat, and move on with my life. Now I’m standing here covered in your cum wondering if I can fit you into my schedule as a recurring problem.”

“That sounds flattering.”

“It’s extremely flattering. Don’t let it make you arrogant.” She bends down carefully, picking her clothes off the floor one by one. She doesn’t put anything on yet, probably because there is no clean way to do it while coated like this. “Are you free tonight?”

You pause with your belt half fastened. “Tonight?”

“Yeah. My place.”

“I thought you got what you needed.”

“With you?” She gives you a look that makes it very clear how stupid she thinks that sentence was. “No, babe. I have so many things I need to do with your dick that I should not start listing them, because if I do, I’ll get wet again and try to fuck you right here on this stage before the drama kids show up.”

You glance toward the backstage hallway. “How are you getting rid of all of that?”

“There are showers behind the dressing rooms.” She waves it off, completely unconcerned. “I’ve made bigger messes here during tech week. Don’t worry about me.”

“You’re really inviting me over after this?”

“I’m not inviting. I’m claiming.” She steps closer, still naked, still streaked with cum, and taps a finger against your chest. “I’ll send you my address on IG. Come tonight. Bring that cock, bring the weird gummy thing if that’s part of your magic, and don’t make plans for tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll be there,” you say.

“Good. And hey. Seriously. That was insane.”

“You were insane.”

“I know. That’s why people like me.” You hand her phone back. She checks the video quickly, scrubbing through the timeline with professional focus despite the fact that cum is still dripping from her chin onto her chest.

“Oh, this is disgusting,” she says happily. “Perfect. The lighting is hot, my face looks wrecked, your dick looks criminal. I might not even have to edit much. Maybe just cut the parts where I was yapping my ass off about being in love with your cock.”

“Glad the production value survived.”

“Barely. My dignity did not, but that wasn’t invited.” She heads toward the backstage showers with her clothes bundled in one arm, hips swaying, heels clicking lightly on the stage floor. Before disappearing behind the curtain, she turns back, still grinning. “Tonight,” she says. “Don’t make me chase you.”

You leave the stage feeling absurdly good about yourself. The theater doors shut behind you, and the hallway outside is empty, too normal for what just happened. Your legs are steady enough now, your breathing mostly back.

Four girls so far. Not that you're counting. Okay, maybe a little. Asa. Somi and Chaeyoung. Now Yunjin. Two more should still be out there somewhere. You head back toward the main campus mentally preparing for the next completely normal and not concerning interaction of the week.

—

The park looks stupidly nice today. One of those afternoons where the lighting is so good everything suddenly feels edited. Trees glowing, grass looking greener than usual, the whole thing straight out of a stock photo. Families on blankets. Dogs losing their minds over frisbees. People jogging. Just regular people doing regular Thursday stuff.

Shuhua walks beside Ning with a cherry popsicle in hand, somehow managing to eat it with impossible levels of grace. No sticky fingers. No drips. Every little movement neat and automatic, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth between bites. Her pale blue dress shifts softly around her ankles in the breeze, dark hair pinned back with a single clip. Between the sunlight and the whole effortless look she's got going on, she barely feels real.

Next to Shuhua, Ning looks like the opposite side of the same coin. Tiny shorts, cropped tank, dark hair down around her shoulders. The center part frames her face in a way that somehow makes her eyes stand out even more. People call her features feline all the time. Mostly because of her eyes. Sharp. Alert. Always tracking everything around her.

"Have you seen Yunjin's numbers?" Ning asks, scrolling her phone while walking, a skill she's perfected over years of content creation. "Forty thousand views in twelve hours. Forty thousand. And she barely edited. The color grading is flat and the audio peaks twice. Imagine if she'd actually put effort into post."

Shuhua takes another careful bite of her popsicle. "I thought her video was quite good, actually."

"It was fine. Asa's was better. The library setting, the composition, the slow buildup. That's how you do it." Ning locks her phone and slides it into her back pocket. "The point is, we're the only ones who haven't filmed yet. Somi and Chaeyoung posted theirs this morning. Asa posted yesterday. Yunjin went up last night. We're falling behind."

"It's not a race, Ning."

"Everything is a race when likes are involved." She glances sideways at Shuhua. "I can't afford to lose momentum. My account gained six hundred followers just from reposting Asa's clip with commentary. If I post my own content from the trend while it's still peaking, the engagement will be insane. But we need to find someone today."

Shuhua finishes the last bite of her popsicle and holds the bare stick between two fingers, looking around for a trash can. "I agree we should film soon. I've been thinking about it more than I expected, honestly. The idea is growing on me."

"Growing on you how?"

A faint blush spreads across Shuhua's cheeks, barely noticeable against her pale skin. She looks away for a second. "I'd rather not get into that in the middle of a public park.”

Ning grins. "That's all the elaboration I needed."

They round a bend in the path and that's when Shuhua spots you. Sitting on the grass under an oak tree, legs crossed, a paperback open in your lap. Earbuds in. Glasses catching the afternoon light. Completely oblivious to the world around you, which is your default state and, apparently, your most attractive quality. "I know him," Shuhua says, slowing her pace. "He's in my Wednesday seminar. Quiet. Sits in the back row. He's quite smart, from what I can tell."

Ning studies you with the detached precision of a photographer framing a shot. "I've seen him around too. Library, mostly. Always alone, always reading." She tilts her head. "He's got the look. The glasses, the messy hair, the whole unaware thing. The contrast would photograph beautifully."

They exchange a glance. Shuhua raises one eyebrow. Ning nods once.

"Together?" Shuhua asks.

"Together." Shuhua deposits her popsicle stick in a trash can along the path and the two of them walk across the grass toward you. Their shadows fall over your book before you register their presence. You pull one earbud out and look up.

Oh. Sure. The last two.

Ning shifts her weight onto one hip and studies you quietly. Not openly suspicious, not exactly friendly either. Up close, she's honestly more striking than her photos ever made her seem. You've seen her Instagram enough times to know that. There's something magnetic about her in person. The sharpness of her features. The unwavering eye contact. Like once she looks at you, looking away becomes your responsibility.

And then there's Shuhua. You keep trying to come up with a better word for it, but ethereal is annoyingly accurate. Pale skin glowing under the sunlight, big dark eyes, delicate features that somehow look even softer up close. She has her hands folded in front of her dress so neatly that she looks like she belongs at some afternoon tea party, not here near you.

It's incredible, genuinely, how you went from being invisible on this campus to being the gravitational center of the six hottest girls at the university. One week. Seven days of your previously unremarkable life, and suddenly you can't sit in a park without attracting beautiful women who want to use your cock for content.

"Have you heard of a Twitter trend called Ruin the Pretty Face?" Ning asks, skipping past any greeting.

"Yeah,” you say, closing your book. "It's gotten huge lately. Honestly kind of wild.”

"We want to record a video," Shuhua adds, her tone polite as ever, like she's asking you to proofread an essay. "With you. If you're willing."

You look around the park. Families. Dogs. Vendors selling popcorn and ice cream. A man flying a kite about thirty meters away. "Here? Right now?"

"Not here, obviously," Ning says. "I drove today. We can film in my car. Tinted windows, good camera, plenty of privacy."

"And both of you are recording this together."

"Yes," they say in unison.

You let that sink in for approximately half a second before your brain finishes its cost benefit analysis.

"Okay," you say, standing up and tucking the book under your arm. Shuhua falls into step beside you as the three of you start walking toward the parking area. Ning leads, phone already out, checking the light conditions, probably calculating optimal filming angles based on where her car is parked relative to the sun.

"Can I ask you something?" Shuhua asks gently. Her hands remain clasped as she walks, pale blue fabric shifting around her calves with every step.

"Go ahead."

"Has any girl ever approached you before asking for the same thing? For this challenge, I mean."

You don't hesitate. "No. You two are the first crazy ones to come up to me with something like this."

Shuhua nods, seemingly satisfied. "Good. I'd feel strange if we weren't the first. It would change the dynamic."

Ning glances back over her shoulder. "The dynamic's fine. Let's stay focused." The parking garage is only about a five minute walk from the park. Ning's SUV is parked on the second level, black with windows tinted dark enough to look at least a little suspicious. She unlocks it with her key fob and jerks her head toward the back door. "Get in the back.”

You climb in. The interior is clean, almost obsessively so. No fast food wrappers, no loose change, no clutter. Just a faint scent of clean air and leather. Shuhua slides in on your left, gathering her long dress around her legs with careful, ladylike precision. Ning gets in on your right, pulling the door shut with a solid thunk. The tinted windows turn the afternoon light dim and amber. You're sandwiched between them. Shuhua's thigh brushes yours through her linen dress. Ning's bare leg presses warm against your other side.

Ning reaches into a bag near the front seat and produces a compact makeup kit, the professional kind with multiple compartments and a lighted mirror. She flips it open and starts touching up her face, quick and efficient. Then she hands it to Shuhua, who applies a careful layer of lip tint and a fresh coat of mascara, checking her reflection from three different angles before she's satisfied.

"We'll record on my phone," Ning announces, then hands you the device. "Hold it. I want mobility in the shot. Don't shake it, keep us in frame, and don't film anything identifiable about the car."

"I can handle it." You barely stop yourself from smiling. She has no clue you've somehow ended up doing this three separate times in the same week. At this point you could probably run a masterclass on filming angles for horny Twitter content. "Trust me.”

"We'll see." Ning turns to face you more fully, one leg tucking beneath her on the seat. "And one more warning. You're cumming in my mouth. Tell us when you're about to blow, because I’m not letting you make a mess in my car. Understood? Now get that cock hard."

Two hands find your lap simultaneously. Ning's on the right, confident and direct, her fingers pressing against the growing shape beneath your jeans. Shuhua's on the left, lighter, more tentative, her touch exploratory as it traces the outline of you through the fabric.

Ning leans in first, kissing you without much hesitation. Her lips are cool and smooth, carrying the faint taste of gloss. A quiet hum leaves her before she pulls away again. Then Shuhua takes her place.

The shift is instant. Shuhua kisses more softly, more carefully, barely parting her lips at first. But her hand around your cock tightens slightly, betraying nerves or excitement. She still tastes faintly like cherry from the popsicle. When your tongue brushes against hers, her breathing catches and a small surprised sound slips out before she can stop it.

Then suddenly it's all three of you at once. Kisses overlapping, mouths brushing against mouths, everything blurring together into something messy and warm. For a few seconds it gets hard to tell where one kiss ends and another begins. Shuhua's perfectly composed expression slips just a little, her eyes growing heavy. And Ning's whole cool princess act cracks for a split second when you catch her lower lip between your teeth and a real reaction slips out before she can stop it.

"You kiss well for a nerd," Ning murmurs against the corner of your mouth. They keep kissing you. Both of them. Taking turns, sharing, their hands still stroking you through your jeans, until Shuhua's brow furrows, her hand stops moving on your lap and her fingers press down, tracing the shape more carefully. Her eyes widen.

"Your cock is actually fucking huge," she murmurs.

Ning's hand joins Shuhua's, both of them feeling you through the denim now, mapping out the length and thickness with growing disbelief. "Hmm, it's probably just the pants," Ning says, though her expression suggests she doesn't believe that for a second. "Let's check if that's actually the case."

Ning yanks your belt open with zero hesitation. She tugs your pants down your thighs, and you lift your hips so she can pull them past your knees. Your boxers go with them. Your cock springs free, half hard and swelling heavier by the second in the warm, close air of the car.

Ning just stares for a second. Her lips part slightly, eyebrows lifting before she can stop them, and for one brief, completely unguarded moment she looks genuinely caught off guard. Her hand comes up slowly, wraps around the shaft, and her fingers don't even come close to meeting. "Okay," she breathes. "This is going to be way better than I imagined."

Shuhua leans across your lap to see, her pale face inches from your cock, and her dark eyes go impossibly round. "That is the biggest dick I have ever seen. In my entire life. Holy shit."

Your cock's still a little sore, honestly. Yunjin kept you at her place until almost two in the morning. At some point you completely lost track of how many times she made you cum, how many positions she somehow folded herself into, or how many times she looked you dead in the eyes and told you your cock belonged to her now.

The gummy lasted way longer than the package claimed it would, and by the time you finally collapsed onto her couch, you were pretty sure your body had reached its limit. For the first time since this whole insane week started, you actually felt drained.

But you can find some more stamina. For Shuhua and Ning, you can dig deep.

Ning strokes you once, twice, feeling the girth, watching the way your cock thickens further under her touch. She glances at Shuhua with a grin spreading across her face. You lift the phone, frame the shot tight on both of them, and hit the red button. The timer starts counting in the corner of the screen.

Ning leans down and drags her tongue in a long, flat stripe from the base to the tip. Shuhua follows immediately, her tongue tracing the opposite side, and the two of them meet at the head with their mouths brushing against each other. Ning takes you in first, wrapping her lips around the crown and sinking down, taking as much of your girth as her small mouth can manage on the first pass. Her cheeks hollow and she pulls up slow, letting the camera catch the slick shine coating your shaft. "Your turn," she murmurs, and guides your cock toward Shuhua's mouth.

Shuhua parts her lips and takes you in gently. Her eyes flutter closed and a soft, quiet sound escapes her throat. She bobs her head in shallow, careful motions, her hand gripping the base where her mouth can't reach. She's tentative at first. Testing. Adjusting to the stretch of her jaw around something this thick. But she doesn't pull away. If anything, she sinks deeper, taking another inch, then another, her throat working around you.

"Good?" Ning asks, watching Shuhua's face with curiosity.

Shuhua pulls off just enough to speak, her lips still brushing the head. "Very good." She kisses the tip softly, then takes you back into her mouth with more confidence.

They trade off. Ning goes deep, sloppy and showy, letting spit pool and drip down her chin because she knows exactly how it looks on camera. She moans around your shaft, loud and performative, her dark eyes finding the phone lens and holding the gaze. Her tongue works the underside with practiced skill, and when she pulls off, thick strings of saliva connect her swollen lips to your cock. Shuhua takes over with a steadier, quieter intensity. She sucks you with focus, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration. She discovers a rhythm that makes you twitch in her mouth and she stays there, repeating the motion, building on it. Her hand cups your balls, rolling them gently, and you hear her whimper against your shaft.

This looks like the kind of porn video you'd scroll past on your feed and immediately save. Two insanely beautiful women in the backseat of a car, heads in your lap, taking turns swallowing your cock while the afternoon light filters through tinted windows.

You decide it's time to step it up. Your free hand slides into Ning's dark hair and you push her head down. She takes it with a muffled sound of surprise that melts into a groan as your cock hits the back of her throat. You hold her there, feeling her throat constrict around you, then pull her back and push forward again. Fucking her face in slow, deep strokes. Her hands grip your thigh for balance and she opens her throat for you, letting you use her mouth however you want.

"Fuck yes," she gasps when you let her up for air. "Use me. Treat me like your slut." You push her back down and pick up the pace. Your hips roll up from the seat, driving your cock into her mouth while your hand controls the depth. Spit spills from the corners of her stretched lips, running down her chin, dripping onto her crop top. Her mascara starts to bleed at the corners of her eyes.

Then you switch. You pull Ning off and guide Shuhua down by the hair. She resists for half a second, startled by the rougher handling, then melts into it. You thrust into her mouth and she makes this sweet, overwhelmed sound, her eyes going wide and wet. You fuck her face slower than you did Ning's, giving her time to adjust, but you don't go easy. She doesn't want easy. You can tell from the way her hands keep drifting to her chest, squeezing her breasts lightly whenever she gets too worked up.

"Your dick feels so good in my mouth," Shuhua whispers when you give her a moment to breathe. Her usual elegance is slipping. Hair sticks to her lips, her cheeks are flushed, and every word sounds less put together than the last. "I didn't expect to enjoy it this much. It's so thick, it stretches my jaw so wide, and I just want to keep taking it."

"Then take it," you tell her, and she does. Shuhua sinks down on her own, swallowing as much of you as she can manage, and works her throat around you with a determination that borders on desperate.

You alternate between them. A dozen strokes into Ning's willing throat, then a dozen into Shuhua's eager mouth. Your hand switches between their heads, pulling, guiding, controlling the pace. Their makeup is slowly losing the fight. Ning's contour is smudged along her jawline now, and the gloss she'd put on earlier is long gone, leaving her lips puffy and messy. Shuhua's mascara has started to run beneath her eyes, creating dark crescents that weren't there before. Even her lip tint is smeared across her cheek now. The polished look both of them started with has completely fallen apart.

The pressure builds low and heavy in your stomach. Your balls tighten. The gummy's lingering effects make the orgasm feel enormous, swelling bigger than you can hold back. "I'm about to cum," you announce.

Ning pulls Shuhua off your cock and moves in front of you, kneeling on the floor of the backseat between your spread legs. She wraps her lips around the head and seals them tight, her hand pumping the shaft in fast, wet strokes. Her dark eyes look up at you, then at the camera, holding the gaze while she works you toward the edge.

You cum hard. The first pulse floods her mouth and she flinches, her cheeks bulging slightly before she swallows. More follows. Thick, heavy spurts that fill her faster than she can manage. Her throat works overtime but some of it escapes, leaking from the corners of her sealed lips and dripping down her chin. You keep cumming, pulse after pulse, the gummy ensuring that the load is obscene, far more than any normal session should produce. Her eyes water but she doesn't pull off. She takes everything you give her, her hand milking every last drop from your shaft.

When you finally stop throbbing, Ning pulls off slowly. She keeps her lips pressed tight together and turns to face the camera. She opens her mouth.

It's full. Completely full. Your cum pools on her tongue, thick and white, some of it already dripping from her lower lip. She tilts her head back slightly to show the camera, letting the load sit there, visible and obscene. Shuhua leans in close, her face next to Ning's. Ning cups Shuhua's chin and tilts her face up. Slowly she lets the cum dribble from her mouth into Shuhua's open lips. A thick strand stretches between them before breaking and landing on Shuhua's tongue.

Shuhua closes her mouth and swirls it, her expression somewhere between wonder and arousal. Then she leans toward Ning and passes it back, letting the cum slide from her lips into Ning's waiting mouth. They go back and forth, the load shrinking slightly with each transfer as they swallow bits of it, giggling between passes, their lips brushing together each time.

Finally, Ning swallows the last of it and pulls Shuhua in for a kiss. A real one. Deep and slow and wet, their tongues visible between their joined mouths, cum and saliva smearing across both their chins. They break apart and turn to face the camera with matching grins.

Ning winks at the lens. Shuhua blows a kiss.

Their faces are destroyed. Mascara tracking down their cheeks, lips swollen and smeared, chins dripping, hair tangled and damp. Ning's crop top is stained dark with spit. Shuhua's pale cheeks are flushed pink all the way to her ears. They look absolutely ruined and absolutely gorgeous.

Perfect content.

You stop recording. The car falls quiet except for their breathing and the distant sound of a car alarm somewhere in the structure. You hand the phone to Ning.

"Thanks," she says, already scrubbing through the footage. Her eyes move quickly, evaluating. "You did a great job filming. The angles are solid, you kept us in frame, the lighting caught everything. This is usable."

"I did the best I could."

"You succeeded." She watches a specific section again, the cumswapping part, and nods approvingly. "This is going to perform so well. The engagement on this will be insane."

You reach down and pull your pants back up, fastening your belt with slightly shaky fingers. "Well. I need to go now." You look between them. "It was a pleasure meeting you both. Genuinely."

Shuhua tucks a strand of damp hair behind her ear and smiles at you, still flushed, still catching her breath. "Thank you for your help. I mean it. You were very kind about the whole thing."

"Anytime." You open the car door and the cool air of the parking structure hits your face. You step out, legs a bit unsteady, and turn back to close the door.

Ning is watching you with a slight frown. She glances at Shuhua, saying, "It was a little too easy."

"What do you mean?"

"He wasn't surprised by the request. He wasn't overly excited about having two girls sucking his dick in my car. He treated the whole thing like it was just another day." She tilts her head. "That's weird, right? Most guys would be losing their minds right now."

Shuhua considers this for a moment. "Yeah, he was actually quite calm. Unusually calm. But maybe it all happened too fast and he didn't have time to process everything properly."

"Maybe," Ning says, not fully convinced. She shrugs and looks back at her phone. "Whatever. We better clean up. I still need to edit and post this before the trend peaks."

Shuhua reaches for the makeup kit. "Don't forget to tag me in the video."

"Obviously I'm tagging you. Your engagement feeds mine. It's mutually beneficial."

Shuhua rolls her eyes and smiles at the same time somehow. "Of course. Nothing says friendship like performance metrics.”

—

As usual for a weekend, Yunjin's living room is full. The girls have somehow claimed every inch of the giant L shaped couch, stretched out with their legs tangled together and their attention split between their phones and conversations happening in five directions at once. The TV's running in the background, ignored completely. Empty sushi containers crowd the coffee table beside abandoned wine glasses and Somi's energy drink.

Chaeyoung sits in Somi's lap with her back against Somi's chest, scrolling her phone while Somi braids a small section of her hair absentmindedly. Asa is cross legged on the floor cushion by the window, her laptop open, analytics dashboard visible. Ning occupies the armchair with her legs draped over one side, editing something on her phone. Shuhua sits upright at the end of the couch, both feet on the floor, posture perfect even at eleven at night.

Yunjin paces behind the couch in an oversized t shirt and shorts, wine glass in hand, narrating. "Final conclusion: Asa is winning," she announces, pointing at the screen Asa turns toward the group. "Obviously. She posted first, the algorithm favored her, the library setting was aesthetic, and her editing is annoyingly good. Twelve thousand likes and climbing. The comments are losing their minds."

"Thank you," Asa says simply.

"Second place is me." Yunjin grins with absolutely no humility. "As it should, honestly. I killed it and looked amazing doing it. Ning, put my video back on. Show them the ending.”

Ning taps the link and angles her phone so the group can see. The final thirty seconds of Yunjin's clip play on the small screen. The stage lighting, Yunjin's ruined face, and then the cumshot. The girls lean in and watch as rope after rope lands across Yunjin's cheeks, her forehead, her open mouth, her chin, her neck. It keeps going. And going. The volume of it is genuinely startling.

"What the actual fuck," Somi says, pausing mid braid.

"That's not real," Ning adds, rewinding and playing it again. "That can't be real. That's like a full minute of cum."

"It felt like a full minute," Yunjin confirms, swirling her wine. "My face was dripping. It got in my hair and I had to wash it three times."

Shuhua tilts her head, studying the footage with clinical interest. "I've genuinely never seen anyone produce that much. Is that medically normal?"

"He told me he had these gummy bears that act like some ridiculously overpowered aphrodisiac. Explains the massive cum loads. Pure genius." Yunjin takes a sip. "Look at those numbers. People are sharing that clip specifically because of the finish. The algorithm is pushing it."

Chaeyoung covers her eyes. "I can't watch it again. It's too much."

"You literally made out with Somi on camera with cum all over your face," Yunjin reminds her. "Don't get all puritan on me now."

"Watching and actually being part of it are two completely different things,” Chaeyoung replies.

By the way, their duo video is doing pretty well too. Somi's chaotic, aggressive energy mixed with Chaeyoung's softer vibe ended up creating this weirdly perfect contrast people are absolutely obsessed with. The comments are exactly what you'd expect: half thirsty, half completely unhinged. Which is apparently the dream outcome, even if Somi keeps pretending she never reads them. Ning and Shuhua's clip has the lowest numbers so far, but that's mostly because theirs went up last.

"My video's gonna do numbers too. Give it forty eight hours," Ning says, unbothered. "Late posts always start slower. Lower engagement upfront, longer lifespan after. Some big NSFW accounts already picked it up and are funneling people over.”

"You and your analytics," Yunjin mutters.

"My analytics pay my rent."

Asa closes her laptop and leans back against the wall. "Honestly? I think this worked out for everyone. The videos are getting attention, engagement's solid, and none of us got banned. That's good enough for me.”

For a few seconds, the room settles into this quiet, satisfied silence. Then Shuhua casually says, "It's the same guy."

Every head turns. Nobody says anything. Just several seconds of confused blinking until Ning finally asks: "What do you mean?"

Shuhua points at Ning's phone, which still has Yunjin's video paused on screen. "That cock. It's the same one in our video. Look at it. The size, the shape, the slight curve to the left. It's identical."

"No way," Yunjin says. "That's impossible."

"Play all the videos side by side," Shuhua insists. Asa immediately gets to work. A few quick movements later, all four clips are sitting side by side on the screen. She hits play.

The evidence is damning. The same thick shaft. The same slight leftward curve. The same heavy balls. The same pair of hands, same forearms, same skin. It's definitely the same person.

"Oh my god," Chaeyoung breathes.

"It's the same fucking guy," Somi says after a long silence. "How did six different people somehow land on the same nerd? There's no way that's statistically possible."

Ning gives a small shrug. "Shared good taste."

"This isn't funny."

"I'm not joking." Ning barely reacts. "He checked every box. He was available. Apparently very available."

Chaeyoung's face visibly crumples. She sinks lower into Somi's lap and hugs a pillow against herself. "We texted every day...I thought we had something going on.”

"Aw, Chae..." Somi murmurs softly, and her hands go back to braiding Chaeyoung's hair.

Yunjin lowers her wine glass onto the counter and looks around. "Okay, before anyone gets mad… I slept with him after.”

"You WHAT?" Somi sits up so fast that Chaeyoung nearly topples off her lap.

"His dick is amazing," Yunjin says, completely unapologetic. "I got hooked. We had sex for hours and I was about to schedule a second date. Sue me."

Chaeyoung's eyes are glassy. "I can't believe I was starting to fall for someone who was getting blowjobs from all my friends behind my back."

"Nobody knew anything," Asa says firmly. "That's the point. None of us coordinated. None of us told each other which guy we picked. We all approached him independently."

Shuhua folds her hands in her lap. "I asked him directly. When Ning and I found him in the park, I asked if any girl had ever approached him before with the same request. He told us no. That we were the first."

"That lying piece of shit," Somi hisses.

"Honestly?" Asa starts. "We can't judge him. Think about it. If we had known we were all using the same guy, we would have dropped him immediately. He saw an opportunity and he took it."

Shuhua nods. "It's somewhat fair when you consider the full picture. We used him for content and engagement. He used the situation for his own benefit. We're not really in a position to be angry."

"I'm in a position to be angry," Somi declares. Chaeyoung sniffles. Somi's hand moves from her hair to her back, rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades. "I warned you that you deserved better than him," she says.

Ning rolls her eyes from the armchair. "Please. It's not like she and him were dating. There was no exclusivity, no commitment, no cheating. She texted him for a few days. That's hardly a betrayal."

"It felt like something," Chaeyoung mumbles into the pillow.

Yunjin walks around the couch and stands in front of all of them. Her posture shifts, shoulders back, chin up, that specific energy she gets when a plan is forming behind her eyes. "We're all going out," she announces.

"Out where?" Asa asks.

"The mall. After hours. We're going to find him and we're going to settle this."

"Settle it how?" Shuhua inquires, politely but with clear suspicion.

"Chaeyoung, text him right now. Tell him to meet us." Yunjin pauses. "Actually, forget it. Let me handle this. I know how to persuade him."

Somi crosses her arms, careful not to dislodge Chaeyoung from her lap. "What exactly are you planning, Yunjin?"

Yunjin looks at her like the answer should be written on the ceiling. "Isn't it obvious? A fucking orgy. All six of us. One night. One guy. In the mall after closing."

Asa grins and laughs. “Girl, you’ve officially lost it.”

"Consider it a farewell orgy," Yunjin continues, pacing now, warming to the idea. "We get it out of our systems. All of us. Every last fantasy and curiosity and frustration. And after that, he's free. Completely free for Chaeyoung, if she still wants him. Clean slate."

Shuhua raises a finger. "Nobody is pursuing him. The only person who had sex with him outside of the challenge was you."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Miss Dump-the-Lore. I'm horny and I want an orgy. Are you in or not?"

"Fuck it," Somi says. "This is my shot at getting even. I'm gonna destroy that dick. Brutally.”

Asa sets her laptop aside and stretches her arms above her head. "I'm in too. I'll admit it. I've been curious about what that thing feels like somewhere other than my throat."

Ning locks her phone and swings her legs off the armchair. "I'm in. I'm honestly curious to see how this drama's gonna end. Plus Amazon still hasn't delivered my new super vibrator, and rewatching all those clips got me horny as hell.”

Shuhua smooths her skirt over her knees, considering. "Since everyone else is going, I suppose I'll participate as well.

Everyone’s attention lands on Chaeyoung. She slowly raises her head from the pillow in Somi’s lap, pink-cheeked and blinking through damp lashes. “...Fine,” she says. “I’m in too. I want to feel that cock filling me, stretching my pussy open.” She glances down, embarrassed but honest. “I dreamed about it last night and woke up dripping.”

Then comes the collective murmur. Quiet gasps. Suppressed laughs. Multiple people making deeply judgmental mmm sounds at once. Chaeyoung lets out a tiny embarrassed laugh and hides behind her pillow again.

"Oh my god, shut up," she mumbles. "All of you, shut up, please.”

Yunjin claps her hands together so hard it echoes off the apartment walls. "Perfect! Up, everyone. Go get changed." She grabs her keys from the counter and points at the group. "And I hope every single one of you is on the pill, because things are going to get pretty fucking intense.”

—

The mall is nearly deserted when you get there. A handful of people drift toward the exits while janitors sweep through the empty walkways. The background music hums through the open space, weirdly loud without the usual crowd to drown it out. At the top of the escalator, you spot them right away. Six girls sitting around a table by the pretzel stand, looking way too good to be here for anything innocent. You know exactly what this is. You figured it out the second Yunjin texted you. The game’s up. And somehow, instead of feeling nervous, you feel completely calm. You stroll over with your hands in your pockets and pull up a chair.

"Hey girls," you say, sitting down and leaning back. "How are the videos going?"

Somi’s glare is intense enough to be considered a health hazard. Her arms are folded tightly, her expression hard, pure annoyance radiating off her in waves. Yunjin, on the other hand, looks almost entertained. She rests her chin in her hand and studies you with narrowed eyes.

“Wow,” she says. “You really had us all fooled, huh? Playing all six of us while acting like you didn’t know what was happening.”

You shrug. "You guys wanted to use me for content. I let you. Every single time. The fact that you all happened to pick the same guy isn't really my problem to solve."

Shuhua tilts her head. Those elegant features carry a trace of genuine hurt underneath the composure. "You lied to me. I asked you directly if anyone else had approached you, and you looked me in the eyes and said no."

"Yeah," you admit. No point denying it. "I did. But be honest, the video turned out great, didn't it? If you'd known I already filmed with four other girls, you would've found someone else, and maybe that someone else wouldn't have been half as good on camera."

Ning, who's been scrolling through engagement metrics on her phone this entire time, murmurs without looking up. "He has a point."

"Don't encourage him," Somi snaps.

Chaeyoung hasn't said much. She's sitting between Somi and Asa, picking at the sleeve of her sweater. When she finally glances up, her face is calm, but her eyes give her away. There’s hurt there, even if she’s trying to hide it.

"You were sleeping with Yunjin," she says quietly.

"This only happened once.”

Somi leans forward. "Chaeyoung likes you, you absolute idiot."

You meet Chaeyoung’s eyes and hold them. “Hey, I like you too. But we’ve been talking for less than a week” You spread your hands toward the table. “And I didn’t exactly know what to make of you yet. Mostly because, no offense…” You gesture at the others. “The people you’re surrounded by aren’t exactly screaming reliable.”

Asa slowly lowers her iced coffee onto the table. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean? Are you calling us sluts?”

“Asa, you literally called yourself a slut in the library. Those were your exact words.”

“Yeah, and when we say it, it’s empowering,” Asa shoots back smoothly. “It’s reclaiming the word. We're owning our choices, our bodies, and making money on our own terms. It’s about autonomy. What you’re doing is using it like an insult, which is a completely different thing.”

You raise your palms in surrender. "Fair enough. My bad. So why am I here? Are you gonna jump me in a food court? Beat me up behind a Cinnabon?"

Yunjin's smile spreads slow and dangerous. "Something like that. We do plan to break you. Just not in the way you're thinking." She pauses for effect, clearly enjoying herself. "We want to fuck you."

You blink. Then you lean back in the chair and let out a long breath through your nose. “Oh.” You nod once. “Yeah. Okay. That probably should’ve been my first guess.” Your eyes find Chaeyoung again. "Are you okay with this?"

She gives a small shrug that's trying very hard to look casual. "Why wouldn't I be? You're not my boyfriend or anything."

“For the record,” you say, tone shifting into something more genuine, “I’ve actually really liked talking to you. The late-night texts, the movie recs, all of it. I’d like that to keep being a thing. No matter what happens tonight.”

Chaeyoung watches you for a second, searching your face. Then a small smile tugs at her lips. “If you make me cum hard enough,” she says lightly, “I might hear your case.”

Somi snorts. Ning grins.

"I don't think I deserve to be put on trial here when I didn't actually do anything wrong," you reply. "But fine. Challenge accepted."

Ning tucks her phone into her purse and claps once. "Okay, okay, enough with the romance subplot. How exactly are we doing this? Logistics. Where, when, how."

You look around the emptying food court. "You're not seriously planning to do this here. In the mall."

Yunjin spreads her arms wide. "We've already filmed blowjobs in a library, a classroom, a theater, and a car. What's a mall?"

"The difference is we could get caught and arrested. All seven of us. Public indecency. That goes on a record."

Asa sets her iced coffee down like she’s been waiting for the perfect moment to speak. She clears her throat and begins: “The mall closes in twenty minutes. After that, security drops to basically nothing. One guard for the whole building, and he usually camps out by the loading dock on the north side.”

Everyone turns to stare at her.

Completely unfazed, she keeps going: “I know a girl who works at the mattress store on the first floor. SleepHaven, over by the west corridor. She told me that whole section had all its security cameras taken down for replacement this morning, and the install crew never showed. No cameras until at least Monday.” She takes a casual sip of her coffee. “I’ll head down now, ask to use the restroom, pretend to leave, then hide in there until they lock up. The bathroom lock’s been broken for weeks, so there’s no chance of getting stuck. Once the store’s closed and everyone’s gone, I’ll open the front gate from the inside and let you all in.”

Silence around the table. Shuhua exhales slowly. "So either this is going to be the best sex any of us have ever had, or we get arrested, end up on the local news, and our lives are effectively over."

Yunjin grins so wide it's almost manic. "Both of those outcomes sound pretty great to me. Let's go."

Chaeyoung shifts nervously in her seat. Ning puts a hand on her knee under the table. "Relax. Think about that huge cock that's about to be inside you. Focus on the positives."

"I'm literally right here," you say.

Ning just smirks at you. Doesn't say a word. Shuhua stands up and smooths down her skirt. "Fine. Let's go to the first floor. Split up. Move separately. Stay away from any active camera zones. We'll reconvene at the restrooms near the west corridor."

And that's how you end up locked in a mall bathroom stall at eleven thirty on a Saturday night, sitting on a closed toilet lid, scrolling through your phone while the building goes quiet around you. The lights in the corridor outside dim to half power. The muzak cuts off. You hear the distant rumble of security gates being pulled down over storefronts.

Forty minutes pass. Your phone buzzes. Yunjin's text reads:

on our way. going separately. be careful

You crack the stall door open and listen. Nothing. You slip out of the restroom and into the corridor. The first floor is eerie with most of the lights off, storefronts shuttered behind metal gates, the air conditioning humming low. Your sneakers barely make a sound on the polished floor. When you reach SleepHaven, five silhouettes are already gathered outside the gate. Asa's face appears behind the glass a moment later. She fiddles with something, and the front gate slides open just enough for everyone to duck under.

You file in one by one. Asa pulls the gate back down behind you. Yunjin doesn't waste a second. She kicks off her shoes and throws herself backward onto a king size display mattress near the front.

"The universe loves me. An orgy in a mattress store. This is genuinely the greatest night of my life."

Asa hisses at her immediately. "Keep it down. And we can't do this out here, anyone walking by the storefront might overhear. Grab a mattress, take it to the back area behind the counter. There are pillars back there, it's more concealed."

