rvp32

[rvp32]

The Flavors of Rivalry, ft. STAYC Isa

tags: creampie, (a hint of) breeding

length: 15k

author's note: That's the poll completed: three fics featuring three idols.

---

"Through here, sir."

Minjun nods, heading through the suggested door with urgency. His head is held high, his steps are quick, his gaze sharp. Moving through the sea of people and weaving through the bodies swiftly, his eyes sweep over faces, assessing—perhaps judging. His sharp gaze eventually lands on a woman in a tidy blazer, surrounded by others in matching attire. Minjun’s eyebrow rises, his lips curving into a demeaning smirk. "Azure." The name alone tastes like cheap, fleeting trends on his tongue, a company synonymous with a lack of tradition, of principles. The pin glinting on her blazer confirms it, and a knowing amusement flickers in his eyes. “Daddy's girl is here, huh?”

Minjun legs lock, his heels clacking loudly as he stops, and his escorting group stops behind him. Sensing the shifting tensions, the people from Azure cut their chatter, turning around slowly, as if physically bracing to face the big daddy of the industry. “Hi there,” he greets them dryly, his voice nearly completely devoid of respect. “Welcome to The Flavors Expo, ladies and gents.” They exchange glances, unsure of what to say to the man wearing a golden leaf pin. Eventually, a woman—the daddy’s girl, the heiress—emerges, facing Minjun with an unwavering resolve. “The Azure Taste Limited is humbled to be here,” she says, a calm, confident smile decorating her face, not a single tremor in her voice.

A ripple of hushed whispers spreads through the nearby booths. Seasoned industry veterans exchange knowing glances. This isn't just a polite introduction; it's the opening salvo in what promises to be a very public and very personal war. No one dares to intervene, mesmerized by the clash of two young, formidable wills. The air in the expo hall, already thick with the scent of competing flavors, suddenly crackles with raw, undiluted tension.

The woman extends an open hand, holding onto her coffee with the other. “My name is Lee Chaeyoung. May I ask what yours is?” Minjun’s expressions soften, not wanting to look too hostile right off the bat. “Park Minjun. Golden Leaf International,” he introduces himself, shaking her hand firmly, perhaps a fraction longer than strictly necessary. “Mister Park Minjun,” she echoes, the name instantly solidifying in her mind as both a benchmark and a formidable obstacle. “Would you like to have a sample, Mister Park?” He smiles, stifling a chuckle from leaving his lips, almost disgusted at the idea of having a taste of Azure’s flavor—but he must play nice, at least for now. “That would be amazing. What do you have?” he asks, carefully building a façade of friendliness.

Chaeyoung leads him towards a table lined with pre-filled pods, each one filled to the brim with her company’s flavors. “These are the fruity ones,” she traces a line over a row of bright-colored pods, “and those are our creamy ones. Please, have a taste.” Being a fan of dessert-like flavors, Minjun reaches for one labeled simply as caramel. He then takes a long puff, closing his eyes as the rich, buttery sweetness washes over his tongue, perfectly balanced and utterly familiar. For a fleeting moment, a sense of pure, unadulterated pleasure fills him, a recognition of true mastery—and his stomach twists with unease. It’s more than a passing feeling, though; it’s a jolt of alarm. Azure’s caramel tastes not just similar, but nearly identical to Golden Leaf’s top-selling Salted Silk.

Minjun's eyes snap open, the pleasant haze from the flavor vanishing. Pulling the pod away, his fingers tighten around it. A flicker of raw surprise, quickly masked, crosses his face. Chaeyoung, watching closely, catches the fleeting shadow that crosses his features before his practiced mask slides into place. He clears his throat as the last bit of cloud leaves his lips, offering Chaeyoung a tight, almost forced smile. "Remarkable," he states, the single word carefully neutral, but his mind is already a whirlwind of questions. How did they get so close? Is this a coincidence, a direct challenge, or worse, a leaked secret?

“This caramel blend of yours has quite the depth to it,” he continues, holding up the pod for a moment, “say, Miss Lee, what was your inspiration for this?” Chaeyoung looks away for a moment, hiding her satisfied grin behind the curtain of her hair. “I've always had a particular fondness for well-crafted caramel notes,” she confesses, her voice tinged with excitement. “And our team drew from a wide array of top-tier references when developing this blend.”

Minjun keeps his eyes on her. “References, huh? Like Salted Silk?” he wonders to himself, the words burning like an accusation in his mind, accusing her of copying the result of his team’s hard work. Cutting short the interaction, he takes a deliberate step back, putting distance between himself and the booth, even as he offers her a pair of curt, almost dismissive nods. “I think your R&D team deserves a pat on the back, Miss Lee.” Chaeyoung's hand comes up as she chuckles, covering her mouth in a gesture that is both demure and subtly triumphant, fitting for an heiress of an evolving empire. Even if he perceives it as built on shaky grounds—a new brand standing on no tradition, trying to make a name for themselves—Azure can still pose a threat, and emperors like the Golden Leaf don’t like threats.

Minjun turns abruptly, signaling his escort with a sharp gesture. "We have a meeting with the Chamber of Commerce in five minutes," he states, his voice low and clipped, devoid of the earlier feigned pleasantries. Walking away, his gaze flicks back to Chaeyoung and the Azure booth one last time, the image of that perfectly replicated caramel flavor burning behind his eyes. This isn't just competition; it's an insult to the throne.

-

The initial jolt of alarm from The Flavors Expo morphs into a cold, hard resolve for Minjun. He dedicates the next few weeks to dissecting Azure's market entry, commissioning detailed reports on their supply chain, their patent filings, and even their recruitment strategies. The sheer audacity of their caramel clone still chafes. Golden Leaf's legal team is put on high alert, meticulously reviewing every flavor profile, every branding choice for potential infringement or reverse-engineering tactics. Minjun isn't interested in a public skirmish; he's mapping out a strategic blockade, finding every possible leverage point to corner Azure before they can truly establish a foothold.

“Mr. Park, sir,” a manager calls to him, his gaze darting around the room, his fingers fiddling with his pen as he speaks. “May I suggest hiring some private investigators to look into this?” Minjun exhales, leaning back in his sleek, leather-wrapped chair, the vapor cloud of Salted Silk hovering over his head, a cold reminder of Azure’s brazen challenge. "Keep talking, Mr. Shin," Minjun says, his voice a low rumble. “Sir, we have a reason to believe there might have been a breach,” Mr. Shin replies, his voice gaining a nervous confidence. “There is no way anyone could make something this similar to our stuff without someone leaking the development recipe.”

Minjun’s sharp gaze stays locked on the manager, taking another puff of Salted Silk as he considers the idea. “Does anyone else have another idea, because I don’t see any other way?” he asks the other managers who remain glued to their seats, their faces carefully blank, unwilling to risk suggesting a flawed alternative and igniting the wrath of the big boss. A heavy silence fills the room, broken only by the hum of the air conditioning. "No?" Minjun's voice drops, a dangerous edge to it. "Well, ain't that disappointing." He points his vape pod at Mr. Shin. “Can you assure me that your investigators can be discreet?” Mr. Shin nods slowly, understanding the weight behind his question. “Certainly, sir. They operate outside the usual corporate channels, thus minimizing direct risk to Golden Leaf's reputation.”

Minjun abruptly rises from his seat, slamming the pod onto the table. “This,” he points at it, “is a fucking insult to us.” His fiery gaze scans the faces of the managers before him, each person not daring to look back at him. “I expect everyone to do their part in finding the root of this. You're dismissed—and please excuse my language.”

One person after the other leaves, and as Mr. Shin prepares to join his fellow managers, Minjun grabs his wrist, his fingers wrapped firmly around the sleeve of his suit. “Get me Lee Chaeyoung’s number, Mr. Shin,” he demands. The man simply nods, knowing better than to ask twice, already thinking of ways to get what the boss wants. “By the way,” he continues, “make sure security always checks everyone when they enter and leave the building. Refusing to comply will result in immediate dismissal.”

Settling back in his seat, Minjun pulls out another pod from his pocket: Tiramisu Twist. He grips the pod hard, imagining what it would be like if someone were to clone this flavor. The one he created with his own hands, back when he was serving as the Head of R&D under his father. The one he spent countless hours perfecting until it was deemed good enough for the big boss. The one he keeps coming back to whenever he yearns for comfort.

“Clone this, and I’ll burn Azure myself, Lee Chaeyoung,” he murmurs, staring right into the empty seat across from him, imagining Chaeyoung sitting in it—just the image of her grin makes him hot. He takes a slow, deep puff of the Tiramisu Twist, basking in the gentle sweetness covering his tongue, the slight hint of bitterness the perfect closing note of the flavor. “No one gets to insult the Golden Leaf, and definitely not a company without tradition like yours.”

-

The scorching heat of summer has now been replaced by the calm, more soothing breeze of autumn. The heat in Minjun’s heart is still as fiery as before, though. If anything, it's burning even hotter; the confidential report, detailing how one of his R&D personnel stole Salted Silk's base formula and sent it to competitors, lies scrambled on his desk. It ignites the beast sleeping in his chest.

The report's findings replay in his head: "Former R&D Lead, Kim Dongho, terminated due to insubordination, accepted a position with Azure two weeks prior to their 'Caramel' launch." The name burns. Minjun doesn’t say a word, his gaze drifting out of the window of his office. This is him; mild irritation will make him run his mouth, but one that is deeper, heavier will stifle it. The silence stretches long, only broken by the sound of his pod’s puffs. He was hoping that the chilling sensation of menthol from this Watermelon Whirl could help his mind relax, but it doesn’t feel like it at the moment.

A fleeting image flashes through Minjun's mind: Kim Dongho, years ago, a bright-eyed, eager R&D intern, nervously presenting a flavor concept. Minjun had mentored him, seen his potential, trusted him. The betrayal cuts deeper than any corporate espionage; it's a personal wound. “What happened, Dongho-yah? Is this about that second-grade mango I told you to make, the one you had come up with—we didn’t have the materials for that, though,” he mumbles, wondering what could have made Dongho to stab him in the back.

He shakes his head, dispelling the ghost of the past. The lingering phantom taste of second-grade mango fades, replaced by the bitter tang of betrayal. "It doesn't matter," Minjun mutters, his voice devoid of emotion. What matters is the present. What matters is the enemy now holding a piece of him. He pulls out his phone, the screen already illuminated with Lee Chaeyoung’s contact, courtesy of Mr. Shin.

Minjun presses the call button, closing his eyes as he waits for her to pick up, taking another long puff for good luck. Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait long. “That’s brave,” he thinks quickly; CEOs don’t usually pick up calls from unknown numbers. “Good morning, Miss Lee,” he greets her, his voice flat and controlled. “Good morning. Is this Mr. Park Minjun from Golden Leaf?” she asks, her voice calm, almost too calm, without a hint of surprise.

Minjun’s eyebrows furrow, but his voice remains flat, staying solid. "Indeed it is, Miss Lee," he replies, his gaze fixed on the cityscape outside his window. "I'm calling about that caramel flavor you were showcasing at The Flavors Expo." He pauses, stringing together a sentence to continue. “I won’t waste your time, Miss Lee, so let me ask you this: did you or did you not receive the development recipe for Salted Silk from a certain Kim Dongho?”

A beat of silence, heavy with unspoken tension, stretches across the line, each side trying to be one step ahead of the other. “Mr. Park,” she replies, her calm voice suddenly carrying a sharp edge. “I’m not sure what gives you the idea that Dongho-oppa gave Azure any development recipe.” Minjun’s eyes blink rapidly, and soon, his lips stretch into a smirk—he’s caught her lacking.

“Dongho-oppa, hey? Is that what you call him over there?” he taunts, keeping his voice controlled despite the urge to burst out laughing. "A cute nickname for a corporate spy, wouldn't you say, Miss Lee?" He pauses, letting the silence twist. "Here's what's going to happen. You can either cooperate with our investigation into your... acquisition of our intellectual property, or Golden Leaf International will make sure the name of Azure Taste Limited becomes synonymous with corporate theft. Your choice, Miss Lee. Oh, and I don’t give a piss about Kim Dongho,” he adds, his fingers gripping his phone hard, a testament to the fire in his heart.

The line hums with the weight of Minjun's ultimatum. For a long moment, Chaeyoung says nothing, her breath catching. Then, her voice, though strained, comes back with surprising force. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Mr. Park," she states, the sharp edge now a hardened blade. "Azure Taste Limited operates with the highest ethical standards. We have nothing to cooperate with, and we will defend our reputation vigorously against any baseless accusations. Good day." The click of her phone hanging up slices through the silence.

His grip on the phone tightens until his knuckles whiten, but he quickly relents; she’s hung up anyway. "Fool," he mutters, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He expects a fight, but not a surrender. “Oh, Lee Chaeyoung, surely you’re not this stupid.” Minjun shakes his head, amusement growing in the midst of frustration. “Time to get some lawyers, I guess.” He doesn't waste another second. His thumb flies across his phone screen, dialing his head of legal. "Get a cease-and-desist order drafted for Azure Taste Limited, immediately," he barks, his voice now devoid of any pretense. "And prepare for a full intellectual property lawsuit. I want every single breach documented, every piece of evidence ready. We’re going to war, Mr. Oh."

Within hours, Golden Leaf International's legal department becomes a whirlwind of activity. Mr. Oh, a veteran of countless corporate skirmishes, mobilizes his team, their faces grim but determined. Cease-and-desist letters are drafted, injunctions prepared, and evidence files on Kim Dongho's employment, his proven breach of contract, and subsequent actions meticulously compiled. Minjun leans back in his chair, still looking out the window, taking puffs of Watermelon Whirl while his legal machine churns. This isn't about winning money; it's about making a statement, about crippling Azure and sending a message to anyone else who dares to challenge his empire.

Soon, the legal whispers quickly become industry-wide murmurs. News of Golden Leaf International's aggressive legal maneuvers against Azure Taste Ltd. spreads like wildfire through trade publications and discreet industry forums. Other CEOs, old heads and new bloomers alike, lean back in their chairs, a mix of apprehension and schadenfreude on their faces. The big daddy is making an example out of Azure, and everyone knows it. The question isn't if it will fall, but how hard.

Days later, a thick, official-looking envelope arrives at Azure Taste headquarters, delivered by a grim-faced courier. Chaeyoung reads the cease-and-desist order, her fingers tightening around the heavy paper. The accusations are damning: intellectual property theft, corporate espionage, and a specific mention of Kim Dongho. Her calm facade, usually so impenetrable, wavers. This isn't just a threat; it's a declaration of open war, designed to crush Azure before it can truly bloom.

Later that day, in a tense, closed-door meeting at Azure Taste headquarters, Chaeyoung sits across from Kim Dongho, the cease-and-desist letter spread between them like a battle map. Dongho avoids her gaze, his usual cheerful demeanor replaced by a sullen silence. Chaeyoung's voice is low, strained with barely controlled anger. "Dongho-oppa," she begins, the informal address cutting through the heavy air. "The Golden Leaf just accused you of stealing his company's formula and giving it to us. What exactly is going on?”

Dongho sighs, taking off his glasses and rubbing his forehead, as if trying to wipe the stress away. “I had a feeling this day would come,” he mutters, his voice carrying defeat. “Okay, I’ll confess: I did steal GLI’s intellectual property.” The room falls into a deafening silence, executives trading glances with each other, stunned by such a grave revelation. Leaning back in her chair, Chaeyoung's breath catches in her throat, her initial anger replaced with disbelief. “But this flavor—this blend of caramel—is mine,” he continues, his voice rising in a desperate attempt for understanding. “I made this with my own hands, back when I was with Golden Leaf.”

Chaeyoung closes her eyes, stopping the tears from falling out. She takes a few seconds of silence, her heart aching—perhaps even bleeding—at Dongho’s actions. “If… if it's yours, then how did you ‘steal’ it, oppa?” she asks, her voice shaking slightly. Dongho opens his mouth, a protest or an explanation forming in his mind, but her fist slamming on the table interrupts him. “Do you know how bad this is, Kim Dongho, to get in a fight with Golden Leaf?” Chaeyoung presses on, her glassy eyes a proof of her hurt. “And the worst part is, we're not even trading blows,” she ends, the weight of the IP theft crushing down on her.

The head of legal, who has been watching the exchange with growing alarm, clears his throat, shifting the attention to him. “Miss Lee,” he begins, carefully stringing words together in his head. “I understand your frustrations, but we need facts.” He glances to his left, at Dongho; he doesn't look like he's in the right mind, but legal is about facts over feelings. “Mr. Kim, can you please elaborate on why you decided to… take GLI’s IP here?” he asks, his tone controlled.

Dongho takes a shaky breath, his hand running through his disheveled hair. Not daring to look at his CEO, he turns his gaze to the head of legal. “Okay, you want facts, right, so here they are,” he starts, formulating a defense. “I was the one initially tasked with coming up with the recipe for this caramel flavor. I've done many revisions on the recipe under the directions of Park Minjun and his father. Eventually, we arrived at a roadblock: one of the key materials was a substance that's restricted in this country, but the Parks insisted that we had to use that material, saying that I was a coward for not trying to slither through the holes in regulations.”

The room falls silent once more; this is quite a revelation from Dongho. The idea that Golden Leaf is possibly using restricted chemicals to make their caramel can shake the grounds upon which the giant is standing. Should the giant fall, a race to take the top spot is guaranteed to happen.

“A restricted substance, Mr. Kim?” the head of legal presses, his ears imperceptibly perking up like an excited puppy. “That's… quite the bold accusation you're making.” Dongho sighs deeply, slightly regretful of having to resort to such a level of whistleblowing. “I think… I think they have managed to lobby legislators to lift the restriction, though,” he continues, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. Borrowing a pen from the head of sales next to him, Dongho writes the name of the substance—something that sounds like a magic spell to outsiders—on a piece of paper. “Here's the name. You might want to confirm it yourself.”

Chaeyoung takes a slow, deep breath, steadying herself. The room feels charged, the air thick with unspoken possibilities. She looks at her legal head, then to Dongho, a cold, fierce glint in her eyes. "Verify everything, Mr. Jeon," she commands, her voice unwavering. "I want us to hit back, and we can’t do that without a solid ground to back our claims." The head of legal nods firmly, tucking Dongho’s small note in his pocket. “We will get back to you soon, Miss Lee. We will definitely hit back,” he offers an assurance to the CEO.

They leave one by one, heading out her office in a line, and here Chaeyoung is, sitting alone in her office. She leaves the conference desk and sits on her desk, grabbing a pod of Red Apple—this flavor is an original, by the way; she commissioned it to her RND  team last year. She takes a long puff, letting the apple’s sweetness and the subtle cool from the menthol fill her mouth. “Still not perfect, but this will do,” she mutters to herself, taking a small, personal victory amidst the chaos.

-

A ding from her computer, signaling an incoming email, steals her attention. Her eyebrows furrow as she skims through the content; an invite to visit Golden Leaf International, a stark contradiction to the legal threats she had just received. Attached to the body is a handwritten letter, signed by Park Minjun himself. “Wait, what? What the hell is this?” she whispers, the unexpected invitation throwing a fresh curveball into her escalating war with Minjun.

Chaeyoung's hand hovers over the attachment icon. Despite the logical urge to consult Mr. Jeon, her professional curiosity, combined with a potent dose of defiance, wins out. With a swift click, the handwritten letter unfolds on her screen. Minjun's elegant, precise script fills the page, a stark contrast to his recent verbal barrage. The message is brief, yet potent, a single line requesting her presence at his corporate headquarters for a 'private discussion,’ leaving her with more questions than answers “Alright, I’ll bite,” she grabs her phone, calling her driver, “please prepare the car. We’re going to Golden Leaf for… a friendly visit.”

The sleek Continental glides through the city's bustling streets, but inside, Chaeyoung's mind races. She takes another puff of Red Apple, the flavor doing little to soothe her nerves. This is Minjun's territory, his fortress where his throne sits. Is this a trap? A calculated intimidation tactic, or does he genuinely believe he has something that will make her surrender? She presses her lips into a thin line, straightening her jacket. Whatever it is, she won't show weakness; Azure’s future lies in her hands, and if she’s truly to take them to the top, there is no room for hesitation.

Her car pulls silently into Golden Leaf International's sprawling underground parking, a sterile, brightly lit cavern that feels like the belly of the beast. Chaeyoung steps out, her heels clicking crisply on the concrete. The elevator ride to the executive floors is swift and silent, amplifying the sense of anticipation. When the doors finally part, a stern-faced security guard—a woman, Chaeyoung notes—stands waiting, a tablet in hand. "Miss Lee Chaeyoung?" she asks, her voice flat, clearly expecting her. This isn't a welcome; it's processing. “Can you please empty your pockets on the table?”

Chaeyoung moves to the side, her lips tightening as she fishes things out of her pockets and leaving them scattered on the table. “Your phone, please,” the guard adds, opening her palm to receive it. With a sigh, she pulls her phone out of her rear pocket, handing it over to be kept in a small safe. “Do you want my bra too, perhaps?” she teases the guard, her irritation lying beneath the sarcasm in her voice. The guard's expression doesn't flicker, her eyes staying cold and unreadable. Without breaking eye contact, her hand moves, with practiced efficiency, to her radio. “Miss Lee Chaeyoung is clear. I repeat, Miss Lee Chaeyoung is clear.”

The butterfly doors in front of her part, revealing another security guard—a man, this time. He signals Chaeyoung to come closer, not bothering to say anything. “Quite insulting. I’m a damn CEO,” she says to herself, her jaw clenching at the treatment she’s getting. It’s like everyone is trying to tell her she doesn’t matter, but her ego doesn’t squish that easily.

The guard leads her through a corridor lined with closed doors, each bearing a simple, gold plaque: Legal Affairs, Global Marketing, and— “What the hell is ‘Treasury Management?’ Is that not just ‘Finance and Accounting?’” she wonders quietly. Beyond another set of glass doors, Chaeyoung catches a glimpse of a sprawling office space, buzzing with a small army of employees. Having this many people on the executive wing is a testament to the sheer scale of Golden Leaf's operation. It's a stark reminder of the colossus she's challenging, a company whose resources dwarf her own.

The guard leads her past rows of impressive offices until they stop before a large, obsidian door, subtly set apart from the others. No nameplate adorns it, but the aura of power radiating from behind it is palpable. The guard simply nods towards the door, his duty fulfilled. Chaeyoung takes a final breath, the faint, lingering taste of Red Apple a quiet rebellion against the overwhelming presence of Golden Leaf.

Chaeyoung steps closer to the door, but before she could knock, it opens by itself, as if eager to welcome her. Inside, Park Minjun is seen standing by the big glass wall, its tinted surface softening the scorching afternoon sunlight. Stepping inside, the guard closes the door behind her, the subtle sound of the lock latching confirming the lack of an escape route.

Minjun turns slowly from the window, his expression unreadable, a single Salted Silk pod held loosely in his hand. His gaze sweeps over Chaeyoung, an almost clinical assessment in his eyes. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken power. "Miss Lee," he finally says, his voice a low, resonant rumble that seems to fill the vast office. "Thank you for accepting my invitation." He gestures to a minimalist chair placed pointedly opposite his sprawling desk, a subtle challenge in the invitation. “Please, have a seat. I assure you, you’re safe within these walls.”

Chaeyoung meets his gaze, a flicker of understanding passing between them. She steps forward, her heels clicking softly on the plush carpet, and deliberately takes the minimalist chair. It's surprisingly comfortable, its appearance hiding a clever practicality. A subtle smirk touches her lips. "Safe, perhaps, or simply… contained" she acknowledges, her voice calm. "Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Park. I'm sure you didn't bring me all the way to your... 'fortress' just for pleasantries.”

Minjun’s expression softens as his lips curve into a smile, perhaps hiding his hostility behind a momentary façade. “Miss Lee,” he pulls a chair for himself, settling into it, “believe me, I didn’t invite you here to bash you. I meant it when I said I wanted to see you in private.” Placing his Salted Silk pod on the table, he gently pushes it closer to her. “Please, allow yourself to relax. I’m not trying to put you in danger.”

Chaeyoung's gaze flickers to the Salted Silk pod, then back to Minjun's surprisingly soft expression. She raises an eyebrow, a subtle challenge in her eyes. "Relaxing seems an ambitious goal, given the circumstances," she notes, her voice dry. She leans forward, her hands clasped loosely in her lap, but makes no move towards the pod. "However, I'm intrigued. What exactly is it you wish to discuss, Mr. Park, that couldn't be covered by a lawsuit?"

Minjun smiles once more, falling silent for a few seconds as he eyes the pod lying idly on the table. “I’m dropping the lawsuits, Miss Lee,” he mutters softly, his tone dropping to a gentle timbre. “In fact, I’ll also sell you the patent for Salted Silk—cheaply, might I add.” Chaeyoung’s jaw drops, disbelieving what she has just heard, surprise drawn all over her features. “Pardon me, Mr. Park, but what did you just say?”

Minjun’s smile stays solid, his expression softening further, almost appearing benevolent. "I said, Miss Lee," he repeats, a subtle emphasis on his words. "I am dropping the lawsuits and offering you the patent for Salted Silk." He gestures vaguely with the hand holding his pod. "Let's just say... Golden Leaf is about to embark on a new grand venture, one that requires our full attention. We prefer to clear the deck, streamline our focus, and honestly, Azure has given us enough sleepless nights.” His gaze drifts toward the pod before chuckling. “I promise I’m not trying to flirt with you, but thinking about you makes me lose sleep, Miss Lee.”

Chaeyoung's eyebrows raise slightly, her initial shock now laced with deep suspicion. His words hang in the air, a strange mix of business acumen and a thinly veiled, almost unsettling, personal remark. She ignores the flirtation—quite the poor attempt by her standards—her mind rapidly sifting through the implications. Golden Leaf never acts without incentive, let alone sell one of their best-selling IPs. There's a hidden cost here, a trap far more intricate than she can yet discern. “Mr. Park, can you please jump to Azure’s role in all this?” she presses, starting to lose her patience over the circling conversation.

Minjun's chuckle deepens, his eyes still holding that unreadable quality. "Let's just say, Miss Lee," he replies, leaning forward slightly, his tone becoming more serious. “I want Azure to stay in its own lane while Golden Leaf paves the way for the future. Let us pursue this in peace, and in return, enjoy the money that our Salted Silk brings in.” Chaeyoung stays quiet, the room now filled with a tense silence, but eventually, she breaks the brief silence. “Any other terms to your offer, Mr. Park?” she asks, familiar with how Minjun operates. “Oh, of course there is,” he answers quickly. “Develop your own flavors from now on. If we catch you stealing again, we’ll make sure Azure turns to dust.”

Chaeyoung's gaze drifts from Minjun's unreadable eyes to the Salted Silk pod, then back to the expansive view of the city. The offer is tempting: an end to the lawsuit and a profitable IP, but the terms he’s giving are shackles. She thinks about Dongho’s revelation about the restricted material used to make Salted Silk, and a grim smile takes root on her face; Park Minjun is trying to buy her silence, her complicity.

“That thing,” she points at the pod, “that thing contains a banned substance, does it not?” Minjun chuckles, looking almost amused by her question. “Did Kim Dongho tell you that?” He shakes his head, rubbing his forehead as he prepares to reveal his side of the story. “Miss Lee—oh, God, how do I say this,” he looks around the room, stringing words together in the air, “look, if you’re accusing us of breaking the law, then allow me to show you some proofs that we imported the material legitimately.”

Rising from his chair, Minjun grabs a folder from a safe buried in the wall. After making sure he has the right one, he hands it over to her, letting her assess things herself. The first few papers talk about how Golden Leaf got blocked multiple times even when they were trying to import samples. Some others talk about how Golden Leaf paid a fortune in fines for putting too much of the material in the finished product. Finally, the rest talk about an order from the government saying that Golden Leaf are only allowed to import a certain amount lest they are sanctioned.

Chaeyoung sighs but quickly masks it with a tight smile, placing the folder back on the table. “We’re no outlaw, Miss Lee,” Minjun says, his voice now confident. “No matter how hard it is to follow them, Golden Leaf operates within the boundaries of law. Sure, we try to bend it sometimes. After all, those politicians are only good for that.” She offers a small chuckle; her father once tried to lobby those crooks to lower the legal smoking age from 21 to 17. “I don’t disagree with you on that part, Mr. Park.”

Chaeyoung's smile fades, replaced by a colder expression. “Now, about your… suggestion,” she continues. “You want us to stay in our lane in exchange for Salted Silk, but what guarantee do I have that your new venture won’t hurt us?” Minjun taps his chin, his gaze drifting to the ceiling, as if really thinking about the answer to her question. “That’s a good question,” he murmurs. “I mean, so long as you won’t try stealing our IP again, we will also stay in our lane. Isn't that how things were, before all this?”

Chaeyoung's jaw tightens. He conveniently forgets the accusations against Dongho, the initial legal threats, and now, the restricted substance. It’s like he’s trying to paint Azure as the sole aggressor. "So long as we don't steal, you won't hurt us," she echoes, a dry sarcasm in her tone. "That's hardly a guarantee, Mr. Park, especially when your definition of 'your lane' seems to shift with the wind. What concrete assurances can you offer that this 'new grand venture' won't simply be a different method of encroaching on our market, or that your 'peace' isn't just a prelude to a stronger attack?"

Minjun puts his palm on his forehead, dragging it down on his face, his patience running dangerously thin. “Okay, fine. We’ll register Azure as a key account, and as a key account, not only can you have Salted Silk, but you can also buy materials from us. As you’ve seen for yourself, we can get even the most restricted materials to our front door.” Minjun chuckles; he can’t believe he just said these words, but he will get Azure to stand on the side, away from the path Golden Leaf is chasing. Also, for a company like Azure, access to such resources could revolutionize their production. “I know that sounds silly, but I can’t think of any other way—well, aside from buying Azure, that is.”

Chaeyoung blinks, taking a moment for the full weight of his words to settle. "A key account," she repeats slowly, testing the phrase on her tongue. "And this would entail... what, exactly, Mr. Park? Preferential pricing? Guaranteed supply? And what are the specific expectations for a 'key account' when it comes to competition, or, as you put it, 'staying in our lane'?" She keeps her voice steady, attempting to mask the seismic shift his offer has just created.

Minjun leans forward again, his features beaming slightly; Chaeyoung is cracking. She forces her face to remain neutral, even as a jolt of alarm, then interest, shoots through her. “Preferential pricing, yes. Guaranteed supply, yes. Hell, you can even have my heart if you desire. However, most importantly,” he continues, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. “You’ll be the first to join us should this venture succeed. After all, Golden Leaf always takes care of its friends.”

Chaeyoung watches him, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. "Your generosity is... noted, Mr. Park," she replies, her voice carefully neutral. The implications of his offer—access to restricted materials, guaranteed supply, a share in a successful future—are staggering, but the word "friends" echoes oddly in the opulent silence of his office. She doesn't miss the subtle power play, the implied allegiance. “Please humor me with one last question: what is it you’re seeking from this… friendship, as you call it?”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across Minjun's face. "Transparency and trust, Miss Lee," he states, his voice dropping to a confidential whisper. “The kind that’s forged between parties who fully understand the nature of this industry. If you commit to pursuing your path honorably, without resorting to... unoriginal methods, then Golden Leaf ensures your prosperity. You will be encouraged to build your own empire, protected from threats of any kind, but poke the lion again…” he trails off, letting Chaeyoung complete his sentence.

Chaeyoung holds his gaze, the weight of his words settling heavily in the opulent office. The "lion" metaphor is clear. She thinks of Azure's lean resources, the relentless grind to survive. This offer, for all its veiled threats, promises a path to power, a shortcut she hadn't dared dream of. "I understand the terms, Mr. Park," she finally says, her voice low. "Transparency, integrity... and no 'poking the lion.' A rather unique definition of friendship, I must admit, but I believe Azure Taste Limited can thrive, even within such... clear boundaries."

“Wonderful!” Minjun claps his hands, jumping out of his seat to grab a bottle of champagne from the shelves behind his desk. “Miss Lee, would you please kindly join me for a glass or two?” Chaeyoung chuckles, rising from her chair to join him by his desk—oh, whose photo is that next to his monitor? She quickly diverts her gaze, pretending to have missed the picture.

As Minjun pops the champagne, the photo by his monitor burns an image into Chaeyoung's mind. It was only a glimpse, but enough to register a soft, almost vulnerable quality that clashed sharply with the ruthless businessman before her. A sister? A lover? The detail sits uncomfortably, a tiny crack in the seemingly impenetrable facade of Park Minjun, making her wonder if there's more to his "grand venture" than just market dominance.

Minjun pours two flutes of bubbling golden liquid, handing one to Chaeyoung, his smile confident. "To new understandings, Miss Lee," he says, raising his glass. Chaeyoung takes the flute, the cold glass a stark contrast to the warmth of her hand. Her gaze meets his, but her mind is still on that photograph, searching for clues. "To new ventures, Mr. Park," she replies, her voice smooth, masking the sudden shift in her perception of him. The champagne tastes of triumph and a lingering, unsettling question.

Chaeyoung empties her glass, the last bubbles dissipating on her tongue, leaving behind that unsettling aftertaste, but her mind keeps coming back to the portrait. “Mr. Park, may I ask who that woman is?” she asks, her tone careful, almost too quiet for him to hear. Minjun turns his head, smiling rather softly as he looks at the framed photo—a beautiful woman with a vibrant, gentle smile—she can sense a deep, lingering pain beneath it, though. “This is Park Sieun, Miss Lee. She was my fiancé,” Minjun hands the photo over to her, letting her have a good look, “she passed away two weeks before the day of our wedding. A drunk trucker took her life, Miss Lee.”

Chaeyoung takes the framed photo, her fingers brushing the cool glass. The vibrant smile of Park Sieun stares back at her, radiating a warmth that now feels heartbreakingly poignant. The ruthless CEO before her suddenly transforms into a grieving man, and the weight of his personal tragedy settles heavy in the opulent office. All of Minjun's ambition, his drive to pave the way for the future, suddenly takes on a new, more profound meaning. She hands the photo back, her voice softer than before. "I... I am so sorry for your loss, Mr. Park."

Minjun takes the photo back, his fingers tracing the edge of the frame. "She believed in a future, Miss Lee," he says, his voice distant, lost in memory—a stark, raw departure from the controlled executive.. "A world where… everyone is happy.” He blinks his tears back, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “It sounds cliché, I know, but… but I want to believe in that future too, so please help me, Miss Lee.”

Chaeyoung watches him, the sudden shift from ruthless CEO to grieving man pulling at something deep within her. His raw honesty, even if clichéd, gives a chilling new context to his drive. His empire-building isn't just about money; it's about a desperate need for control, for a legacy for the woman he lost. She nods slowly. "I see," she says, her voice measured. "So, this 'new venture' isn't just about market dominance; it's about... fulfilling a promise." She pauses, her gaze hardening slightly as the businesswoman reasserts herself. "If your vision for this 'happy world' is truly innovative and adheres to ethical boundaries, then yes, Mr. Park. Azure Taste Limited can play its part."

Minjun places his flute on his desk, slowly opening his arms, his eyes searching hers with raw vulnerability, hesitation drawn all over his face. “Please?” he whispers, begging her to come closer. With a soft step, Chaeyoung closes the gap between them, her arms wrapping snugly around him; he’s quite warm, too. “I hope my Sieun is proud of me,” he murmurs, his voice shaking quite violently. “She is, Mr. Park, and she loves you too,” she replies, whispering right into his ear.

Minjun's body trembles against Chaeyoung's for a long moment, a lifetime of grief contained in the brief, fragile warmth of their embrace. Slowly, he pulls back, his eyes still red-rimmed but holding a new, softer light as he looks at her. The corporate masks are gone, replaced by the weight of shared humanity. The terms of their "deal" now feel different, imbued with the silent understanding of his personal pain and her unexpected compassion.

Minjun clears his throat, a soft, almost shy sound, and glances down at his hands, then back to Chaeyoung. "Thank you, Miss Lee," he murmurs, his voice still a little hoarse. "That... it means a great deal, especially coming from you." He manages a small, genuine smile, utterly devoid of the calculated charm from moments before. The tension hasn't vanished, but it has transformed, replaced by a delicate understanding that hangs between them. Chaeyoung holds his hand firmly, her fingers itching to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “Please, it’s just Chaeyoung-ie…” she mutters, her voice getting tender. Minjun's eyes widen almost imperceptibly at the familiar, almost intimate, suffix, a new warmth spreading through them. “Thank you for being honest. I appreciate honest men, even if they’re scary like you.”

Minjun takes a shaky breath, the unfamiliar warmth of the informal nickname settling deep within him. He squeezes her hand gently before releasing it. The silence stretches, no longer tense with animosity, but with a complex mix of vulnerability and burgeoning respect. "Chaeyoung-ie," he repeats softly, testing the name on his tongue. "Perhaps... perhaps we can make this 'new venture' something we both can be proud of, a legacy that transcends simple profit."

Chaeyoung watches him, the lingering sting of his grief in her own eyes. The image of the powerful, ruthless CEO has shattered, replaced by a man driven by profound loss, its weight unimaginable for her. Her initial strategy of countering his every move now feels inadequate, perhaps even cruel. This isn't just about business; it's about a shared understanding, a fragile thread woven between them. The Salted Silk patent, the access to materials, the "lanes"—all of it now holds a different meaning.

Minjun offers her another small, almost hopeful smile, a stark contrast to the calculating grin he wore just moments before. The silence that follows is comfortable, filled with the unspoken weight of their shared understanding. The opulent office, once a battleground, now feels like a space where something entirely new has begun to take root. They stand there for a long moment, two former adversaries, now connected by grief, ambition, and the faint, unsettling taste of a future yet unwritten.

Chaeyoung holds his gaze. Not in a tense, hostile way, but rather a relaxed, cordial one. “I don’t mean no disrespect to Miss Park Sieun, but if you keep acting this kind and gentle, I might actually fall for you, Mr. Park.” Minjun chuckles, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. “Has anyone ever told you how funny you are, Chaeyoung-ah?” he quips, a genuine grin spreading across his face, delighted by her admission.

Chaeyoung grins back, the earlier tension completely dissolved. "Only when they're truly caught off guard," she replies, a playful glint in her eyes. "But it seems I've found my audience." The air in his office now feels strangely intimate, filled with the unexpected warmth of shared laughter. They stand there, the head of a titan and an aspiring empress, connected not by legal battles or corporate maneuvering, but by a sudden, profound understanding that transcends business.

Minjun shakes his head, still smiling. "Well, consider me thoroughly off guard," he says, a softness in his voice that was unimaginable an hour ago. He gestures back towards the door, acknowledging the need for Chaeyoung to continue her day as a CEO. “You’re free to leave, Chaeyoung-ah,” he says. Looking over her shoulder at the door, Chaeyoung’s forehead furrows; she thinks the door is still locked. “I thought you had me locked in here?” Minjun explodes in laughter, doubling over slightly, shaking his head out of pure mirth. “Oh, no, no. The lock is for keeping those outside, outside. Just turn the handle and you’ll be on your way.”

Chaeyoung can't help but crack a genuine smile herself, the lingering tension from earlier conversations finally dissipating completely. The sheer absurdity of her assumption, paired with Minjun's uninhibited laughter, creates a strange camaraderie. "Well, that's certainly one way to control the flow," she quips, a genuine lightness in her tone. Making her way to the doors, she turns the handle as he suggested, and they part for her. “Oh, you’re not lying.”

Minjun watches the doors close behind Chaeyoung, his laughter fading into a soft smile. He walks back to his desk, picking up the framed photo of Sieun. "She's an interesting one, isn't she, love?" he murmurs to the smiling face, his voice devoid of tears now, replaced by a calculating satisfaction. “But still; she’s not you.” He sets the photo down, his gaze falling on the Salted Silk pod lying forgotten on the table. The first step of his grand venture is complete; Azure is now precisely where he needs them to be.

-

A quarter later, the tension that once filled Minjun’s vast office has truly faded, replaced by a comfortable quiet. Chaeyoung sits across from his sprawling desk, not in the minimalist chair of their first encounter, but on a plush sofa, a half-empty mug of her favorite herbal tea steaming beside her. The Salted Silk patent now sits securely in Azure's vault. The "key account" status has indeed revolutionized their access to premium materials, and the legal battles are a distant memory.

Typically a whirlwind of activity, Minjun now leans back in his executive chair, a genuine, unburdened smile on his face as he listens to Chaeyoung recount a humorous struggle with a particularly stubborn supplier. The framed photo of Sieun still sits on his desk, but his gaze no longer carries the raw, aching pain. Instead, when he looks at it, there’s a quiet tenderness, a sense of peace that wasn't there before.

"So, you finally managed to get them to budge?" he asks, his voice warm, a stark contrast to the intimidating rumble she first knew. "You’re good at being stubborn, Chaeyoung-ah—and I mean that as a compliment." Chaeyoung laughs, a genuine, unrestrained sound that echoes softly in the room. "I learned from the best, oppa," she quips, her eyes twinkling. "Though I think my methods are slightly less... aggressive than yours."

Chaeyoung feels a warmth spread through her, and it’s not about the tea. "Good at being stubborn," she repeats softly, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I suppose that's true. Sometimes, you just know a fight is worth it, even if it seems impossible." Her gaze drifts, lingering on his hand resting casually on his desk, then flickers back to his eyes. “Okay, just so you know, I’m not going to fight Golden Leaf again,” she adds. Minjun bursts out laughing, shaking his head in amusement. “Yeah, let’s not do that again,” he agrees.

As the laughter dies down, the comfortable quiet deepens, filled with an unspoken awareness, a delicate thread forming between them that feels both fragile and profoundly real. "What about you, oppa?" she asks, her voice softer now. "What impossible fights are you still determined to win?" Minjun sighs, promptly reminded about a material that is quite difficult to get his hands on. “I mean, it’s not impossible necessarily, but importing Raspberry Ketone has been… quite challenging. If only we didn’t need it so bad.”

Chaeyoung's brow furrows in thought. Raspberry Ketone. A whisper of a substance, found only in trace amounts naturally. "Raspberry Ketone, huh?" she mouths, leaning slightly forward. “Let me guess; raspberry isn’t in season right now.” Minjun pouts as he nods, exaggerating his reactions a bit. “I guess we can go back to selling Salted Silk—oh, wait…” Her eyebrows rise at the mention of Salted Silk, her lips curving into a light smile. “Wait, Salted Silk is yours now, isn’t it,” he muses, a smile of similar lightness blooming on his face. Chaeyoung giggles, the warm and bright sound bouncing on the glass walls. “Hey, you gave it to me, remember? Something about making peace, if I recall correctly.”

Leaning back in their respective seats, their gaze drifts aimlessly, another silence settling in the room. “Oppa,” she calls to him, breaking the peace. “Why not try selling something Azure makes instead?” Staying silent, Minjun blinks a few times, thinking about the offer. “Something that Azure makes…” His gaze drifts to the ceiling, then back to her. “Such as what, Chaeyoung-ah?” She grabs her phone, checking the list of new items that Azure’s RND team has created recently. “Erm, I don’t know—graham crackers, maybe? The materials for this are easy to get, you know.”

Minjun's eyes, wide with thought, settle on Chaeyoung. "Graham crackers," he repeats, a slow, intriguing smile spreading across his face. The idea is so outside Golden Leaf's current trajectory, yet, coming from her, it sparks a genuine interest. "Can I have a sample, please? I think this might work out well for us." His emphasis on "us" implies a shared future, not just his own. With a smile, Chaeyoung reaches for her handbag, pulling out an amber bottle packed in a plastic bag. “100 milliliters of graham crackers flavor, all for you.”

Minjun takes the amber bottle, his fingers brushing hers as he accepts it. Uncapping it, he inhales deeply, a surprised hum escaping him. “Oh, this is… different,” he murmurs. “This is ready-to-use, right?” Chaeyoung nods to his question, but she also warns him that it might taste a bit chemical-like, since it’s quite fresh from the lab. “I mean, if it’s good, it’s good,” he says, grabbing an empty cartridge from the drawer of his desk. She keeps her eyes on him as he fills a pod to the brim, biting her lip to stifle a grin; she doesn’t want to celebrate too early.

Minjun inserts the pod into his device, taking a cautious draw. His forehead furrows slightly as he exhales, but he quickly relaxes into a surprised smile. “This is a good starting point, Chaeyoung-ah,” he confirms, never one to shy away from offering praise. “Not sweet enough for my taste, but still very good. How did your team make this, by the way?” Chaeyoung grins, her heart soaring with pride. Her R&D team has done a wonderful job, and to have the head of the giant praise them warms her heart. “I just told them to try mixing some flavors together, and they came up with some new flavors, including this one.”

“Oh? Some new flavors, you say?” he asks, already considering about commissioning Azure to produce stuff for Golden Leaf. Chaeyoung pads over to the sofa, fishing out some more bottles of newly created flavors, and returns to him with a handful of amber bottles, each one labeled concisely. “Oh, now we’re talking.” Minjun grabs a bottle—strawberry shortcake, the label says—and inspects it closely. “These samples are meant for a customer, but you’re more important than them.” As soon as those words leave her lips, Chaeyoung quickly looks away as heat rises on her cheeks, hiding behind the curtain of her hair. “Anyway, let me know what you think.”

Minjun's eyes flicker to her averted face, a knowing glint appearing in them, but he doesn't comment on her sudden shyness. He shakes the strawberry shortcake bottle gently, his focus returning to the task at hand, though a quiet amusement plays on his lips. "Strawberry shortcake," he repeats, pulling another empty cartridge from his drawer. "Let's see if your R&D team can make me blush, too, Chaeyoung-ah." He winks, a playful challenge in his tone, then proceeds to fill the pod, letting her anticipation build.

Minjun takes a slow puff, his eyes closing shut as he savors the flavor. It’s a touch sweeter than the graham crackers one, and combined with the hint of sourness, it’s surely something that is right up his alley. “Can you do a production trial?” he asks, his voice crisp with intent. “P-production trial? Like… right now?” she stammers, slightly taken aback by his sudden (yet gentle) demand. “Well, yes, please.”

Chaeyoung stares at him, her initial surprise quickly giving way to a thrill of excitement. A production trial? She doesn’t even know what her team is occupied with at the moment. It's exactly the kind of audacious move she's come to expect from him, now simply softened by his current demeanor. "Yes, oppa," she affirms, her voice gaining its usual confident edge. "Let’s do a production trial. How quickly do you need the first batch, and what specific quantities are you thinking?" Her eyes gleam with a mixture of challenge and shared ambition.

Minjun glances at the clock sitting on his desk. There’s half a workday left, and as much as he wants to test Azure, he doesn’t want to push too hard. “At least 25 kilograms. Of course, it goes without saying that I want them quality-tested and ready to be used immediately.” Chaeyoung swallows a gulp; 25 kilograms isn't what Azure usually does for a production trial; it's usually around 2 kilograms, 5 tops. Her eyes dart rapidly as she cycles through her team’s current projects, the inventory levels, and the lab’s open slots for quality testing. “Azure Taste Limited accepts the challenge, oppa,” she says firmly, putting her worries to the side. “You will have 25 kilograms of strawberry shortcake e-liquid at your front door before 7 p.m. tonight.”

Minjun's intense gaze softens slightly, a hint of something akin to awe flickering in his eyes. "7 p.m., you say?" he murmurs, a quiet respect in his tone. "Then you might want to call someone soon, sweetheart, because this man in front of you doesn’t like lateness, and those mixers aren't about to move on their own,” he adds. Chaeyoung blinks rapidly, the hint of his urgency settling in her mind, and runs to the sofa to grab her phone, frantically browsing through the contacts to find department heads.

Minjun watches her as she makes one call after another, giving brief yet concise orders to each person. “Cute,” he thinks, an adoring but regardful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. This isn't just about the flavor anymore; it's about the woman cranking the gears of production, thus bringing the flavor to life. When she finally drops the phone, a slight flush on her cheeks, he speaks. "That's quite a symphony you conduct, Chaeyoung-ah," he says, his voice laced with genuine awe, completely devoid of his usual corporate edge. “The things I do for you, oppa…” she muses, crashing into the sofa once more, her heart still racing with a mix of excitement and panic.

Chaeyoung closes her eyes for a moment, letting the adrenaline drain from her limbs. The weight of the 25-kilogram promise still hangs in the air, but Minjun's praise, his soft tone, and the easy way he now uses her informal name, settle something deep within her. She opens her eyes, meeting his warm gaze. No more is he a scary CEO that runs the industry; he’s more akin to a demanding customer, a confidant, or perhaps something more. The thought sends a new kind of warmth through her, one that has nothing to do with panic and everything to do with him.

Minjun watches her, a gentle smile playing on his lips as her eyes open, meeting his. He sees the softness there, the lingering wonder, and a warmth spreads through him that mirrors her own. "Everything alright, Chaeyoung-ah?" he asks, his voice low, filled with a gentle understanding. He doesn't press, just holds her gaze, letting the new, delicate understanding settle between them. The office, usually a place of sterile deals, now hums with a different kind of energy. “If you need fresh air, that door is open,” Minjun adds, pointing to the tinted glass door to the balcony.

Chaeyoung holds his gaze for another moment, feeling the undeniable pull of his presence. The offer of fresh air is tempting, but for now, the quiet intimacy of the office, filled with this new energy, feels enough. "I think I'm alright now, oppa," she murmurs, a soft smile gracing her lips. "Just... processing. Twenty-five kilograms of strawberry shortcake e-liquid by 7 p.m. It's a lot to process. I mean, the recipe was only validated yesterday.” A chuckle escapes her lips, as she thinks about how bold he is to buy something so new, so much.