They end up choosing a queen-size display bed that’s already dressed in spotless sheets and looks ridiculously high-end. You grab one end, Somi grabs the other, and together you haul it behind the service counter to the back section of the store. Yunjin surveys the setup and nods approvingly. "This is actually perfect. Way better than I expected."

Shuhua is running her hand along the sheets. "This is a three thousand dollar mattress. Egyptian cotton sheets. If we're going to commit a felony, at least we're doing it in luxury."

"Okay," you say, standing at the edge of the mattress. "I'm going to be honest. I have absolutely no idea how this works. I've never done anything like this before."

Somi steps forward. She puts one hand flat on your chest and pushes. Hard. You lose your balance and fall backward onto the mattress, the expensive sheets puffing up around you. "Lie down," Somi orders, looking down at you. "And leave the rest to us."

You look up at the six girls standing over you and grin, sinking deeper into the mattress. “Alright then,” you say. “I’m at your service.”

There’s no drawn-out moment to it. Everyone just starts undressing. Yunjin finishes pulling off the top she’d already loosened earlier and casually flings it behind the counter. Somi pops her bra loose with one hand while kicking off her jeans. Ning pauses long enough to fold her skirt perfectly before setting it aside. Chaeyoung turns a little as she slips out of her bra, clearly self-conscious, while Asa strips down with the detached efficiency of someone changing after class. Shuhua carefully unbuttons her blouse, smoothing it flat over a nearby pillow.

You pull your shirt over your head, shove your jeans and boxers down, and your cock springs free. Already half hard from the sheer visual assault of six naked women in a dimly lit mattress store.

Yunjin goes first, exactly as everyone expected. She swings herself over your lap, straddling your hips as the mattress dips beneath her knees. Then she leans in and claims your mouth without warning, her tongue sliding past your lips like she’s not interested in asking permission. There’s nothing tentative about it. She kisses hard and deep, all heat and confidence. Her hand snakes down between your bodies, gripping your cock and stroking until you’re fully hard under her touch. Then she guides you lower, dragging the tip through her soaked folds until it catches at her entrance.

"God, I'll literally never get tired of this," Yunjin breathes against your lips. "The way you stretch me open. It's so fucking good every single time." She sinks down. Slow. Taking inch after inch until her ass meets your thighs and she's fully seated with your entire length buried inside her. Her walls grip you tight, clenching, adjusting. Her head tips back and her mouth falls open.

Then Somi is there. Standing over you, looking down at your face with that cold, mean expression she wears so well.

"Alright," she says, one leg swinging over your head. "Let's put that tongue to work. See if it's actually good for anything besides lying to people."

She lowers herself onto your mouth. Her pussy presses against your lips, wet and warm, her thighs framing your face. She's facing Yunjin, their knees almost touching on either side of your body. You flatten your tongue and drag it through her folds, tasting her, finding her clit and circling it. Somi's thighs twitch.

"Don't be gentle about it," she tells you, grinding down harder. "You owe me."

To your left, Ning takes Chaeyoung's hand. "C'mon babe, lie down," she murmurs. "We're not just gonna stand here watching."

Chaeyoung settles onto the mattress beside you, on her back, her dark hair fanning out across the white sheets. Ning crawls between her legs, pushes her thighs apart, and dips her head. Chaeyoung gasps when Ning's tongue touches her, her back arching slightly off the mattress.

Behind Ning, Asa kneels. With Ning on all fours, her ass presented perfectly, Asa spreads her cheeks with both hands and buries her face between them. Her tongue drags from Ning's clit all the way back, slow and thorough, circling her asshole before dipping back down to her pussy. Ning moans into Chaeyoung, the vibration making Chaeyoung whimper. Shuhua watches. She's standing beside the mattress, one hand between her own legs, fingers sliding through her wetness as she takes in the scene. Her eyes are locked on where Yunjin's body meets yours, watching your cock disappear inside her with each roll of her hips.

Yunjin notices. She reaches out with one hand, hooks it behind Shuhua's neck, and pulls her in for a kiss. Shuhua leans into it, her fingers working faster between her thighs while Yunjin's tongue slides against hers.

Yunjin breaks the kiss and looks back at Somi. "Fuck, your tits look so good from here," she says, openly staring at the way Somi's chest bounces with each shift of her hips against your face. "So fucking hot, seriously."

"I know," Somi responds, not even slightly humble about it. She rolls her hips forward, smearing herself across your mouth. "Deeper. Get your tongue inside me."

You push your tongue into her, as deep as it'll go, and she grinds down on it. Her full weight presses against your face, and breathing becomes genuinely difficult. Your nose is pressed against her clit, your mouth completely covered by her pussy. She's suffocating you and she knows it and she doesn't care.

It’s heaven. You’d die smiling buried in her ass.

Yunjin picks up her pace on top of you. She plants her hands on your chest and starts really riding, lifting her hips until just the tip remains inside before dropping back down with her full weight. Each time she takes you to the root, her breath hitches, her nails dig into your skin. Your cock is coated in her arousal, glistening every time she rises.

"You feel so deep like this," Yunjin groans, rolling her hips in a circle before slamming back down. "I swear you're in my fucking stomach right now."

Somi reaches forward and grabs one of Yunjin's tits, squeezing roughly. "Ride him harder. I wanna feel him moan into me when you do it." Yunjin laughs breathlessly and complies. She speeds up, the wet sound of skin meeting skin filling the dark store. Every time she bottoms out, your hips jerk involuntarily, and Somi feels the moan travel through your tongue directly into her cunt. She bites her lip, satisfied.

To your left, Chaeyoung is squirming under Ning's mouth. Her fingers are tangled in Ning's hair, pulling gently, her chest heaving. "Right there, Ning, don't stop, fuck, please don't stop."

Ning hums in acknowledgment, then gasps herself as Asa's tongue pushes inside her ass. Her back dips, pushing her hips back against Asa's face, seeking more.

"Asa, that feels insane," Ning mumbles between Chaeyoung's legs. "Do that again." Asa doesn't respond verbally. She just grips Ning's hips tighter and keeps going, alternating between her holes with a precision that has Ning trembling on her knees.

Shuhua pulls away from kissing Yunjin and kneels beside the mattress, still touching herself. “Yunjin, if I may say so, you look exceptionally pretty taking that cock,” says softly, and even her dirty talk sounds polished somehow. “The way it stretches you is... deeply impressive.”

"Shu, babe, it's unreal," Yunjin responds between bounces. "His dick is literally ruining me for everyone else. That's not even a joke. No one else is ever gonna measure up."

Somi grabs the back of your head with one hand, lifting it slightly, pressing you harder against her. Your tongue aches from the effort but you keep going, sucking her clit between your lips, flicking it rapidly. Her thighs are shaking now. "Shit," Somi breathes. "Okay, maybe your mouth isn't completely useless."

Yunjin's rhythm becomes erratic. She's chasing it now, grinding her clit against your pelvis with each downstroke, her walls clenching tighter around you. Her moans get louder, less controlled. "Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum," she pants. "Your cock is so deep, I can feel it everywhere, I'm literally about to lose it."

She slams down one final time and holds there, grinding in tight circles. Her whole body seizes, thighs clamping against your sides, her pussy spasming around your shaft in rhythmic pulses. She throws her head back and her mouth opens in a silent scream before the sound catches up, a long, shuddering moan that echoes off the store walls. Somi watches Yunjin cum and something about it tips her over the edge too. Her thighs slam shut around your head, trapping you completely, her hips bucking against your mouth in short, sharp jerks.

"Don't you dare stop," she hisses through her teeth, one hand braced on Yunjin's shoulder. Her whole body goes rigid for three seconds, then she comes apart, grinding down on your tongue through it, her slick flooding your lips and chin. Her legs tremble violently on either side of your head before she finally loosens her grip and you gasp for air.

They both climb off. Your face is drenched, Somi's arousal smeared from your forehead to your chin. Your cock is still hard, still throbbing, slick with Yunjin's cum.

Yunjin collapses onto the edge of the mattress, spent and grinning. "Okay. Who's next."

Chaeyoung sits up. Her cheeks are flushed from whatever Ning was doing to her moments ago, her eyes bright. "Me!"

The other girls shift, making room. Ning wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Asa sits back on her heels. You pull yourself upright and move toward Chaeyoung, settling between her legs as she lies back down. You look down at her. She looks up at you. In the dim glow of the emergency lights, her face is soft and beautiful and a little nervous.

You smile softly. “Hey.”

She meets it with a little smile of her own. “Hey.”

"I'm gonna go slow," you tell her quietly. Just for her. "You tell me to stop whenever you need me to." She nods, her hand finding yours on the sheet and squeezing gently.

You guide yourself to Chaeyoung's entrance and press forward. Just the tip at first, barely pushing in, letting her feel the stretch before you commit. Her eyes go wide, her lips parting, fingers curling into the sheets beneath her. "Oh my god," she whispers, staring up at you. "That's just the beginning?"

"Just the beginning," you confirm, and push another inch inside her.

Behind you, the mattress shifts as everyone else finds their positions. Yunjin grabs Shuhua by the waist and pulls her close, tangling their legs together until their pussies press flush against each other. Yunjin starts grinding immediately, rolling her hips in slow, lazy circles, her wetness mixing with Shuhua's. A few feet away, Ning swings a leg over Asa's face and settles down, her knees bracketing Asa's head. Asa's hands come up to grip Ning's thighs and she gets to work without being asked. Somi kneels between Asa's spread legs, slides two fingers inside her, and starts pumping with a casual, almost bored efficiency that makes it clear she's done this before.

You sink deeper into Chaeyoung. She grabs your forearm, squeezing hard, her back lifting off the mattress. You stop halfway and let her breathe. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just... give me a sec. You're really thick." She exhales slowly, her walls fluttering around you, adjusting. Then she nods. "Keep going." You push the rest of the way in. All of it. Chaeyoung's mouth falls open and no sound comes out for a solid three seconds. Then she lets out this shaky, overwhelmed little moan that makes Yunjin glance over from her scissoring position and grin.

"There it is," Yunjin says approvingly, grinding harder against Shuhua. "That's the face. I made that exact same face my first time with him."

You pull back slowly and thrust in again, building a gentle rhythm. Chaeyoung's hands find your shoulders, pulling you down closer. You lean in and kiss her, soft and deep, and she melts into it. When you pull back, she's smiling.

"You taste like Somi," she murmurs against your lips.

"Bet that's a taste you know pretty well."

Chaeyoung's cheeks flush even darker. "Maybe."

Somi doesn't even look up from fingering Asa. "I heard that. And yes, she does."

Ning laughs from her perch on Asa's face, then cuts herself off with a sharp gasp when Asa does something particularly good with her tongue. "Fuck, Asa, what are you doing down there? That's so good, keep doing that."

Asa can't respond because her mouth is full of Ning's pussy, but she gives a thumbs up with one hand, which makes Shuhua giggle breathlessly from where she's grinding against Yunjin.

"This is genuinely the most unhinged thing I've ever participated in," Shuhua manages between heavy breaths, her hips moving in rhythm with Yunjin's. "And I'm including the time Ning convinced me to skinny dip at that resort."

"Shu, babe, this is so much better than skinny dipping," Yunjin replies, reaching down to adjust the angle of their hips so their clits press together more directly. Shuhua whimpers at the change in pressure. "This is like... peak friendship activities right here."

You pick up the pace with Chaeyoung. She wraps her legs around your waist, locking her ankles behind your back, and the new angle lets you go deeper. Her nails rake down your shoulders. "Right there," she breathes. "Oh god, right there, don't move from that spot."

"Chae's getting loud," Somi observes, curling her fingers inside Asa and making her jolt. "I love that for her honestly."

"She deserves it," Ning says, then rolls her hips against Asa's mouth, chasing the sensation. "After all those sad little crushes she's had? Let the girl have her moment."

"Can you guys stop talking about me while I'm getting fucked, please," Chaeyoung says, but she's laughing, and then the laugh dissolves into a moan when you thrust particularly deep.

Yunjin is sweating. They're all sweating. The store has no ventilation running this late, and the combined body heat of seven people fucking on a three thousand dollar mattress has turned the back area into a sauna. Skin glistens under the dim emergency lighting. The sounds are obscene and layered: wet skin, heavy breathing, Ning's sharp little gasps mixing with Shuhua's softer ones, the rhythmic slap of your hips meeting Chaeyoung's.

Somi adds a third finger inside Asa, stretching her, and Asa's hips buck off the mattress. Ning grabs Somi's shoulder to keep her balance. "Warn me before you do that, she almost threw me off."

"Not my fault Asa's a squirmer," Somi says, pumping faster. "You good down there, Asa?"

Asa pulls her mouth away from Ning just long enough to gasp, "So fucking good, oh my god, keep going,” before Ning pushes her head back down.

"Nope, you're not done," Ning tells her sweetly.

You shift your weight onto one arm and bring your free hand down between your body and Chaeyoung's. Your thumb finds her clit, swollen and sensitive, and you start rubbing in slow circles while you fuck her. The effect is instantaneous. Chaeyoung's whole body tenses, her grip on your shoulders turning desperate.

"Oh fuck," she gasps. "Oh fuck, that's not fair, you can't do both at the same time."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm gonna lose my mind, that's why." Her hips are grinding up to meet yours now, matching your rhythm, trying to get more of everything at once. "Your cock is literally splitting me open and now you're touching my clit and I can't, I actually can't—"

Yunjin, still grinding against Shuhua, looks over with pure delight on her face. "She's gonna blow. Look at her legs shaking."

Ning is rocking faster on Asa's face, she grabs her own breast, squeezing, her head tipping back. "Shit, I'm close too. Asa, please, keep going, I'm so close, I'm gonna cum so hard."

You press harder on Chaeyoung's clit, rubbing faster, your hips snapping into her with deep, steady strokes. She's clenching around you so tight it's almost difficult to move. Her moans have gone high and thin, her eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in her body coiling. "Look at me," you tell her quietly. She opens her eyes. They're glassy, overwhelmed, gorgeous. "Cum for me, Chae."

She shatters. Her back arches completely off the mattress, her legs lock around you, and her pussy clamps down on your cock in hard, rhythmic spasms. And then the gush comes. Warm and sudden, soaking your pelvis, the sheets beneath her, running down your thighs. She's squirting, hard, her whole body convulsing with it.

Yunjin's jaw drops mid grind. "Holy shit, she's squirting! She's literally squirting all over that poor mattress!"

The sight of it pushes Ning over. She grinds down on Asa's mouth one final time and cums, her thighs clamping around Asa's head, her fingers digging into Somi's shoulder hard. Asa cums seconds later from Somi's relentless fingers, her legs trembling and her muffled moans vibrating against Ning's cunt. Shuhua follows, burying her face in Yunjin's neck, flushed and panting, her hips stuttering through the last waves of her orgasm.

Somi pulls her fingers out of Asa, holds them up, glistening and dripping, and licks them clean with a look of pure satisfaction.

Chaeyoung is still trembling beneath you, aftershocks rolling through her. "I'm so sorry," she pants, looking down at the soaked sheets. "I came so hard. I couldn't help it. I've never done that before."

"Don't you dare apologize for squirting," Yunjin says firmly, wiping sweat from her forehead. "That was the hottest thing you could have possibly done."

Somi nods. "We'll deal with the mattress situation later. Not important right now."

"Agreed," Ning says, climbing off Asa's face and stretching. Her legs are still wobbly. She looks at your cock, still hard, still wet with Chaeyoung's cum, and her eyes sharpen with hunger. "Because I need that inside me right now. Immediately."

Yunjin sits up, her director energy returning. "Okay then. Asa, Ning, Shu. Line up. On all fours. Show us these pretty pussies." The three of them arrange themselves side by side on the mattress, knees spread, backs arched, asses presented. Asa, Ning, Shuhua. Three different body types, three different skin tones, all of them glistening with sweat and each other's spit.

Yunjin beckons you over. "Come fuck these little sluts, nerd.”

Somi circles around to the front of the lineup, taking her time as she studies them from the other side. Her gaze drifts over the three bent bodies, the way they’re all presented for you, and then she reaches out without warning and gives Shuhua’s ass a sharp smack. She jolts with a startled yelp, shooting Somi a scandalized look.

“Hey! Warn me before you start getting handsy.”

Somi only grins, entirely unbothered, then turns that wicked little expression on you. "Look at them. Three tight little pussies all lined up just for you. How's that feel?”

You stare at the three of them, each one looking back over her shoulder at you, waiting. Your cock throbs. "I genuinely cannot put what I'm feeling into words.”

Yunjin snorts, arms crossed. "Then stop trying to put it into words and start putting your cock in them. That's the only language they need right now.”

Asa, her ass arched perfectly, her cheek resting on her folded arms, glances back at Yunjin with a lazy grin. "Wow. Shakespeare could never.”

Yunjin kneels beside Shuhua and grabs both her cheeks, spreading them open with her thumbs, putting everything on display for you. Shuhua's pussy is glistening, swollen, absolutely dripping from her earlier orgasm and the continued arousal of watching everyone else get fucked.

"C'mon," she says, looking up at you with that insatiable grin. "Time to fuck."

There’s no teasing pause. You guide yourself against her and push in. The head breaches Shuhua's entrance and she immediately drops her forehead to the mattress, her fingers clawing at the sheets. You stop with just the tip inside, letting her adjust. Her walls are squeezing you so tight it's almost resistance. "Oh," Shuhua breathes. "Oh, that's... that is significantly larger than I anticipated."

Ning, still on all fours beside her, glances over. "Girl, breathe. You'll get used to it."

"Easy for you to say, you haven't taken it yet," Shuhua replies through gritted teeth, but she pushes her hips back slightly, taking another inch on her own terms. You grip her hips and feed her more, slow, steady. Shuhua's spine curves downward, her shoulder blades pinching together. When you're about three quarters in, she lets out this long, shaking exhale.

"I've used large toys before," she says, almost conversationally despite the strain in her tone. "This doesn't even compare. The heat, the way it throbs. It's completely different."

"You doing okay?" you ask, rubbing your thumb along her hip bone.

"More than okay. Please keep going." You bottom out inside her and Shuhua makes a sound you've never heard from her before. Something between a whimper and a laugh, surprised and overwhelmed and deeply pleased all at once. You start moving, pulling back slow and pushing in deep, establishing a rhythm that lets her feel every inch.

On the other end of the mattress, Somi has pulled Chaeyoung into her lap. They're kissing, messy and unhurried, Somi's hands tangled in Chaeyoung's hair. Somi breaks away and licks her lower lip.

"You were so fucking hot squirting like that," Somi murmurs against Chaeyoung's mouth. "I almost came just watching you." Chaeyoung blushes but grins. Her hand traces down Somi's stomach, over her navel, and slips between her thighs. She pushes two fingers inside Somi without warning. Somi gasps, her hips jerking forward. "Shit, Chae, warn a girl."

"You didn't warn me when you shoved my face down on his cock," Chaeyoung replies sweetly, curling her fingers.

Somi's head tips back. "Okay fair. Fuck. Keep going, baby. Finger that wet pussy while I watch them get wrecked."

You're building speed inside Shuhua now. Her initial tension has dissolved into pure pleasure, her hips rocking back to meet your thrusts. Yunjin hasn't moved from her spot beside the lineup. She leans in and spits directly on where your cock meets Shuhua's pussy, the saliva mixing with the mess already there.

"That's it," Yunjin says, watching with dark, hungry eyes. "Fuck her good. Look at how well she takes it now."

"Yunjin," Shuhua manages, "please stop narrating and let me enjoy this."

"Never. This is the best show I've ever seen."

You pull out of Shuhua and she whines at the loss. Ning is next. You shift over, position yourself behind her, and push in. Ning is wetter than Shuhua was, practically dripping down her thighs already, but she's just as tight. The first few inches make her gasp and grab the mattress. "Fuck me," Ning breathes. "Okay. Okay I get it now. I get why Yunjin lost her mind over this."

"Right?" Yunjin says proudly. "Told you." You sink deeper and Ning's arms give out. Her chest presses flat against the mattress, ass still raised, and you can feel her clenching around you, her body trying to accommodate the stretch. You give her a moment, then start thrusting. Ning buries her face in her arms and moans.

Yunjin spits on Ning's pussy too, then smacks her ass lightly. "Take that dick, Ning. You were bragging about your skills all week, show me you can handle it."

"I am handling it," Ning says, except she very clearly isn't. Her voice is trembling. "It's just... a lot. God, it's so much."

Across the mattress, Chaeyoung has migrated lower. She's got her mouth on Somi's left breast, sucking the nipple between her lips while her fingers keep working inside her. Somi watches her with hooded eyes, one hand on the back of Chaeyoung's head.

"I love your tits so much," Chaeyoung mumbles against the soft skin, switching to the other one. "They're ridiculous. Like genuinely unfair."

"Babe, you can have them whenever you want," Somi replies, arching into her mouth. "Just keep doing what you're doing with those fingers."

You pull out of Ning and move to Asa. She's been waiting patiently, her cheek resting on her folded arms, watching you fuck the other two with analytical interest. When you press against her entrance, she pushes back immediately, trying to take you in one motion. But her body resists. She only gets halfway before she hisses and stops.

"Shit," Asa says, surprised. "I thought I was ready. That's thicker than it looks."

"Take your time."

"No, just push. I can handle it." You push. Asa's fingers curl into fists and she breathes out hard through her nose, but she doesn't tell you to stop. When you're fully seated inside her, she lets out a low groan that sounds almost relieved. "Okay," she says. "Yeah. That's incredible actually."

You start fucking her, and Asa is different from the other two. She pushes back to meet every thrust, matches your rhythm instantly, treats it almost like a collaboration. Her pussy grips you perfectly, slick and hot and eager.

Yunjin is in her element. She moves between the three of them, spitting on each pussy as you rotate, slapping asses, gripping hair, running her nails down their spines. She's the conductor of this whole symphony and she's loving every second.

"Look at them," she says to you, spreading Asa's cheeks so you can watch yourself slide in and out. "Look at how they take that fat cock. They're soaking. All three of them are dripping for you."

You switch back to Shuhua. She cries out when you enter her again, pushing back greedily. Then to Ning, who's so wet now that the sounds are obscene, filthy and loud in the quiet store. Then Asa again, who grinds back against you with precision.

Yunjin crouches next to Ning's face and lifts her chin. "You like getting fucked like this? Getting shared? All three of you lined up like good little sluts?" Ning just moans in response, her eyes glassy. "If I'd brought my strap we could've been double teaming these pussies," she continues, looking back at you. "Next time. Definitely next time. Me and you, fucking them from both ends."

Somi pulls Chaeyoung's mouth off her breast to watch. "They look so good from here. Especially Shuhua. She's completely gone."

Chaeyoung nods, her fingers still buried inside Somi, pumping steadily. "She's always so put together. It's nice seeing her fall apart."

You keep rotating. Shuhua cums first. You're deep inside her, one hand on her hip, the other gripping her shoulder, and she turns her face to the side so you can see her expression when it hits. Her eyes flutter shut, her mouth opens, and she comes apart in these beautiful, controlled waves, her pussy milking your cock through each contraction. Somehow even this is elegant.

Asa goes next. You're gripping her waist, pounding into her at a pace she set herself, and her head drops forward. "There, there, fuck, right there, I'm cumming," she whispers, and her whole body seizes. Her walls clamp down so hard it almost stops your movement. She shakes through it, silent except for these tiny, breathy sounds.

Ning is last. You're still inside Asa when Yunjin says, "Ning needs to cum. Go wreck her." You pull out of Asa and push into Ning. She's so sensitive at this point that she flinches at the first thrust. Yunjin grabs a fistful of her hair and pulls her head back. "Grab her hair," Yunjin tells you. "Fuck her hard. She can take it."

You wrap Ning's hair around your fist and pull. She gasps, her back arching severely. You start pounding into her. Hard. Deep. Relentless. Ning's moans escalate rapidly into something approaching a scream.

"Ning!" Shuhua hisses sharply. "The security guard. Keep it down."

Ning slaps her own hand over her mouth, her eyes wide, her body jolting with each thrust.

The muffled sounds leaking through her fingers are still loud but contained. You don't stop. You fuck her through it, pulling her hair, driving into her until her thighs start shaking violently and she cums with a strangled sound behind her palm, her pussy contracting around you in hard, rhythmic squeezes. Her entire body goes limp when it passes, collapsing flat onto the mattress.

You pull out, wipe the sweat from your forehead, and sit back on your heels. Your cock is glistening, impossibly hard still, twitching against your stomach. "That was insane," you pant, looking at the three spent girls in front of you. "Seriously. I don't know how guys in porn last this long. My legs are shaking."

"Well," Somi says, extracting herself from Chaeyoung's fingers and crawling toward you. "You better hold on a little longer. Because now it's my turn."

She pushes you flat on your back. You hit the mattress with a grunt. Somi swings a leg over your hips, but instead of facing you normally, she plants her feet on either side of your chest, squatting over your cock in a deep stance. Her thighs flex, her core engages, and she grips the base of your shaft to line you up.

Yunjin slaps the mattress with both hands. "Yes! Amazon position! Go for it, Somi, ride that cock!"

Ning, still flat on her stomach recovering, lifts her head long enough to whistle. Shuhua immediately makes a sharp shushing sound at her, eyes wide.

Somi stares down at you, face unreadable except for that familiar look of mild annoyance she somehow manages to make attractive. Calm. Detached. In control. "Let's see what all the fuss is about," she says. "Everyone else completely lost their shit over this. I don't buy it.”

She lowers herself onto you. Inch by agonizing inch. In this position, squatting over you with her feet planted on either side of your chest, Somi controls everything. The angle, the depth, the speed. You can't thrust up, can't grab her hips, can't do anything except lie there and take what she decides to give you. Your cock stretches her open and you watch her face. She's fighting. Every micro expression is a battle between the pleasure flooding her body and the icy composure she refuses to drop, even as her jaw tightens and her breathing starts to lose its rhythm. Her thighs tremble as she sinks lower, swallowing more of you inside her, her pussy spreading around your girth.

She stops about halfway. Breathes. Then pushes down the rest of the way until her ass meets your pelvis and every inch of you is buried in her. Her eyes close for exactly one second. When they open again, she's rearranged her expression into something cool and unaffected.

"Okay," she says, looking down at you. "I'll give you this much. It's a pretty impressive cock." She shifts her hips, adjusting to the fullness, and you feel her walls squeeze around you involuntarily. "Real waste that it belongs to someone like you, though."

"Sorry about that," you reply, your breath catching as she clenches again. "I'll try to be hotter next time."

"Shut up. Don't talk. Just lie there and let me use you like the stupid little toy you are."

Somi starts moving. Slowly at first. She lifts her hips until barely anything remains, pauses for a second, then sinks back down with controlled force. The impact sends a sharp jolt through you. Then she does it again. And again. Gradually settling into a rhythm she seems satisfied with. Her pussy grips your shaft on every upstroke, wet and impossibly tight, then swallows you whole on the way back down.

The view from below is staggering. Somi's body is built for this. Her slim waist, her toned stomach flexing with each movement, and those massive breasts bouncing with every drop of her hips. They move almost independently, heavy and full, swaying and colliding against each other. Sweat is beginning to bead along her collarbones, rolling down between them.

Yunjin sits cross legged on the mattress, watching with her chin propped on her fist. "Okay, she looks fucking incredible doing that. Like, objectively."

Ning nods slowly, still recovering from her own orgasm, lying on her stomach with her chin in her hands. "It's giving professional athlete. The core strength alone."

"Seriously though," Asa adds, tilting her head to study Somi's form. "Look at the control she has. She's basically doing weighted squats right now. That's genuinely impressive."

Shuhua watches from beside Yunjin. "If I tried to do that, I would absolutely injure my lower back."

Asa glances at her. "That's because you used to walk around with your spine curved like a shrimp, Shu. You have the posture of someone who's been gaming for twelve hours straight. You only realized because Yunjin took that cursed picture of you.”

Yunjin barks out a laugh. Shuhua's mouth falls open. "That was truly offensive," Shuhua says quietly. "And for the record, I'm fixing it. My posture's good now. I bought a posture corrector and everything."

"Girl, that thing is still in the packaging on your desk," Ning says without looking up.

Somi ignores all of them. She's locked into her rhythm now, bouncing on your cock with increasing intensity, her hands braced on your chest for leverage. Each time she drops down, the sound of skin meeting skin is sharp and wet. Your hands are flat on the mattress because she hasn't given you permission to touch her, and somehow that makes it hotter. She's using you. Completely and totally.

Somi looks down at you, and her mouth curls into something between a smirk and a sneer. "God, you're adorable like this." She rolls her hips in a filthy slow circle, grinding your cock deep before picking her rhythm back up. "Pinned under me. Dumb and hard and just letting me take what I want. Like a good little fucktoy."

"View's pretty good from here too," you breathe, barely getting the words out while her cunt grips you on every drop.

"Yeah?" She lifts almost all the way off, just the tip, then slams her hips down so hard your vision whites out. "Nnngh— you like this? Like getting fucked stupid by a girl who doesn't give a shit if you cum? Just lying there taking it like an obedient little bitch?"

"Yes," you groan, hands fisting the sheets. "Fuck— yes, I like it.”

"Of course you do." She picks up speed, and the wet sounds get louder, filthier. Her breasts are bouncing so hard they're practically hitting her chin on every drop. "This is where you belong. On your back, getting used. You should be thanking me."

Yunjin starts clapping rhythmically, like she's at a sporting event. "Let's go Somi! Ride that dick! Let's go Somi!"

Ning immediately joins in, clapping along. "Bounce bounce bounce! Wreck that cock!"

Asa cups her hands around her mouth. "Give me an S! Give me an O! Give me an M!" Give me am I!”

Chaeyoung is giggling uncontrollably, clapping along with them.

Shuhua's eyes go wide. "Can you all please be quieter? There is a security guard somewhere in this building." They all drop to stage whispers, still clapping, still chanting, but at a fraction of the volume. Yunjin is whisper screaming "let's go Somi" with the intensity of a soccer mom at a championship game. Ning is doing quiet finger snaps. Asa is mouthing the letters of Somi's name with exaggerated lip movements.

Somi doesn't acknowledge any of them. She's grinding now, deep and circular, her clit pressing hard against your pelvis on every rotation. Her breathing has changed. Shorter. Sharper. That icy control is fracturing. You can see it in the way her thighs are shaking, the way her nails are digging into your chest, the way she keeps biting the inside of her cheek.

She speeds up again. Full bounces, slamming herself down, taking you to the root every time. Your cock is drenched in her, glistening in the low light. The mattress creaks beneath you. She tilts forward slightly, changing the angle, and her mouth opens in a silent gasp that she immediately tries to suppress.

"Fuck," she whispers. “Fuck…” She grinds down hard, circling her hips, pressing her clit against you with desperate pressure. Her thighs clamp around your sides. Her head drops forward, blonde hair curtaining her face, and her whole body locks up. You feel her pussy spasm around you in tight, rhythmic contractions, milking your shaft as the orgasm rolls through her. She grinds through every wave of it, extracting every last second, her hips stuttering and her breath coming in these ragged, broken exhales she can't quite control.

When it passes, she stays seated on you for a long moment. Still full of you. Catching her breath. Then she rises slowly, your cock sliding out of her with a wet, obscene sound, and she climbs off the mattress on slightly unsteady legs.

Somi rakes her fingers through her hair and gives you this perfectly curated look of mild disinterest. "Your dick's... fine. Nothing I couldn't replace with a ten-minute Amazon order.”

Yunjin snorts so hard she almost chokes. "Please. Even you don't believe that. I saw your legs shaking, Somi."

Somi's cheeks flush hot. "That doesn't mean anything. I'm not some pathetic slut who gets attached because a guy has a big dick. That's your department."

Yunjin doesn't flinch. Just smiles, soft and knowing. "You're so full of shit, babe. But it's cute. Keep pretending.” Somi rolls her eyes and turns away, but you catch the faintest trace of a smirk before she kills it.

Then Yunjin claps her hands once and the energy in the room shifts. "Okay. There's someone here who still hasn't gotten off." She looks at you pointedly. Your cock is still hard, still slick, throbbing against your stomach. "Stand up."

You get to your feet. Your legs are genuinely wobbly. Six pairs of eyes look up at you as the girls arrange themselves on their knees in a loose semicircle on the mattress. Asa to your left, Ning and Shuhua in the center, Yunjin to the right, Chaeyoung directly in front of you.

Somi steps forward. She reaches up and slides your glasses off your face. The world goes slightly blurry. Then she turns and places them carefully on Chaeyoung's face. The frames sit crooked on her smaller nose. She adjusts them, pushes them up, and looks up at you through the lenses with those big, pretty eyes.

Yunjin surveys the six of them kneeling around you and puts her hands on her hips. "Alright. Here's how we're doing this. I'll play distributor. Make sure everyone gets their fair share. No one girl hogging more than she's entitled to. Equal distribution of cum across all parties."

Shuhua tilts her head. "That's not really necessary. We're perfectly capable of organizing ourselves. No central authority needed. We just take turns, share naturally, everyone gets what they need."

Yunjin points at her. "And that is how you get one girl with a face full of cum and four girls with nothing. You need structure. Leadership. I'm the one who put this whole thing together. I organized the venue, the logistics, the communication. I am essentially the vanguard of this entire sexually transgressive movement." She pauses, then touches her hair with genuine regret. "Shit, I really should've brought a beret.”

Somi tilts her head back, closes her eyes, and exhales through her nose. "We're literally waiting for him to cum on our faces and you two are doing dialectics.”

"You're not the vanguard of anything," Shuhua replies calmly. "You're just horny and bossy. Those aren't the same thing."

Ning snorts. Asa covers her mouth.

"Can you two please shut up and start sucking," Chaeyoung says flatly, already wrapping her hand around your shaft. Your glasses sit crooked on her face, way too big for her, and she looks up at you through them with this expression that's equal parts sweet and filthy. She leans forward and takes the head into her mouth, her tongue swirling around it, tasting the combined slick of every girl who rode you tonight.

"Fine. Actions over theory. I can respect that,” Yunjin says before she ducks her head and runs her tongue along the left side of your shaft while Chaeyoung works the tip. Ning joins from the right, her tongue tracing a vein from base to mid shaft.

Three mouths on you at once. Your cock is more than big enough to accommodate them. Chaeyoung sucks the head with these slow pulls, her cheeks hollowing, while Yunjin and Ning lap at the shaft from either side, their tongues occasionally meeting and sliding against each other.

Somi kneels behind Chaeyoung, watching over her shoulder. "Tilt your head more, Chae. You're losing the angle."

Chaeyoung adjusts and takes you deeper, the glasses sliding down her nose. She pushes them back up with one finger without missing a beat.

Asa taps Ning's shoulder. "My turn." Ning pulls back and Asa takes her place, her technique immediately different. More controlled, more rhythmic. She sucks along the side of your shaft in long, measured strokes, her hand cupping your balls, rolling them gently. She remembers from the library how sensitive they are.

Shuhua waits patiently until Chaeyoung comes up for air, then leans in and takes over the tip. She's less hesitant than she was in the car. Something about tonight has unlocked her. She takes you halfway down without flinching, her throat relaxing around you, and holds there for a few seconds before pulling back with spit connecting her lips to your cock.

"Good girl, Shu," Yunjin murmurs approvingly, stroking Shuhua's hair back from her face.

"Don't patronize me," Shuhua replies, then immediately goes back down on you.

They rotate. Pairs and trios. Somi finally takes her turn, and true to form, she's rough about it. She grabs the base and sucks hard, her tongue doing something cruel and brilliant against the underside of the head. When she pulls off, she spits on your cock and strokes it with both hands, spreading the saliva, then passes you to Yunjin, who takes you to the root in one smooth motion. She holds you in her throat, her nose pressed against your pelvis, her long tongue extending to lap at your balls while you're still buried in her mouth. Asa watches with genuine admiration.

"That's physically impressive," Asa says. "Like, anatomically."

Yunjin pulls off with a wet gasp and grins. "Talent, baby."

Ning and Chaeyoung work you together next. Chaeyoung on the shaft, Ning sucking your balls into her mouth one at a time, humming against them. Then Shuhua and Asa, Shuhua taking the head while Asa licks the base. Then Somi alone, because Somi doesn't share well, her massive tits pressed against your thighs as she bobs her head with aggressive speed.

Your legs are trembling. The gummy bear you ate before coming to the mall is doing its job. You can feel the pressure building, heavy and dense, your balls tight and aching with the volume they're carrying. Every rotation of mouths pushes you closer. Six different techniques, six different temperatures, six different rhythms. It's sensory overload.

Yunjin can tell you're getting close. She reads your body, the way your stomach muscles tighten, the way your breathing goes shallow. "He's almost there," she announces. "Everyone get in position."

The six of them arrange themselves in a tight semicircle on their knees, faces upturned, close together. Chaeyoung in the center with your glasses still perched on her face. Yunjin and Somi flanking her. Asa, Ning, and Shuhua filling in the gaps. Twelve eyes looking up at you. Six open mouths.

You wrap your fist around your shaft and start stroking. Fast, tight, your hand slick with six girls' spit. "Cum for us," Yunjin says, her tongue extended. "Give your little pornstars everything you've got. I wanna be dripping."

"Cover my face," Ning adds, licking her lips. "I want to taste it again. Give me what you gave me in the car."

Somi tilts her chin up. "Don't you dare miss me."

Chaeyoung just looks at you through your own glasses, her mouth open, waiting. She doesn't need to say anything. The image alone almost sends you over.

"Paint us pretty," Asa says. "All of us. Don't leave anyone out."

Shuhua closes her eyes and tilts her face upward. "I'm ready."

You cum. And the gummy delivers. The first rope hits Chaeyoung across the bridge of your glasses, splattering the lenses, dripping down onto her nose and lips. She gasps and keeps her mouth open, catching the next spurt on her tongue. You angle toward Yunjin and she catches a thick streak across her forehead and cheek, letting it drip down to her chin. She moans, savoring it.

You move to Somi and land a heavy load across her lips and jaw, cum sliding down her neck onto her collarbones and the tops of her breasts. She doesn't flinch. Doesn't blink. Just takes it.

Asa gets the next several spurts. Across her nose, her left cheek, her open mouth. She swallows what lands on her tongue and lets the rest sit on her skin. Ning leans in eagerly and catches a rope from her hairline all the way down to her chin, cum beading on her eyelashes. She licks it from the corner of her mouth and grins. Shuhua receives the final waves, thick streaks landing across her forehead and cheeks. She keeps her eyes closed through it, her lips parted, cum dripping from her jaw onto her bare chest.

And it keeps coming. The gummy turns what should be a normal orgasm into something absurd. You go back through the lineup, adding more to each face. A second coating on Chaeyoung's glasses, now completely opaque with cum. More on Yunjin's neck and tits. Another streak across Somi's parted lips. By the time you're finally spent, shaking, your hand still wrapped around your softening cock, all six of them are glazed. Thoroughly, comprehensively, disgustingly covered.

The store is silent for a moment.

Then Yunjin starts laughing. Then Ning. Then all of them. Chaeyoung takes the glasses off and holds them up, both lenses completely coated, and that sends everyone into hysterics.

"That was unreal," Asa says, wiping cum from her eyebrow. "Genuinely, medically, that shouldn't be possible."

"I told you guys, these gummy bears are straight-up magical. Holy shit,” Yunjin beams, cum dripping off her chin.

Somi examines the mess on her chest with raised eyebrows. "Okay. I take back what I said earlier. His cock is more than 'fine'."

Asa stands up first, grabbing her shirt from the floor. "Okay. This was incredible. But we need to get out of here before sunrise."

Shuhua freezes mid laugh. "How exactly are we getting out of here, by the way?"

Six girls exchange glances. A long, terrible silence.

Asa looks at Yunjin. "Please tell me you planned the exit."

Yunjin blinks. "My plan went as far as the orgy part. I figured we'd improvise after."

Somi turns to Shuhua slowly. "You're supposed to be the smart one. Please tell me you thought about this."

"The idea wasn't even mine!" Shuhua protests. "And if I were truly the smart one in this group, I wouldn't have come here at all. I was driven entirely by lust, which I am not proud of."

Chaeyoung wipes your glasses on the sheet and puts them back on. "I mean, to be fair, every single person here was driven by lust. Not one of us was thinking logically tonight."

Ning sits back on her heels and surveys the scene. Cum on their faces. A mattress stained beyond repair with squirt. A clearly vandalized store.

"This is fantastic. We're stuck in a mall with the evidence of multiple crimes on our bodies and on this three thousand dollar mattress."

Shuhua nods solemnly. "Yeah, we're done for. Roll credits. Little cartoon circle closing in around our faces and everything." She sighs. "'That's all, folks.'”

All six of them turn to look at you. Hopeful. Desperate, even. Ning clasps her hands together. "Please tell me you have an idea."

You look past them toward the back of the store. Storage area. Receiving dock. "The store's on the first floor. There's gotta be a back door for deliveries. Loading area that opens to the outside. And somewhere back there, a spare key or a push bar."

The relief on their faces is instantaneous. Shoulders dropping. Exhales all around. Yunjin throws her arms up. "See? No reason to panic. Everything was under control the entire time. I planned for this."

"You absolutely did not," Shuhua says flatly.

"Details. Minor details." Yunjin stretches her arms above her head and rolls her neck. Then she looks at you with that familiar, dangerous glint. "So. Who wants a second round?"

Chaeyoung sputters. "Now? Here? We literally just figured out how to escape."

"We have time! The back door isn't going anywhere. And neither is his dick." She gestures at you. "Look at him. He's already getting hard again."

She's not wrong. The gummy's still doing its job. Somi glances down, then looks back up at you. "You seriously got another round in you?”

You look at the six of them. Flushed, sweaty, ridiculously attractive. Still hanging around half delirious at two in the morning in a dark mattress store. Somehow this is reality now.

"For you guys," you say, "I think I can power through.”

Asa smirks. Somi rolls her eyes but she's already moving toward you. Yunjin claps once, saying, "Then it's settled. The night continues." She pushes you back onto the mattress and the rest of them follow, six bodies closing in around you, hands and mouths everywhere.

What happens next, you already know.

[yodatzutzu]

little dragon | yeji x male reader

Also available in Fanprose!

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A sleek manila folder slid across the hardwood table before it hit the glass of the Old Fashioned, stopping it on its tracks. A tall tattooed man with an evident scar on his right eye,carefully sat down across the table as he watched the leather chair slowly spin around to face him. "I found the file you were lookin' for, it looks like the dragon is back in her cave."

An old man with multiple scars painting his face, his gold tooth showcased as he smirked at the man in front of him, before he picked it up and browsed the dossier. Her profile and multiple pictures of her from grainy cameras were inside.

NAME: Hwang Yeji (황예지)

CODENAME: DRAGON

AFFILIATION: Ruska Roma (formerly) / ITZY (unknown)

PLACE OF BIRTH: S. KOREA

AGE: 26

HEIGHT: 5'6 (167 cm)

DESCRIPTION: Orphan taken in by the Ruska Roma where she was raised directly under the director's supervision. Known to be loyal, ruthless and agile, often underestimated by other agents. Excels in stealth missions and close quarters combat.

LAST SEEN: SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA

The word EXCOMMUNICADO was stamped across her file, her black-and-white portrait staring back at him, The face that killed his men in a heartbeat and made his family's life work crumble. He can never forget what she singlehandedly did to all of his hard-work.

"Open the contract. Worldwide. Broadcast it to every single group. Put twenty-six million on her fucking head. I want her to suffer like they did. "

"But boss, word on the street Ruska Roma still has eyes on her. That bitch would never leave her valuable asset alone. We can't risk this—"

The boss slams the desk. While rage fills his eyes and his voice seething.

"I don't care if she's the most valuable asset of the Ruska Roma! Issue the open contract. If the Russians want to get involved so be it, we'll burn them down with their stupid dragon."

His eyes stayed on her profile, memories rushing through his head on how she killed his princesses in cold blood. His grip on the glass hardened before he drank it all in one motion.

The biggest regret he had in life was not slaying the dragon before it burned down his kingdom.

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"Happy Birthday, Yeddeong-ah!"

You exclaimed as she groggily wakes up, rubbing her eyes before she focuses her sight on you, wearing that stupid apron Chaeryoung got you for a wedding gift with a grin as your hands grips the breakfast tray on both sides before carefully placing it beside her. It was a simple breakfast, no one can ever mess up.

Hongsam jumps up into the bed and nuzzles himself into Yeji's hand which pets him absentmindedly. She beams her beautiful smile at you before she pulls on the hem of your shirt to make you sit down on the bed. She rests her head on your shoulder before guiding your face to her before she plants a soft kiss on your lips.

"Thank you, honey, I'm very grateful for this breakfast you cooked but I am so much more thankful to the gods above that I didn't wake up to our house burning down from your cooking" She said teasing your horrendous cooking skills. As her head find its way back to your shoulder.

"Can I take back my greeting?"

"Hmmm..nope"

You rolled your eyes before settling next to her as you both talk about the plans for today. Both of you are now past the extravagant plans and want something more chill and comfy. You don't need another Lia situation when she accidentally threw her drink onto strangers while wailing her hands wildly since you and Yeji paid for the birthday dinner.

The two of you talk as you eat the dinner you cooked up. Her hand intertwines yours as her thumb rubs yours. You kiss the top of her head, before you drape your arm onto her, pulling her in a side hug. The two of you just savored the moment with each other before you had to talk about the agenda for today.

The plan was set for today, just a normal comfy day. No interruptions whatsoever.

Yeji just wanted a day to relax and rest, tend to her garden she worked so hard for, before she goes back to her bleak corporate job where she drowns in spreadsheets and meetings. You, on the other hand, are preparing the needed ingredients to attempt to bake a cake for today's special occasion.

Now its you and Hongsam's mission to bake her the best cake she will ever taste in her lifetime. You turn on the radio as music fills the kitchen before scouring the pantry for the ingredients you saw in the online recipe you searched up.

Yeji was hanging freshly washed bedsheets and linen on the clothesline while observing her surroundings. Something she always does unconsciously, since it was drilled into her mind constantly in the past. "Always be vigilant moy malenkiy drakon (my little dragon)"

She shook her head, getting her mind off the past before she finished hanging up the remaining clothes from the hamper. Now it was time to water her plants in her little garden. But her eyes caught the new black SUV that passed by. She knew everything about this neighborhood and knew that wasn't a neighbor's car. But she played it off, thinking maybe neighbors are having guests over or maybe they got a new car. She stopped herself before she slips into becoming a weapon again.

Yeji squats down as she pulls up some pesky weeds that grew in her garden. She was minding her business before her ears perked up, hearing an unfamiliar stride rushing towards her. She stood up and looked back, right in time before a knife pierced through the air, nearly missing her face before she kicked him back making him stumble as his back hit the fence. The agent then rushes towards her with a flurry of trained punches, no regular person could do.

Her body moves on its own, her muscles remembering the brutal training the director engraved in her as she dodged and weaved the punches the agent unleashes on her. Using her surroundings she uses a blanket to obscure his vision before she low-blows the agent before she reels her foot back to deliver a brutal heel to the back of his head. No one plays by the rules, a harsh lesson she had to learn on the field when she was starting out.

Two more enter the front yard as she slips back into her old self. The dragon awakens as she rushes to one and launches herself on him as she locks her thighs on his head as she uses the momentum to flip him over with a brutal crash on the concrete pavement. The other agent then tries to strangle her from behind as she recovers, her sharp elbows finding the agent's sides as she pushes him back making him stumble back onto the fence with force, the momentum flipping him backwards to the other side of the fence.

The agent she sent crashing down is now trying to get out as he shakily pulls out his gun from his holster. Yeji immediately rushes to him as her hand grips his mouth tightly to muffle any noise before she forces his wrist upward with great force, resulting in a visceral crack as the agent's grip lets go of the gun.

She delivers a powerful knee to his midsection as she drives him down with force onto the edge of her flowerbed you helped her build last summer.

The last remaining agent scrambles onto his feet as he jumps the fence and tries to pick up the gun, but Yeji is faster as she turns around and skillfully punts the gun onto the first agent that tried to attack her. The two squared up before they started exchanging blows. The two of them take turns dodging and weaving each other's strikes before the agent grabs a handful of dirt and throws it onto her face, disorienting her.

He then rushes towards Yeji as he pins her to the wall, the agent skillfully strangles her with his strong grip on her neck. She tries to fight back with no result, as her hands scrambles onto her surroundings, trying to find something to use to get him off her.

Her grip then finds her garden hose, before the heavy duty nozzle of it finds the back of the agent's head with a strong thump. It makes him let go as his vision gets disoriented as she seizes this opening by jumping on his back and looping the garden hose on his neck. She then used his height to her advantage to use it for tension as she pulled hard on the hose choking him.

Both of them are now on the ground as Yeji has him in a sleeper hold. His elbows try to find her ribs, before she brutally lodges the nozzle into his mouth with force before she squeezes it as water flows into his lungs. He struggles violently as water sputters everywhere, Yeji tightening her hold onto him as he slowly turns blue.

After a while his body goes limp as Yeji discarded him off of her before she stands up and searches his person to take the pocket knife strapped on his belt. She walks to the first agent as she picks up the gun before inspecting it.

Multiple blacked out cars pulled up with ease on the street as Yeji was now back into being a weapon. Her expression is stoic as she stares down and assesses the vehicles, estimating how many would be inside, trying to come up with an efficient plan to take them out. in her head

She prepares herself as armed men exit the vehicles, her grip tightens around the gun.

Her composure falters as she sees a monster step out of the vehicle.

Heels clack against the gravel before she takes off her sunglasses, a venomous smile appears on her face as she sees Yeji's expression. Her eyes still have the fear she instilled in her since she got her.

The director of the Ruska Roma, the one who made her a monster, the person who molded her to be a loyal weapon.

"Moy malenkiy drakon (my little dragon), Happy birthday" The director sweetly greets Yeji with her thick Russian accent using the nickname she gave her when she was young.

Yeji's stare didn't back down as she questioned the director "What the fuck are you doing here? I did your marker already. This wasn't the deal." Her voice drips with rage as the director looks at her with a smile. Proud of her work still standing while not caring how one of the most feared assassins is in front of her with a loaded gun, ready to blow her brains off.

"A contract was put out for you, and I just took care of it." She scans the front yard to see littered bodies Yeji has taken care of. "But I see some still found your little cave huh?"

With a quick snap of her fingers the her men quickly cleans up the littered bodies while she talks to Yeji.

The director pets her head sweetly as her hand goes down as it gently grabs Yeji's nape as she pulls her down to her level and asks "How are you? Enjoying this boring life? Still with that stupid boy you left our world for?" in her motherly tone she always uses, whenever asks something life related.

Yeji rolls her eyes at the comment since she knew the grudge the director had towards you, since you were the reason she lost her precious dragon.

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"One and a half cup of all-purpose flour…but I can't find it. Can I use this, Hongsammie?" You show a box of cornstarch to Hongsam as he sat down near the pantry door "Do you think that would be okay?" you questioned the dog as he looks up to you with judging eyes before he stood up and walked away. You then hear a large thump outside. You play it off and thin Yeji might be hauling the sacks of soil to replant some of her flowers.

"Hongsammie~ do you think this looks right?" You ask the laying dog before you carefully pick him up like Simba as you make him look at the concoction you have made in the mixing bowl. He just looked back at you waiting for you to put him down on the floor as you were interrupting his precious time. Hongsam then ran towards the living room window as he barked at something outside, As you hear some cars pull up outside and think it was Ryujin and them visiting Yeji for her birthday.

Hongsam and Ryujin have some bad blood right now, since she lost his favorite ball, so you just laugh as you continue mixing the cake batter.

"OH, MY GOD, OUT OF CONTROL~" You sing off-key as you wash the dishes, the attempt of a cake now baking for god knows how long in the oven, while poor Hongsam gets interrupted by your singing, prompting him to go upstairs to avoid your attempt at singing.

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The director reaches into her coat, before pulling out a leather sack. She tosses it into Yeji's hand.

Yeji looks down as she opens the sack to see it full of familiar gold coins.

"Just in case you need it. Again, Happy birthday, my little dragon. Enjoy the rest of your day"

The director flashes her a smile before she walks away, not even waiting for Yeji's response before she goes back inside the car as the convoy drives away from the house.

Yeji watches the taillights of the cars, as disassembled the gun and tosses it to the bin. She stares at the bag of gold coins before she goes back inside.

Hongsam struts down the stairs before ignoring her and going straight to the kitchen. She places the sack next to their key bowl as she composes herself before entering the kitchen.

She saw the sight of you meticulously finishing the frosting of the cake. It was a lopsided cake that had mismatched candles making a '26'. You look up to her as you finish piping the frosting as you see her beautiful smile.

"Okay, first this was the only candle I could get to form 26 unless you would be okay to be having your 67th today" You say answering the unasked question, on why the colors didn't match.

Yeji giggles before she embraces you as her hands hook behind your head as she pulls you down to capture your lips. You smile into her kiss as you savor each other, before pulling away for a breath.

This is what she fought for. Why she left her past. How she would kill everything or anyone to protect that precious smile of yours.

arf arf

A bark interrupts the sweet moment as Hongsam got impatient waiting for you two. You light up the candle as you carry the cake as she closes her eyes and makes her wish.

"What did you wish for?" you asked while you put down the cake on the counter "Nope. I am not telling you~, because then it wouldn't come true."

Her finger swipes up some frosting before playfully swiping it on your nose, as both of you laughed.

You laugh at her playfulness as you carefully give her the sharp knife to give her the honors of slicing this attempt of a cake for her special day.

"Happy birthday, my love" You said while your hands encircle her hips you plant a kiss on her cheek,

Yeji suddenly feels a prick on her nape, before her vision slowly blurs. Her hands immediately reached up before knocking a small circular device to the floor.

Yeji's senses were bombarded, disorienting her. Her vision blurring as she hears this deafening ringing in her ears. She leans onto you in pain as you try to help her through it.

Your worried face is blurring in her vision as heat surges through her veins. She tries to compose herself, before her vision shuts black for a moment.

Reality rushes as she looks up to see blood slowly flowing out of your mouth. She panics as her eyes go down to see her hand twisting the knife into your midsection.

Her tears fell as she couldn't control herself. Her body is moving on its own. Your expression stays on hers as the light slowly leaves your eyes. Your tears stain your cheek as you say something to her as she still couldn't hear your voice.

'I love you….'

Multiple canisters were thrown into the house breaking the windows as Hongsam kept barking as he was positioned between your legs.

Smoke fills the room as armed men rush in, Yeji disoriented by the strange device couldn't move her body as slowly her consciousness fades to black.

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'—Furnace'

The word reverberates in the small room.

An old man dressed in all red, walks around her with an open notebook.

Yeji slowly raises her head as she blinks against the harsh light.

Her hands are bound by a leather harness behind the chair, as she tries to force it off.

The words triggering her, she knew what this procedure was. She didn't want to endure it again.

"s-st-stop" She croaked out as blood trickled down her forehead as she leaned forward. Her hands never stopped trying to find a way to escape from her binding.

'Midnight'

Yeji's body slowly thrashes around as she becomes desperate. Memories slowly flashing in her mind.

The old man clicks his pen in a rhythmic tone. CLICK

A beat pass before he clicks it three times in quick succession. CLICK-CLICK-CLICK

The clicking never stopped. Playing in a loop as he continues to walk around her like a caged animal. Reciting words that will make her a monster again.

Yeji screams on top of her lungs, her veins bulging out as she curses everything. Her pulling is now aggressive as it draws blood from her wrist. Her desperation was evident to the onlookers.

'Mayhem'

The memory of the first time you both met. You were a part-time butler as she was undercover as a socialite in the charity event.

"STOP!" Yeji pleads as her eyes squeezed shut. Her mind is playing games on her.

The constant clicking is making her lose her mind.

The chair moved slightly as she thrashed around aggressively as she repeated her desperate pleas.

Her hands formed a fist, making her knuckles pale white.

'Loyal'

The first date. You are nervously messing with your tie. Her hands expertly tying your tie. It was an awkward night. But it was the first time she felt human.

Her eyes start to water.

Her breathing harder, faster.

"KHVATIT! YA NE KHOCHU SNOVA BYT' CHUDOVISCHYEM! (ENOUGH! I DON'T WANT TO BE A MONSTER AGAIN!)"

Her hoarse voice screams out as tears fall from her eyes.

'Twelve'

The first time you confessed your love to her. 12:00. A simple lunch turned to something more.

Her screaming filled the room. As the old man continues reading off words from the old leather notebook the director kept all these years.

A smile grew as they watched their little dragon through the glass finally come back home.

Her precious weapon. Her little dragon.

'Special'

The night a simple dinner turned into a proposal. The moment Yeji always remembered.

A hot streak of tears painted her screaming face.

"I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL ALL OF YOU! DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME!" She barks at the top of her lungs. Still thrashing around aggressively.

Her voice oozes rage as her eyes burn with hatred.

'February'

The month of your marriage. It was small but special. Filled with love. Something she never thought would happen in her life.

Yeji was now laughing as she continued screaming. Her stained face looked straight at the one-way window.

"LOOK AT ME! BECAUSE THIS WILL BE THE FUCKING FACE YOU SEE BEFORE I RIP YOUR FUCKING THROAT OUT!"

The director laughed at her empty threats, loving the sight of her dragon still trying to fight it.

'Sharp'

The knife lodged into you. How you tried to help her. How you died because of her own hands.

Yeji is now out of breath. Her mind is going everywhere. The procedure was slowly working to its full potential.

Still thrashing and pulling her bindings.

"I'll fucking…kill..all of you"

Her voice was exhausted. As her attempts kept going.

'Twenty-six'

Her age the day she killed the only good thing in her life.

The day she was born.

The candles she blew, before hugging you.

Before everything went wrong.

'Birthday'

The day that was ruined by a single visit. The day is supposed to be full of love.

The clicking stopped. As the old man gently closes his notebook while observing Yeji.

Her threats slowly fade, as her vision blurs. Her muscles are finally relaxing.

You. The memories you have built with her. Slowly fades.

Your smile, your laugh, your scent. Now unknown to her.

The leather harness finally unshackles as Yeji drops to her knees. The metal door opens with a deafening creak, before a pair of heels clack in front of hers.

"Moy malenkiy drakon? (my little dragon?)"

Yeji slowly stands up. The light in her eyes, gone. No more hatred in her gaze. She is now back to a blank slate. A weapon. Just how the director liked her.

"Ya gotov slushat. (I am ready to comply.)"

"Mission Report. May 26, 2026"

[jenrubyjane]

WINTER DRAMA, 231111

[defmaybe]

crush (along with alcohol and tobacco)

sullyoon x male reader

7.1k words

You have a crush on Seol Yoona, let's start with this fact first.

She's deadly gorgeous — her eyes, her nose, her lips. You're as tall as she is, but the aura she emanates makes you feel like you're five centimeters shorter. She's a year above you, and that just makes the entire ordeal better for you. It's your thing — being dominated at everything by a woman. Therefore, Seol Yoona, or Sullyoon, is just flawless in your eyes.

You don't even dare to look at her when you walk past each other in the hallway. You just hide behind your friends cowardly, and you hope that she'd notice you amongst the crowd one day. There's a conflict between your actions and your desire, apparently, but you just can't help getting flustered and becoming mute when she's in your proximity.

The chance presents itself eventually. It can't be more of an open chance than this one.

"Have you seen the pair list for the trip yet?" Taesan asks you. His hands are on the steering wheel, driving you to the faculty as usual. You help him with fuel costs from time to time.

"Not yet. I probably got paired with someone I don't know." You shrug, scrolling through your Reddit feed. There are a few memes and a few posts about the games you're still playing in your freshman year. "We'll forget each other in a week, so, like, what's the appeal of knowing it now?"

"You're fucking pessimistic, dude. Maybe you have one of those pretty sophomores as your partner!" Taesan encourages you as the car enters the campus. "What's her name again? Yoon?"

"Sullyoon, and what's the chance? Two? Three percent? What's one hundred divided by thirty-eight—"

"Sometimes you just gotta believe, man," Taesan cuts you off cleanly. He's like a lighthouse for your sailboat in a thunderstorm. "And it's over ten percent. If you get one of the dance club members, they might help you get to Yoon as well!"

"Sullyoon. Yoon is the debate club president," you correct Taesan, though you're opening the group chat now. The trip's main document is the latest message.

"Yeah, Sullyoon," and he pauses to make a turn before continuing. "Anyway, the key point is: you have to trust your luck. I'm sure you'll—"

"Holy fucking fuck."

"Told ya, is it one of the—"

"It's Sullyoon!" you shout into the small confines of Taesan's car, seeing your name to the right of Seol Yoona on the list. You examine again to make sure that you didn't hallucinate, and it's really you and Sullyoon! You're being paired together for the trip this summer break!

You can barely comprehend the notion of you actually conversing with her — the topic, the tone, the personality, her eyes, her nose, her lips. Fuck, even the idea of you being close to her felt so far-fetched just mere minutes ago, and now, you're finally going to get to know her!

"I'm gonna cum."

"At least get out of the car first."

---

"Aren't you gonna go sit with her?" Taesan asks you, and you open your eyes from the attempt to get a pleasant sleep on the way to the destination. "The middle of the bus is also, like, the safest place?"

You blink a few times to get yourself back to your senses before replying, "We die together!"

Taesan gives you a look that makes you rethink your decisions, and the courage starts to flow in, even if it's just a bit. "That's probably the worst excuse you could've given me. I'm kicking you out of this seat."

"No, you can't."

"Your loss, then," Taesan scoffs, and he gives you another decision-altering look.

"What if she says no? That's gonna ruin the whole trip for me!" you whine, and you know that you're just delaying the inevitable of actually talking to her for the first time at this point.

Taesan purses his lips for a while before answering, "You don't know the outcome yet." He shrugs, looking for Sullyoon, who's still sitting by herself in the middle row. "Don't live to regret this."

You look at Sullyoon sitting a few rows in front of you like Taesan does, and to be frank, his words are pretty damn reasonable here. It's a slim chance against no chance at all to sit next to her for the first half of the trip.

"Fine," you concede, and you get up from your seat.

Each step feels too heavy than it should be. Your eyes lock onto the back of Sullyoon's head. Her hair is done in a ponytail today. She looks pretty like this. In fact, she looks pretty in every hairstyle. You trudge towards her row slowly, trying not to let her out of sight. Each second feels awfully long and tormenting, and you just reel through the possibilities of your first conversation with her. You keep reminding yourself that you have to ask for the vacancy of the seat beside her.

Until you're right beside her.

"Uh," you manage with all of your consciousness and energy. Sullyoon turns to you. "Hey, Miss Seol."

"Hey!" she greets you with a polite smile. "What's up?"

"I was gonna ask," and a pause. You can't believe you're having a conversation with her like this. With sheer willpower, you continue, "If I could sit here, since we're partners for the trip."

Sullyoon's eyes widen. "Oh, you're my freshman! Sure!" and she pats the seat beside her invitingly. "I'll tell Bae to sit somewhere else."

"Oh, I can just—"

"Please, and we've never talked prior to this, right? We can get to know each other here!" Sullyoon persuades, and her eyes give the impression that she wants your company. You just cannot decline the heavenly offer granted by the stars.

"Uh, okay." You settle yourself beside Sullyoon cautiously, trying not to humiliate yourself with your awkward movements. "Can Miss Bae sit with my friend?"

"Sure thing! Where's your friend?"

"Uh," and turn back to Taesan, who's watching your shenanigans happily. "He's there." You point at him.

"Alright, I'll message her."'

You keep thinking of ways that you can fumble this, and you just can't seem to stop it. Still, having Sullyoon this close to you after just a few words makes your heart flutter, and you have to hold back your smile for the entire trip.

---

"What's that on your phone?" Sullyoon asks. It's about half an hour into the ride. You appreciate the fact that she takes interests about your phone's background.

"The wallpaper?" and you tilt your phone to her a bit, making sure that she can see your screen.

"Yeah. Is it a movie poster?"

"Aftersun, yeah. I watched it a few years ago, and it just stuck in my head ever since."

It's an honest answer. Aftersun is an influential film to you. You saw it at a theater when it was initially released, and you just can't get it out of your brain somehow. It's a five-star film, really.

"Never heard of it before," Sullyoon says with a chuckle. "I'm not good at movies, to be honest."

Bravely, you reply, "I can help you with that if you want," and you chuckle a bit, diluting the seriousness of your words. You're trying not to look too cocky with your cinema knowledge here.

"I'd say yes if I had time," Sullyoon answers. "Please don't take it to heart. It's just that: I have so many fucking things going on in my life."

"Sorry to hear that," you respond in an attempt to empathize. "I don't take it personally, don't worry."

Sullyoon smiles before showing you her wallpaper. There are some Japanese letters that you can't translate and a few cars that you find cute. The overall image looks rather green-tinted. "I took this myself."

"With, like, a camera?"

"Yeah, it was from my trip to Tokyo," and Sullyoon pulls her phone back, seemingly searching for something. "Let me find the album, uh, here!"

You look at a bright image of the buildings of Tokyo. The composition and the lighting look good to you.

"Wow," you utter. "It's gorgeous."

Sullyoon smiles again. "Thanks. This is one of the better ones. I'm, like, really proud of it."

You can't help but smile along with her. Sullyoon continues to show you the images from her trip, and they truly are eye candy. You shower her with praise for her photography skills. You learn about the camera she uses. She learns about your love for Aftersun a little more. The conversation goes back and forth throughout the ride, and you're so fucking proud of yourself that you asked for this seat in the first place.

You're winning Seol Yoona's heart.

---

The bus stops at the mandatory resting point for lunch. You've been here a few times with your family before. It looks a tad different from what you've remembered, though you appreciate the fact that you get to use the bathroom and have a few pieces of pizza.

"So, how do you guys know each other?" Bae asks, biting off a piece of pepperoni she's holding. Sullyoon is sitting beside her, munching on a piece of double cheese.

"We live in the same dorm. He was searching for someone who lived there in the group chat, and I contacted him," Taesan answers, and you're nodding along with his words to confirm the legitimacy of the story. "And I drive him to campus on the days that we don't skip our classes," he continues with a chuckle, earning a boisterous laugh from Bae.

"You're skipping classes as freshmen?" Sullyoon quizzes.

Not wanting to look like a pair of irresponsible students in Sullyoon's eyes, you hastily refute his claim, "No, no, no, he was just joking."

Sullyoon nods approvingly before biting off her double cheese again. "I wish I had the fire like you guys," she says. "You kinda lose the energy with time, you know."

Not knowing how to answer, you just smile back at her. Then, you go back to the piece of pepperoni in your hand again, hoping that when you and Taesan become sophomores, you can be good examples for the future freshmen.

"Taesan, you have a, uh, sauce?" Bae starts, then she pulls a piece of paper out of a box for him. "Left side."

---

"So, why do you like photography?" you start at some time into the second half of the ride. It has been a while of silence playing on your phones, and you don't want to look too antisocial here.

"It's my mom," and Sullyoon looks up from her phone. The afternoon light from outside the bus is making a good angle with her face. She just looks gorgeous like this — her brown hair, her eyes, her voice. "She's a photographer, and she taught me about cameras and how to take photos."

You nod along with her words. "Cool. My mom is a chef."

"That's cool, too. Does this mean you can cook well?" Sullyoon asks. Her head is tilted a little in curiosity.

"I can make a​ Thai omelette. Is that enough?" you joke back, eliciting a chuckle from Sullyoon.

"Not a very suitable set of skills for today's dinner, I'd say," Sullyoon says, and she leans in closer to you. Your heart races at the unexpected proximity, and you use all your willpower to stay still. Though it turns out that she's just whispering you a spoiler for today's dinner. "I'm not supposed to tell a freshman, but we're having barbecue tonight."

You can smell her perfume — summer.

Your muscles relax once Sullyoon pulls her mouth away from your ear. You take some time to process her words. It's a barbecue. There'll be a grill. There'll be fire.

"Will there be beer as well?" you ask, only to realize how much of an alcoholic you're being in front of your crush. Fuck.

Sullyoon laughs. Her voice dips a tad deeper than usual, but it's devastatingly attractive to your ears. "Isn't that, like, the whole point of this trip? Getting wasted together and floating around in a pool?"

"Fair point," you reply, and the image of a drenched Sullyoon plagues your mind in an instant — clothes clinging to her skin, wet hair, her curves. Maybe you'll be making out with her in the water with your breath smelling like wheat and rye. You'll hold her close to your body as you kiss her with need. You'll—

"I still have to make sure of your safety, though, so don't drink too much. I can't deal with the faculty and your parents," Sullyoon half-jokes and half-pleads, pulling you away out of the fantasy. You understand her burden, of course, and you're going to be taking care of a freshman next year as well. You don't want physics-bending karma to come back and bite you in your ass.

"Sure, Miss Seol."

"Please, just call me Sullyoon," she urges. "Seriously, I feel like a fucking historical artifact being called Miss Seol, and I think I trust you enough now."

You get confused a bit at the idea of Sullyoon trusting you. Alas, it has been only a few hours since your first conversation. Nonetheless, you can jump out of this bus onto the road and ruin a car's windshield with this level of ecstasy. Seol Yoona trusts you, and that's probably another quest completed on the way to being her younger and slightly shorter boyfriend.

"Yeah, uh, okay, Sullyoon," you manage, doing your best to hide the joy inside your heart. It works for a while. At the moment Sullyoon turns away, you ball your hands into fists to celebrate the worthwhile event quietly out of her sight.

---

After a while, your view of the side of the bus becomes stores and houses planted along the road. There are some traffic lights on the way to your accommodation, as opposed to none on the highway earlier. You've just entered the metropolitan area of the town.

It doesn't take long before the bus turns into a small street. In the front, there are a bunch of rest houses sitting beside the alley. You see pools behind the wall of a house. Your bus stops eventually, and being nearest to the exit, you're the first to get off the vehicle.

"Hey," Sullyoon calls, and you turn back to her, not forgetting to leave the walkway space for a few people to walk past you towards the exit. "Can I have your number?"

Your mouth hangs open slightly in shock as Sullyoon locks her doe eyes with yours. Seol Yoona just asked for your number, and you can't fucking believe this. Your hands are still operating, at least, as you just whip out your phone from your pocket and touch the top of it with Sullyoon's.

Your phone vibrates slightly as her contact appears on your screen. The profile picture is her ID picture, you think. It looks so formal, with Sullyoon as her display name.

"Great, I'll message you when we're ready," Sullyoon says with a nod. "Or you can just come by and hang around first. Either way works."

"Sure, I'll put my stuff in my bedroom and go to you guys," you assure her, and she seems to be happy with that.

---

Sullyoon's house looks just like yours. It's not even mirrored. There's a pool table on the left side of the entrance. You can walk into the house a bit to find a pool filled with water on the right. The television is in the same position. There's a fridge beside it. The clock says that it's about four in the evening. Still, Sullyoon is nowhere to be seen, so you just settle yourself on the couch in the middle of the room meekly.

After a while, a door beside the television opens, and someone comes out of it.

She's not Sullyoon, though — a bit shorter, sharper face. It's Oh Haewon, still in her bus clothes of a Hawaiian shirt and jeans.

In Sullyoon's social circle, she spends most of her time with five women: Lily Morrow, Oh Haewon, Bae Jinsol, Kim Jiwoo, and Jang Kyujin. They're in the engineering dance club together, after all. You've seen their performances at a number of events: the orientation day, the international night, and now, the house trip. In your humble opinion, they're deathly beautiful in their own styles, and in reality, so many people have crushes on them. Though none of them have ever made a single move out of fear and anxiety.

In the group, Sullyoon is the most popular, with Haewon coming in a close second ranking. It's more of a preference whether you prefer the cute, innocuous vibe of Sullyoon or the tomboyish, vulgar vibe of Haewon. You find yourself more fitting to Sullyoon's energy, though it's not that you find Haewon any less gorgeous.

"Hey," Haewon greets you with a small nod. "Sullyoon's partner, right?"