-

Chaeyoung and Minjun sit together at the loading dock gate, their legs dangling off the edge. Minjun scrolls through his phone, not catching the way she keeps biting her lips, anxiously waiting for Azure’s truck to enter through Golden Leaf’s front gate. It is only when he glances at her that he sees the signs of nervousness; tense posture, lip-biting, and long gaze. A sense of protectiveness washes over him, but Minjun quickly diverts his attention back to his phone. “She’ll be okay,” he thinks.

Minjun carefully places his phone beside him on the concrete. "Something wrong, Chaeyoung-ah?" he asks, his voice soft, cutting through her anxious thoughts. He doesn't need to ask if it's about the delivery; he knows. Chaeyoung sighs, letting some of the tension drain from her shoulders. "It's a big order for something so new, oppa," she admits, her voice a low murmur. "I just... I really want it to be perfect for you."

Minjun's gaze warms further, understanding the unspoken weight of her desire to impress him. Scooting closer to Chaeyoung, he musters up the courage to wrap an arm around her, offering comfort. “It’s the effort that counts, sweetheart,” he whispers, his tone warm in her ear. “Even if the e-liquid isn’t commercial-ready right away, we can tweak the recipe and try again.”

Chaeyoung leans against him, resting her head on his shoulder, finding solace amid nervousness. “You know, sometimes I wish we had been friends from the start. I wish I hadn’t fought you over Salted Silk. I wish—” Minjun places a finger on her lips, tenderly deadening her voice. “This is how it’s meant for us, sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaving no room for her to rebut.

A bright white truck, emblazoned with Azure Taste Limited's subtle logo, finally turns the corner and rumbles towards Golden Leaf's front gate. Chaeyoung lifts her head from his shoulder, her eyes still soft as they meet his. The hum of the engine, the squeal of the brakes—oh, it's the beautiful sound of a delivered promise. Minjun squeezes her shoulder gently, his gaze filled with shared anticipation, no longer just for the product, but for the future they are undeniably building together.

The truck grinds to a halt before them, its engine still humming. A Golden Leaf security guard approaches, ready to open the gate. Minjun rises, offering Chaeyoung a hand as she stands. "Let's see the fruits of your team’s labor, Chaeyoung-ah," he states, a note of genuine excitement in his voice. As the gate slides open, the truck backs into the loading dock, ready to offload the 25 kilograms of strawberry shortcake e-liquid.

Standing next to each other on the side, Chaeyoung’s fingers snake around his own, seeking comfort to calm her racing heart. “You’re okay. You’re totally okay,” he whispers, squeezing her hand firmly. She nods slowly, taking his affirmation to heart, but the urge to keep biting her lips proves irresistible. “Good or bad, we’ll think about it together,” he adds, offering closure to Chaeyoung.

The Azure trucker grabs a 30-kilogram jerrycan from the truck, placing it on the concrete floor before the two CEOs. “I was told to give these things to you, Miss Lee,” he says, handing a folder, presumably containing quality testing results, and a commercial-sized, 100-milliliter bottle of e-liquid. After handing those items over, the trucker scratches his head, seemingly puzzled about something. “Miss Lee, pardon my curiosity, but… why the rush order, and why did no one give me proof of delivery to be signed?”

Chaeyoung smiles, squeezing Minjun’s hand stoutly as she addresses the trucker’s question. “This man right here wanted to test us from all kinds of aspects, Mr. Koo,” she tilts her head towards Minjun, as if shifting the blame to him, “as for the proof of delivery, I think it’s an oversight, but we can fix that tomorrow. You’re free to head back.”

As Mr. Koo retreats to his truck, Minjun's gaze locks onto the jerrycan. He kneels, the weight of the container undeniable, and with a grunt, manages to pry open the cap. A rich, sweet aroma, unmistakably strawberry shortcake, wafts into the evening air. He dips a clean, sterile stick into the liquid, brings it to his nose. Chaeyoung watches him, her breath held, every muscle in her body taut with anticipation.

Minjun closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, letting the complex notes of strawberry and cream fill his senses. A slow, beatific smile spreads across his face, not the calculated grin of the CEO, but the unburdened joy of someone who has found exactly what they've been searching for. He opens his eyes, a glint of pure triumph in them as he looks at Chaeyoung. "This," he murmurs, his voice filled with reverence, wiggling the smelling stick in front of her eyes, "this isn't just good, Chaeyoung-ah. This is the next big thing—the next Salted Silk, perhaps.”

Chaeyoung's taut muscles finally relax, a wave of profound relief washing over her as Minjun's words sink in. A warm, triumphant smile matches his own. "The next Salted Silk, oppa?" she muses, her voice soft with pride. "That's quite the compliment." She steps dangerously close to him, the gap between their bodies barely able to fit a sheet of paper. Chaeyoung asks, “You’re not playing with me, are you?” Shaking his head firmly, he answers, “No, not at all. I meant every word I said.”

Chaeyoung holds his gaze, a quiet awe blossoming within her. His sincerity, his close presence, the weight of his words – it all solidifies something profound. The cool evening breeze ruffles her hair, but the warmth between them is undeniable. She simply nods, a soft, contented smile on her face. The new flavor, the successful trial, the enormous potential... it all pales slightly in comparison to the man standing so close, the one who no longer plays games, the one who sees her, truly sees her. The future stretches before them, no longer a battlefield, but a shared, exciting horizon.

-

A quarter later, the strawberry shortcake e-liquid is not just a success; it's a phenomenon. It dominates the market, its unique, natural flavor profile captivating consumers across the world, not just Asia. Sales figures for both Golden Leaf and Azure Taste Limited surge, shattering all previous records. The "next Salted Silk" has truly arrived, and then some. It’s particularly strange for Azure; they have never seen numbers this big.

Chaeyoung’s eyes remain glued to her tablet as her Continental takes her to Minjun’s house. “That forecast graph looks like a mountain,” she thinks, her finger tracing a line along the graph. “And to think that Azure is in the center of all this…” Her gaze leaves the screen as she leans back in the back seat. “Is everything okay, Miss Lee?” her chauffeur asks, glancing at her through the rear-view mirror. “It is. If anything, everything is great,” she states, no hesitation in her voice.

The Continental glides silently through the opulent gates of Minjun's private estate, a place Chaeyoung has only visited a handful of times, always for a high-stakes, exclusive meeting. Tonight, however, feels different. As the car pulls to a stop, Minjun stands waiting at the entrance of his grand house. A casual shirt, the sleeves folded to his elbows, replaces his usual sharp suits, and a soft, welcoming smile is already gracing his lips. He extends a hand to her as she steps out, his eyes warm with an unspoken congratulations that goes far beyond just business.

Chaeyoung takes his outstretched hand, her fingers brushing against the warmth of his skin. The subtle contact sends a pleasant shiver through her. "Oppa," she murmurs, her voice soft with a mixture of awe and contentment as she takes in his relaxed form. The scent of his subtle cologne, familiar from their close encounters, now seems to linger more intimately in the evening air. He squeezes her hand gently, a silent acknowledgment of their shared journey and the profound success that now links them.

“Tell your chauffeur to leave you with me, sweetheart,” Minjun mutters, an invitation to a special night lying beneath his voice. Chaeyoung nods, signaling to her chauffeur to leave her at Minjun’s estate. As the car disappears into the night, she turns to face him again. “I’m yours now,” she whispers back.

Minjun's smile deepens, a profound tenderness replacing the earlier gleam in his eyes. He laces his fingers through hers, the warmth of their joined hands anchoring them both. "Come inside, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice a low, inviting hum. He guides her across the grand threshold, the heavy door closing behind them with a soft click, sealing them within the intimate warmth of his home. The quiet opulence of the foyer feels less imposing now, less a symbol of power and more a backdrop for the shared, undeniable connection that pulses between them.

Chaeyoung’s eyes land on the massive, plush sofa in the center of his grand living room. “Can we sit there, please?” she asks, pointing at the sofa, eager to sink herself into it. With a small nod, Minjun leads her to the pointed furniture, letting her sit down first before settling next to her. He turns to her, his hand gently finding hers again, lacing their fingers together. His thumb softly traces the back of her hand, a simple gesture that speaks volumes.

She leans closer to Minjun, to the point where he can feel her breathing on his face. “Kiss me, oppa.” Without hesitation, he gently takes her lips, taking her invitation to intimacy right away. Closing their eyes, Minjun and Chaeyoung stay connected, filling the air with a charged intimate tension. When the kiss eventually breaks, both are left breathless; gone are the CEOs—they are simply Lee Chaeyoung and Park Minjun, two souls finding their way to each other.

Minjun's eyes flutter open, dark with a shared emotion, as he rests his forehead against hers. "Chaeyoung-ah…" he breathes, the name a soft prayer on his lips. His hand moves from hers to cup her cheek, his thumb gently stroking her skin. “This feels right, doesn’t it, oppa?” He nods to her question, the small gesture carrying more weight than any words he can say now. The world outside, the new success they have built together, fades into insignificance. All that exists is the soft warmth of her against him, the gentle rhythm of their breaths, and the undeniable truth of this moment.

Chaeyoung crashes into him once more, claiming his lips as hers, pouring everything she has into the connection. “I… I want to be with you, oppa. Not just as a business partner, but as a partner in life,” she confesses. Minjun takes a deep breath as her words settle in his mind, but before he can say anything else, she presses on. “Would you let me take the space in your heart that Miss Park Sieun once owned?”

Minjun's eyes hold hers as he rests his forehead against hers. "No one could ever replace my lovely Sieun, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice thick with the enduring grief. "But you, my incredible Lee Chaeyoung... you don't need to replace her. You've carved out a space in my heart that is uniquely yours. A space that makes me want to live again—truly live. Not just for the past, but for a future with you." He pulls her into another deep, reaffirming kiss, sealing his words.

When the kiss finally breaks, they remain intertwined, foreheads resting together, breathing each other in. The silence of the grand living room wraps around them, not empty but rich with unspoken promises and the gentle thump of two hearts beating in sync. Chaeyoung lifts a hand, tracing the line of Minjun's jaw, a soft, amazed smile blooming on her lips. "A future with you, oppa," she whispers, the words tasting like hope.

Pulling away, Minjun’s palm lands on her knee, softly caressing it. “May I entertain you with some shrimp carbonara fettuccine?” he asks, a hint of excitement woven in his voice, seemingly eager to flex his cooking skills. Chaeyoung giggles; shrimp carbonara fettuccine sounds heavenly to her rumbling tummy. “Yes, you may, oppa. Please make it spicy too.” His eyebrow rises at her request. “Spicy, you say? How spicy?” She leans closer towards him, the idea of personal space non-existent. “As spicy as tonight will be.”

Minjun's eyebrow remains raised, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. "As spicy as tonight will be," he echoes, his voice a low, husky rumble that sends another shiver down her spine—this one is purely of anticipation. He squeezes her knee gently before pushing himself off the sofa. "Consider it done, sweetheart. Come, let's see if your palate can handle Golden Leaf's executive chef's spiciest creation." He extends a hand, inviting her to join him, his eyes sparkling with a promise of culinary, and perhaps romantic, adventure.

Chaeyoung settles on a stool at the kitchen, her hands resting on the clean marble countertop, while Minjun begins to prepare the fettuccine dish. She watches on silently, as if stuck in a stupor, as he moves around the kitchen with practiced fluidity. “Was he a chef in a past life or something?” she wonders quietly. “You know, I’ve always liked cooking for those I hold dear,” he says, as if able to read her mind. “Seeing people enjoy my cooking brings me joy.”

Chaeyoung’s ears perk up like an excited puppy. “Those you hold dear, oppa? Am I part of that exclusive circle now?” she muses, a flush creeping up her cheeks at the idea of being held dear. Minjun glances at her over his shoulder, a small grin peeking out the side. “You are, and once you're in, you can't get out—well, unless you do something very, very… uh, stupid.” She laughs, the sound filling the spacious kitchen. “Like stealing your most precious IP?” Minjun laughs with her, the clash over Salted Silk a distant memory. “Yes, like stealing my most precious IP.”

Soon, two plates of shrimp carbonara fettuccine lands on the counter, the smell of garlic and butter poignant. “I put 4 bird’s eye chilies in yours. I hope that's spicy enough,” he says, his gaze still locked on her plate. Holding his chin with her fingertips, Chaeyoung turns his face towards her—wait, since when is her cleavage exposed? “I can handle spice, oppa, and I'm not talking about chilies.”

Minjun's eyes widen slightly at her directness, the playful challenge in her gaze mirroring his own. A slow, consuming heat rises within him, far more potent than any chili. His hand, initially resting idly on the counter, slides towards hers, his thumb brushing against the soft skin of her wrist. "Oh, you're not talking about chilies, are you, sweetheart?" he murmurs, his voice filled with a desire he no longer bothers to hide. He leans in, closing the remaining distance between them, his gaze dropping to her lips.

Chaeyoung's breath hitches, her eyes fluttering closed as Minjun's lips finally claim hers. The kiss is deep, urgent, a declaration of all the unspoken words and desires that have simmered between them for months. His hand tightens on her wrist, pulling her closer until no space remains. When they eventually break apart, both are breathless. The scent of garlic and chili on the air are now mingling with something far sweeter and more intoxicating.

Minjun pulls away, a triumphant, tender smile gracing his lips. "That’s definitely spicier than any chili," he murmurs, his voice raw with emotion. “But whatever it is we’re about to do tonight can’t be done on an empty stomach.” A fond, knowing smile tugs at the corners of Chaeyoung’s lips. “I know, oppa, and just so you know, I want to be treated with grace and tenderness.”

Minjun's triumphant smile mellows into something deeply tender. He reaches out, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, his touch light and reverent. "Grace and tenderness," he repeats softly, his gaze holding hers. "You deserve nothing less, my heart." He then gestures to the plates of pasta. "Come, let's get some warmth in that stomach of yours. We have all night for... everything else." His eyes twinkle, a playful promise of the passion to come, wrapped in careful respect.

As they begin to eat the fragrant pasta, the air between them remains charged with that electric awareness. The meal is delicious, a testament to Minjun's unexpected talent, but it feels like a prelude. Once their plates are clear, Minjun reaches across the counter, taking her hand. "The living room, perhaps?" he suggests, his thumb gently caressing her palm. Chaeyoung shakes her head; she wants something more… private. “The bedroom?” he suggests once more, looking for a yes from her. “The bedroom, yes,” she confirms, leaning forward a bit, giving him a peek into her exposed chest. “Grace and tenderness, remember?”

He rises from his stool, pulling her gently from hers, their joined hands never breaking contact. He doesn't need to ask again; the answer is clear in her gaze, in the slight flush on her cheeks, in the undeniable pull that now binds them as he turns and leads her deeper into the quiet vastness of his home.

A shiver, this one purely out of exhilaration, runs down Chaeyoung's spine as Minjun leads her towards what feels like the sacred, yet hallowed, sanctuary of his bedroom. Her mind races with all kinds of thoughts; she is about to enter the room where Minjun and Sieun have shared nights of raw, unbridled passion. The idea that she’s replacing Sieun is almost unsettling.

The door looms, dark wood against the soft light of the hallway. As Minjun's fingers tighten around hers, Chaeyoung's steps falter for just a moment. She looks up at him, her eyes wide with a sudden, raw vulnerability. "Oppa," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "Park Sieun..." She doesn’t need to finish the sentence; the unspoken question, the ghost of comparison, hangs heavy in the air between them.

Minjun's gaze, usually so sure, softens even further, acknowledging the profound weight of her hesitation. “No, baby, this isn’t about replacing her with you. This is about us, about the future we’re building together,” he assures her, pulling her into his arms. “I think… I think my Sieun would want me to look forward and move on, so please help me.”

Chaeyoung melts into his embrace, her arms tightening around his waist. The lingering doubt from Sieun's ghost begins to dissipate, replaced by the profound warmth of Minjun's honesty and his raw plea. She rests her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "I will, oppa," she whispers, her voice firm, filled with a love that now understands the depths of his. "I'll help you. Every step of the way." Together, they take that first step towards the bedroom door, no longer a sanctuary of the past, but a threshold to their future.

The soft light of the bedroom spills into the hallway as Minjun pushes the door open further, holding it for her. He steps back, allowing her to enter first, a silent gesture of respect and invitation. Chaeyoung walks into the room, her eyes taking in the subdued elegance, the large, inviting bed. She turns to him, a soft, confident smile on her lips, and reaches for his hand again, pulling him fully into the room. The door clicks shut behind them, enclosing them in a private world where Lee Chaeyoung and Park Minjun exist as who they truly are, no façade of professionality in between.

Chaeyoung pulls him closer, her free hand coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart. “Oppa…” she mutters, her eyes fluttering close, beckoning him to fully close the gap. Without a word said, Minjun leans down, capturing her lips with his in an unhurried kiss, unattached to the world beyond these walls.

As the kiss deepens, she takes his hand, guiding it towards her bountiful bosom. “Mm…” Chaeyoung softly moans into the kiss, savoring the sensation his fingers are offering. They break the kiss momentarily, looking into each other’s eyes. “You like my assets, oppa?” she teases, pressing her body into him. “I do,” he whispers back. “You’re perfect, baby…”

Minjun's fingers gently explore, eliciting another soft gasp from Chaeyoung. He leans down, tracing the curve of her neck with his lips, his breath warm against her skin. "Absolutely perfect," he adds, the words vibrating against her as he lifts her into his arms. She wraps her legs around his waist, instinctively clinging to him as he takes a step, then another, moving them closer to the inviting expanse of the bed.

Minjun settles on the edge of the bed, keeping Chaeyoung seated on his lap, her red cheeks a proof of her unspoken desires. He sneaks his hands to the second button of her blouse, his gaze meeting hers, searching for permission. “Yes, you may,” she breathes, knowing what is on his mind. One button after the other swiftly gets undone, thus allowing a glimpse into her physique. “Goodness me...” Minjun is in awe at the sight before him. “You’re absolutely beautiful, baby…”

Minjun's fingers continue their gentle work, pushing the soft fabric aside as his eyes devour the sight before him. His gaze, filled with reverence, slowly travels upward, meeting her own. Chaeyoung's hand, which had been resting lightly on his shoulder, now reaches up, her fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer. "This is me, and I’m yours and only yours," she murmurs, her voice husky, a playful challenge in her eyes that promises further submission.

Minjun's eyes darken, reflecting the fervent desire in hers. He doesn't need to speak; her words, her touch, her gaze, convey everything. He leans in, closing the final distance, and captures her lips in a deep, consuming kiss that tastes of promise and absolute surrender. “Baby,” he calls to her, his whispered voice husky. “Can you do something for me?” Chaeyoung takes a deep breath, bracing to hear her first order from him. “Say it, oppa. What do you need from me?” Taking her hand, Minjun guides it towards his growing erection. “Can you help me… get ready?”

Chaeyoung's gaze drops to his hand on hers, then follows to where he guides it. A blush deepens on her cheeks, but her eyes sparkle with understanding and eager consent. Without hesitation, her fingers curl around him, feeling the warmth and impressive size. "Anything for you, oppa," she murmurs, her voice a low, confident whisper.

Chaeyoung sinks into her knees, feeling the soft carpet through the fabric of her trousers. Without breaking eye contact, she swiftly undoes his belt and zipper, sliding Minjun’s pants down his legs. “Oh my…” Slowly, hesitantly, she reaches for his manhood, the shape and size apparent from the bulge on his boxers. She looks up at him again and asks, “May I, oppa?” At his approving nod, Chaeyoung lowers his boxers, not bothering to take them off entirely; she’s stunned by the sight of his asset.

Not wasting time, Chaeyoung parts her lips, taking the first few centimeters of him in her mouth. Minjun inhales sharply at the first contact, his breath catching at his throat. “Oh my God…” he mumbles. “You could’ve warned me first, baby, but… please go on.” Relaxing her muscles, she tries to take him deeper, fighting the reflexive urge to gag. His breathing begins to pick up tempo; it’s been so long since someone has touched him like this.

Minjun's hand, which has been resting on her shoulder, tightens, his fingers subtly guiding her head, urging her deeper. A low, guttural groan escapes him, a sound of pure, unbridled pleasure that vibrates through her. Chaeyoung focuses, pushing past her own discomfort, her movements becoming more confident, more rhythmic. The taste, the feel, the sheer intimacy of it all washes over her, a thrilling tide.

Chaeyoung closes her eyes, letting her movements be guided by his hand planted on the back of her head. At every pass, she moans around him, the vibration sending shivers down his spine. “Baby…” he whispers, his breath quick and ragged, and she’s quick to meet his gaze. “Goodness me, you’re… amazing.” She offers a wink before taking more of his length, making him groan her name. “You’re… killing me, Lee Chaeyoung.”

Eventually, Minjun’s hips buck, a desperate, uncontrolled rhythm taking over his body. His fingers clench tightly in Chaeyoung’s hair, pulling her head slightly back as a final, raw groan tears from his throat. A powerful tremor shakes his entire frame, and he collapses back onto the bed, utterly spent, his breathing ragged. Chaeyoung pulls away, breathless, looking up at him as he lies there, wiping the remnants of his release off her lips. Curious, she takes a lick; Minjun tastes so… manly.

A soft chuckle rumbles in Minjun’s chest as he catches the look on Chaeyoung’s face. He reaches for her, pulling her gently up so she’s lying beside him on the bed, his arm coming around her waist. Chaeyoung rests her head on his shoulder, listening to the steadying beat of his heart. The silence that settles between them is comfortable, filled with the warmth of shared release and the undeniable, tangible proof of their newly forged intimacy.

“That was just the opening act, though, right?” Minjun chuckles at her question, pressing a fleeting peck to her forehead. “It was. It was quite… explosive, might I add,” he adds. A satisfied grin blooms on her face, proud of herself for her performance. Her hand slides from his chest to his crotch, her fingers brushing against his manhood, the tip shiny from his earlier release. “Come on, oppa. Let’s get ready for the main event,” she urges, stroking him to full hardness again.

Minjun groans, a sound of pure pleasure rumbling in his chest as her fingers work their magic. His body responds instantly, hardening beneath her touch. He pulls her closer, shifting his weight. "You’re not one for intermissions, are you, baby?" he murmurs, his voice thick with raw desire. He lifts her, repositioning her over him, their gazes locked, ready for the main event to truly begin. “Go on, then; you know what to do.”

She lifts herself off his lap, quickly shedding every layer of clothes from her body, tossing them over her head, not bothered by the mess. Minjun watches her undress with a dark, excited gleam in his eyes, his cock pointing straight to the ceiling, ready for action. “Wow…” he murmurs, taking in the sight of her shape; she’s simply breathtaking. “You’re so beautiful, baby.” A flush creeps up her face at his admission, turning her cheeks red hot. “Thank you, oppa. You’ve said that before, remember?”

“Anyway…” Chaeyoung’s eyes sparkle with mischief as she positions herself over Minjun’s rigid length, her slick folds teasing the sensitive head. She takes a moment to admire the sight of him, spread out beneath her, his chest heaving with anticipation. “Like this, handsome?” she asks, her voice a sultry purr as she slowly sinks down, taking him inch by delicious inch until she's fully seated on his thick cock. “Mm, so big and hard...” She sighs, her inner walls clenching around him as she starts to move, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles. She sets a leisurely pace, savoring the sensation of being filled to the brim by her new lover's potent manhood.

Minjun’s hands instinctively rise, gripping her hips, his fingers digging in slightly as she rolls. A deep, guttural moan rumbles from his chest, a sound that vibrates through Chaeyoung and eggs her on. His head tilts back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut, a look of pure, unadulterated bliss etched on his face. "Yes, baby… just like that," he rasps, his voice thick with raw desire. He begins to thrust up, meeting her every downward slide, finding a powerful, intoxicating rhythm together.

Minjun groans, his fingers digging into Chaeyoung’s hips as she sets a relentless pace, her velvety walls gripping him like a vice. The sight of her bouncing on his cock, her tits swaying with each thrust, is almost too much to bear. “Fuck, baby, you're killing me.” He pants, his vision blurring at the edges as he struggles to maintain control. “So hot, so tight... You were made for me, weren't you?” Desperate to prolong the pleasure, Minjun reaches between us to rub circles around Chaeyoung’s sensitive nub, hoping to push her over the edge and into a screaming orgasm. His own climax builds rapidly, threatening to overtake him at any moment.

A low cry escapes Chaeyoung as Minjun's fingers work their magic, sending waves of pleasure through her that mirror the mounting tension within him. She clenches around him, her hips bucking wildly, abandoning all control. "Oppa!" she screams, her voice raw, as an intense wave of pure sensation washes over her, pulling a guttural roar from Minjun as he, too, shudders into his release. His body goes rigid, a final, powerful tremor shaking his frame, and they collapse onto the bed, utterly spent, their bodies slick with sweat, the last echoes of pleasure vibrating between them.

Chaeyoung moans as his hot release pools in her core, filling her to the brim, a testament to his claim over her. “I… I’m sorry; I should’ve asked first,” he breathes, regret swirling within him for being careless. “Nonsense,” she rebuts, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “This cannot be any more perfect.” She shifts slightly, eliciting a deep groan from Minjun, and looks right into his eyes. “You’re perfect for me, Park Minjun.”

Minjun's arm tightens around her, pulling her closer against his damp skin. He presses his face into her hair, inhaling her scent, a soft sigh escaping him. The grand bedroom, once a symbol of his solitary world, now hums with the warmth of their shared presence. They lie intertwined, the steady beat of his heart against her ear a comforting lullaby, proof that they are truly, finally, home in each other’s arms. The night stretches before them, no longer a series of acts, but a continuous, tender embrace.

-

Hours later, the first hint of dawn paints the vast room in hues of soft grey and rose. Chaeyoung stirs in Minjun's arms, nestled perfectly against him, a warmth spreading through her that has nothing to do with the sun. She opens her eyes to find him already awake, watching her, a profound tenderness in his gaze. "Good morning, my heart," he murmurs, his voice still heavy with sleep. “Mm, good morning, my king,” she replies, stretching languidly next to him.

Minjun's arm tightens around her waist, pulling her even closer. He presses a soft kiss to her temple, savoring the feeling of her warmth against him. "Sleep well, my love?" he asks, his voice a low rumble in his chest. Chaeyoung hums in agreement, tracing patterns on his bare arm. ”It was the best sleep I’ve had in a hot minute,” she muses, her mind going back to the sleepless nights when they were fighting over Salted Silk. “And the fact that you filled me to the brim… it’s like getting a hug from the inside.”

Minjun chuckles softly, pulling her even tighter against him, burying his face deeper into her hair. "A hug from the inside, huh?" he murmurs, a contented smile in his voice. He shifts slightly, reaching for her hand, lacing their fingers together. "I like the sound of that, baby. If you need another hug, just let me know; I’ll fill you until overflowing." Chaeyoung smacks him on the chest, more playful than harmful, giggling out of pure mirth at his teasing offer. “That’s a generous offer, but I think I’d give it some time before we go again.” She shifts in his embrace, her lips brushing against his earlobe. “If we’re lucky, maybe my belly will rise after a bit of rest.”

Minjun freezes, his laughter dying in his throat. His head lifts from her hair, and he pulls back just enough to look into her eyes, searching for a hint of jest, but finds only earnestness mixed with playful hope. His breath hitches. "Your... your belly?" he whispers, the words barely audible, a profound mix of disbelief and overwhelming joy dawning on his face. She smiles from ear to ear, her eyes creasing into half-moons. “My belly, yes. I will give you heirs—that’s my promise to you.”

Minjun’s disbelief slowly morphs into a radiating warmth that fills his entire being. A single tear escapes the corner of his eye, betraying the depth of his emotion. He pulls her even closer, a fierce, protective embrace that speaks more than words ever could. "Heirs," he breathes, the word a sacred vow on his lips. "With you, my love, yes—a thousand times, yes." He cups her face, his thumbs gently caressing her cheeks, and pulls her into a kiss that promises a lifetime of love and the joyous chaos of a family built together.

[rvp32]

Party of Three

Kazuha (🦢) X Sakura (🌸) X Reader (📖)

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Prompt for @suchsweetstories. Thanks for hosting!

The air hangs heavy, fragrant with warm skin and breathed liquor. Each breath shivers with a chorus of whimpers and muffled groans, until even the hush between sounds feels taut with pleasure.

Kazuha is the trembling center—back arched in a perfect curve. You pin her arms behind her, hips driving forward with relentless rhythm, keeping her weight tilted to meet every thrust. In front, Sakura molds herself to Kazuha’s chest, steadying her while still forcing that exquisite bend. She turns her gaze over Kazuha’s shoulder, eyes locking with yours, a slow smile spreading as Kazuha’s soft cries flutter against her neck.

“This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it?” she purrs, gaze flicking to yours while Kazuha gasps. “My greedy little slut—fantasizing about me and my boyfriend.”

The words are filthy, but Sakura’s fingers comb Kazuha’s hair with disarming tenderness. Each insult makes Kazuha clench, velvet heat gripping you so hard you curse under your breath.

“Fuck… you’re so tight.”

Sakura’s smile widens—she has both of you dancing on her strings, savoring the power as your control frays and Kazuha dissolves in breathless moans.

“Still hiding that voice?” she murmurs, lips grazing Kazuha’s ear. “We’re giving you everything, and you won’t even let us hear how badly you need it?”

Her hand slips lower. The moment Sakura’s fingers find Kazuha’s clit, a sharp cry rips free. The dam bursts: Kazuha’s once‑muffled sounds swell into shameless, aching wails.

“I‑I… can’t—” she tries, words shattering on her tongue.

“Speak.” Sakura’s command is velvet‑soft, relentless fingers never slowing. “You weren’t shy a moment ago—so eager to tell us every filthy thought.”

Kazuha can only sob, hips jerking as pleasure coils tight.

Sakura chuckles, wicked and fond. “This is your doing. That needy little mind of yours can’t think of anything but sex—”

Whatever she does next steals the rest of Kazuha’s breath: her body arches, clenches, a raw scream spilling as she convulses around you, proof that Sakura is guiding her right over the edge.

“Shit im close!!” you groan.

“Kazhua baby,” Sakura purrs, “You don't mind if my boyfriend cum inside do you?”

Kazuha didn't answer, her mouth still gasping, moaning, too busy with accommodating the pleasure.

“Do you?” Sakura asks again, more demanding now.

“No!” she screams, on the edge of pleasure herself. “Fuck… Please…”

Sakura shifts her gaze to you, “Do it, give it to her” she simply says, “She's ours tonight.”

 As if her words are the trigger, you broke. With a guttural groan that tore from your throat, you poured yourself into Kazuha, a hot, thick rush that felt infinite. Her body convulsed violently beneath you, a raw, keening scream ripping free as she shattered around your climax. The feeling of her seizing, clutching, taking everything you gave her was an electric shock, making you shudder and thrust one last, deep time before collapsing forward, heavy and spent.

Your strength finally gives out, and you shift to the side, collapsing onto the bed with a heavy breath. Kazuha drops beside you, eyes closed, her chest rising and falling as she succumbs to exhaustion. You reach out, gently brushing a few strands of hair from her face, revealing her peaceful expression beneath the mess of it all—soft, flushed, beautiful.

On the other side of the bed, Sakura stretches out, clearly the most energetic of the three. Her smile hasn't faded—still bright, still giddy—as she gazes at Kazuha with something close to adoration. Then her eyes flick to you. She leans in and cups your face, her thumb brushing your cheek.

“Who would've thought, huh?” she murmurs.

You can't help but smile back, still catching your breath. She’s right. You’re still reeling from how quickly Kazuha could shift—from sweet, shy stammering to something so intense it left your head spinning.

Moments earlier the three of you had sprawled in the living room. Sakura on the other edge of the table while Kazuha vanished into the kitchen to fetch more drinks. Party remnants lingered everywhere: half‑eaten cake on the coffee table, the TV still set to karaoke, balloons and pom‑poms drooping in corners, a tower of unpacked boxes shoved aside to clear floor space.

“Party” was generous; truthfully it was just you and your girlfriend scrambling to throw together something for Kazuha’s birthday.   Still, Kazuha’s place in your relationship had always been special. She’d been Sakura’s best friend long before you met her, the very reason you met Sakura at all, and even after playing matchmaker she never drifted away. When it was you and Sakura, things were romantic; when Kazuha joined, it shifted to three friends hanging out—easy, natural. You’d never questioned that balance … until tonight.

Kazuha was still rattling around the kitchen, leaving you and Sakura sitting cross‑legged on the floor.

“It’s been a long day,” Sakura sighed, tapping a sealed box within reach before gesturing to the birthday decorations. “You did so much. We should’ve gotten back from the store sooner,” she teased.

You drained the last of your drink. “I didn’t think—I just did what I could. ‘Go set up while I keep Zuha out’ isn’t exactly a detailed plan,” you laughed.

“At least it worked. We even picked up furniture on the way—efficient, just how she likes.” Sakura polished off her drink, then forked a bite of cake.

“True, but who decides to move right before their birthday? A house‑warming party should happen after unpacking, not during—and definitely not on the same night,” you muttered, keeping your voice low.

“She likes efficiency, 2 parties in one” Sakura repeated around a mouthful of cake. Then she swallowed and murmured, “I can’t wait to get home.”

“We’re not staying?” You blinked. “It’s late, we’ve both had drinks—we can’t drive.” Sakura stared, clearly lining up a rebuttal. “Unless there’s a specific reason you want to go home?”

She set her fork down and crawled around the table to press against you. You wrapped an arm around her.

“Why?” you asked softly.

“Don’t you want to go home?” she murmured.

“And leave Zuha alone?” The playful swat she gave your arm said she disliked that angle.

“Don’t you want to do something at home?” she asked, cheeks coloring.

The penny dropped. “You mean… you want to play?”

She didn’t deny it; the guilty smile said enough. “You want to go home because you want to queue up in League?”

“It’s just—playing with you, I like it more than I expected.”

“It’s been a long day. Even if we did go home, I doubt I’d last a match.” You glanced toward the kitchen. “And you’d leave Zuha alone on her birthday?”

“She’ll understand—she’s my best friend, she knows how much I lo—”

“Understand what?”

Kazuha pads back in, two fresh beers hissing in her grip. You take one, setting it on the table while Sakura scoots aside, suddenly sheepish.

“It’s nothing—you wouldn’t get it anyway,” you tease.

“That’s not fair.” Kazuha drops cross‑legged beside you, popping her can. “Every time I walk in, you two change the subject.”

Sakura exhales. “Fine. We finally did it—together.” She pauses for effect. “lol.”

Kazuha chokes mid‑swallow. “Wait, what?”

“You okay?” you ask, patting her back. “Bit of an overreaction, isn’t it?”

“I just assumed you’d… done that ages ago,” Kazuha sputters.

“Nah,” Sakura says, wiping foam from her lip. “Everyone says it can wreck a relationship if you’re not in sync.”

“They do?” Kazuha frowns, thinking.

“I’ve heard horror stories,” Sakura goes on. “Happy couples break up after one bad match. No synergy.”

Kazuha nods slowly. “Yeah… I guess I’ve heard things like that.” She lifts her can to hide a shy glance. “So—were you two… compatible?”

“We were,” Sakura answers at once, pride bright in her voice.

But Kazuha’s eyes linger on you, waiting. You shrug, grinning. “Yeah, it was fun—though Sakura definitely enjoyed it more. She keeps begging for another round.”

“We ended up doing it all night,” Sakura shyly admits.

Kazuha’s fingers tighten around her can. “All … all night?” she echoes, eyes wide.

Sakura gives a shy laugh. “We lost track of time. I’ve played with others before, but with him it was relaxed and fun.”

You notice Kazuha squirm, clearly unsettled. “Anyway, Zuha, this topic is going to bore you,” you say, glancing at Sakura. “You’ve never played, right?”

“H‑how did you know?” Kazuha sputters, shooting Sakura a glare. “Did Kkura tell you?”

“No,” Sakura chuckles. “You’ve just never brought it up—people assume.”

“I… I—” Kazuha falters.

“Okay, new topic. Furniture?” you suggest.

But Kazuha lifts her chin. “Even if I’ve never done it, I know a lot. I’ve studied.” Both you and Sakura blink at that. “I’ve read plenty.”

“You do?” Sakura perks up.

“Read?” you repeat. “That’s an unusual way to start—most people learn through videos.”

“I’ve watched them,” Kazuha mutters, cheeks tinged pink. “They get repetitive. Reading is more detailed. And lots of people read it too, so I’m not weird.”

“Sure…” you nod slowly, amused. “So, have you played before?”

“No. Never had the chance,” Kazuha says, shifting in her seat. “I can’t just do it with anyone, can I? I want it to be special. I guess.”

“Why? That’s kind of limiting,” Sakura laughs, leaning back. “Just do it yourself then.”

“That counts?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” Sakura shoots back instantly.

Kazuha hesitates—then quietly says, “Then… I’ve already done it. A lot.”

“Are you sure it’s ‘a lot’?” you tease. “Because Sakura here is the definition of excessive. She’ll just sit there and do it for hours. Days blur together. I’ve had to physically pull her away some weekends.”

Sakura shrugs innocently, not even denying it.

“How often do you do it then?” you ask, grinning. “Sakura easily gets through ten in a weekend.”

“I… I don’t really keep count,” Kazuha mumbles, practically hiding behind her can. “Maybe… six? A day. If I’m really in the mood, I take the whole weekend.”

Sakura nearly chokes on her drink. You stare.

“…Per day?” you echo, slowly.

“I said maybe,” Kazuha defends, mortified. “I just—if I’m in the zone—I can’t stop once I start.”

Sakura nods solemnly. “She’s one of us.”

“How come I’ve never seen you do it?” you ask, genuinely surprised. Kazuha chokes on her drink. “I mean, if you do it a lot, how come you never told us?”

“Why would I tell you? Well, not now but people don't bring it up casually—or do it in front of others!”

“Well, if you’d told us, we could’ve done it together,” Sakura offers with a sly grin.

“Together??” Kazuha sputters, eyes wide. “You two—seriously?”

“Yeah,” you chime in. “We could’ve formed a three-man party. Played normals or quick play together. Though… playing with Kkura might not be the best idea—she gets really competitive.”

“Yeah—maybe just the two of us at first,” Kazuha says, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, trying to play it cool. “That might be a little less overwhelming.”

“I’m competitive??” Sakura snaps, mock-offended. “I’m not the one who starts swearing every time they get fucked. He just starts throwing insults.”

You turn to Kazuha in your defense. “Hey, it’s only during the game, okay? I’m not actually that kind of person… Right?”

“Yeah—cursing is pretty normal,” Kazuha agrees with a soft smile. “Honestly, I might even prefer the insults.”

“See?” you say smugly, turning back to Sakura. “Kazuha’s on my side. And I’m not the only one with verbal issues—you’re loud too. You make the weirdest moaning noises whenever you get hit. I’ve told you to stop doing that.”

“You don’t like it loud?” Kazuha asked, tilting her head with innocent curiosity.

“Not when she gets that loud,” you sigh. “Someone might overhear and get the wrong idea.”

“Every time,” you continue, “she’s the one getting carried, yet she screams like she’s fighting for her life.”

“I am, though,” Sakura fires back.

“Wait—carried? Screaming? Fighting for your life?” Kazuha’s voice laces with disbelief. “Is it that good?”

“Of course,” Sakura beams. “We did ten ranked placements last weekend. At first, his came out as Silver, but by the time morning hit—bam—we pushed it all the way to Gold.”

Kazuha chokes. “Silver? Gold? Gold?! Isn’t that kind of… unsanitary? I’ve seen videos. I know some people do it, showers, but I didn’t think you two would go that far. Isn’t that dirty?”

“It’s a pretty dirty—some say toxic—rank,” you explain, nodding. “But honestly, we’re enjoying it. It’s better than where we started.”

“I told you we should play all three together,” Sakura insists, already getting excited. “The laptops are in the trunk, right?”

“Wait… are we really doing this?” Kazuha asks, glancing toward you.

You shrug, grinning. “I mean, if that’s what the birthday girl wants—and if you're okay turning your celebration into an all-nighter—why not?”

“Then shouldn’t I do it with you first?” she says, her gaze flicking to yours.

“Hey!” Sakura cuts in. “That’s not fair—leaving me out?”

Kazuha hesitates. “Yeah, I guess that is reasonable… I’m sorry. Okay. Then… are we doing it now?”

“Yeah. Now,” Sakura answers, already sipping her drink like it's settled.

“Now?” Kazuha blinks.

“Yes!”

“Here?”

“Yes, here,” Sakura grins. “What, did you want a penthouse suite or something?”

Kazuha’s brows knit in concentration. “Then… should I start now?”

You and Sakura share a quick, confused glance, her brow raised in silent question. Are we on the same page…? you think.

But before either of you can say a word, Kazuha leans in. Her movements are slow but unsteady, like someone bracing against nerves and alcohol. Her breath is shallow, lips parted slightly, eyes fluttering shut as she inches closer.

Then—her lips press against yours.

Warm. Soft. A little dry.

Your mind goes blank.

The kiss isn’t practiced or smooth. It’s clumsy—her nose bumps awkwardly against yours, and for a second you’re both adjusting, finding some rhythm in the inexperience. But she doesn’t pull away.

In fact, Kazuha leans in more.

Her hand brushes your cheek hesitantly, trembling. Her lips press harder against yours, holding the kiss longer than you expected. It's messy, a little awkward… but honest. She’s trying. Committed.

You can feel it in the way her breath hitches when your lips shift slightly. The way she freezes for a second, then resumes, not knowing what to do—just doing it anyway.

Behind you, Sakura chokes on her beer.

You barely hear it.

You’re too focused on Kazuha—on the quiet vulnerability trembling in her kiss. Not passion, not lust, but raw, unspoken feeling. Hesitant hope.

Eventually, she pulls away. Barely.

Her face hovers close, breath mingling with yours, eyes still shut as if bracing herself for what comes next. When she finally opens them—wide, vulnerable, flushed—they lock onto yours.

But what greets her isn't affection. It's confusion.

Your brows are drawn, not angry, just baffled. Sakura sits frozen next to you, beer halfway to her lips, mouth parted in stunned silence.

“What exactly did you start?” you ask gently, half-smiling through the bewilderment.

Kazuha blinks. Once. Twice. “You… you said—” Her voice falters as panic creeps into her tone. “Wait, what were we talking about?”

“League,” you say carefully. “League of Legends? LoL?”

Her face turns the color of her drink—deep red, all the way to the ears.

Sakura finally finds her voice, her tone flat with disbelief. “Wait. You weren’t thinking about League, were you…? You were thinking about sex?”

“I—I—” Kazuha sputters, hands flailing briefly in protest before she buries her face in them. She sinks back onto the floor, absolutely mortified.

You, still dazed from the kiss, turn slowly to Sakura. “Then you read… wait did she really say she masturbated six times a day?”

Sakura nods stiffly, her lips pressed together in a line as she processes it. Then she glances sideways at you, mouthing silently: Did you like it?

You hesitate.

Because you don’t really know. It was awkward. But there was something… earnest. Unexpected.

Kazuha moves, trying to stand—probably to flee.

“I–I need to—just—leave, I didn’t mean—” she mutters, not even completing the thought.

But Sakura is already behind her. With surprising speed, she wraps her arms around Kazuha from behind, gently but firmly pushing her back into a seated position.

“Where are you going, birthday girl?” she teases softly, chin resting on Kazuha’s shoulder.

Kazuha freezes, breath caught.

Then Sakura glances at you over her shoulder, her eyes playful but half-lidded, her voice low:

“Babe. How about we give this naughty girl of ours a present? Grant her little fantasy—make it come true. Add another layer to her special day, make it a party of three.”

[rvp32]

New Skin

Irene Bae x male reader

word count: 15K

commissioned fic

It’s mid-afternoon, that point where productivity takes a nosedive and the clock hands seem to wade through treacle. You push back from your desk, time to stretch the legs. And, coincidentally, time to see if Irene Bae actually finished inputting those quarterly projection figures. That’s the official reason, anyway. The one you’d type into a time-tracking app if this place were that anal.

Unofficially? You just want to talk to her.

Irene. She’s been with the company for three or four months now. Casual contract, data entry, the kind of gig that’s meant to be a revolving door. But she’s stuck around. And in that time, she’s cultivated an air of almost complete invisibility. She’s a whisper in the office cacophony, a muted color in a palette of forced corporate brightness. She does her work, meticulously, flawlessly. Never complains, never participates in the break-room bitching sessions or the awkward birthday cake celebrations. Most people probably don’t even know her real name.

But you do. Bae Joohyun. You’d seen it on her initial paperwork. Irene’s the name she goes by here.

She speaks to you. Not much, never initiating, but she responds. There's a politeness there, a guarded stillness that never tips into outright rudeness, which is more than some of the other office drones manage. Maybe it’s because you’re her supervisor, a rung or two up the ladder. Maybe it’s because you’ve made a point of being… well, not a dick. Friendly, even. You try to be, anyway. God knows this place needs a bit less soul-crushing bureaucracy and a bit more basic human decency.

You weave through the maze of cubicles, a landscape of grey fabric and flickering screens. The usual suspects are in their pens: Wendy from accounts scrolling through what definitely isn’t work-related, Seulgi from marketing on yet another clearly personal call, her explanations pitched low and urgent. You offer a vague nod if anyone catches your eye, but your trajectory is set. Irene’s little nook is at the far end, slightly more isolated than the others, a small mercy in this open-plan purgatory.

As you round the last partition, you see her. And fuck, she looks… good. Really good. It’s nothing outrageous, nothing that would breach the unwritten dress code. She’s wearing a simple black top, some kind of soft, clinging material, with three-quarter sleeves. It’s understated, like everything about her, but it hugs the lean lines of her petite frame in a way that makes you notice the toned strength beneath. Her black hair, usually just neatly tied back or falling straight, has a slight wave today, like she maybe didn’t have time to fully straighten it, and it catches the shitty office light, making it gleam. Her head is bent, focused on her screen, one slender hand guiding a mouse, the other resting near the keyboard. Even the line of her neck, exposed where her hair parts, seems delicate, smooth.

You pause for a beat, a couple of feet from her desk, just taking her in. It’s not a leering thing, not really. More like… appreciation. Like noticing a rare, quiet bird in a flock of pigeons. There's a subtle tension around her, even in repose, like a coiled spring. You’ve always sensed it.

You clear your throat, just a little, not wanting to startle her. "Hey, Irene."

She looks up, and for a split second, before the usual mask of polite reserve slides perfectly into place, you see something else. A flicker of… surprise? No, not quite. Vulnerability, maybe? It’s gone before you can properly catalog it. Her dark eyes meet yours, large and surprisingly intense in her small face. No smile, not usually, but the tightening around her eyes isn't hostile.

"Oh. Hi," she replies. Her speaking manner is soft, not quite a whisper, but definitely low, like she’s conserving energy, or maybe just doesn’t want her syllables to travel too far.

"Just doing the rounds," you say, leaning a casual shoulder against the fabric wall of her cubicle. Trying for breezy. "Making sure everyone’s still alive after that marathon budget meeting this morning." You didn’t actually ask her to be in that meeting; her role doesn't require it. Just making conversation.

A tiny, almost imperceptible dip of her chin. "It sounded… long."

"You have no idea. I think a part of my soul shriveled up and died in there." You give a mock shudder. "Anyway, I was wondering how you were getting on with those quarterly figures. The ones for the Anderson account?"

She swivels slightly in her chair, her movements economical and precise. Her gaze drops to her monitor, then back to you. "I finished them about an hour ago. They should be in the shared drive, under 'Q3 Projections - Final'."

Of course, she did. Meticulous. You knew she would be. "Ah, brilliant. Knew I could count on you." You make a mental note to actually check them later, just for form's sake. "No problems with the source data? Sometimes marketing sends it through looking like a dog’s breakfast."

"There were a few inconsistencies in the initial dataset from last Tuesday, but I cross-referenced them with the updated figures from yesterday morning. It should be accurate now."

See? Smart. Doesn’t just blindly input. She actually thinks. Most of the temps just plough through, garbage in, garbage out. You find yourself smiling, a genuine one. "That’s great, Irene. Seriously. Saves me a headache later."

Her eyes flick down, then back up. Is that a hint of… satisfaction? Hard to tell with her. She’s a masterclass in neutral. "I just try to make sure it’s done correctly."

"And you do," you affirm, pushing off the wall slightly, taking a half-step closer, more into her personal space than you usually would, but keeping it open. "So, uh, besides saving the company from numerical chaos, what else is on the agenda for you today? Any exciting plans for… data collation?"

She considers the question, or at least appears to. Her fingers tap once, very lightly, on her desk. The nails are bare, neatly trimmed. No polish. "I have the backlog from the Henderson merger to sort through. It’s… substantial."

"Sounds thrilling," you say, and this time, you think you see the corner of her mouth twitch. A ghost of a smile. Progress. "Well, don't let it swallow you whole. If you hit any major roadblocks, or if the sheer tedium becomes a threat to your sanity, you know where I am."

"Thank you," she says, and her gaze lingers on yours for a fraction of a second longer than usual. There’s an odd sort of directness in her eyes when she properly meets your look, like she’s assessing something deep inside you. It’s unnerving and intriguing as hell. "I appreciate that."