You gulp. "Yeah, I, uh, she told me that I can be here, so I'm here."

Haewon nods again receptively before walking towards the couch. She sits down not too far from you, and she grabs the remote to play something.

"Oh, there's Netflix," Haewon mutters, and she clicks on the icon. It brings her to a login screen, however. "Damn."

"I have Netflix," you blurt out in an effort to help Haewon.

"Aren't you staying at that house?" Haewon asks, pointing back to your villa. "What? Are you and Sullyoon secretly fucking or something?" She shoots you a suspicious look, seemingly piqued by the notion of your trysts with her friend.

You can't say a word as your eyes widen and your mouth hangs open. Your body freezes in your seat, unsure of how to respond to the fuckery Haewon just uttered. It's as if your heart just stops for a few seconds just to process Haewon's awfully forward question.

"What?" you manage, utterly and completely shocked. "We're not—"

Suddenly, Haewon bursts out into a boisterous laugh, moving from side to side in her seat. "Fucking hell, I'm sorry," and she reaches out towards you, pacifying the situation. "I know you guys just met. I was just fucking with ya, sorry again."

Your expression dissolves into a shy laugh along with Haewon. "Oh, well," you mutter between chuckles. "That's quite a welcome."

"Yeah, I shouldn't, no, I wouldn't do it if I had known," Haewon says as her laugh softens into a smile. She then hands you the remote in her hand. "Here, log in with your Netflix."

"Thanks," and you take the remote from Haewon. Your heartbeat slows down a bit, and you start working on logging into the pool villa's Netflix with your account that you're sharing with Taesan and a few of your friends.

"Well, with that out of the way," Haewon restarts the conversation. She scoots a little closer towards you, and you tense up again. Your fingers tremble slightly on your phone while trying to access your Netflix account. "Do you like Sullyoon? Like, as your senior match or whatever."

"She's wonderful! I like her vibe," you answer honestly, alternating your eyes between Haewon, your phone, and the television. It's quite a sensory overload here. "She's so kind to me."

"Yeah, she's lovely all around. It's her expertise," Haewon says, sinking herself into the cushion of the couch. "You two will get along, don't worry."

"I hope so."

You finally link your account to the television, and Haewon claps merrily at the success. The screen shows a few algorithmic suggestions, and it's clear that you're a film buff.

"Do you have any hate-watching suggestions while we're drunk?" Haewon asks.

"The Room, I think?"

"I believe you," and Haewon does a finger gun pointing at you. You just smile at her.

---

The sizzling from the grill fills the night air along with the splashes of water in the pool. The outdoor area of Sullyoon's house smells of cooked meat and beer. You're sitting in a chair shyly, scrolling Twitter as alcohol begins to set in. There are a few freshmen, including Taesan, and sophomores, including Bae, playing in the pool together. You and Sullyoon remain on the land still, talking about tedious topics and interests that become interesting just because it's Seol Yoona you're talking to.

"How has your freshman year been?" Sullyoon asks, swirling the contents of her can around a bit, and she takes a sip.

"It's fine, I guess," you respond without looking up from your phone. "Took some time before I settled in, even with Taesan."

Sullyoon chuckles. "I get it — new environment, new friends, yadda yadda." She takes a bite off her barbecue stick — green pepper — and Sullyoon asks you more with her mouth full of food, "Did anyone come with you? Like, from the same high school."

You look up from your phone to meet Sullyoon's eyes before answering, "Nope, I'm alone here. Was really lucky I met him in that dorm group."

Sullyoon nods at the same time a splash of water lands on her feet, and she flinches a little. You look at the pool to find Bae and Taesan smiling apologetically.

"Sorry," Bae says from the water. Sullyoon just accepts her apology with a nod.

"Anyway," Sullyoon restarts, turning back to you. The can of beer is still staying in her hand, and she takes another swig. "Let's talk about something more personal."

You look at her, puzzled by her statement. "Wasn't that already personal?" and you let out a chuckle to lighten the seriousness of the statement. You don't want her to feel intimidated by your words.

Sullyoon laughs, seemingly a little drunk now. "There are more personal things than you settling into college life, you know?"

You're still too shy with two cans of beer in your veins. However, you really want to get to know Sullyoon better than this. You can feel your vision getting a tad blurry, but she remains as gorgeous as ever — her eyes, her hair, her lips. God, you just want her to pin you against the wall and start whispering dehumanizing insults into your ear.

"I don't have a girlfriend or a boyfriend, if that's what you wanna know," you declare, picking up the can to take a sip out of shyness. You wonder how and why the hell you said that. It's not like you look good enough to have a romantic life.

Sullyoon chuckles, fidgeting with her almost-empty can. "Me too." You register the intoxication in her eyes and tone, eventually. Her off-the-perfect-cadence giggles ring in your ear canals against the noise from the pool and the grill. "I've been on a few dates in college, and they're all just fucking boring."

"Boring?" you probe her a bit.

Sullyoon stands up from the opposite seat, and she sashays towards another chair next to you. The act makes your inhibitions drop slightly — proximity and all. She reaches for the can of beer back at her seat, and you see how defined her arm muscles are — curves, veins, and strength. You'd really like her to lock your head with that.

"Yeah, they're" — she takes another sip — "they always try to please me, and I can see through that."

"Like, uh, what usually happens?" you ask more questions without much self-doubt. The tendency to second-guess your words seems to disappear bit by bit.

Sullyoon scoffs, then there's another sip before she answers, "They act weird. I don't know how to describe it." Sullyoon looks up into the sky, reiterating her thoughts, and you follow her vision to see the stars flickering on the pitch-black blanket of the nocturne. "They just don't stay true to themselves! Yeah, that's the word."

You ponder her words. Not staying true to oneself is something that you oppose, obviously, but you also have some concern if you're falling into that category by falling for her as well — agreeing to everything she says and pretending to be someone else.

"Do you think I act weird?" you blurt out in your drunken stupor. You're a tad concerned about dishonesty, and maybe you'd get a free compliment from her for being yourself for the last 12 hours since the first encounter.

"Do you have a crush on me or something?" Sullyoon teases, looking at you with playfulness in her eyes. That smirk is killing you. "Why the fuck would you even ask that?" and she chuckles lightly.

Your eyes widen as you regain your senses for a few seconds. Her words are powerful, and you just can't answer the question she's using to interrogate your heart. All that you can do is take a sip from your can to hide the color on your cheeks.

You don't register Sullyoon's hand on your shoulder for the first second of contact. Again, the alcohol is setting in hastily. Still, your heart beats faster when her body scent reaches your nose — sweat, perfume, and some beer — and you almost choke on your drink. Your hands tremble under the weight of reality and closeness. Her mouth is agape, as if ready to do something unpredictable. You look into her eyes. There is a lot that's going on in her pupils — energy, mischief, and perhaps some desire.

You stammer out, "Come, come again?" She smells so fucking wonderful, and you wouldn't mind one bit if she calls you weird as an answer.

Then, Sullyoon just chuckles in front of your face, and you just look at her, confused.

"Just messing with ya," she utters with a smile before pulling herself away from you. Sullyoon then clinks her can with yours gently. "I'm drunk as hell now, so please excuse me."

Shakily, you bring the can to your mouth again for another sip while chuckling awkwardly.

"And no, I don't think you act weird around me," Sullyoon says.

Your heart flutters at her answer. The urge to jump into the pool out of joy is strong, but you remain mostly still as you ask her, "Really?"

Sullyoon shrugs. "Yeah, at least from what I see, I think you're often honest."

"Often?"

Another splash of pool water finds your feet and Sullyoon's. Both of you jump at the coldness, and Sullyoon goes a little further than you by hissing at the swimmers.

She turns back to meet your eyes. "I think we're gonna get all wet by the time I finish explaining this frequency adjective to you," Sullyoon states, tilting her head slightly towards the sliding doors, and you get the notion in that instant.

"We're just gonna sit on the couch and watch The Room, right?"

"What the fuck is The Room?"

"I did not hit her, it's not true! It's bullshit! I did not hit her!" Tommy then throws his water bottle away. "I did not. Oh hi, Mark."

"Oh, hey Johnny, what's up?"

Sullyoon nods beside you on the living room couch, a different can of beer that's almost full in her hand. "I see the appeal now."

"There are a bunch of weird dialogues like this, by the way. This is just one of them," you add, taking a chug off your can. "It's a fucking goldmine."

Sullyoon smiles back at you. "Splendid."

---

"Do you actually smoke?"

"This is Haewon's."

"Where are yours?"

"I don't smoke."

There are two cans of beer sitting idly on the marble sink. The area of this room is generally too small for two people, but with this amount of distance, you're fitting into it perfectly. There's the smell of scented candles that reminds you of serenity, but again, the ecstasy you've been chasing is already in front of you.

"I'm not trying this," you decline with a profuse shake of your head.

"Weren't you chugging beer like crazy earlier?" Sullyoon scoffs, breath smells of fermented wheat. She picks up a lighter to ignite the cigarette in her hand. A line of smoke rises from the opposite end from where her fingers are holding it.

"It wasn't that crazy, to be fair," you whine back. "This is, like, my, uh."

Sullyoon laughs in your face with visible signs of late-stage intoxication: lack of balance, unfocused eyes, shaky hands. "It's your eighth can tonight, by the way," and she points her thumb to the side, to the cans on the sink.

She keeps track of your beer consumption history, apparently, and you tease back, giggling, "You like me enough to count?"

"What do you think?" she plays coy, bringing the stick closer to the mouth. She doesn't take a drag yet, and you just observe the light at the end of it flickering in a slow rhythm. "Am I being a responsible sophomore, or am I having a crush on a person whom I've just met this morning?"

And you're snapped back into reality for a heartbeat. Within that timeframe, it's clear that you need more time and familiarity with Sullyoon to build her trust. You're a bit gutted that it's not so soon, to be honest, but you just hide any trace of that feeling with a small laugh.

"A person can dream, I guess," you blurt out, so unaware of how cocky you look.

"Yeah, I know I'm hot," Sullyoon scoffs, and her lips finally touch the cigarette. You watch her suck in air through her mouth. It's devastatingly attractive. Then, a puff of smoke hits your face, eliciting a few coughs from you, and you wonder how the hell she doesn't struggle with taking a drag.

"That wasn't" — and there's another cough — "hot."

"You're being obtuse," Sullyoon scoffs again. You're irked by her confidence a bit, but a part of you also finds that, in a sense, hot.

"I don't wanna get cancer," you deflect, trying your best to look strong in front of Sullyoon. Still, with this shorter height and younger age, you probably look deathly cute to her instead of intimidating. To make matters worse, she's ruffling your hair with a smile that's just making your muscles go wobbly against the bathroom door.

"You're a terrible liar," Sullyoon jokes. "I'll show you something."

Sullyoon takes another drag — soft, awfully quiet, glittering at the tip of her stick. She brings her other hand up to your mouth, and you flinch a bit out of the last remnants of your humility. Still, Sullyoon's thumb chases your lips and pries your mouth open gently. You loosen your jaw as her face moves closer towards yours.

A puff of white cloud leaves her mouth with a small push of air from her lungs, and you close your eyes once it reaches you. You block your trachea. The gust just rages in your mouth, and you let it stay there for a bit. You think you've seen this before — Joachim Trier's lens. And if your memory isn't too fuzzy and altered, what Sullyoon is doing to you right now looks stunningly ethereal.

Her breath is hot against your face. Her thumb burns your lips. Her smoke scorches the inside of your cheeks. It's one chillingly gorgeous spectacle if someone happens to stumble into this bathroom — the closeness, the white curls, the cadence of her chuckle afterwards. Seol Yoona is blowing smoke from her mouth into yours.

And you're pretty sure that Renate and Herbert are going to be ecstatic seeing you and Sullyoon reenacting their image.

A few heartbeats later, you blow a gust out of your lungs and open your eyes again. You're greeted with the sight of the dissolving vapor in front of Sullyoon's angelic features. She chuckles heartily, and she doesn't make a scene of brushing the cloud away. Her thumb is still on your lips, prying your mouth open with minimal force. She looks dreadfully pretty under the bathroom light and a layer of white puff.

"It's called shotgunning, I think," Sullyoon finally breaks the silence, and you just hum back at her as an affirmation. "I like it when we just stay like this."

"Like what?" you utter dumbly. Your brain seems to be completely fried from that puff, and you can only repeat her words and express agreement at this point.

"Close, but not too close," Sullyoon huffs before taking another drag, then there's another shotgunning. The cloud spins in your mouth, and you push it out softly. The whiteness dissipates into Sullyoon smiling in front of you and continuing her answer, "It's thrilling."

You're all dazed and enchanted by her spell — smoke and perfume. Your heart is yearning for more of her touch than just the thumb on your lips and the white puffs. You want to chase her lips, but the threat of losing her wholly looms over you. This entire thing is a thriller, honestly.

You gulp. "We're going to do this until—"

"It burns out, yeah," and Sullyoon winks. "Fun, isn't it?"

You rest your back against the door. "Then what?"

Sullyoon scoffs, and she ruffles your hair again tenderly. You just melt without an ounce of resistance — wobbly legs, slack arms. Her other hand is still holding the stick between her fingers. There's a line of smoke floating from the bright end.

"I don't know, really," Sullyoon answers your question, hand leaving your hair and reaching for her beer on the side. Your eyes are locked on the light from her cigarette, only to be told, "Look at me, pretty boy."

The name sends a shiver down your spine, obviously, and you shift your gaze back to her. She looks gorgeous as always: eyes, nose, lips. Now, with the label, you'd really love to just let her do whatever the hell she pleases with you.

"You look like a delicacy," Sullyoon says, and she takes another sip off her can. The alcohol helps your heart from beating too fast from the notion of you being her metaphorical dinner to satiate her apparent lust. "I wanna fucking devour you, to be honest."

Her eyes are still locked on yours. The duration of the prolonged eye contact should make you feel uneasy under sobriety, but you're leaning in closer towards Sullyoon as she puts her can away from her mouth. You're met with the sight of her wet lips glistening in the low light of the bathroom. Suddenly, however, Sullyoon pushes you back with her beer can against the door, eliciting a moan out of your mouth, knocking the air out of your lungs.

"Do as I say, pretty boy," Sullyoon commands, moving so awfully close to you that her lips almost touch yours. She doesn't make a show of smoking into your mouth anymore. The distance is gnawing at your heart, but with that assertion, you don't dare closing that gap.

You smile weakly with the surmounting excitement running in your veins. It's really happening right now — the golden, clear-cut chance with your crush. Your heart is hammering inside your chest. Your fingers quiver incessantly. Your pupils are certainly dilating.

Still, the playful edge in you emerges for a bit. "What if I don't?"

Sullyoon smirks, and a scoff leaves her mouth. "I'm sure you're not that stupid, right?"

"Definitely," and you chuckle in her face. It's disgustingly brave. "Maybe."

Sullyoon tilts her head a bit, then she faux begs, "Take off your shorts, pretty please?"

There's a certain kind of teasing in your movements as you remove the garments from your waist. It's to your best knowledge from being an engineering student. It's to your utmost ability to move when having a beer can on your chest and the bathroom door on your back. You don't really expect her to be more aroused by the swaying of your hips or the sultry-drunk expressions from you.

Sullyoon smiles at your enthusiasm, at least. You're elated with that. Then, she peers down to see your lush hair seeping from under the shorts.

"You don't even trim it," she states, still pinning you against the door with her beer can. The force lessens a bit, though. "Fucking disgusting," and she completes her insult with a devilish smile.

You push your boxers and shorts down further, lifting your legs to help with the removal. At a certain point, your cock springs out with eagerness, spreading precum over her casual clothes. Your body is shivering with anticipation and anxiety, while Sullyoon observes the entirety of you, taking a few drags and blowing the smoke onto your face.

Eventually, your bottom half is free of clothes. The vulnerability is terrifying under Sullyoon's impish expression. Her eyes scan all over your exposed body just to elicit some more goosebumps on your skin. You're smiling weakly out of intoxication, regardless. Your affection for her is running deadly deep.

She takes a drag, removing the can from your chest. You feel you can breathe properly again. There's this slightly numbing pain in your ribs, but you're too drunk and lusted-out to give any fucks about that. She's taller than you are. She's older than you are. She's stronger than you are. This is nauseatingly perfect.

"Go to the toilet," Sullyoon issues another order, and she moves out of the way to let you walk with boxers and pants on your ankles.

You take a few clumsy steps to the toilet, feeling Sullyoon's eyes on you. It's probably the natural response for you to feel the need to pee upon seeing the ceramic bowl. So, you aim your hard cock towards the water body. It's difficult with an erection, but—

"I've always wanted to do this." Sullyoon's chest is pressed against your back. Her left hand slides all over your abdomen, while the right is still holding the borrowed cigarette and the beer can. Of course, you moan with pleasure and her warmth. She stops around your lushness above your cock, eventually, and she gives it a soft press.

"Fuck," you whine whorishly. She gives it another press, and the tingle in your bladder becomes stronger. You can barely stand right now.

"Piss for Mommy, pretty boy, piss all that beer out," Sullyoon coos, and you feel her chin on your right shoulder. She takes another inhale of the nicotine, and you can only watch the smoke flying out of her mouth from beside you. Her left hand moves down a little more to help with the aim under the state of erection. She wraps her hand around your cock, bending it down a bit more.

That's when it starts for you.

There's the sound of your fluid hitting the water body in the toilet — slightly yellowish. Your body loosens up a bit. Sullyoon hums approvingly as a response, then, "It's so hard. I'm sure it's because of me, right?"

"Yes, Mommy," you speak, the moniker slipping out too easily. Your eyes are locked on your firmly held shaft that's still leaking.

Sullyoon takes another drag, blowing the smoke below her. The cloud envelops your cock, and you find the image somewhat cinematic, to be honest. You keep your piss consistent, forcing it out of the bladder in a powerful stream against the ceramic and the toilet water.

"Mommy's pissy boy," Sullyoon whispers, prompting a moan out of your mouth. Your pliability has never reached such high, and it's Seol Yoona — your crush — who helps turn your brain into a mush. "You're such a nasty little slut."

You repeat mindlessly, "I'm Mommy's pissy boy. I'm Mommy's little slut."

Sullyoon puts the cigarette into your mouth, blowing a puff into your right ear. The cloud is warm on your lobe. The drag is warm between your lips. "Take a drag, pretty boy."

You're too stupid and wasted right now to resist. There's a cough when the smoke hits those tiny bags in your lungs, and puffs leave your mouth. The stick doesn't fall, still. That's your first time smoking, and being held by the cock by your crush while pissing does elevate the experience by a margin.

Down below, your stream goes down in its intensity. A straight line becomes a curved one, and a curved one becomes droplets. The noise coming from the ceramic becomes quieter, and Sullyoon helps you shake the last few beads out of your slit. Your body can barely stand up now. You can just collapse within Sullyoon's embrace, really.

She holds you like that for a while, letting you bask in her warmth and your own vulnerability. You let out a few whines from between your lips as the drag remains in your mouth. Every breath is punctuated with a puff leaving with the moans. Then, Sullyoon sways from side to side languidly, and you follow promptly. She's humming some tune that you don't recognize — perfect cadence, almost somber tone.

"Such a good boy for Mommy," Sullyoon praises you, chin still on your right shoulder. Your heart jumps at the compliment, obviously, as you dance along with her.

"Thank you, Mommy," you say feebly, a bit muffled by the cigarette. Sullyoon reclaims it from your mouth with her fingers, eventually. Another puff is blown out of her mouth.

"Almost burned out," Sullyoon says.

Your eyes are still looking into the wall in front of you, mostly thoughtlessly except for the movements and her care. "What's burning out?" you ask, shifting your weight between the legs for the nocturnal waltz.

Another exhale, another white gust, another hum — Sullyoon answers, "The drag — this is my only one."

"Ask for one more from Haewon, Mommy."

But Sullyoon just stays there, hugging you from behind, lingering with you. Her left hand is still on your hard cock. A few more puffs pass by your ear as you two move from side to side. The room smells of scented candles.

"I wanna stay like this," Sullyoon finally says, and she presses the cigarette against the wall in front of you. There's an inky mark on the vast whiteness of the bathroom wall. "You smell like beer, by the way," and she finally takes a deep breath from something that isn't a cigarette: you.

The exposure to Sullyoon's proximity just pierces all of your defenses. Just this morning, if someone told you that you'll be in this situation — your crush holding your dick while you're peeing — you'd tell them to fuck the hell off. Right now, you don't know if it's the alcohol that's doing the talking, but you think it's real — her affection, her body against yours, her words.

Within her embrace, you've never felt weaker than right now.

"I like you."

[autumnyacorn]

Last Taste

Male Reader x LE SSERAFIM's Miyawaki Sakura

~6.7k words

Tags: smut, auction heist, alcohol

T/W: guns, violence, death, blood

A/N: Trying something different and wanted to write something high intensity! Enjoy!

“Virgin Strawberry Daiquiri, please.”

You turn your head and look at the lady sliding into the barstool beside you.

“You're late. Want some nuts?”

“I’m five minutes early,” she says, shaking her head subtly. “They’ll get stuck in my teeth.”

“The Sakura I know will always be six minutes early,” you tease, dragging the bowl of snacks back, tossing another candied walnut into your mouth.

She rolls her eyes with that familiar smirk, but her lips curl. The bartender sets her beverage down and she picks it up.

“How’s Yena?” you ask.

“Seriously? We haven't met in what, two years, and the first thing you ask is Yena and not me?” She scoffs, giving her mocktail a small sniff, before tipping it into her mouth. She takes a small sip, appreciating the refreshing sweetness, before setting it back onto the table.

“You’re right here. I can see you’re fine. Yena’s the one I’m worried about.”

“I know, I'm just fucking around with you,” she giggles, licking the strawberry foam that’s smeared across her upper lips. “She's fine, just busy with assignments. She's taking a request in Dubai right now, something about an oil prince’s heir. She’ll be back to Korea soon, saying she'll take a break.”

“She should. We all should,” you murmur, taking a sip from your glass. “It's been a while since we had some free time. Stupid people up there, always overworking us.”

“What's that you're drinking?”

“This? Pineapple Mango Sencha. Want some?” you reply, sliding your glass to her.

She takes it from you and tries, closing her eyes to savour the blend of sweet, tangy and earthy notes. “It's nice~ Since when did you stop drinking alcohol?”

“After our last job together,” you say, grabbing the glass back from her. “Y’know, ever since that mistake from being drunk? Figured it was smarter.” Your eyes focus back on the glass, hand slightly trembling as you reach out to reach for another nut.

“Hey… that wasn't your fault,” Sakura says, reaching out to grab your hand. Her warm touch calms you down, settling the intense tremor of fear stemming from inside you.

“She was my best friend, you know?”

“And she was mine too. She wouldn't want you to blame yourself for it, so let's stop talking about it, okay?”

You look into Sakura’s eyes. For a moment the image flashes across your mind: Chaewon’s head hitting the ground, blood splattering on concrete. But Sakura’s touch pulls you back. You turn your hand and squeeze hers once before letting go. 

“R-Right,” you stammer, taking in a deep breath to calm yourself. “Death is a common part of our job anyway.”

“She died in honour, so let's give her that honour.” Sakura raises her glass towards you.

“For Chaewon.”

“For Chaewon.”

The toast fills your heart, or so you hope it would, but it still feels empty. Sakura’s eyes darken as she looks at you.

“Your lips still taste like sencha?”

You smirk. “Only one way to find out.”

———

“Fuck, your lips tastes so good.”

“I could say the same for you,” Sakura breathes heavily against your lips before diving back in.

The kiss turns molten instantly. Her tongue twists and dances with yours, sucking greedily like she's trying to drink the taste of strawberry, pineapple and mango straight from your soul. You kiss her harder, devouring her right back. No alcohol courses through your veins, but it sure may as hell be.

“The sencha… its taste comes lingering,” she rasps, detaching her lips from yours for a short gasp. “And it makes me want more.” She grinds her hips on yours, smashing her lips back onto yours for another torrid kiss.

“Kkura… fuck, I need you right now.” You grunt, your cock growing impossibly hard against the restraints of your pants.

“And where do you think we are right now?” She chuckles, dismounting you as she kneels between your legs on the bathroom floor. “I can't fucking wait too.” Her fingers make quick work of your belt and button. Then, with a sultry look, eyes locked on yours, she leans in and catches the zipper between her teeth, pulling it down slowly. The metallic teeth echo around the small room.

She presses her nose against your bulge, taking a deep shameless whiff. “Fuck, I can smell you through your pants,” she moans at your scent, rubbing her nose along the hard outline of your cock through the fabric. “Two years… two fucking years without this cock.”

She grabs on to the hem of your pants on both sides, tugging everything down in a single yank. Your heavy cock springs out throbbing and leaking, bobbing slightly under the hunger of her eyes before it settles into small twitches of impatience.

“Fuck,” you grunt as she exhales lightly onto the tip, revelling in the tease, preparing for the storm that she'll unleash on your cock.

“Oh my god…” she moans, wrapping her hand around the base, giving it a slow, firm stroke. “Look at you, so hard for me already.” She stares at it reverently, like she's been dreaming about it for ages.

You shiver at the pleasurable squeezes she's giving your manhood, thinking about how much you missed her touch. Looking back down at her, you watch as she leans in and runs her tongue from the base all the way up to your already leaking tip.

“That's my first lick for tonight,” she whispers, before swirling her tongue around the sensitive head. “And the only lick I’ll give you tonight.” She moans loudly at the taste, the excitement of lapping your arousal sending vibrations through your cock. You tilt your head back in pleasure, feeling her wringing out beads after beads of pre-cum from your cock with every slow stroke, each one falling straight onto her greedy tongue like she's addicted.

And who says she isn't?

“Mmm… fuck, I missed this so much,” she purrs, before wrapping her lips around the head. Her tongue never stops the entire time, drawing circles around the circumference of the head, coaxing every physical and audible validation of pleasure she can get from you.

“You're insane, you know?” you grunt, reaching down to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Insanely irresistible.”

“And I’m insanely in need of your cock.”

She sinks lower at your praise, engulfing your cock with the overwhelming wet heat of her mouth. Without any hesitation, she sucks you impatiently, taking you deep as she bobs her head with filthy enthusiasm. Her cheeks hollow as she draws pre-cum from you with an unfound hunger, saliva dripping down your shaft as she works you tirelessly.

“Shit, Kkura… just like that.” You groan, threading your fingers through her hair as her hand strokes what her mouth can't reach. Every bob of her head onto your cock reminds you of the past, how you two would always go down on each other at any chance during missions. One may call it baseless lust, but perhaps you both just wanted to feel alive.

Sensing your discourse, Sakura pulls off your cock with a wet pop. Thick strings of spit stretch from her swollen, glistening lips to your throbbing shaft, and the sight makes your cock twitch more. She grabs your cock by the base and leans her head forward, slapping the heavy, veined length against her cheeks.

“Fuck, what are you doing?” you groan, each impact unleashing a surge of intensifying pleasure unto you.

“Tenderising my mouth with your hard cock~” she smirks, now smacking it on her lips before smearing the messy glaze of her saliva and your pre-cum all over her flushed, pretty face like paint. “I missed your cock so fucking much,” she confesses, stroking you with raw obsession. “Every single night for two years, I was such a desperate slut for it. I’d finger my dripping pussy in hotels for hours, moaning your name into the pillow while I imagined choking on this thick fucking cock… how it would stretch all my holes wide, how it would pulse and throb when you’re about to flood me.”

She dives back down without warning, taking you back in brutally deep. Her head bobs frantically, forcing every inch of your cock past the constricting confines of her throat. “You won’t leave me alone anymore, right?” she gasps, pulling off for another breath before gagging herself full again. Wet, sloppy noises echo around the bathroom stall as thick drool spurt from the corners of her stretched lips.

“Shit, Sakura…” you groan, hips jerking uncontrollably into her face. “I missed you too. None of the pussies I fucked could even come close to this filthy mouth of yours. Nothing feels as good as you. Nothing.”

Sakura’s eyes roll back in pleasure at your words, moaning around your cock as she takes you in over and over again. "You’re the only one—whose cock—tastes this fucking good,” she rasps, spit flowing down her chin in messy streams. “So thick—so heavy—so addictive—”

Then she swallows you whole again, sucking noisily and sloppily, gobbling you with a desperate, hungry rhythm. People who need to use the bathroom may be right outside waiting urgently for their turn, but you both don’t care at this point.

You can’t hold back anymore. You grab on to her head with both hands, tilting her slightly upwards. Her eyes flash with pure lust.

“Harder,” she muffles around your cock. “Use my throat. Fuck my face. I can take it. I want it. I need it—”

You tighten your grasp around her skull and slam her back down, stuffing her words right back into her larynx. You crush her nose against your pelvis, feeling her throat spasm violently around you, rippling and squeezing every gram of your meat like she’s trying to swallow you alive. Her face turns into a deep shade of red, tears streaming down her cheeks as her gag reflex erupts, but her eyes stare up at you with an euphoric, cock-drunk bliss, begging for you to not let go.

She looks like she’d happily stay there forever, choking on you as if her life depended on it.

And you oblige in her indulgence. You hold her there, savouring the way her throat massages and flutters around your throbbing length, milking thick beads of sweet pre-cum straight down into her stomach.

When you finally let her up, all you can hear is the approving sputtering of saliva and violent coughing as thick strands of viscous throat slime hangs down her mouth, dripping messily onto your cock and balls, dirtying the entire toilet bowl’s seat cover.

“You want more?” she purrs, nuzzling her face against your heavy balls, dragging her hot tongue all over them before opening her mouth wide and stuffing both heavy orbs into her mouth. She sucks and juggles them gently within the confines of her mouth, tongue swirling while her fist pumps your spit-drenched cock in fast, slimy strokes.

“More… You mentioned about tenderising, Sakura…” you grunt as finally releases your balls. You tilt her face up to look into her eyes. Her face is a beautiful red, tear-streaked wreck, but the feral hunger in her eyes only burns hotter. “But I think the tenderising should go both ways.”

You stuff her head back down onto you, forcibly impressing her onto your cock like a woman’s who’s been denied her favourite drug for years. You beat and hammer her head onto your cock repeatedly, softening her mouth and throat walls with ferocity, loosening and tenderising all the tight fibres and knots of her oral muscles. Sakura reciprocates in exhilaration as she worships your cock, licking every vein, slurping loudly, humming and moaning happily every time you twitch and throb on her tongue.

The pressure coils unbearably tight in your core.

“I’m close—” you warn, pumping her head with increasing speed and unimaginable depth. Her eyes beg you shamelessly as she hollows her cheeks and bobs furiously, gagging and choking while her throat convulses around you.

Every filthy slide of her velvet throat around you completely shatters your sanity.

With a deep, guttural groan, you explode. Thick, heavy ropes of cum flood straight down her throat. Sakura whimpers in ecstasy but never stops sucking and swallowing greedily, milking every last drop like she’s trying to drain your entire existence through your cock. Her throat works around you erratically, refusing to let a single drop escape until your cock finally softens between her abused lips.

Only then does she slowly pull off, gasping harshly for air. Her lips are puffy, shiny, and thoroughly ruined. She leans forward and presses a kiss right on your cock’s sensitive head before gently tucking you back into your pants with shaky fingers.

“Fuck, that was…” you rasp, breath slowing down from the hazy bliss.

She stands up on unsteady legs and leans forward, pulling you into a deep kiss, letting you taste your own cum on her tongue. When she finally pulls back, she’s smiling with glee, glowing with satisfaction.

“We should get out of here,” she whispers hotly against your lips. “Otherwise I’m going to ride you right against this wall until I can’t walk.”

———

“So, what’s this assignment about?” Sakura asks, lying beside you with her head resting on your chest. Your bodies are still glossed with sweat and the room is heavy with the scent of sex. Clothes are scattered wildly everywhere, and the sheets beneath you are soaked with cum.

“An auction heist,” you mumble, gently stroking her cheek with your thumb. “A very difficult one.”

“Don’t tell me it’s the Terminus Auction?” she sits up quickly, turning to face you. “Isn’t that place heavily guarded?”

“It is, and we should start planning for it. There isn’t much time. The auction happens the night after tomorrow.”

“That soon?” she frowns. “What are we stealing?”

“An encrypted thumb drive. As for its contents, I am not privy to it. Our job is simple: retrieve the drive and get out.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing else.”

“Not even the usual exotic herbs and medicines that the First Order loves?”

“Nope. Just the drive. It’s strange, I know, but they did promise us Second Orders a few months off if we pull this off.”

“Then we should make it succeed,” Sakura clenches her fist in excitement. “It has been forever since we’ve gotten any breaks, and I desperately need it.”

“Then get moving,” you smile faintly. “The room is a mess, and we can’t plan anything when everything is wet and sticky.”

“And whose fault do you think it is?” Sakura smirks. She reaches between her legs, scoops some of your cum from her filled pussy with two fingers, and brings them to her mouth. She sucks them clean with a soft, satisfied hum, eyes locked on yours the entire time.

“Fuck… you look so hot doing that.”

“You filled me to the brim,” she coos, licking the last strands from her fingers. “How many times was it? Five? Six?”

“Six,” you grunt in exhaustion. “Your pussy is the best.”

“Mhmm… You made me cum my brains out too~ I haven’t felt this good in such a long time.”

“We can have more fun later,” you let out a tired laugh. “Let’s shower together.”

You both stumble into the shower after calling for room service (had to get your sheets changed), still tangled in each other. Hot water cascades down your bodies as you both scrub the sinful filth off each other, only to press your bodies against each other on the tiled walls for another deep, lingering kiss. The desperation from earlier has faded into something warmer, but the hunger is still there, simmering beneath every touch. Your hands roam over her wet skin while she runs her fingers through your hair.

After the shower, you both end up back on the freshly made bed, half-dressed. Sakura lies on her stomach, wearing nothing but a loosely tied bathrobe, studying the blueprints and floorplans that you’ve spread out across the sheets.

“Alright, tell me what we have so far,” she says with a stern tone, suddenly all serious.

You sit by the side of the bed, dragging your finger across the blueprint right in front of her. “The target is stored 43 floors down in the Hitsumi Electronics Building.”

“When and what will be the extraction method?”

“Substitution of said item pre-auction,” you say. “The auction will happen on level B38’s theatre room, and you will begin your infiltration from there. As per insider information, items for auction will be moved via an automated conveyer system, and up to seven items will be queued in advance.”

“That’s new, I’ve never seen an auction where there aren’t any human handlers.”

“And that’s exactly why I am here. I will be hacking and hijacking into their systems during your infiltration, ensuring that none of their monitoring systems pick you up. In essence, you’ll be digitally invisible.”

Sakura nods slowly, scanning the floorplans as she looks through the routes that you have drawn and indicated.

“There are three layers of security. Biometric scanners at every entrance, facial recognition on the VIP level, and armed private security disguised as ushers. The encrypted thumb drive is Lot 36. You will make your move and infiltrate once Lot 30 is up for auction, which happens after right after the intermission break. Security vigilance is the lowest during that period.”

“The east and west corridor has two guards. I can handle them quietly if needed.” Her finger taps on the T-junction, right before the item conveyer room. “This service elevator here is a weak point. I can use it for exfil once I get the item. What about you?”

“I’ll be in the van located in the opposite building,” you say, pointing at the snapshot of the building across the street. “Throughout the operation, I’ll be your eyes and ears. Once you have the drive, I’ll meet you by the underground parking. My van will be waiting there.”

Sakura is quiet for a moment, studying the timings and routes you’ve marked.

“It’s tight,” she finally says.

“I know. While I am able to disable the alarm, there is no doubt that there will be a failsafe alarm in place. You will only have about a minute window between the thumb drive swap to get to the elevator.”

You look at her in silence. “There can be no mistakes. There will be no mistakes.” You lie back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as the weight of the operation settles over you. The stress is already gnawing at your chest.

Sakura shifts closer, resting her head on your shoulder. “Hey, you’ll do fine, don’t stress about it.” She mumbles softly, gently running her fingers down your arm. “Who’s the one with a two-year streak of successful missions?”

You reply her with nothing but calm breathing that’s nothing but calm.

———

“You’re too tense,” Sakura says. “I can feel it from outside the van.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” Sakura says. She’s already in her auction outfit — a deep blue faux fur coat that slips off one shoulder, revealing the black gown underneath accentuating her elegant neckline. Absolutely perfect for a woman as gorgeous as her.

“Look, I’m just making sure that everything works fine.” You reiterate, eyes flicking between all the different feeds from the multitude of cameras that’s spread across the rear of the van. Your fingers dance frantically across your laptop’s keyboard, switching between the auction house feeds that are already live on the screen.

“You’ve barely gotten any rest since we fucked, barely eaten anything all day, and you’ve hardly spoken since I got here.” Sakura reaches and rests her hand on your thigh, squeezing it gently.

“I’m really fine. It’s just me on focus mode. I’m always like this before missions.”

She looks at you worryingly, as if weighing the choice of her words.

“You’re still thinking about… Chaewon, aren’t you?”

Your hands freeze for a split second, before mashing on the keyboard buttons again.

Sakura sighs softly. She crawls over to the glove compartment and pulls out a small silver flask. The moment she unscrews the cap, the sharp scent of whiskey diffuses throughout the entire van.

“No,” you say immediately.

“Just a little,” she murmurs, pulling out two paper cups from the same compartment. She pours a minute amount — just enough for maybe three sips — and holds it out to you. “It’s not enough to get you drunk. Just to take the edge off. You’ve been carrying her death like chains around your neck for two whole years. Even if this mission doesn’t kill you, those chains are. I hate seeing you like this.”

You instinctively take the cup from her, but you don’t drink. You stare into it, watching your own reflection shimmering off the surface of the alcohol. Your face looks clean, shaven, and washed, but it’s smeared with the ragged wrinkles of guilt, sorrow, and worry. It’s as if you are there, but not there.

Lifeless. Soulless. Empty.

“I need you here tonight,” she continues, “but I also need you here. Not stuck in the past. Just a sip or two. For me?”

You stare at her. Her eyes are full of worry, not from the mission, but from her worry for you.

“Let me help you feel alive again. Even if it’s just for tonight.”

She grabs and takes your cup from you, tilting it into her mouth. Just as you think she will swallow it, she lurches forward, crashing her lips onto yours. The whiskey burns as it she feeds it into your mouth, flowing down your throat. Three whole sips, spreading heat throughout your chest almost immediately. You feel the cold suffocating and crushing force that’s wrenching your heart slowly melting away, albeit just a little.

“How was it?” she whispers against your lips.

“Good... My mind feels clearer already.”

“Mhmm~” she hums, before claiming your lips again. She straddles you completely throughout the kiss, settling against you, her hands clasped on both sides of your face. The kiss turns into a hungry one within seconds, tongues sliding against each other, teeth nibbling each other's lips.

“I need you,” she gasps against your mouth. “Right now.”

She reaches under her gown and slides her panties to the side. At the same time, your hands dive to your belt in hurry, unbuckling and freeing your cock. It’s already rock-hard. Without hesitation, she lines herself up and sinks down onto you in one smooth motion. Her pussy is wet and molten, hotter than the alcohol coursing through your blood.

Both of you groan loudly.

“Fuck… yes,” she hisses, starting to ride you immediately. She doesn’t start slow. She starts bouncing on you with the desperate need of filling herself with your cock, making the van rock and shake. You grip her ass under her gown, guiding her movements as she fucks you harder. Moans spill out of her mouth as you invade her warm depths, each drop hitting all the spots that jumbles her rationality.

You grunt when she looks at you with eager eyes, those same eyes that always drive you insane. You pull the top of her gown down, exposing her breasts, and latch onto one nipple, sucking hard.

Sakura moans louder, one hand braced on the ceiling, the other digging into your shoulder.

“Faster,” you growl, the whiskey making you bolder. “Ride me like you’ve can’t live without me.”

“I can’t,” she gasps, bouncing harder. “I can’t fucking live without you. I want you right beside me all the fucking time. Filling me up. Fucking me senseless. Holding my hand. I want to go on dates with you. Please… don’t ever leave me again.”

The van fills with the obscene sounds of wet squelches, skin slapping, and both of you moaning. You thrust up to meet her, hitting that perfect spot deep inside with every stroke. Sakura’s head falls back, lips parted in pleasure.

“Look at me,” you grunt.

Her eyes snap onto yours, and the eye contact is devastating. Full of everything you’ve never said out loud. You rub her clit with your thumb and feel her start to tighten around you.

“Cum for me, Kkura.”

She shatters with a broken cry, her walls convulsing violently around your cock as she breaks. Her whole body trembles and you follow right after, groaning her name as you spill deep inside her. She keeps grinding through it, milking every last drop from your cock.

For a long moment, the only sounds are your ragged breathing against each other’s chests.

“More?” she asks.

“We have a drive to steal,” you say, wrapping your arms around her tightly, holding her close. She leans into your neck and kisses it softly, whispering against your skin:

“Let’s quit after tonight. I have so many things I want to say to you.”

You give a small nod and whisper back.

“Me too.”

———

“Blossom, can you hear me.”

“Loud and clear, Spectre.”

“Blossom, I have my eyes on you. Remember the plan. Stay low, but bid a few items to blend in.”

You watch Sakura through the camera feed focused on the theatre, palms sweaty from nervousness. She's sitting in an elegant, poised manner with a regal black eye mask covering her upper half of her face, just like every other bidder tonight.

Your eyes flick towards the item conveyer room, watching as the first item emerge from darkness. It's a grotesque statue that seems to be a hybrid of a human and horse. One would think that it's a centaur, but it's the reverse — the head and torso is the horse’s, a human’s arms and legs for its limbs.

Disturbing.

And yet, paddles fly and bids soar. The first item is bought out at a whopping 3 million yen, earning applause from the audience as an aged burly man claims his prize.

The next item is even stranger: A book said to be written by cicada 3301, titled Liber Primus. Rumours claim that the online puzzle has yet to be solved and the book has yet to be deciphered since its reveal eight years ago. However, this particular hand-transcribed copy is said to hold clues and notes paramount to unravelling the truth within. A baseless rumour, but paddles fly once again.

“This place is full of freaks,” you say, shaking your head at the impulse spending, watching as the unverified stack of scribblings get sold for 4.6 million yen.

“3 fucking million for a weird ass horse-man thing, and now 4.6 million for a stupid book that doesn’t even guarantee the puzzle being solved?” Sakura murmurs. “What even happens when you solve the puzzle? Rich people are insane.”

“I’d say we are insane too. We’re literally about to steal from them.”

“Fair point.”

The auction passes in a parade of eccentricity.

A tree branch rumoured to the legendary god-killing spear Mistilteinn. A fully functional ancient Nokia 3310 loaded with Snake II and Space Impact. A sealed glass jar containing red crimson eyeballs heralding from a reclusive forest clan. Each subsequent item gets weirder than the last, and Sakura occasionally throws in low, casual bids to maintain her cover.

The theatre is pulsing with excitement and tension and every single item is met with an outcry of numbers, each bidder screaming louder than the last. By the time the 28th item is sold, the air is thick with adrenaline.

“Blossom,” you say into the comms. “This is the 29th item. Intermission comes right after. Prepare to move.”

You watch as the next item rolls out onto the stage: an ornate perfume bottle said to contain the preserved aphrodisiac essence of an ancient queen. One sniff and the even strongest man will crumble. Paddles fly. The numbers jump instantly from thousands to the millions, each increase exponentially higher than the last.

“4.5 million,” Sakura bids calmly.

“Blossom, what are you doing?” you whisper.

“Bidding,” she replies under her breath. “There were some staff looking in my direction earlier. Everyone is bidding except for me. I can’t stand out.”

“4.5 million is a lot.”

“I know. Trust me.”

The bids climb rapidly. You watch as her offer gets outbid by a recklessly spending young man, adding 10 million like its peanuts.

“15 million,” Sakura bids.

“25 million,” the man fights back, smirking.

“26 million.”

“36 million.”

“37 million.”

“Blossom!” you hiss anxiously. “This isn’t the plan!”

“Shush,” Sakura grinds her teeth. “50 million.”

The entire theatre goes into a stunned silence as they watch the fierce bidding war between Sakura and the man. The young man hesitates.

“Blossom… we don’t have 50 million.”

“Trust me.”

“50 million. Going once…”

Your fists clench.

“Going twice...”

Sakura’s smiles calmly.

“100 million!”

The insane counter-bid stuns the room. “100 million! Going once… Going twice… Sold!”

“Crazy bastard.”

“Did you predict this, Blossom?”

“No,” Sakura exhales with relief. “My ass was clenched tighter than when your cock is in me.”

“You’re insane.”

“Perhaps~”

You shake your head. “Alright, time to move.”

———

Intermission begins.

The lights in the theatre brighten as bidders rise from their seats, chatting excitedly while staff guide them towards the refreshment area. Security is momentarily distracted by the sudden movement and crowd management.

“Spectre, I’m moving now,” Sakura whispers.

You watch as she slips away from the main theatre with ease, blending into the flow of people before sneaking off into a side corridor. She approaches the T-junction just before the item conveyer room as marked in the floorplan and presses herself against the wall.

“Four guards,” you inform her. “Two stationary on each end, two patrolling. Cameras are looped. You’re invisible. Clear.”

Sakura waits patiently. One patrolling guard turns back before reaching the junction, but the other continues forward, turning the corner and walking straight toward her.

He spots her.

In an instant, Sakura switches tactics.

“Oh thank god,” she wheezes, stepping forward with a dazzling, embarrassed smile and swaying hips as she acts tipsy. “I think I got lost. Do you know the way back to the theatre?”

The guard lowers his raised weapon slightly, visibly charmed. “Gladly, Miss. Follow me.” The moment his back is turned, Sakura draws her suppressed pistol and strikes him hard on the back of the neck, knocking him out cold. She catches his falling body and gently lowers him to the floor.

“Spectre, I’m switching tactics.”

Before you can reply, Sakura screams.

“Help! Someone help me!”

The guards from both sides rush towards her voice. You watch the feeds intently.

“Left guard approaching your blind spot in three… two…”

“—Now!” Your signal comes a split second too late, the whiskey slightly clouding your timing.

Sakura reacts with a delay.

The guard spots her gun and barrels into her, and a brief, violent scuffle breaks out. Grunts and yelps fill the air as Sakura wrestles him down, locking her thighs around his neck in a tight triangle choke. Then a silenced gunshot and the guard stills.

“Shit—Blossom, two more incoming!”

Gunfire erupts in the narrow corridor as the remaining two guards rush in. Sakura moves with deadly precision, rolling to the right as she takes one down, before aiming at the other. However, the guard manages to get a shot off. She hisses in pain as the bullet tears into her abdomen.

“Blossom!” you shout in panic. “Withdraw now!”

She ignores you and strafes to the left, firing a shot that drills through the last guard’s forehead.

“You’re bleeding—”

“I’m fine,” she grunts, breathing hard as she presses hard on her wound. “All guards are down. Confirm if the coast is clear.” She rips the bottom of her gown and ties it around her waist, forming a makeshift bandage to slow her bleeding.

“Let’s withdraw.”

“No,” she says, limping as she approaches the conveyer room door. “Unlock the door, Spectre.”

You hesitate, then curse under your breath and override the lock. The door clicks open.

Sakura slips inside. The room is dimly lit with the conveyer system still humming. The next seven items are already queued up, and the 37th lies right at the end.

“… There’s no thumb drive,” she frowns. “Just a CD.”

“Let’s wait for the next item,’ you suggest, your entire head spinning from the upturn of plans and the lingering alcohol.

“There is no next item,” she replies grimly. “This is the last one, according to the auction handbook. We’ve been had.”

“Take the CD anyway,” you say. “We’re not leaving empty-handed.”

However, the moment Sakura grabs it from the tray, a piercing alarm explodes through the building.

“Fuck! It shouldn’t have triggered this fast,” you mutter. “I disabled it.”

“Spectre, calm down.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

“Spectre!” Sakura snaps. “Focus. Get me out of here.”

You close your eyes and draw in a deep breath. “All hell just broke loose,” you warn. “Guards incoming from your entry point. Run!”

Sakura turns and exits the room, limping towards the service elevator. She fires a few suppressing shots as she makes her way down the T-junction, killing the approaching guards despite her injury. One hand gripping her bleeding abdomen, she grunts as she barely makes it inside the elevator.

“Fuck, two more guards coming your way!” you shout into the microphone.

“She leans to the side and smashes the elevator buttons, gun inching out to shoot a few more cover shots before the doors snap shut just in time.

The ride upwards feels agonisingly slow.

Sakura wheezes and grimaces in pain as red continues to soak through the makeshift bandage, back collapsed onto the walls of the elevator.

“Stay with me Kkura,” you urge. “You're almost there. I’m right outside.”

You watch her body sway from the blood loss, lips growing pale, forehead glistening with cold sweat. By the time she reaches the underground parking and collapses into the passenger seat of the van, blood has soaked through her dress and coat.

You don’t waste a second. You slam the van into drive and surge out past the exit ramp, tyres screeching as sires blare in the distance.

The chase has begun.

The streets are wet from the relentless downpour. You weave aggressively through the late-night traffic, swerving left and right, zooming past the neon signs of Akihabara. Your eyes constantly dart between the road and the van’s mirrors, eyeing the electric reds and blues reflecting across the wet glass.

Sakura’s face is a deathly pale. Blood continues to pour from her abdomen.

“KKura—”

“Drive,” she rasps, one hand pressed hard against the wound, the other gripping the stolen CD like it’s her only lifeline. “Just… drive.”

Sirens close in as the first police cruiser appears behind you, the red and blue flashing brightening through the edges of your eyes.

More join rapidly.

"They’re…” Sakura warns.

“I see them.”

You take a sharp right, the van skidding dangerously on the wet and slippery road. The whiskey in your blood exudes its lingering effects that’s enhanced through your prolonged abstinence, making every movement feel a moment too slow. Your reactions are delayed by that same cursed split second, and it’s snowballing with every turn.

“Left! Left!” Sakura shouts as another police cruiser creeps up on your right.

You swerve a little too late, the rear tyre mounting over a kerb.

“Fuck—” you curse. Sakura yelps from the jerk. She twists in her seat, suppressing her painful groan as she leans out of the window. She fires several shots, blowing one of the cruiser’s tyres, sending it spinning wildly into a road divider.

But more keep coming.

You jam your feet and floor the accelerator, running red lights, surging down the road onto the highway. A bullet shatters your side mirror. Sakura fires again, but her aim weakens and lulls as blood loss takes its toll on her.

“Y-you’re losing speed,” Sakura says, her voice growing softer.

“I’ve got it,” you lie. The alcohol is fucking with your depth perception and every turn feels delayed, every decision a heartbeat too late. Stress and guilt churn violently in your chest as a helicopter’s spotlight sweeps over you, illuminating you like a star on stage.

You swing the steering wheel left and rocket past cars, weaving across the highway, shaking off the circular radiance chasing after you. Bullets barely miss the van, hitting the asphalt as you manoeuvre skilfully with random bursts of slow and fast speeds, derailing their shots.

“The extraction point is just ahead, hang in there.”

You force the engine into overdrive, trying to reach the escape point as fast as possible. When you’re off the highway, you cut into a narrow alley, hoping to lose them in the labyrinth of backstreets. The van scrapes against both walls, sparks showering like fireworks.

For a moment, the sires fade.

“Fuck, I shouldn't have drank,” you mutter under your breath, blaming yourself for the mistake. “It's happening again…”

But once you exit into the glamorous streets of Ginza, the helicopter finds you again. The spotlight shines right into your eyes as the aerial machine emerges in front, its light blinding you.

You swerve out of panic. The van skids and lunges at high speed into a divider.

“Hold on!”

You hold on to the steering as tight as you can, trying to keep the van level, but the force is too much. Metal screams and the world flips violently. Glass explodes around you as the van tumbles and slides into the underpass across the wet asphalt. Both you and Sakura jumble within the confines of the van, barely held in place by the seatbelts. The van finally rolls to a stop, your entire world overturned.

Pain explodes through your body. Your head shakes and your ears ring. You struggle to focus your eyes, but your vision tunnels, seeing nothing but a blur.

The van’s airbag compresses onto your face and chest, forcing a choked cough of blood out from your lungs. The van is mangled.

“Sakura…” You grunt, turning to look at her. Her body is slumped on the door, face full of cuts from the broken glass. Blood continues to flow from her abdomen, visibly lesser now, and her eyelids struggle to stay open. The CD is broken and embedded into her thighs. You grunt and reach to unbuckle your seatbelt, crawling out of the van through the broken window.

You can't feel your left arm.

You drag yourself to the other side of the van, ignoring the deep gash burning the back of your thigh. Sakura is barely conscious. You pull her out desperately, collapsing with her against the wrecked van.

You nestle her body against yours, the warmth slowly fading. Her breathing is shallow. The makeshift bandage is completely soaked through. Her beautiful face is pale, and her lips are turning blue.

You cradle her in your lap, sweat mixing with the blood on both of you.

“I’m sorry…” you say, or sob, or cry. You don't know. Droplets of salt drips onto Sakura’s face as you run your fingers across it, brushing strands if blood-soaked hair to the side.

“I should never have drank.”

“…We almost had it,” she whispers, a weak, pained smile on her lips. “Should’ve stayed in the van longer…”

You laugh softly.

“You should go.” Sakura rasps, her voice noticeably weaker than before. “There's still time.”

You ignore and pull her closer. “Perhaps I should have drank more if I knew this would happen,” you say. With trembling fingers, you reach inside your blazer’s inner pocket and pull out a small metallic silver flask. Sirens blast in the distance, getting louder as seconds pass.

“Fancy a drink?" you ask, uncapping it with difficulty.

Sakura nods faintly, her eyes already losing their light. You take a sip, then lean down and press your mouth to hers, feeding her the whiskey in a slow, deep kiss.

She swallows it weakly, savouring the taste before her throat stops moving. Her eyelids shut and her grip is faint… then nothing.

You stay there, forehead pressed against hers, savouring the last taste of her.

You could still run. But where to? Your life’s meaning is gone.

So you don’t.

You hold her lifeless body tighter, rocking her gently. You stay exactly where you are, cradling her body as boots and shouts for surrender thunder closer.

You don’t reach for your gun.

You press one final kiss to her forehead.

“Let's talk all we want on the other side.”

The last thing you hear is a gunshot and everything fades to black.

[mascarponny]

Mine to Entwine

tripleS Jiyeon x M! Reader

Tags : smut, angst, vanilla, pregananant // Wordcount : 6k~

TW : contains pregnancy sex

“wHen ARe yOu ExpeCTinG?

Can you believe that?! They asked me the same exact question for at least three times! Jeez.”

You laugh watching Jiyeon sulk. Your wife looks cuter when she is angy–intentional, she’s that cute. 

It is three years into your marriage, and you have yet to have a child. It is supposedly by design, as the both of you have agreed to be childfree for the first five years. But, it seems like the talks from last night’s Christmas Eve have gotten under her skin.

“So like, do you actually want to have one or is it just you being annoyed?” you lean on the kitchen counter, watching her scramble some eggs.

“Well, I, uhm. It would be nice to have one that’s for sure,” hesitation in her voice. Albeit you’re facing her back, it is very apparent that she is blushing behind the stove top.

You chuckle at it. 

“That can’t do. This is a very serious matter, Ji Suh-yeon. You can’t just say that about having a kid. Very, very serious this is,” your tone is threatening, though you mean it to be playful.

She can feel your hand enveloping her from behind. Your presence looming over her as she leans back. “Heh, scaryy~ is what you want me to say after hearing you say my full government name right?” she elbows you right on your liver–height difference can sometimes be an advantage.

You step back in pain. Lucky you that she didn’t choose your balls as the target of the attack, but still, several grunts are due. “I’m joking babe, damn.”

A smirk of victory is something rightful only to her, as you can see Jiyeon put up her hands on her hips in this pose of pride and satisfaction. What even is she proud about? Well, probably the fact that you’re on your knees right now.

That being said, the view from below and behind your wife makes it seem like you are the one victorious instead. It is her glorious toned legs and butt, which, once you indulge in it, is always a win in any scenario. Lost the fight but won the war, one might say.

“Anyway, I kinda understand it now, you know?”

Still in between grunts; “What?”

“Having children.”

You don’t answer. Let the silence marinate, the answer is best served ready and cooked.

“At first it was fun. Like, reaaally, genuinely exciting, to spend every single day with the love of my life doing whatever we want. Traveling, working, … fucking, heheh-

But after three years, I kinda feel like I’m satisfied, y’know? Like, I really enjoyed it, these past three years have been nothing but the best years of my life. Serious. And now, I think I’m ready … to have a kid …,

To be a mom.”

You get up slowly, cradling her from behind. “Jiyeon.”

“Hm?” she looks up. Those bright, sparkly, innocent eyes that you’ll never get tired of are looking at you with full anticipation.

“The egg is burnt honey…”

“Oh shit!”

~

Jiyeon is hot.

You can hardly think of anything else when she’s laid bare on the bed. Stomach inches away from your face.

Her belly is wet. The result of your affectionate munches–may or may not be caused from the burnt eggs incident, she is your breakfast for the day. You hang on her tits like it’s a pull up bar.

“Ah! Eheheheh! That tickles!” she coordinated her own hands on top of yours with the relentless squeeze on her cute tits.

Her laughter is cute, which really throws this whole situation off if you’re being honest. Any more of that will definitely replace your burning lust love with a strong urge to cuddle, and possibly with an addition of tickles. So you stop squeezing. She looks confused.

“Let’s just make us a child honey,” you get off of her to undress.

Doesn’t take long to be naked yourself, an effort to bring balance to the nakedness in the room. Jiyeon raises her head, smirking at you. Or is she smirking at your cock? You have no idea, not that you’d care either way.

You go back to the bed–jumping on her like a tiger pouncing its prey.

“Kyah!”

Her limbs are all loosely restrained under yours. Due to the nature of gravity–and the fact that you literally pounced on her–your erected cock is bouncing on and off between the two stomachs.

“...”

“...”

“HAHAHAHAH!” a rather vulgar laughter escapes your mouth, but she’s laughing harder.

“That was so funny!” she says, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes.

“Yeah, I did not expect it to ricochet like that,” you too are tearing up from the laughter.

“And like, the feel on my stomach,” she rubs hers in circling motion. “It’s like I’m being massaged by one of those massaging guns y’know. Pfft!”

“Haaah …”

“Heh.

Wanna continue?” she asks. 

Of course you do. You lower your head. She closes her eyes. The soft sensation of her lips ignites the romance once more. It’s weird. You’ve kissed her countless times before. Being, well, your wife and all. But you never get tired of it. You never get tired of her taste, of her smell, of her.

You love Jiyeon.

Ah.

A string of drool connects the lips as you unlatch. Her eyes, pearly, pretty, are staring at you. An unspeakable bond is formed, or rather, strengthened. You give her one more quick smooch before reluctantly breaking eye contact. Looking down, she’s already squirming. Rubbing her inner thighs together, her legs fidget closer. Higher, too. she’s rubbing your balls with her inner thigh.

You move down. But not without planting a plethora of smooches all the way. It’s essential for you to taste her entire body before breaking into her most sacred–almost a ritual at this point. An appetizer is crucial in a five-course meal.

She still laughs amongst the moans elicited from the barrage of kisses, but you can feel the weight of expectancy from those. She wants you.

You spend a bit more time on her belly button than the others. You kiss it, lick it, suck it. Let her feel your-

Smack!

“Awch?”

In the middle of her panting breaths, she says; “Cmoon, don’t tease me any long-kyaah!”

In an abrupt motion you bring her legs up, simultaneously lifting her body from the chest down. You sit on your knees and plant her toes on the sides of her head. Putting an armlock around her hamstrings. You effectively folded your wife in this position, presenting her entire crotch right in front of your face. A revenge for the slap earlier.

“Hang on! Waitwaitwai-eEEK!”

You dive in. Who in their right mind wouldn’t? Your wife’s holes are displayed on a silver platter. Of course you’re eating her out.

I’ll eat(you) well.

Start slow. Kissing every area but her folds, including her puckered hole. Her hole is wet, that’s a given, but not so much around it. The objective is to spread everything evenly. The hidden objective is to torture her for the sake of it.

You lap her up like you would an ice cream. Licks, licks, licks, ooh, it’s her ass! Insert.

“Aghhhh!” her ass trembles when your tongue invades the tight hole.

You move your head up and down, stretching the rim with the repeated thrust of your tongue. Not the easiest thing to do, but her hole is very accommodating. A sign of complete trust.

“Ngghh! Fuck, FUCK! Stopstopstop-”

And so you stop.

“Huh? Why’d you stop?! I was close!” she hits your sides with her free hand.

Without any warning you release your right hand to stick your middle finger knuckle deep inside her ass. It silenced her immediately. You start rotating the finger inside, clockwise. Pretending to search her pleasure point–you already know where it is.

“There~” you say, shortly before she squirts uncontrollably.

You wait until her high is over, Jiyeon is quietly enjoying it. 

Zero fucks were given as to where she sprays, as your face became the reservoir–not that you’d mind.

.

.

.

“Are you done?”

“Oh fuck you,” she says, weakly. Her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah that’s the main goal here,” you smooch her folds one last time before putting her back down. Must’ve been sore to cum in such a position. A good thing that she’s flexible–years of ballet came in clutch.

You let her rest, as you need one too for a cooldown. Though it doesn’t last long, as she calls you with “Breed me babe, c’mon!” as she’s tapping her own belly.

Well, if she insists, a good husband will oblige.

You approach her. Once again lifting her legs, you’re only half-folding her now, as you hoist her legs up onto your shoulders. You position yourself right below her, hips already sticking. You lean in, watching her sweaty, sweety face. Ah, what a beauty.

“You ready honey?”

She excitedly nods. “I said breed me. Daddy.”

You chuckle. She’s exactly how you would picture a girl getting a sweet treat. Only this time the treat is in the form of a male reproductive organ.

You hold your fully erect shaft, tapping it several times onto her entrance. She giggles. She really is weak to tickles.

You pull your hips back a little. She looks at you, and you look at her. Your tip is already sticking. Eye contact is never broken as you slowly move forward. She gasps, a moan is next. She’s looking at you deeper, somehow. As deep as you are within her warmth.

“Mmhh,” she’s biting her bottom lips, trying so hard to maintain eye contact.

You can relate to her struggles, as you are literally one with each other. It takes a huge willpower to not throw your head back and groan in satisfaction. The pleasure she offers is unbeatable, and you are pretty sure she feels exactly the same.

“Fuck,” you hold it at the deepest point. You lean into her, cradling her jaw to give her a kiss. She does the same, swiftly moving her legs to wrap around you.

“Ah,” a symphony of moaning escapes our lips once they leave each other.

Jiyeon briefly stares at you within that inch of a distance, before releasing her hold from your jaw to throw her hands up. Her armpit’s exposed, complete with a taunting smirk. Jiyeon is stretching her back, arching her flexible body. You are forced to back away, shifting your gaze onto her alluring body. Damn.

You hold her cherry firmly, which earns a chuckle or two, before rocking your hips back and forth. Purposely setting the rhythm slow to see her squirm beneath you. Another sight of her you wouldn’t ever get tired of.

You draw this out for as long as you can. Holding your own desire to completely break her. That’s because you know your wife well. You know that when she can hold it off no longer, it will be herself that’s asking to be broken.

It doesn’t take that long. 

“Argh!” she reacts to your tip hitting her deepest point, for the umpteenth time. You never pull any further than about ¾ of your length, letting most of it rest inside. Turning it up and around, stirring her up–body and mind alike.

“Fuck - me - seriously -,” she suddenly grabs your forearm, looking at you with a begging eye. “Please.”

You rock your hips one last time then move the grasp on her breast towards her arching back. Leaning back down, technically hugging her hot–both figuratively and literally–body. You position your mouth right beside her ear to whisper to her. “At your service my queen.”

The room blends into nothing but screams of pleasure and delight once you start to fuck her in the way a beast would. She moans, you groan, the claps, you both bite each other.

Time stretches itself, you feel like you’ve been fucking her for an eternity. At the same time, it feels too short for it to be over as you start to feel that familiar knot in your groin.

“Grrh. Shit.”

She notices. She stops her bites on your neck, tapping your cheek. You understand the signal, lifting your head to stick your forehead onto each other.

“Fuck! Inside, put that baby in me!”

You can’t muster an answer anymore. In response, you pound harder. Her legs locking your back as strong as your pummeling gets until eventually you can no longer move. You thrust one last time, the deepest so far.

You both scream into each other's mouth as you shoot ropes and ropes of baby batter right into her baby factory.

Then silence. Time stops itself altogether. Your world shrinks until Jiyeon is the only one left. Her happy face. Her hot breaths. Her heaving chest. Her limbs, shackling you. Her clammy surface. Her warm, tight, and filled pussy. She is your entire world.

Your hug on her gets tighter. You nuzzle into her neck for a brief moment before lifting your head to look straight at her.

Weakly, you muster. “You’ve been nothing but submissive and breedable tonight babe, thank-”

The echo of a slap is heard throughout the room. Alerting each and every living being in the vicinity with the sole exception of you. You couldn’t even get the chance to see Jiyeon’s tomato face as your consciousness left you way sooner than anybody thought. 

“Ah…, oops…” 

“Did I seriously pass out like that? From a single slap?”

Jiyeon laughs in the shower. “Yep! So weak! Who would’ve known?”

You laugh in accordance, before flushing the toilet. “Can I join?”

You can hear the water stop. “Sure. No sex though-” she looks surprised when you enter the shower. Jiyeon faces you while looking down and rubbing her lower belly, treating it like the world’s greatest treasure–it is, she is. “I wanna…, feel it. Y’know?”

“Yeah. I know.”

~

Three weeks later. Jiyeon suddenly rushes in the work room, in the middle of your meeting with clients from overseas. You glance at her over the computer screen.

“Honey! I missed my period!” she shouts.

You gasp, along with several clients inside the screen. You try to not show your immense elation. That said, you cannot lie to yourself. A big grin is there for everyone to see. Some who catch it on screen express congratulations.

You go and hug your happy wife as soon as the meeting is over.

~

“What is it honey?”

“I don’t feel like finishing this, it just, I dunno, tastes weird…, urp!”

“Okay, it’s fine. I’ll just ask for a box. Are you not hungry though? You’ve barely eaten anything since morning,” you pull the kimchi fried rice out of her sight. It is her favorite meal, and she’s barely taken a spoon or two.

“Well, I’ll be lying if I say I don’t, but I really don’t feel like eating anything right now,” she frowns.

“-that being said, I do crave a nutella sandwich.”

“Ah, okay. That’s, yeah, we have those at home, let’s go back-”

“-with onions. Raw, uncooked, onions,” her mouth flashes a nasty grin. Must be the pregnancy cravings.

“O-okay…, we can stop by a market on the way home…”

~

Eight weeks later. Jiyeon goes to the bathroom in the middle of the night. She’s been going at it, back and forth, for at least five times in every hour.

You raise your head from the pillow as she comes back to the bed. She turns on the bedlight.

“Honey, I think my breasts swell, it’s been really sore for a few days now. Look,” she’s pulling her pajamas up. They’re indeed swelling up.

“Oooh, my steak too juicy, my lobster too buttery-”

“Not funny.”

“Sorry. Well, how do you feel about it?”

“I dunno…, it just feels weird. I feel, kinda bad, I guess? But not so much that it makes me…, huft, I dunno babe.”

You sit straight up to hug her, still topless. “Hey, I’m always here for you okay?”

She hugs back. You can feel her shoulders slack. “Thanks. Ah, gotta pee again-”

“Need help with that?”

She laughs. Standing up, she farts right in front of your face then sticks out her tongue. “Bweeeh~”

~

Jiyeon is getting bigger, literally. Her entire body is swelling up. She notices it herself in one morning before going to work.

“Babe?”

“Yea?” you stick your head out of the bathroom, toothbrush in mouth.

“I’m getting fat,” she shows you her belly. Her pants couldn’t even be zipped all the way up.

“...so?”

She frowns. Clearly unsatisfied with your response. “What do you mean ‘so’? I’m getting fat! Don’t you hate it?! Don’t you hate it when your wife is getting fat and ugly?!”

There are tears flowing through her cheeks. You take your toothbrush out of your mouth and approach her crying self. “What do you mean ugly?”

“...”

You step closer towards her. “You’re still Jiyeon. My wife. The love of my life. The girl I will ask out 10 times out of 10, no matter what conditions she’s in. You’re never ugly to my eyes honey, ever,” you open your arms.

Jiyeon jumps to it. Quietly sobbing on your chest as you pat her back.

~

It is right around the time for the first trimester to end. Your wife has been looking rough all throughout. You’ve been regularly taking her to Sins, a GP(General Practitioner), since the fifth week, they say this is the time for her symptoms to get worse–worst, even. As a good husband–and how every husband should–you’ve been patiently attending to her every need.

As she wakes up this morning, you’re already in the kitchen. A pregnant woman needs an adequate amount of nutrition to sustain both the body of the mother and the needs of the child. It’s a bit complicated on this front, since Jiyeon’s taste buds have been everything but normal. She’s barely eating anything but her cravings. According to her, all foods taste bland and weirdly metallic–except the food she craves. To tackle that, you’ve been cooking in small portions. Eating small but frequently really helps her to take in those much needed nutritions.

Today, the menu is baked salmon with mashed potato and stir fried asparagus. Jiyeon entered the kitchen looking beat up. She hasn’t had a good night sleep for some time now, bladder problems.

“Mornin’ babe,” she groggily says, almost missing the kitchen counter as she’s putting her arms down.

“Morning! Feeling good?”

“Nope,” she slumps. Her sighs audible through the counter.

“Wanna go out this week? We can go to the beach, been quite a while since last time,” you present her your cooking. Not the best, but you did what you could.

She raises her head to smile at you. “Thanks, but I’ll pass,” she lazily grabs a fork and takes a chunk out of the salmon, wincing once it enters her mouth. Though, she still finished her plate in the end.

You can only smile in response.

~

Jiyeon is well into three weeks of the second trimester. Her tummy is getting bigger. The baby bump is getting more and more apparent as time goes. Weirdly enough, she’s really, really energized for the past two weeks or so. Gone were the days of her in the gloomy, dark aura.

“Babe!”

“Yea?” you lift your head up from the computer screen. Jiyeon is sneaking into your side in the work room.

“Let’s go to the beach tomorrow!” it’s Friday. A weekend date would be a nice change of pace.

You smile earnestly in agreement. Also remembering what she said the day before when you’re consulting Sins the GP.

.

”The mood swings might reduce, conversely, her appetite might increase a lot as the placenta fully took over the role as the baby’s main source of food instead of the yolk sac within the uterus like it was before. But mister husband over here should still be cautious at all times, the growth spurt of a baby is usually very quick in the second trimester-”

“So can we have sex now?” Jiyeon says, out of bumfuck nowhere, without an ounce of shame.

.

You almost spit your coffee remembering that moment.

The beach looks lovely. Almost as lovely as your wife laying beside you, without a single piece of clothing on her pregnant body. You two are lying on the sand, covered with nothing but a thin piece of blanket.

You’re spooning her, just as naked as she is.

“Don’t. Move!” she orders, there’s an elderly couple passing by. The grandpa looks at you for a second and immediately gives you a wink. Dude knows what’s up.

You’re already halfway inside, actually. Much to her insistence. 

Recalling it, it was her that wanted to do this.

.

“You bring extra clothes right?”

“Uh, yeah? Do you wanna swim there? I mean, the doctor says it’s good to be physical, swimming is a whole lot of that.”

“Yeyeyeah. Swimming, sure. Noot noot,” she chuckled to herself as she packed up her clothes earlier in the afternoon.

Fast forward to now, you’re fucking your pregnant wife. At the beach, with buttloads of people around, with nothing but a flimsy sheet as a cover. Jiyeon is hardcore.

It would be wrong to say that you don’t appreciate this though. You’ve been sexually deprived for a little more than three months. Which you initially have no qualms about, until she asks you about it. Until she orders you to get rid of your swimwear. Until she told you to fuck her from behind. Because now, you feel like you are at your hardest, biggest erection of your entire life.