"No worries." You linger for another moment, searching for something else to say, some way to keep this fragile thread of interaction going. You notice a small, potted succulent on the corner of her otherwise bare desk. It’s a tiny, unassuming thing, but it’s green and alive. "New plant?"

She glances at it. "Oh. Um. Yes. My… neighbor was moving and couldn’t take it."

"It’s… resilient looking," you offer, which is a stupid thing to say about a plant, but it’s out there now.

A tiny, almost inaudible huff of air escapes her. It might have been a laugh. It really might have been. "It’s supposed to be hard to kill. That’s what she said."

"Always a good quality in an office plant," you agree. "Or an office worker, for that matter. Well, I’ll let you get back to the thrilling Henderson merger files. Thanks again."

"You’re welcome," she says, her attention already starting to drift back towards her screen, the brief opening in her defenses slowly closing up. But it was there. A little crack.

You find yourself reluctant to leave, to let the usual office drone silence settle back over her. The way that black top clings just so to the curve of her back as she turns slightly, the faint, clean scent that you can only catch when you’re this close (something like fresh laundry and maybe a hint of a very subtle, floral soap). It’s doing things to your concentration that have absolutely nothing to do with quarterly projections. You know you should probably just go, get back to your own mountain of work, but there's a pull, a quiet magnetism she exudes that makes you want to just… stay. See if another tiny piece of the real Irene Bae might surface if you wait long enough, patiently enough.

That faint, almost-laugh, the tiny, fleeting opening… it’s enough. It’s more than enough. Now or never, idiot. Before the professional shell hardens completely again, before she retreats back into that fortress of polite distance.

"So," you begin, trying to make it sound like the most casual afterthought in the world, even as a different, less casual thought hammers in your head, don't fuck this up. "Seeing as it's Monday, and Mondays officially suck by universal decree… I was thinking of grabbing a drink after work. You know, just to sort of… defiantly kickstart the week. Would you, uh, be interested in joining? In case you don't have any other more interesting plan. No big deal if you have, totally get it."

There, it’s out. You hold your breath without meaning to.

Irene’s gaze, which had started to drift back to her monitor, snaps back to you. For a moment, her face is perfectly, utterly blank. Not surprised, not annoyed, just… still. Like a photograph. Then, a slow blink. She looks down at her neatly folded hands in her lap, then back up at you.

"That’s… very kind of you," she says. "But I think I’ll have to pass. I have a few things I need to finish up here."

A polite decline. Of course. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, managing a smile that you hope looks understanding and not like you just got gently punched in the gut. "Hey, no problem at all. Totally understand. Rain check for another lifetime, maybe?" you add, trying to keep it light, to show her it’s genuinely okay.

A tiny, almost imperceptible softening around her eyes. "Maybe." She offers that. "I’ll send through that Henderson merger summary report by end of day."

"Sounds good," you nod, already backing away, giving her space. "Don’t let it bury you alive. And, uh, thanks again for the Anderson stuff."

"You’re welcome."

And just like that, she turns back to her screen, the brief window of interaction decisively closed. You walk away, a familiar mix of mild disappointment and a strange sort of respect for her unbreachable composure settling in. Well, you tried. Can’t say you didn’t try.

The rest of the afternoon crawls by. You actually do your work, or at least a passable imitation of it. Around five-thirty, an email pings into your inbox. Subject: Henderson Merger Summary - Irene Bae. You click it open. The report is attached, and even a cursory glance tells you it’s immaculate. Clear, concise, all the key data points highlighted, potential issues flagged with brief, intelligent notes. Fucking hell, she’s good. Way too good for a casual data entry gig. You fire off a quick reply: "This is perfect, Irene. Seriously, amazing work. Thanks!"

No reply to that. You didn’t expect one.

By six, the office is starting to empty out. The symphony of keyboards has dwindled to a few sporadic taps. You grab your bag, sling your jacket over your shoulder, and head for the elevators. As one slides open with a soft hydraulic sigh, you step in, pressing the button for the ground floor. Just as the doors are about to close, a hand darts out, stopping them.

Irene.

She slips inside, her movements quick and economical as always. She’s got a small, plain handbag over her shoulder, and she looks… tired. There are faint shadows under her eyes that weren’t as noticeable in the brighter office lights. The doors close, encasing you both in the small, brushed-steel box. An awkward silence immediately descends. This is always the worst part of accidental shared elevator rides.

"Hey," you manage, because the silence is starting to feel like a physical weight. "That report you sent? Seriously, top-notch. You made my evening a lot easier."

She looks up at you, a brief flicker in her dark eyes. "I’m glad it was helpful."

Her reply is soft, barely disturbing the canned muzak seeping from a hidden speaker. The silence stretches again, punctuated only by the quiet hum of the elevator descending. One floor. Two. You can feel the seconds ticking by. You want to say something else, anything, but the words just don’t come. Don’t be that guy, you tell yourself. Don’t be the slightly-too-eager supervisor cornering the quiet girl in an elevator.

She probably just wants to get home. Respect that.

The doors slide open onto the ground floor lobby. Freedom.

"Well, have a good night, Irene," you say, stepping out, already turning towards the exit. "See you tomorrow."

You’re halfway to the main glass doors when you hear it.

"You asked… if I had plans."

Her words are so quiet you almost miss them, almost think you imagined them against the backdrop of distant traffic noise and the lobby’s echoing emptiness. You stop. Turn around slowly. Irene is standing just outside the elevator, her bag clutched in front of her, looking at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher.

"Yeah," you say, walking back towards her. "I did."

"I don’t," she states. Just like that. No preamble, no explanation for the earlier refusal. Just: "I don’t have plans."

Holy shit. Your brain seems to short-circuit for a second. Okay. Okay, asshole, she just threw you a goddamn lifeline. Don't drown. You swallow, trying to regain some semblance of composure, to make your next words sound casual and not like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin.

"Oh. Well, in that case," you begin, a slow smile spreading across your face, "the offer for that drink still stands. To, you know, combat the general Monday-ness of things. I know this great little bar not too far from here, actually. Good music, not too loud, and they make a mean old-fashioned, if you’re into that sort of thing." You pause, holding her gaze. "What do you say?"

She looks at you, properly looks, for what feels like a full minute. Her dark eyes search yours, and for a terrifying second, you think she’s going to say no again. Then, the tiniest, almost imperceptible nod. "Okay."

"Okay?" you echo, a grin breaking free. "Yeah, okay. Brilliant. My car’s just in the parkade across the street."

The walk to your car is filled with a slightly giddy, slightly surreal silence. You keep stealing glances at her. Irene Bae, willingly accompanying you somewhere. It feels… momentous. You unlock the car, a slightly battered but reliable sedan, and open the passenger door for her. She murmurs a "thank you" and slides in.

Once you’re both in and you’ve navigated out of the dimly lit parkade into the early evening traffic, the atmosphere in the car feels charged, but not uncomfortably so. It’s the buzz of something new, unexpected.

"So," she says, breaking the silence first, her gaze on the passing cityscape, a blur of office lights and neon signs. "This job. Is it… what you always wanted to do?"

You laugh, a short, surprised sound. "Managing quarterly reports and navigating inter-departmental squabbles? Not exactly the dream I had when I was, like, ten." You glance at her. "It’s alright, though. Pays the bills. I’ve kind of gotten used to it, you know? Found a rhythm. Got a decent team, for the most part. People I actually don’t mind seeing every day. That’s something, right?"

"It is," she agrees, turning her head slightly to look at you. "You’re good at it."

That surprises you. "You think so?"

"Yes," she says, with a quiet certainty that makes you sit up a little straighter. "You don’t… take advantage. Of your position." Her eyes flick to the road, then back to you. "You treat everyone like they matter. Even the casuals." There's a faint emphasis on the last word, a shadow in her tone that makes you wonder.

"Well, that’s just… basic decency, isn’t it?" you say, a little embarrassed by the praise. "Nothing to write home about. Everyone’s just trying to get through their day."

"Not everyone sees it that way," Irene counters, her words flat, devoid of inflection, but carrying a weight nonetheless. "I’ve worked in places… with terrible superiors."

"Ah, the petty tyrants of middle management," you sigh, shaking your head. "People with miserable, unhappy lives who get a tiny sliver of power and suddenly think they’re Genghis Khan in a polyester suit. They try to feel better by making everyone else feel smaller. It’s pitiful, really. Because at the end of the day, they’re still just employees. Same as anyone else. One major screw-up, one too many complaints, and they’re out on their ass just like the next person." You glance at her. "Hope you didn’t have to deal with too many of those."

She doesn’t answer directly, just looks out her window again. "It happens."

A beat of silence. You change the subject, not wanting to dwell on whatever bad experiences she’s clearly had. "So, do you live around here? Or am I kidnapping you to the other side of the city for this drink?"

"No, I live pretty close by, actually. Just a few blocks from the office."

"Oh, good," you say. "Well, after we’ve thoroughly deflated Monday’s ego with a beverage or two, I can drop you off, if you like. Save you the walk."

She turns to you again, and this time, the smile is a little more definite, reaching her eyes. "Thank you. I’d like that."

The bar is that classic thing: dimly lit, exposed brick, a long mahogany counter gleaming under strategically placed spotlights and indie rock plays at a conversational level. It’s busy enough to have a buzz, but not so packed you can’t find a quiet corner. You spot a small, empty table tucked away near a bookshelf filled with mismatched paperbacks. Perfect.

You lead her over, pulling out one of the sturdy wooden chairs for her. "Best seat in the house," you announce with a mock flourish.

She slides into the chair, her handbag placed neatly on her lap. "It’s nice," she says, looking around, taking it all in. "I like it."

"Glad it meets with your approval," you grin. "Now, the crucial question: what are you drinking?"

Her eyes scan the chalkboards behind the bar listing craft beers and cocktails. "Um. Maybe a… gin and tonic? If they have a good gin."

"Consider it done." You head to the counter, weaving through a few small groups. You order her G&T, specifying a decent small-batch gin you know they carry, and an old-fashioned for yourself. Waiting for the bartender to work his magic, you glance back at Irene. She’s watching the other patrons, her expression unreadable but not, you think, uncomfortable. She looks small and almost delicate in the low light, yet there’s that core of resilience you always sense in her.

Drinks secured, you carry them carefully back to the table. You set her tall, clinking glass in front of her and place your own squat tumbler down. Sliding into the chair opposite, you make sure you’re facing her directly. This feels good. Really good.

You pick up your glass. "Well," you say, raising it slightly.

Irene mirrors your action, her dark eyes questioning yours over the rim of her glass. "What are we toasting to?" she asks

A grin spreads across your face. "To new beginnings," you start, then amend it. "No, scratch that. To Monday nights that don’t suck. And, more importantly," you meet her gaze directly, "to the best goddamn casual worker this company has ever had the dumb luck to hire."

A beat of silence. Then, something remarkable happens. Irene laughs. It’s not a loud laugh, not a boisterous one. It’s a soft, breathy sound, genuine and utterly unexpected, crinkling the corners of her eyes and making her whole face light up for a precious, unguarded moment. "Oh my god," she says, still chuckling, shaking her head slightly. "Thank you." She clinks her glass against yours. "I’ll drink to that.”

That shared laugh, her unexpected, genuine amusement: it’s like a key turning in a rusty lock. The air between you shifts, losing some of its earlier, fragile tension, replaced by something warmer, more… possible. You take a slow sip of your old-fashioned, the sharp bite of whiskey and bitters a pleasant counterpoint to the sweetness of the moment. Her gin and tonic is already a little lower in its tall glass, the ice clinking softly as she sets it down.

"So," you begin, leaning back a fraction, trying to project casual interest rather than the full-blown interrogation your curiosity is screaming for. "Aside from being a spreadsheet wizard and a savior of Monday nights, what else does Irene Bae get up to?”

"Nothing too extraordinary. I like to read. And I walk a lot. Explore the city."

"Reading, huh? Anything good lately?" You try to keep your follow-up equally light. You’re intensely aware that every question is a potential landmine. Too personal, too probing, and she might just vanish back into that shell.

"I just finished a collection of short stories," she offers, her words measured. "Modern gothic. Quite dark."

"Sounds… cheerful," you remark, raising an eyebrow. "Matches the general Monday vibe, I guess." Your internal monologue is whirring: Modern gothic. Dark. Okay, that’s… interesting. Not exactly chick-lit. Adds another layer to the enigma.

She gives a tiny shrug, a graceful, minimal movement. "I find it interesting." She takes a delicate sip of her drink, her eyes watching you over the rim. Then, before you can formulate another carefully casual question, she flips it. "What about you? When you’re not cracking the whip at the office or rescuing Mondays, what’s your grand passion?"

The question, coming from her, feels like a small gift. You lean forward, genuinely pleased to share, to keep the conversational ball rolling. "Ha, 'cracking the whip.' If only. Mostly I just try to keep the ship from hitting the nearest iceberg." You grin. "Passions? Let’s see. I’m a bit of a film nerd. Old movies, foreign films, anything that isn’t a superhero sequel, basically. And I attempt to play guitar – emphasis on 'attempt.' My neighbors probably hate me."

"A film nerd?" A flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. "Any particular director or era you favor?"

"Oh, man, where to start?" You launch into a slightly-too-enthusiastic explanation of your love for classic film noir, the French New Wave, the oddball genius of Kurosawa. You talk about the satisfaction of finally tracking down a rare print, the joy of watching a masterpiece on a big screen, even if it’s just at the local art-house cinema. You’re aware you’re probably rambling a bit, but she’s listening. Or at least, she appears to be. She’s still, her gaze fixed on you, not interrupting, just… absorbing. It’s more attention than she’s ever given you in the office.

You eventually wind down, a little breathless, feeling slightly foolish for your impromptu lecture. "Sorry," you say, laughing a bit. "Probably more than you ever wanted to know about black and white cinematography."

"No, it’s… interesting," she says, and you think she actually means it. Or maybe she’s just incredibly polite. "You’re passionate about it. It’s clear."

"Yeah, I guess I am." You take another swallow of your drink. The warmth of the whiskey spreads through your chest, mingling with the unexpected warmth of this conversation. "So, you said you walk a lot. Any favorite spots in the city? Hidden gems I should know about?"

"I haven't found any particularly interesting places yet. But, uh, I went to a historic library this month and the place is really pretty. I think that's a start."

"Sounds interesting. The city’s definitely got a lot to offer if you just wander. I keep meaning to do more of that myself, but, you know, life. Work."

"It can be hard to find the time," she agrees, her gaze returning to yours. Her expression is neutral, but her eyes are observant, constantly gauging. You have the distinct feeling you’re being carefully evaluated. "Do you… enjoy living here? In this city?"

"Yeah, I do, actually," you reply honestly. "It’s not where I grew up, but I’ve been here long enough that it feels like home. There’s always something going on, good food, decent music scene. And it’s big enough that you can disappear if you want to, but small enough that you still run into people you know. What about you? Are you originally from here?"

Another brief hesitation. "No. Not originally." She offers no more than that. Another door, gently closed. You’re learning the rhythm of it: she’ll answer the direct question, but volunteer nothing extra about herself.

"Well, no need to thank me for revealing the best gin in the city," you joke, gesturing to her glass.

A tiny smile again. "This place is cool. And the gin is really good."

"Well, I know you are a reserved person, but I’m honored you made an exception for my 'kickstart the week' initiative."

"It was…" she pauses, as if searching for the right word, "...a good suggestion."

The conversation flows like that for a while longer, a gentle ebb and flow of questions and answers. You learn that she prefers tea to coffee, that she finds crowded places overwhelming, that she once had a cat but doesn’t currently. Each piece of information is tiny, almost inconsequential on its own, but you hoard them like precious gems. In return, you tell her about your disastrous attempts at cooking, a funny story about your college roommate that happened years ago, your undying loyalty to a consistently terrible local sports team. You’re careful to keep it light, to match her level of disclosure, but inside, you’re buzzing. You’re actually talking to Irene Bae, and she’s… talking back. It feels like a minor miracle.

Her drink is nearly empty, and yours isn't far behind. The initial energy of the bar has mellowed into a comfortable, late-evening hum. You catch the bartender’s eye, you lift two fingers, then tap your chest and mouth "non-alcoholic beer for me this time." He nods, already reaching for a specific bottle from the cooler. Driving Irene home safely is suddenly a very high priority.

When he brings the drinks, a fresh, fragrant G&T for her, and a dark, malty-looking non-alcoholic brew for you, Irene is watching you, that quiet, considering look in her eyes again.

"So, about the work,” you start, “are you actually, you know, enjoying your time at the company? Aside from my brilliant supervisory skills, of course."

"It’s… okay," she says, which from Irene is practically a glowing endorsement. "I know it probably doesn’t seem like it, since I’m usually… quiet."

"Hey, quiet is fine," you interject quickly. "You’re always polite, you do incredible work, and you haven’t tried to set fire to the servers yet. Honestly, that puts you in the top percentile of casuals we’ve had." You mean it. "Seriously though, as long as you’re not miserable, that’s what matters."

"I’m not miserable," she confirms. "It’s… structured. Predictable. I appreciate that."

"Good." You nod, relieved. "So, what’s the plan then? Your current contract is up in, what, another month or so? Any thoughts on what you’ll do next? Back to the exciting world of job hunting?" You try to keep it light, but there’s an underlying purpose to your question now.

She looks down into her drink, swirling the ice with a long, slender finger. The small gesture somehow seems incredibly thoughtful. "I haven’t really thought that far ahead," she admits. "Find another job, I suppose. That’s usually how it goes."

This is it. Your opening. Your heart gives a little thump. "Well," you begin, trying to sound casual, like this is just a random thought that popped into your head. "About that. There’s actually been some talk… about your role."

Her head comes up, eyes narrowed slightly in question.

"The thing is, Irene," you lean forward a fraction, "you’re kind of indispensable. And some of us, higher up the food chain, have noticed that." You take a breath. "So, I was wondering… how would you feel about making your position full-time? Permanent contract, benefits, the whole shebang."

She stares at you, her expression unreadable. Surprise, definitely. Maybe a hint of suspicion? "You… can do that?"

"Not me, personally," you clarify quickly. "This isn't me pulling strings as your dashingly handsome supervisor." You shoot her a quick grin, which she doesn’t return, her focus entirely on your words. "The decision actually came from the big boss, old Henderson himself, after seeing the quarterly summaries and the work you did on that merger data. He was… impressed. He asked me to sound you out, see if you’d be interested. I was planning on talking to you about it sometime this week, but, well, now seems as good a time as any, right?"

Irene is silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed on some distant point over your shoulder. You can almost see the gears turning in her head. Finally, she looks back at you. "I… I’d have to think about it."

"Of course," you say immediately. "No pressure at all. Seriously. Take your time. But," you can't help adding, "it would be really great to have you on board properly. As a, you know, full-fledged contract worker."

She cocks her head, a tiny, bird-like movement. "Why?"

The question is so direct, so simple, it throws you for a second. "Why?" you echo. You hesitate, searching for the right words. The real reasons are a tangled mess of professional admiration and a rapidly growing personal affection that feels way too soon, too intense to articulate. "Well, because… because you’re an excellent professional, Irene," you land on, hoping it sounds convincing. "You’re efficient, you’re meticulous, your attention to detail is incredible. You make my job easier, and you make the whole team look good."

She shakes her head slowly, a faint frown touching her lips. "What I do… it’s no big deal. Data entry, report summaries. There are plenty of people out there who can do the same thing."

You lean forward, a mock-serious expression on your face. "Actually, Irene, I don't like you just doing your job," you say, letting the pause hang for a split second before a grin breaks through. "Because what you do isn't just 'your job.' It's exceptional. And no, not 'several out there' can do it like you." You soften your expression, meeting her gaze earnestly. "Besides, everyone at the company genuinely appreciates you, and your work."

A beat of silence. Then, Irene laughs again, that soft, breathy sound that does ridiculous things to your insides. Her eyes, though, are sparkling with a teasing light you’ve never seen before. "Oh really?" she says, a playful lilt in her quiet words. "Is it everyone? Or is it… just you?"

Heat floods your face. You can feel the blush creeping up your neck. You look away, flustered, trying to come up with a clever retort, but your brain has apparently short-circuited. Shit. You’re usually better at this.

Seeing your reaction, her expression softens. "Hey," she says, her words a soft balm. "I’m just joking." She reaches out, just for a second, and her cool fingertips brush the back of your hand where it rests on the table. "Don’t look so terrified."

You manage a shaky laugh, looking back at her. Her eyes are kind. More than kind.

"And for the record," she continues, her gaze holding yours. "I appreciate that you like my work. You're very kind.”

Irene’s gaze is steady on yours, a hint of that earlier blush still dusting her cheekbones, but her expression is open, almost serene. That tiny, brave nod she gives is more articulate than a thousand words.

"Alright," you manage, letting out a shaky laugh. "Okay. That’s… that’s really good to hear, Irene. So," you venture, your smile softening, "does this mean you’re going to accept my incredibly generous, Henderson-approved proposal to become a permanent fixture of corporate excellence?"

She chuckles. It’s amazing how quickly she seems to be shedding layers of that formidable reserve, at least with you, in this moment. "I said I’d think about it," she reminds you, a playful glint back in her eyes. "No need to rush such a life-altering decision, right?"

"Right, right, of course," you concede, still grinning like an idiot. "Strategic deliberation. I respect that."

And just like that, the initial fear peak passes, settling into a comfortable, warm plateau. You talk. For hours, it seems. The second round of drinks arrives, your non-alcoholic beer surprisingly satisfying, her gin and tonic still her companion. The conversation meanders easily now, a stark contrast to the careful, step-by-step navigation of your earlier interactions. You touch on office matters: the ridiculousness of certain company policies, the upcoming (and dreaded) office move to a new floor, the latest gossip about which department head is feuding with another (which Irene, surprisingly, seems to have a few wry, understated observations about).

Then you drift to side things. You talk more about films you both like, discovering a shared appreciation for a particular cult sci-fi series from the 90s that you’re both shocked the other has even heard of. She mentions, very briefly, a passion for minimalist photography, focusing on urban decay and overlooked details, and you make a mental note to ask her more about it another time, when it feels right. You tell her about your disastrous attempt to learn coding during lockdown, which ended with you accidentally wiping your own hard drive. She doesn’t laugh uproariously, but her shoulders shake a little, and her eyes crinkle at the corners in a way that makes you smile unconsciously.

Time seems to dissolve. The bar gradually empties. You’re both leaning in slightly over the small table, the rest of the world faded into a pleasant, out-of-focus backdrop. It’s only when you catch a glimpse of the clock behind the bar, nudging past midnight, that you realize how long you’ve been here.

"Whoa," you say, genuinely surprised. "Look at the time." You glance at Irene. She does look a little tired now, the earlier animation softened by a gentle weariness around her eyes, though her expression is still content. "I should probably get you home. You must be exhausted."

She stifles a small yawn, then nods. "Probably a good idea. Mondays, even good ones, take their toll."

When the bartender brings the bill, Irene immediately reaches for her handbag. "Let me get my share," she says, her tone matter-of-fact.

You wave your hand dismissively. "Nope. Not a chance. My treat. I did invite you to defiantly kickstart the week, remember?"

"But we had four or five rounds," she protests mildly. "And you offered me a job. The least I can do is pay for my own gin."

"Consider it a pre-emptive signing bonus discussion fee," you counter, already pulling out your card. "Seriously, Irene. It’s on me. Please."

She hesitates for a moment, then a small, appreciative smile touches her lips. "Okay. Thank you. That’s… very chivalrous."

"I have my moments," you say, winking, as you settle the bill.

In the car, the city lights painting fleeting stripes across the dashboard, Irene gives you her address; a street in a quiet, older residential area not far from the office, just as she’d said.

"So," you ask, as you navigate the familiar streets, "you live alone?" It’s a casual question, but your heart beats a little faster waiting for the answer.

"Yes," she replies, looking out at the passing buildings. "For a few years now." She turns her head. "You?"

"Same here," you say. "Just me and my old movie collection. The second part probably justifies the first."

She gives a soft chuckle at that.

You pull up outside a well-maintained older apartment building, with a small, neat garden out front. It looks… peaceful. Like her.

"Well, here we are," you say, putting the car in park.

Irene turns in her seat to face you more fully. "Thank you," she says, her gaze direct and sincere. "For the invitation, for the drinks. It was… a really nice chat. I enjoyed it."

"Me too, Irene," you reply, your own sincerity matching hers. "Thanks for your company. It was a lot of fun. Definitely the best Monday I’ve had in a long time."

"Good night, then," she says softly. Her hand hovers near the door handle. For a wild second, you wonder if you should lean in, if this is the moment for a goodbye kiss, but something in her stillness, a lingering hint of that old reserve, tells you not yet. Don’t push it. Not now.

"Good night, Irene," you echo. "Get some rest."

She nods, gives you one last small smile, and then she’s out of the car, a fleeting figure disappearing into the building’s warmly lit entryway. You wait until you see the lobby door close behind her before pulling away, a wide, goofy grin plastered on your face that doesn’t fade the entire drive home.

—

From that night on, something undeniably shifts. Your bond with Irene, forged in the dim light of that quiet bar, begins to progress in subtle but significant ways. In the office, she still maintains her discreet presence, never drawing undue attention to herself. But with you, things are different. She seeks out your gaze more often across the expanse of cubicles, a small, almost imperceptible smile usually accompanying it. When you approach her desk, she looks up immediately, the guardedness you were so used to now noticeably lessened, replaced by a welcoming warmth in her dark eyes.

She talks to you more, too. Not just about work, though she’s still impeccably professional. She’ll share a wry observation about a particularly mind-numbing office memo, or ask your opinion on a new software rollout. Sometimes, she even initiates the conversation, a quiet "Got a minute?" when she has a genuine query or, increasingly, just something she wants to share. And jokes (Irene actually makes jokes). They’re subtle, dry, delivered with that understated wit you’re quickly coming to adore, but they’re there, little sparks of humor that light up your interactions.

It makes you ridiculously happy, this gradual unfolding. Every shared glance, every quiet conversation, every fleeting smile feels like a victory, a testament to the connection you’re building. You find yourself looking forward to seeing her each day with an eagerness that’s entirely new. There’s no denying it, not anymore. You’re liking Irene Bae more and more, and the thought of where this all might be heading fills you with a buoyant, thrilling anticipation.

The week has been a blur of spreadsheets that all look the same and meetings that could have been emails. Standard. You do your usual wander through the office tundra, a flimsy excuse to stretch your legs and make sure the drones haven't revolted. You offer the requisite nods, the "how’s it goings," the feigned interest in weekend plans that involve either mind-numbing DIY or equally mind-numbing children's soccer games. But really, your internal compass is pointing one way: Irene’s desk.

She’s there, a small, still point in the surrounding office chaos. Head down, focused. God, she’s beautiful. It’s not even a conscious thought anymore, just an accepted fact, like gravity or the office coffee being terrible. Today she’s wearing a cream-colored sweater, soft and slightly oversized, that makes her look even more delicate. Her dark hair is clipped back loosely, a few stray strands feathering her cheek. As you approach, she senses you, looking up. And this time, there’s no hesitation, no fractional delay before her polite mask clicks into place. This time, a small, subtle smile touches her lips almost instantly. It’s a tiny thing, barely a curve, but on Irene, it’s like a goddamn sunrise. Your chest does that stupid warm lurch it’s been doing a lot lately.

"Morning, Irene," you say, leaning against the partition of her cubicle, trying to match her quiet energy. "Or, well, almost afternoon, I guess."

"Good morning," she replies, her words soft, but the smile lingers in her eyes. That’s new. And definitely not unwelcome.

"Just checking in. How’s that… uh… creative asset compilation for the new campaign coming along? The one I dumped on you yesterday with zero notice?" You’d asked her to pull together a bunch of visual elements and a draft for some new ad copy. A bit outside her usual data-entry scope, but you had a hunch she’d be good at it.

"Almost done," she confirms, gesturing vaguely at her screen. "Just finalizing the font choices for the header. It should be ready by three."

"No rush at all, you’re a miracle worker as it is." You glance at her screen, trying to seem interested in fonts, but your attention snags on the small, almost hidden detail on her desk – a tiny, exquisitely wrapped parcel, no bigger than a matchbox, tied with a simple silver ribbon. It wasn't there yesterday. "So," you continue, keeping your tone light, "anything exciting happen since I last graced your cubicle with my overwhelming presence?"

Her gaze flickers to the small parcel, then back to you, and the subtle smile widens just a fraction. "Actually," she says, her fingers brushing the ribbon lightly, "I received what you sent."

Ah. So she got it. This week was her birthday. You’d thought about organizing something, a small surprise with a few of the nicer people on the team. But then you’d pictured Irene, the center of attention, forced smiles, awkward small talk… and you’d nixed the idea. She wasn’t the surprise party type. So, you’d sent a small, carefully chosen gift to her apartment instead (you still had her address from that night at the bar). A collection of short stories by an author she mentioned being a fan of and, apparently, she didn't have this book yet, which is a new release.

"Oh yeah?" you ask, feigning mild surprise. "Well, I hope I didn't choose something boring. Choosing gifts isn't really something I'm very talented at."

A soft chuckle escapes her. "No, it was… lovely. Thank you. You really didn't need to bother, though."

"Hey, what are supervisors for if not to occasionally bother their best employees with unsolicited tokens of appreciation?" you say, grinning. "Glad you liked it." You pause, then decide to take the plunge. "So, listen. Friday today. End of a massively busy week. Any chance I could tempt you with another round of drinks? All on me, of course.”

She looks up, and for a moment, you see that familiar flicker of hesitation, the slight tensing around her eyes. She bites her lip, her gaze dropping to the desk. "I don't know…" she begins, her words very quiet. "Don't you think… people in the office might find it a bit strange? Just you and me, going out for drinks together again?"

Her concern is valid. You’re her supervisor. And while this office isn't exactly a hotbed of malicious gossip, people notice things. But the thought of not seeing her outside these four grey walls, especially after the progress you’ve made, feels… deflating.

You shrug. "Let them think whatever they want. Honestly, Irene, who cares? It's just a couple of colleagues grabbing a drink after a long week. Besides," you add, leaning in a fraction, lowering your tone slightly, "no one here is interesting enough to be a dedicated gossip columnist. They’re too busy worrying about their own TPS reports. You don't need to worry about it."

She looks at you for a long moment. You can see the internal debate warring in her eyes. Then, slowly, a small, almost shy smile. "Okay," she says. "Okay, I’d like that."

—

Lunchtime. You’re at your desk, staring blankly at a spreadsheet that’s threatening to induce a coma, when a small shadow falls over your keyboard. You look up, surprised.

It’s Irene. She’s holding a small, clear plastic container, tied with a simple piece of kitchen twine. Inside, you can see a neat stack of perfectly round, golden-brown cookies. Homemade. No doubt about it.

"Hi," she says, a little shyly, holding out the container. "I, uh… I made these last night. For you. As a thank you. For the… for the other day. And the gift."

You’re genuinely speechless for a second. Irene Bae baked you cookies. You take the container, your fingers brushing hers. "Irene, wow. You… you really didn’t have to do this."

"I wanted to," she says, that faint blush back on her cheeks. "They’re just chocolate chip. Nothing fancy." She pauses, then adds, with a tiny, playful smirk, "Don’t get spoiled."

"Too late," you say, already prying the lid off. The smell of warm butter and melted chocolate hits you. "These look incredible. Seriously." You take one, biting into it. It’s perfect: soft and chewy in the middle, slightly crisp around the edges. "Holy shit, Irene, these are… you’re a wizard."

"They’re just cookies."

"No, these are not 'just cookies'," you insist, taking another enthusiastic bite. "These are edible drops of pure happiness. You’re wasted on data entry, you know that? You should open a bakery."

"One business is enough for now," she says, but she looks genuinely pleased by your reaction. She lingers by your desk for a moment, not quite meeting your eye, but not leaving either. "How’s… how’s your day going? You look a little tired."

It’s true. The past few days have been a relentless onslaught of urgent requests, looming deadlines, and a particularly tedious software integration project that’s been fighting you every step of the way. You probably look like you’ve been wrestling a badger.

"Yeah, it’s been a bit of a beast," you admit, rubbing your eyes. "Lots of fires to put out. Trying to get the specs finalized for the Q4 roll-out, plus Henderson is breathing down my neck about those new compliance protocols. Standard corporate fun and games." You try for a light tone. "But I’m fine. Just need about seventeen more cups of coffee."

Her expression softens with something that looks a lot like genuine concern. "Don’t try to do too much," she says. "You’ll burn yourself out."

"Words of wisdom from the cookie queen," you say, smiling at her. "I’ll try to take it easy. Especially since," you add, your grin widening, "I’m really looking forward to those drinks later."

You expect her to just nod, to give one of her polite, non-committal responses. But instead, her eyes meet yours, and there’s a surprising warmth, a definite spark in their depths. "Me too," she says, her words clear and, to your utter astonishment, tinged with what sounds like genuine anticipation.

—

The end-of-day exodus is in full swing, the usual shuffle of tired bodies and the clatter of keyboards being powered down. You catch Irene’s eye as she’s gathering her things, and that subtle smile, the one that’s becoming less of a rarity when you’re around, touches her lips. She does look tired, a faint weariness around her dark eyes, but it doesn’t diminish the quiet prettiness that always seems to cling to her. If anything, the slight vulnerability makes her even more striking.

You meet her by the elevators, a silent agreement passing between you. No need for forced office goodbyes today.

"Ready to officially declare war on the work week?" you ask as you both step out into the cool evening air. The city is already starting to glitter, streetlights blinking on against the fading daylight.

She glances up at you, noticing you're not heading towards the parkade. "No car today?"

"Nope," you say, hands in your pockets as you start walking. "Figured if we're going for drinks, actual drinks, then driving is counterproductive to the whole 'getting drunk and forgetting responsibilities' vibe. Thought we’d walk."

Irene falls into step beside you, her pace surprisingly brisk for someone who looked so weary moments ago. "Didn't you come to work by car today? But… I could have said no to the invitation. You would have walked for nothing."

You shoot her a sideways grin. "Nah. I had a pretty good feeling you’d say yes."

"Very presumptuous of you," she murmurs, but there’s no bite to it, only amusement.

The walk to the bar is easy, the conversation flowing more naturally than it ever has in the sterile confines of the office. You talk like coworkers, at first. The new coffee machine in the breakroom, which everyone agrees is a downgrade despite its fancy chrome exterior. The inexplicable disappearance of all the good pens from the supply closet.

"Seriously," you say, shaking your head as you navigate a cracked paving stone, "it’s like there’s a pen gremlin. I bought a pack of twelve on Monday. By Wednesday, they were all gone."

Irene actually chuckles at that. "It’s Henderson. I saw him pocket one of mine yesterday when he thought I wasn’t looking."

"No way!" you exclaim, genuinely shocked. "The CEO? Stealing pens? That’s… actually kind of hilarious."

"He has very specific preferences for blue ink," she says, her tone dry, and you both laugh.

It’s like this, small talk, office anecdotes. Nothing too deep, nothing too personal, but it’s comfortable. You notice the way she walks, with a quiet grace, her gaze often drifting to the small details of the cityscape around you; an interesting piece of graffiti, an old, weathered doorway, the way the light hits a particular window. She doesn’t say much about what she sees, but you get the feeling she’s absorbing it all.

The bar is the same familiar spot, a haven of dim lights and good music. You find your preferred corner table, and Irene slides into the chair you pull out for her with a small, appreciative nod.

"Same again?" you ask, already knowing her answer.

"Gin and tonic, please," she confirms.

You head to the bar, ordering her drink and another of those surprisingly decent dark ales for yourself.

When you return, she’s watching the crowd, a faint smile on her lips. You set the drinks down, the tall glass of her G&T clinking softly against your bottle. You slide into the chair opposite her, the small table creating a sense of comfortable intimacy.

"Alright," you say, picking up your bottle and raising it slightly. "First round."

She lifts her glass, her dark eyes meeting yours. "To what, exactly, are we dedicating this particular round of defiance against the universe?"

You grin. "To surviving another week of corporate warfare. To Fridays. And," you pause, your gaze softening, "to the fact that the mystery of the stolen pens was finally solved, thanks to your important intel."

"You’re welcome. Happy to assist in the fight against executive kleptomania." She clinks her glass against your bottle. "Cheers."

You both take a sip, a comfortable silence settling between you for a moment. The bar’s atmosphere wraps around you, the low murmur of other conversations, the distant clatter from the kitchen, the bluesy track oozing from the speakers. It feels… right.

"So," you begin, after a while, setting your bottle down. "That whole full-time contract thing. Still mulling it over?"

Irene takes a slow sip of her G&T, her eyes thoughtful. "I am," she admits. "It’s… a big decision. More responsibility. More… permanence."

"No pressure," you reiterate. "The offer stands. But Henderson was genuinely impressed. You’ve made a good mark."

"It’s just… data," she says, looking down into her glass. "It’s not like I’m revolutionizing the industry."

"Hey," you say, leaning forward slightly. "Don’t sell yourself short. You have a knack for seeing patterns, for making sense of chaos. That’s a rare skill. And honestly, the way you transformed that Henderson merger data from an absolute clusterfuck into something coherent? That was art, Irene. Pure, unadulterated, spreadsheet art."

She looks up, and there’s a faint blush on her cheeks, but also a flicker of something else (pride, maybe?) "You really think so?"

"I know so." You pause, then decide to just go for it. "Look, I’m not going to bullshit you. The main reason Henderson wants you on full-time is because you’re damn good at what you do. But for me?" You meet her gaze, holding it. "I just… I really like having you around the office, Irene. You make the place better."

Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly, her lips parting slightly. The blush deepens. She looks away, down at her glass, then back at you, a complex mix of emotions playing across her usually composed features. She opens her mouth as if to say something, then closes it, takes another sip of her drink.

She finally sets her glass down with a soft click, her fingers tracing the condensation. "That’s… a really nice thing to say," she says.

Your smile widens at her quiet admission, the sincerity in her dark eyes hitting you with a pleasant warmth. "Well, 'nice' is a good start," you say, your own words softer now. "I was aiming for at least 'not actively terrible,' so I’m calling this a win."

She gives a small, almost shy laugh, her gaze dropping to the G&T she’s cradling. The ice cubes shift and clink as she swirls the glass. "You set a low bar for yourself."

"Hey, gotta manage expectations," you retort, grinning. "Especially on a Friday when the main goal is to de-stress, not to impress." You take another sip of your non-alcoholic beer. It’s not bad, actually. Almost makes you feel like a responsible adult.

The conversation flows easily after that, the topics meandering from the absurdities of office life to more general things. She listens with an unreadable but attentive expression as you recount a particularly disastrous client presentation you had to salvage earlier in the year, even managing a small, sympathetic grimace when you get to the part about the projector dying mid-PowerPoint. Hours seem to melt away, marked only by the gradual lowering of the liquid in your glasses and the comfortable rhythm of your shared talk.

It’s Irene who eventually steers the conversation into more personal territory, and it’s so unexpected it almost makes you choke on your beer. She’s been quieter for a few moments, tracing the rim of her glass with a fingertip, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. Then, she looks up, her dark eyes meeting yours with a new sort of intensity.

"So," she begins, her words careful, measured, "you mentioned your friends at the office. The ones you started with."

"Yeah?" you prompt, curious where this is going.

"Is it… just friendships? Or is there anyone… more specific?" Her gaze is direct, unwavering, and you realize she’s not just making small talk. This is deliberate. She’s plucking up the courage, right here, right now.

You try to keep your expression neutral, but you can feel a faint heat rising in your own cheeks. "More specific how?"

"You know," she says, a tiny, almost imperceptible shrug. "A girlfriend? Someone you’re seeing?" Then, her eyes flick to a point just past your shoulder, a subtle shift. "Like… Seulgi? You two seem… very close."

Ah. Seulgi. You should have seen that coming. Seulgi is vibrant, outgoing, and yes, you two are close. You share a lot of inside jokes, grab lunch together sometimes, and there’s an easy camaraderie between you that probably looks like more than it is to an outside observer. Especially an observant one like Irene.

You lean back in your chair, considering how to answer. Honesty seems like the best policy here, especially with the way Irene is watching you. "Seulgi and I…" you begin, then pause, choosing your words. "Yeah, we’re close. But it’s not… like that. Not anymore, anyway."

Irene’s eyebrows lift slightly. "Anymore?"

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. Might as well just lay it out. "Look, years ago, when we both first started at Henderson Corp, fresh out of uni, barely knew which way was up… yeah, Seulgi and I had a thing. An affair, I guess you’d call it. It was intense, for a while. But it was a long time ago. We were young, stupid, figuring things out." You meet her gaze. "It burned out pretty quick. Honestly, we realized we were much better as friends. And that’s what we are now. Good friends. Nothing more, I promise."

She absorbs this, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, "Aren’t… relationships between employees frowned upon? At the company?"

"Officially?" you shrug. "There’s no explicit rule against it, as long as it doesn't involve a direct reporting line, which ours didn’t, even back then. Henderson’s surprisingly old-school about some things, but pretty laissez-faire about others. Unofficially, the policy is basically: keep it professional at work, don’t let it affect your performance, and for God’s sake, no dramatic breakups in the middle of the quarterly budget cycle." You take a sip of your beer. "What you do on your own time, outside the office walls, is generally considered your own business. As long as you’re not an idiot about it and it doesn’t spill into work, they tend to look the other way."

Irene nods slowly, processing that. "So… it’s okay?"

"Yeah, mostly. Just gotta be smart, maintain professionalism when you're on the clock. Everything’s fine. Honestly, there are probably more office romances brewing in that place than anyone realizes." You grin. "Henderson Corp: Where Careers and Questionable Life Choices Collide."

She gives a small, hesitant smile at that. The conversation drifts a little after that, back to safer, more general topics. You order another round, she sticks to her G&T, you get another non-alcoholic ale. The bar is thinning out now, the Friday night energy mellowing into a late-evening calm. Irene seems more relaxed than you’ve ever seen her. She’s leaning back in her chair, one arm resting on the table, her earlier tension almost entirely gone. She even initiates a couple of topics, asking about a book you mentioned earlier, a small, thoughtful question about one of the characters.

It’s as you’re describing a particularly ridiculous plot twist that she starts to chuckle. Not a full laugh, but a series of soft, breathy huffs of amusement, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"What?" you ask, grinning. "Too unbelievable?"

"No, it’s not the book," she says, shaking her head, her smile widening. "It’s you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you," she confirms, and there’s a definite warmth in her gaze now. "You’re… you’re actually quite funny." She pauses, as if surprised by her own admission. "It’s… rare. For me to find men funny."

You blink, then let out a surprised laugh yourself. "Is that a compliment, Bae Joohyun?" you tease, using her full name for the first time, enjoying the way a slight blush rises on her cheeks.

She rolls her eyes, but the smile doesn’t fade. "Don’t let it go to your head."

"Too late," you say, your grin spreading wider. "I’m officially adding 'surprisingly humorous to discerning women' to my resume." You lean forward, your elbows on the table, the atmosphere between you feeling lighter, more charged than ever. The drinks, the late hour, her unexpected praise… it’s all coalescing into something…

promising.

"So, Irene Bae, now that we’ve established this mutual… "liking"," you drawl the word out, enjoying the faint blush that returns to her cheeks, "does this improve the odds of you accepting Henderson’s most gracious offer of permanent employment?"

She picks up her G&T, takes a thoughtful sip. "Still thinking," she says, her eyes sparkling over the rim of the glass. "Wouldn't want to seem too eager, would I?"

"Heaven forbid," you agree, playing along. "Strategic ambiguity. Very professional."

The conversation continues, hours evaporate. The bar staff are starting to wipe down distant tables, the music has shifted to something even more mellow, and the crowd has thinned to a few lingering couples and solitary drinkers. Irene glances at the small, elegant watch on her slender wrist.

"Wow, it’s… getting pretty late," she says, her words carrying a hint of surprise, as if she hadn't realized how quickly the time had passed.

You nod, a reluctant sigh escaping you. The beer has settled into a comfortable warmth in your system, your limbs loose, your head pleasantly fuzzy. "Yeah, you’re right." You pause, looking at her, at the soft way the low light catches her dark hair, the way her eyes seem even deeper, more expressive in the intimate gloom. "Damn shame. I wish this night wouldn't end."

She meets your gaze, her smile soft, questioning. "Oh yeah? Why’s that?"

The alcohol has definitely loosened your tongue, stripped away a few layers of your usual caution. "Because I like being around you, Irene," you confess, the words coming out easily, honestly. "Your presence… I don’t know. It’s kind of hypnotic." You give a small, self-deprecating laugh. "And now I’m going to go home and just… keep thinking about you."

"You… think about me?" she asks.

"Yeah," you admit, feeling your own cheeks warm a little. "A lot, actually."

She’s silent for a moment, then, very slowly, her hand reaches across the small table, her cool fingertips brushing against yours. It’s a feather-light touch, barely there, but it sends a jolt straight up your arm. "What… what do you think about?"

"Everything," you say, your gaze locked on hers, feeling a bit drunk on more than just the beer now. "The way you concentrate when you’re working. The way you have that tiny little frown when you’re figuring something out. The way your hair falls across your cheek when you’re not looking." You shake your head, a small, dazed smile on your face. "Lately, Irene, you’re pretty much the only thing on my mind."

Her fingers intertwine with yours, a soft, hesitant pressure. Her dark eyes are searching yours, and you can see a storm of emotions in their depths. "Lately," she confesses, "I’ve… I’ve been thinking about you too."

"Yeah? What do you think about me, Irene Bae?"

She takes a shaky breath, her gaze dropping to your joined hands, then lifting back to your eyes, bold and vulnerable all at once. "I think about… what it would be like… if you kissed me."

The world around you just… stops. Your brain stutters, reboots. You lose focus on the bar, the music, everything but her face, her eyes, the feel of her hand in yours. She thinks about you kissing her. That’s it. That’s all the fucking permission you need.

Before you can second-guess it, before the moment can break, you’re moving. You lean across the small table, your other hand coming up to cup her cheek, your thumb stroking her soft skin. And then you kiss her.

It’s insane, the moment your lips meet. Her lips are soft, yielding, tasting faintly of gin and lime. She gasps softly into your mouth, then kisses you back, her initial hesitation melting away into a surprising, eager passion. Her tongue, tentative at first, then bolder, meets yours. It’s not a polite, end-of-the-date kiss. It’s hungry, searching, like you’ve both been starving for this without even knowing it. Your fingers tighten in her hair, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until you’re both breathless.

When you finally break apart, gasping for air, your foreheads are resting against each other. Her eyes are closed, her lips swollen and glistening.

"Don’t let the night end here, Irene," you whisper. "Please."

She opens her eyes, her gaze dark, hazy with desire. "Okay," she breathes. "My apartment."

You’re on your feet in a second, fumbling for your wallet, the earlier weariness completely gone, replaced by a thrumming, urgent energy. Irene is already sliding out of the booth, her movements a little unsteady but graceful nonetheless. You throw some cash on the table (way more than enough to cover the bill) and then you’re out, into the cool night air.

You’re definitely tipsy, the world having a pleasant, fuzzy edge. Irene stumbles slightly as you step onto the uneven sidewalk, and you instinctively reach out, your arm going around her shoulders, pulling her close. She leans into you, her body warm against yours, her head resting against your arm. She’s giggling, a light, infectious sound that makes you laugh too, a stupid, happy, drunken sound. You walk like that, a tangled, giggling mess, your steps uneven but your direction certain.

Her apartment.

—

The elevator ride up to her floor is a blur of stolen kisses and breathless laughter. You’re pressed against the cool metal wall, her hands in your hair, your mouths searching, hungry. Every time the elevator dings at a floor, you pull apart, slightly dazed, only to crash back together the moment the doors close.

She fumbles with her keys at her apartment door, still kissing you, her body pressed flush against yours in the narrow hallway. Finally, the lock clicks. She pushes the door open, stumbling inside, pulling you with her. Her bag hits the floor with a soft thud. And then, before you can even register your surroundings, she jumps, her legs wrapping around your waist, her mouth finding yours again in a bruising, desperate kiss. You catch her instinctively, your hands splaying across her ass, lifting her, holding her tight against you as you kick the door shut.

She pulls back for a moment, her chest heaving, and a wide, triumphant smile spreads across her face when she sees yours. "You’ve got my lipstick all over you," she says, her words a delighted slur, as she reaches up to smudge a pink streak on your cheek with her thumb.

You glance around then, taking in her apartment for the first time. It’s small, neat, surprisingly minimalist but with touches of warmth: a stack of books on a low shelf, a soft throw draped over a simple armchair, a couple of framed black and white photographs on the wall. "Nice place," you manage.

Her eyes sparkle. "Did you come here to look at my apartment, or do something else?" she teases, her hips giving a suggestive little squirm against yours.

"Definitely something else," you growl, taking your "revenge" by burying your face in her neck, your lips finding the soft skin just below her ear, nibbling gently.

She yelps, a surprised, delighted sound, then dissolves into giggles, her body squirming in your arms. "Hey! That tickles!"

"Bedroom," you murmur against her skin. "Show me the way."

She points vaguely down a short hallway, still giggling, and you carry her, your mouths finding each other again, kissing deeply as you navigate the unfamiliar space. You find the door, push it open, and then you’re gently depositing her onto the bed, following her down, never breaking the kiss.