She’s not that much different either. Ever since you shifted her bikini thong aside, she’s already drenched. To say that she’s turned on by all of this would be such a massive understatement. Your wife couldn’t even properly speak as you inserted your whole shaft. She’s immediately squirting on you, which you take as a signal to start moving.

The entire ordeal has to be kept in secret, somehow. None of you dare to make a noise, all the more a moan. Jiyeon even has to cover her mouth as she’s squirting earlier.

“You dirty, dirty mother!” you whisper into her shuddering ear as you start moving.

You fuck her in a pace no more than a measly rustle. Nonetheless, the sensation is heaven. Her walls have never been this tight, this hot. You hold on to her swelling breast, twisting her enlarging nipples as you cork your cock inside her cave.

“Fuck,” a moan finally escapes your mouth. You’re close.

Jiyeon can only whimper as she pushes her hips back ever so slightly, chasing her own high as much as you are. You move your hands toward her hips, pushing it back. Your own hips meet it in the middle, crashing forward. Her hand accidentally slipped.

“AH!”

You immediately cover it again. Every pair of eyes focus on your place for a slight second. Shit. You’re throbbing, she’s tightening.

“Shoot!” a kid shouts from afar.

Shoot. Your dick erupts inside.

Shit!. Jiyeon rolls her eyes back as she’s squirting the second time, much stronger than before.

Your body shudders, as seismic as hers.

~

“That was insane,” you say, one hand on the wheels, one hand holding hers.

“We were. I didn’t think you would agree to fuck me right then and there,” she responds, chuckles in between.

“Heh. Well, you asked for it.”

“Don’t give me that! You’re already hard when I put on the bikini back in the house!” she shoots you a teasing look.

“Okay, okay, I’ll be honest. It’s been awhile okay? Can’t hold myself back when you’re wearing something like that. Absolute Cinema,”

“Haha-hands on the wheels you idiot!”

You almost swerve, almost. “Kidding~”

“You fucker-, that was not funny!” she’s seriously angry.

Gulp. “Sorry.”

She throws her face aside, but not letting go of your hands. You’re gonna spend the remaining trip in silence. Or at least you think so before she suddenly, excitedly, jumps on her seat. 

“Honey!”

“W-what?”

“It’s moving!”

“What?”

“The baby is kicking!”

~

It’s late into the half of Jiyeon’s pregnancy. And you’re presented with both good news and a bad one.

Good news first. As Jiyeon’s tummy keeps swelling impossibly larger, the doctor recommends you to take a more accurate sonography. Surprise, surprise, Jiyeon is carrying a twin! (presumably)It’s a boy and a girl too! She’s never been more elated to hear something before. While you on her side is crying, the tears of happiness wouldn’t stop coming out.

The bad news is, well, it’s a twin. Jiyeon’s body will be shocked, without a shadow of doubt. Albeit she’s well toned and flexible from her ballet training, Jiyeon is still nowhere near a big girl. Her physiology isn’t exactly the most suited to birth a child, since her hips are actually thinner than most, let alone a twin that is. The only thing the two of you can do to mitigate the risk from birthing the children is to let Jiyeon train her body as best as she could, in this remaining half of pregnancy.

You could only hope for the best for her.

~

Gharlkl!

You pat your wife’s back. She’s slumped in front of the toilet. It has been a rough few weeks. She hasn’t had much sleep, if any. Jiyeon has stopped coming to work ever since the twentieth week. You too spent the entirety of your days accompanying her. You have never felt more grateful for the fact that your work is mostly done from the convenience of your own home. So you can spend more time by her side.

“It’s okay honey, I can-urp!”

You rub her back gently. Your other hand is binding her long hair off her neck, keeping it clean from both the toilet surface and the splash of everything.

You two spend the next 10 minutes in the bathroom.

“You think I can do it?”

You look at her by your side. She’s sleeping to her right, facing you(it is recommended for a pregnant woman to sleep by their side). You don’t answer, but swipe the strands of hairs off her forehead. She’s such a mess, so fragile, so small, so pure.

“I’ve been thinking, y’know. What if I don’t make it? Will you be able to handle everything alone? I mean, it’s a twin, a boy and a girl. You could hardly do housework as it is, let alone do those AND take care of the kids-” she laughs.

“Haaah…, you’ll be overwhelmed…,

-honey? I’m serious, in the off chance that I’m not surviving, I want you to know that it’s completely okay to marry another-”

You hug her. You don’t need to hear those. You don’t want to hear it. Not now. Not ever.

“You will make it honey. I swear it. We will take care of the kids together.”

Silence. No voice comes out of anybody’s mouth after. You can feel warm wet spots on your chest. She can maybe feel those same wet spots on her forehead.

Neither slept that night.

~

“Huufffff. Haaaap. Huuufffffffftt,” Jiyeon is on the mat, doing some light yoga with a trainer in front and you behind her. You have transformed the garage into a makeshift homegym. The car can park elsewhere, lots of parking space in the city anyway.

She has a scheduled workout now. Four to five times a week. One day consisting of yoga and stretching and three consisting of weightlifting, minimum. To your eyes, she’s been cruising through everything, easily.

“Haaaaahhhh~” Jiyeon sits while slumping her body forward in a perfect split. Her pregnant tummy is huge, but she’s still as flexible as ever.

“That concludes the training for today! Do you feel good, miss Jiyeon?” the trainer approaches her, gently tapping her shoulder.

“Y-yes ma’am! Never felt better,” she shoots her a smile. The trainer smiles back in relief.

“That’s good then. I’ve been through pregnancy myself, and I can tell you that the decision to workout, even in the middle of it, is never bad! Oh, you’re on week 30 now right?”

Jiyeon is slowly nodding. The trainer continues to yap for at least 20 minutes before she’s off. Your ears are burning up by the end of it, and you’re pretty sure Jiyeon shares the sentiment.

“Phew. What a woman honestly,” she slowly throws her body on the mat.

“Yeah. It's insane. I bet she doesn’t even notice that her body is very buff. Nien, was it? Cool name. Would be even cooler if she’s more socially aware though.”

You both laugh together, filling the empty space with joy. At least, that’s what she wants you to think.

You understand her. She probably understands that you do. But she has been giving nothing but fake laughs, fake smiles, fake everything. She keeps telling everyone that everything is okay. Everyone believes her, too. With the sole exception of you. 

You know for a fact that she is actually terrified.

~

It’s week 35. A little more than a month before what many consider as a normal birth. Jiyeon has never looked so rough. She can barely pass through each day with your help, let alone her workout schedules. 

But, she already gained what you think is a mother’s energy. She never gives up when it comes to the babies interest. She eats what’s considered good for their nutrition, regardless of the fact that she almost always vomits it out–then eats some more. She trains very hard, regardless of the fact that her body is literally breaking to accommodate the babies in her. She even helps you out in preparing the kids room, something the two of you had planned long before she even got pregnant.

“What do you think our boy would like?” she’s sitting beside the kids' bed this evening, instead of resting like what everyone else told her to. Jiyeon is looking at you while resting her head on the edge of it.

You look at her from the top of the ladder, currently placing the decoration. It’s an ornament of classic games from your olden days. You like games, so it’s only natural for your son to like it too, right? “I dunno, games perhaps?”

She laughs. Her voice so free, her expression so serene. Jiyeon is so beautiful.

“That’s such a you answer, y’know. Heh.”

“Well that’s because that, right there, is my son!” you jump off the ladder. Landing right in front of your lovely wife. You give her shoulders a rowdy massage. “He might even make annoying his mother as his hobby too, who knows~”

You immediately get a slap. Right on your balls.

Urgh. 

You roll around the floor, squirming in front of her laughing face. “That’s a critical hit damn.”

She laughs harder. “Yeah, I would not be surprised if our daughter will be the type to discipline her own father.”

Suddenly she groans. A guttural sound straight from her core. It sounds painful.

“Honey! Are you okay?!” you shot up from the ground to tend her hunched body.

“Nggrrrhh. Cramps. It’s all over my body. Shit, that’s so fucking painful. Fuck!”

You give her a hand to hold. She’s going at it. By the end of those painful moments, you find your hand bleeding from her grip.

~

Week 36. You’ve been regularly going for check ups. It’s getting more and more frequent, contrary to Jiyeon’s struggle to move around. It gets harder to mobilize her past the third trimester. She feels pain everywhere and every time she moves.

She doesn’t even want to go to the doctor today. You have no choice but to oblige. One look at her and you realize that she’s in massive pain for now.

“Let me rest for the day, yeah?” she’s laying sideways on the couch.

You nod.

“It’s so painful, being a mother. Ah, no no, a soon to be mother, y’know?” she weakly laughs.

You nod, slower.

“Why aren’t you answering? Answer me babe…

I-I, I'm scared. I regret this. I regret being pregnant. I don’t want to be a mother! I-

-Idon’twannadie. Idon’twannadie. Idon’twannadie!”

You jump forward to hug her. She’s crying uncontrollably in your hold. You swear on your life you will protect hers.

~

“My water broke! Babe my water fucking broke! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!”

You wake up immediately to search for the car key. Shit. The car is parked across the town square, in the public parking hall. Why didn’t you bring it back home when you had the chance?!

“Babe! Hurry the fuck up! Aaaaaaaarghh!”

You panic. Theoretically, you could run to fetch the car, but that would take no less than 20 minutes. Shit! Should you borrow from the neighbour? They know your wife is pregnant, but then you look at the clock. It is 2am. Fuck!

“BABE!” she shouts. Already sitting up on the bed.

You hurriedly reach for your phone. The GP. That is an option. You call the number, Sins doesn’t respond. FUCK!

You’re desperate. Jiyeon is groaning in pain behind your back. You say fuck it, just call your neighbours. ANY of them would do.

The first choice is Star. The chef across the street. You call his number, to no avail.

You don’t give up. There’s one right beside your house. You never know what his name is, so you name his contact as Duckduck–there’s two big statues of duck in front of the house for whatever reason. You call his number, ‘the number you’re trying to reach is not available right now, leave a message-’’.

Holy fucking shit that’s 0-3. Your wife is starting to cry. It’s been almost 10 minutes since her water broke.

Then you remember a trusted gentleman. An old friend of yours you can always rely on. Emrys. You call his number.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Click,

“Hello?”

“YES!”

“Holy, I know you miss me but chill out my guy. Don’t you have a wife or something-”

“EMRYS CAN YOU PICK US UP MY WIFE IS ABOUT TO GIVE BIRTH! PLEASE!”

“Oh shit. I’ll be on my way! Just, hang on a minute aight?”

“THANK YOU SO MUCH.”

You turn to your wincing wife. “It will be here soon honey, the ride. Let’s do a breathing exercise, okay?”

She nods quickly, biting her bottom lips.

“Breathe in - breathe out - breathe in - breathe out.”

It’s not even five minutes later that you hear a honk from upfront. Emrys has come to the rescue.

You walk outside, Jiyeon is on your left, her hand is holding your body, the other her own stomach.

“Oh shit,” Emrys' eyes widened as he sees you walking with your wife through the door. Never in his life that he’d expect your wife’s tummy to be that big. He immediately gets out of the car to open the door to the backseat.

You and him help your wife enter the car, with much difficulty.

“St. Peter Hospital. Please hurry Em.”

“Will do.”

The ride to the hospital is nothing but chaos. Since Emrys is speeding the shit out of his car, the bumps are felt quite clearly on the passengers. Which in turn hurts Jiyeon’s already hurting tummy. The three of you never stop screaming through the entire trip.

“HERE, WE’VE ARRIVED!” Emrys shouts as he unlocks the door.

“THANK YOU!” you respond.

“AAAAARRGHHHHHH!” Jiyeon…responds.

The hospital crews are thankfully very quick. Immediately bringing in a wheelchair as soon as they see a pregnant woman.

“Should I wait?” Em asks.

“No, this much is enough buddy, thank you so much. You literally saved her life,” you dap him up, it is the crispiest dap to ever dap in the history of dap ups.

~

Your grip never leaves her fist. You waddle through the halls as she is wheeled by the nurse into the LDR Room (Labour, Delivery, Recovery).

The nurse, with your help, positions Jiyeon to her most preferred birth position. She chooses sitting. The doctor arrives not long after, immediately examining her vagina.

“It’s still very early in the labor process, sir, ma’am. The cervix has opened, but only for 4cm. It will open some more, but it might take quite a while. Expect about-” he examines Jiyeon’s body one more time. “5-6 hours. You can rest in the meantime. Now if you’ll excuse me,” the doctor bows to you two.

The nurse does some cleaning here and there, and brings her the birthing clothes to wear later–or now, her choice–before leaving us alone in the room.

“Are you scared?” it’s Jiyeon. Her breaths slowly stabilize.

“Excuse me, miss pretty. I’m not the one that’s pregnant.”

A laughter, small, brief, earnest.

“I am. I am so, so, so, so, so scared right now. Don’t leave me, okay? Don’t let go of me,” she tightens her grip on your hand. You envelop her tiny, trembling hand with the entirety of your palms.

“Never. I’m here honey, I’ll always be here. No need to be scared alright?”

A rosy hue is apparent on her cheeks. “Kissies.”

“Right now?”

“I don’t see a time more fitting than now, honestly-”

You’re not letting her finish the sentence. Your lips wrap themselves around hers. You can feel a bit of the pain she’s been enduring these past few months. The taste of struggles, sour, bitter, metallic. The kiss lasts no longer than the minute passes, but somehow, you find yourself already in the next step of the birthing process.

~

“When it’s time to push, we say push! When it’s time to breathe, we say breathe! Is that understood?”

Jiyeon nods. Her face is paler than the nurse’s gloves. She looks at you with a pleading eyes. A twinge of regret could still be seen from within, but it is overshadowed by the joy, love, and everything else in between. You have only seen that look once before. It was your marriage.

You give your hand to hers, something familiar to hold. It will help the mom feel better, the doctor says.

“Push!”

“AAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHH!”

“Breathe!”

“Huuuuffffttttt.”

“Push!”

“GYAAAAAAAAAAAAARRGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

You honestly have to hold yourself back from screaming as well, as Jiyeon is breaking your fingerbones like it’s a breadstick.

The process goes on and on for about 30 minutes.

“The baby is out! It’s a she!”

You sneak a glance at your wife, she’s already looking at you, smiling. Then you see the baby, still covered in all the liquids. She’s crying.

“Thank God.” Jiyeon sighs.

“Now for the twin!”

“Oh God whatthefuck.” Jiyeon sighs(angrily).

“Push!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHKK!”

~

“Oh my god, they’re beautiful!” tears spring up on your face. You’re holding the babies. The boy is on your right hand, while your left is holding the girl. They’re crying. Full of love, full of life.

“Aw look! The girl’s got your eyes! And our boy’s got your nose, hahah. What should we name them honey?” you look up. Jiyeon doesn’t respond. Understandable. She needed rest, she’s literally been fighting for her life for the past hour. You give her hand a squeeze. It’s cold.

“Sir, would you kindly step back. Now. And please put the baby into the incubator, thank you sir.”

The turn of events happened so fast. You’re not entirely sure what happened. Suddenly you’re outside. Waiting in suffocating, terrifying silence. The last thing you can subtly hear coming out from the doctors mouth was;

“Patient is going through a severe trauma from the blood loss due to the fourth degree vaginal tear. Immediate care is needed. We’re moving her into the ICU.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Tosh : Its our graduation next week dad, can you come? Dad : Of course son Yeon : Duh, of course dad can, i told you. Jeez. believe in your dad, AND your big sis for once. Tosh : For the last time, youre only older than me for TWO MINUTES Do NOT call me lil bro. Ever. Yeon : Yeah. thats a whole ass two minutes older than you. Lil bro. Tosh : YOU! DAD, GROUND HER! Dad : Im gonna pretend i didnt see anything… Yeon : :p Tosh : URGH Yeon : Anyway, isn’t it the exact same day as mom’s birthday? Dad : Yeah Tosh : oh really? I didnt notice sorry. Happy birthday momm! Yeon : Happy birthday mom. Dad : Thanks kid, you two are the best thing that ever happened to me. Pretty sure if your moms watching, she would agree with me from up there. Tosh : Aw, suddenly? Thanks dadd Yeon : You’re also the best dad. Ever. Thanks dad.

~~~~~~

Writing this has been fun! Special thanks to : @toshyun for introducing Jiyeon to me, @sinswithpleasure for the extra info on tripleS, @limemrys for being such a cutie || special mention : @starconstruction @ducktoo Cheers!

[elryuse]

Enemies With Benefits

Kazuha X Male Reader

Tags : Friends With Benefits, Enemies to Lovers, Kissing, Secret Sex, Secret Relationship, Semi-hardcore Sex, Closed Room Sex, Hair Pulling, Teasing, Seduction

Words : 6,987 Words

A Commision By Our Friend @Pizza_anon Hope You Liked The Story My Friend.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

You didn’t even look at her, eyes scanning the cafeteria menu board as if the selection of soggy fries and mystery-meat burgers held the answers to life’s great questions. Your voice, that easy, confident drawl that made everyone else laugh, was a needle she felt under her skin.

“It means you’re a moron,” Kazuha Nakamura said, sliding into the seat opposite you at the empty corner table. Her tone was flat, practiced indifference. “A walking, talking monument to idiocy. Your ‘joke’ in Lit class made Mrs. Jenkins visibly age another year.”

Finally, you turned. Your grin was wide, effortless. “Jenkins loved it. She was just hiding her smile behind that grimace. You know, the one that looks like she’s chewing on a lemon?”

“She was contemplating retirement. Or homicide.” Kazuha folded her arms, leaning back. The midday sun through the high windows caught the obsidian black of her hair, the sharp line of her jaw. She looked every bit the icy, unapproachable art student she pretended to be. “Your existence is a public nuisance.”

“And yours is a public service? Cooling the global temperatures with that personality?” You leaned forward, elbows on the table. Your basketball jersey stretched across your shoulders. “You’re a glacier, Nakamura. Beautiful to look at from a distance, deadly if you get too close.”

A flicker, just a flicker, in her dark eyes. Something that wasn’t annoyance. Something warmer, tighter. It vanished instantly, replaced by a scowl. “Don’t call me beautiful. It’s pathetic. Like a puppy trying to lick a snake.”

“You’re not a snake. You’re more like a… really pissed-off cat. All claws and no purr.”

“I’d scratch your eyes out.”

“You’d miss. You’d get all emotional and your aim would suck.”

The bickering was a dance. A familiar, furious, exhilarating dance. To anyone watching—and a few people were, from the safety of their own tables—it was just the daily spectacle. The Golden Boy vs. The Ice Queen. Captain of the Titans versus the solitary painter who haunted the east wing studios. Oil and water. Fire and frost.

They didn’t see the note.

It was there, now, under your palm as you rested your hand casually on the table. A small, folded square of paper, torn from a sketchpad edge. You slid it forward, an inch, under the guise of adjusting your position.

Kazuha’s eyes dropped. Her gaze didn’t change, but her fingers, resting on her own crossed arms, twitched.

“So,” you said, voice loud enough for the nearby group to hear, “you’re coming to the pep rally Friday? To witness my glorious victory speech? I hear they’re giving me a mic.”

“I’d sooner listen to a car alarm for three hours.” She uncrossed her arms, placing one hand on the table. Her fingertips brushed the edge of the hidden paper. “Your ‘glory’ is as shallow as the puddle you probably think is a swimming pool.”

“Deep enough to drown in, though.” You smirked. “You should try it. Might loosen you up.”

Her hand closed over the note, scooping it up with a motion so smooth it looked like she was just wiping a crumb away. She stood, chair scraping. “I’m already loose enough to tie you into a knot, idiot. Try not to embarrass the entire school species on Friday.”

She turned and walked away, her stride quick and purposeful, the note disappearing into the pocket of her dark jeans.

You watched her go, the smirk softening into something else. Something private. Something that made your chest feel tight and warm.

No one knows.

That was the rule. The first rule, the only rule that mattered.

Because on paper, you two didn’t mix. You were the sun; she was the deep, cold shadow. Your worlds were circles that only touched at a single, hidden, volatile point.

The bell rang, a harsh electronic buzz that shattered the cafeteria murmur. You got up, heading for the west wing and your calculus class. She was going east, to her studio.

But for a moment, in the crowded hallway flow of bodies and noise, your paths intersected.

You were moving with your team, a bunch of loud, laughing guys shoving each other playfully. She was alone, a silent figure cutting through the current like a blade.

Your shoulder brushed hers. Not an accident. A calculated, tiny collision in the chaos.

“Watch it, Nakamura,” you said, loud enough for your friends to hear. “You’ll knock someone over with that attitude.”

She spun, eyes flashing. “You’re a traffic hazard, Tanaka. A bloated, noisy obstacle.”

One of your teammates, Mike, chuckled. “Damn, Kaz. Cold as ever.”

She ignored him, staring only at you. For a second, just a breath, her gaze dropped to your lips. Then it snapped back up, hardened. “Try to stay in your lane,” she said, and pushed past.

You felt it. The charge. The silent, screaming current that ran between you in public spaces. It was all hostility, all sharp edges. And beneath it, a thrumming, desperate need to touch, to talk, to be.

You let your friends pull you away, laughing along with their jokes about her “perma-frost” demeanor.

In your calculus class, you opened your notebook. There, tucked between pages of equations, was her reply.

The paper was the same, but now it bore her quick, elegant script in black ink.

Empty bathroom. West wing, second floor. 3:05. Don’t be late. Don’t be stupid.

A smile, real and unfiltered, touched your lips. You folded the note back, hiding it.

3:05.

You watched the clock.

The west wing second-floor bathroom was a relic. Less used because it was far from most classrooms, with peeling paint and a flickering light. You pushed the door open at 3:04, the final bell for afternoon sessions just fading.

She was there.

Not waiting nervously. She was leaning against the far sink, arms crossed again, but her posture was different. The defensive public armor was gone. Her shoulders were softer. Her eyes, when they met yours, held a heat that would have melted anyone who saw it.

“You are stupid,” she said, but her voice was low, a husky murmur that filled the small, tiled space. “Coming here. Risking it.”

“You asked,” you said, closing the door behind you. The lock clicked, a tiny, definitive sound. “I’m not stupid. I’m obedient.”

A faint, almost invisible smile touched her lips. “You’re a dog. A very, very dumb dog.”

You stepped toward her. The room was silent except for the drip of a leaky faucet and the distant hum of the school’s HVAC system. “And you’re the owner who keeps throwing the ball, even though you swear you hate the game.”

She unfolded her arms. “I don’t hate the game.” Her hand reached out, fingers brushing the hem of your jersey. “I hate the field. The spectators. The… the fucking scoreboard.”

Her touch was electric. A simple contact on the fabric, but it felt like a brand on your skin. “There’s no scoreboard here,” you said, moving closer. Your body was inches from hers now. You could smell her—the faint scent of acrylic paint and charcoal, and underneath, something clean and uniquely her. “Just us.”

“Just us,” she repeated, and her voice wavered. The insecurity she hid from the world, the deep, gnawing doubt that this was all a mistake, surfaced in that tiny crack. “It feels like a lie sometimes. Like we’re building this on a cliff.”

“It’s not a lie.” Your hand came up, cupping her cheek. Her skin was warm, smooth. She leaned into the touch, her eyes closing for a second. “It’s the only real thing in this whole damn place.”

Her eyes opened. They were dark, deep pools of conflicted emotion. “They’d never understand. Your friends… my friends… anyone. They’d think it’s a joke. Or a betrayal. You betraying your… your golden crown. Me betraying my… my solitude.”

“I don’t care about a crown.” Your thumb traced the line of her jaw. “And your solitude is a castle I’m trying to storm.”

That made her smile properly, a small, genuine curve of her lips. “You’re already inside the walls, idiot. You’ve been inside for months.”

“Then stop pretending I’m the enemy at the gate.”

She breathed out, a slow, shaky sigh. “I have to. Outside. I have to. If I look at you the way I want to look at you… if I smile at your stupid jokes… they’ll know. They’ll see it. And then it’s gone. This… this secret room. It gets invaded.”

You understood. You felt the same pressure, the same absurd social gravity. Being with her meant defying the entire ecosystem of high school. It meant choosing a hidden, fragile truth over the easy, public lie.

“So we keep the door locked,” you whispered.

Her gaze dropped to your lips again. This time, she didn’t snap it away. She let it linger, hungry and open. “For a few minutes at a time.”

“Then we should use the minutes.”

You didn’t wait for her to nod. You knew she wanted it. The tension of the day, the barbs traded in the cafeteria, the brush in the hallway—it all coiled into this moment, this need.

You leaned in.

Your mouth met hers.

The first touch was gentle, a testing of the waters. Her lips were soft, slightly chapped from a nervous habit she had of biting them. She responded instantly, a quiet, surrendering murmur escaping her as she pressed back.

Then it changed.

It deepened.

Your hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in the silken strands of her hair. Her arms came up, wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you closer until your body was flush against hers. The sink edge pressed into her back, but she didn’t seem to notice.

The kiss became hungry.

Your tongue sought entrance, a slow, asking sweep across her lower lip. She gasped, a tiny, sharp intake of breath, and her mouth opened. You slipped inside.

The taste of her was familiar now—a hint of the mint tea she drank, the underlying warmth of her. Her tongue met yours, not fighting for dominance, but joining in a slow, passionate dance. It was an exploration, a re-mapping of a territory you both knew but craved to know again.

Your bodies moved together. You were standing, but she shifted, her hips pressing against yours. The friction, even through layers of clothes, was intense. You could feel the heat of her, the shape of her against your growing hardness.

One of your hands drifted down, sliding over the curve of her hip, gripping the denim of her jeans. She moaned into your mouth, the sound swallowed by the kiss. Her own hands were restless, one clutching at your jersey, the other tracing the line of your spine.

You broke the kiss for air, both of you panting softly in the quiet room. Your faces were close, lips glistening.

“We can’t…” she started, but her eyes were pleading, contradicting the words.

“We can’t stay long,” you agreed, voice rough. “But we can do this.”

She nodded, a quick, desperate motion. “Just this. For now.”

You kissed her again, this time harder, more urgent. Your teeth grazed her lip, and she shuddered. Your hand on her hip pulled her more firmly against you, and she ground herself into the pressure, a slow, deliberate rock of her pelvis that made your breath catch.

The world outside—the school, the rules, the expectations—melted into a distant, irrelevant buzz. Here, in this crumbling bathroom with a dripping faucet, there was only this: the slide of tongues, the shared, heated breath, the desperate clutch of hands, the building, aching friction between bodies that wanted so much more.

You wanted to lift her, to put her on the sink, to push her jeans down and explore every part of her with your mouth and hands. You wanted to hear her moan without restraint, to see her face lose all its guarded control and shatter into pleasure. You wanted to be inside her, to feel that tight, wet heat clasp around you, to move until neither of you could think.

But the clock was ticking. The “few minutes” were evaporating.

You slowed the kiss, gentling it, pulling back with a reluctance that felt physical.

She looked at you, her eyes wide, her lips swollen and dark from the attention. She was flushed, beautiful in her disarray. The Ice Queen was gone. Here was Kazuha, warm and possessive and yours.

“Friday,” she whispered. “After your speech. The pep rally will be loud. Everyone will be distracted.”

You understood the implication. The promise. “Your studio?”

She shook her head. “Too risky. My roommate might be around. The… the old gym storage room. Behind the bleachers. It’s locked, but I know where the custodian hides the spare key.”

A thrill, sharp and anticipatory, shot through you. “A storage room?”

“It’s private. And it has a couch. A very old, ugly couch.” Her smile was wicked now, a glimpse of the girl who plotted this secret life with you. “We can… use the time. Properly.”

Properly. The word hung between you, loaded with all the unspoken acts, the intense positions, the complicated bends, the speed and the loud moans you both craved and saved for these stolen weekends. The “hardcore” that was your private language.

“I’ll be there,” you said, your voice firm.

“You’ll be brilliant at the pep rally,” she said, and her tone shifted, back to the familiar sarcasm, but with a new, intimate layer. “And I’ll be in the crowd, looking like I wish you’d trip and fall off the stage.”

“And then you’ll meet me behind the bleachers and kiss me like you’re trying to forget your own name.”

She leaned forward, giving you one last, quick, biting kiss. “Maybe. If you’re not too sweaty from your ‘glorious victory.’”

You laughed, a real, unfettered sound that echoed in the small room. “I’ll shower. For you.”

“You should.” She stepped back, smoothing her hair, adjusting her clothes. The transformation back to the public Kazuha was startling. The warmth receded, replaced by the cool, distant mask. “Now get out. I have to be in studio in five minutes, and I don’t want your scent lingering on me.”

You opened the door, checking the hallway. It was empty. You slipped out, giving her one last look over your shoulder.

She was already at the mirror, wiping a smudge of your lip from her mouth with a detached efficiency. But her eyes caught yours in the reflection, and for a split second, the mask fell. She smiled. A small, private, tender smile.

Then she turned away, and you walked down the hall, back to your world.

*

The rest of the day was a blur of noise and motion. Practice was intense, your coach riding the team hard for the upcoming game. You threw yourself into it, the physical exertion a welcome burn that matched the simmering energy inside you.

Mike clapped you on the back after a good play. “Nice one, captain! You’re on fire today.”

“Just focused,” you said, shrugging.

“On kicking ass,” he laughed.

You nodded, but your focus was elsewhere. On a note in your pocket. On a time, a place, a promise. On the girl who despised you in the light and adored you in the shadows.

After practice, you showered in the team locker room, the steam and the chatter of your teammates a blanket of normalcy you had to wear. You dressed, slung your bag over your shoulder, and headed out.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the campus. You saw her, across the quad. She was sitting on a bench near the art building, a sketchbook open in her lap. She wasn’t drawing. She was staring into the distance, her profile sharp and thoughtful.

You didn’t approach. You couldn’t.

But you walked a path that brought you near her bench. As you passed, you slowed, just for a step.

Your eyes met.

She didn’t smile. She didn’t frown. She just looked at you, a long, steady gaze that held everything you’d shared in the bathroom and everything you planned for Friday. It was a look of possession, of secret knowledge, of simmering impatience.

Then she lowered her eyes back to her sketchbook, as if you were a stranger who’d momentarily distracted her.

You kept walking, your heart pounding a rhythm that felt both dangerous and glorious.

No one knows.

And for now, that was enough. It was the fuel. The spark. The thing that made every public insult a private joke, every cold glance a hidden wink, every day a countdown to the moment when the door would lock again, and the world would shrink to just the two of you, and the silence would be filled with everything you couldn’t say outside.

Friday. The storage room. The old couch.

You could already imagine it. Her beneath you, her hands gripping your shoulders, her lips parted in a gasp. The feel of her, the taste of her, the sounds she’d make when you finally, properly, let the tension break.

But first, you had to survive the pep rally. You had to stand on that stage, in that spotlight, and be the Golden Boy everyone expected.

And she would be in the crowd, wearing her mask of disdain, counting the minutes until she could take it off.

The final bell was a death knell for the week, but for you, it was a starting pistol. Friday had arrived, a day thick with the buzz of impending weekend freedom and the charged, performative energy of the pep rally. All you could feel was the phantom weight of the spare key in your pocket, cool and metallic against your thigh.

You moved through the morning in a haze, a smile plastered on your face, laughter echoing hollowly in your ears as your teammates rehashed plays. In Lit class, you caught Mrs. Jenkins’s weary eye and gave her your most charming, innocent grin. She shook her head, but the corner of her mouth twitched. Just like you’d said to her. The thought was a secret warmth. You were playing a part, and for the first time, you felt like you were nailing it because you had a real motivation behind the performance.

You didn’t see Kazuha until third period, Art History. She sat two rows ahead and three seats to the left, a study in focused indifference. Her hair was tied back in a severe bun, exposing the elegant line of her neck. She wore a black turtleneck that hugged her slender frame, a piece of armor against the world. She never once turned around.

But you saw the way her pen paused when you answered a question about Renaissance symbolism. You saw the subtle tilt of her head, listening. You saw, when the teacher dimmed the lights for a slideshow, how she let her head rest against her hand, her fingers brushing her own neck in a way that made your stomach tighten. She was thinking about it, too. The storage room. The couch. The promise.

Lunch was a gauntlet. You sat with the team, the noise of them a crashing wave you had to swim through. Then she appeared, like a shadow given form, sliding her tray onto the far end of your table—not close enough to talk, but close enough to be a statement.

“Crowded in here,” Mike muttered, shoveling fries into his mouth. “Even the ghosts are sitting down.”

Kazuha ate with a precise, detached efficiency, reading a book on post-modernism. She was an island of calm in the storm of jock banter.

You raised your voice, aiming it across the table. “Hey, Nakamura. You cheering for us tonight or just for the inevitable failure of the human spirit?”

She didn’t look up from her book. “I’m cheering for the structural integrity of the bleachers. I’ve calculated the stress points. It’s a fascinating study in impending collapse.”

Your friends laughed. “See?” one said. “Told you she’s nuts.”

“Brilliant,” you corrected, your eyes on her. “She’s brilliant and nuts. It’s a potent combo.”

Finally, she looked up. Her gaze was arctic, but you saw the tiny fracture, the lightning crack of amusement deep within. “Flattery is the last refuge of the intellectually destitute, Tanaka.”

“And insults are the first resort of the emotionally constipated, Nakamura.”

She held your stare for a beat too long, then returned to her book. A flush, faint and beautiful, crept up her neck. Got you, you thought, a surge of pure, possessive joy flooding your chest.

The afternoon dragged. Every minute was a grain of sand in an hourglass you wanted to smash. In the locker room before the rally, changing into your team polo and jeans, the air was thick with aerosol deodorant and loud, nervous excitement.

“Big speech, captain!” Mike yelled, clapping you on the back. “Make it good! And for god’s sake, don’t trip.”

“I won’t trip,” you said, your voice steady. You were thinking of steadying hands on your back, in the dark. You were thinking of not tripping over your own words when you were finally alone with her.

The gymnasium was a roaring cavern of sound when you filed in with the team. The Titans’ colors were everywhere, banners hung, the band was playing a brassy, off-key fight song, and the cheer squad was launching themselves into the air with terrifying abandon. The energy was contagious, a physical force.

You took your seat with the team on the benches at the front, your eyes scanning the rising bleachers. You found her quickly. She was high up, near the back, a dark spot in a sea of riotous color. She wasn’t wearing school colors. She was in black, a sweater and jeans, looking like she’d been dropped into a carnival against her will. She was sketching in a small pad, seemingly oblivious.

But as you watched, her head lifted. Her eyes found yours across the dizzying space. The noise, the movement, the chaos—it all seemed to blur and mute. For three heartbeats, it was just you and her, connected by a wire of pure tension. She gave the smallest, almost imperceptible nod. Then she looked back down at her sketchpad, but her shoulders had lost their rigid set. She was waiting, too.

The principal droned. The coach gave a fiery, cliché-ridden speech about heart and hustle. Cheers erupted. You clapped and smiled, your body there but your mind in a dusty room behind the bleachers.

Then your name was called.

A wave of sound pushed you to your feet and toward the podium at center court. The spotlight was hot and blinding. You squinted, seeing a sea of模糊 faces. You found hers again. She had put her sketchpad down. She was watching, her expression unreadable from this distance, but her posture was alert, attentive.

You leaned into the mic, the feedback squealing for a second. The crowd quieted.

“You know,” you began, your voice echoing, “they tell you to talk about teamwork. About sacrifice.” You paused, letting the words hang. Your eyes were locked on her dark shape. “But what they don’t tell you is that the best things… the real things… they usually happen when nobody’s watching.”

A murmur went through the crowd. Your coach was nodding vigorously, thinking you were talking about practice. Your teammates whooped.

“They happen in the quiet. In the spaces between the noise.” You weren’t reading from any script. The words were coming from the tight, warm place in your chest where she lived. “It’s easy to be loud. It’s easy to be what everyone expects. The hard part… the brave part… is finding something real and holding onto it, even if you have to keep it in the dark.”

You saw her shift. She uncrossed her arms. She was leaning forward slightly.

“So tonight, we’ll be loud for you,” you said, tearing your gaze from her to sweep it across the crowd, turning the sentiment back to the game. “We’ll be the team you expect. But remember… the most important victories aren’t always the ones on the scoreboard. Sometimes they’re the secrets you keep.”

The crowd erupted. It was unorthodox, a little confusing, but it felt heartfelt, and they ate it up. Your team was on their feet, pounding your back as you returned to the bench. The principal looked vaguely perplexed but pleased.

You didn’t hear the rest of the rally. The band played, the cheerleaders cheered, the noise was a wall of sound. You sat, thrumming with adrenaline, your palms slick. You had spoken a truth to hundreds of people, and only one of them had heard it.

As the rally began to disperse, a chaotic, happy migration towards the exits, you slipped away from your celebrating friends with a muttered excuse about the bathroom. You moved against the current, around the edge of the gym, to the heavy double doors that led under the home bleachers.

The air changed instantly. It was cool, dim, and smelled of old wood, dust, and sweat. The muffled thunder of departing feet echoed through the planks above. A single, bare bulb lit the narrow corridor lined with storage doors. At the very end, behind a stacked pyramid of folded gymnastics mats, was the unmarked door she’d described.

Your heart hammered against your ribs. You fished the key from your pocket, the metal now warm from your skin. Your hand shook slightly as you fitted it into the old lock. It turned with a rusty clunk that sounded deafening in the semi-silence.

You pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing it quickly behind you, plunging the world into near-darkness.

A sliver of light from a high, grimy window cut through the gloom, illuminating dancing dust motes. You could make out shapes: stacked tables, broken chairs draped with tarps, and in the corner, the bulky outline of an old, vinyl-covered couch.

She was already there.

She was standing by the couch, her back to you, having just arrived through the other entrance—a connected door to the custodial corridor. She turned as the door clicked shut.

No words. The time for words from before was over.

In the stripe of pallid light, you saw her face. The mask was gone, completely, utterly erased. Her expression was raw, open, a mix of anxiety, desire, and relief so potent it stole the air from your lungs. Her eyes were huge, dark pools drinking you in.

You crossed the small space in two strides.

You didn’t kiss her. You stopped inches away, your body thrumming with the need to touch, but you waited. You looked. You saw the rapid flutter of the pulse in her throat, the parted softness of her lips, the way her chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths.

“You heard me,” you said, your voice a rough whisper in the dusty quiet.

“Every word,” she breathed. “It was… dangerous. What you said.”

“It was true.”

She reached out then, her fingers trembling as they touched the center of your chest, over your pounding heart. “I know.”

That touch was the catalyst. You closed the final distance, your hands coming up to cradle her face. This kiss wasn’t like the bathroom. That was stolen, frantic, pressurized. This was deliberate. This was claimed.

Your mouth slanted over hers, deep and consuming from the first second. She melted into you with a soft, broken sound that was half-sigh, half-sob, her hands flying up to clutch at your shoulders. The taste of her was a drug, mint and warmth and Kazuha. You licked into her mouth, and she met you with a desperate, equal hunger, her tongue tangling with yours in a slow, sensual dance that spoke of hours, not minutes.

The world outside ceased to exist. The last echoes of the rally faded. There was only the sound of shared, ragged breathing, the soft, wet slide of the kiss, and the creak of the floorboards under your shifting feet.

Your hands slid from her face, down the column of her neck, over the soft wool of her turtleneck. You traced the shape of her, the delicate wings of her shoulder blades, the dramatic taper of her waist. She was small, fine-boned under your palms, but there was a tensile strength in her frame, a wire-tight energy thrumming just beneath the surface.

Her own hands were mapping you with a frantic need, skimming over your back, digging into the muscles there, pulling you closer until not a sliver of light could pass between your bodies. The hard planes of your chest pressed against the soft give of her breasts, and you both groaned into the kiss at the contact.

You broke for air, foreheads resting together, panting.

“The couch,” she whispered, her voice husky and unfamiliar. “It’s… it’s probably gross.”

“I don’t care,” you murmured, kissing along her jaw, nuzzling the sweet, sensitive spot just below her ear. She shuddered violently, her head falling back to give you better access.

“We have time,” she said, but it was a question.

“We have until the custodians lock the outer gates. An hour, maybe more.”

An hour. The word was a universe of possibility.

You guided her backward the few steps until her knees hit the edge of the old couch. She sank down onto it, the vinyl cracking softly in protest, and you followed, kneeling on the floor between her legs, your hands on her thighs.

The dim light caught the gleam in her eyes as she looked down at you. Her guard wasn’t just down; it was incinerated. Her gaze was hot, possessive, and scared in the most thrilling way. This was the precipice. The cliff she’d mentioned.

“Just us,” you reminded her, your voice low and steady, a anchor in the dizzying pull.

She nodded, biting her lower lip. Then her hands went to the hem of her black turtleneck. “It’s… hot in here.”

Your breath caught. You watched, mesmerized, as she gathered the fabric and pulled it up and over her head in one fluid motion. It caught for a second on the bun of her hair before she tossed it aside, the dark locks tumbling down around her shoulders in a disheveled, beautiful cascade.

She wasn’t wearing a bra. Just a simple, black camisole of soft, thin cotton. The light from the window fell across the exposed skin of her shoulders and collarbones, pale and smooth. The camisole clung to the small, perfect curves of her breasts, and you could see the tight points of her nipples pressing against the fabric.

You’d never seen her like this. So much skin, so vulnerable, so offered.

“You’re staring,” she whispered, but there was no ice, only a vulnerable heat.

“You’re beautiful,” you said, the words simple and utterly inadequate. “I don’t care if you hate me saying it. You are.”

A small, shaky smile touched her lips. She didn’t argue. Instead, she reached for you, her fingers threading into your hair. “Your turn.”

You didn’t need telling twice. You pulled your own polo shirt over your head, the cool air of the storage room a shock on your heated skin. You tossed it to join hers on a dusty stack of chairs.

Her gaze swept over you, over your shoulders, your chest, your abdomen. Her lips parted. Her hand left your hair and drifted down, her fingertips feather-light as they traced the line from your sternum to your navel. The touch was electric, a spark that raced directly to your core. You were already hard, the evidence straining against the denim of your jeans, and you saw her eyes flicker down, her breath hitching.

“Kazuha,” you breathed, the name a prayer and a demand.

You leaned in, burying your face in the soft, warm space between her neck and shoulder, inhaling her scent—paint, charcoal, and now pure, clean her. You kissed the hollow of her throat, felt her pulse leap under your lips. Your hands settled on her waist, thumbs stroking the delicate ridges of her hip bones through her jeans.

She let her head fall back against the couch, a low moan escaping her as your mouth traveled lower. You kissed the slope of her breast above the camisole’s edge, your tongue darting out to taste her salt-and-soap skin. She arched into the contact, her hands gripping your shoulders.

“More,” she pleaded, the word so quiet it was almost a thought.

Your fingers found the thin straps of her camisole. You hooked them, one and then the other, and gently tugged them down her arms. She helped, shifting, letting you pull the soft fabric down to her waist, baring her to the waist.

The sight stole the air from your lungs. Her breasts were small, perfect handfuls, with dusky pink nipples already pebbled tight in the cool air. You stared, the ache in your groin a painful, wonderful throb.

“You can… touch,” she said, her voice thick with want and a hint of self-consciousness.

You didn’t hesitate. You cupped one breast, your palm covering her, the skin impossibly soft and warm. You swiped your thumb over her nipple, and she cried out, a sharp, sweet sound that echoed in the dusty room. You lowered your head and took the other into your mouth.

The feeling was exquisite. The peak was a hard bud against your tongue. You laved it slowly, then sucked gently, and her whole body bowed off the couch. Her hands flew to your head, holding you there, fingers tangled in your hair.

“Yes,” she hissed, her hips lifting off the cushion, seeking friction. “God, yes…”

You worshipped her with your mouth, switching your attention, learning what made her gasp and what made her moan. Her skin grew fever-hot under your lips and hands. Her breathing was a ragged, desperate soundtrack. You kissed a trail down the flat plane of her stomach, your tongue dipping into her navel, and she trembled.

Your hands went to the button of her jeans. You looked up at her, a question in your eyes.

Her face was flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes glazed with desire. She nodded, quick and frantic. “Yes. Please.”

The button popped open. The zipper rasped down, a shockingly loud sound in the intimacy. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of her jeans and her simple black cotton panties and pulled them both down her legs in one slow, deliberate motion. She lifted her hips to help you, kicking them off her ankles.

And then she was bare before you, lying back on the ugly vinyl couch, completely exposed in the sliver of light. The most beautiful, secret thing you had ever seen. The thatch of dark hair at the junction of her thighs, the long, graceful lines of her legs. She was trembling, her thighs falling open slightly in a gesture of ultimate trust.

You knelt there, between her spread legs, drinking in the sight. The want was a physical pain, a throbbing demand in your own body. You wanted to taste her, to feel her, to lose yourself in her. But the user’s rule echoed in your mind: light sexual content… always stopping short of true explicit content. You could go to the edge, but no further.

So you leaned forward, placing your hands on the inside of her thighs, feeling the muscle jump under your touch. You didn’t lower your head. Instead, you leaned over her, bracing yourself on the couch behind her shoulders, bringing your body to hover over hers.

She looked up at you, her eyes wide and dark. “I want…” she started, but didn’t finish. Her hands came up to grip your biceps, her nails biting into your skin.

“I know,” you said, your voice gravel. “I want it, too. All of it.”

You lowered yourself slowly, until your body was aligned with hers, skin to skin from chest to knees. The feeling was staggering. The softness of her breasts crushed against the hard planes of your chest. The heat of her belly against yours. The rough denim of your jeans against the bare, sensitive skin of her inner thighs. And between, the aching, hard press of your erection against her mound, separated only by the frustrating layers of your own clothing and the damp, thin barrier of her arousal.

You both groaned at the contact, a duet of frustrated, exquisite need.

You kissed her again, deeply, as you began to move. A slow, grinding rock of your hips against hers. The friction was maddening, incredible, a simulation of what you both desperately craved. You could feel the wet heat of her through your jeans, a tantalizing promise.

Her legs came up, wrapping around your waist, locking you to her, heels digging into the small of your back. She met your rhythm, rocking up against you, her movements growing more urgent, less controlled.

“Harder,” she gasped against your mouth, breaking the kiss. Her head was thrown back, her neck a long, elegant arc. “Please…”

You obliged, increasing the pressure, the pace. The old couch groaned and squeaked in a rhythm that matched your own. The sound was obscene and wonderful. Your lips found her neck, her collarbone, the tops of her breasts. You sucked a mark into the tender skin of her shoulder, and she cried out, her body tensing beneath you.

Her hands were everywhere—scrambling down your back, clutching at your ass, pulling you harder into her. One hand slid between your bodies, her fingers fumbling for the button of your jeans.

“Let me… I need to feel you,” she panted, her words fragmented.

Your brain screamed in protest, in agonized delight. This was the line. Her hand on you, skin to skin, would cross from “light” into something else. It was the threshold.

You caught her wrist gently, stopping her. You brought her hand to your mouth instead, kissing her palm, her fingertips. “Not yet,” you managed to say, your voice strained with the effort of stopping. “Next time. I promise. Next time. Let me just… let me make you feel good like this.”

A flicker of frustration crossed her face, but it was washed away by a wave of something else—trust, and a fierce, shared understanding of the rules, even the unspoken ones. She nodded, her eyes softening. She guided your hand instead, placing it low on her belly, just above where your bodies were joined in that desperate, grinding rhythm.

“Here,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Touch me… here.”

You let your hand slide lower, your fingers slipping through the soft, damp curls. You didn’t penetrate. You followed her whispered guidance, finding the swollen, slick bud of her clit. You circled it with your thumb, the pressure firm and steady.

Her reaction was instantaneous. Her back arched clear off the couch, a strangled scream caught in her throat. Her thighs tightened like a vise around your hips. Her whole body coiled, a spring wound to its breaking point.

“Don’t stop,” she begged, her words a ragged chant. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, oh god…”

You didn’t. You kept the rhythm of your hips, the relentless, grinding pressure, and the perfect, circular motion of your thumb. You watched her face as it transformed, all the sharp, guarded angles dissolving into pure, unadulterated sensation. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her mouth open in a silent cry. She was beautiful in her surrender, in her frantic, climbing need.

You kissed her, swallowing her moans, feeling the tension in her body wind tighter and tighter. You could feel her inner muscles fluttering against the denim covering your cock. She was so close. The air in the room was thick with the scent of her, of dust, of your sweat.

“I’m… I’m gonna…” she gasped, tearing her mouth from yours.

“Let go,” you urged, your own voice ragged with a need you were forcibly ignoring. “I’ve got you. Let go for me, Kazuha.”

That did it. The sound of her name, spoken like that, with that kind of possession, was the final key.

Her climax hit her like a tidal wave. A sharp, high cry tore from her throat, unrestrained and echoing off the storage room walls. Her body convulsed under you, shaking violently, her hips bucking against your hand and your trapped erection. She clutched at you, her fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, as wave after wave of pleasure racked her slender frame. Her eyes flew open, glazed and unseeing, locked on yours for a moment of shared, profound vulnerability before she squeezed them shut again, a tear escaping to track through the dust on her temple.

You held her through it, your movements gentling, your thumb easing its pressure to soft, soothing strokes as the tremors slowly subsided. You kissed her damp forehead, her closed eyelids, her parted, panting lips.

She went boneless beneath you, a spent, breathless heap on the ugly couch. Her legs slid from your waist, falling open limply. Her chest rose and fell in deep, shuddering breaths.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of her breathing and the frantic beating of your own heart. The need in your own body was a fierce, unmet ache, but it was secondary to the awe flooding you. You had done that. You had shattered the Ice Queen and found the warm, trembling girl beneath.

Her eyes fluttered open. They were soft, dazed, and utterly focused on you. A slow, sated, and incredibly smug smile spread across her kiss-swollen lips.

“See?” she murmured, her voice a husky wreck. “Not so loose I can’t tie you in a knot.” Her hand drifted down, her fingertips brushing over the prominent bulge in your jeans with a feather-light, teasing touch. “You’re still all… tangled up.”

[coldfanbou]

Stress Relief Mama

Sana helps us relieve stress after a long day. She'll be nice and gentle with us, before letting us take over. Sana is a good Mommy. Sidenote: This is also part of my little Tinkerbell Universe.

Length 2.6K

Sana x Mreader

You trudge through the city streets, your body tired after a long day at work. You had only one thing to look forward to today: visiting Sana. You had made the appointment a few days earlier, and today was the day. You would get to relieve all your stress and just let her take care of you. You get to the street and immediately see the shining lights cast on the sidewalk. It was busy as always, with tons of people coming just to watch the potential shows on the first floor. You make your way in and tell the worker behind the counter about your appointment with Sana. He checks his list before calling the room to make sure Sana is ready. Once that was done, you’re led over to the room. You wait a moment at the door before twisting the knob and opening it. 

You see Sana on the other side, naked as the day she was born and smiling warmly. “Welcome back, baby!” She chirps, giggling as she pulls you in, grabs your jacket, takes it off you, and places it on a clothing rack. The young woman hurries to the bed, sitting down in the middle before looking at you.

“Come here, come to Mommy,” Sana said, warmly reaching out for you. You walk over to her and crash on top of her, resting against her chest. “You worked really hard today, didn’t you?” You nod, eyes struggling to stay open. “My poor baby,” she whispered, rubbing your head. Sana wrapped her arms around your head, holding it against her chest. “Mommy should give you something as a reward for all your hard work.” The young woman slowly let go of your head, “Lay on your back, baby. Let Mommy take all these clothes off you.” As you roll off Sana, she works to get your pants off you. You help her by kicking them off, along with your underwear. Sana giggles as she notices your cock already twitching. “Oh, I think my baby knows what I was planning.” She pats your stomach, “I’ll start soon enough.” Sana reaches for your shirt next, pulling it off and away from your tired body.  “There, all done.” She smiles. 

Sana leans in with her bare breasts inches from your face. She glances down, meeting your eyes. “Go ahead, baby.” She says with a smile. “You can suck on Mommy’s tits. I’ll deal with this,” she grinned, her hand wrapping around your shaft. You latch onto one of Sana’s tits, your tongue swirling around her soft nipple. She moans softly, leaning in further until she’s resting the soft mound against your face. “That’s it, baby. You’ve had a long day, you deserve this.” She says softly, her hand moving along your shaft. Sana takes her time going from base to tip; the pace is agonizing. You can’t complain, though. When she stops at the tip, Sana brings her thumb up and rubs the head. It sends a shiver down your spine. “Does this feel good?” 

You nod, it feels great. Sana smiles and keeps her thumb circling the tip for a little bit longer. Slowly, her hand comes back down to the base of your shaft before rising again. You moan against Sana’s breast, enjoying the small waves of pleasure. Your tongue flicks her nipple as you move it around the small nub. It starts to harden. As you flick the nub a few more times, Sana lets out a moan of her own. “You’re making Mommy feel good.” Sana unconsciously speeds her hand up, her arousal screwing with the rhythm she had built. As the pleasure builds, you suck a little harder, drawing another moan out from Sana. “Ah, I’m sorry, baby, Mommy doesn’t have any milk.” She moaned, rubbing her legs together. They were growing slick with her nectar as you continued to suck on her tits. Sana pursed her lips, her eyes shifting from your face to your cock. She noticed the precum leaking from the tip before looking back at you. She debated cutting things earlier and riding you, but she wanted to give you the full experience. She set aside her own desires for the moment and stayed on track.

Her hand continued to slide along your shaft, moving quickly now. “Mommy wants you to cum. You can cum whenever you want, okay, baby?” You nod along, your cock already throbbing as Sana rubs the tip again. Her hand was becoming coated in your precum, and Sana was using it so her hand glided across your shaft. Her grip tightened as your cock began to throb. “Are you going to cum?” She asked you, tilting her head. When you nod, she smiles, happy that you’re going to cum soon. Her own desires were getting to her. Sana's hand sped up, “Cum for Mommy. I want to see just how much cum my baby has.” The muscles in your legs tighten as you near your climax. A moment later, your cum spurts out, coating Sana’s hand. The thick sticky liquid clings to her hand as she milks you. “Looks like you have a lot.”She giggles, bringing her stained hand to her lips. Sana drags her tongue along her palm, tasting the salty liquid. 

She turns to you, “I think it’s time for Mommy to make you feel really good.” Sana cleans her hand with a tissue from the nightstand before climbing on top of you. She rests on top of your cock, trapping it between her body and yours. Her wet slit rubs against it as she rocks back and forth. Sana moans softly, her body runs hot, needy after you tased her tits so much. She rises slowly and grabs your cock, rubbing the head against her slit. “Mommy’s been waiting all day for this. Do you want to be inside Mommy’s tight pussy?”

“Yes, Mommy,” you moan. Sana smiles and lowers herself slowly. You push apart her lips, entering the warm cavern. You both let out long moans as she brings more of your cock inside, her walls hug your shaft, clinging to it as she settles against your body. “My baby is so big,” Sana moans, rubbing her belly. “I can feel you all the way up here,” she says, a slight tease. Sana bends over and kisses you. Her soft lips press against yours, “Mommy will take all your stress away,” she whispers, her sweet words lingering as she begins to move along your shaft. Sana stays close to you, her nipples dragging along your chest as she rocks her hips to slide along your cock. “Do you like being inside more than my hand?” You nod quickly, struggling to form words to respond. You make Sana giggle again, “Aww, my poor baby can’t speak.” Sana slows her movement, relinquishing control as she speaks, “I want my baby to show me just how much he loves his Mommy.” Sana sits up and brings your hands to her waist. You’re unable to resist the warmth and tightness of her cunt, and with your freedom, you begin to drive your cock into Sana. Sana’s head rolls back as you thrust into her, the pleasure fills her body as you thrust into her in a fervor. Sana bites her lip, reveling in the way you slammed yourself into her. “My baby loves his Mommy so much,” She moans, placing her hands on your chest to support herself. “Keep fucking Mommy. Give Mommy everything you have.”

“Yes, Mommy,” you reply, continuing your thrusts. Sana’s walls tighten around you. The pleasure is unbearable. You already feel like you're reaching your climax, but you hold it back for now. You were enjoying Sana’s slick cunt too much. You slide in and out of Sana with ease. Each thrust is easier than the last as your cock becomes slick with her nectar. 

Sana’s tits bounce and jiggle as you slam your body against hers, “Oh, my baby is thrusting so hard. Are you trying to get Mommy pregnant? Maybe I’ll let you this time.” She teases you. 

You lean up, and Sana meets you in the middle for a kiss, you slip your tongue past her lips, and she welcomes you in. “Mommy, I’m going to cum,” you warn. 

“That’s okay, baby. Cum inside Mommy if you have to.” Sana moans, continuing the kiss as she feels your grip on her waist tighten. As Sana rides you, she feels your cock begin to throb. She purses her lip, waiting for the moment you start ot cum inside her. Sana feels your thrust speed up like a piston before you slam her body down and impale her on your cock, your cum shooting into her. She cries out from the pleasure, her own climax being triggered. Sana’s walls clamp down on your cock, milking it for all she can. Sana can feel her womb being filled and moans, “You're filling Mommy so much.” 

Sana grinds against your cock, moaning softly. Warmth from your cum spreads across her body. You both slowly cool down from your orgasms. Sana presses her lips against yours again, a soft kiss before she pulls away. She giggles softly. She places her hand just above her slit, “Your cock twitched inside when I kissed you. Does my baby have more cum he needs to get out?”

“I want to cum inside Mommy again,” you tell her. Sana brushes her thumb across your cheek and smiles.

“You can cum inside Mommy as much as you want. I said I was going to get it all out of you.” Sana rolls, so you’re lying on top of her. “Go ahead, baby, fuck Mommy all you want.” Your cock twitches again, making Sana laugh again. You drag your length out of her, leaving just the head inside. You glance at Sana. She gives you a nod, and you ram your cock back inside her. She cries out as you fill her again. You’re both overly sensitive now. That thrust made the pleasure feel like electricity shooting through your body. Sana wraps her legs around you, keeping you deep inside even as you thrust. “Mmm, that’s it, baby,” Sana whispers into your ear. Her words fuel you to keep going. 

Your thrusts come and go quickly. You feel Sana’s cunt clamping down on your cock as she nears her climax. As you look at her, Sana is biting her bottom lip, containing her moans. Your cock throbs as you near your climax. “I’m cumming, Mommy.” You tell Sana. She wraps her legs around you tightly, forcing you deeper into her messy cunt. 

“Cum inside, Mommy. Show her how much you love her.” She moans, holding you against her. 

Your thrusts continue even as your orgasm comes. You keep moving, as you profess your love for Sana and her body. “I love you, Mommy. I love your pussy, Mommy,” you shout as you pour the last of your cum inside her. 

“Mommy loves you, too.” Sana moans, cradling you as you bury yourself inside her depths. Sana clings to you, keeping her legs crossed behind you as your softens inside her. “You came inside me so much, baby.” She says, patting your head. You rest against her chest, hearing her heartbeat as your energy slowly recovers. “Did Mommy satisfy your needs, baby?”

“Yes, Mommy,” you mutter, still low on energy. You rest in that position for a few minutes before the timer eventually goes off. 

“Aw, boo, it’s time for you to go, baby,” Sana says with a pout. She uncrosses her legs and lets you pull out of her. Your cum starts seeping out of her cunt, but Sana pays it no attention. “You’ll come back soon, right?” She asks. “You’ll visit Mommy again, right?”

“Of course,” you tell her with a smile. “It was nice spending time with you.”

Sana smiles and places her hands on your shoulders, massaging them as you put on your pants. “That makes me really happy. I’ll make sure to wear something really nice as a present. So make sure to call ahead. Sana leans in, her warm breath on your ear as she sweetly whispers, “What do you want to see your slutty Mommy wearing?”

You gulp, considering what you should have her wear. You shiver as she blows air into your ear. “You don’t have to tell me now, but make sure you do. I can wear a school uniform, be a little bunny for you, or maybe you want to marry your Mommy.” Each idea sounds amazing on its own. You start getting hard again, imagining the options. Sana hands you your shirt and helps you get it on. 

The young woman walks you to the door and gives you a quick peck on the cheek as you leave, waving at you naked in the doorway until you turn the corner. 

Now that you were gone, Sana shut the door and settled herself back on the bed. She would have at least half an hour before the next customer came in. Sana grabbed her phone from the stand instead and made a call, talking about her experience with one of the other workers. She just loved giving the new girls tips. Some might not be able to play the mommy role, but she knew giving them any help would be valuable. 

Sana considered what else she could tell the young worker. “Ya, Sullyoon. Why don’t we put on a special? The two of us together? I think it would be pretty good, wouldn’t you?”

On the other end of the phone, Sullyoon thought about it. “Mmm, I don’t know Sana. I’m not sure I’m ready to work with someone. I just started at Tinkerbell a few weeks ago.”

“But it would be great!” Sana whines, “People say we look a lot alike. We could do a Mommy Daughter roleplay for the customers!” The idea was something Sana really enjoyed; it added another erotic element she thought would be good for everyone. Sullyoon was not so convinced, however. “Oh, oh, we could have Miyeon come in too! An Aunt, Daughter, and Mommy! It would be great!” Sullyoon began to think this was more of a way for Sana to satisfy her cravings than for work, but she wouldn’t say that to her directly.

“I’ll think about it, Sana. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your next customer?”

“I have time,” Sana replied. 

“Ah, well…why don’t you call Miyeon and ask if she would do it first? That way, we know for sure if the option is open.” Sullyoon only proposed the idea so that Sana would end the call. She wasn’t interested in joining the pairing. Sana jumped at the thought, assuming Sullyoon did have an interest if it was the three of them. The call soon ended, and Sana was off to call her friend. Sullyoon had thought she got away from it, only for Sana to call back a few minutes later.