The world narrows to the feel of her beneath you, the taste of her, the soft sounds she’s making. After a moment, you pull away, reluctantly. "Clothes," you manage, your breath ragged. "Need these off."

You roll off her and stand, your fingers already working at the buttons of your shirt. Irene watches you, her eyes dark and hungry, as she sits up and reaches for the hem of her own sweater. It comes off in one smooth motion, revealing the delicate black lace of her bra, her pale skin almost luminous in the dim light filtering in from the hallway. Her petite body is, as you’ve always known, perfectly toned, every line and curve an invitation. She doesn’t hesitate, her fingers going to the clasp of her bra next.

The cotton of your shirt feels like a restriction, a barrier. Your fingers, clumsy with a mixture of alcohol and adrenaline, work at the buttons, fumbling them free one by one. It hits the floor. Shoes next, kicked off with impatient shoves of your heels, then the belt buckle clinks as you undo it, the leather sliding free. Your pants join the shirt in a heap on the floorboards. You’re standing there in just your boxers, the air of her bedroom suddenly cooler on your skin, or maybe that’s just the fever pitch of your own blood.

Then it’s her turn. Her hands go to the delicate clasp of her black lace bra. It gives way easily, and she shrugs the straps down her pale arms, letting the flimsy garment fall. Her breasts are revealed, small, yes, but perfectly shaped, round and perky, with pale pink nipples already pebble-hard in the cool air, or perhaps from anticipation. They’re exquisite. You’ve imagined them, of course, in fleeting, guilty moments, but the reality is so much fucking better. Then, she reaches for her shoes. She kicks them off one by one, the soft thud against the wooden floor loud in the charged silence. Finally, her hands go to the waistband of her pants, a simple black one that clung to her hips. It slides down her legs with a soft rustle, pooling around her ankles, leaving her standing before you in nothing but a pair of sheer black panties. They’re scandalously tiny, doing very little to hide the curve of her ass.

You feel like you can’t breathe.

You’re on her in a second, moving without conscious thought, your body acting on pure, undeniable instinct. You climb onto the bed, settling over her, your weight pressing her into the soft mattress. Your mouth finds hers again, but this kiss is different from the one at the bar. It’s rougher, needier, your tongue plunging, seeking, demanding. She meets your intensity, her own hunger flaring.

Your kisses trail down her jaw, her neck, your lips and teeth mapping the sensitive skin there. She arches into you, a soft whimper escaping her. You reach her breasts, your mouth closing over one hard nipple. She moans instantly, her fingers tangling in your hair, gripping tight. You suck, hard, your tongue laving the peak, then flicking, teasing. Her whole body shudders.

"Fuck… yes…" she gasps, her hips starting to buck beneath you. "They’re… so sensitive…"

You grin against her skin, moving to the other breast, giving it the same relentless attention. You squeeze and suck, feeling the delicate flesh swell in your mouth, the nipple hard against your tongue. The skin around it is already turning a delicious shade of pink, flushed and slightly raw from your attention. Her moans are getting louder, less inhibited, open-mouthed gasps of pure pleasure.

Her hands, which were gripping your hair, slide down your back, then lower, her fingers finding the thick, insistent ridge of your cock straining against your underwear. She squeezes, a playful, testing pressure, and a low growl rumbles in your chest. She feels you, hard and ready, and a wicked little smile dances on her lips, visible even as she throws her head back, lost in the sensations you’re creating.

Then, just as you’re about to lose yourself completely in the taste and feel of her breasts, she moves. With surprising strength, her hands are on your shoulders, pushing, guiding.

"My turn," she breathes

She pulls you, making you lie back against the pillows. You watch, dazed, as she straddles your hips, her gaze fixed on your groin. Her movements are slow, deliberate, almost torturous. Her fingers hook into the waistband of your boxers.

"Been waiting for this," she murmurs.

She pulls your underwear down, agonizingly slowly, inch by inch, her knuckles brushing against your straining erection with every downward tug. The fabric slides past your hips, down your thighs, until your cock springs free, thick, veined, and brutally hard, slick with pre-cum.

She just stares at it for a long moment, her dark eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. A genuine, almost awestruck smile spreads across her face. It’s the smile of someone who has just been presented with their favorite fucking meal.

She reaches out, her small hand surprisingly confident as it wraps around your shaft. It’s a perfect fit, her fingers cool against your heated skin. "Jesus," she breathes, her thumb stroking the thick, prominent vein that runs along the length. "It really has been a while since I’ve had sex." Her gaze lifts to yours, burning with an intensity that steals your breath. "You have no idea," she says, "how much this cock, your cock, is everything I want right now."

Before you can even process the raw honesty of her words, she leans down. Her tongue, pink and wet, flicks out, lapping delicately at the bead of pre-cum glistening on the slit of your tip. Then, she takes a mouthful of her own saliva (you see her gather it) and lets it dribble slowly onto your shaft, her fingers working quickly to spread the slickness all the way down, coating you, preparing you.

And finally, her mouth descends.

The moment her lips close around the head of your cock, you fucking groan, your hips bucking involuntarily. Her mouth is hot, wet, impossibly soft. She starts working you immediately, no hesitation, no awkwardness. Her lips create a perfect seal, her tongue swirling, lapping, teasing, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks with a practiced, almost reverent skill. This isn't the tentative exploration of a novice. This is the confident, devastating expertise of a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.

Holy shit. Irene Bae is a fucking professional.

You can feel the muscles in her throat working, a gentle, rhythmic pulse that’s already threatening to undo you. And her eyes. Fuck, her eyes. They’re locked on yours, wide, dark, and glittering with a deadly combination of intense focus and raw, unadulterated lust. There’s a challenge in them, a silent dare. Think you can handle this? they seem to say. Think you can last?

"Fuck, Irene…" you groan, your hips giving an involuntary jerk. "That’s… holy shit…"

A low hum vibrates from her throat against your shaft, a sound of pure, animalistic satisfaction. She pulls back just enough for the head of your cock to pop free with a wet, obscene sound, her tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop of your slickness.

"You like that, baby?" she murmurs. "Like the way my mouth feels wrapped around your big, thick dick?"

"Yes… God, yes…" you pant, your hands fisting in the sheets beside you. "It’s… you’re amazing, Irene. Fuck, you’re so good at this."

Her smile is a predatory flash against your skin before she takes you in again, deeper this time. Her tongue is a relentless engine of pleasure, lapping, swirling, flicking against every sensitive nerve. She knows exactly where to press, where to tease, how to vary the pressure and speed to keep you right on that knife-edge of unbearable pleasure. It’s not just her mouth, either. Her hands are working you too, one wrapped firmly around the base of your shaft, pumping in rhythm with her sucking, the other gently cupping your balls, her fingers tracing lazy, teasing circles.

"Mmmm, you taste so fucking good," she says, her words slightly muffled but no less potent. She breaks suction for a moment, her hot breath ghosting over your hypersensitive skin. "I love the way you get so hard for me, the way your cock just throbs in my mouth." She punctuates the statement by taking just the swollen head between her lips and sucking, hard, focusing all her attention there, her tongue doing that insane swirling thing that makes your vision blur.

"Shit, Irene… don’t stop…" you gasp out, your voice rough, pleading. "Please, don’t stop…"

Her head bobs faster, a satisfied, almost guttural sound coming from her throat. "Oh, I’m not stopping, baby," she promises, her eyes blazing into yours. "I want to hear you moan for me. I want to hear you fucking beg." She sucks harder, her lips pulling, teasing. "Moan for me, supervisor. Let me hear how much you love your little casual worker sucking your dick."

The sheer audacity of her words, the way she so effortlessly flips the script, calling you out, it’s fucking electrifying. A raw, broken groan tears from your throat. "Fuck… yes… Irene… please… feels so good…"

"That’s it, baby," she purrs, her mouth still working you relentlessly. "Louder. I want to hear every filthy sound you make when I’m sucking you like this. I want to know I’m driving you absolutely fucking insane."

And you are. You’re losing it. Her mouth is a goddamn weapon, and she’s wielding it with devastating precision. She shifts her attention, her lips sliding down your shaft, her tongue laving a hot, wet path until she reaches your balls. You tense, anticipating, and then her mouth closes over one, warm and wet, and you fucking cry out.

"Oh my god… Irene… fuck…"

She sucks, gently at first, then with increasing hunger, her tongue rolling, massaging. Your balls are heavy, aching, and her mouth on them is an entirely new level of torture and bliss. She leaves them absolutely soaked, glistening with her spit when she finally moves back up your shaft.

"You like that, huh?" she breathes, her lips brushing against the underside of your cock, right where the skin is thinnest, most sensitive. "Your balls taste just as good as your cock. So salty… so fucking you."

Her tongue flicks out, targeting your frenulum with an accuracy that makes your entire body jolt. She plays with it, licking, teasing, nipping ever so gently with her teeth before sucking that sensitive ridge into her mouth. You’re bucking against her now, completely lost, your own moans a constant, ragged soundtrack to her ministrations.

"Fuck… Irene… please… I can’t… I’m so close…" you plead, your voice a shredded mess.

Her only answer is to work faster, harder. Her hand is a blur on your shaft, slick with spit and your own pre-cum, while her mouth continues its relentless assault. She takes you as deep as her little mouth can manage, her throat working, a series of soft, choked gagging sounds escaping her that are, perversely, driving you even wilder. She’s not just sucking your cock; she’s fucking devouring it, worshipping it.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" she asks, pulling back for a split second, her eyes wide and dark, pupils blown. Saliva strings from her lips to the head of your cock. "I want it. I want your hot load all over my tongue. I want to swallow every last drop. Please, baby, give it to me. Begging you."

That’s it. Her words, the sight of her, so beautiful, so depraved, kneeling before you, mouth open, waiting for your release…it shatters your last shred of control.

"Irene!" Your shout as your orgasm rips through you. Your hips slam upwards, your back arching off the bed. Hot, thick ropes of cum shoot from your cock, hitting the back of her throat. She doesn't flinch. She takes it all, her throat working, swallowing, her eyes locked on yours, a triumphant, ecstatic glint in their depths. You keep pumping, jet after jet, emptying yourself into her waiting mouth. The sensation is blinding, overwhelming. You’re vaguely aware of your eyes rolling back in your head, your body trembling uncontrollably. It feels like you’re cumming for an eternity, each pulse a fresh wave of unbearable pleasure.

When the last viscous glob finally spurts out, you collapse back against the pillows, panting, drenched in sweat, utterly fucking spent. You’re in heaven. Or hell. Or some glorious, filthy place in between.

Irene stays there for a moment, gently sucking the last drops from your now twitching, softened cock. Then, slowly, reverently, she pulls away, her lips making a wet sound. She licks her own lips, savoring the taste, a small, incredibly satisfied smile playing on her features.

"Holy… fucking… shit, Irene." You shake your head, still trying to process the sheer intensity of what just happened. "That was… That was, without a fucking doubt, the best blowjob of my entire life."

Her smile widens, a genuine, radiant thing that makes her eyes sparkle. The exhaustion is there, but beneath it, there's a deep, purring satisfaction. She leans forward, pressing a soft, sticky kiss to the now-sensitive head of your cock.

"Good," she murmurs. "That’s what I like to hear." Then she looks up at you. "I aim to please, supervisor. Especially when the benefits are… this rewarding.”

You manage to prop yourself up on your elbows, looking down at her. She’s still kneeling between your legs, that pleased, cat-who-got-the-cream smirk playing on her lips, now glistening with your cum.

"Irene," you rasp. "Where in the ever-loving fuck did you learn to do that?”

She lets out a low, throaty chuckle, the sound vibrating deep in her chest. She reaches up, wiping a stray smudge of your load from the corner of her mouth with a delicate finger, then slowly, deliberately, licks it clean, her eyes never leaving yours. The gesture alone is enough to make your semi-flaccid cock give a hopeful twitch.

"Every woman has her secrets, supervisor," she purrs. "Maybe one day I'll tell you some of them." Then, before you can even process that delicious, infuriating coyness, she’s moving. climbing onto you with a fluid grace. Her petite, pale body straddles your chest, her knees bracketing your shoulders. She leans down, her dark hair curtaining your face. "Besides," she whispers, her lips brushing against yours, "who said anything about being done?"

Her mouth finds yours, a slow, deep kiss that tastes of you, of her, of pure, unadulterated lust. While her lips work their magic, her body begins a slow, deliberate crawl down yours. Kisses are pressed against your jaw, your throat, lingering on the pulse point there until you can feel your heart hammering in response. She moves lower, her tongue flicking out to trace the line of your collarbone, then lower still, across your pecs.

When she reaches your right nipple, she pauses. Her gaze, hot and knowing, flicks up to meet yours for a fraction of a second before her mouth closes over it. Your breath hitches. You weren't expecting that. Her tongue swirls around the already sensitive peak, rough and wet, then she starts to suck, gently at first, then with increasing pressure, pulling the nub into her mouth, her teeth grazing it ever so lightly.

"Nghh… Irene…" A surprised, helpless moan escapes you. Fuck, that feels good. Way better than it has any right to.

"Sensitive here, are we?" she murmurs against your skin. "I thought so."

She continues her assault, licking, sucking, her lips working your nipple like it’s the head of another cock. And all the while, one of her small, deceptively strong hands snakes down your torso, past your navel, her fingers tracing teasing patterns on your lower abdomen. You feel the heat of her palm as it hovers, then finally settles, over the base of your now rapidly re-hardening cock.

"Oh, look at that," she says. "Not so spent after all, are you, big boy?"

Her hand closes around you. Even through the haze of pleasure radiating from your nipple, you can feel the change. Your cock, which had been softening, content in its post-orgasmic haze, now surges back to life, thickening, lengthening, pressing urgently against her grip. She starts to stroke you, slow, deliberate movements, her fingers slick with the remnants of your earlier release and her own gathering wetness.

"The night is far from over, supervisor," she whispers, her mouth leaving your nipple to trail a line of wet, open-mouthed kisses towards the other one. "I know you can give me more. Much more." She punctuates the last word by taking your other nipple into her mouth, sucking on it with a greedy, demanding pressure that mirrors the rhythmic pull of her hand on your shaft. "And you will give it to me."

And she’s right. Fuck, she’s absolutely, undeniably right. Your cock is already granite-hard again, throbbing in her skilled grip, every nerve ending in your body screaming for more of her, more of this. The lingering exhaustion is a distant memory, burned away by this fresh, potent wave of desire she’s so effortlessly conjured. The slight ache in your balls is back, but it’s a good ache now, a heavy, needy throb that promises another explosive release if she keeps this up.

Her hand on your reawakened cock is a brand, her touch electric. The soft, rhythmic stroking, combined with the devastating assault on your nipple, is a one-two punch of pure, unadulterated sensation. Your breath hitches, your hips giving a small, involuntary buck.

"That’s it, baby," Irene purrs against your chest, her lips still teasing your other nipple, her words a hot, damp caress. "Feel that? Already getting hard for me again. You just can’t get enough, can you?"

"Fuck… no…" you manage to groan out, your eyes fluttering. "Not… not when you do that…"

"Mmmm, I know," she hums, a smug, satisfied sound. "The night is far from over, supervisor.” Your cock is already iron-hard again, throbbing with a renewed, almost painful urgency against her skilled fingers.

With a lithe movement that takes your breath away, Irene shifts, disentangling herself from your chest and sliding down your body. She straddles your hips, her petite frame settling over you, and the sight of her poised above you: dark hair tousled, lips swollen from your kisses, her small, perky breasts bare and flushed, nipples still pebble-hard; is enough to make your vision swim. She reaches down, her fingers hooking into the waistband of her sheer black panties.

"You like these, baby?" she teases. "Thought you might."

She doesn't wait for an answer. With a slow, deliberate tug, she pulls them aside, hooking the flimsy fabric around one hip, exposing her pussy to you. It’s perfect. Pink, glistening, the inner lips slightly swollen and already dewy with her arousal. The dark thatch of hair above is neatly trimmed.

"Ready to feel me again?" she whispers, her gaze locked on yours.

Before you can form a coherent word, she’s lowering herself onto you.

The way she takes your cock is a revelation. There’s no hesitation, no tentative exploration. She knows her body, she knows yours, and she sinks down with a practiced, almost arrogant ease, her hips rolling, her inner muscles clenching around you, milking you from the first fucking inch. A guttural groan rips from your throat as she takes you deeper, her tight, wet heat a scalding brand.

"Fuck, Irene… so tight…"

"Mmmm, you love how tight my little pussy is, don't you?" she moans, her head falling back, her hands gripping your shoulders for balance as she starts to bounce. "Love the way it squeezes your big, thick cock?"

"Yes… God, yes…"

Her rhythm is insane. She starts riding you with a skill that leaves you breathless, her hips a blur of motion, bouncing, grinding, rotating in ways that hit every goddamn nerve. She’s not just fucking you; she’s performing, a symphony of sensual movement designed to drive you absolutely wild. Her small breasts jiggle with every thrust, the pink nipples bouncing hypnotically. You can see the way her pussy lips stretch, glistening, around the base of your shaft as she lifts herself up, only to slam back down, taking you to the hilt.

"Look at me, baby," she pants, her eyes finding yours again. "I want you to watch me ride your cock. I want you to see how much I fucking love it."

You can’t look away if you tried. The sight of her, so beautiful, so utterly consumed by pleasure, her body moving on yours with such raw, uninhibited abandon, is seared into your brain.

"You’re… incredible…" you gasp out.

"I know," she says, a smug, breathless laugh escaping her. Then her expression shifts, darkens. "But you’re getting distracted." Her free hand snakes out, unbelievably fast, her fingers wrapping around your throat, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to demand your absolute attention. "You close your eyes on me again, supervisor, and I’ll make you regret it. Got it?"

The sudden pressure, her fingers cool against your heated skin, the sheer dominance in her gaze... Your cock gives a hard, convulsive throb inside her. "Fuck… yes… Irene…"

"Good boy." Her grip loosens slightly, but her hand stays there, a possessive brand. "Now, look at me. I want to see that pretty face of yours when I make you feel good. I want to see every fucking expression." She punctuates the command by grinding down, hard, her hips rotating in a slow, torturous circle that makes you cry out.

You reach up, your hands finding her breasts, squeezing them, needing to touch her, to feel her. They’re soft, full in your palms, the nipples like hard little pebbles against your skin. "Fuck, your tits are perfect, Irene…"

She moans, leaning forward, pressing them against your chest as she kisses you, a deep, filthy, open-mouthed kiss, her tongue tangling with yours. "Mmmm, you like them, baby?" she whispers against your lips, her hips still moving, still squeezing. "You can play with them all you want… as long as you keep fucking me with that big, thick cock of yours—God, it’s so good—It fills me up so perfectly!”

You can see it then, when she leans back slightly, her stomach tight, the unmistakable bulge of your cock pressing against her lower abdomen, a clear testament to just how deeply you’re buried inside her, how perfectly her petite frame is taking every inch of you. It’s a brutally hot visual, a stark reminder of your size against her smallness, and the sight alone nearly pushes you over the edge.

"Jesus, Irene… I can see it… You’re so fucking tight…"

"I know," she pants. "Now make me cum, supervisor. Fuck me until I can’t see straight. I want your load. Give it to me."

This isn't the Irene from the office, the quiet, mysterious woman who barely met your eye. This is someone else entirely: a wild, insatiable creature of pure, unadulterated lust. And fuck, you love this Irene. You love every goddamn demanding, filthy, beautiful inch of her.

She rides you harder now, faster, her moans turning into raw, broken cries. Her body is slick with sweat, her muscles trembling with the effort, but she doesn’t slow down. She’s chasing it, that shattering release, and she’s dragging you right along with her. Her pussy pulses around your cock, squeezing, milking, each contraction an exquisite torture.

"I’m… I’m gonna cum…" she screams, her voice cracking, her back arching as her orgasm hits her like a tidal wave.

Her body seizes, her walls clenching around your shaft in a series of violent, unbearable spasms. She’s crying out your name, her head thrown back, her entire being consumed by the pleasure. It’s beautiful, watching her shatter like this, so completely undone, so utterly yours.

But she doesn’t stop. Even as the aftershocks of her orgasm ripple through her, her hips keep moving, a desperate, frantic grinding, her pussy still milking your aching cock.

"Fuck, Irene… I’m close…" you gasp out, your own release clawing at you. "I’m gonna cum…"

The moment the words leave your mouth, she’s moving. With a surprising agility, she pulls off your cock with a wet, sucking sound, her own body still trembling. Before you can even register what’s happening, she’s scrambling off the bed, dropping to her knees in front of you, her flushed face upturned, her dark eyes blazing with a renewed, almost manic hunger.

"Give it to me, baby," she pants. "I want it all over my face. Drench me. Make me your fucking whore."

Your brain short-circuits. Her words, the sight of her kneeling there, so eager, so fucking filthy, it’s too much. You get out of bed, standing in front of her. You grab your cock, your hand slick and shaking, and start stroking, hard and fast.

"Look at me, Irene," you growl. "Open that pretty little mouth for me."

She does, her tongue flicking out in anticipation. You stroke faster, your balls tight, your vision blurring. One more stroke… two…

"FUCK!"

With a guttural roar, you explode. Thick, heavy ropes of your cum shoot from your cock, spurt after spurt, splattering across her face. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t turn away. She takes it all, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as the hot, sticky load coats her cheeks, her forehead, her chin. A thick glob lands on her lips, and her tongue darts out, instinctively licking it away, a soft, pleased moan escaping her. You keep cumming, more than you thought possible, drenching her, covering her, marking her as yours.

When the last pulse finally subsides, you’re left panting, your body trembling, your cock still twitching in your hand. Irene stays there, kneeling, your cum dripping from her face, her hair stuck to her slick skin. She looks utterly debauched. Utterly fucking beautiful.

She opens her eyes, her dark gaze meeting yours. There’s no shame there, no disgust. Only a wild, exhilarated pleasure. She slowly brings a hand up to her cheek, her fingers tracing through the thick, creamy mess, then brings them to her lips, sucking your cum from her skin with a delighted, almost reverent expression. Receiving your load like this, being painted with it, clearly turns her on as much as it does you. It feels fucking amazing, this raw, shared depravity.

You can't resist. You lean forward, your own body still thrumming with the aftershocks of release, and dip your thumb into the thickest patch of your load still clinging to her cheek. You bring your slick finger to her lips.

"Taste good, Irene?" you murmur.

Without a word, her eyes still locked on yours, she parts her lips and takes your thumb into her mouth. Her tongue swirls around it, hot and wet, sucking sensually, cleaning every last trace of you from your skin.

You let out a long, slow sigh, your whole body going lax. "That was… Jesus, Irene. That was fucking amazing."

She releases your thumb with a soft, wet sound, a tiny, almost smug smile playing on her lips. "It was, wasn't it?" she agrees, her usual quietness now laced with a husky, satisfied confidence. "Best Friday night I’ve had in… well, a very long time." She pushes herself up, her movements fluid and graceful despite the intensity of what just happened. "I should probably… shower now."

"Yeah," you manage, watching her. "Good idea."

She disappears into the en-suite, and you hear the distant hiss of the shower starting. You lie there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, your mind a blissful, empty buzz. Eventually, you push yourself up. You should probably leave, give her space. It’s the decent thing to do, right? Even if every fiber of your being wants to crawl back into that bed and wait for her.

By the time she pads back into the bedroom, you’re mostly dressed – pants on, shirt half-buttoned. She’s wrapped in a fluffy white towel that looks ridiculously large on her petite frame, her dark hair damp and clinging to her neck, her face scrubbed clean and glowing. She stops when she sees you, her brow furrowing slightly.

"You’re… leaving?" Her words are soft, a hint of something unreadable in them.

"Yeah," you say, trying for casual, even though your limbs feel heavy, your head still pleasantly swimming from the beer and everything else. "Figured I shouldn’t bother you. It’s late."

She walks closer, her bare feet silent on the carpet. She stops in front of you, close enough that you can smell the fresh, clean scent of soap and her skin. "You’re still a little drunk, aren’t you?" she observes, her gaze steady.

You shrug, a sheepish grin touching your lips. "Maybe a little. The beer was good. The company was… distracting."

"You can stay," she says. "It’s no problem. You shouldn't be walking around like that.”

You look at her, surprised. "You sure? I don’t want to impose."

"I’m sure," she replies. "The bed’s big enough."

And just like that, the decision is made. You reverse the process, now unbuttoning your shirt and taking off your pants. Irene takes off her towel, drys her hair, and puts on comfortable pajamas. You both slide into her bed, the sheets cool against your skin. She keeps a respectable distance at first, lying on her side facing away from you. You lie on your back, staring up into the darkness, your mind replaying the night’s events.

"That was…" you begin, "quite a night."

She shifts slightly, turning her head on the pillow to look towards you, though you can barely make out her features in the dark. "It was," she agrees, her reply just as soft. "It’s been a long time since I… since I had a night that good."

"Me too," you admit. The silence stretches for a moment, comfortable, intimate. "So, this whole 'not going out much' thing," you venture, remembering her earlier comment at the bar. "Are you, like, super strict with your routine? Or is it just a general aversion to humanity?"

"A bit of both, maybe." She pauses. "But it’s also… more than that." Her words are hesitant now. "I just… I ended up depriving myself of some things. For a long time. For my own good, I thought."

"Things like… fun? Or just human contact in general?" you ask gently, trying to understand.

"Things like… letting go," she says, her meaning still veiled. "Being… open."

You process that for a moment. "Well," you say, trying to inject some lightness, "I hope, as your newly appointed (and incredibly charming) supervisor, I can attempt to bring a little more… spice? Unpredictability? Into your carefully curated life. Supervisors can be cool too, you know. It’s not all spreadsheets and passive-aggressive emails."

She gives a weak, tired chuckle. "You’re cool," she concedes.

Silence again. This one’s heavier, but it’s not uncomfortable. It wraps around you both like the comforter you’re only half under. Her presence is warm and grounding, even with the distance she’s keeping between your bodies.

And just when your mind starts fuzzing at the edges, drifting toward sleep, you hear it.

“…hey.”

Your eyes flutter, but you don’t answer immediately.

She tries again. “Hey. You awake?”

You manage a half-conscious “Hmm?”

“I… I need to tell you something,” she says, her tone suddenly different. Strained. Fragile. “And I don’t think I’ll get another chance like this.”

You roll your head a little, but you’re already falling. You’re trying to stay up, your body fighting it, but there’s alcohol in your blood and pillows under your skull and her voice sounds like a lullaby even when it’s trembling.

“It’s kind of awful,” she says. “I mean: I think it is. Most people would think it is. I don’t even know why I’m bringing it up. I guess… it’s easier when I can’t see your face.” Her voice catches. She swallows. “And I’m drunk,” she adds bitterly. “That helps. Brave little idiot version of me that only comes out after gin and zero lighting.”

You want to say something, your brain claws for words, but you’re slipping. The room is tilting, your breath slowing, mouth too heavy to open.

“I don’t want this to blow up,” she goes on, like she’s already sure it will. “But you’re… nice. Too nice. And I think it’s going to matter eventually. So maybe it’s better you know now.”

She turns, the sheets rustling. Her breath’s close. She's watching you.

“I used to do porn,” she says into the dark. “I know it’s horrible. But, God, I liked it. Not just the attention, not just the money. I liked the sex. I was… addicted. Like, actually. Probably still am. I think I’m a… I don’t know. A nympho? That sounds dramatic. But it’s true. And I’m terrified you’re gonna look at me differently if you ever find out. Like it’ll be all you see. Like I’m… stained.”

A sharp breath.

“You probably will look at me differently. If not now, then later. And that’ll kill me. Because I think I actually like you. And you’re the first person in forever who makes me feel like I don’t have to hide.”

Her hand reaches out under the blankets, not to touch you, just to rest nearby.

“I’m still not sure if I’m ashamed because I regret it… or because I liked some of it too much. Isn’t that worse?” She exhales. “I tried to cut it all off. Cold turkey. Quit the industry. Quit everything. No sex. No relationships. No late nights. No bars. No letting anyone get close. I started hiding from everything I wanted. Because I had to. My last relationship was a disaster. Everything fell apart. I wanted to be invisible again. Safe. And I thought if I worked a boring job, wore boring clothes, kept my mouth shut, nobody would see me. Nobody would want me.” She pauses. The next words are like admitting a sin:

“And then you saw me.”

“You were kind to me. Just… kind. That’s all it took. And I started feeling again. I tried to fight it. I told myself you were just being nice. That it wasn’t anything. But every time you smiled, or made some dumb joke, or talked to me like I mattered… I couldn’t stop it.” She sounds exhausted. Hollow. “You’re the first person I’ve wanted to kiss in years. The first one I’ve wanted to touch. The first one I’ve let into my bed. And I hate that I like you. I hate that it scares me. Because I’m not… good.”

Her voice breaks, just a little.

“I’m not someone who deserves soft things. Or quiet moments. Or this stupid, beautiful night.” Another deep breath, followed by a silent bitter laugh. “And you’re asleep. Of course you’re asleep.”

She waits. Hopes, irrationally, for some murmur of understanding, some unconscious twitch of your hand to say you’re still with her. But there’s nothing. Nothing. Your chest rises, falls. Silent. Peaceful. Asleep.

Another rustle of sheets as she rolls back onto her side, facing away again.

“Maybe that’s better,” she whispers. “Maybe if you knew, you’d leave. Or worse… maybe you’d stay for the wrong reasons. I just wanted you to know. Even if you never hear it.”

She tugs the comforter up to her shoulders, folds in on herself, and presses her forehead to the pillow, eyes closed, breath warm against the sheet. And then she whispers one last thing. So quiet it almost doesn’t exist:

“Please... don’t hate me.”

—

The days that follow are not what you expected. Not at all. After that night, after the intensity, the confessions, the shared intimacy, you thought you’d climbed a new step with Irene, reached a new layer. You imagined easier smiles in the office, maybe even her initiating a coffee break, a casual lunchtime chat. You pictured the comfortable progression from Friday night drinks to something… more.

Instead, it’s like you’re back at square one. Worse, even.

Irene is a ghost again, but this time, her politeness is tinged with an almost painful discomfort. She still does her work, still impeccably, but she avoids your gaze. Your attempts at casual conversation are met with short, clipped answers. The easy banter, the shared laughter from that night at the bar; it’s all gone, replaced by a strained, awkward formality.

You try, of course you try. You invite her to your apartment to watch that terrible sci-fi series you’d bonded over. "Sorry, I have plans," she’d murmured, not looking at you. You suggest grabbing a quick drink after work, just like before. "I can’t, I’m busy." Even a casual, "Hey, fancy grabbing lunch in the park? Sun’s actually out for once," is met with a polite, "Thank you, but I brought my own."

Each refusal is a small, sharp sting. Always polite. Always with a hint of something that looks like regret, or discomfort, in her eyes. But always a refusal.

You know what this means, or at least, you think you do. She regretted that night. Of course she did. She was drunk. You were too. Maybe she was feeling lonely, vulnerable, and just got carried away by the alcohol and the moment. You probably came on too strong, misread the signals, pushed too hard, too fast. And now you’ve messed it up, scared her off, ruined whatever fragile connection you were starting to build. The thought settles in your gut like a cold, heavy stone. You fucking idiot.

Weeks bleed into each other. The distance between you and Irene solidifies, an invisible wall of her polite deflections and your own frustrated, confused silence. You stop trying so hard. What’s the point?

Then, the email from HR lands in your inbox. A reminder: Irene Bae’s casual contract is due to expire at the end of next week. Department heads need to submit any recommendations for extension or permanent placement by close of business Friday.

Your office feels colder than usual when you call her in. You keep your expression neutral, professional, as she walks in and sits in the chair opposite your desk. She doesn’t meet your eye, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere over your left shoulder.

"Irene," you begin, your own words sounding unduly formal. "Thanks for coming in. As you know, your current contract is… coming to an end." You pause, waiting for some reaction, any reaction. Nothing. She just sits there, perfectly still, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "HR needs a final decision regarding the full-time offer we discussed. This is… well, this is pretty much your last chance to decide." You try to keep the disappointment, the faint, stupid hope, out of your delivery. "So, I need to ask. What conclusion have you reached?"

She takes a slow, deliberate breath. Her gaze is still averted, focused on the framed print of some abstract cityscape hanging on your wall. When she finally speaks, her reply is short and cold.

"I… I’m going to have to decline the offer.”

You look at her. She’s still not meeting your eye, her gaze resolutely fixed on that abstract cityscape print on your wall as if it holds the answers to the universe. Her hands are clasped so tightly in her lap, her knuckles are white. You know. Of course, you fucking know. It’s not about the job, not really. It’s about that night. It’s about you.

"Irene," you begin, your carefully constructed professional composure starting to fray at the edges. You try to keep your delivery even, reasonable. "That… that doesn’t make a lot of sense, professionally speaking. This isn't just a casual offer. It’s a permanent position. Full benefits package, paid time off, a significant salary increase from your current rate. Henderson genuinely likes your work; he specifically mentioned your efficiency with the merger data. This office… it’s a good environment. People respect you here. There's clear potential for promotion down the line, further salary increases. Turning this down… frankly, it’s not a rational career move for someone with your skills."

You’re laying it on a bit thick, the corporate spiel, but you need her to see, to understand that you’re trying to offer her something good, something stable. Something she deserves.

Still, she doesn’t look at you. "I understand the terms, and I appreciate the opportunity." Her words are precise, almost robotic.

"Then what is it?" you press, a note of frustration creeping in despite your best efforts. "Because it sounds like you’re about to walk away from a genuinely great opportunity for no good reason." You lean forward, resting your elbows on your desk. "Irene… I know why you want to turn this down."

Her head snaps up at that, her dark eyes finally, belatedly, meeting yours. "No," she says, her reply sharper than usual, cutting through her quiet demeanor. "You don’t know."

"I think I do," you insist, your gaze holding hers. "It’s because of what happened between us, isn’t it? That night. After the bar."

Her expression shutters again, becoming unreadable, guarded.

"Look," you continue, softening your approach, trying to sound reassuring, "if that’s what this is about… if you’re sorry it happened, or if you felt pressured, or if you’re just uncomfortable now… it’s okay. I get it. I swear, I won’t pressure you, I won’t bother you at work. We can just… go back to how things were. Professional. I respect you, Irene. Your decision, whatever it is." You’re laying your cards on the table, trying to give her an out, trying to make this easier for her, even if it twists something in your own heart.

"It’s not because of you."

Not because of you? Then what the hell is it? "Then what?" you ask, genuinely bewildered now. "What’s the reason, Irene? Because I’m not seeing it."

She sighs, a tiny, almost inaudible sound. "It’s… complicated." She pushes her chair back slightly, her hands gripping the armrests. "I should probably just… go." She starts to get up, a clear intention to flee in her movements.

"No." The word is out before you can stop it, sharper, more commanding than you intended. You’re on your feet too, moving around your desk, stopping her before she can reach the door, positioning yourself between her and her escape route.

She freezes, her eyes wide, trapped.

"Irene, wait," you start, “okay, look. I’m sorry. For… for what I did. For that night. We were both drunk, I know that. And if you’re uncomfortable now because of it, if I made you feel… pressured, or weirded you out, then I am truly sorry. That was never my intention. I just… I thought you liked me too. I guess I misinterpreted things." God, you sound like a desperate idiot.

"I do like you," she says. "I told you that. At the bar."

"Yeah, but…" you trail off, running a hand through your hair in frustration. "I thought you were just… drunk. Saying things. I didn’t think…"

"That’s the problem," she cuts in. "Liking you. That’s the problem." She finally looks up at you. "If I stay here… in this job… in the same environment as you… things will… they’ll develop." Her gaze is pleading, desperate. "And I know how it will end."

You stare at her, completely lost. "Develop? End? I… I’m confused, Irene. Is it so bad? Liking me?"

A sad, hollow little laugh escapes her, a sound that tears at something inside you. It’s devoid of any humor, filled only with a deep, weary pain. "Oh, you have no idea. It’s not about whether liking you is bad." She looks up, her dark eyes swimming with unshed tears. "It’s that I’m afraid. I’m afraid of liking you."

"But… it’s mutual, Irene," you say, stepping closer, wanting to reach out, to comfort her, but holding back, unsure. "I like you. A lot. I… I thought that was obvious. The way I act around you, the way I talk to you…"

"I know," she whispers, a single tear finally escaping, tracing a path down her cheek. She doesn’t wipe it away. "I know you do. You… you treat me so well. Better than I deserve."

"Don’t say that."

"But it’s true!" Her words gain a desperate edge. "And that’s why I’m afraid! I’m afraid you’ll… you’ll be disappointed in me. Like any other guy would be. Eventually."

"That won’t happen, Irene," you assure her, your conviction absolute, even if you don’t fully understand the depths of her fear. "Not with me."

Her gaze searches yours, desperate for reassurance, for a guarantee you can’t possibly give, not without knowing what demons she’s fighting. "How?" she breathes. "How can you be so sure?"

"You just… you have to trust me.”

She sighs then, a long, shuddering exhalation that seems to carry the weight of years. Her shoulders slump, her head lowers. "I… I have a past," she says. "A past that I’m… I’m not proud of."

"It’s okay," you say gently. "Everyone has things in their past they’re not proud of, Irene. That doesn’t define who you are now."

She shakes her head, still not looking at you. "No, this is… this is different." She takes another shaky breath. "When I was younger… much younger… I… I was a porn star." The words come out in a rushed, choked whisper, as if saying them aloud might shatter her. "For three years."

Porn star. Irene? Your quiet, meticulous, reserved Irene? Your brain struggles to reconcile the image with the woman standing before you, so vulnerable, so afraid.

"I… I almost told you," she continues, her words tumbling out now, as if a dam has broken. "That night, at my apartment… when we were in bed. When I was drunk and feeling… brave. But you were already asleep. And I just… I gave up. Maybe, I thought, maybe it was better that way. Better for you not to know."

She finally lifts her head, her eyes raw, pleading. "My last relationship… it was four years. And it ended the moment he found out about it. He didn’t just leave. He… he leaked it. To my work, to everyone I knew. As revenge. Because he felt… betrayed, I guess." Her words are choked with remembered pain. "I had to leave. My job, my apartment, everything. I was… traumatized. Completely exposed." She shudders. "That’s why I only work as a casual worker now. I’m terrified of staying in one place too long. Terrified that eventually… someone will find out. That it will all happen again."

She looks at you then, her face pale, her eyes wide with a terrible, naked fear. "So now you know… Do you… do you think I’m disgusting now? Do you think I’m a whore?"

You listen, your own expression carefully neutral, though inside, a storm of emotions is raging: shock, yes, but overwhelmingly, a deep, aching empathy for what she must have endured. Disgusting? Whore? The words feel alien, obscene when applied to the woman in front of you.

You step closer, very slowly, and gently, calmly, you reach out and take her trembling hands in yours. Her skin is cold.

"No, Irene," you say, your gaze holding hers, willing her to believe you. "No, I don't think you're disgusting. And I sure as hell don't think you're a whore." You give her hands a gentle squeeze. "I am no one to judge you. No one. And what you went through… at your old work, with your ex… Jesus, Irene, I am so incredibly sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine the trauma of feeling exposed like that, of having your life and your privacy violated so brutally."

She stares at you, her lips parted, her dark eyes wide with a dawning, incredulous surprise. It’s as if she was braced for a blow, and instead, you offered her… understanding.

"The job offer," you continue, your tone unwavering, "it still stands, Irene. Henderson wants you because you’re brilliant. I want you here because this team, this office, is better with you in it. That hasn’t changed. Nothing has changed that."

"You’re… you’re serious?"

"Deadly serious," you affirm. "The contract is yours if you want it. No questions asked, no judgments made." You pause, then take another step closer, your grip on her hands tightening just a fraction. "And more importantly, Irene…" Your words are softer now, laced with all the unspoken emotion that’s been building between you for weeks. "I still want to keep… seeing you. Dating you. Whatever this is that we’re starting." You search her eyes. "If… if you still want to, of course. After all this."

For a long, breathless moment, she just looks at you, her expression a maelstrom of shock, relief, and a fragile, burgeoning hope. Then, slowly, wordlessly, she steps forward, closing the small distance between you. Her hands leave yours, sliding up your arms, to your shoulders, and then she’s rising on her tiptoes, her face lifting to yours.

Her lips meet yours, soft, hesitant at first, then deepening with a desperate, grateful intensity. It’s not like the hungry, alcohol-fueled kisses from before. This is something else entirely. It’s a kiss of acceptance, of relief, of a future that suddenly feels possible again. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are shining, her cheeks wet, but she’s smiling. A real smile. Radiant.

"Yes," she whispers, but the words come out clear as day. "Yes to both.”

—

Two months have passed since the night Irene told you her secret. You hadn’t pressured her for details after that. You figured she’d share more when she was ready. And maybe you’re dying to know, because there’s a whole life behind those eyes you’re only just beginning to uncover, but you’ve kept quiet. The important thing is simple: Irene’s here, now, with you. Not a passing contract worker anymore, but a full-time part of the company, of your team, of your life. She’s taken root, quietly but firmly, in your space.

And the sex? If anything, it’s only gotten wilder, like with the weight of her secret off her chest, she’s finally able to let go in ways you hadn’t seen before. The shy smiles, the slow, calculated movements…still there, sure, but now layered with something hungrier, less reserved, like she’s reclaiming something with every time you push her over the edge. You love it. Love her.

Which brings you to today. Your birthday. You didn’t tell anyone at work, not even Seulgi, who usually insists on dragging your ass out for overpriced cocktails every year. No thank you. You didn’t want a party. All you wanted was your day off, the luxury of doing absolutely nothing with Irene. You arranged to meet her at 6:00 PM at your apartment, which left your afternoon free. You went for a run in the park, as you usually do, and for some reason, the day feels brighter; maybe because it’s your birthday, or maybe because you know you’ll be seeing Irene in just a few hours. The air was cool, but the city was beautiful, glinting in that late afternoon gold.

By the time you got home, you were sticky with sweat, a faint sheen from the walk making your shirt cling to your back. You opened the door expecting the familiar sprawl of your apartment (the faintly messy pile of laundry on the chair, the open laptop on the coffee table), but instead, you stopped dead.

She was standing there, barefoot on your rug, a modest little cake perched on the kitchen counter, a couple of small, wrapped boxes beside it, the faint scent of chocolate and flour in the air.

“Irene… what the fuck…” You blink, stunned, taking it in: the simple but unmistakable gesture. She’s dressed so casually it almost undoes you: black tank top, thin and loose enough that you can see the faint outline of her nipples beneath, and tiny gray cotton shorts that barely cover the tops of her thighs. Her hair’s pulled back, but messier than usual, strands framing her face. She looks so effortlessly gorgeous it pisses you off a little, how she always does this without even trying.

“You… you didn’t have to,” you say, still standing in the doorway, key half out of your hand. “Seriously.”

She shrugs, but her lips curl up, pleased. “It was a pleasure,” she says, walking toward you, her bare feet making no sound against the floor. “You deserve it.”

You exhale, feeling something tight release in your chest. She’s already so close now, tilting her head up to kiss you. You bend down automatically, catching her mouth in yours, slow and grateful. She tastes like the chocolate she must’ve sampled from the cake.

You pull back, brushing your thumb over her cheek. “I’m just gonna take a quick shower. I’m disgusting after that walk.”

She smirks, and her hand snakes out, giving your ass a firm squeeze. “But you look hot like that.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “It’ll be quick.”

She lets you go with a small, satisfied hum, and you head to the bathroom, stripping as you go. Under the hot spray, you let your muscles relax, your mind drifting. This week’s been a nightmare: training a bunch of new hires who couldn’t give a shit about what you say, their apathy bleeding into your own work, your inbox piling up, everything a fucking mess. You rinse your hair, scrubbing shampoo out, and call out loud enough for her to hear in the other room.

“I swear to god, babe, this week’s been brutal. I’ve been babysitting these useless newbies, none of them care, none of them listen—” You towel off roughly, stepping out, water still dripping down your chest. “—and I still have to keep up with all my own shit. It’s like I’m doing two jobs.”

You walk into the bedroom, still talking as you rub the towel over your head. “I should’ve just told Henderson to shove it and let them sink.”

And then you stop mid-sentence.

She’s standing there.

Naked.

Not a single stitch of clothing, just her flawless, toned petite frame, the faintest sheen of lotion on her smooth skin, her black hair loose now, falling around her shoulders. And her nipples (your breath catches) her nipples are each dabbed with a smear of dark, glossy chocolate, the scent of cocoa rich and unmistakable from where you stand.

She tilts her head, eyes glinting with wicked amusement. “Do you really want to talk about work? And by the way, I don’t think you’ll be needing clothes right now.”

You’re frozen, towel hanging loose around your hips, your cock already stirring in response to the sight of her.

She steps closer, one slow, deliberate stride at a time, her bare feet silent against the hardwood. Her fingers ghost over the edge of your towel, teasing, tugging, and with a practiced flick, she pulls it free. Your cock springs up, hard and ready, and she smiles like she expected nothing less.

“You didn’t really think cake and presents were your only gifts, did you?” she murmurs, eyes dropping to your length appreciatively.

Before you can answer, she pushes you gently but firmly backward, making you sit on the bed. You fall back onto the mattress, legs spread, leaning on your elbows, watching her climb up, her knees on either side of your thighs.

“It’s time for your second gift,” she says.

She shifts forward, and her small, perfect breasts are suddenly right there in front of you, chocolate gleaming on her tight little nipples.

You groan, sitting up and catching one of her nipples in your mouth without hesitation. You suck hard, your tongue circling the hard peak to clean away the bittersweet smear of chocolate. She lets out a soft, sharp gasp, her fingers immediately threading through your damp hair, gripping the strands, holding your head firmly in place. You take that as an invitation.

You drag your tongue over every last trace of the chocolate, lapping at her skin, feeling the delicate flesh swell and tighten even more under your attention. The taste is insane; dark, rich chocolate melting into the salty, warm taste of her skin. Once the first nipple is clean, glistening, and pink from the friction of your tongue, you move to the other. This time you start with your teeth, grazing them ever so gently over the hardened bud.

She shivers violently, a full-body tremor, her hips giving a small, involuntary buck against the mattress. "Fuck… yes…" she pants. "Right there… don't stop."

"You like that?" you murmur against her breast, your hot breath making her shiver again. "Like it when I bite?"

"I… fuck, yes," she admits, her hands tightening their grip in your hair, almost pulling. "Bite it harder."

You do, clamping your teeth down just enough to make her gasp again, a sharp, pained-pleasured sound that makes your cock throb. Then you soothe the faint mark with your tongue, lapping at her, sucking her deep into your mouth until her moans become a steady, breathless rhythm.

"Fuck," you breathe, finally pulling back to look at her, your lips wet and dark with chocolate. "You taste so fucking good."

She smirks. "I know," she purrs. "I was hoping you'd think so." She leans forward, her clean, hard nipples brushing against your lips. "They're all yours tonight, supervisor. A birthday present. You can do whatever you want to them."

"Anything?" you ask.

"Anything," she confirms, her eyes glinting. "Suck them, bite them, cover them in your cum… Just make them feel good. Make them feel used."

That's all the permission you need. You dive back in, taking her left nipple into your mouth again, but this time your assault is rougher, needier. You suck hard, creating a powerful suction, pulling at the flesh, your tongue a relentless engine against the peak. She cries out, a raw, open-mouthed sound, her body instinctively pressing closer against yours.

"God, you're so fucking sensitive," you mutter against her skin, loving the way her body reacts to your every touch. "I love how your nipples get so hard for me, how they just stand at attention, begging for my mouth."

"They are," she gasps, her hips starting to writhe. "They've been aching for you… for weeks… every time you look at me in the office…"

You pull away from her breast just enough to trail a line of wet, open-mouthed kisses up her chest, over her collarbone, until you reach her mouth. You capture her lips in a deep, filthy kiss. Your tongue, slick with her taste and melted chocolate, plunges past her teeth, and she meets it eagerly, her own tongue wrestling with yours. You let her taste herself on you, the sweetness of the chocolate mingling with the salt of her skin.

When you finally break the kiss, you're both panting, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. "See?" you breathe. "I told you you taste good."

Irene licks her swollen lips, a dazed, utterly debauched look in her eyes. "Fuck," she whispers. "You're right." Her gaze drops from your eyes to your mouth, then back up again. "You know what else tastes good?” she asks, cupping the back of your head and guiding you down, down until your shoulders hit the mattress again. Then she moves, her thighs sliding up, one smooth motion as she positions herself right over your face, her pussy bare and slick, already dripping for you.

You barely manage a breath before she lowers herself onto you, her inner thighs framing your face, her weight pressing you down in the best possible way.

“This will be more delicious than the cake,” you say, voice muffled against her.

Irene smiles down at you lazily, like a queen about to settle onto her throne. Her hands find the headboard above your head, bracing herself, and then, finally, she lowers herself onto your mouth, her warmth enveloping you, her thighs tightening around the sides of your head.

The first contact is enough to make your cock twitch against your stomach. You slide your hands up the backs of her thighs, fingertips tracing the toned, soft muscle there, and then up further to her ass, gripping it firmly as you pull her closer, burying your face in her cunt. She’s soaked already, the slickness smearing across your lips and chin as you flatten your tongue and drag it slowly from the very base of her slit all the way up to her clit, savoring every second.

She lets out a sharp gasp, her hips twitching forward instinctively.

“Shit…” she breathes, looking down at you, her expression already beginning to shift from teasing control to raw need.

But for now, she’s still in charge. She rocks her hips forward just a little, her pussy sliding wetly over your mouth and nose, smearing you with her arousal. You keep your tongue out, letting her use your face however she wants, just occasionally giving her little flicks against her clit to remind her how eager you are.

“You love this, don’t you?” she says, her tone soft but with that dangerous little edge that always drives you crazy. Her fingers tangle in your damp hair, holding your head still as she starts to move her hips in slow, deliberate circles against your mouth. “Love being under me… letting me use you…”

You can’t answer (she’s not giving you space to) but your moan is deep and guttural, vibrating against her slick folds as you slide your tongue back up to her clit and start circling it in slow, agonizingly steady motions.

“Mmm, fuck…” she exhales, head falling back slightly, her chest rising and falling with quickening breaths.

She’s setting the pace. You know better than to rush her. Your hands stay planted firmly on her ass, kneading the flesh as she rides your face, her hips rolling smoothly, confidently. The heat of her grows with every pass of her pussy over your tongue, her slick spreading across your cheeks and chin, and every time you flick the tip of your tongue against her clit just a little harder, she gasps and rocks her hips more forcefully.

“You always… eat me so fucking good…” she mutters, her voice breaking into a breathy moan as you latch your lips around her clit and start sucking gently, your tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bud.

Her thighs tense around your head, the muscles flexing beautifully as she grinds down harder, chasing more friction. The more you give, the more she takes, rolling her hips with more intensity, dragging her soaked slit all over your face, smearing herself on you like she owns you (and she does).

Right now, she does.

“Don’t stop,” she hisses through gritted teeth, her fingers gripping your hair tighter, anchoring herself as she starts to lose some of that controlled rhythm, her movements becoming more desperate, more erratic.

You moan into her, the sound vibrating directly against her clit, and she cries out, a sharp, needy sound that makes your cock throb with how much you want her. But this is her moment. You flatten your tongue again, letting her grind against it, letting her slide herself up and down at her own pace, her pussy getting wetter, creamier, with every second.

“Fuck… fuck, you’re making me so wet…” she gasps, looking down at you, her dark hair sticking to her temples now as her body starts to glisten with sweat.

She lifts herself slightly, just to reposition, then slams her hips down against your mouth again, harder this time, her pussy mashing against your tongue and nose. You slide one hand from her ass to her lower back, steadying her, encouraging her to keep going, to use you just like this.

You can feel the shift now. The subtle change in her moans, from teasing and playful to raw, involuntary noises she can’t hold back. Her thighs begin to shake slightly on either side of your head as she rides your face, her slick coating your lips and chin, the taste of her getting thicker, sweeter, more intoxicating.

“I’m so fucking close…” she whimpers, her voice cracking with how hard she’s working herself against your mouth.

You respond by tightening your grip on her ass, pulling her down harder, guiding her against your tongue as you focus all your energy on relentless, steady strokes against her clit. She gasps, her whole body shuddering above you, her head dropping forward so her hair hangs in her face.

“God… yes… just like that… don’t you fucking dare stop…” she growls, grinding her pussy against your face with wild, desperate circles now, her control all but gone.

The wet sounds of her pussy dragging over your lips fill the room, slick and obscene, her arousal practically dripping onto your chest now as she rides you, using your face like her own personal toy. You keep your tongue out, letting her smear herself all over you, letting her control everything, loving how small but powerful she is, how easily she can overwhelm you with just her hips and her need.

“Shit… shit…” she pants, her thighs clamping tighter around your head, her fingers gripping the headboard so hard her knuckles go white.

You feel it, the way her pussy clenches, her body going rigid above you as she slams her hips down one final time and cries out, a long, shuddering moan that echoes off the walls. Her whole body quakes as she cums, her pussy gushing over your mouth, slick and creamy, her arousal spilling down your chin and onto your chest as she grinds out every last wave of her orgasm against your face.

You don’t stop. You keep your tongue moving gently, lapping up everything she gives you, licking around her swollen clit and savoring the taste of her cum as she rides out the aftershocks.

Finally, after what feels like forever, she collapses forward, her body draping over yours, her chest heaving, her skin flushed and slick with sweat. Her thighs tremble as she slowly lifts herself off your face, and you look up at her, lips and chin gleaming with her wetness, your eyes glazed with pure, feral hunger.

She smiles weakly, her breathing still ragged. “Happy birthday…” she whispers, voice hoarse but full of smug satisfaction.

You grin, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Best fucking birthday ever.”

She laughs softly, leaning down to kiss you, tasting herself on your lips, her tongue slipping into your mouth with a slow, deliberate slide.

And then she pulls back, biting your lower lip gently, her eyes still dark with want.

“But we’re not done,” she says as her hand trails down your chest and wraps around your cock, already throbbing and slick with precum. “That was just your first gift…”

You groan, tilting your head back, already ready for whatever she has planned next as she shifts her weight and starts to slide down your body.

You laugh breathlessly, wiping the last traces of her slick from your chin with the back of your hand, still riding that high from having her grind out her orgasm on your face. “Jesus,” you exhale, your chest heaving. “That’s already the best fucking birthday I’ve had in years.”

She chuckles, low and throaty, still catching her breath. Then she leans in, presses a lazy kiss to the corner of your mouth, and whispers, “You haven’t even seen the best part yet.”

That pulls a grin out of you immediately. You squeeze her ass, your fingers digging into the soft but firm flesh, pulling her closer as you smirk. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

She pulls back just far enough to give you that look: mischievous, calculated, playful. Her lips tilt up in a smirk, then she bites the inside of her cheek and says, almost sing-song, “Wait here.”

Then she’s sliding off you, her bare feet hitting the floor with that soft, soundless grace that only she seems to have. You watch her as she pads out of the room, completely naked, that tight little body moving with unhurried confidence, her hips swaying just enough to make your already rock-hard cock give another desperate throb.

From the bedroom, you hear the faint sound of a zipper, metal teeth rasping open. A pause. Then some soft rustling. Your heart picks up, your curiosity burning, trying to piece together what the hell she’s planning. And then, her footsteps again, crossing the hall, getting closer.

She comes back into the room, eyes glinting, and tosses something at you. You catch it on instinct.

It’s a small bottle.

You turn it over in your hand, read the label.

Lube.

Your brows shoot up and you look at her, grinning in disbelief. “What the hell do you plan on doing with this?”

She climbs back onto the bed, crawling up slowly, deliberately, like a predator stalking prey, her eyes locked on yours, her knees spreading on either side of your hips until she’s hovering right above you.

“You’re the one who’s gonna do it.”

You blink, your brain still processing, the words sticking in your throat for a second. “Wait… what?”

She leans down, her lips grazing yours as she whispers, “Because it’s your birthday…” she kisses you, slow and soft, then pulls back, “…and because you’re such a great supervisor…” another kiss, deeper this time, “…you get the privilege of fucking my ass today.”

Your whole body tightens instantly, your cock jerking so hard it practically aches. You stare at her, eyes wide, like she’s just handed you the keys to some secret vault you didn’t even know existed. “Are you… are you serious?”

She sits back on her heels, all casual, like she didn’t just offer you the dirtiest birthday present imaginable. “Of course I’m serious.”

Then she reaches behind her, drags her fingers slowly down the curve of her own ass, giving one cheek a light slap, making it jiggle just enough to send your pulse into overdrive.

“It’s been a long time since I took it in the ass…” she says, almost absentmindedly, her voice that same casual, almost shy tone she uses when discussing quarterly reports, like this is just another item on her to-do list. Then she looks right at you, her eyes dark and steady, “…and I kind of love anal.”

Your jaw slackens a bit, your mind racing with images, with questions, with raw, hungry need.

She grins at your reaction, shrugging one bare shoulder. “Makes sense, right?” she adds, almost teasing. “Former porn star. Guessing I’ve done it… more times than I can count. It's part of the job.” Then her voice drops just a little more, breathier, more vulnerable. “But… it’s been years since I’ve had a real dick back there. Just… toys. Dildos.”

Your cock twitches violently at that, thick and hard, standing straight up against your stomach. You groan, dragging your palm slowly along your length, almost needing to ground yourself with the sensation. “Fuck, Irene…” you mutter, shaking your head. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

“But you like it… don’t you?”

“Like?” you laugh quietly, breathless. “This is… this is the best fucking gift.”

She smiles, pleased with herself, then crawls forward a little more, turns, and gets onto all fours right in front of you. That perfect little ass of hers tilted up, back arched so her cheeks spread just slightly, giving you the clearest possible view of her tight, pink little asshole. Your throat goes dry.

She glances back over her shoulder at you, smirking. “Well… supervisor… you gonna get started?”

Your heart is hammering out of your chest. “Damn right.”

You pop open the bottle of lube, the faint plastic crack of the cap clicking free, and squeeze out a generous amount into your palm. It’s cool and slick, coating your fingers easily as you rub them together, warming it up a little.

Without wasting any more time, you slide closer to her, one hand gripping her hip, the other bringing the lube to her ass. You let the first cold drop fall right onto her tight little hole, watching as she shivers at the sudden temperature shock.

“Ohhh… fuck,” she breathes out, her back arching deeper as her hands grip the sheets.

You smear the lube over her asshole with slow, steady circles, massaging it in, spreading it across the perfect crease of her ass, making sure it’s slick and glistening all over. Her cheeks are shining now, slippery under your fingers, and that tight little star is all slicked up, glistening and ready.

The more you work the lube in, the more she relaxes, her breaths coming deeper, slower.

“You’re loving this,” you murmur, running your thumb gently along the rim of her hole, teasing her.

She looks back at you, biting her lower lip, her eyes half-lidded with arousal. “You have no idea…”

You apply a little more pressure with your thumb, testing her, and she pushes back slightly, welcoming it, her body already opening up for you.

“Mmm… that’s it,” you say under your breath, gripping one cheek and spreading her wider, admiring the way her asshole puckers and flexes, slick and inviting.

The contrast between the shy, composed Irene everyone knows at the office, and the filthy, unashamed woman kneeling naked in front of you now, offering you her ass like it’s the most natural thing in the world… it’s fucking intoxicating. You love this about her. That duality. That quiet power.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the small of her back, your hand still massaging circles around her entrance, feeling her pulse there, steady and hot. She shivers again, but it’s not from the cold now; it’s pure anticipation.

“You sure about this?” you ask.

She laughs, breathless. “Don’t make me beg…”

You grin, sliding your lubed fingers lower, brushing her slick pussy briefly, just enough to make her moan softly, before bringing your hand back up to her ass. You add a little more lube to your fingers, making sure it’s dripping, then slowly, carefully, you press the tip of your index finger against her tight, pink hole.

Her breath hitches. Her whole body tenses as you apply steady pressure. The tiny muscle fights you for a second, a stubborn little ring, before it finally gives way with a soft squelch. You slide your finger in, just to the first knuckle. She groans, a low, guttural sound that’s half pain, half pure bliss.

"Fuck…" she breathes out, her hips twitching. "Okay… okay, that’s… mmm."

You wait, letting her adjust to the feeling of being filled, your finger still and warm inside her. Then, you start to move it, a slow, gentle circling motion. Her asshole clenches around you, tight and hot.

"Easy, baby," you murmur. "Just relax for me. Let me open you up."

She exhales, a long, shuddering breath, and you feel her body soften, her tight muscle relaxing just a fraction around your finger. You push in a little deeper, hooking your finger slightly, massaging her from the inside.

"Oh, god… that feels…" she trails off. She pushes back against your hand, wanting more. You continue the slow, steady rhythm, and she lets out a soft, contented sigh. "It's… it's so nice," she whispers. "To be able to do this again."

You keep moving your finger, feeling her pulse against the tip. "Do what, baby? Take a finger up your ass?" you tease gently.

She lets out a wet little laugh. "That too. But… just this. All of it. The sex… being filthy…" Her voice drops, becoming more serious. "But feeling… safe. Feeling protected while I do it. Knowing you’re not going to… hurt me at the end. Or judge me." Her hips rock back, pressing her ass more firmly onto your hand. "God, I’m so happy you didn’t give up on me. That you insisted on staying."

You slide your finger out slowly, coat it with more lube, then add a second finger to the first. You press them both against her entrance. She gasps as you work them in together, stretching her, filling her more completely.

"I would never lose a woman like you, Irene," you say. "You're the most beautiful, intelligent, fucking amazing woman I've ever met. Past, present, all of it. You're perfect."

She shudders as your fingers begin to move inside her again, a slow scissoring motion that makes her moan, a high, keening sound this time. She looks back over her shoulder, her face flushed, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"Fuck… that’s…" she bites her lip, a shy blush creeping up her neck despite the raw vulgarity of the situation. "That’s… really nice of you to say, but… maybe we can leave the love talk for later?" she gasps out between moans. "Talking about these things while you have your fingers in my ass isn't exactly… the best time."

You bark out a laugh, the tension breaking. "You're right. My bad." You lean in and bite her ass cheek playfully. "Sorry for trying to be romantic while I finger-fuck you."

"It's okay, baby," she giggles, her whole body relaxing into your touch now. "Just… focus on the finger-fucking part for now."

"Whatever you want, boss," you say, grinning. You add a third finger, and she cries out, her ass clenching hard around you, starting a slow, relentless rhythm, pumping in and out of her tight little hole. The lube makes a wet, slapping sound with every thrust of your hand, a filthy soundtrack to her ragged moans. Her ass cheeks are spread wide, giving you a perfect, obscene view of her pink, stretched muscle gripping your fingers. You watch, fascinated, as she completely melts under your touch, her body surrendering to the pleasure.

"Fuck, Irene… look at you," you growl. You rotate your fingers inside her, feeling her stretch wider around them. She cries out, a sharp, high-pitched sound. "You're taking my whole hand like a champ. Just imagine how good this is gonna feel when it's my thick cock stretching you out instead."

"Mmmm… don't… don't stop," she pleads, her words broken by gasps as she pushes her ass back onto your violating fingers, meeting the pressure.

"Oh, I'm not stopping," you promise, your pace quickening slightly. You lean down, your lips brushing against her ear. "I think I'm gonna get addicted to this. To your perfect ass. I'm going to want to fuck it every single day." You thrust your fingers deeper, imitating a hard fuck. "How's that sound, baby? Waking up every morning with my cock already buried deep inside your ass, filling you up before you've even had your coffee."

Her response is a raw, guttural moan that vibrates through her entire body. Her hips begin to grind against your hand in wild, needy circles. "Yes… fuck… keep talking," she pants. "Tell me more… tell me what you're gonna do to my ass…"

You glance down between her thighs and your own cock gives a hard throb. A glistening, clear trail of her arousal is dripping from her soaking wet pussy, running down the inside of her thigh and pooling on the sheets. She's not even touching herself, but the thought of you fucking her ass is making her cunt gush.

"Look at that," you murmur, your free hand reaching down to trace the slick path of her juices. "You're so fucking wet for this, aren't you? So horny just thinking about my cock in your ass that your pussy is weeping for it." You dip your thumb into her slickness and bring it back up to her asshole, smearing her own cunt juice around the rim of her hole, mixing it with the lube. "Let's make it even messier."

"Please…" she whimpers, completely gone. "Please, just… fuck me… I need it…"

You pull your fingers out of her with a loud, wet sound. Her asshole, stretched and glistening, puckers greedily, empty for only a second. You can see how ready she is, how open you've made her.

You draw your hand back.

The sound of your palm connecting with her ass cheek is sharp and loud, echoing in the quiet room. A perfect, red handprint blossoms on her pale skin. She yelps, a shocked, ecstatic sound, her whole body jolting. She looks back at you over her shoulder, her eyes wide, dazed, and full of pure, unadulterated need. Her chest is heaving, her lips are parted, and her ass is red, abused, and beautifully, perfectly ready for you.

The lube glistens like syrup under the low light, a sheen coating the delicate wrinkle of her pink asshole, smeared slick between the cleft of her cheeks and dripping slowly toward the tight seal of her pussy. She keeps herself open for you, kneeling deep into the mattress, arms stretched forward, arching her back like a fucking exhibit. She’s panting, her head down, black hair spilled over her shoulder blades in wild, careless strands.

You trace the tip of your cock along the seam of her hole, barely nudging the outer ring, and she makes a noise: sharp, needy, almost angry.

“Don’t tease me,” Irene growls, hips pushing back against you, practically punching your cock with the weight of her ass. “Put it in. Now.”

You obey. You press forward slowly, resisting the urge to just bury yourself to the hilt and fuck like an animal. Her hole yields just a little, then grips you, impossibly snug, sucking you in with a hot, slick resistance that makes your whole body twitch.

“Oh fuck,” you mutter under your breath, biting down on a curse as the ring of muscle clamps around your head, slow and greedy, dragging every millimeter into her. “Jesus, you’re… tight.”

“I know,” she smirks into the pillow, biting down on her bottom lip as she breathes through the stretch. Her tone is breathless but taunting. “I haven’t been used in a while. Not properly. Not like this.”

You ease in another inch. Then another. Her asshole flutters and clamps, adjusting around your girth like it’s testing you.

“That’s it,” Irene whispers, then harder: “Keep going. All the way. Don’t you dare stop until your balls are fucking pressed against me.”

You grit your teeth, rocking your hips gently forward, both hands gripping her sides to keep steady. Inch by inch you sink into her, the resistance melting into slick pressure. She moans, a raw, throaty sound full of pain twisted with hunger. Her whole body shudders as the last inch disappears into her heat.

When your pelvis finally nestles flush against the swell of her ass, your balls brushing her dripping cunt, she exhales hard; like she’s just been filled with something holy.

“Goddamn,” you breathe, locked inside her, unmoving for a second, overwhelmed by the feel of it. “You’re gonna break me.”

“No,” she says, lifting her head just enough to look back at you. “You’re gonna break me. Keep moving, or I’ll sit on your face until you pass out.”

You pull back slow, dragging yourself out until just the thick head is left buried inside, then push back in with a slow, deliberate thrust that makes her whine low in her throat.

“That’s it,” Irene murmurs. “Nice and deep. I want to feel every inch. I want to feel it in my fucking stomach.”

You start to move, slow and steady, your cock plunging deep into the hot grip of her ass and pulling out again, over and over, building a rhythm. Her moans rise in pitch, sharp and cut with whimpers, but her ass keeps pushing back onto you, meeting every thrust with a greedy snap of her hips.

“Faster,” she snarls. “Don’t be gentle. I don’t want gentle.”

You pound into her harder, the slap of your skin against her ass echoing in the room, obscene and constant. Her back arches deeper, the curve of her spine a perfect invitation, and you drive in deeper still, your hands spreading her cheeks to watch your cock disappear again and again into that slick, stretched hole.

“Fuck yes,” she gasps. “That’s it. That’s your hole. Say it.”

Your brain is on fire, body wound tight, but you nod, fucking her faster, harder. “My hole. All mine. Fuck—so good, Irene.”

“Tell me what I am,” she spits, grinding her ass against you mid-thrust. “Tell me what you’re fucking.”

You groan, barely coherent. “My whore. My nympho slut. My fucking anal-obsessed goddess.”

“That’s right,” she laughs, low and mean, pleasure twisting her words. “I’m your filthy bitch. Keep filling me. I want you so deep I can’t walk tomorrow.”

You grip her hips and slam into her, cock buried to the base every time, her ass stretched wide around you. Her pussy is a mess now, slick and twitching, untouched and throbbing with every shockwave of your rhythm.

“Harder,” she snarls. “I want to feel your cock rearranging my guts.”

"Alright, ma'am," you growl.

You give her exactly what she's begging for. Your hips become pistons, slamming into her with a brutal, relentless force. All your strength is channeled into your cock, driving it into her ass again and again, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The wet, slapping sound of your bodies colliding echoes in the room, obscene and glorious. You grip her hips so hard you know you'll leave bruises, using them as handles to anchor her as you pound into her without mercy.

Her moans shatter, turning into raw, animal cries of pain and ecstasy. She pushes back against you with every brutal thrust, her body a taut bow of pure sensation. You watch your cock disappear into her tight, glistening hole, the muscles of her ass clenching desperately around you. Her untouched pussy is a mess below, dripping her slick onto the bed with every jarring impact. She's so fucking hot, so insatiable.

"Tell me again what a filthy whore I am!" she snarls, voice cracking. "Tell me how much you love fucking my tight ass!"

"You're my perfect little anal slut," you pant, the words ripped from your throat as you continue your assault. "You take this cock so fucking good. Your ass was made for this. Made to be stretched, used, and filled by me."

"It was," she sobs, the words half-lost in a scream of pleasure. "It's yours! My ass is your fucking property! Now wreck it! Wreck me!"

Her body starts to tremble, fine tremors at first that grow into violent, uncontrollable shudders. Her asshole, which was already impossibly tight, clenches down on your cock like a vise, spasming, milking you with an intensity that almost makes you lose control. She's close. So fucking close.

"That's it, baby," you groan, feeling her body start to come apart around you. "You feel that? You're going to cum for me. You're going to cum all over my cock from your ass."

"I am… fuck… I'm… oh god…"

Her head whips back, a choked, guttural scream tearing from her lips as her orgasm hits her like a lightning strike. Her entire body locks up, her back arching so high her knees lift off the bed. Her asshole spasms violently around your shaft, a series of deep, rhythmic pulses that feel like she's trying to suck your cock clean out of your body. She’s coming, harder than you’ve ever seen anyone come, purely from the brutal, relentless fucking you’re giving her ass.

"FUUUUCK!" she screams as she shatters. Her body convulses around you, wave after wave of pleasure ripping through her. She's sobbing, drool trailing from the corner of her open mouth, completely lost in the overwhelming sensation. You don't stop, slamming into her through it, dragging her along the edge of that climax until she’s twitching, sobbing, her thighs soaked, everything between her legs shaking from overstimulation. Her asshole clenches over and over, like it’s trying to keep your cock inside her permanently. The sound of your name on her lips turns into a whimper, a plea.

And then she collapses.

She goes limp under you, body gone soft, her face buried into the mattress, hair plastered to her neck with sweat. You slow just enough not to hurt her more, but you're still buried in her, and she’s still trembling like something in her got snapped and rearranged.

You reach down, cup one hot, twitching cheek in your palm, fingers sinking into the softness, then you slap her ass. She jerks violently, crying out again, a fresh gush of wetness from her untouched cunt.

Irene’s panting like a dog, but she lifts her head slowly, pushing herself up on shaky elbows. Her asshole is raw and red, clenching around nothing now that you’ve pulled out, and your cock stands slick and flushed, aching to go again.

You run a hand down her back, smearing sweat, and watch her shiver under your touch, still catching her breath. She looks over her shoulder, eyes dark and dazed, lips parted.

“What now?” she asks, still high on it, a smirk tugging at the edge of her fucked-out expression.

You crawl over the mattress, slow and deliberate, the mattress dipping under your weight until you’re hovering above her. You reach out, brush her damp hair away from her cheek, and tilt her face toward you. Her eyes meet yours; you lean in and kiss her.

It’s not rushed. Not forceful. Just the soft press of your lips on hers, a quiet connection that feels startlingly out of place after how violently you’d just been inside her. But it fits. Her lips part easily, kissing you back, slow and sweet, her moan caught between you like breath being passed from one lung to another.

When you pull back, your thumb stroking gently over her cheekbone, you speak low and close.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

She blinks once, then laughs; a little stunned, a little disbelieving, the sound raspy and full of heat. She shifts onto her side, hair falling in her face, her lips tugged up into a crooked grin. “Jesus,” she murmurs. “That’s a hell of a romantic thing to say after you fucked my ass like it owed you rent.”

You laugh too, forehead pressed to hers, eyes shut for a second. “I mean it.”

“Yeah?” she whispers, her palm sliding up your chest, nails dragging faintly across skin. “You always get all poetic when I let you wreck my holes?”

“I’m discovering new talents,” you say, and kiss her again, deeper this time, longer, your tongue meeting hers slow and deliberate, savoring her like she’s the only thing that’s ever mattered. Her fingers find your hair, tangling in it, keeping you there until she finally pulls back, panting softly, her lips swollen and wet.

You straighten, letting your hand glide down her bare side, palm trailing over the curve of her hip. “Come on,” you murmur, fingers nudging at her.

She doesn’t move.

Instead, she stretches lazily, catlike, then rolls onto her back, arms above her head, bare chest rising and falling. “Make me,” she says, grinning like a brat, teeth flashing beneath the curtain of black hair stuck to her cheek. “If you want me up so bad, you better earn it.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Oh, you’re in that mood again?” you mutter, and before she can blink, you lunge, grabbing her under the thighs, flipping her off the bed in one fluid motion. She shrieks, half-laughing, half-startled as your arms lock around her, her bare ass landing square in your hands.

“Hey!” she gasps, but she’s laughing, eyes bright. “Assault!”

“You asked for it,” you growl against her throat, kissing her hard, biting the skin there just enough to make her squirm.

Still holding her up, you reposition your grip—one hand under her ass, the other around her back. Her legs wrap around your waist like it’s instinct. She clings to your shoulders, breath hitching as your cock brushes against her inner thigh, then her slick, drenched cunt.

You drag the tip along her folds, once, twice.

She gasps. “Fuck, fuck, I’m—” she starts, but your head nudges inside, the slickness between her legs so intense it practically sucks you in.

“Sensitive,” she finishes, her whole body jolting.

You groan as you push deeper, her pussy hot and swollen and soaked from everything that came before. She’s not just wet—she’s drenched, her folds clinging to your cock like velvet, the entrance spasming as you ease in inch by slow inch. Her breath stutters out of her mouth in broken moans, arms tightening around your neck, her nails biting into your skin.

“Irene—fuck—you’re soaking,” you hiss, your lips brushing her ear.

“I know,” she moans, her words thick with need. “It’s from before…I came so hard… ahh, god, don’t stop, don’t—”

You don’t.

You fuck her slowly in the air, each thrust smooth and deep, her weight light in your arms but heavy on your cock. Her pussy clenches with every movement, already overstimulated and begging for more. Her head falls back, exposing the line of her throat, mouth open in helpless pleasure as you move inside her.

Her moans get louder, warmer, wetter, her body rocking with every motion, the slap of skin against skin muted by the softness of her thighs wrapped tight around you.

“You like that?” you whisper, kissing her collarbone, trailing your tongue between the swell of her breasts. “You like getting fucked right after I ruined your ass?”

She nods frantically, face flushed, lips parted. “Y-yes, I—fuck, yes, I need this, don’t stop, I’m so close already.”

You kiss her, swallowing her cries, letting her whimper into your mouth as you keep thrusting up into her, slow and deep, filling her again and again until her cunt spasms, her whole body clinging to yours like she’s afraid to fall. Her moans melt into kisses, breathy, broken, desperate, like she’s trying to stay anchored through her own bliss.

And you just keep holding her, hips rolling, fucking her deeper… slower… not letting her come down yet.

Your arms are burning with the effort, but you don't care. The feeling of her wrapped around you, your cock buried deep inside her slick, hot cunt, is worth everything. Her body is a dead weight of pure pleasure, clinging to you, her head thrown back as you continue the slow, relentless rhythm. Each thrust is deliberate, deep, a lazy roll of your hips that slides you all the way in until your pelvis presses against her, then draws you almost all the way out before sinking back down.

She whimpers into your mouth every time you pull back, a desperate, needy sound. "Please..." she breathes against your lips, her own hips trying to buck, to rush the pace, to find the friction she so clearly craves.

"Shhh," you murmur, capturing her mouth in another long, slow kiss. "Just feel this, baby. Let me love you." You fuck her with an infuriating gentleness, your movements tender, almost reverent. It's the exact opposite of what her body is screaming for, and you both know it.

That’s the fucking point.

"You're... torturing me," she pants, her nails digging into the muscles of your shoulders. Her pussy is so wet it's practically frictionless, dripping down onto your thighs, but it clenches around your cock with a desperate, pulsing grip.

"Am I?" you whisper, your lips tracing a path down her throat to her collarbone. You continue the slow, deep strokes, ignoring her plea. "I'm just loving you, Irene. Showing you how much you mean to me. How perfect you feel." You thrust upwards, slowly, filling her completely, and hold yourself there for a moment, letting her feel every thick inch. She moans, a long, frustrated wail.

"No... please... I need it harder," she begs, voice cracking. She starts to writhe in your arms, trying to grind her hips against you, to create her own rhythm. "Fuck me... please, just fuck me properly."

You chuckle softly against her skin, a low, dark sound. "But I like this," you say, resuming the agonizingly slow pace. "I like feeling you squeeze me. I like hearing you beg." You kiss her again, a deep, possessive kiss that smothers her protests. You can feel the frantic, thrumming energy building in her, the pleasure coiling into a tight, unbearable knot of pure need.

Her body is trembling now, her skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat. "You're an asshole," she gasps, her voice a mix of fury and arousal. "You know what I want... you know what I need, and you're just... playing with me."

"I am," you agree easily, your hips still rolling in that same, maddeningly slow rhythm. "And you love it. Look at you. You're soaked. Shaking. Completely coming apart just from me being inside you."

"Then make me come!" she cries out, her control finally snapping. "For fuck's sake, stop making love to me and just FUCK ME! Fuck me hard! Use me like I'm a toy, like I'm just a fucking fleshlight you own! I need it! Please, I need you to ruin me!”

You kiss her neck gently, your lips brushing her skin in a gesture of pure affection that completely contradicts the filthy words she just screamed.

"A fleshlight?" you murmur against her ear, your voice a soft, teasing caress. "Is that all you think you are to me, Irene? Just a set of holes to use?" You slide almost all the way out of her, making her gasp and instinctively clench her pussy around the thick head of your cock, trying to keep you inside. Then you push back in, slowly, deeply, until you bottom out against her cervix. "That doesn't sound very romantic."

"I don't want romantic right now!" she cries. Her body writhes in your arms. "I want to be used! I'm just a cunt for you! A tight, wet hole for your big dick! Please, I'm begging you, just pound me! Pound my cunt until I'm stupid! Forget my name! Forget everything but how good it feels to fuck me!"

"Are you sure?" you ask, your voice still infuriatingly calm and gentle. You continue the slow, deep fucking, each stroke a deliberate act of torture. "Because I love making love to you, Irene. I love holding you like this. Feeling your heart beat against mine."

"Fuck my heart!" she sobs. "Fuck my heart and fuck my brain! Just fuck my pussy! Please! I'll do anything! I'll be your good little whore, I promise! Just stop teasing me! I can't take it anymore! I'm going to come just from this, and I'll fucking hate you for it!"

You stop moving.

For one torturous second, you are completely still inside her. She whimpers, her body frozen in anticipation. "Alright," you growl. "If you're going to beg for it like a good little whore, then I guess I have to give you what you want."

"Yes..." she breathes.

Your grip tightens, fingers digging into the meat of her ass as you slam her down onto your cock harder, rougher, the sound of her soaked cunt getting louder, wetter. The wet smack of flesh on flesh fills the room, and she yelps, then laughs through it, her eyes wild, her smile twisted with too much pleasure.

“God, yes—fuck me, use me—don’t stop—don’t you dare—”

You do exactly what she demands.

You use her.

You fuck her like she’s a doll made just to take cock, just to squeeze and stretch and be filled until her mind breaks and drips out of her pussy. You slam into her over and over, brutal rhythm, zero mercy. Her nails are digging into your shoulders, her forehead pressed to yours, moaning every breath into your mouth as her body takes the full force of your thrusts.

“Fucking hell,” you growl, gritting your teeth as her pussy tightens and pulses around your cock, “you’re taking it like a fucking slut, Irene.”

“I am,” she pants, the words shuddering out of her, “I’m your fucking slut—I’m your toy—make me fucking cum, I want it, I want it, please!”

You feel the change before you see it. The muscles inside her pussy, already clenched tight around you, suddenly begin to flutter, then seize, locking down on your shaft like a superheated vise. Her eyes, which were squeezed shut, fly open wide, not with pleasure, but with pure, unadulterated shock.

"Oh... oh my god... I'm..."

A sharp, strangled cry rips out of her as the first gush erupts from her cunt. It’s not just wetness; it's a hot, violent spray that shoots out, soaking your stomach and thighs, splashing on the floor below you. It’s a shocking, uncontrollable release, and her entire body locks up, trembling in your arms as she comes so hard she can’t breathe, can’t think.

You don't stop. You don't even slow down.

The sight, the sound, the feeling of her completely letting go like this makes you lose control. You keep slamming into her, your cock driving through the gushing fluid, making it splash and spray with every thrust. The fucking is louder now, wetter, a constant, obscene slapping sound. Another powerful torrent shoots from her, then another, seemingly endless. Her pussy is a broken faucet, gushing warm, clear fluid that runs in rivers down your legs, pooling on the floor.

"Aaahhh—fuck—it's still coming!" she screams. "I can't stop it—what's happening?! Fuck, fuck, don't you dare stop!"

Her legs, locked around your waist, are trembling so violently she can barely hold on. Her entire body jerks with every stroke, completely helpless in your grip. You fuck her through the flood, your own vision blurring, your body on fire. You watch her face, see her mind completely erased by pleasure, her eyes rolled back, her mouth wide open in a silent, unending scream.

You only slow when the last pulses drain from her, the violent gushes finally slowing to a warm, steady trickle down her thighs. Her limbs go limp, her body slumping against you, completely boneless and spent. She collapses against your chest, shivering and dazed, her entire body buzzing in the aftermath.

With a groan, you stumble back with her still in your arms and half-fall, half-sit on the edge of the bed. She’s still on your lap, your cock buried deep inside her wrecked, dripping pussy. Her arms curl weakly around your neck and she buries her face in the crook of your shoulder, her breath coming in shallow, trembling gasps.

You hold her tight, your own heart hammering against your ribs. Your hands slide slowly up and down her back, a soothing, grounding motion. You kiss her hair, her temple, the shell of her ear, whispering her name over and over.

Finally, you tilt her chin up to kiss her. Her lips are soft, wet, and slow to respond, her body still floating, completely fucked-out. She moans weakly into your mouth, a sound of pure, exhausted bliss.

When she pulls back, her eyes are barely open, her long lashes wet with tears and sweat.

"Mmm," she sighs, nuzzling her cheek against yours. Her gaze drifts down, looking at the mess. Your bodies are gleaming, the floor is soaked, and the air is thick with the clean, musky scent of her release. "Your cock is magic," she whispers. "That was… Jesus Christ. I don't even squirt. Like, ever. I think I've maybe done it once in my entire life, and it was nothing… nothing like that."

You chuckle, your forehead pressing against hers. "Well, I guess your pussy just really, really likes me."

"I guess so," she murmurs, a lazy, dazed smile spreading across her face. "Or maybe you just finally fucked me hard enough to break me.” Then her hand slips between the two of you, down to your lap. Her fingers wrap around your shaft, still rock hard, still throbbing inside her. “Are you close?”

You nod, your breath hitching. “Yeah.”

Her smile changes—still soft, but wicked underneath.

“Good.”

Then she pushes you back, palms on your chest, making you fall flat onto the bed with a surprised grunt. She rolls her hips as she pulls off your cock, the slick noise of her body separating from yours obscene, strands of wetness sticking to your shaft.

She straddles you like she owns you; knees braced on either side of your hips, sweat-slick thighs trembling but determined, ass flexing as she angles herself just right. You’re flat on your back, heart thundering in your chest, cock twitching and red and glistening with her slick, twitching against your stomach until she grips it with one hand, lines the head up with the soaked, glistening pucker of her asshole, and then sinks.

Your breath catches in your throat as her ass envelops you again, tight and hot, that familiar pressure building immediately as she sinks down with a slow, sinful twist of her hips. The tip slides in, and she moans, a low, guttural sound of pleasure and defiance, her back arching, hair sticking to her damp face. Her hole stretches around you perfectly, so perfectly it borders on painful, but she keeps going, inch by inch, until her full weight settles against your hips and you’re buried to the base.

You groan, your fingers digging into the sheets as her ass clenches around your cock like a fist. She lifts her head, licking her lips, eyes half-lidded with bliss.

“Still so fucking hard,” she murmurs. “You love my ass, don’t you?”

You nod, helpless.

“I could ride this cock all night,” she whispers, then smiles wickedly. “And I just might.”

She starts to move.

No slow buildup, no gentle grind: she fucks you, bouncing on your cock with reckless rhythm, ass clapping against your thighs, wet, loud, filthy. You groan through gritted teeth, hands finding her waist to keep yourself grounded, but it’s impossible to keep up with her. She’s wild. Even after cumming twice, even after being reduced to a trembling, soaking mess; she’s still fucking insatiable. Every drop of strength she has is poured into fucking herself on your cock like a nymphomaniac possessed.

“Oh my god,” you groan, hips thrusting up instinctively to meet her. “Irene—Irene, I’m—fuck—I’m close—”

“I know you’re close,” she gasps, riding you harder. “I can feel it. Your cock’s throbbing like it’s about to explode. Come on. Don’t hold back.”

She leans forward, bracing her hands on your chest, and slaps your face (not soft). Your head rocks to the side, the sting immediate, and your cock jerks hard inside her.

“Cum,” she hisses, breath hot against your mouth. “Fucking fill me. Cum in my ass. Do it.”

Your hands clamp onto her hips, pulling her down with every thrust, using her body like a goddamn toy, because that’s what she wants—her words, not yours. She’s a toy, a whore, a filthy little anal slut who wants nothing more than to milk the last fucking drop out of you.

“You wanna cum, don’t you?” she pants, her nails dragging down your chest. “I know you do. I can feel it. You’re right there. Do it—cum inside my ass.”

Your brain goes blank. There’s no air, no words, just pleasure, pure and blistering, like you’ve been set on fire from the inside out. Your whole body seizes, hips jerking up into her as the orgasm slams into you like a bomb.

“Fuuuck—” you groan, head thrown back, every muscle tightening.

You cum. Hot, thick spurts of seed shoot deep into her tight little ass, each pulse more intense than the last, her body milking you with every squeeze, every rhythmic clench. It pours out of you, heavy and helpless, so much it feels like your balls are emptying themselves completely into her. She moans low and deep as she feels it, still grinding, slow now, purposeful, drawing out every spurt like she’s harvesting it.

“Fuck yes,” she groans, eyes fluttering shut. “So hot inside me… I can feel it—all of it. So warm. So fucking full.”

You can't stop moaning, your voice a pathetic, broken thing in the quiet of the bedroom. Your orgasm has left you hollowed out, your body trembling and weak, but she’s still moving. Her hips continue their slow, tight circles, grinding your now hypersensitive cock against the walls of her asshole. Every tiny movement sends a jolt of raw, overstimulated friction through you that’s almost painful. Your semi-flaccid cock twitches again, spasming weakly, squeezing out another dribble of cum into the hot, slick grip of her ass. The wet, squelching sound is obscene.

“Jesus,” you whisper. Your hands are fisted in the sheets, your whole body tense. “Irene—I can’t—please, stop…”

She just laughs. It’s not her usual soft, sweet chuckle. This is a low, throaty, cruel sound that vibrates down through her body and into yours. She leans forward, bracing her hands on your chest, her sweat-slick hair falling around her face like a dark curtain. Her eyes are glittering with a wild, sadistic light.

“Stop?” she purrs, her hips not pausing their relentless, grinding motion. “Oh, baby. We’re not stopping. We’re just getting started.” She grinds down harder, a deliberate, punishing circle that makes you cry out. “Remember earlier? When I was begging you to fuck me harder, and you just kept going slow? When you were teasing me, making me wait, making me plead for it?”

You nod weakly, your eyes squeezed shut.

“Well,” she says. “Payback’s a bitch. This is my revenge. Now it’s your turn to beg. It’s your turn to lie there and take it, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much you want me to stop. You don’t get to move. You don’t get to pull out. You just take it. Understood?”

“Irene… please… I’m empty,” you plead, your hips instinctively trying to squirm away from the relentless pressure.

Her hands shoot out, pinning your wrists to the bed on either side of your head. Her grip is surprisingly strong. “I said, don’t move,” she hisses. “And you are not empty. I know you, baby. I know your body. There’s always more. And I’m going to milk every last fucking drop out of you before I’m done.”

With your arms pinned, you’re completely at her mercy. She speeds up, just slightly. The slow, torturous grind transitions into a purposeful, steady rhythm. The wet, sloppy sounds of your cum lubricating her fucking get louder. She’s using your own release against you, turning it into a slick coating for her relentless ride.

“That’s it,” she moans, her own pleasure building again. “Feels so good, riding you when you’re this sensitive. I can feel your cock twitching inside my ass with every fucking squeeze. You love it, don’t you? Even though it hurts. You love being my toy.”

“It’s too much, babe…” you groan, your head thrashing on the pillow. Your cock, against all odds, is hardening again inside her, engorging with trapped blood, the sensitivity becoming an unbearable, burning ache.

“Too much? Oh, no. This isn’t even close to too much,” she taunts, her pace quickening even more. She starts bouncing on you, her ass slapping against your thighs, each impact sending a shockwave of sensation straight to your overstimulated nerves. “I’m not stopping until I cum again. And you’re going to be hard and buried inside my ass for that whole ride. You’re going to fill me up again while I’m screaming.”

She’s a fucking demon, a beautiful, insatiable nympho riding you into oblivion. She can feel you getting hard again, feel your body’s unwilling response. A triumphant, wicked grin spreads across her face.

“Oh, look at that,” she pants, her rhythm becoming frantic now. “Getting hard again for me. Such a good boy. You can’t help it, can you? Your cock just wants to please me. It just wants to be milked by my greedy little asshole.”

Her words are a death sentence to your self-control. Your body is already screaming, a raw nerve of overstimulation, but her filthy promises send a fresh wave of heat through you. You’re actually hardening again, impossibly, painfully, inside the slick, tight grip of her ass.

“You’re on the edge again, aren’t you?” she pants, her rhythm becoming frantic now, a brutal, merciless bouncing on your raw cock. “I can feel it. Your cock is twitching inside my ass, getting ready to shoot for me again. Good. I want it. I want your hot load coating my insides. I want to feel you pump every last drop into my greedy little hole.”

“Irene… please… I can’t…” you plead.

“Shhh. You don’t get a say in this. You don’t decide when you’re done. I do. I’m going to milk your balls dry, and you’re going to lie here and take it like the good little toy you are. I want to feel you come apart inside me. I want to feel you lose your fucking mind.”

She feels the tell-tale tremor run through you. She knows. A triumphant, wicked grin spreads across her face.

“Oh, yes… right there…” she hisses, her pace becoming even more punishing. “You’re going to give it to me now. You’re going to fill your whore’s ass up again. Fucking beg me for it. Beg me to let you cum.”

“Please,” you sob, the word ripped from a place beyond your control. “Please, Irene… let me cum… please…”

“That’s it,” she purrs. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

She lets go of your wrists, braces her hands on your shoulders, and with a final, guttural cry of her own, she sits down on you. Hard.

The sudden, overwhelming pressure is blinding. It forces the air from your lungs in a choked scream. Your body goes rigid, your back arching violently off the bed as the second orgasm rips through you with a force that feels like it’s tearing you apart. It's a complete system overload, a raw, involuntary expulsion that is pure, agonizing bliss.

Hot, thick ropes of your cum shoot deep inside her again, flooding her, filling the space that was already slick with your first release. You’re screaming, incoherent, your mind completely blanked out by the intensity.

As you flood her, a sound tears from her throat; not a taunt, but a raw, shocked scream of her own. Her whole body locks up, seizing around you. Her ass muscles spasm violently, a deep, powerful clenching that milks you even harder, drawing out every last drop of your release. The sheer force of you coming inside her, filling her so completely, has pushed her over her own edge.

“OH FUCK!” she screams, voice cracking as her own orgasm hits her suddenly. She’s coming apart on top of you, her body convulsing, her mind wiped clean. You feel her climax in the way her inner walls flutter and pulse around your still-erupting cock. She’s coming from your cum, from the feeling of being brutally, completely filled.

She rides out the violent waves, her body still moving on instinct, until the last shuddering tremor racks through both of you. Finally, with a long, shuddering sigh, she collapses, her body a dead weight on top of yours, her face buried in the crook of your neck. You’re both panting, drenched in sweat, completely and utterly broken. Her ass is still wrapped snugly around your now-softening cock, your combined releases making a warm, sticky mess between you.

For a long time, the only sound in the room is your ragged, shared breathing. You stroke her hair, your fingers trembling slightly, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks. She feels impossibly warm, impossibly real, molded against you.

You let the silence stretch, letting the intensity fade into a soft, warm quiet. You feel her press a weak, open-mouthed kiss against your throat.

“I love you, Irene,” you whisper. It's the first time you've told her that. It feels like the only true thing in the universe right now.

You feel her tense for a second, then melt against you even more. She lifts her head, her face a beautiful wreck. Her eyes are hazy, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed. She looks at you, and the raw, unadulterated love in her gaze steals your breath all over again.

“I love you too,” she whispers back. She leans down and kisses you.

She pulls back, resting her forehead against yours. “Jesus,” she breathes, a shaky laugh escaping her. “No one’s ever… done that to me before.”

“Done what?” you murmur, your thumb stroking her cheek.

“That,” she says, her gaze soft and vulnerable. “Made me feel so… completely dominated. So used and broken. And then… made me feel so completely loved, all in the same breath. I didn't know that was possible.” She nuzzles her face into your chest. “I trust you so much. I can be… all of this… this filthy, needy thing… and I know you won't leave. I know you’ll still be here to hold me after. You are the first person to understand me completely."

You wrap your arms tighter around her. “I’m never leaving,” you say. “You can be whatever you want with me, Irene. Dominant, submissive, a fucking demon, an angel. It doesn’t matter. I’ll still be here. I’ll still love you.”

She sighs, a sound of pure, contented relief. “Good,” she murmurs, her eyes fluttering shut. “Because I think you broke my ass. You’re going to have to carry me to the shower.”

You chuckle, kissing the top of her head. “Deal.”

—

An hour later, after a long, hot shower that washed away the sweat and cum but left the buzzing, bone-deep satisfaction, you're both on the couch, tangled together in a thick blanket. The apartment is quiet and dark, lit only by the soft glow of a single lamp. You take the cake that Irene prepared and put it on the coffee table.

It's a rich, dark chocolate cake, with a glossy ganache frosting that’s a little uneven on the sides, a testament to the fact that she made it herself. A few simple, elegant chocolate shavings are scattered on top. It looks cute and real. You find a few candles in a drawer and stick them in the center.

"Alright, birthday boy," she murmurs. "Make a wish."

You look from the flickering candles to her face, her skin glowing in the warm light, her eyes soft and heavy-lidded with exhaustion and love. "Already got it," you say quietly.

You lean forward, and blow the candles out in a single, gentle puff. The wicks glow red for a moment before extinguishing, leaving thin trails of smoke curling in the air. You cut a large, messy slice and hold the fork up to her lips. She parts them, taking the bite, and her eyes flutter shut. A low, genuine moan of pure bliss rumbles in her chest.

“Holy shit,” she sighs as she chews slowly. “Okay. This is what I needed all along.”

You laugh, taking a bite yourself. "What, not the two hours of borderline-abusive anal sex?"

She nudges you with her shoulder, swallowing. “Okay, both,” she concedes, her lips quirking into a grin. “But this is a very, very close second. I can’t believe the cake actually turned out good. I had to whip it up in a rush before you got back from your walk.”

"This is honestly the best chocolate cake I've ever had," you say, meaning it. You pause, a wicked grin spreading across your face. "But... I think I still prefer the taste of it on your tits."

Her laugh is sudden and bright, a beautiful, airy sound. A faint blush colors her cheeks, and she hides her face in your shoulder for a second. "Oh my god, you're an idiot," she murmurs into your t-shirt, but she’s still shaking with laughter. “In my head it was an incredibly erotic idea.”

She leans her head against your shoulder, tucking her legs up under the blanket, and you both eat the cake in comfortable silence for a few minutes, sharing the fork.

“I really like this,” she says quietly.

“Yeah?” you ask, nudging her gently with your head. “What part?”

She sighs, a sound of deep, bone-deep contentment. “All of it. The chaos from earlier. The quiet now. You.” She pauses, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the blanket over your thigh. “Just… this. Sitting on a couch, eating cake. It feels so… normal. I haven’t felt normal in a very long time. I think I forgot what it was like.”

She looks up at you, her eyes wide and sincere. “For years, I just felt like this… lonely creature. Hiding. Just trying to get through the day without anyone really seeing me. It’s so nice to not feel like that anymore. To just be… here. With you. And for it to be this easy.”

You put the plate down and turn, wrapping your arms fully around her, pulling her into your lap. You kiss her forehead, holding her close. “This is your new normal, Irene,” you whisper into her hair. “You’re not a lonely creature. You’re my amazing, brilliant girlfriend who makes killer chocolate cake and who I get to come home to. You’re not alone anymore.”

She burrows her face into your neck, holding you tight. You feel a wetness on your skin and realize she’s crying, but it’s a quiet, happy, cleansing cry.

After a moment, she pulls back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, a watery but radiant smile on her face. She leans in, kisses you softly, deeply.

“Happy birthday,” she whispers again against your lips. “This was a really good day.”

—

It’s deep into the night by the time you make it to bed. The room’s completely dark except for the faint glow of the city filtering in through the slats in the blinds. Irene’s lying on her side, bare under the sheets, one leg tangled with yours, her fingers lazily drawing circles on your chest.