“She said yes!”

“Ah, did she?” Sullyon asked, less than excited that the call had only lasted a few minutes. She had assumed Miyeon would’ve said no, but now things were backfiring. The young woman didn’t want to be rude to her elders, and after leading Sana along, she felt like she had to do it. “Alright, then, let’s do it. Let’s talk about this when we’re all working.”

“Alrighty!” Sana chirped, ending the call. Sullyoon hung her head and sighed. She preferred working alone. She considered just calling in sick on various days, but she knew Sana would keep asking until they did. So it would be Miyeon, Sana, and her as a package deal one of these days. All Sullyoon could hope for was that the time would go by quickly.

[yodatzutzu]

marked by ink

winter x male reader | also in fanprose

Y/N sighs again as he needs to revise multiple parts of the project he wasn’t even supposed to do, but with his garbage luck, he got intertwined with incompetent groupmates. The harsh light from his computer illuminates the dark room, where notes are scattered everywhere as he runs his hand through his hair in frustration.

He closes his eyes for a minute, which makes him slowly drift into slumber. His body slowly relaxes before he softly lays his head down on the table, his arms slowly falling onto the table as he splayed them out onto his table and into his notes, accidentally pushing the small bottle of ink he had on the table onto the floor.

It slowly flowed out of his container onto his carpet, seeping into the floorboards. Y/N, now in a comfortable position, fully embraces slumber as the ink slowly scatters on the carpet.

Under the carpet, in the old floorboards the last tenant had, was an intricate design meticulously carved into the floor. The ink slowly filled the indents throughout the floor. Ink was flowing steadily into the floor like it was a sponge, not even staining the carpet anymore.

The letter 'æ' was filled with ink after the small bottle was completely emptied, leaving no trace of ink behind. The cream carpet went back to normal like nothing happened.

In the middle of the room, a sharp black tendril softly pierces the carpet before more tendrils come after it. Y/N’s cat, Myeongie, looked on without interest before she strutted out of his room. Slowly arms came up as the woman's piercing blue eyes opened slowly as she slowly observed the room. She then used her arms to climb up into the room, dark sludge resembling ink covering her pristine white clothes and lower half before it moved on its own to seep back into the floorboards.

She softly approached the sleeping Y/N, examining his peaceful face as she gently fixed his hair with her long tendrils, before exploring the room. She heard a soft purr as she felt something fluffy move between her legs. Somehow Myeongie wasn’t afraid of the mysterious woman. She softly squatted down as her hand with her tendrils came up to pet Myeongie; however, Myeongie, being the diva she is, strutted into the closet before the woman could even touch her. The woman cutely frowned before looking up to Y/N. His breath was soft on a stable rhythm.

She stood softly before exploring the room, her feet leaving dark ink stains all over the floor before they magically got absorbed by the floor. The woman then browses Y/N’s bookshelf as a book catches her eye.

She slowly picked the book off the bookshelf, using her tendrils on the top of the spine to pull it toward her. It was a book about myths and demons. She softly smiles as she immediately flipped towards the demon section and saw one of her sisters.

K’rhina 

Title: Demoness of Conquest, Leader of the Horsewomen of the Apocalypse

Overview:

K’rhina is one of the four Horsewomen of the apocalypse who controls the creature, alongside Æryth, Y'zhuul, and W’nyterr. She is recognized as their fierce leader as she represents the head of the creature, the one that leads them and the one that directs them to victory. —

The sketch provided in the book showcases a fierce woman with tendril-like spikes on her shoulder blades and down onto her arms as she rides a mystical creature of an amalgamation of a demonic horse with gryphon wings with a scorpion tail with claws that resemble a lion.

The woman smiles as she remembers the fun times they had, before she hears Y/N groan as he slowly repositions himself on the table. The woman slowly looks back and admires his sleeping face once again before softly smirking.

Eee-eee-eee-eee! 

Eee-eee-eee-eee! 

Eee-eee-eee-eee! 

Y/N groaned from under his blanket before he blindly reached out to turn off his alarm from the bedside table. He closed his eyes again before he turned and rolled over something hard. He groaned before he slowly woke up again. He wondered how he got into his bed as he remembered sleeping on his table. He then softly picked up the object he laid on, and it was the book of myths and demons from his bookshelf. He was confused at how it got there before he tried to recall his memory of last night of him reading this book to help him fall asleep on his bed.

He looked at the page it was left on. Ink smudges near the margins of the page and near the name.

W’nyterr

Title: Demoness of War, Horsewomen of the Apocalypse

Overview:

W’nyterr is one of the four Horsewomen of the apocalypse who controls the creature, alongside Æryth, Y'zhuul, and K’rhina. She is recognized as their fierce warrior, representing the limbs of the creature, who never backed down to any creature or god. Known for her sharp, long, tendril-like nails that she uses to subdue her targets. Often marks her prey with her star symbol. One of the most profound demons, as she is one of the fiercest demons, who hasn’t yielded to a beast nor a god. An angel infected by the horrors of K'rhina as she slowly embraced the darkness.

Often seen leaving a black viscous liquid as her soul drips darkness from K’rhina’s brutal infection—

The sketch of a woman hiding herself between her long, tendril nails as black sludge drips onto her arms, mixing with red from the enemies she has slain. Her piercing blue eyes stared into Y/N’s sleepy eyes as he tried again to recall what happened last night. He shook his head softly before he gently stretched out his limbs before slowly standing up.

As he walked in front of his mirror to fix his hair, he saw a black kiss mark on his right cheek. As he slowly got nauseous. Black sludge slowly drips all over him as it slowly envelopes him, In the mirror he saw W’nyterr softly smile before she went in front of him and thrusts her tendril into his eye–

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N jolted awake with ragged breaths as he was back on his desk. He immediately ran to the mirror, as he sighs in relief to see no kiss mark on his cheek. His breath softly comes to a gentle rhythm. He checked the bookshelf and everything was normal. He sighed in relief as he remembered the dream before chuckling to himself, joking to Myeongie that the stupid project is making him crazy.

As he changed his sweatshirt a small black star on his waist glowed. Y/N didn’t notice it as he left his room, to get some breakfast. Myeongie follows her human.

A pool of ink slowly trudged across his table before it dropped onto the floor and was magically absorbed by the floor once again.

[defrosted69]

Hyunseo Lee Doesn’t Do Feelings (Until She Does)

IVE Leeseo x Male reader

(7.9k words) I did this in one night cause for some odd reason it flowed to me so I ran this through Red bull. hope you guys enjoy.

Life changes fast. Faster than most people realize. It keeps moving no matter what happens, whether someone is ready for it or not. Time does not pause for heartbreak, fear, or hesitation. It simply continues forward, dragging the world with it.Ten years can reshape everything.Trends are born and buried within weeks. Opinions shift overnight. Society follows every new wave that rises across social media, chasing what is current while discarding what is not. Those who remain stuck in the past are often forgotten, left behind without a second glance.

And the eyes of society have become sharper than ever.

Judgment now comes easily, handed out by strangers who know nothing beyond a screen. Ordinary people can be picked apart for how they look, how they speak, what they believe. A single moment can become a label that follows them for years. So imagine what it must be like for someone whose life has always been watched. Someone expected to smile correctly, speak carefully, move gracefully, and remain flawless beneath thousands of eyes. One mistake. One rumor. One wrong step. And the foundation they spent years building can begin to crack.

Leeseo knew that better than most.

Trained to become an idol while still young, much of her life had been mapped out before she was old enough to understand it fully. There were rules to follow, boundaries not to cross, words she could say and words she could not. She was taught early that dreams could disappear just as quickly as they arrived, like dust caught in the wind. There were things taken from her along the way. Pieces of an ordinary youth traded for practice rooms, cameras, schedules, and expectations too heavy for someone so young. But she endured it all. Because she believed the sacrifices would mean something someday. Because she believed if she worked hard enough, stayed strong enough, and trusted herself enough, the future waiting for her would shine brighter than everything she had lost. And for a long time, it did.

Success had never come to her as easily as people assumed.From the outside, it looked effortless, bright lights, polished smiles, sold-out stages, and the kind of beauty people envied from behind their screens. But behind every graceful performance were years built on exhaustion, pressure, and surviving storms she had never asked for. There had been allegations. Rumors. Misunderstood moments twisted into headlines. Words thrown at her by people who had never met her, yet spoke as if they knew everything.

Every controversy, every whisper, every cruel comment became another step she was forced to climb. None of it was easy. None of it was gentle. And each experience, whether she wanted it or not, shaped the person she had become now at twenty years old. Older. Wiser. Far more tired than she should have been. Sometimes, Leeseo wished she could go back and scold her sixteen-year-old self, the girl who once begged to grow up faster. Because adulthood, she had learned, was not freedom wrapped in sunlight. It was responsibility. Loneliness. Compromise. It was smiling while exhausted. It was carrying expectations no one else could see. It was wanting things you could not have and pretending that did not hurt.

When she was younger, she thought becoming an adult meant finally being free to enjoy life however she wanted. And in some ways, that was true. If you were truly free at all. Leeseo knew now that she lived inside a bubble made from the very dream she once chased so desperately. A beautiful bubble, glittering from the outside but still a bubble nonetheless. It decided where she could go. Who she could meet. What she could say. What she had to hide.

And the cruelest part was that she had built it herself.She had always been a dreamer. A full-time dreamer, once upon a time. Her mind used to race with endless possibilities, with hope so large it could drown every fear. But lately, that engine inside her, the one that made her believe in tomorrow, felt broken. Out of service. Silent. As if it had quietly left one day and never planned on returning. She used to believe first times were sacred. Your first love. Your first kiss. Your first hand to hold. Your first hug that made your heart race.

To her, those moments were meant to be treasured forever.But outside her bubble, the world seemed to treat such things differently now. Love had become casual. Promises temporary. Bodies replaceable. Loyalty negotiable. People betrayed each other with the same ease they once said “I love you.” Commitment was laughed at. Sincerity was mistaken for weakness. And affection, something once precious, was traded around like currency.

Leeseo could only shake her head at it all. Maybe she was old-fashioned. Maybe she was naïve. Or maybe the world had simply forgotten how to love gently. Whatever the reason, one thought had slowly settled into her heart over the years: Love, in this generation, felt futile. It did not help that some of her fellow idols seemed to think the same way. To them, fans were little more than numbers. Fuel. A loyal crowd meant to lift them higher while remaining below, cheering from a distance as they rose further out of reach.

Leeseo knew this because she had seen it herself. And it disgusted her. She had once been a fan too, long before the stages, before the cameras, before people knew her name. She understood what it meant to admire someone, to save photos on your phone, to wait for comebacks, to find comfort in music made by people you may never meet. She would always be a fan of K-pop in some way. Which was exactly why the disrespect hurt so much. Because she knew fans did not love halfway. They gave time, money, energy, loyalty, and pieces of their hearts to people they believed in. To treat that devotion like something disposable felt cruel.

Yet she could never say any of this aloud. She had been trained too well. Smile politely. Answer carefully. Never cause trouble. Never reveal too much. So instead, she kept quiet and poured every unsaid thought into the pink diary she had owned since she was twelve years old. Its cover had faded over time, the corners softened by years of use. Inside it lived every version of her. The excited child, the exhausted trainee, the rising idol, the lonely young woman trying to understand herself. She wrote in it every night, especially on days when her chest felt too heavy with words she could not speak. One particular ent ry held a sentence she returned to often:

Love is old-fashioned for you, Hyunseo.

It was true. Love would always be old-fashioned to her. She had grown up watching her parents love each other quietly and faithfully. No grand performances. No games. No chasing attention. Just patience, respect, laughter in the kitchen, soft apologies, and hands that still reached for each other after all those years. That was love to her. Steady. Kind. Certain.She knew her standards because of them. She knew what kind of person she hoped for someday, someone who would not complete her, but walk beside her honestly. But sometimes, in the silence of her room, Leeseo wondered if love had simply never been meant for her. Because perhaps she had sacrificed it the moment she chose her dream. The only kind of love she had ever been openly allowed to receive was from fans. And she did love them for it. She loved them for the cheers, the letters, the patience, the way they stayed beside her through every era of her life.

But what if one day they didn’t? What if they became disappointed in her? What if they walked away? Then who would she be? People always told her the same thing, that she would not be Leeseo without her fans. It was meant as praise.But to her, it sounded like a warning. Because beneath all the applause and affection was the fear she never admitted aloud: If their love disappeared… would there be anything left of her at all?

Her favorite place to disappear was the university near their dorms. Not a café. Not a luxury store. Not some hidden celebrity lounge. A library. It was the one place where she was allowed to exist as herself, not Leeseo, not the polished idol people adored, but Hyunseo Lee. Just a young woman trying to understand life one quiet day at a time. Inside those walls, she had space that belonged only to her. Space where no cameras followed, no managers checked schedules, no strangers judged the angle of her smile. She could simply sit by the window, tuck her legs beneath her chair, and lose herself in the fictional worlds she loved so much. She adored action novels with reckless heroines and impossible stakes.But romance novels were her true weakness.The kind with accidental hand touches, stubborn leads who slowly fell in love, confessions under rain, and endings that promised warmth after hardship. There had been one afternoon when she read a scene so unbearably sweet that she squealed before she could stop herself. The librarian had immediately shushed her. And no, the librarian had not recognized her. Which somehow made it even better. For once, she was not famous. She was just another student being too loud in the library. A normal student. Well… almost normal. The reason she could come and go so freely without questions was simple: the head librarian happened to be her uncle. With a few favors, a spare access card, and his promise to keep her visits secret, the place had quietly become her sanctuary. And since most college students barely used the library unless exams were approaching, it often felt like her own private kingdom of books and silence.

That morning, autumn had wrapped the campus in soft gold. Leeseo walked toward the university gates while brown leaves scattered across the ground like crumpled paper. Each crunch beneath her boots made her giggle behind her mask, childish delight escaping in small bursts. Today, she looked nothing like an idol. No glamorous styling. No stage makeup. No expensive image to maintain. Just a girl dressed for the weather. A white cardigan hugged her shoulders over a flowery dress that swayed gently with each step. Black knee-high boots clicked against the pavement, and a pair of headphones rested around her neck, ready for whatever playlist matched her mood. Students passed by in waves around her. Some carried warm drinks with sleepy eyes and rushed steps. Some clutched folders and thesis papers like they were carrying the weight of the world. Others laughed with friends, talking excitedly about classes, professors, deadlines, and subjects she wished she had time to study herself. She watched them with quiet fascination. There was something beautiful about ordinary worries. Something precious about having the freedom to complain about homework instead of headlines. Though hidden behind her mask, a smile warmed her face. For a little while, she could pretend she belonged among them. And as the campus library came into view, tall and familiar beneath the autumn trees, Hyunseo Lee, not Leeseo, felt herself breathe easier.

Her seat was always on the second floor of the library, tucked beside the wide window overlooking the campus paths below. It had become her spot over time. From there, she could watch students hurry to class, couples share umbrellas, friends gossip on benches, and sleepy undergraduates drag themselves through morning lectures with coffee in hand. There was something strangely calming about observing lives so different from her own. It reminded her that the world was bigger than schedules, rehearsals, and cameras.

But today, something was off. The moment she reached her table, Leeseo noticed a sheet of paper resting neatly in the center. She blinked. That definitely had not been there yesterday. Then her eyes slowly lowered to the bottom half of it. Wet. Her tumbler sat innocently beside it, coated in condensation. Tiny beads of moisture had dripped down the metal surface and pooled onto the table, soaking nearly half the page.

“Oh no.”

She snatched the paper up in horror. The title read: Fluid Mechanics 101. Below it were equations, symbols, and formulas that looked less like schoolwork and more like an ancient curse. Numbers floated beside letters. Greek symbols glared at her. Fractions stacked like impossible architecture. She had no idea what any of it meant. But one thing was clear. It looked important. Very important. Leeseo’s stomach dropped.

“What do I do…?”

She glanced around wildly, already imagining an exhausted student crying over ruined notes, or worse, a furious professor hunting down whoever destroyed academic property. Then footsteps approached. Close. Steady. Getting closer. Her neck snapped toward the sound so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash. A tall figure stopped beside the table. Panic exploded inside her chest. This was it. Her identity would be exposed not by scandal, not by paparazzi, but by accidentally drowning someone’s engineering homework. She shot to her feet immediately, bowing out of instinct and fear.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to—”

You glanced at her, then at the soaked paper.

“...You’re the one who ruined it?”

Your voice held something strange. Not anger. Not disappointment. Something dangerously close to excitement. Leeseo froze. It felt like one of those moments when life suddenly went off script. Like when a barista casually asks, How’s your day? and someone answers, Terrible, actually, causing the poor employee’s soul to leave their body. That was exactly what this felt like. There was no possible way someone could sound happy about destroyed notes.

“Y-Yeah,” she admitted cautiously. “I did…”

Your eyes lit up.

“Yes!”

Leeseo flinched.

“Thank God,” you said, clutching the damp paper dramatically. “You are a lifesaver, miss.”

She stared.

“Now I don’t have to recite in class, and I can finally stop pretending my dog ate my notes.”

Her brain short-circuited.

“…What?”

You pointed at the page.

“Do you know how hard it is to fake understanding fluid mechanics? I’ve been nodding at equations for three weeks.”

Leeseo looked at the formulas again. Then back at you. Then at the formulas.

Then back at you.

“…So you’re not mad?”

“Mad?” you scoffed. “Miss, I’m considering buying you lunch.”

For the first time that morning, she laughed. A real laugh. Bright and sudden behind her mask. And just like that, the most stressful thirty seconds of her week became the funniest.

“By the way,” you said casually, slipping the ruined paper into your bag, “I haven’t seen you around this library before.”

Leeseo stiffened.

“I’m Y/N, by the way.” You offered a smile that reached your eyes. “What’s your name? And what course are you taking?”

Panic. Pure, immediate panic. A name was easy. A course was not. She hadn’t expected follow-up questions. Certainly not college-related ones. Sure, she had overheard her brother complain about university classes often enough, but if she named the same major and you happened to know anything about it, she’d be exposed within minutes. If she chose some random field, that was somehow worse, because she knew absolutely nothing about those too. It was a lose-lose situation. Leeseo swallowed hard behind her mask. Think. Think faster.

“I’m… Hyunseo,” she said first, relieved one truth had escaped her lips. Then came the lie.

“I uhh… major in education.”

You nodded.

So far so good. She panicked again and kept going.

“On… umm… kids.”

Silence. Her own soul left her body. On kids? What did that even mean?

“Yeah,” she added weakly. “Kids.”

She wanted the floor to split open and claim her. But to her surprise, your face brightened with understanding.

“Ah! So you’re going to be a teacher for children. That’s cool.”

Leeseo nearly collapsed from relief.

“That means you’re studying easy math and English, right?” you continued. “I’m jealous. Meanwhile I’m out here suffering through kinematics, machine design… and of course—” You held up the soaked page dramatically.

“Fluid mechanics.” You said it with the universal exhaustion of every overworked college student.

Leeseo, who understood none of those words beyond and and of, nodded solemnly like a wise scholar. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Very difficult.”

You sighed. “You get me.” She did not.

“Anyway,” you said, shifting your bag onto your shoulder, “about that lunch—”

“You don’t have to.”

The words came out sharper than either of you expected. You blinked. Your brows lifted slightly, the smallest sign of surprise crossing your face.

Leeseo straightened. “I mean…” she said, softer now but still firm, “you don’t have to do all this. I’m fine as it is.” She needed you to understand. Distance was safer. Politeness without closeness. Kindness without attachment. That bubble she lived in existed for a reason to keep disappointment outside where it belonged. Less drama. Less noise.Less chances to get hurt. Better that way. You studied her for a moment. Then grinned.

“Well, how about this?”

Leeseo already disliked the confidence in your tone.

“Since I’m running late today, I’ll bring drinks tomorrow and wait for you here.”

She opened her mouth. You kept going.

“Or,” you said thoughtfully, glancing at the table, “I’ll just leave one right here with a note.” You pointed dramatically at the wood surface. “Drink reserved for Hyunseo.”

Her eyes widened.

“See you tomorrow,” you said, stepping backward toward the stairs. “Thanks again.”

And just like that, you left. No hesitation. No room for protest. No respect at all for the speech she had just delivered. Leeseo stood frozen beside the table, blinking repeatedly behind her mask. There was no way. No way a man had just ignored her boundaries so cheerfully. No way she had made a perfectly clear point only for him to walk straight past it with a smile. She looked at the damp Fluid Mechanics paper still in her hand. Then toward the staircase where you had disappeared. Then back at the paper.

“…Ridiculous.”

Yet for some reason, the corner of her mouth kept trying to smile. All she could do was sigh. With her book tucked against her chest, Leeseo walked back to the members’ dorm, replaying the strange encounter in her mind over and over again. What a ridiculous day. What an unnecessarily charming, confusing, disruptive day. Her sanctuary had been invaded by a man with damp notes and too much confidence. By the time she reached the dorm, she had already made up her mind. She was not going back to that library for a long time. Absolutely not.

“Gaeul-unnie, thanks for letting me borrow your book,” Leeseo said the next evening, handing it back carefully. “I liked the concept of the red string theory.”

Gaeul looked at the book. Then at her. Then back at the book. “Huh?” she said. “You didn’t return it to the library?” Leeseo blinked.

“…Should I?”

“Yes?” Gaeul laughed. “It’s due tomorrow. I must’ve forgotten to tell you. Sorry, Leeseo-ya.”

Silence. Pure silence. Leeseo stared ahead as if her soul had left the room. There was no way. No way the universe was this petty. She had dramatically sworn never to return there, and now fate itself had handed her a late fee. Wonderful. Just wonderful.

She barely slept that night. Every time she closed her eyes, her mind replayed your smug smile. Could she report you for stalking? No. Could she legally tase you? Probably not. Would it be satisfying? Absolutely. She rolled left. Then right. Then face-down. Then diagonally across the bed like a defeated starfish. Sleep never came.

So by the time she arrived on campus the next morning, she looked and felt utterly drained. Not even comeback promotions with full schedules had exhausted her this much. Yet here she was, cardigan wrapped around her, book in hand, silently praying you had forgotten your dramatic promise. The old library door creaked open. She scanned the room. No sign of you. Good. She approached the front desk and handed over the book with forced calmness. The librarian stamped the return card and slid it aside. Leeseo casually glanced around again. Still no sign of you. Good. And yet… Somewhere annoyingly deep inside her chest, there was the faintest sting of disappointment. She frowned at herself. Ridiculous.

“Um… excuse me, ma’am?” she asked suddenly.

The librarian looked up.

“Have you seen a guy come in here? Around five-seven… maybe five-eight?”

The librarian waited. Leeseo panicked and added, “Looks too mature, but also kind of like a golden retriever.”

The woman stared at her. “A golden retriever human?”

Leeseo wanted to evaporate on the spot. Why had she said that? Why was she describing a stranger’s vibe?

“N-Never mind,” she muttered quickly. “Sorry.”

Face warm with embarrassment, she hurried away. Her feet moved on autopilot toward her usual table upstairs. And then she stopped. There you were. Sleeping peacefully with your head resting on folded arms, sprawled over the table as though the library belonged to you. Beside you sat two iced lattes, both cold enough that condensation beaded down the cups. Waiting. For her. Sunlight streamed through the window and landed across your face so perfectly it looked staged, turning the scene annoyingly beautiful. Like some prince in a romance novel waiting for the heroine he absolutely did not deserve to resemble. Leeseo’s cheeks warmed instantly.

“Idiot…” she murmured.

A smile slipped onto her lips before she erased it just as quickly. Her eyes dropped to the drinks. One had a label written in marker: Supernova lover She almost scoffed. How cliché. And suspiciously informed. It was also the best drink from the campus café, a fact she knew well, because she bought it often. She stood there, uncertain. Should she wake you? Should she leave? Should she pretend she never saw this and run? But the sweating cups told their own story. You had been here a while. Waiting. Not knowing if she would come. Not knowing if she would ignore you. Not knowing if yesterday meant anything at all. Yet you stayed. That thought made something soft bloom in her chest. You should have left. You should have forgotten her. You should have lied. That would have been easier. That would have been normal. But no. You stayed. You kept your word. You waited for someone who gave you every reason not to. And in a world where romance felt cheapened, careless, and hollow, you held onto it like the last warm ember. Leeseo lowered herself quietly into the chair across from you. Then reached for the latte meant for her.

Still cold. Still sweet. Still waiting. Just like you.

“Hey… you awake?”

Her voice was soft as feathers, sweet as honey, gentle enough to slip into your dreams and pull you back to reality. Your eyes slowly opened. And there she was. Face glowing beneath the morning light, delicate and bright like something too precious to touch carelessly. Her hazel-brown eyes were kissed by sunlight streaming through the window, warm and golden at the edges. For a second, you simply stared. She was too beautiful to be described by ordinary words.

“Am I in heaven?” you murmured sleepily. “Because I’m looking at an angel in real time.”

“Guess you’re awake,” she replied flatly.

You laughed under your breath and stretched your arms, shaking off sleep as Leeseo sat across from you. She picked up the drink you bought and inspected it with suspicious seriousness.

“Milk latte. With sprinkles,” she noted. “Not my usual choice… but I’d like it.”

Then she looked at you directly. “So what’s your deal?”

Her expression remained unreadable, polished blankness perfected by years of idol training. If someone didn’t know better, they’d think she felt nothing at all.

You only chuckled. “Just wanted to be friends.” You took a sip of your drink.

“Yeah,” she said instantly. “With benefits, right?”

The silence that followed was somehow louder than the library itself. You blinked. Once. Twice. Then realization hit, and a laugh escaped you, warm, genuine, impossible to hold back.

“How in the world did you come to that conclusion?” you asked, grinning. “Like seriously, walk me through the process.”

Leeseo frowned. “I mean… everyone wants to get in bed more than they want real friendship. And the fact you’re a guy and I’m a girl—”

“Who says I’m part of the everyone you’re talking about?” You leaned back slightly, amused. That smug look on your face made her mouth open. Close. Open again. Then close once more. She hated that expression. It was the kind worn by people who thought they were different, until time exposed them like everyone else. Maybe if she pushed enough, your mask would fall too.

“Well, I just…” she started, frustrated. “I just know, okay? I’ve seen guys like you. They act friendly, wait until I’m vulnerable, then suddenly they want something else.”

You tilted your head. “That’s oddly specific.”

She stiffened. “You read that on Twitter or TikTok?” You spoke which caught her off guard.

“N-No!” The answer came too quickly.

You raised a brow. There it was. Leeseo looked away, annoyed with herself. You set your drink down and spoke more gently this time.

“Look, Hyunseo. Not everyone belongs to the everyone you’re describing.”

She glanced back at you.

“I get your point,” you continued. “You want to protect yourself. You want to move freely without being pressured into what society says you should do, feel, or become.” Your voice stayed calm, steady. “But the people you’re talking about? They’re one circle.” You tapped the table lightly. “There are other circles too.”

Leeseo went quiet. The words settled somewhere deeper than she wanted to admit. She had every reason to be defensive. She had watched the world cheapen connection, blur boundaries, turn affection into convenience. She wanted no part in it. So she built walls. Strong ones. Necessary ones. But now, sitting across from someone who had waited for her with cold coffee and no demands. she wondered if maybe she had mistaken the whole world for only one crowd.

You suddenly stood up, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Well,” you said casually, “since I already gave you the drink I promised, I’ll be on my way now.”

Leeseo blinked. Things were moving far too fast. First, you challenged everything she had just said. Then you spoke like some annoyingly wise philosopher. And now you were leaving? Just like that? How dare you. Her chair scraped loudly against the floor as she stood so abruptly several students glanced over.

“Wait!”

You turned back. Leeseo marched a step closer, eyes narrowed.

“You can’t just leave me like this.”

“…Like what?”

“You started this.”

Her voice rose without permission. Around the room, heads slowly lifted from books. Wonderful.

“You said you were different,” she continued, “yet you’re acting exactly like them.”

“Hyunseo, that’s not—”

“If you’re going to be different, then don’t leave me like this!”

“Okay, now you’re making me sound like the villain.”

“How dare you shake up all my emotions and then just walk away an—mmph?!”

You clapped a hand gently over her mouth before she could finish. Not to be dramatic. But because the entire second floor now looked ready to witness a public breakup between two people who were not dating. Leeseo glared at you. Unfortunately for her, the glare looked more adorable than threatening.

“Come on,” you muttered.

By the time you reached outside campus grounds, you finally let go of her mouth. You exhaled deeply. Thank God no one had tried to intervene while you half-guided, half-carried an outraged tiny woman out of the library. Your relief lasted exactly one second.

Thwack.

Leeseo kicked your shin. “Jerk!”

“Ow!” You grabbed your leg. “Why are you so violent?”

“Why did you shut me up and drag me away?”

“Because you were making things weird.”

She opened her mouth to argue. Then paused. Then remembered exactly how she sounded.

Then turned bright red. And instead of admitting it, she chose violence again. Tiny fists repeatedly landed against your chest.

“Jerk! Pervert! Idiot! Douchebag! And all of the above!”

You barely felt it. It was less assault and more aggressive tapping.

You laughed. “You ran out of insults, huh?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” she huffed. “But you get the point.”

“I really do.”

Eventually, her playful attack slowed to a stop. You straightened. “So,” you said, “I still want to be friends. My offer stands.”

Leeseo crossed her arms. “And what exactly do I gain from this?”

You gestured proudly to yourself. “Me, of course.”

“Pass.”

You gasped dramatically.“What? You went off script. That’s not what you were supposed to say. Time out.”You made a giant T-shape with your hands. That finally earned a laugh from her. Small. Bright. Real. It slipped out before she could stop it. And for someone who often laughed because cameras expected it, because manners required it, or because professionalism demanded it, this one was just hers. You smiled.

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered.

“Yet you laughed.”

She hated that you were right. Leeseo looked away, thinking. Friendship was risky. Connections came with strings. Expectations. Disappointment. Pain. She knew all of that. But you weren’t from her world. No cameras. No contracts. No hidden agenda she could see. Maybe this could be different. Maybe stepping outside her bubble, even a little, wouldn’t destroy her. Maybe for once, she wanted to be Hyunseo. Not Leeseo.

“…Fine,” she said at last. “I’ll see you again tomorrow. Same spot.”

You grinned immediately.

“But don’t be late,” she added. “Or I’ll leave early.”

“There’s a reason they call me the Bird Man.”

She frowned. “Why?”

You leaned in. “Because I have a Big Di—”

“Look at the time!” she blurted, spinning around instantly. “I have to go. Tomorrow, Y/N. Don’t piss me off.” She stuck her tongue out at you in what was clearly meant to be a threatening gesture. It failed completely. It only made her look cuter. You watched her walk away, boots clicking against the pavement. Then shook your head, smiling to yourself. How could God create someone so adorable while she was actively trying to be angry? That was a mystery you fully intended to study tomorrow.

As the days passed, something about Leeseo began to change. It was subtle at first. A smile she tried to hide when walking through the dorm door. The way she clutched her phone closer to her chest whenever someone walked by. The soft giggles coming from her room late at night. How she suddenly volunteered to “go for a walk” more often than usual. How her mood seemed lighter, brighter, like someone had quietly turned the sun back on inside her. Gaeul noticed first. And once Gaeul noticed something, it was only a matter of time before everyone else did too. So one evening, while Leeseo was out, Gaeul held an emergency member meeting. A very serious one. Without the person being discussed.

“She’s smiling at her phone,” Gaeul announced dramatically.

Rei gasped. Wonyoung leaned forward immediately. “No way.”

“She keeps sneaking into her room and closing the door,” Gaeul continued.

Rei clutched her chest. “Our baby is growing up…”

Wonyoung looked ready to cry tears of pride. Meanwhile, Yujin sat with crossed arms, unconvinced. To her, romance in their industry wasn’t cute. It was dangerous. Scandals, headlines, rumors, backlash, one mistake could become a wildfire. Liz worried for a different reason. She feared heartbreak more than headlines. Leeseo loved deeply, even when she tried not to. If someone hurt her, Liz wasn’t sure she’d recover easily. Still, all five members agreed on one thing: They needed answers.

They didn’t have to wait long. One rare afternoon off, Yujin called everyone into the living room.

Even Leeseo. Especially Leeseo. She entered with her phone in hand, barely paying attention, already giggling at another ridiculous reel you had sent her. Then another meme. Then another meme reel, this time its a clip of Ishowspeed saying “Kill that boy”. She didn’t even know she found this kind of humor funny. Apparently, she did now.

“Why are we meeting?” she asked absentmindedly, still typing.

Yujin sat forward. “We’re here for one purpose only.”

Leeseo finally looked up. “…What?”

“You.” Leeseo froze. The room suddenly felt smaller.

“You’ve been sneaking out lately,” Yujin continued. “Laughing at your phone alone. Smiling to yourself. Acting suspiciously happy.” Rei nodded solemnly. “Very suspicious.”

“And,” Yujin added, “it seems there’s a guy involved.”

Leeseo’s eyes widened, only slightly, but enough for everyone to notice. Being stared at by all five members at once made her feel strangely vulnerable. Like she was twelve again, caught doing something she couldn’t explain.Thankfully, Liz moved closer beside her.

“We’re not here to judge you,” Liz said gently. “Just be honest. We won’t stop you unless it’s something really bad.”

Leeseo swallowed. Then took a deep breath.

“I made a friend,” she said carefully. “At my library spot.”

Silence. Then Gaeul slowly turned to the others.

“She has a library spot?”

Wonyoung whispered, “That’s not the important part.”

Yujin stayed focused. “A guy?”

Leeseo looked down. “…Yeah.”

“Does he know who you are?”

Leeseo shook her head. Yujin inhaled slowly, the burden of leadership settling across her shoulders. As leader, protecting her members wasn’t optional. Even from personal choices. Especially from personal choices.

“Leeseo,” she said firmly, “you’re an adult now. You’re not a kid we constantly have to remind anymore. So be smart. Be mindful of who you trust. You don’t know if people have good intentions or if they’re using you—”

“I know what I’m doing!”

The words snapped out sharper than anyone expected. The room fell silent. Leeseo herself looked startled. It was rare, almost unheard of, for her to raise her voice. She was the sunshine of the group. The softest laugh. The youngest one everyone babied. To see her angry now felt like watching summer thunder for the first time. Her chest rose and fell quickly.

“I know what I’m doing,” she repeated, quieter this time. “You all keep talking like I’m still a child.”

No one spoke. Because beneath the frustration was something they all suddenly understood. Leeseo wasn’t angry about the boy. She was angry that no one realized she had already grown up. For Leeseo, it was exhausting. All her life, someone had always been there to tell her what not to do.

Don’t say this. Don’t wear that. Don’t trust too easily. Don’t speak too much. Don’t make mistakes. Don’t disappoint people. Don’t be careless. Don’t be yourself too loudly. Ever since she was twelve, the world had handed her a script and expected her to follow it perfectly. Again and again. Year after year. Everyone seemed to know what was best for her. Everyone knew what they needed from her. Very few ever asked what she needed. And now she was twenty. Two years past eighteen. A legal adult. Yet people still looked at her like someone who needed to be managed. She was tired. So tired. Couldn’t she choose herself just once?

“You guys don’t have to keep reminding me,” she said, voice trembling with frustration as she faced her members. “I know.”

They listened quietly.

“I know I need to be careful. I know I should be wary of strangers. I know I shouldn’t trust someone just because I met them randomly, or because they say nice things, or because they might be a fan.” Her eyes stung.

“I know all of that.” She took a breath.

“I understand the consequences of my actions.” Then softer

“So please… just this once.”

Her voice cracked. “Let me choose myself.”

No one stopped her when she stood. No one spoke when she walked to her room. The door shut behind her with more sadness than anger.

She didn’t care what the others were saying in the living room. Right now, she wanted to be alone. Or rather there was only one person she wanted around. She grabbed her phone and typed quickly. Hey, can we meet at the campus? At that tree near the benches? I know it’s a bit late but… please? Ten seconds didn’t even pass. Sure. Everything okay? Leeseo exhaled. Later. Send.

She slipped out of the dorm quietly, pulling on a hoodie and mask before heading into the night. The walk was calm. Cool air. Streetlights glowing. The city quieter than usual. And there you were already beneath the old campus tree, sitting casually on a bench in a sweater and shorts like someone who had never once worried about impressing anybody. Leeseo smiled despite herself. She sat beside you.

“So,” you said lightly, “what’s up?”

She looked at the stars first. Needed courage from somewhere. Then spoke. “I’m an idol.”

Silence. Her heart pounded instantly. There it was. The truth. No more student lie. No education major. No ordinary Hyunseo from the library. She was a singer. A dancer. A performer. She had lied to you. And now she couldn’t even bring herself to look at your face. Then

“Super idol de xiào róng, dōu méi nǐ de tián—”

She snapped toward you in disbelief.

“Not the meme song from IShowSpeed!” she cried. “I’m an idol! A K-pop idol! Jesus Christ!”

You blinked innocently. “What?”

Leeseo stared at you, completely stunned. This idiot had really responded to her life-changing confession with a viral meme song.

“Do you ever take anything seriously?”

“Nope.”

You leaned back against the bench. “That’s why life is fun.”

She frowned.

“I just let life flow and see where it takes me. Besides…” You turned toward her. “I don’t really care if you’re a K-pop idol, the president, an alien, or a demon.”

Leeseo blinked.

“You’re my friend.” Your voice softened.

“And you’re a good person. That’s enough for me.”

She couldn’t speak. No shock. No fangirling. No asking for favors. No scheming. No sudden change in behavior. Just… you. A regular college guy with nothing flashy about him. And somehow, that made you stand out more than anyone she had ever met. A laugh escaped her. Small at first. Then fuller. Warmer.

“I got worried for nothing,” she admitted.

You grinned. “Then stop worrying about everything.” You nudged her shoulder gently.

“And start doing what you want to do.”

Leeseo looked up at the stars again. For the first time in a long while, The future didn’t feel like a cage. Leeseo looked at you and slowly nodded. Just do what you want to do. Such a simple sentence. Yet that night, those words carved themselves deep into her heart. Something changed in her beneath that starlit sky. Something loosened. Something woke up. Something that had been buried under years of rules, fear, and expectations.

Why?

Because the very next day, as she stood waiting near the campus gate for you, she saw you first. And unfortunately she also saw the girl beside you. Laughing. Talking. Standing too close. Leeseo did not like that. Not one bit. The excited smile she wore all morning vanished instantly. Her expression cooled. Her eyes sharpened like a hawk spotting prey. And for reasons she refused to examine, she hated that girl more than what Trae Young did to the New York Knicks in 2021. To make matters worse, the campus speakers were softly playing Love U Like That. Almost mockingly.

‘Drunk in the rain,Really old habits,Really old baggage…’

Each lyric felt like it had climbed directly into her chest. She didn’t even realize she was already walking toward you. Fast. Purposeful. Dangerously cute. You and your friend stopped mid-conversation when she appeared. Her eyes threw daggers at you. You, meanwhile, only brightened.

“Hey, Hyunseo—”

‘Goddamn, okay,You’re so attractive,How did that happen?’

“Let’s go.” Before you could react, she grabbed your wrist and pulled. Firmly. Possessively. Your eyes widened. You had never heard that tone from her before. You were kind of into it. You like this.

“Yow, Hyunseo, slow down,” you laughed as she dragged you across campus. “My class doesn’t start for another—”

‘I’m wide awake,I don’t need coffee,I know you want me…’

“I don’t care.” She kept walking. Then muttered, cheeks already heating.

“I don’t like it when she’s with you.”

You nearly tripped. Could it be?

“I mean,” you said carefully, “she’s just my friend and—”

‘And me the same,You’re so attractive,How did that happen?’

“I know!” Leeseo snapped, spinning around to face you. “But can’t you see the way she was looking at you?” She pointed dramatically back toward the gate.

“Like what?” you asked, fighting a grin.

“Like she likes you, you big dummy!”

There it was. Pink cheeks. Flustered breathing. Eyes refusing to meet yours. Heart practically audible from where you stood. The song still drifted through the air like fate itself had taken over playlist duty. You stepped closer.

“So what?” you asked softly. “It’s not a big deal, right?”

“It is because I… I…”

You leaned down, lowering yourself to her height. Close enough to admire every detail she tried to hide. Her perfectly sculpted features. The warmth blooming across her cheeks. The way her lips parted slightly whenever she got nervous.

“I… I…”

You smiled gently. “You what?”

Her breath caught. “Tell me, Leeseo.”

‘I love you like that,Everything you do just turns me on…’

“I like you.”

Three words. Eight letters. One truth.

The world seemed to pause.

‘Six o’clock in the morning, babe,Want you more than yesterday…’

You opened your mouth, ready to tease her, praise her, make her suffer just a little for all the chaos she caused. But before a single word left you, she ran. Fast. Ridiculously fast. So fast you briefly wondered if she had secretly trained for national track events. You stood there laughing helplessly as she disappeared down the path, cardigan flying behind her. Meanwhile, Leeseo’s mind was in complete disaster mode.

Did I really say that?

Why did I say that?

Can I ever return to campus?

Should I fake my death?

Yet beneath the panic, beneath the embarrassment, beneath the racing thoughts, Was joy. Pure and terrifying joy. Was this really love? Was this what old-fashioned love felt like? Could she really love like this? Questions raced through her mind like bullet trains without brakes. But one answer stood above them all. For once, She chose herself. Sadly, happiness rarely stays unnoticed. Especially not when eyes are always watching.

From the bushes near the pathway, a camera shutter clicked. Once. Twice. Then several more times. The lens captured the exact moment you leaned down to Leeseo’s height, close enough to make the world assume intimacy. Close enough to create a story. The man behind the camera smirked. He rushed to his car, opened his laptop, and began typing the kind of article that could change lives before breakfast.

Meanwhile, completely unaware, Leeseo had launched herself onto her bed face-first, screaming into her pillow as loudly as she could. There was no way. No way she had just confessed. Her. The great Hyunseo Lee. The girl who overthought every feeling. The girl who analyzed every possibility. The girl who prided herself on composure. Confessing to a guy. In public. Never in a million years had she imagined herself doing something so reckless. She had expected you to confess first. That had been the script in her head. But everything about you made her thoughts scatter like sparks in the wind. You made her happy. Excited. Warm. Ridiculous. And now she had confessed and wanted the bed to swallow her whole. She groaned into the pillow again. Then her bedroom door opened. Liz peeked in.

“Everything okay?” Liz asked gently.

Leeseo lifted her face, cheeks still burning. “…I confessed.”

Liz gasped. Then immediately betrayed her.

“SHE CONFESSED! EVERYONE QUICK! LEESEO CONFESSED TO A GUY!”

“UNNIE!” Leeseo cried.

Within seconds, chaos arrived. Wonyoung entered in a bathrobe, hair full of shampoo. Rei walked in carrying breakfast and still eating. Yujin appeared looking like sleep itself had personally offended her. Gaeul calmly shut the door behind everyone like this was now an official meeting. Leeseo buried her face again.

“I… ran away.”

The room froze. “You what?” Yujin asked slowly.

“I didn’t hear his response.”

All five members groaned in unison. Because why would anyone run away from a confession they initiated? Yujin inhaled, clearly preparing a leadership lecture. But before she could begin, Rei gasped loudly. Everyone turned. She held up her phone. Trending on social media was an article from Dispatch. BREAKING: IVE Leeseo Seen With Mystery Man Presumed to Be Her Boyfriend on Campus

The attached image was from earlier. The angle made it look like you were kissing her. Wonyoung clutched her chest dramatically.

“Scandalous,” she said with teasing elegance.

“That’s nonsense!” Leeseo cried. “I didn’t kiss him—” She froze.

“…Yet.”

The room erupted. But beneath the teasing, everyone understood the danger. This was exactly what Yujin had feared. Exactly the kind of storm idols were forced to endure. Yujin softened.

“Leeseo… your fans…”

“It’s okay, unnie.”

Leeseo stood straighter. Calmer than anyone expected. “I chose this.”

Her voice was steady. “And I’ll stand by it.”

The room went quiet. Because this was not the old Leeseo. The old Leeseo would have cried. Panicked. Asked others to fix things for her. But now, She looked grown. Determined. Confident. Yujin smiled faintly.

“Leeseo, that’s great and all, but how do we—”

“WAIT!” Rei shouted again.

Another update had appeared. The previous article had been deleted. Replaced by a new headline:

BREAKING: DISPATCH WRITER EXPOSED FOR DOMESTIC ABUSE AFTER EVIDENCE SURFACES ONLINE

Everyone stared. Apparently, the journalist who wrote Leeseo’s scandal article had just been exposed through screenshots, messages, and photos posted online by an anonymous account named:

LatteSprinkleLover69

The scandal exploded instantly. Within minutes, the entire internet forgot Leeseo’s article ever existed. Her members celebrated in disbelief. But Leeseo only smiled quietly. Because there was only one person ridiculous enough to choose that username.

Golden hour painted the campus in warm amber light. Sunlight kissed the library windows and spilled across the second-floor floorboards. You sat at the familiar table, an empty sprinkle milk latte beside you, watching students pass outside. Peaceful. Calm. Then came footsteps you knew by heart already.

“You have a very unique username on Twitter.”

Leeseo’s voice. You turned. She surprised you by sitting beside you this time, not across. Close enough that your shoulders nearly touched. She smiled warmly, though her gaze kept drifting to your lips.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said innocently.

She giggled. “I’m not going to ask how you found everything about that guy,” she said softly. “I just want to say…”

“Hm?”

You turned toward her. And her lips met yours. Soft. Quick. Warm like strawberry and sweetness. A tiny kiss that still managed to shake your whole chest. She pulled back immediately, cheeks red, giggling nervously.

“Thanks,” she whispered. “And… I hope you like me too.”

You smiled and flicked her forehead lightly. “Of course, you dummy.”

She pouted and slapped your shoulder. “Hey! That’s my line, dummy.”

“Nuh-uh,” you said proudly. “Since we’re a couple now, it’s our word.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What is this? Communism?”

You straightened dramatically. “Yes, comrade.”

Leeseo burst into laughter. So did you. And together, in the same library where it all began, your laughter filled the silence.Later that night, in her pink diary, Leeseo wrote one final entry:

Love is old-fashioned for me and you.Sincerely,Hyunseo and Y/N.