“Can I tell you something?”

You turn to face her. “Always.”

She takes a breath. “It’s… about my past. The… stuff I used to do.”

You nod, gently brushing her hair back from her face. “You don’t have to, if you’re not ready.”

“No. I want to.” Her hand presses against your sternum, anchoring herself. “I just haven’t really… said this out loud in a long time. But I think it's time to tell you the whole story.”

You wait.

“I got into porn when I was twenty-one,” she says, slowly, like each word needs to be chosen carefully. “I was drowning in student loans. I’d dropped out after two years of college because I couldn’t keep up financially, and I was so fucking angry; at myself, at my parents, at the system. I was doing retail. I was behind on rent. I was living in a place with mold on the walls, sharing a mattress with someone I didn’t even like.”

You nod, your hand finding hers under the blanket and squeezing it.

“People think porn is this glamorous, expensive thing you fall into because you’re greedy or slutty or broken. But it wasn’t like that. It was desperation. And curiosity. And yeah, maybe a little recklessness too.” She chuckles, but it’s dry. “I found an ad on the internet. It was a new adult film studio that was gaining popularity. I think it no longer exists today, but it was becoming well-known at the time. The ad didn't say much, just ‘professional shoot, high pay, women 18–30.’ And I thought… fuck it. What else am I gonna do?”

A new adult film production company

Your thumb runs along her knuckles slowly. She continues.

“I wasn’t scared, really. I was more scared of being broke forever. I’d always been… into sex. A lot. Like, way more than anyone I knew. Masturbating three times a day since I was a teenager. Hookups that made my friends call me names behind my back. But porn? It felt like a way to finally own that part of myself. Monetize it. Flip the script.”

She shifts, her cheek brushing your chest. Her voice steadies, but it’s raw.

“The first shoot was awkward as hell. I cried afterward. Not because I hated it. I didn’t. I liked it. I liked the power of it, the thrill of being watched, of giving someone a fantasy and being in control of how far I’d take it. After spending 1 week filming the scenes, I came home with two thousand dollars in a brown envelope and the weirdest feeling that I’d just started something I couldn’t undo.”

The way she talks—it’s not rehearsed. It’s not for pity. It’s like she’s finally giving herself permission to speak it out loud.

“And from there it just… grew. I filmed more. I used different names. I met people who pulled me in deeper. Some were great, honestly. Some were predators. But the money came fast. I paid off my college debt in under a year. Got a better place. Better food. Clothes. And I was fucking constantly. It was like being high.”

She pauses. Her fingers clutch yours tighter.

“I got addicted. Not to the money. Not even to the attention. To the sex. To the permission. Like I was finally allowed to be as filthy as I’d always been inside. And people were clapping for it. Commenting. Downloading. Jerking off to me. I became this thing. A brand. A body.”

You feel her exhale. Her voice cracks at the edges.

“Eventually I couldn’t tell where Irene the girl ended and Irene the performer began. I’d be doing grocery shopping and people would stare at me and I’d wonder if they recognized me. Or if I was just imagining it. I stopped dating. Who the hell wants to date a girl who’s had fifty dicks on camera? I started pulling back. Told myself I’d film one last scene. Then another. Then another… Eventually I met a guy, he was nice. And I thought maybe this was my chance to leave that world and live a normal life. I had no idea what was yet to come.”

Her voice fades for a second, and you hear her swallow.

"My relationship fell apart when he discovered everything. I had every intention of telling him the truth—I swear I didn’t mean to deceive him—but it was such a difficult thing to bring up. I was trying to find the right moment, building up the courage. By then, I had already left the adult film industry and was working a regular job, trying to move on with my life. But I waited too long, and somehow, he found out. I still don’t know how it happened. Maybe one of his friends stumbled across something and told him, or perhaps he came across one of my old videos online. It doesn’t really matter now. After that, my world unraveled. He told everyone: our friends, even people at the company where I worked. The shame and judgment were overwhelming. So, I just… vanished. I cut ties completely. Deleted all my social media accounts, changed my phone number, and moved to a new city to start over.”

You can feel her heartbeat through her chest, thudding softly against yours.

“And since then, I’ve been alone. Not just physically. I mean… alone. I didn’t touch anyone. I didn’t let anyone touch me. I thought if I deprived myself long enough, I’d stop wanting it. That I’d be better. Cleaner. Deserving of a different life.”

She lifts her head, finally. She looks at you like she’s terrified. And yet still determined.

“Then you came along. And for the first time in years, I wanted to want again. Not just for the release. But for the way you looked at me. The way you talked to me, saw me. You didn’t flinch. You weren’t scared. You didn’t treat me like I was made of broken parts.”

You move your hand to her cheek and stroke it gently.

“I was scared I’d fall back into old habits. That if I let myself be touched again, I’d become… her. That insatiable thing. The one who always needed more. But it’s different with you. I don’t feel empty after. I don’t feel used.”

She exhales, her lips trembling. “I feel… real. Like I can breathe again. Like I’m allowed to be who I am. And still be loved.” Then quieter. “You don’t think I’m sick, do you?”

Your response is immediate. Fierce.

“No. Not even close.”

Her lip trembles. “I’ve done things that would probably make you run if I told you. Stuff I can’t take back. And I still want sex. I’ll probably always crave it too much. I’m still trying to balance it. Be healthy. Not lose myself in it again. But it’s hard. It’s messy. I feel like damaged goods, sometimes.”

You cup her face in both hands, pressing your forehead to hers.

“You are not damaged. You’re not sick. You’re brave. You’re human. And you’ve survived more than most people even think about. You’re smart. You’re beautiful. And you have a right to want. To need. To feel.”

She lets out a sound like a sob, but it turns into a laugh, wet and breathless.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “No one’s ever said that to me. Not like that. I don’t think anyone’s ever seen me like this. Not even me.”

You pull her close, so close there’s no air left between you.

“You deserve to be loved, Irene. Every inch. Every version. Every mood. You deserve it.”

She stays curled against your chest, her breath soft and steady now, her body wrapped around yours like she’s trying to memorize the shape of safety.

“I was such a bitch when I started,” she says.

“You were not.”

“I kind of was.” She laughs quietly, her nose brushing against your jaw. “I didn’t talk to anyone. I barely made eye contact with you the first two weeks.”

“You were reserved,” you correct her gently. “Not rude.”

“I was terrified,” she admits. “Not of you, just… of everything. I had the feeling that I was constantly being watched. I thought I’d last maybe a month before someone recognized me. Before the whispers started.”

You nod, stroking her spine slowly with your fingertips.

“I almost quit the second week,” she confesses. “I wrote the email. Had my resignation drafted and everything. I thought it’d be easier to just run. That’s always been my thing—run when it starts to feel like people care too much.”

You tilt your head, nudging her nose with yours.

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” she says, a small smile forming at the corner of her lips. “You wouldn’t let me.”

You smirk. “That makes me sound controlling.”

She giggles, quiet and real, the kind of laugh she only gives you when it’s just the two of you in the dark like this.

“No, you were just… kind. And persistent. You kept checking in. Bringing me coffee even when I wouldn’t talk to you. Including me in conversations even when I’d pretend I was busy.” You shrug like it was nothing. Because to you, it was nothing. The bare minimum. But to her? It’s clearly more. “I don’t think I would’ve stayed if it wasn’t for you,” she says, voice dipping lower again. “You didn’t push. You didn’t ask too much. You just… let me be, while still reminding me I wasn’t invisible.”

Her fingers skim your jaw, thumb brushing lightly over the corner of your mouth. “So yeah. Thank you. For being patient. For not giving up on me before you even knew what I was hiding.”

You meet her eyes. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I didn’t know what you were hiding, but I knew you were worth knowing. That was enough.” She looks like she’s about to protest again, maybe deflect or crack a joke, but you don’t let her. “And for the record,” you add, leaning in just a little, your lips grazing hers, “you being here tonight? With me? That’s the best birthday present I could’ve asked for.”

Her eyes flutter shut for a second like she’s letting it soak in. Then she leans forward and kisses you, slow and unsure at first, but then deeper, warmer, like her body’s catching up to what her heart’s just now starting to believe. Her fingers wind into your hair, her chest pressing to yours, and her lips stay against you for long moments, whispering wordless thank-yous between every soft drag of her mouth.

—

Everything is fine. For months, everything is fucking perfect.

The revelation of Irene’s past, that raw, terrifying confession in the dark of your bedroom, didn’t break you. It bonded you. A routine settles in, easy and comfortable. She keeps the apartment, a permanent fixture now, her quiet confidence growing day by day. She starts talking to people more, a small smile here, a shared joke there. She’s still Irene, reserved, observant, but the wall of fear has been dismantled, brick by brick. She’s a common face in your life now, an essential one. Her toothbrush is in your bathroom holder. Your hoodie is her favorite thing to sleep in. You trade nights at each other’s apartments, building a small, shared world of takeout, inside jokes, and lazy Sunday mornings.

And the sex. Fuck, the sex. Knowing her history, knowing the deep well of experience she draws from, only makes it hotter. It’s not just a physical act; it’s a form of communication, a place where she can be completely, uninhibitedly herself. And you… you’re falling in love with her. It’s not a sudden realization, but a slow, creeping certainty that settles in your bones. You’re in love with every part of her—the quiet office worker, the demanding lover, the brave woman who is learning to trust again. Everything is fine.

Until today.

The office is quiet. It’s break time on a Monday. Half the staff are outside or in the break room. You’re just walking back to your desk after refilling your water bottle when you see it. A huddle. Four, maybe five guys from the junior sales and IT teams, clustered around a workstation at the far end of the open-plan space. Their backs are to you, their shoulders hunched together, their focus absolute.

You hear murmurs, low and conspiratorial. A snicker.

"…Jesus, look at her take that…"

"No way that’s really her…"

"God, I’d pay good money…"

A familiar, unpleasant prickle goes up your spine. You start walking over, your curiosity piqued. Probably just watching some stupid viral video or a sports highlight. You come up behind them, peering over the shoulder of some fresh-faced IT kid.

And then you see it. Your heart stops. Literally fucking stops. The blood in your veins turns to ice.

On the monitor, displayed for anyone to see, is a porn video. The image is sharp, clear, and utterly undeniable. It’s her. It’s Irene. Younger, yes, but unmistakably her. She’s on her knees, her mouth wrapped around some guy’s cock, her eyes looking straight into the camera with a practiced, dead-eyed expression that is so alien from the woman you know it makes you physically sick.

You freeze. For one, long, terrible second, your brain cannot compute. The two realities: Irene, your Irene - the woman who makes you laugh and brings you cookies, and this woman on the screen, a sexual commodity - violently collide, and your mind just… shorts out.

You don’t even think. You move. You shove your way through the huddle of gawking men, their surprised yelps barely registering.

"Who the fuck put this on?" you scream, your words ripping through the quiet office, echoing off the partitions.

Your eyes land on the person in the chair. It’s fucking Kyle. A newbie from the sales team, barely twenty-two, a smirking, entitled little shit you’ve disliked from day one, the kind of kid who thinks sexual harassment policies are just a suggestion.

You grab him by the collar of his preppy polo shirt before he can even react, hauling him out of the chair, slamming him back against the cubicle wall. His feet scramble for purchase.

"Was this you?" you roar, your face inches from his, your knuckles white where you’re gripping his shirt. "Did you do this?”

His smug little face has dissolved into pure, slack-jawed terror. "Whoa, man, chill out! I-It wasn’t just me!" he stammers, his eyes wide, darting between you and the screen where Irene is now taking the guy’s cock deeper down her throat.

"I’m going to ask you one more fucking time," you snarl, giving him a hard shake. "Did. you. put. this. on?"

"N-no! I mean, yes, but—but Kevin recognized her!" he squeaks, pointing a trembling finger at another terrified-looking newbie cowering nearby. "He said he’d seen one of her movies before, and we didn’t believe him, so we just… we just looked it up to see if it was true! It was just a joke!"

"'A joke'?" you repeat. "You think this is a fucking JOKE? You had no right. No fucking right!" You draw your fist back, every ounce of rage in your body screaming at you to smash it into his stupid, terrified face, to wipe that pathetic excuse off the planet.

"Hey! What the hell is going on over here?"

The commotion has drawn a crowd. Park Sooyoung from HR is there, her face a mask of stern disapproval. Seulgi from accounts is peering over a cubicle wall. And then, among the new faces trickling in from the break room, drawn by your shouting, you see her.

Irene.

She stops, a cup of tea in her hand, a look of mild curiosity on her face. Then she follows everyone’s gaze. First to you, holding Kyle pinned against the wall. Then to the huddle of now-terrified men. And finally… to the monitor.

Time slows down. You watch as her eyes land on the screen, as they widen, as she processes the grainy, moving image of her younger self. You see the exact moment of recognition. You see the color drain from her face, leaving it a sickly, ashen grey. You see her mouth fall open in a silent, horrified expression. You see her worst fear, the trauma she’s been running from for years, realized in the most brutal, public way imaginable. And it breaks your fucking heart. The rage in you evaporates, replaced by a cold, sickening horror that mirrors her own.

Her cup slips from her fingers, clattering to the floor, splashing hot tea across the grey carpet. She doesn’t seem to notice. Her eyes are still glued to the screen, her body frozen. Then, a choked, strangled sound escapes her lips. She turns, her face a mask of such absolute, bone-deep horror that it will be seared into your memory forever, and she runs.

"Irene!"

You let go of Kyle, shoving him away so hard he stumbles and falls. You push past Wendy, past the stunned onlookers, your entire being focused on getting to her. But she’s already at her desk, her movements frantic, clumsy. She snatches her handbag, her hands shaking so badly she can barely hold it.

"Irene, wait!" you call out, but she’s not listening. She’s a cornered animal, driven only by the instinct to escape. She bolts, running for the elevators, her footsteps echoing in the now-silent, watching office.

You lunge, your body moving on pure instinct, throwing yourself through the gap just as the polished steel doors of the elevator begin to slide shut. You land inside with a heavy thud, the doors closing behind you, sealing you both in the small, descending box. The world outside: the shocked faces, the murmuring, the obscene image still frozen on that monitor, is gone. It’s just you and her.

And she’s broken.

Irene doesn’t just stumble; she collapses. Her body gives out completely, her legs folding beneath her as she hits the floor in a heap. A raw, animal sound of pure agony is torn from her throat, a sound that has nothing to do with the quiet, composed woman you know. She curls into a fetal position on the cold, sterile floor, her hands clawing at her hair, her whole body shaking with violent, uncontrollable tremors.

"No… no, no, no…" she gasps, her words dissolving into ragged, hyperventilating breaths.

This isn't just crying. This is a panic attack, full-blown and terrifying. You’re on the floor with her in an instant, you gather her into your arms, pulling her trembling body against your chest, trying to shield her from a horror that’s already inside her head.

"Irene, hey, I’m here. I’ve got you," you murmur. You hug her tight, trying to use your own body to still her shaking. "Breathe, baby. Just try to breathe with me."

"I knew it," she whines, her face buried in your shirt. "Oh god, I knew this would happen… I was so stupid… so fucking stupid to think I could just… leave it behind…" Her words are punctuated by desperate, panicked gasps for air. "It’s never going to stop. It’s always going to find me. It’ll never fucking stop haunting me…"

"Shh, shh, no, that’s not true," you insist, your heart fracturing at the sheer, raw despair in her words. You gently take her face in your hands, forcing her to look away from the floor, to look at you. Her eyes are wild, unfocused, her beautiful face streaked with tears and twisted in a mask of pure terror. "Irene. Hey. Look at me." Your tone is firm but gentle, trying to cut through the noise in her head. "Look at me. I’m right here. You see me?"

Her gaze flickers, struggles to focus on yours. She gives a tiny, shuddering nod.

"Good," you say, your thumbs stroking her tear-soaked cheeks. "You are not alone in this. Do you hear me? I am not leaving you. Not now, not ever. We… we can get through this. Together. But I need you to be strong right now, Irene. I need you to just hold on for me. Can you do that?"

"I can’t…" she chokes out, a fresh wave of sobs shaking her. "I can’t go back there. I can’t face them. I can’t…"

"You don’t have to," you say immediately. "You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do." And then, the words, the most honest, urgent truth you possess, just… come out. A desperate anchor thrown into the storm of her panic. "I love you, Irene."

Her frantic, panicked breathing stutters. Her wide, terrified eyes blink, the wildness in them receding for just a second, replaced by a look of stunned, utter disbelief. She stares at you as if she’s never seen you before.

"I love you," you repeat. "And because I love you, I will fight for you. I will protect you. Those fuckers who did this? They will be punished. They will be gone from that office before the sun comes up tomorrow, I fucking swear it. I will talk to Henderson. I will talk to HR. I will talk to every single person in that office and I will explain exactly what happened; that a couple of immature, pathetic little shits violated your privacy and humiliated you, and that they don’t represent what our company stands for."

You lean closer, your forehead pressing against hers. "Remember what I said? That it’s a good office, with good people? That is still true, Irene. The people who did this… they are the exception. They are newbies who don’t fucking belong there. You do. You belong there."

Her breathing is starting to even out, her gaze still fixed on yours, clinging to your words.

"You don’t have to be silent," you continue. "You don’t have to hide. I can be your voice, if you want me to. I will scream for you until my own throat is raw. All I ask… all I need from you right now… is that you don’t run away. Not from this. And not from me."

For a long moment, she just looks at you, the tears still flowing silently down her face, but the raw panic has subsided. Then, with a shuddering cry that’s more relief than pain, she collapses forward, her arms wrapping around your neck, clinging to you as if you’re the only solid thing in a world that has just disintegrated around her.

"I love you too," she whispers, her words muffled against your shoulder, choked with sobs. "God, I love you so much."

A huge, shaky smile breaks across your face, even as your own eyes start to burn. You hug her back, hard, burying your face in her hair, breathing in her scent. "That’s great," you whisper, laughing a little through the sheer, overwhelming emotion of it all. "That’s… that’s all that matters." You pull back, looking into her eyes again. "We can do this, Irene. Together."

She looks at you, her face a mess, her body still trembling, but for the first time since this nightmare started, there’s a flicker of her old strength, her resilience, in her eyes. She nods, a small, jerky movement. "Yes," she says. "Okay. Yes. I can… I can try."

Just then, a soft chime rings through the small space, and the elevator doors slide open with a gentle whoosh, revealing the brightly lit, indifferent emptiness of the ground floor lobby.

—

The hours that followed your escape in the elevator were a blur of cold, focused fury. While Irene was safely behind the locked door of your apartment, you went to war. You didn’t just want to find out what happened; you wanted names, you wanted details, and you wanted blood. Leveraging your supervisor credentials and a couple of quiet, pointed conversations with reliable sources (people you knew weren’t part of the office’s smirking underbelly) the whole pathetic story spilled out.

It was exactly as the terrified little shit Kyle had stammered. A rookie named Kevin, a recent transfer from another branch, had recognized Irene. He’d apparently bragged to his new friend Kyle that he’d jerked off to one of her films back in college. Kyle, ever the skeptic and dickhead, had called bullshit. So, on a slow Monday afternoon, they looked her up. When they found the videos, confirming Kevin’s claim, their pathetic little minds were blown. They couldn’t just keep it to themselves. They had to prove their discovery, gathering a small, willing audience of other bored, morally bankrupt juniors to gawk at their coworker’s past, laid bare on a company monitor.

The ugliest part, the detail that made you want to find them and break their fucking hands, came from Park Sooyoung in HR, who had pulled one of the other witnesses aside. Just before you’d walked in, Kyle had allegedly joked to the group that maybe he should make Irene a "proposal" (a bit of quid pro quo). She could fuck him, and in exchange, he’d keep her secret from spreading to the rest of the company. He claimed, when confronted, that it was "just banter." You classified it as attempted blackmail and gross misconduct of the highest order.

Their expulsion was swift and brutal. You, Sooyoung, and Henderson, the big boss himself, had them in a conference room before they could even clock out. By the time they were escorted out by security, their careers at Henderson Corp were over, and the big boss promised you he’d be making a few calls. Thanks to his contacts, those two little shits were going to have a very, very difficult time finding another job in this industry, in this city, ever again.

Now, the next morning, you stand at the head of the main conference room. Your entire team is here, seated around the long, polished table. And so is Irene. She’s sitting between Wendy and another woman from her department, a silent, formidable wall of female support flanking her. She looks pale, exhausted, her eyes slightly puffy, but she’s here. She showed up. The sheer, breathtaking courage of that simple act makes you look at the people in the room with renewed determination.

You clear your throat, and the room falls silent. Everyone’s eyes are on you.

"Good morning, everyone," you begin, your tone calm, level, professional. You let your gaze travel around the room, meeting the eyes of each person there. "I’ve called this meeting because I need to address the incident that occurred in our workspace yesterday afternoon. I’m not going to go into the explicit details, because frankly, they are irrelevant. What is relevant, what is critical for every single one of us to understand, is what that incident represents."

You pause, letting the weight of your words sink in.

"Yesterday, a member of our team had her fundamental right to privacy violated in the most egregious way possible. She was exposed, without her consent, to a small group of employees in an act that constitutes severe, targeted harassment." You can feel the anger, still simmering just below the surface, but you keep it leashed, transforming it into cold, hard authority. "Let me be absolutely, unequivocally clear: this type of behavior is not just unacceptable within this company; it is antithetical to everything we stand for. This is a zero-tolerance policy issue. The individuals responsible for perpetrating this act, for creating what is legally defined as a hostile work environment, have already been terminated. Their access has been revoked, and they will not be returning."

A few people shift uncomfortably in their seats. Good. Let them be uncomfortable.

"We are all human beings here," you continue, your tone shifting slightly, becoming more personal, more human. "We come to this office every day from different walks of life. We all have experiences, we all have histories, we all have traumas and triumphs and pasts that are entirely our own. And no one—no one—in this room, or in this company, has the right to excavate another person’s history and put it on public display for their own amusement or judgment. The moment we start believing we have that right is the moment we lose our own humanity."

Your eyes find Irene’s across the room. She looks up, meeting your gaze. You give her a small, almost imperceptible smile, one meant only for her.

"I am incredibly proud, and frankly, humbled," you say as you continue to look at her, "that our coworker chose to walk back into this office today. That she chose to stay with this team, even after what happened. That choice shows an incredible amount of trust in us. In all of us." You look around the room again, at your team. "It shows that she believes this incident was an anomaly. That she believes the rest of us are better than that. And I hope, I expect, that every single one of you will spend every day proving to her that she is absolutely right to place her trust in us once more."

"We have an obligation to maintain not just a physically safe workspace, but a psychologically safe one. And what happened yesterday was a profound breach of that psychological safety. It will not happen again." You take a deep breath. "Irene, what you did today, just by being here, took more courage than most people will have to show in their entire careers. You are facing this with your head held high, and you have the full, unwavering support of this company’s leadership, and of your team." You start clapping, a slow, deliberate sound in the quiet room. "I’d like to ask for a round of applause for Irene."

For a split second, there’s silence. Then, Sarah, sitting next to Irene, starts clapping loudly. Then another person, and another, until the entire room erupts in a wave of sustained, genuine applause. It’s not polite, corporate clapping; it’s loud, it’s heartfelt. The women beside Irene grab her hands, squeezing them tight, hugging her shoulder. You see a single, fresh tear roll down Irene’s cheek, but this time, she’s smiling through it, a watery, overwhelmed, but real smile.

You let the applause continue for a long moment, a testament to her, a cleansing of the ugliness from yesterday. When it finally dies down, you clap your hands together once, a sharp, decisive sound that brings the focus back to you.

"Alright," you say, your tone shifting back to that of a no-nonsense supervisor. "Thank you for your attention. The matter is dealt with. Let’s get back to work. We have deadlines to meet, and no one is slacking off on my watch."

A few nervous chuckles ripple through the room as people start to stand, the tension finally broken. You wait as the last person files out of the conference room. You inhale and exhale slowly your shoulders slumping slightly. It’s over. The worst is over.

Then, you hear the soft scrape of a chair. It’s Irene. She didn’t leave with the others. She pushes herself to her feet and slowly walks towards you, navigating the maze of chairs.

"That was a great speech," she says.

You manage a tired grin, shoving your hands in your pockets. "Well, I have to live up to my fancy supervisor title sometimes, right? Can’t just be about chasing you for reports and stealing your pens."

Her smile widens. "Henderson steals the pens, not you."

"Right." You look at her, and she looks, even at this delicate moment, the most beautiful woman in the world. "How are you doing? For real."

She considers the question for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. "I’ll be fine," she says. "Tired. A little… wrung out. But I’ll be fine."

"Do you think you can work today?" you ask gently. "Because if you want to go home, you just say the word. I’ll handle everything here."

"No," she says, shaking her head. "I want to stay. I need to stay." She meets your eyes, and there’s a flicker of her newfound fire in them. "I’m done running."

"Okay," you nod. "Okay. But you take it easy." You pause, then a thought strikes you, a desire to anchor this new beginning with something normal, something just for you two. "Hey. You wanna… you wanna go out to dinner tonight? After work? A proper place, with tablecloths and everything. No dive bars."

"Wow, look at you," she teases. "We’re evolving. No more getting me drunk at a bar. Now it’s romantic dinners?"

"Well, now that you've said you love me—twice—I figure I don’t have to get you drunk anymore to trick you into liking me. Saves me some money."

She chuckles again, reaching out and patting your shoulder lightly. "You’re an idiot." Her expression softens, her eyes searching yours. "Hey… can I kiss you?"

You glance instinctively towards the glass door of the conference room, a conditioned reflex. "As long as it’s quick," you whisper back, your heart starting to hammer again for a much, much better reason.

She rises up on her tiptoes, her hands coming to rest on your chest, and presses her lips to yours. It starts as a quick, sweet thank you, but neither of you can hold back. It deepens, fast, her mouth opening against yours, your arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her flush against you. It’s a long, full, passionate kiss, filled with all the terror and relief and love of the last twenty-four hours. It’s a victory.

When you finally break apart, both of you breathless, she reaches up with her thumb and gently wipes the corner of your mouth. "My lipstick," she murmurs. She looks you right in the eye, her own gaze clear and steady. "I love you," she says again, not as a desperate confession in a falling elevator, but as a simple, solid statement of fact.

"I love you too, Irene," you reply.

She rests her forehead against yours for a moment, a comfortable, contended sigh escaping her. "I’m happy to be here," she says softly. "I like it here."

You smile, a teasing glint in your eye. "I hope that’s because of me, and not just because of the significant salary increase and comprehensive benefits package."

"Mmm, it’s mostly because of the salary, to be honest," she says, deadpan. "But you’re nice too, I guess."

"Alright, you," you say, reaching out to playfully nudge her. "We better get going before someone walks in and finds us. Back to pretending we’re just professional coworkers."

"Okay, boss," she says. As you both turn to leave, she gives your ass a sharp, surprising slap.

You yelp, jumping in surprise and turning to look at her with wide, laughing eyes. "Hey! That’s harassment!"

She just winks, her smile turning wicked. "Not my fault you have such a nice ass."

You shake your head, still laughing, a feeling of pure, unadulterated joy bubbling up inside you. "Well, it seems like you’re not that shy, mysterious woman from a few months ago anymore."

She steps closer, looping her arm through yours, leaning her head on your shoulder as you walk towards the door together.

"You’re right," she says, and that confidence of hers that you love so much is back. "I’m not." She looks up at you, her eyes full of love and fire and endless possibilities. "Now, I’m your woman.”

[rvp32]

The Forbidden Affair

Momo X Male Reader

Tags : Boobjob, Teasing, Sister in Law Momo, Kinky, Sweaty Sex, Forbidden Affair, Creampies, Hypersex Momo, Facial, Blowjobs, Deepthroat, Cheating, Impregnation Words : 4.005 Words

The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the occasional creak of the floorboards. You were in your room, trying to focus on a book, but your mind kept wandering. It had been weeks since you overheard that argument between Hangil and Momo. Your older brother’s voice had been cold, dismissive, while Momo’s had been pleading, almost desperate. “You don’t even touch me anymore,” she had said, her voice breaking. “I’m your wife, Hangil. Don’t I deserve more than this?” He had brushed her off, as usual, muttering something about work and deadlines before leaving the room.

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the tension between them was impossible to ignore. And now, as you sat there, you couldn’t shake the image of Momo’s face—her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her lips trembling with unspoken words. She was beautiful, radiant even in her sadness, and it made your chest ache in a way you didn’t fully understand.

The sound of a door closing snapped you out of your thoughts. Hangil was leaving for work, his footsteps heavy and hurried as he made his way down the stairs. You waited until you heard the front door slam shut before letting out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. The house was silent again, but only for a moment.

Then, you heard it—a soft, muffled moan coming from Hangil’s room. Your heart skipped a beat. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable. Curiosity got the better of you, and before you could stop yourself, you were creeping down the hallway, your bare feet silent against the wooden floor. The door to Hangil’s room was slightly ajar, and through the crack, you saw her.

Momo.

She was lying on the bed, her body stretched out in a way that made your breath catch in your throat. Her shirt was pulled up, revealing the soft curve of her stomach and the swell of her breasts, barely contained by a lacy black bra. Her skirt was hiked up around her waist, and between her legs, she held a large, glossy dildo, its tip pressed against her slick entrance. Her head was thrown back, her lips parted as she let out another low moan, this one louder, more desperate.

“Hangil…” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. “Please…”

You couldn’t look away. Her hips moved in slow, deliberate circles as she pushed the dildo deeper inside herself, her breath hitching with every thrust. Her free hand roamed over her body, squeezing her breast through the thin fabric of her bra before sliding down to her clit, her fingers moving in quick, frantic circles. Her moans grew louder, more urgent, and you could feel your own body responding to the sight of her, your cock hardening painfully in your pants.

And then, just as she was about to reach her peak, your foot caught on the edge of the rug, sending a small decorative vase tumbling to the floor with a loud crash. Momo froze, her eyes snapping open as she turned toward the door. For a moment, you both just stared at each other, the air thick with tension. Then, her face flushed crimson, and she quickly pulled her shirt down, covering herself.

“Get out!” she shouted, her voice shaking with embarrassment. “What are you doing here? Get out!”

You stumbled backward, your heart pounding in your chest as you turned and fled back to your room. You slammed the door shut behind you, leaning against it as you tried to catch your breath. Your mind was racing, your body still thrumming with arousal. You couldn’t stop thinking about her—the way she had looked, the sounds she had made. It was all you could do to resist the urge to touch yourself right then and there.

The days that followed were… strange. Momo avoided you at first, her cheeks flushing whenever your eyes met across the dinner table. But then, slowly, something changed. She started to linger in the kitchen when you were there, her movements deliberately slow as she bent over to grab something from the lower cabinets, giving you a clear view of her round ass. She would play with her food at dinner, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass or twirling a strand of pasta around her fork in a way that made your mouth go dry. And then there were the looks—those dark, smoldering glances she would give you when she thought no one else was watching.

It was driving you insane.

One night, after another tense dinner where Momo had spent the entire meal teasing you with her eyes and her hands, you retreated to your room, desperate for some relief. You were just about to unzip your pants when there was a soft knock at your door. Your heart leapt into your throat as you called out, “Who is it?”

The door creaked open, and Momo stepped inside, closing it softly behind her. She was wearing a sheer black nightgown that clung to her curves, the fabric so thin you could see the outline of her nipples beneath it. Her hair was loose, falling in soft waves around her shoulders, and her lips were painted a deep, seductive red. She didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, looking at you with those dark, hungry eyes.

“Momo…” you started, but she cut you off with a shake of her head.

“Don’t,” she whispered, stepping closer. “Don’t say anything.”

Before you could respond, she was on you, her lips crashing against yours in a searing kiss. Her hands tangled in your hair as she deepened the kiss, her tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your head spin. You could feel the heat of her body pressing against yours, her breasts crushed against your chest as she pushed you back onto the bed.

She broke the kiss long enough to pull off her nightgown, revealing her naked body in all its glory. Her breasts were even more perfect than you had imagined—full and round, with nipples that were already hard and begging for attention. She straddled your hips, grinding against your cock through your pants as she leaned down to kiss you again.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” she murmured against your lips, her hands fumbling with the button of your jeans. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted you.”

You didn’t have time to respond before she had freed your cock from its confines, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of it. “Oh,” she breathed, her fingers wrapping around your length. “You’re so big…”

She leaned down again, this time taking you into her mouth without hesitation. Her lips wrapped around your cock in a tight seal as she began to bob her head up and down, her tongue swirling around the tip with every stroke. You groaned, your hands tangling in her hair as she took you deeper, her throat relaxing to accommodate your length.

But she didn’t stop there. After a few minutes of driving you wild with her mouth, she pulled back, a wicked smile playing on her lips. “I want to feel you inside me,” she whispered, positioning herself above you once more. She reached down to guide your cock to her entrance, and then she was sinking down onto you, inch by glorious inch.

The feeling was indescribable—her walls clenched around you like a vice, hot and wet and perfect. She moaned as she took all of you in, her head falling back as she began to move. Her hips rolled in slow, deliberate circles as she rode you, her breasts bouncing with every movement. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, but you didn’t want it to end—not yet.

Momo seemed to sense this because she leaned down again, capturing your lips in another heated kiss as she whispered against them…

Momo’s lips brushed against yours, her breath hot and uneven as she whispered, “Do you want to cum in my mouth or on my tits, or both?” Her voice was low, sultry, and dripping with desire, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t think straight—your mind was a haze of pleasure, your body on fire from the way she moved above you, her pussy clenching around your cock like she never wanted to let go.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you grabbed her hips and thrust up into her, hard and deep, making her gasp and arch her back. Her breasts bounced with the force of your movement, and you couldn’t resist reaching up to cup one, your thumb brushing over her nipple. She moaned, her hands gripping your shoulders for balance as she began to ride you faster, her hips slamming down onto you with a rhythm that left you both breathless.

“Fuck,” she whimpered, her voice breaking as she leaned forward, her hair falling around her face like a curtain. “You feel so good… so fucking good.”

You could feel the tension building in your body, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter with every thrust. But you weren’t ready to let go—not yet. You wanted to make this last, to savor every second of the way she felt around you, the way her body moved against yours. So you slowed your pace, pulling her down onto you in long, deliberate strokes that made her whimper and claw at your chest.

“Don’t stop,” she begged, her voice trembling. “Please… don’t stop.”

You didn’t. Instead, you flipped her onto her back, pinning her beneath you as you took control. Her legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you deeper into her as you began to fuck her in earnest. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with her moans and the ragged sound of your breathing. Her nails dug into your back, leaving marks that only spurred you on.

Her pussy was so wet, so tight, and every thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through you. You could feel her walls fluttering around you, and you knew she was close. So you reached down between you, your fingers finding her clit and rubbing it in quick, desperate circles. She cried out, her body tensing as she came, her pussy squeezing you so tightly it almost hurt.

But you weren’t done. Not even close. You kept going, fucking her through her orgasm until she was trembling beneath you, her eyes glazed over with pleasure. And then, when you couldn’t hold back any longer, you pulled out, your cock throbbing as you spilled yourself onto her stomach and breasts, the warm liquid coating her skin in streaks of white.

She looked up at you, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. “That was… incredible,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. But before you could respond, she reached down and scooped some of your cum onto her fingers, bringing them to her lips and sucking them clean. “Mmm… you taste so good.”

The sight of her like that—her lips wrapped around her fingers, her eyes dark with desire—was enough to make you hard again. And she noticed. A slow smile spread across her face as she reached for you, her hand wrapping around your cock and stroking it slowly.

“Round two?” she asked, her voice teasing.

You didn’t need to be asked twice. You pushed her back onto the bed, spreading her legs wide as you positioned yourself between them. This time, you didn’t waste any time. You plunged into her in one swift motion, making her cry out in surprise and pleasure. Her hands flew to your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as you began to fuck her again, harder and faster than before.

Her moans filled the room, growing louder and more desperate with every thrust. You could feel her pussy tightening around you again, and you knew she was close. So you leaned down, capturing one of her nipples in your mouth and sucking hard as you continued to pound into her. She came with a scream, her body shaking as she clung to you.

But you weren’t done yet. You pulled out again, this time guiding your cock to her mouth. She opened for you without hesitation, taking you deep into her throat as you came again, your cum spilling down her throat in thick pulses. She swallowed every drop, her eyes never leaving yours as she did.

When you finally pulled away, she was panting, her lips swollen and glistening. “You’re insatiable,” she said with a laugh, but there was no mistaking the hunger in her eyes.

You grinned, your hands roaming over her body as you leaned down to kiss her again. “So are you.”

She kissed you back, her tongue tangling with yours as she reached between you to stroke your cock again. “Then let’s keep going,” she whispered against your lips. “I want to feel you inside me again.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You positioned yourself between her legs once more, your cock sliding into her with ease. She moaned, her hips lifting to meet yours as you began to move again. The room was filled with the sounds of your bodies moving together, the air thick with the scent of sex.

Hours passed—or maybe it was minutes; you couldn’t tell anymore. All you knew was the way she felt around you, the way her body responded to every touch, every thrust. You lost count of how many times you came, how many times she screamed your name as she fell apart beneath you.

And when the sun began to rise, casting a soft glow through the window, Momo turned to you, her eyes heavy with exhaustion but still burning with desire. “Again?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you rolled onto your side, pulling her with you as you slid into her once more. Her moan was muffled by your kiss as you began to move again, your bodies tangled together in a mess of sweat and heat.

“I can’t get enough of you,” she breathed against your lips.

And neither could you.

You wake up to the sensation of warmth enveloping your cock, a wet, rhythmic suction pulling you from sleep. Your eyes flutter open, and there she is—Momo, her lips wrapped around your length, her head bobbing up and down with a hunger that makes your breath hitch. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks harder, her tongue swirling around the tip before she takes you deeper, her throat opening to swallow more of you.

“Momo…” you groan, your voice thick with sleep and arousal. Your hand instinctively reaches for her hair, tangling your fingers in the soft strands as she moans around your cock, the vibration sending shivers up your spine. She pulls back slightly, her lips glistening with saliva, and looks up at you with those dark, seductive eyes.

“Good morning,” she purrs, her voice dripping with mischief. Before you can respond, she dives back down, taking you deeper this time, her throat constricting around you as she deepthroats you with ease. You can feel the back of her throat, hot and tight, and it’s all you can do not to thrust up into her mouth.

“Where’s Hangil?” you manage to ask, your voice strained as she continues to work your cock with her mouth.

She pulls off with a wet pop, her lips still wrapped around the tip as she looks up at you. “Business trip,” she says casually, her tongue flicking against the sensitive underside. “He won’t be back for a while.” And with that, she takes you back into her mouth, her hand wrapping around the base of your cock as she sucks you with renewed vigor.

Your hips buck involuntarily, and she moans around you, the sound vibrating through your entire body. Her other hand slips between her legs, and you can hear the wet sounds of her fingers working her pussy as she pleasures herself while sucking you off. The sight of her—her lips stretched around your cock, her eyes rolling back in pleasure—is almost too much to bear.

“Fuck, Momo…” you gasp, your grip on her hair tightening as you feel the pressure building in your balls. She hums in response, her throat tightening around you as she takes you even deeper, her nose pressing against your stomach. You can’t hold back any longer—with a groan, you release into her mouth, your cum spurting down her throat as she swallows every drop, her lips never leaving your cock.

When you finally finish, she pulls back slowly, licking her lips as she looks up at you with a satisfied smile. “Breakfast is served,” she teases, crawling up your body to kiss you deeply. You can taste yourself on her tongue, and it only makes you want her more.

Without a word, you grab her by the waist and flip her onto her back, your lips trailing down her neck to her chest. Her nipples are already hard, and you take one into your mouth, sucking and nibbling as she arches her back, moaning your name. Your hand slides down her stomach to her pussy, and you’re not surprised to find her already soaked.

“Eat me,” she demands, her voice breathless as she spreads her legs wider for you. You don’t need to be told twice—you bury your face between her thighs, your tongue lapping at her folds as she gasps and writhes beneath you. Her hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as you suck on her clit, your fingers sliding inside her and curling just right to make her scream.

“Yes, yes, yes!” she chants, her hips bucking against your face as she comes undone, her pussy clenching around your fingers as she rides out her orgasm. You don’t let up, continuing to lick and suck until she’s trembling with overstimulation, her legs shaking as she tries to push you away.

But you’re not done with her yet. You pull her up from the bed and lead her to the bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping in with her. The water cascades over both of you as you press her against the tiled wall, your cock already hard again as it presses against her stomach.

“Turn around,” you growl, and she obeys without hesitation, bending over slightly as you grip her hips and slide into her from behind. She moans loudly, the sound echoing off the walls as you thrust into her, the water making everything slick and hot. Your hand comes down on her ass with a sharp smack, and she cries out in pleasure, pushing back against you as you fuck her harder.

“You’re mine,” you growl in her ear, your hand tangling in her hair as you pull her head back, your thrusts becoming more erratic as you feel yourself getting close. She reaches back to grab your hip, urging you on as she moans your name over and over.

“Cum inside me,” she begs, and you can’t resist—with a final thrust, you bury yourself deep inside her, your cum filling her as she clenches around you, her own orgasm crashing over her as she screams your name.

You stay like that for a moment, both of you panting and trembling as the water washes over you. Finally, you pull out, and she turns to face you, her eyes dark with desire as she kisses you deeply.

“Again?” she whispers against your lips

You wake up to the sound of soft moans, your eyes fluttering open to see Momo straddling you, her hands pressed against your chest as she grinds herself against your hardening cock. Her nightgown is hiked up around her waist, and you can feel the heat of her pussy through the thin fabric of your boxers. She leans down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, “Hangil’s gone for the day… again.” Her breath is hot, sending shivers down your spine as she nips at your earlobe.

You don’t need any more encouragement. Your hands slide up her thighs, gripping her hips as you pull her down harder against you. She gasps, her head tilting back as she grinds herself against your length, the friction making you both groan in unison. “Fuck,” you mutter, your voice rough with sleep and desire.

Momo smirks, her fingers trailing down your chest as she lifts herself up just enough to tug your boxers down, freeing your cock. She wraps her hand around it, stroking you slowly as she watches your face, her eyes dark with hunger. “You’re so hard for me,” she purrs, her thumb swiping over the tip of your cock, spreading the precum that’s already gathered there.

You can’t take it anymore. You grab her hips and flip her onto her back, pinning her beneath you as you settle between her legs. She lets out a surprised laugh, but it quickly turns into a moan as you press the head of your cock against her entrance. “Tell me what you want,” you growl, your voice low and demanding.

She bites her lip, her hips lifting to meet yours as she whispers, “I want you to fuck me. I want you to fill me up… make me yours.”

That’s all the permission you need. You thrust into her in one smooth motion, burying yourself to the hilt as she cries out, her nails digging into your back. She’s so wet, so tight, and the way she clenches around you makes your head spin. You start to move, setting a slow, deep rhythm that has her moaning your name with every thrust.

Her legs wrap around your waist, pulling you deeper as she arches her back, her breasts pressing against your chest. You lean down to capture her lips in a searing kiss, your tongues tangling as you continue to fuck her, each thrust driving you both closer to the edge.

“You feel so good,” she gasps against your lips, her hands roaming over your back and shoulders as she clings to you. “Don’t stop… please, don’t stop.”

You don’t plan on stopping. Your thrusts become harder, faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room as you lose yourself in her. You can feel her walls tightening around you, her moans growing louder and more desperate as she gets closer to her climax.

“Cum inside me,” she begs, her voice trembling with need. “I want to feel you… I want to have your baby.”

The words send a jolt of heat straight to your cock, and you can’t hold back any longer. With a final, deep thrust, you bury yourself inside her as you cum, your release flooding her as she screams your name, her own orgasm crashing over her in waves.

You stay like that for a moment, both of you panting and trembling as you come down from your highs. Finally, you pull out, collapsing beside her as she turns to face you, her hand resting on your chest as she catches her breath.

“You’re mine,” she whispers, her eyes locking with yours as she smiles softly. “And I’m yours.”

Months later, the house is filled with a different kind of energy. Momo sits on the couch, her hands resting on her heavily pregnant belly as she watches you from across the room. Her eyes are dark with desire, and the way she bites her lip sends a familiar heat coursing through your veins.

Hangil is in the kitchen, oblivious as always, his focus entirely on his work. But Momo’s attention is all on you. She smirks, her fingers tracing circles over her swollen belly as she mouths the words, “Yours.”

You can’t help but smile back, knowing that no matter what happens, she’ll always be yours. And as she shifts slightly, her hand moving lower, you know this isn’t over—not by a long shot.

[rvp32]

Absolutely goated! This is one of- if not the best F1XKpop fanfic that I have ever read. Hats off to you man for pulling off this masterpiece

Almost is never enough. (Ive Gaeul)

23.7k words

Content advisory: Act III is practically an F1 fanfic. Please enjoy the feature presentation!

——————

The fluorescent lights stab your eyes like ice picks. Every blink sends fresh waves of nausea rolling through your gut, thick and sour. There’s a low, insistent throb radiating from—everywhere. Your skull feels packed with wet sand, your chest aches with a deep, bruised soreness, and there’s a strange, heavy numbness anchored to your right leg. The air tastes sterile, sharp with antiseptic and something vaguely metallic. Plastic tubes snake from your arm, taped down with irritating precision. You have no idea where you are.

Suddenly, a voice cuts through the fog, sharp as a scalpel.

"You fucking idiot."

The voice is strained, ragged, laced with a fury that vibrates in the aseptic air. It takes monumental effort to turn your head, your muscles screaming in protest against stiff sheets. The world swims, blurs, before coalescing into a figure hunched in a plastic chair beside the bed. 

Gaeul.

Her usually pristine dark hair is a chaotic halo around a face devoid of its usual softness. Mascara streaks like inky tears carve paths down pale cheeks, dreary against the furious flush high on her cheekbones. Her eyes, usually holding a calm, observant depth, are wide, bloodshot pools of raw, unvarnished anger and something far more terrifying: sheer, unadulterated panic. She’s clutching the edge of your thin hospital blanket, knuckles bone-white.

"What—?" Your own voice is a dry, painful croak, barely recognizable. It scrapes your throat raw. Your tongue feels thick and clumsy.

"What?" Gaeul snaps, the word cracking like a whip. She leans forward, her gaze boring into yours, intense enough to make you flinch back against the fluffy pillow. "That's all you have? 'What?' After everything? After you nearly—" Her voice hitches, the fury momentarily choked by a sob she viciously swallows down. "What the hell is wrong with you? Were you even thinking? Were you trying to leave me?"

The accusations land like physical blows, adding to the symphony of aches. Confusion wars with the pain. 

Leave her—what is she talking about? 

Your mind feels like a shattered mirror, reflecting only disjointed, meaningless fragments. The sterile smell, the ache, Gaeul’s devastated anger—nothing connects. You still have no clue as to how you got here. The last clear memory—it’s like trying to grasp smoke. A flash of speed. A deafening roar. Nothing solid. Only this crushing weight of now.

You try to push yourself up slightly, a reflexive move to meet her intensity, but a searing bolt of agony lances through your torso, stealing your breath. A gasp escapes you, sharp and involuntary. The movement shifts the thin hospital gown, pulling taut against your body, and your gaze finally drops downwards.

Reality crashes in with brutal clarity.

Your right foot, encased in stark white plaster, juts out at an awkward angle from the edge of the bed. It looks alien, heavy, and wrong. The cast climbs halfway up your calf. Taped wires snake across your chest beneath the gown, connecting to blinking monitors that chirp with infuriating cheerfulness. Your left arm is braced in a sling, resting heavily on your abdomen. You tentatively flex the fingers of your right hand—stiff, sore, but mobile—and they brush against bandages wrapping your ribs. A dull, persistent throb emanates from your shoulder. 

You glance down at exposed skin on your forearm, a latticework of dark purple and yellow bruises, intersected by angry red abrasions, like you’d been dragged across concrete. The sheer scale of it hits you like dynamite, amplifying the disorientation. 

This wasn't a mere fall. This was—demolition.

"Gaeul—" you manage again, the confusion now mixed with a dawning horror. "I—I don't—remember. What happened?"

Her furious expression flickers. For a moment, pure, unadulterated fear replaces the anger, making her look terrifyingly young. "You don't—?" she whispers, the fight draining out of her throat, leaving only hollow disbelief. "You don't remember Spa? The rain? Eau Rouge?" 

The names mean nothing. Empty sounds in the echoing void of your memory. Her gaze sweeps over the cast, the wires, the bruises, the sling. The fierce, scolding idol vanishes. The tears she’d been holding back overflow, spilling hot and fast down her cheeks. Her shoulders shake with silent sobs, her carefully maintained composure dissolving into pure, raw grief. 

"You—you went into the barrier," she chokes out, the words thick with tears. "So fast—so much smoke—they couldn’t get you out—I thought—" A ragged sob cuts her off. She buries her face in her hands, her slender frame trembling. "I thought I had lost you. They said—they said it was touch and go for hours."

The image—vague, nightmarish—flickers at the edge of your consciousness: blinding spray, a sickening sense of weightlessness, an impact that shakes through your very bones. Afterwards, nothing. Just this sterile purgatory and Gaeul’s shattered presence. 

A cold dread seeps into your veins, colder than the IV drip. You had almost left her. The evidence was strapped, wired, and plastered all over you. The anger hadn't been scorn; it had been the desperate, terrified backlash of someone who’d stared into the abyss of losing everything.

Driven by a need that transcends the screaming protests of your body, you move your unslung right arm. Every muscle groans. Wires tug; monitors protest with a flurry of beeps. Ignoring it all, you reach out, your bandaged hand trembling slightly. Your fingers brush against the tear-damp skin of her forearm where she’s clutching her own arms.

She flinches slightly at the touch, then stills. Slowly, hesitantly, she lifts her head from her hands. Her eyes, red-rimmed and swimming, meet yours. The anger is gone, replaced by a vulnerability so profound it steals your breath more effectively than the pain in your ribs. 

You don't have words. The confusion, the fear, the sheer immensity of the pain—it’s too much. All you can offer is the warmth of your touch, the feeble attempt at connection through the layers of bandages and her own trembling skin. Your thumb strokes a clumsy, soothing pattern on her arm, a silent plea, an anchor.

"I'm here," you rasp, the words costing you. "I'm—sorry." 

Sorry for the fear, sorry for the pain you caused, sorry for the terrifying blank space where the explanation should be.

Gaeul stares at your hand on her arm, then back at your face. A fresh wave spills over, but this time, they’re quieter, mixed with a shaky, almost disbelieving relief. She doesn't pull away. Instead, her own hand lifts, trembling, and covers yours, resting on her arm. Her grip is surprisingly strong, desperate, like she’s clinging to driftwood in a stormy sea. Her cool fingers press against your bandaged knuckles, a grounding counterpoint to the chaos inside you both.

Before either of you can navigate the fragile, tear-slicked silence further, the door swings open with a soft whoosh. A nurse bustles in, her scrubs crisp, her demeanor a practiced blend of efficiency and calm that feels jarring against the emotional wreckage in the room. Her eyes sweep over the monitors, then land on the two of you—Gaeul’s tear-streaked face, your bandaged hand clutching hers.

"Ah, good, you're awake," she says brightly, cutting through the heavy atmosphere like sunbeam through storm clouds. She moves to check the IV drip, her movements quick and precise. "We were starting to get a bit concerned, but vitals are stabilizing nicely now." She taps the screen of a monitor displaying a steady, rhythmic green line. "Pain manageable?"

You try to nod, but it sends a fresh spike through your neck. "Manageable," you grit out, the word tasting like rocks. Manageable meaning a constant, grinding symphony of aches punctuated by sharp stabs if you dared to breathe too deeply or move the wrong limb.

The nurse nods, making a note on a chart. "Excellent. Doctor will be doing rounds soon, but I can give you the preliminary good news." She offers a warm, professional smile. "You are incredibly lucky. The injuries are significant, yes," her gaze flicks meaningfully to the cast, the sling, "but nothing life-threatening now. No internal bleeding we’re worried about, no spinal damage. The concussion was severe. Explains the memory gap, but the scans look promising. You’ll make a full recovery."

Gaeul lets out a shuddering breath beside you, her grip on your hand tightening almost painfully. "Full recovery?" she echoes, her voice thick with hope and residual terror.

"Absolutely," the nurse affirms, her tone reassuring. "It’s going to take time, though. Months of physio, especially for that ankle. Complex fracture, ligaments took a beating. And the shoulder needs careful rehab." She pauses, her expression turning slightly more serious, almost sympathetic. "They said it was a miracle you walked away, really. Jesus was certainly riding shotgun with you that day at Spa. That corner—" 

She shakes her head, a flicker of something like professional awe or grim understanding in her eyes. "Anyway," she continues, her brightness returning, "the main thing is you’re through the worst. Focus on healing now. Rest is paramount." She adjusts a wire taped to your chest. "Oh, and try not to worry too much about the season. Plenty of time for that later. Right now, just concentrate on getting yourself right."

Season. The word snags in your foggy brain. Spa. God riding shotgun. The nurse’s casual comment hangs in the air, heavy with unanswered implications you can’t grasp. 

Season. Football. Basketball. Autumn. Duck. Rabbit. 

It felt absurdly trivial against the canvas of pain you were stretched across and Gaeul’s raw distress. The confusion must show on your face, a furrow deepening between your brows as you try to parse her meaning.

But Gaeul isn’t listening to the implication. The nurse’s words—'you’re through the worst', 'full recovery'—seem to be the only things penetrating the haze of her fear. The tense lines around her eyes soften infinitesimally. The desperate grip on your hand relaxes slightly, shifting from a lifeline to a connection. She leans forward, resting her forehead gently against your unbandaged shoulder, her dark hair spilling over the thin hospital gown. You feel the dampness of her tears through the fabric, the slight tremor still running through her.

"Months," she murmurs against your shoulder, her voice muffled but the relief palpable. "But you’re here. You’re alive." She lifts her head just enough to look at you, her eyes searching yours, the earlier fury replaced by a weary, profound gratitude that makes your own throat tighten. "That’s all that matters right now. Just—be here. With me."

The nurse gives a final, satisfied nod at the monitors and quietly slips out, leaving you cocooned in the beeping stillness of the room with Gaeul. The mystery of the season, the terrifying void where your memory should be, the grueling road to recovery hinted at by the nurse—it all looms like storm clouds on the horizon. But for this suspended moment, anchored by the warm, real weight of Gaeul’s head on your shoulder and her hand still clasped in yours, the only truth that matters is the one she whispered: You’re alive. 

The rest—the terrifying, confusing rest—could wait. 

The pain is a constant drumbeat, the cast an immovable anchor, the wires a tether to this fragile existence, but beneath Gaeul’s tears and the lingering echo of her furious, frightened voice, there’s a fragile, desperate kind of peace. You’re here. She’s here. The nightmare of ‘almost’ is over. Now comes the long, painful awakening.

—————

Late summer air hangs thick and sweet as the car door clicks shut behind you, sealing off the world of antiseptic corridors and beeping monitors. The familiar scent of your neighborhood—cut grass, distant barbecue smoke, the faint tang of exhaust—floods your senses, almost overwhelming after weeks of hospital sterility. 

Gaeul maneuvers the wheelchair with surprising grace over the uneven pavement, her movements precise, almost rehearsed. Every bump, every minute jolt, sends a fresh reminder of your battered body up your spine. The cast on your right leg is a leaden weight, the sling cradling your healing left shoulder a constant, restrictive presence. Beneath it all, the lingering ache in your ribs is a dull percussion.

"You good?" Gaeul murmurs, pausing at the footpath leading to your front door. Her voice is soft, carefully controlled, a complete 180 to the raw fury and terror that had radiated from her in the hospital. Now, there’s a focused tenderness, a watchfulness that never wavers. She adjusts the blanket draped over your lap, her fingers brushing lightly against your good arm. The touch is warm, grounding.

"Yeah," you rasp, trying for a smile that feels stiff on your face. "Just—surreal. Being back. Back in the real world." 

The confusion hasn’t completely lifted. Fragments swirl: the blinding lights of the hospital, Gaeul’s tear-streaked face, the nurse’s cryptic words about a season and God riding shotgun at a corner. But the why, the how—it’s a frustrating blank. 

"Gaeul—" you start, the question bubbling up again, the one you’ve tentatively asked a dozen times. "What happened? Really. Before the hospital. I need to—"

She cuts you off, not harshly, but with a firmness that brooks no argument. Her hand rests gently on your uninjured shoulder. "Later. Please. Doctor Lee was very clear. Stress impedes healing. Your focus," she says, her gaze locking onto yours, intense and pleading, "needs to be here. On resting. On getting stronger. On—" Her voice catches slightly. "On being here." 

The unspoken ‘with me’ hangs heavy in the air, echoing the hospital’s raw fear. She pushes the wheelchair forward, navigating the small ramp installed during your absence. "Let's just get you settled first, okay? One thing at a time."

The front door swings open, revealing not just your familiar hallway, but an explosion of color and care. Your breath hitches, not from pain this time, but sheer surprise. The entryway and living room beyond are filled—overflowing—with gifts. Bouquets of vibrant flowers (lilies, sunflowers, delicate orchids) jostle for space with extravagant fruit baskets bursting with exotic berries and perfectly ripe mangoes. Giant, plush teddy bears wearing Get Well Soon sashes stand sentinel beside sleek, high-tech recovery gadgets still in their boxes. Cards are piled high on every available surface. Elegant embossed ones, funny cartoon ones, simple heartfelt notes.

"Whoa," escapes your lips, the sheer volume momentarily eclipsing your aches.

Gaeul smiles, a genuine, warm curve of her lips that lights up her face. "Told you everyone missed you." She wheels you further in, navigating the sea of well-wishes. "The girls—they practically raided every high-end department store in Seoul." 

She points at a large, foreboding presence. "That ridiculous giant panda? Rei. Said it was ‘for optimal hugging comfort during recovery.’ The basket with the imported Swiss chocolates and the very expensive silk pajamas? Liz and Leeseo. Yujin sent that state-of-the-art massage pillow. Said your neck would need it. Wonyoung—" Gaeul chuckles softly, pointing to a towering arrangement of white roses and lilies so pristine it looks sculpted, alongside a sleek, limited-edition noise-canceling headset. "—went for elegance and practicality. Said you’d need quiet."

Touched doesn't begin to cover what you feel. The thoughtfulness of her bandmates, their distinct personalities shining through their choices, wraps around you like a warm blanket. But the display extends far beyond IVE.

Gaeul guides you towards the low coffee table, dominated by a different kind of tribute. Nestled amongst the flowers are model cars—intricately detailed 1:18 scale replicas. A gleaming red Ferrari SF-25 sits beside a papaya-orange McLaren MCL39. A sleek silver Mercedes W16. And, unmistakably, a dark green and black Kick Sauber C45. Propped against them are signed caps, race gloves mounted in shadow boxes, and even more cards, these bearing familiar crests and signatures.

"Charles sent the Ferrari," Gaeul says softly, picking up a card with the Prancing Horse logo. 

Inside, in neat handwriting: "Mon ami, get well soon. The grid is not the same without your crazy moves. Come back stronger. – Charles."

Gaeul then picks up the McLaren model. "Lando and Oscar sent this together." She flips open the attached card, revealing two distinct scrawls. 

"Mate! Gutted for you. Spa bites. That move was almost legendary! Heal up fast, we need you back causing chaos (preferably behind us!). – Lando" 

Beneath it, neater and subdued: "Wishing you a speedy recovery. Focus on healing. The podium will wait. – Oscar"

A pair of worn but clean racing gloves sit in a box marked with the Ferrari logo. Lewis Hamilton’s signature streaks across the cuff. The note is succinct, powerful: 

"Strength isn't just speed. It's the comeback. Heal well. We’re all praying for you. – Lewis."

Then, Gaeul picks up the Sauber model, her expression softening further. "The team—they sent this. And this." She holds up a thicker envelope bearing the Kick Sauber logo. Inside, a formal letter wishing you a full recovery, signed by the Team Principal and every department head, expressing their support and confirming your contract details for the following season. Paperclipped to it is a handwritten note on team notepaper, signed by dozens of names: engineers, mechanics, catering staff.

"Get well soon, mate! The garage is too quiet! Hurry back! – The Sauber Crew"

And then, almost hidden beside the Sauber model, a simple, unsigned card. No team logo. Just stark black letters on white: 

"Next time, brake 5 meters later. Or don't. Made it exciting. Get well. – MV." 

You stare at the initials. Max. A reluctant grin tugs at your lips despite the pang of—something—the card evokes.

Gaeul watches your face, seeing the dawning realization, the struggle to reconcile the evidence with the void in your mind. She kneels beside your wheelchair, her hand finding yours again, her thumb stroking your knuckles. The tenderness in her eyes is almost unbearable. "See?" she whispers, "You matter. To so many people."

The sight of the Sauber car, Max’s blunt note, the sheer physicality and outpouring of support—it chips away at the mental barrier. A pressure builds behind your eyes, a mix of gratitude and profound frustration. "Gaeul," you say, your voice rough, the plea undeniable this time. "Please. I need to know. What happened at Spa? What did I do?"

She hesitates, her gaze flickering to the cast, the sling, then back to your desperate eyes. The carefully maintained wall of protection cracks. A sigh, heavy with the weight of traumatic memory, escapes her. She sits back on her heels, still holding your hand, her other hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair from your forehead with infinite gentleness.

"Okay," she concedes, her voice low, losing its practiced calm. "Okay. But remember: you’re here. That’s the important part." 

Gaeul takes a steadying breath. "It was Spa. Rain. So much rain. It was—brutal. Visibility was a joke. The car was a handful, even more so in the wet. But you—you were driving like a man possessed." A flicker of the old, fierce pride shines through the worry in her eyes. "You were climbing. P5 with—less than five laps left."

The words trigger nothing. Just abstract concepts. Positions. Laps. Vague sounds of engines roaring. The relentless patter of downpour.

"You were stuck behind Max. He was defending hard. The McLarens were ahead, fighting for a 1-2 finish." Her grip tightens slightly on your hand. "Coming out of Eau Rouge—up Raidillon—" She names the legendary, terrifying sweep with a reverence merged with dread. "You saw a gap. A tiny, miniscule gap between Max and the inside curb. On the exit of Raidillon, in the pouring rain." Her voice tightens. "You went for it. A divebomb. Everyone watching—we all held our breath. It was—audacious. Reckless. Brilliant. Almost."

The word hangs thick. Almost.

"If you’d made it stick—" Gaeul continues, her voice barely a whisper now, haunted. "You’d have been P3. Right behind the McLarens. Your first podium. Right there." She closes her eyes for a second, as if reliving the horrific flip-side. "But you—you overshot the apex. Just—just a fraction. The car snapped. You hit the outside barrier—" 

Her voice suddenly breaks. "Hard. Then it spun—back across the track—into the other barrier. Metal screaming. Carbon fiber shattering—" Tears well in her eyes again, mirroring the terror you can’t remember. "There was fire—so much smoke. They couldn’t get to you. It felt like forever.”

She buries her face against your good arm for a moment, her shoulders trembling silently. When she looks up, her eyes are swimming. "They pulled you out. Barely. You were—broken. Unconscious. They airlifted you straight to Liège. And then—coma. Days. Tests. Surgeries. Waiting." 

She swallows hard, her gaze locking onto yours with fierce intensity. "Gabriel Bortoleto—he’s in your seat now. For the rest of the season. The team—they had to. But you—you almost didn’t have a rest of your life. Do you understand now? Why I just—why I just need you to be here? To heal? The car, the seat—none of that matters if you’re not here."

The pieces crash together. The season. The nurse’s strange comment about Jesus riding shotgun. The model cars. Max’s card. Spa. Eau Rouge. Raidillon. Divebomb. Podium. Fire. The abstract horror crystallizes. You weren’t simply injured. You were an F1 driver. Gambled everything on one insane move for glory. And you lost. Catastrophically. Shattered your body and your season in a heartbeat of rain-lashed ambition. 

A cold wave washes over you, followed by a surge of something hot and vital. Shame at the recklessness? Terror at the near-miss? Yes. But beneath it, deeper, fiercer—a spark. The memory might be gone, but the feeling—the adrenaline echo of pushing the limit, the tantalizing glimpse of immortal glory, the bitter taste of almost—it ignites something primal. Determination.

The commentator in your mind isn’t describing a crash anymore; he’s describing the move that should have worked. "An outrageous lunge! Is he going for it? Yes! Oh, that is millimeters! If he holds this—P3! Unbelievable! Wait—no! Too much! over the curb! Loss of control! He’s into the barrier! Heavy impact! Red flag! Red flag!"

Gaeul sees the shift. Sees the confusion recede, replaced by a dawning intensity in your eyes that frightens her almost as much as the sight of you in that hospital bed did. 

"Hey," she says sharply, squeezing your hand. "Stop. Whatever you're thinking—stop. You need rest. Doctor's orders. Let's get you to the sofa."

Her voice is firm, laced with that protective fear again.

She helps you transfer from the wheelchair to the plush sofa, arranging pillows with meticulous care behind your back and under your casted leg. She fetches water, checks your medication schedule, adjusts the blanket. Her tenderness is a balm, a constant in the storm of realization. She fusses, trying to anchor you in the present, in the slow, safe rhythm of recovery.

Later, after a light meal she prepared with focused precision, Gaeul announces she needs to run a quick errand. "Medicine refill," she says, grabbing her keys. "Twenty minutes. Tops. Rest. Promise me?" Her eyes search yours, seeking reassurance.

"Promise," you murmur, offering a weak smile.

The moment the door clicks shut behind her, the silence of the house presses in, filled only by the ticking clock and the phantom roar of engines in your mind. The giant panda Rei sent grins at you vacuously. The Sauber model on the coffee table glints under the lamplight. 

Almost. The word burns through your skull.

Driven by a force stronger than the ache in your bones, you reach for the remote. It takes some maneuvering with your good arm, fumbling awkwardly. You find the highlights video on YouTube, your fingers trembling slightly. 

Searching: Belgian Grand Prix. Lap 39. Spa fills the large screen. Torrential rain sheets down. Visibility is appalling. Cars ghost through the spray.

There you are. Car #77. Kick Sauber. Lurking behind the bright Red Bull of Verstappen. The camera focuses on the climb out of Eau Rouge, up the steep incline of Raidillon. Crofty’s voice rises, tense with anticipation: "—and here comes the Sauber! Look at this! He’s glued to the gearbox of Verstappen! Is he thinking about it? Raidillon in these conditions—incredibly brave, or incredibly foolish—"

You watch your car. It darts left, a flash of dark blue cutting inside the Red Bull on the exit, riding the treacherous curb. The move is breathtakingly aggressive, a knife-edge gamble. "He goes for it! An incredible dive up the inside! Verstappen gives him just enough room! If he can hold it—!"

The ‘if’ hangs. Your car—your past self—pushes a fraction too hard. The rear snaps out violently on the slick curb. A sickening pirouette. The impact with the first barrier is brutal, spinning the car like a toy. The secondary impact with the opposite wall is catastrophic. Debris flies. A sickening plume of smoke and steam erupts, instantly swallowed by the rain. Max’s Red Bull streaks past, completely unscathed. The camera cuts away quickly, but not before showing the crumpled, motionless wreck of the Sauber.

"—devastating crash for the Sauber! Heavy impact! That looks very, very bad! Red flag! Red flag! Medical Team deploying immediately!" Crofty’s voice goes grim, shocked. "A move that was this close to being legendary—ends in catastrophe. Let's hope the driver is okay."

You stare, numb, at the frozen replay image: your car, a broken sculpture against the tire barrier. The almost. The what-if. It’s no longer abstract. It’s visceral. It’s you. 

The podium champagne that wasn’t sprayed. The cheers that died in throats. Your season handed to Bortoleto. Months of pain mapped out on your broken body.

But the numbness doesn't last. It’s incinerated by a sudden, white-hot resurgence. Not shame. Not despair. Defiance. 

A fire you thought the crash, the pain, the amnesia might have extinguished roars back to life, hotter and fiercer than before. It floods your veins, momentarily eclipsing the physical agony. 

Crofty’s words echo: "This close to being legendary." 

He was wrong. It wasn't legendary. It was a failure. A spectacular, near-fatal failure.

But the move—the sheer, audacious belief required to attempt it in those conditions—it never died. It’s still in you. Buried underneath heaps of plaster and bandages and trauma, but there. The podium wasn’t reached. The story wasn’t finished. It was brutally interrupted.

Gaeul’s terrified face flashes in your mind. Her tears, her fierce protectiveness, her desperate need for you to just be safe. The love in her touch as she adjusted your pillows. It’s a weight, a responsibility, a reason to be cautious.

But the fire burning in your chest, ignited by the sight of your own near-triumph and catastrophic failure, is an equally powerful force. It speaks of unfinished business. Of limits tested and boundaries demanding to be pushed again. Of a story that cannot end crumpled against a barrier in Belgium.

You hear Gaeul’s key in the lock. Quickly, you switch off the TV, the image of the infamous wreck fading to black. You lean back against the pillows, closing your eyes, feigning sleep. The physical pain rushes back in, a constant, grinding reality. But beneath it, deeper, more potent, is a newly forged resolve. A silent vow, etched in the phantom scent of burning fuel and the roar of an engine only you can hear.

I’m coming back.

I’m finishing that story.

The door opens. Gaeul’s soft footsteps approach. You feel her gentle hand brush your forehead, her sigh of relief when she thinks you’re resting. The tenderness is profound, a sanctuary. But within the oasis, the fire burns, waiting for the cast to come off, the bones to knit, the strength to return. Ready to fulfill unfinished business.

—————

Months bleed into each other, marked not by seasons, but by the incremental, almost obstinate, reclamation of your body. 

The sterile scent of the hospital fades, replaced by the familiar musk of your home gym: sweat, rubber mats, the faint metallic tang of weights. The leaden weight of the cast is gone, replaced by the persistent, grinding ache of bone knitting itself back together beneath scarred skin. 

First, a slow, agonizing shuffle, clinging to Gaeul’s arm like driftwood in a churning sea. Then, with crutches that dig into your ribs, each step a percussive thud of effort. Until, finally, completely unaided. The gait is stiff, a little uneven, a constant, low-level protest radiating from the rebuilt ankle and the shoulder that still twinges with certain movements. 

But you walk. You stand tall. You move under your own power, a victory wrested from the wreckage of Spa.

Gaeul is your constant, your anchor, your fiercely protective shadow. Her tenderness is a physical thing. She massages the tightness from your scarred ankle with warm oil, her fingers tracing the map of damage with heartbreaking gentleness. She sets timers for your medication with unwavering precision, her brow furrowed in concentration. She cooks meals rich in protein and calcium, plating them with a care that borders on reverence. 

When the phantom pains strike, sudden and sharp, deep in the marrow where metal pins hold you together, she’s there, a cool hand on your forehead, whispering reassurances until the wave passes. Her eyes, though, those calm, observant pools, hold a watchfulness that never fully relaxes. They track your every wince, every suppressed grimace, every moment you push a little too hard.

And you push. Oh, how you push. 

It’s a quiet, relentless fire burning beneath the surface of your recovery. While Gaeul is attending IVE schedules—practices that stretch long into the night, countless photoshoots, the whirlwind of promotions—the garage becomes your sanctuary. Physio exercises morph into something more. Gentle stretches become deep, demanding lunges that make the tendons in your ankle scream. Light resistance bands are swapped for weights that strain your healing shoulder, sweat stinging your eyes as you grit your teeth against the pain, chasing the ghost of the strength you once possessed. 

You set up a simulator in the corner, a makeshift shrine to the world you crave. The first time you strap in, the familiar grip of the wheel in your hands, the pedals beneath your feet—even the stiff, unyielding motion of the brake—sends a jolt of pure adrenaline through you, momentarily eclipsing the ache. You run laps of Spa. Over and over. Not the crash. The move. The divebomb at Raidillon. Testing the virtual limits, feeling the car’s edge, chasing that impossible fraction of control you lost in the rain. 

It’s reckless, bordering on stupid. You know it. But almost is a siren song you can’t mute.

The rest of the F1 season unfolds on the large screen in the living room, a parallel universe you observe with gnawing intensity. McLaren’s dominance is absolute; a papaya-orange juggernaut. Oscar and Lando are locked in a breathtaking duel, trading wins and podiums, their points tally a neck-and-neck dance that captivates audiences. Commentary buzzes with their rivalry, the sheer brilliance of their driving, the inevitability of one of them lifting the World Driver’s Championship. You watch Lando execute a daring overtake on Charles in Baku, cool and precise, and feel a pang that’s equal parts admiration and fierce, burning envy. You see Oscar hold off a charging Max in Austin, ice flowing in his veins, and the phantom feel of champagne spray prickles your skin.

Then there’s the Sauber. Your car. Now Gabriel Bortoleto’s. It’s a carousel of disaster. Race after race, the highlights reel is a grim montage of green-and-black misfortune. He spun out in Monza, clipping the barrier at Variante Ascari on lap three. Tangled with George’s Mercedes in Singapore, retiring with a broken suspension. In São Paulo, an engine fire engulfs the car on the formation lap, a plume of oily smoke marking another DNF. When he does finish, it’s invariably at the back: P18, P19, sometimes the lonely P20, lapped and struggling. 

Commentary’s tone shifts from hopeful analysis to weary, defeated resignation. 

"Another tough outing for Bortoleto and Sauber—" 

"The C45 just doesn’t seem to suit the rookie—" 

"Sauber now mathematically certain to finish last in the Constructors'— a bitter pill for the soon to be Audi."

Each failure, each DNF, each bottom-place finish is another spark thrown onto the kindling of your resolve. The fire burns hotter, brighter. It’s not just the podium you almost had; it’s the sheer indignity of seeing your seat, your car, become a laughingstock. Bortoleto’s struggles scream opportunity. 

Qatar. Abu Dhabi. The final two races. 

The car may be utter shit, and the team’s morale at rock bottom, but you could wring something more from it. You know you could. Just two races. To finish the story Spa brutally interrupted. To prove, if only to yourself, that the fire hadn’t been extinguished, merely banked.

You keep it hidden, this blazing ambition. A secret smothered beneath Gaeul’s loving care. You smile through shared meals, listen to her talk about IVE’s preparations for MAMA, her voice animated about choreography and stage concepts. You even watch their rehearsal footage on her laptop, the girls—Yujin’s commanding presence, Rei’s quirky energy, Leeseo’s youthful spark, Liz’s vocal power, Wonyoung’s ethereal grace—moving in perfect, dazzling synchronicity. You murmur appreciative words, but your mind is elsewhere. Calculating recovery timelines. Mentally mapping the Lusail International Circuit. Imagining the feel of Abu Dhabi’s twilight track under fresh tires.

The dissonance grows unbearable. Her tenderness feels like a prison. Her watchful eyes, once a comfort, now feel like searchlights probing for the rebellion she surely suspects.

—————

The breaking point comes after a particularly grueling physio session. You’d pushed too hard on the shoulder rehab, a sharp, electric pain lancing down your arm as you attempted a weight overhead. You’d hidden the worst of the wince, but Gaeul sees everything. Later, as she kneels before you on the living room rug, gently kneading the tight muscles around your rebuilt ankle, the silence becomes thick, charged.

"You were grimacing earlier," she states, her voice low, her fingers pausing their work. She doesn’t look up. "During the shoulder presses. You pushed past the limit again."

"It’s fine," you mutter, shifting slightly. "Just stiff."

"It’s not fine." Her head snaps up, her eyes locking onto yours. The calm observer is gone, replaced by a storm of worry and burgeoning frustration. "It’s never just stiff with you anymore. You’re pushing too hard. For what? The doctor said gradual. Not—not whatever superhuman feat you’re trying to pull off." Her gaze flicks meaningfully towards the garage door. "You spend hours in there. On that simulator. Like you’re—rehearsing."

The accusation hangs in the air. The secret is out, not in words, but in the raw fear radiating from her. 

"Qatar," you say, the word dropping into the tense silence like a stone. You can’t hide it any longer. "And Abu Dhabi."

Gaeul freezes. Her hands freeze on your ankle. The color drains from her face, leaving her pale as parchment. "What?" The word is a breathless whisper.

"I want to race. The final two." Your voice is steady, resolute, fueled by months of pent-up determination. "Bortoleto’s a disaster. The car’s there. I’m—I’m ready. Or I will be."

"Ready?" The word explodes from her, laced with incredulous horror. She scrambles to her feet, towering over you where you sit, her usual composure shattered. "Ready for what? To get back in that metal coffin? To tempt fate again? After what it did to you?" 

Her voice rises, trembling with fury and terror. "Look at you! Look at what’s left! You think months of playing hero in the garage erases that?" She gestures wildly at your tattered body: the subtle stiffness, the hidden scars. "You almost died, you fucking idiot! You left me staring at machines keeping you alive! And for what? A pointless lunge for glory that ended in fire and broken bones!"

"It wasn’t pointless!" You surge to your feet, the movement sending a fresh wave of pain through your ankle, but you ignore it, meeting her fury head-on. "It was this close, Gaeul! Podium! My first! And Gaby—he’s young, but he’s making a mockery of the seat! The team’s dead last! I can’t just sit here watching it rot!"

"So what?" she screams, tears springing to her eyes, her fists clenched at her sides. "So what if they’re last? So what if Bortoleto crashes every week? Is that worth your life? Is a stupid trophy worth leaving me alone?" Her voice cracks, raw and desperate. "There’s a reason you’re still here! A reason you survived that—that wreck! And it’s not racing! It’s this!" She gestures wildly between you, encompassing the home, the care, the fragile life rebuilt. "It’s us! Or have you forgotten that part already? Forgotten the nights I sat by your bed, praying? Forgotten the pain? Forgotten me?"

"I haven’t forgotten!" you roar back, your frustration boiling over. "But this is who I am! It’s not just a job, it’s—it’s in my blood! That fire, that need to push, to finish what I started—you can’t just ask me to bury that!"

"Bury it?" She lets out a harsh, humorless laugh, tears streaming freely now. "I’m asking you to live! To choose life! With me! Not death wrapped in carbon fiber! Is that really so impossible to understand? Or is the roar of an engine really more important than—than this?" Her voice drops to a broken whisper, the anger momentarily swallowed by profound hurt. "Than me?"

Her raw vulnerability hits you like a physical blow, cutting through the blinding recklessness. The image flashes: Gaeul, pale and trembling in the hospital chair, the sheer terror in her eyes when you woke. The months of her unwavering care. The love in every gentle touch, every carefully prepared meal. The guilt is sudden, cold, and suffocating. But beneath it, the stubborn ember of a maverick racer still glows.

"I have to try," you say, your voice lower now, strained. "I have to know if I can still do it. Just two races. To finish the story."

"Finish the story?" she echoes, her voice hollow, all fight draining away, replaced by a profound, chilling disappointment. She stares at you, her eyes searching yours, finding only the unyielding resolve. The tenderness is gone, replaced by a bleak emptiness. "Fine. But remember—you’re not Cody Rhodes." 

The concession is flat, degrading, final. 

"Go on. Finish your story. Drive your heart out. Chase your precious podium. But don’t expect me to watch." She takes a step back, then another, her movements jerky. "I can’t—I won’t stand by and watch you throw away the second chance you were given. Not for glory. Not for anything."

"Gaeul, wait—" You reach out, but she flinches away as if burned.

"No." Her voice is quiet, terrifyingly calm now. "I need—I need space. From this. From you.”

She turns, walks towards the door with stiff, deliberate steps. 

She doesn’t look back. She doesn’t slam the door. It closes with a soft, definitive click that echoes in the sudden, oppressive silence of the room.

You stand alone amidst the remnants of the argument, the furious energy evaporating, leaving only the familiar ache in your bones and a far deeper, colder ache in your chest. The fire of your resolve still burns, but now it’s ringed by the ashes of her words. 

Selfish idiot. Worth your life? Throw away your second chance. 

The images of Spa replay once more: the near-podium, the devastating crash. The image of Gaeul’s devastated face as she walked out. The reckless drive to race feels suddenly hollow, tinged with a sullen, heavy guilt. 

You sink back onto the sofa, the silence of the house a crushing weight, the roar of imagined engines replaced by the deafening echo of that closing door. The path forward, once blazing with defiant purpose, now feels shrouded in doubt.

—————

The roar of the vast Hong Kong crowd vibrates through the very bones of Kai Tak Stadium. A physical pressure wave that hits you the moment you slip through the secure backstage entrance. It’s a stark, almost violent contrast to the sterile, homely silence you’ve inhabited for months. Neon strobes slash through the dim backstage corridors, catching on sequined costumes and anxious staff. The air crackles with adrenaline, sweat, and hairspray. Moving through the controlled chaos, you’re a ghost in plain clothes, navigating by memory and booming bass shaking the floor.

You find a sliver of space near the wings, hidden by a towering lighting rig. On stage, IVE is pure, incandescent fire. The complex choreography for their latest hit unfolds with razor-sharp precision, a kaleidoscope of color and synchronized power. Yujin commands the center with fierce charisma, Liz and Leeseo flanking her with explosive energy. Rei’s quirky charm translates into dynamic moves, while Wonyoung moves with an ethereal grace that seems to defy gravity. 

And then there’s Gaeul. Your breath catches. She’s radiant. 

Every movement is sharp, confident, utterly focused. The Gaeul who massaged your scars and watched you with terrified eyes is gone, replaced by the consummate idol, owning her space under the blinding lights. There’s no trace of the devastation you caused, only sheer, polished brilliance. The performance crescendos in a final, breathtaking formation, met by a deafening wall of screams that shakes the stadium.

Time becomes a blur of waiting in the pulsating dark. Announcements boom. Awards are given. The tension backstage is a living thing, thick with anticipation and exhaustion. Then it happens. 

The actor’s voice echoes, amplified: “—and the Song of the Year Daesang goes to—IVE!” 

The shriek that erupts from the star-studded artist area is pure, unadulterated joy. You watch from the shadows as they surge forward, a whirlwind of shimmering fabric and tear-streaked smiles, clutching each other’s hands as they ascend the stage to accept the highest honor.

Their acceptance speeches are a flurry of gratitude, breathless and effervescent. Gaeul, holding the heavy trophy alongside Yujin, smiles—a genuine, effervescent beam that lights up her face—but her eyes, scanning the adoring crowd, hold a depth that wasn’t there during the performance. A flicker of something else. Something calmer beneath the triumph.

Back in the relative sanctuary of their dedicated dressing room, the atmosphere is electric chaos. Champagne corks pop. Staff buzz around, offering congratulations and managing logistics. The members are buzzing, laughing, replaying core moments, their Daesang trophy gleaming on a central table. Leeseo is twirling. Liz is mock-scolding Rei for almost spilling her drink. Yujin is radiating proud calm. Wonyoung is meticulously adjusting a strand of hair in a mirror, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. 

Gaeul stands slightly apart near a refreshment table, holding a flute of untouched champagne, watching her members with a soft, affectionate smile that doesn’t quite reach the slight tension in her shoulders. The performer’s mask is down, revealing the woman beneath: proud, happy, but carrying an invisible weight.

You step out of the deeper shadows near the door.

The shift is instantaneous. Rei, mid-laugh while hugging her giant panda plushie (a relic from your home, brought for good luck), spots you first. Her eyes widen comically. “Oppa?!” 

The single word cuts through the celebratory noise. Heads snap in your direction. Conversations die. Jiwon’s hand flies to her mouth. Hyunseo stops twirling. Yujin’s eyes narrow slightly, assessing. Wonyoung turns from the mirror, her expression unreadable but intensely observant.

Gaeul freezes. The champagne flute dips precariously in her hand. Softness vanishes from her face, replaced by sheer, unvarnished shock that quickly hardens into wariness. Her knuckles whiten around the stem of the glass. The warmth in the room chills by several degrees, the unspoken history—the hospital, the fight, the closed door—hanging thick and heavy.

“Surprise,” you say, your voice rough, feeling utterly exposed under the collective gaze, especially hers. You take a hesitant step further into the light. “Congratulations. That—that was incredible. The Daesang—so well deserved.”

Silence stretches, taut and uncomfortable. It’s Jiwon who breaks it, ever the warm heart. She steps forward, a tentative smile replacing her shock. “Oppa! You’re here! How—?” 

She glances nervously at Gaeul, then back at you.

“Caught a flight,” you shrug, the movement sending a familiar twinge through your shoulder. Your eyes never leave Gaeul. She hasn’t moved, hasn’t blinked. Her gaze is a physical pressure. “Had to be here. For this.”

Yujin steps forward, her leadership instincts kicking in, sensing the brewing undercurrents. Her voice is calm, diplomatic. “It’s good to see you. Are you—recovering well?” 

Her eyes flick meaningfully over you, taking in the residual stiffness you can’t hide.

Before you can answer, Gaeul finally speaks. Her voice is low, controlled, but vibrating with an intensity that silences the room again. “Why are you here?” 

No greeting. No acknowledgment. Just the raw, direct question you knew was coming.

You take a deep breath, the scent of champagne and hairspray suddenly cloying. The carefully rehearsed script in your head dissolves. All that remains is the messy, uncomfortable truth. 

“Because I was wrong,” you say, the admission scraping your throat raw. “Because I’m a selfish idiot. Because I took it too far—way too fucking far—trying to push myself back into that seat before I was ready, before—” You falter, your gaze dropping for a second before forcing it back up to meet hers. The anger, the fear you saw in the hospital, the profound disappointment when she walked out—it’s all still there, swirling in her dark eyes. “Before considering what it would do to you. Again.”

A muscle ticks in Gaeul’s jaw. “Too far?” she echoes, her voice gaining an edge. “Trying to push? Is that what you call it? You were ready to throw away everything—everything we rebuilt—for two races. After everything.” She takes a step towards you, the untouched champagne forgotten. “You took recklessness to a whole new level. Again.”

The dressing room is utterly still. Rei clutches her panda tighter. Hyunseo splits wide-eyed glances between you and Gaeul. Jiwon bites her lip. Wonyoung’s expression remains carefully neutral, yet her gaze sharp. Yujin watches, her posture protective near her member, ready to step in when necessary.

“I know,” you whisper, the guilt a cold stone in your gut. “I know, Gaeul. And I didn’t go.” 

The words hang in the air. Gaeul’s fierce expression flickers, replaced by pure, stunned confusion. “What?”

“Qatar,” you clarify, your voice gaining a sliver of strength. “I never got on the plane. I packed. I went to the airport. Sat at the gate. Watched the cars—on the screen.” The memory is vivid: the roar of engines from the TV in the departure lounge, the pull so strong it felt like a physical ache. “All I could see was your face. That night—when you walked out. The look in your eyes. I knew I couldn’t do it. So I turned around. Came back. Spent the weekend—here. Planning how to crash your party, I guess.” 

You attempt a weak smile that doesn’t quite land.

Gaeul stares at you, the confusion warring with the residual anger and a dawning, hesitant flicker of something else—relief. Understanding. Her posture softens infinitesimally, the rigid defensiveness easing. “You—didn’t go?”

“No.” You shake your head. “Couldn’t. Not like that. Not without—” 

You take another step closer, closing the distance. The members are silent witnesses, the celebration momentarily suspended. “Abu Dhabi is next week. The season finale. I still want to race it. I need to—to close that chapter. For me. But I won’t. I swear to you, Gaeul, I won’t set foot in that paddock unless you tell me I can.” 

Holding her gaze, you lay yourself bare. “You were right. It’s not worth losing this. Losing you. Not for any podium in the world. I don’t care anymore. As long as I have you. It’s your call.”

The silence stretches. The distant thump of music from the stadium feels worlds away. Gaeul searches your face, her eyes tracing the lines of exhaustion, the lingering shadows of pain, the earnest desperation in your expression. The fierce protector, the terrified lover, the proud partner—they all war within her gaze. Finally, a sigh escapes her, long and shuddering, releasing some of the tension coiled inside her. A small, almost imperceptible smile touches her lips, weary but genuine.

“Stupid,” she murmurs, lacking its former bite, softened by an undeniable warmth. “Reckless. Selfish. All of those things.” She takes the final step, closing the gap completely. Her hand lifts, not to strike, but to gently cup your cheek. Her touch is cool against your flushed skin, a grounding counterpoint to the storm inside you. “But you’re mine. And I know that fire. I saw it when you woke up in that hospital, even when you couldn’t remember your own name. I can’t—I can’t hold you back from what’s in your blood. Not truly.” 

Gaeul’s thumb strokes your cheekbone. “So yes. Go race Abu Dhabi. Finish your story.” Her gaze intensifies, holding yours with fierce love and a lingering trace of fear. “But you come back to me. In one piece. Not just alive—whole. Promise me.”

The wave of relief and gratitude that crashes over you is so profound it nearly buckles your knees. You cover her hand on your cheek with yours, leaning into her touch. “I promise,” you rasp, thick with emotion. “I will come back to you. Whole.”

A collective, subtle release of breath seems to go through the other members. Rei beams, giving her panda a happy squeeze. Jiwon lets out a quiet, relieved sigh, smiling brightly. Hyunseo bounces on her toes, the tension broken. Wonyoung offers a small, knowing nod. Yujin clears her throat, subtly breathing a sigh of relief, a soft smile finally touching her lips.

“Well,” Yujin says, her voice warm but carrying a hint of gentle command. She picks up the Daesang. “This calls for proper celebration. We should find the managers, see about that after-party reservation—” She glances meaningfully at Gaeul, then at you, her smile turning slightly mischievous. “Leeseo, Rei, Liz—help me track down the coordinators. Wonyoung?”

Wonyoung, ever perceptive, simply inclines her head, her regal posture unwavering. “Of course, baby.”

Rei giggles, nudging Leeseo. “Come on, let’s go find the fancy champagne. The really fancy stuff!” 

Liz loops her arm through Leeseo’s, steering her towards the door with a final, encouraging smile in your and Gaeul’s direction.

Within moments, the dressing room vacates, the buzz of celebration moving elsewhere, leaving you and Gaeul in a sudden, intimate quiet. The only sounds are your breathing and the muffled thump of bass from the distant stage. The tension of the confrontation melts, replaced by a different kind of electricity. Gaeul’s hand is still on your cheek. Your hand covers hers. The space between you hums.

Gaeul’s eyes, no longer wary or angry, search yours—seeing the exhaustion, the lingering pain, the raw vulnerability, and the fierce determination beneath. Her gaze drops to your lips, then back up, a slow, warm blush spreading across her cheeks. The faint scent of her perfume—something floral and expensive—mixes with the lingering champagne and the adrenaline of the performance. The low neckline of her stage costume glitters under the dressing room lights, drawing your eye to the smooth line of her throat, the rapid flutter of her pulse you can see just beneath her jaw.

“They think we need the room,” she murmurs, husky now, a world away from its earlier sharpness. Her other hand comes up, fingers lightly tracing the tense line of your jaw, then drifting down to rest against the pulse hammering in your neck. Her touch is deliberate, exploratory, reigniting embers that had been banked by pain and conflict.

“They might be onto something,” you manage, your own inflection rough. 

The months of enforced distance—the fear, the anger, the relief of this fragile reconciliation—it all coalesces into a sudden, overwhelming need. 

Your free hand finds her waist, the sequined fabric cool and slick under your fingertips. Pulling her gently, irresistibly closer, until your bodies are almost touching. The heat radiating from her is intoxicating. You can feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest against yours. The roar of the crowd is replaced by the roaring of your own blood. Her lips part slightly, an unspoken invitation, her eyes darkening with an answering hunger that mirrors your own. The chaos of MAMA fades away, leaving only the quiet room, the shared warmth, and the promise of a much different kind of reunion, long overdue and desperately needed. 

The hotel key card in your pocket suddenly feels heavy with possibility.

—————

The hotel room door clicks shut behind you, sealing off the distant thrum of MAMA, the muffled bass from distant parties, the lingering scent of hairspray and adrenaline. Silence descends, thick and charged, broken only by the frantic hammering of your own heart against your ribs and the soft, quick breaths escaping Gaeul’s parted lips. The luxurious space—all cool marble and sleek furniture—feels suddenly small, intimate, charged with the electric current of months of repressed longing, fear, anger, and now, this fragile, desperate reconciliation.

For a heartbeat, you simply stare at each other across the plush carpet. The shimmering residue of her stage makeup catches the soft light from the bedside lamp, highlighting the high curve of her cheekbones, the slight tremble in her bottom lip. Her eyes, dark pools reflecting the city lights bleeding through the sheer curtains, hold yours with an intensity that steals your breath. There’s no wariness left, no residual anger. Only a raw, naked hunger that mirrors the fire scorching through your own veins. 

It’s not a gentle merging; it’s a collision. 

You meet in the center of the room, a tangle of desperate limbs and seeking mouths. Your lips crash against hers with a force born of months of separation and stifled need. 

Hers yield instantly, opening with a soft gasp that vibrates against your tongue. The kiss is deep, bruising. A frantic reclamation. Her hands fly to your face, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer, impossibly closer. Your own arms lock around her waist, hauling her flush against you, the sequined fabric of her stage outfit cool and slick beneath your palms, the heat of her body beneath it radiating like a healthy furnace.

The taste of her is intoxicating: champagne, a hint of her signature floral perfume, and something uniquely, addictively Gaeul. Your hands slide down her back, tracing the delicate ridge of her spine through the thin material, feeling her powerful dance muscles coil and release. Hers are equally restless, roaming over your shoulders, down your chest, nails scraping lightly through the fabric of your shirt, sending shivers down your spine. 

The months of physio, the careful rebuilding—it all evaporates under the sheer, overwhelming need to feel her. All of her.

Clothing becomes an enemy. Fingers fumble with stubborn clasps and zippers. Breathless curses mingle with hungry moans against each other’s skin. You push the glittering straps of her outfit off her shoulders, the delicate fabric tearing slightly in your haste, a small casualty lost to urgency. It pools around her waist before you shove it lower, revealing the smooth, pale expanse of her back, the graceful curve leading down to the swell of her hips. 

Gaeul arches into your touch as your lips leave her mouth to blaze a trail down her jaw, her neck, finding the frantic pulse point hammering beneath her skin. You suck, gently at first, then harder, marking her, claiming her anew. A low whine escapes her throat, her head tipping back to grant you better access.

Her own hands are frantic at your buttons, pushing your shirt open, her cool palms sliding over your chest, tracing the lines of muscle, the faint ridges of scars left by Spa—a reminder of the chasm you’d crossed to get back here. Her touch is both worship and possession. Pushing the shirt off your shoulders, letting it fall forgotten. Your belt buckle clatters to the floor, followed by the rustle of trousers being shoved down your legs. Her stage outfit follows, a shimmering cascade of discarded glamour, kicked away impatiently. 

Underneath, simple lace—dark against her moon-pale skin—a final barrier quickly breached.

Then, it’s skin on skin. The shock of it is electric, grounding and dizzying all at once. 

The cool air of the room meets the blazing heat radiating from your bodies. You pull Gaeul against you, every curve and plane fitting together with a familiarity that aches, the months apart dissolving in sheer perfection of the contact. Her breasts press against your chest, hardened peaks scraping your skin. Her thighs bracket yours, the softness yielding against the hard muscle of your legs. She feels like heaven, like home rediscovered after a long, perilous journey. A groan tears from your throat, deep and guttural, echoed by a sigh from her that’s half relief, half desperate want.

Driven by a need too primal to articulate, you guide her backwards, slightly stumbling in your haste, until her back meets the cool expanse of the bedroom wall. The impact draws a gasp from her lips, instantly swallowed by your renewed kiss: deeper, more demanding. Your hands roam freely now, mapping the familiar territory of her bare body with possessive intensity. One hand cups the perfect swell of her ass, fingers digging into the firm muscle, lifting her slightly, grinding the hard length of your cock against the soft heat at the apex of her thighs. She cries out against your mouth, her hips rocking instinctively, seeking friction.

Your other hand finds her breast, filling your palm, thumb sweeping roughly over the taut peak. She gasps, arching her back, pushing herself more firmly into your touch. 

“Yes,” she hisses, the sound vibrating against your lips. Her nails rake down your back, not gently, leaving fiery trails that speak of possession, of marking you as hers just as you’ve marked her neck. The slight sting blends perfectly with the overwhelming pleasure, a counterpoint that only elevates the intensity.

The wall provides leverage. You kiss her with a devouring hunger, your tongue tangling with hers, tasting her desperation. Your hand leaves her breast, sliding down the flat plane of her stomach, tracing the indent of her navel, slipping lower, through the soft curls, finding the slick, molten heat waiting beneath. Gaeul jerks against the wall as your fingers brush her clit, a high, keening sound escaping her. She’s drenched, swollen, impossibly ready. You slide a finger inside her, then another, curling them expertly, finding the spot that makes her thighs clamp around your hand, her head thudding back against the wall with a soft moan.

“Fuck—you’re so—” she pants, her eyes squeezed shut, caught in the sensations. “Don’t stop— please—”

But you do stop. Gently withdrawing your fingers, you relish the frustrated whimper it draws from her. You need more. You need all of her. 

Breaking the kiss, you trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, over the burgeoning bruises you’ve left, across the delicate ridge of her collarbone. You sink lower, your hands replacing your mouth on her breasts, squeezing, kneading. Thumbs circle her nipples with firm pressure that makes her gasp and writhe against the wall. You lavish attention on each tit, sucking one hardened bud deep into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, then grazing it lightly with your teeth before moving to the other. She’s a panting, whimpering mess above you, her fingers clenched in your hair, guiding, urging, her hips grinding helplessly against air.

Leaving her breasts glistening, you continue your descent. Your lips blaze a trail down the center of her stomach, tracing the subtle muscles, dipping into her navel, tasting the salt of her skin. Her abdomen tenses beneath your mouth, a tremor running through her. Hooking your hands under her thighs, you lift her slightly higher against the wall. Her breath hitches, anticipation coiling tight in the silence.

Then, you bury your face between her legs.

The scent of her arousal is intoxicating, musky and sweet, uniquely her. Groaning against her heat, the vibration draws a sharp cry from her lips. Your tongue finds her slick folds, lapping slowly, deliberately, from the sensitive entrance upwards to the swollen bud of her clit. 

She jerks violently, a choked sob escaping her. “Oh God—”

You feast. This is worship. Penance. Desperate adoration. 

You flatten your tongue against her, delivering broad strokes that make her thighs quiver around your head. Circling her clit with the tip of your tongue, teasingly light at first, then firmer, faster. You suck gently on the engorged nub, swirling pressure that has her crying out, her hands fisting in your hair almost painfully. You delve lower, tasting her deeply, thrusting your tongue inside her heat, savoring her nectar, the way her inner muscles flutter and clench around the intrusion.

Muffled sounds escape you, lost against her skin: groans of pleasure, low hums of approval. “So sweet,” you murmur, the words vibrating against her slick flesh, making her gasp. “Taste perfect—missed this— missed you—so much—” 

Your praise is fragmented, raw, punctuated by the wet sounds of your hungry tongue.

Her responses are a symphony of pleasure and mounting tension. Guttural moans rip from her throat, punctuated by sharp gasps and breathless curses. “Fuck—right there—don’t stop—please—” 

Her hips buck against your mouth, seeking more pressure, more friction. She grinds down onto your tongue, her movements becoming frantic and uncontrolled. Tension builds, coiling tighter and tighter within her, a palpable force radiating from her core. Her thighs clamp around your head, her back arches impossibly off the wall, held only by your grip and the pressure of your mouth.

You feel it coming: the tremors starting deep inside, the flutter against your tongue becoming frantic, the sharp, ragged edge to her breathing. Redoubling your efforts, focusing relentless pressure on her clit, sucking firmly, your fingers dig into the supple flesh of her ass, holding her open, holding her there. Like’s high art on the bedroom wall.

With a cry that’s half sob, half scream, she shatters.

Her body convulses against the wall, held only by your strength. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through her, violent and all-consuming. Her inner walls clench rhythmically around your tongue, her slickness flooding over your chin. Her thighs tremble violently, her cries dissolving into wordless, gasping moans as the tremors wrack her. You hold her through it, gentling your touch but not stopping, drawing out every last shuddering pulse of her climax until she sags, boneless and gasping, against the wall, held up solely by your arms.

Slowly, carefully, you lower her trembling legs. Rising from your knees, your own body thrums with arousal, your face glistening full with her juices. Her eyes are glazed, unfocused. Her lips swollen, her chest heaving. She looks utterly ravished, beautifully wrecked. A slow, dazed smile touches her lips as her eyes focus on yours. 

Wordlessly, she reaches for you, pulling your mouth to hers in a deep, languid kiss, tasting herself on your lips, moaning softly into your mouth. “Damn. I taste good.”

“Right,” you mumble, suppressing a faint chuckle.

Gently disentangling, you scoop Gaeul up into your arms. A surge of strength fueled by adrenaline and desire. She feels light, pliant, wrapping her arms around your neck, nuzzling into your shoulder. You carry her the few steps to the vast bed, lowering her onto the cool, crisp sheets. The city lights paint shifting patterns across her skin as she sinks into the mattress, watching you with heavy-lidded eyes, dark with renewed passion.

You shed the last of your own clothes quickly, your gaze never departing hers. The sight of her sprawled naked across the bed, marked by your mouth, flushed with bodily pleasure, her eyes reflecting the hunger still burning within her, is almost more than you can bear. You join her, sliding onto the bed beside her, your body covering hers, skin sliding against heated skin.

The kisses start again: slower now, deeper, more exploratory. A rediscovery. 

Your hands roam over her body, relearning every curve, every dip, every scar and freckle. You kiss the bruises blooming on her neck, her collarbones, whispering apologies and promises against her skin. Her hands are equally as busy, mapping the planes of your back, your chest, drifting lower to wrap around the hard length of your cock, stroking you with firm, knowing pressure that makes your hips jerk involuntarily.

“Need you baby,” she breathes against your lips, her voice husky, totalled. “Need you inside. Now.”

The raw need in her voice is your undoing. You reach between your bodies, guiding yourself to her slick entrance. The first press is electric, a shock of heat and tightness that steals your breath. Pushing slowly, inch by torturous inch, watching her face, the way her eyes flutter shut, her lips part on a silent gasp. She’s incredibly tight, still pulsing faintly from her earlier climax, her inner muscles gripping you like a velvet fist. The sensation is overwhelming, a perfect, agonizing friction.

“Fuck, Gaeul,” you groan, burying your face in the curve of her neck, inhaling her scent, feeling the frantic pulse beneath your lips. “So tight—so perfect—”

She wraps her toned legs around your hips, heels digging into the small of your back, urging you deeper. “All of you,” she demands, her voice thick. “Give me all of you.”

You sink the final inch, hilting yourself completely within her, a groan tearing from both your throats in unison. The feeling of being sheathed inside her, surrounded by her heat, her tightness, after so long apart, is transcendent. You stay buried for a moment, simply taking in the connection, the frantic beating of her heart against your chest, the slight tremors still running through her. Her walls flutter around you, adjusting, flexing, welcoming.

Then, you begin to move.

Slowly at first, shallow thrusts that draw soft whimpers from her lips. You lift your head, capturing her mouth again, swallowing her sounds. The pace builds gradually, a steady rhythm established. The slide is exquisite, slick and hot, each withdrawal an ache, each stroke a shot of pure pleasure that arcs through your core. Her nails find your back again, scoring fresh lines alongside the fading marks, the sting a perfect parallel to the deep, lingering pressure within you.

She meets your thrusts, arching her hips off the bed, taking you deeper, her inner muscles clenching rhythmically around your cock. “Missed this,” she gasps against your mouth, breaking the kiss to pant. “Missed you—inside me—filling me—” Her words are fragmented, lost in moans. “So deep—feels so—so good—”

You shift slightly, angling your hips, seeking that spot you know drives her wild. The next deep thrust draws a sharp, broken cry from her, her eyes flying open wide. “There! Oh fuck—right there—” Her head thrashes on the pillow, her back arching sharply. “Don’t stop—please—like that—just like that—”

Focusing your thrusts, hitting that perfect angle with relentless precision. The room fills with the raw, pornographic sounds of your bodies coming together: the slick slap of skin on skin, your ragged breaths, her escalating cries—guttural moans, sharp gasps, breathless pleas. She’s unraveling beneath you again, the tension coiling tighter, faster this time. Her legs coil around you like a vise, her heels urging you to go deeper. Harder. Her hands scramble over your back, on your shoulders, before finally tangling in your hair again, pulling your head down.

“Kiss me,” Gaeul demands, her voice raw. “Please—kiss me—”

You crush your lips on hers, swallowing her cries as you drive into her with increasing, unforgiving force. The bed creaks beneath in protest. The world narrows to the feel of her cunt, the taste of her kiss, the sound of her vocalized pleasure, the blinding white-hot pressure building at the base of your spine, threatening to detonate at any given moment.

“Gaeul—” you gasp against her lips, your thrusts becoming erratic, losing their rhythm. “Can’t—can’t hold—gonna—“

“Yes!” she cries out, tearing her mouth from yours. Her eyes blaze into yours, dark and wild, holding your gaze with fierce intensity. “Do it. Let go. Give it to me—cum inside me—fill me up—please—”

Her words, her desperate plea, the sheer overwhelming sensation of her cunt tightening around you like a silken fist—it shatters your control. 

A guttural cry rips through your lungs as you plunge deep, burying yourself to the hilt, and erupt. Pent-up want explodes, white-hot and blinding, surging through you in pulsing waves that leave you shuddering, gasping, and utterly spent. You feel her orgasm meet yours, triggered by the thumping heat flooding her core. Her body arches violently off the bed, a long, wordless cry ripped from her throat as she convulses around you, milking every last drop of your release.

Shot after shot, unloading into her creamy cunt, feeling every violent throb, twitch, and pulse of your cock, and her wanton pussy beg for more. You give it to her. Each and every load.

You collapse onto her, crushing her into the mattress, your forehead pressed to hers, gasping for air, trembling from the sheer force of your shared climax. Her arms wrap around you, holding you close, her own body trembling beneath yours. The only sounds are your ragged breaths mingling, the frantic hammering of your hearts slowly beginning to slow, and the faint, distant beat of the city outside.

Slowly, carefully, you roll off, pulling her with you so she ends up sprawled half on top of you, her head nestled on your chest. Your arms wrap around her, holding her close, your fingers tracing lazy, soothing patterns on the sweat-slicked skin of her back. Her leg is thrown over yours, her hand resting possessively over your still-thumping heart.

The silence now is profound and serene, filled only with the shared warmth and the lingering aftershocks of pleasure humming through your bodies. The frantic energy, the desperate need, has burned itself out, leaving behind a deep, satisfying exhaustion and a profound sense of reconnection.

You tilt your head, looking down at Gaeul. Her eyes are closed, long dark lashes fanning against her flushed cheeks. Her lips are slightly swollen, curved in a small, utterly contented smile. A faint sheen of sweat glistens on her skin. She looks utterly shattered, beautifully claimed, and completely at peace.

You brush a stray strand of dark hair, damp with sweat, away from her forehead. The tender gesture makes her eyes flutter open. She looks up at you, her gaze soft, hazy with satisfaction, but clear. Clear of the fear, the anger, the worry that had shadowed them for so long. There’s only warmth, trust, and a deep, abiding love that takes your breath away all over again.

“Hey,” you murmur, your voice rough but tender.

“Hey,” she whispers back, a husky rasp. Nuzzling closer, she presses a soft kiss against the skin over your heart. “Welcome back.”

A slow smile spreads across your face, mirroring hers. You tighten your arms around Gaeul, pulling her even closer, breathing in the scent of her hair, her skin, the unique scent of her mingled with the lingering traces of sex and sweat. 

“Never really left,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Just took the scenic route.”

She chuckles softly, the sound a warm vibration against your chest. “Scenic route involving a lot of walls and hospital beds.”

“Worth it,” you say simply, your fingers tracing the line of her spine again. “To end up here. With you. Like this.”

She lifts her head slightly, meeting your eyes again. Her hand comes up, her fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw, the curve of your lips. “Abu Dhabi,” she says softly, no fear in her voice now, only a quiet understanding.

“Abu Dhabi,” you confirm, holding her gaze. “I’ll come back. Whole. Promise.”

Gaeul searches your eyes for a long moment, then nods slowly, a tiny, accepting smile touching her lips. She leans up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss. It’s tender, unhurried, a silent affirmation. “I know you will,” she whispers against your mouth. “Just—make it a less scenic route back, okay?”

You smile into the kiss. “Deal.”

She settles back down against your chest with a content sigh, her body relaxing completely against yours. The silence wraps around you again, incredibly warm and safe. City lights continue their silent dance on the ceiling. The distant thrum of the outside world and the challenge to come is a lullaby. Here, tangled in the sheets, skin to skin, heart to heart, the only victory that matters is this one. The long, painful journey from almost to here. 

Together. 

The roar of engines, the pressure of the podium, the unfinished story—they’re still there. Waiting. But for now, in this quiet afterglow, there’s only peace and warmth, a profound sense of being exactly where you belong. 

Home.

—————

The desert night at Yas Marina isn’t silent. It thrums. A deep, resonant pulse beneath the shimmering heat haze rising off the tarmac even after sunset—the collective heartbeat of twenty power units whispering threats inside their carbon cocoons. Floodlights carve islands of harsh white brilliance in the inky darkness, turning the circuit into a stage set for the season’s final act. The air hangs thick, tasting of overheated brakes, aviation fuel, and the sweet, cloying scent of nearby frangipani blossoms, an incongruous counterpoint to the mechanical brutality about to unfold. 

Championship tension crackles like static: Oscar Piastri, cool and focused, holds a fragile points lead over Lando Norris, whose usual playful grin is tempered by steely determination. Victory here for Oscar seals it: his first. For Lando, nothing less than a win will suffice. The narrative is set. 

Until you rewrite it.

You move through the paddock’s controlled chaos, a reanimated corpse walking amongst the living. The Kick Sauber team shirt feels both familiar and alien against skin mapped with scars, held together by titanium resolve. Every step sends a muted protest from your rebuilt ankle; every turn of your head whispers a reminder of the shoulder that still remembers impact. Yet, your stride is deliberate, purposeful, projecting an unnerving calm that cuts through the pre-briefing chatter. Eyes follow you—mechanics, journalists, junior engineers—their expressions a kaleidoscope of disbelief, morbid curiosity, and burgeoning awe. 

Headlines scream from every screen: 

"Phoenix Rises from Yas Marina Ashes?" 

"Medical Miracle or Madness? Sauber's Lazarus Act." 

You’re the impossible made flesh, the embodiment of defiance against physics, anatomy, and reason.

The circuit briefing room is a sanctum of focused tension when you push the door open. Team principals huddle over data pads. Engineers murmur into headsets. Drivers lean back in their chairs, some relaxed (Verstappen, already championed out, wanting to go home to his setup), others coiled springs (Oscar and Lando). Jonathan Wheatley, Sauber’s team principal, is mid-sentence about track limits when the room’s collective attention snaps towards the entrance like iron filings to a magnet.

Silence. Not gradual, but absolute. A vacuum sucking the air from the room.

Shock. George Russell’s mug of coffee halts halfway to his lips, frozen. Carlos Sainz’s eyebrows vanish beneath his hairline. Fernando Alonso, the wily veteran, leans forward, eyes narrowing with intense, calculating scrutiny.

Awe. Alex Albon stares, open-mouthed, a flicker of pure admiration breaking through. Charles Leclerc’s usually expressive face is unreadable, but his gaze holds a profound, almost reverent intensity. The rookies glare with bated breath, their eyes seemingly capturing a ghost for the first time in their lives.

Confusion. Lewis Hamilton’s brow furrows deeply, concern etching lines around his eyes as he takes in your stiff posture, the subtle way you favor your right side. Beside him, his former principal Toto Wolff exchanges a sharp glance with Christian Horner, trying to comprehend what he’s seeing.

Insanity. Max Verstappen’s lips quirk in something that isn’t quite a smile. More a recognition of sheer, audacious lunacy. He gives a slow, almost imperceptible nod—the closest thing to respect from the 4x champion.

Worry. Lando Norris’s playful mask slips entirely, replaced by stark alarm. Oscar Piastri’s focused, gentle calm fractures momentarily, replaced by wide-eyed disbelief.

Nico Hulkenberg, already seated near the front in his Sauber gear, doesn’t just look shocked; he looks physically winded. He half-rises from his chair, a low, guttural sound escaping him. 

"Scheiße." 

Not of anger, but pure, unadulterated dread.

The FIA briefing officer clears his throat, bewildered. "Ah—Mr. Bortoleto—? We were expecting—"

"Gaby couldn’t make it," you state, cutting through the stunned silence. Calm. Level. Carrying effortlessly to the back of the room. It’s the voice of someone who’s bargained with oblivion and walked away. "Personal reasons. In his place, I’m driving. This weekend." 

You step fully into the room, the fluorescent light catching the sharp planes of your face, the focused glint in your eyes that holds no room for doubt. You look less like a man and more like a monument carved from desert rock and sheer willpower. The biggest badass in the room, radiating a quiet, terrifying certainty that death had merely detoured your schedule.

Wheatley finds his voice, a mix of programmed relief and genuine unease. "We—we are, of course, immensely proud and relieved to welcome our second driver back. His recovery has been—" he searches for the word, impossible given the circumstances, "—extraordinary. FIA medical clearance has been confirmed for participation."

The FIA medical delegate, the man who’d signed your paperwork with palpable reluctance, gives a curt nod, his expression grim. "Provisional clearance stands. Subject to review after each session." The unspoken warning hangs heavy.

Hulk is already moving, striding towards you, bypassing standard procedure. The seasoned veteran, the voice of reason Sauber desperately needed all season, now radiates pure, protective fury. "No," he states, low and fierce, grabbing your good arm just above the elbow. His grip is tight, anchoring. "This is not happening. Not like this. Look at you! You can barely walk without wincing! Yas Marina? The forces? The braking into Turn 1? The long G-load through Turn 11? Your neck isn’t ready! Your ankle isn’t ready! The car is a fucking tractor!" He lowers his voice, but the intensity vibrates through you. "This isn’t courage. It’s suicide. Be reserve. Advise. But get back in that cockpit? Now? After Spa?" 

He shakes his head, a gesture of desperate frustration. "It’s too soon. Too damn dangerous. For you. For everyone on that grid."

You meet his gaze, unwavering. The room holds its breath. Lando looks visibly distressed. Oscar’s jaw is clenched. Charles watches with solemn intensity. Lewis’s expression is of deep trouble. Max leans back in his chair, observing the confrontation like it were a Netflix drama.

"I’m cleared, Hulk," you reply, your voice still calm, but with an underlying steel that brooks no argument. "Better than cleared. Ready." 

You gently but firmly remove his hand from your arm. The movement is deliberate, controlled, showcasing the regained strength, yet the slight stiffness is undeniable. "Sense stayed in the barrier at Eau Rouge. I came back to drive." You offer him a ghost of a smile, devoid of warmth, full of feral resolve. "Happy to be your wingman again. Now," you turn towards the briefing officer, "let’s hear about those track limits. I need to know where the asphalt ends."

You find an empty chair near the back, beside a stunned Williams strategist. Sitting down isn’t fluid; it’s a conscious, careful lowering of your body. Yet the defiance radiates from you like furnacing heat. 

The ghost hasn’t just returned; it’s also taken a seat at the table. 

Hulk stares at you for a long, agonizing moment, conflict warring in his eyes—profound concern battling against a dawning, grudging awe at the sheer, terrifying scale of your resolve. He sinks back into his seat with a heavy sigh, running a frustrated hand over his face. 

The briefing resumes, but the atmosphere is forever altered, charged with the electricity of the impossible walking amongst them.

—————

The paddock buzzes like a kicked hornet’s nest. Cameras and microphones swarm you the moment you emerge from the briefing. Questions are shouted, a cacophony of disbelief and morbid fascination: 

"Are you in pain?" 

"Do you fear another crash?" 

"How is this possible?" 

“Do you have a death wish?”

You offer terse, confident answers, your aura intensifying under the scrutinizing glare. 

Some look at you with reverent wonder: Alex Albon gives you a firm, supportive nod and a quiet "Respect, man." 

Others watch with the horrified curiosity of witnessing a slow-motion train wreck. Fernando Alonso intercepts you near the Sauber motorhome. "Only you, amigo," he says, his voice a mix of dry amusement and deep respect. "You’re one crazy son of a bitch. But good luck. You will need it." 

George Russell offers a hesitant handshake, his expression deeply troubled. "Blown away, mate. Seriously. Don’t know how you do it. Just—be careful out there, yeah?" 

Carlos Sainz claps you on the good shoulder. A firm, comradely thump. "Incredible. Respect." 

Lewis Hamilton simply meets your eyes as you pass, his gaze deep and knowing, filled with aging wisdom that has seen countless battles and even lives lost fought for this sport. He gives a slow, solemn nod. It speaks volumes: respect for the courage, fear for the cost.

Stepping into the Sauber garage is like entering the eye of a storm. The C45 sits under work lights, its green and black livery gleaming, but the atmosphere heavy with apprehension and fragile hope. Engineers greet you with backslaps that feel cautious, their smiles not quite reaching their worried eyes. The car is a tractor—slow, unpredictable, a handful even for Hulk’s valiant efforts. And you are—a question mark wrapped in fireproofs.

Slipping into the cockpit for FP1 is like reuniting with a toxic lover. The snug embrace of the seat, moulded to a body that’s been broken and remade. The familiar, complex grip of the steering wheel. The overwhelming scent of fuel, hot carbon, and electronics. The belts cinch tight across your chest, a familiar pressure that now presses directly on healing bone. Your physio gives your neck a final, searching squeeze. You nod, pulling the helmet visor down. The world narrows to the cockpit, the track, and the screaming spectres in your muscles.

Yas Marina roars to life. The circuit isn’t just a track; it’s the final arbiter, a demanding, glittering beast under the floodlights. You roll onto the pit straight, the engine note climbing to a shriek. Turn 1 looms: a heavy braking zone from high speed that immediately tests your rebuilt ankle. The force jams it back, a bolt of white-hot protest shooting up your leg. You breathe through it, modulating the pressure. Through the fiddly, technical section around the marina, walls flashing past uncomfortably close. The car feels numb, unresponsive, heavy in your hands—a stark contrast to the razor-edged machine you danced with before Spa.

Then, the swooping, banked Turns 11-14. The hotel section. This is where Yas Marina bites. Sustained, brutal lateral G-forces press you relentlessly into the side of the cockpit. Your neck muscles, weakened by months of recovery, scream in protest. It feels like an anvil crushing your skull sideways. You fight to keep your vision centered, your inputs precise. Sweat beads instantly under your helmet. Exiting onto the long back straight, you push, chasing a feel for the limits on hard tires. The car squirms under acceleration, the rear feeling loose, unpredictable.

Coming into the tight chicane complex before the final hairpin, you carry a fraction too much speed. The tires, still cold, offer less grip than anticipated. You brake, but the rear snaps out viciously. Instinct screams—the faint memory of a thousand slides—and you counter-steer, wrestling the wheel. The correction is violent, wrenching your healing shoulder. A jolt of agony blinds you for a split second. The car slews sideways, tires shrieking, spewing plumes of acrid blue smoke. You catch it mere inches from the unforgiving Tecpro barriers, the car fishtailing wildly before you gather it up, heart hammering against your ribs like a frantic bird. A long, ugly smear of rubber mars the pristine tarmac where you nearly met the wall.

The radio crackles instantly, your engineer’s voice tight with alarm: "Box, box! Are you okay? Report damage!"

You suck in a ragged breath, the taste of adrenaline and burnt rubber sour in your mouth. The pain in your shoulder is a deep, insistent throb. The vulnerability is a cold knife twisting in your gut. You see Hulk watching from the garage entrance, his expression grimly resigned. You see the anxious huddle of Sauber engineers on the pit wall. 

The narrative writes itself: Comeback kid nearly wrecks in first session back!

"I'm okay," you rasp into the mic, forcing steel into your voice, pushing down the tremor of pain and near-panic. "No damage. Just—testing limits. Car’s snappy on cold hards." 

Understatement of the fucking season. 

You guide the Sauber back to the pits, the slow drive incredibly humbling. The C45 feels heavy and flawed, an anchor dragging you down. Death’s presence in the cockpit feels less like an inconvenience and more like a looming, inevitable passenger.

Back in the garage, the atmosphere is thick with unspoken tension. Data flickers on screens, confirming the worst: P19. Only Ollie Bearman’s Haas is slower. Humiliation bites deep. Mechanics swarm the car, checking for damage. Hulk approaches, his face etched with concern that borders on rage. He doesn’t speak immediately, just looks at you, then at the damning timesheet. 

"See?" he finally says, his voice low and gravelly. "It’s not just you. The car’s a nightmare. And you—you’re driving hurt. On a track that demands perfection. That snap? That was the car and the rust. Sandpaper on an open wound."

You pull off your helmet, sweat plastering your hair to your skull. The ache is pervasive now—ankle, shoulder, neck, ribs—a dull symphony of protest. But the fire in your core—it’s banked, not extinguished. It simmers beneath the pain and the poor result. You meet Hulk’s worried gaze. The heroic aura is chipped, revealing the raw, unyielding determination beneath. The monument shows some cracks, but it doesn’t crumble.

"Maybe," you concede, your voice rough but steady. "But I know nightmares, Nico. I’ve driven them before." You tap your temple through the balaclava. "Rust scrapes off. Fear fades. The car’s slow," you glance at the timing screen, P19 glaring back like a challenge, "but it’s mine. And it’s racing on Sunday." 

You push yourself out of the cockpit, the movement stiff but deliberate. "Get me the data from that snap. Every telemetry trace. And let’s talk setup. We need to find a tenth. Just one. For Qualifying."

Hulk watches you limp towards the engineering station, your back straight despite the clear discomfort. He sighs, a sound heavy with worry and something else—a reluctant, burgeoning respect for the sheer, undeterred scale of your defiance. The refusal to let the almost of Spa or the almost of that spin define the ending. 

He mutters under his breath, turning back towards his own car, a flicker of his own competitive fire rekindling. 

If the ghost was back, then maybe, just maybe, it could haunt the midfield into submission. Crazy bastard. 

Qualifying loomed. Yas Marina waited, indifferent beneath its glittering lights. The final test was coming, and the fire in your eyes promised it wouldn’t be taken lying down.

—————

The desert sun hammers down on Yas Marina, turning the paddock into a shimmering mirage. Yesterday’s near-miss hangs large, a stale reminder, but it’s buried beneath the fierce, focused energy radiating from you as you stride towards the Sauber garage. The stiffness is still there: a constant companion in your ankle, a dull ache in your shoulder, a tightness across your ribs with every deep breath. But it’s background noise now, drowned out by the primal roar building inside your chest. 

Qualifying. The crucible.

The atmosphere in the garage is taut, a mix of lingering anxiety and fragile hope. Hulk gives you a long, appraising look as you pull on your fireproofs. The seasoned skepticism in his eyes hasn't vanished, but it’s tempered by a flicker of something new—a reluctant acknowledgment of the sheer, stubborn force of will standing before him. 

"Don't overdo it chasing ghosts," he grunts, adjusting his own gloves. "Points are possible tomorrow. From the back, even. Don't throw it away today chasing—miracles."

You meet his gaze, a feral grin touching your lips beneath the helmet you haven't yet donned. "Miracles are physics we haven't bullied yet, Nico." The defiance is back, sharper, honed by the humiliation of yesterday’s P19. The hero’s aura isn't merely a projection; it feels earned, carved from pain and pure, unadulterated refusal.

Slipping into the C45's cockpit is less reunion, more reclamation. The belts cinch tight, a familiar vice across your healing torso. The steering wheel feels alive, an extension of arms that remember speed even if the bones protest. The physio’s final tap on your helmet feels less like a warning, more like a benediction. 

Go.

Q1. The track is a furnace. The C45 feels marginally better—setup tweaks overnight scraping away a fraction of its inherent sluggishness, or maybe it’s your own senses sharpening. The pain is immediate: Turn 1’s braking jolts your ankle; the sustained Gs through the hotel section crush your weakened neck muscles, blurring vision at the edges. You wrestle the car, feeling its every lazy understeer tendency, its nervous rear end. Early laps are messy, tentative. Times are mediocre. P15. Danger zone.

Crofty’s voice crackles over the radio feed piping into the garage: "—and the Sauber struggling, as expected. Looks like the comeback might be a bridge too far today—"

You block it out. The torrential rain of Spa was more than weather; it was chaos incarnate. This—this is heat and physics. Manageable. 

You push harder. Lap after lap, the times drop incrementally. You find millimeters on the apexes, carry fractions more speed through the sweeps, brake a heartbeat later. The car protests, but you beat it into submission, forcing compliance through sheer, bloody-minded input. The pain in your neck becomes a white-hot brand. You ignore it. The final lap of Q1 is a blur of concentration and controlled aggression. You cross the line.

The garage erupts. "P12! You're through! Q2!"

Your engineer’s voice is a disbelieving shout. Hulk, watching the timing screen, lets out a low whistle, a genuine smile cracking his usual stoicism for the first time in months. The apprehension in the garage melts, replaced by a surge of raw, disbelieving energy. 

He’s doing it.

Q2 is a different beast. The track evolution is significant. The front-runners: Verstappen, the McLarens, the Ferraris—they’re in a league of their own, setting purples. But the midfield is a knife fight. You feel it click. The rust isn't just scraping off; it's evaporating. Muscle memory floods back, instinct overriding conscious thought. The C45 still isn't fast, but you wring its neck, finding grip where there shouldn't be any, carrying impossible speed through Yas Marina’s demanding complexes.

You see Max’s Red Bull flash past on an out-lap, a blur of speed. For a split second, your eyes lock through the visors. There’s no nod this time, just a sharp, assessing stare. He sees it. The man who made him flinch in the Spa downpour is stirring.

Lap after lap, you climb. P10. P8. P6. Commentary is incredulous. Crofty’s voice cuts through: "Unbelievable! Look at that Sauber! He's extracting something extraordinary from that car! That's not just resilience, that's raw, untamed talent reasserting itself!"

Your final Q2 lap is a masterpiece of controlled aggression. Every input is precise, brutal, efficient. You kiss the curbs, flirt with track limits, dance on the absolute edge of adhesion. The C45 feels alive, singing beneath your hands. You cross the line. The timing screen flashes.

P1. For Q2.

Silence, exploding into pandemonium. In the Sauber garage, mechanics leap, hugging each other, pounding the pit wall. Hulk stares at the screen, mouth slightly agape, then turns to your car entering the pit lane, raising a fist—not just in solidarity, but in pure, unadulterated awe. "Bloody hell!" he breathes into the radio, a laugh mixed with disbelief.

Crofty loses it: "Incredible! Absolutely incredible! The Sauber on provisional pole for Q2! He’s topped the McLarens! Topped everyone! The comeback kid isn’t just back; he’s flying!"

Oscar, climbing from his McLaren after securing P2 in the session, stares at the timing screen, his usual calm replaced by wide-eyed shock. Lando, P3, shakes his head slowly, a grin spreading beneath his helmet—part disbelief, part genuine admiration. Charles, watching from the Ferrari garage, offers a slow, respectful clap. Albon radios his engineer: "Did you see that Sauber lap? That was insane!" 

Even Max, perched near the top of the overall times, glances at the Sauber pit with renewed, wary interest. The Lazarus act just became a resurrection of legendary proportions. 

Team morale isn't just high; it's stratospheric. Hope isn't a flicker; it's a wildfire.

—————

The fire is white-hot in your veins. Pain is forgotten, subsumed by the intoxicating shout of potential. For all its flaws, the C45 feels like an extension of your will. You belong here. The podium isn't a dream; it's a tangible target glinting under the Abu Dhabi lights.

The first Q3 run is solid, conservative. P5. Good, but not stellar. The track is faster now. You know there's more. So much more. The final run. One shot. Glory.

You push. Harder than before. Harder than Spa. The tires are fresh, the fuel load minimal. The C45 responds, biting into the tarmac. Turn 1. Perfect. The fiddly marina section—razor-sharp. The hotel complex approaches—Turns 11-14. The sustained, brutal G-forces slam into you, crushing your already screaming neck muscles. Vision tunnels. You fight it, teeth gritted, steering inputs precise but demanding every ounce of strength from your battered shoulder.

Exiting Turn 14 onto the back straight, you carry every ounce of speed the car can muster. The rear feels light, skittish on the exit curb. You correct, instinctively, but the movement is sharp, aggravated by the shoulder’s weakness. The car snaps. Not a gentle slide, but a violent, sudden loss of rear grip.

Instinct screams. Counter-steer. But the damaged shoulder betrays you. The input is a fraction slow, a fraction weak. The car whips around. Time slows. The Tecpro barrier at the end of the straight rushes towards you, not sideways like Spa, but head-on. A brutal, unforgiving embrace.

The whole circuit goes deathly silent.

The impact is colossal. A sickening symphony of shattering carbon fiber, screaming metal, and the violent deceleration slamming you against the belts. Your helmet snaps forward, then back. Lights explode behind your eyes. The world dissolves into noise, violence, and a blinding flash of pain that momentarily eclipses everything—shoulder, ankle, neck, ribs—converging into one white-hot supernova of agony. 

Sparks fly. Debris scatters across the track. Red flags wave instantly.

Death feels less like an inconvenience and more a sledgehammer blow to the chest. For a terrifying second, there’s only darkness and the ringing in your ears.

Then, the training kicks in. Move. Assess. You wiggle fingers, toes. Nothing broken. The HANS device did its job. The survival cell held. Pain screams from everywhere, a cacophony of protest, but it’s localized. No numbness. No fire. This isn’t Spa anymore.

The marshals rush to the scene quickly. You wave them off, unbuckling the belts with trembling, painful movements. The cockpit is a mess of shattered carbon. You push the halo aside and climb out, every movement sending fresh jolts of agony through your frame. You stand, leaning heavily against the wrecked monocoque, taking deep, shuddering breaths. The crowd is silent, then erupts in concerned applause.

Wheatley’s voice is the first in your ear, tight with worry that instantly overrides his earlier awe: "Talk to me! Are you okay? Say something!"

You key the mic, your voice a ragged gasp, but clear as silk. "Yeah. I’m okay. Just—pissed off. Car's toast." 

You take a step away from the wreck, testing your legs. They hold. The defiance, though battered, isn't extinguished. You raise a gloved hand towards the Sauber garage. A grim acknowledgement.

The medical car arrives. You submit to the checks, walking unaided to the ambulance for the mandatory precautionary check-up at the medical centre. The walk is stiff, painful, a stark contrast to the fluid power of your Q2 lap. But you walk. The cameras capture every grimace, every stiff movement, but also the unwavering set of your jaw. The human cost of the audacity is laid bare, yet the spirit remains unbroken.

The session ends under red flags. The final grid crystallizes:

1. VERSTAPPEN (Red Bull)

2. PIASTRI (McLaren)

3. NORRIS (McLaren)

4. LECLERC (Ferrari)

5. RUSSELL (Mercedes)

6. HAMILTON (Ferrari)

7. ALBON (Williams)

8. TSUNODA (Red Bull)

9. ALONSO (Aston Martin)

10. ________ (Kick Sauber)

11. HADJAR (Racing Bulls)

12. SAINZ (Williams)

13. HULKENBERG (Kick Sauber)

14. GASLY (Alpine)

15. ANTONELLI (Mercedes)

16. OCON (Haas)

17. BEARMAN (Haas)

18. STROLL (Aston Martin)

19. COLAPINTO (Alpine)

20. LAWSON (Racing Bulls) (-5 grid penalty)

Back in the Sauber garage, the mood is somber but not utterly shattered. The C45’s wreck is a worrying sight. Hulk finds you after the medical all-clear, your shoulder freshly strapped, movements visibly restricted. He doesn't say I told you so. He simply looks at the grid listing on the screen in bright, taunting color—P10. Ahead of Hadjar. Behind Alonso. His own P13 a stark reminder of the car’s harsh limitations.

"Tenth," he states, his voice flat. "From the wreckage. Could be worse." 

He pauses, then meets your eyes. There’s no blame, just a deep, weary understanding. "The ghost is back. Scared the hell out of everyone. Again." 

A trace of his own smile touches his lips. 

"Rest. That," he nods towards where the wreckage had been,his finger pointed where the dust had settled, "was the easy part. Tomorrow is the war."

You stare at the grid. P10. A monument carved from pain, defiance, and shattered carbon. The podium dream is fractured, but not dead. The fire, though dampened by agony, still burns. Death was tested, but the story isn't finished. The final battle awaits under the desert stars.

—————

Abu Dhabi dawn bleeds into the sky, a slow stain of orange and purple above the Yas Marina circuit. The desert air, usually thick and still, hums with a different energy today—the electric crackle of finality. 

For the sporting world, it’s the culmination of a season, a championship duel between Piastri and Norris. For you, standing alone in the Sauber garage amidst the pre-race frenzy, it feels like standing on the edge of a precipice. 

Your life unfurls beyond this track: Gaeul’s warmth, IVE’s whirlwind, ventures born from your improbable recovery. Possibilities shimmer like mirages on the horizon. Yet, the weight of the fireproofs, the scent of fuel, the phantom roar of engines in your mind—they pull you back towards the abyss. 

A tremor runs through your hands—not fear of the track, but fear of losing everything beyond it. The ghost of Spa whispers in the stiffness of your shoulder, the dull ache in your rebuilt ankle.

Suddenly, a ripple of unexpected brightness cuts through the garage’s focused gloom. Like exotic birds landing in a steel nest, the IVE members materialize. Rei bounds in first, her eyes wide with excitement, clutching a tiny, absurdly fluffy green dinosaur wearing a crocheted black shirt—Sauber’s colours. 

"Oppa! Win! You gotta win!" she declares, shoving the plushie towards you, flailing its tiny arms.

Liz beams beside her, adding, "For real! Show them what a real driver looks like!"

Leeseo bobs her head vigorously, her youthful face alight with pure, unfiltered belief. “We skipped MMA just to watch you in-person! Do us proud!”

“You’re not supposed to reveal that, Seo,” remarks Liz, cutely admonishing her fellow member. The maknae’s cheeks go flush in embarrassment.

Yujin steps forward, her leader’s poise a calming presence amidst the exuberance. She offers a firm, supportive smile. "Do your best out there. That’s all anyone can ask." 

Wonyoung, adorned in a lavish pantsuit, inclines her head, her gaze sharp and observant. "Drive well. We’ll be watching." Her words are concise, carrying the weight of expectation.

Finally, Gaeul. She moves through her members, her eyes finding yours amidst the green-and-black chaos. The fierce protectiveness, the lingering worry from the crash, is still there, etched in the slight tension around her mouth. But overriding it is a quiet, unwavering warmth. She doesn’t speak immediately. Instead, she reaches out, her cool fingers brushing the back of your bandaged hand where it rests on the cockpit rim. The touch is grounding, an anchor thrown into turbulent seas. 

"Just finish the race," she murmurs, low, meant only for you. Her eyes hold yours, intense, pleading. "Come back whole. That’s the only win I care about today. Promise me."

The chaos of the garage fades. The nerves, the existential dread, momentarily dissolve under the weight of her presence, her touch, her simple, profound demand. You cover her hand with yours, squeezing gently. 

"Promise," you rasp, the word thick with emotion. The precipice remains, but the path forward is suddenly illuminated, not by podium champagne, but by the certainty of her waiting embrace.

The formation lap is a slow-motion procession under the harsh desert sun, a final calibration before the storm. You slot into P10, the grid stretching ahead: Verstappen’s Red Bull, a predatory shark on pole, the papaya McLarens of Piastri and Norris poised like hunting dogs behind him. Hulkenberg’s Sauber sits in P13, a green-and-black island settled a little further back. The tension in the cockpit is a living entity, vibrating through the steering wheel, syncing with your own hammering heart. 

Crofty’s voice crackles, a detached narrator setting the scene:

"And there he is, ladies and gentlemen, Sauber #77, lining up P10. A story of resilience unlike any we've seen. The question on everyone's lips: can he translate that qualifying heroics into race pace, or will the physical toll prove too much?"

Brundle’s drier tone follows: "The car's limitations were starkly evident yesterday, Crofty. He wrung its neck for that Q2 time, but over 58 laps? Against this field? And let's not forget the state of the driver after that enormous Q3 shunt. He looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a heavyweight last night."

Ahead, the five red lights glow like malevolent eyes. Images flicker: Gaeul’s face as she whispered her plea, Rei’s bouncing enthusiasm, the grim wreckage of yesterday’s car. The nerves coalesce, solidify into a single, crystalline point of focus: Finish the story. Come back whole. 

Your hands tighten on the wheel, knuckles white beneath the gloves. The pain in your body recedes, compartmentalized. The world narrows to the lights, the clutch bite point, the engine note climbing to a fever pitch behind you.

All five lined up red. Right below, in an instant, a flash of green.

"LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO!"

Chaos erupts. A tsunami of sound and violence. You dump the clutch, the C45 lurching forward with a protesting groan. Into Turn 1, a vortex of screaming engines, smoking tires, and desperate lunges. You’re boxed in. Alonso’s Aston Martin jinks left, Stroll goes right right, Sainz’s Williams dives down the inside. You brake hard, the force jolting your ankle, vision blurring momentarily at the edges. Cars swarm past. Racing Bulls. Williams. Alpine. The pack swallows you whole.

"Okay, okay, clean through? Damage report?"

"Clean. Just—swamped. P—where am I?"

"P17. Behind Tsunoda and Gasly. Bide your time. Long race."

P17. Near the very back. 

Frustration wars with cold calculation. The C45 feels sluggish, unresponsive in the dirty air. Yas Marina reveals its true character: a deceptive beast. The long straights lull you into a sense of speed before punishing you with heavy braking zones that test your ankle’s limits. The fiddly marina section is a claustrophobic maze, walls flashing past, demanding millimetre-perfect precision that makes your healing shoulder scream with every corrective input. 

Then comes the hotel complex—Turns 11-14—the circuit’s heart of darkness. Sustained, brutal lateral G-forces slam you relentlessly into the side of the cockpit, crushing your neck, blurring vision, turning your spine into a column of fire. It’s a physical assault, relentless and draining.

Crofty draws the scene: "And the Sauber is really struggling in the dirty air, Martin. Dropped like a stone off the line. Looks like the fairytale might be ending before it really began."

Brundle: "Not surprising at all. That car is fundamentally slow, and he's carrying injuries that would sideline most athletes. Question is, can he manage the pain and the car for the duration?"

You push the thought aside. Bide your time. Lap after lap, you learn the rhythm of the midfield battle. You study Sainz ahead: tidy, defensive. Stroll. Aggressive and erratic. Alonso—wily, conservative. Your tires settle. And the C45, while no thoroughbred, begins to talk to you again. 

The initial shock fades, replaced by the cold, familiar calculus of the race. The pain is a constant drumbeat, but it’s background noise now, woven into the fabric of the drive.

On Lap 8, the first opportunity knocks. Sainz outbrakes himself slightly into the Turn 6-7 chicane, running wide. You’re perfectly positioned. A squeeze of throttle, a precise turn-in, and you’re alongside the Williams on the exit. 

Clean. Clinical. Clear. P16.

"Nice move! Sainz cleared. Gasly next, 1.2 ahead. He’s on older softs."

Gasly’s Alpine is visibly slower exiting corners. You stalk him through the marina section, feeling the C45’s meagre downforce bite a fraction better in clean air. Down the long back straight, you slipstream, the Renault’s rear wing filling your vision. DRS opens. You pull out late, braking impossibly deep for Turn 11, forcing the Alpine to defend the inside. You sweep around the outside, carrying momentum through the complex, leaving Gasly scrambling. P15.

Crofty’s impassioned voice rises. "He's climbing! The Sauber is on the move! Gasly dispatched with authority!"

Brundle: "Smart move. Used the Alpine's weak traction and the DRS perfectly. He's finding a rhythm now, despite everything."

Next target: Stroll. The Aston Martin is a wider, more aggressive beast to pass. He defends fiercely into Turn 1, forcing you to take the perilous outside line. You hold it, wheels on the very edge of the curb, the car dancing on the limit of adhesion, G-forces pulling at your injured neck. Side-by-side through the first sector, inches apart. You have the better exit from Turn 5 and muscle ahead before the braking zone for Turn 6. P14.

Then, the master: Alonso. The ageless fox knows every trick in the book. He anticipates your DRS run on the main straight, weaving subtly, breaking your tow. He brakes impossibly late into Turn 1, forcing you to check your own dive. He’s conserving tires, managing pace, a fortress on wheels.

"Alonso’s managing. His tires are older, but he’s Alonso. Pick your moment. Don’t force it."

Patience. You shadow him for three laps, studying his lines, feeling the C45’s tires starting to grain slightly. Lap 15. Into the final sector. You gain a fraction more exit speed from the Turn 16 hairpin, closing the gap rapidly down the pit straight. DRS opens. This time, Alonso’s weave is predictable. You pull out early, getting a cleaner tow. You brake marginally later, but crucially, smoother, carrying more minimum speed through the apex of Turn 1. You’re alongside by the exit. He tries to squeeze you towards the runoff, but you hold firm, your wheels kissing the white line, the Sauber vibrating with protest. You inch ahead, claiming the inside line for Turn 2. Alonso concedes, lifting slightly. 

P13. A wave of elation overrides the screaming pain in your shoulder.

Crofty: "Incredible! He’s passed Alonso! The Sauber is near the points-paying positions! This is a drive of sheer, unadulterated willpower!"

Brundle: "Astounding composure. Outfoxed the fox. Used the car's meagre strengths—that late-braking stability he found yesterday – perfectly. He’s making that C45 sing beyond its means."

Ahead, Hulkenberg’s Sauber is a green beacon in P12, chasing Albon’s Williams. Hadjar’s Racing Bull lurks behind you. You push. The car feels alive beneath you now, responding to your increasingly confident inputs. You reel in Albon, dispatching the other Williams with a DRS-assisted move down the back straight into the chicane complex, cleaner than the pass on Gasly. P12. 

Then, on the next lap, Wheatley radios in:

"Heads up. Hadjar’s got fresh mediums. He’s rapidly closing in behind you."

You glance in the mirrors. The Racing Bull is indeed closing, a pure-white homing missile. You dig deeper. The hotel complex is agony, each corner a fresh assault on your neck, but you find a tenth, then another. You catch Hulkenberg asleep slightly exiting the marina section, getting a better run onto the straight. DRS. You pull alongside, teammates wheel-to-wheel. There’s a millisecond of hesitation—team orders unspoken but understood—then Hulk lifts ever so slightly, giving you the inside line for Turn 11. A gesture of respect, of faith. P11.

"P11! Hulk let you through. Hadjar 0.8 behind. Tsunoda ahead in P9, 4 seconds. Keep it clean!"

P11. On the cusp of the points. 

The shitbox C45, held together by grit and titanium balls, sits uneasy yet steady on the road. The physical cost is immense: sweat stings your eyes inside the helmet. Every breath feels like a knife twisting between your ribs. The rebuilt ankle throbs with every brake application. But the fire burns brighter than ever. 

Ahead lies Tsunoda’s Red Bull. Behind, Hadjar hunts on fresher rubber. The battle isn't for the championship—far from it—but for redemption, for proving the story didn't end at Spa, or in yesterday's Q3 barrier. The final chapters are being written, one agonizing, exhilarating corner at a time, under the relentless Abu Dhabi sunset. You brace for the hotel complex once more, the roar of the engine merging with the roar of your own blood. 

The promise echoes: Come back whole. But right now, whole feels like pushing a broken machine and a broken body to their absolute limit.

The desert air shimmers like molten glass over Yas Marina, pressing down with furnace heat that seeps through the Sauber’s carbon fiber monocoque and into your bones. P11. The number glows tauntingly on your steering wheel display. Hadjar’s Racing Bull fills your mirrors, a white-hot specter riding fresher medium tires, closing in furiously like a relentless cheetah.

"—and the RB’s looming large! Hadjar has a significant tire advantage. This could be terminal for Sauber’s points hopes unless he finds a miracle—"

The C45’s hard compounds feel like blocks of greased stone. Sector 2’s marina maze—a claustrophobic gauntlet of concrete barriers and abrupt direction changes—becomes a torture chamber. Each flick-left, jab-right wrenches your healing shoulder. The rear skitters nervously over curbs, threatening to snap. Hadjar lunges at Turn 9, his front wing inches from your diffuser. You slam the door shut, sacrificing exit speed, feeling the RB’s disturbed air buffet the Sauber like a boxer’s punch. 

It’s no longer about racing; it’s survival.

"Gap to Hadjar: 0.4. He’s nursing that tire advantage. Can you hold through the hotel complex?"

The hotel complex. Turns 11-14. Yas Marina’s heart of darkness. A relentless, banked corkscrew designed to wring necks and spirits. The sustained G-forces slam you sideways, crushing your injured neck against the headrest, blurring vision at the edges. It’s more than physical agony; it’s an assault on coherence. Hadjar gains in the dirty air.

A spark ignites in the chaos: audacious, born of desperation and an unshakeable belief in your own fraying limits. The team’s conservative strategy is a death sentence.

"Box this lap. Softs."

"Confirm? Softs now? Plan was Lap 32! They won’t last!"

"Confirmed. Softs. Now. We need the delta. Execute."

"Copy. Box this lap. Soft compound."

You peel off the racing line into pit lane’s sterile calm, the roar of the pack fading. 3.2 seconds of agonizing stillness—mechanics a green blur, the thunk of wheel guns, cold soft tires shrieking as you’re released back into the inferno.

P14.

Elsewhere, Crofty's voice crackles with dynamite energy. "Astonishing gamble! He dives into the pits from the cusp of the points! Plummets to fourteenth! The soft tire is a Molotov cocktail—explosive but fleeting. Has bravery tipped into recklessness?"

"The mathematics are brutal, Crofty.” Brundle remains flat, calculated. “He needs near-perfect tire management for over forty laps on a compound that degrades exponentially here. It’s not just climbing a mountain; it’s climbing it on melting ice."

The transformation is immediate, electric. The softs bite like razors. The sluggish C45 reawakens, its steering sharp, throttle response eager. You devour the backmarkers. Albon’s Williams is a late-braking lunge into Turn 6, inches from the barrier, the Sauber’s rear stepping out before you gather it with gritted teeth. P13. Ocon’s Haas—outmuscled with superior traction exiting Turn 16, DRS slingshotting you past down the pit straight. P12. Purple sectors flash on the timing screen.

“Look at those sector times! He’s a man possessed! Gaining three seconds a lap on the midfield!"

"The car is finally responding. He’s extracting performance buried deep within its flawed DNA. But the clock is ticking on those softs, Crofty. They’re burning bright, but burning fast."

"Pace is phenomenal! But rear left graining is severe. Manage! Temper the aggression!"

Manage. Temper. The words are static. The fire consumes you.

Hadjar’s Racing Bull falls prey to a daring outside-line pass through Turns 2 and 3, wheels kissing the unforgiving white line. P11. Sainz’s Williams succumbs to a DRS-assisted dive down the inside into the Turn 9 chicane, the Sauber vibrating violently as you force the issue. P10. Points reclaimed, but the softs are visibly fraying, chunks of rubber flying. 

Tsunoda’s Red Bull, trapped on older hards, is next. A calculated squeeze on the exit of Turn 16, using every millimeter of runoff, tires screaming in protest as you surge alongside and claim the position before the line. P9.

—————

Meanwhile, Rei bounces, jabbing a finger at the screen. "Go oppa! Faster!”

Liz and Leeseo clutch each other, gasping as the Sauber brushes the wall. Yujin watches, a statue of focused intensity.

"The tires—they won't hold—" Wonyoung murmurs, hands clasped together in wary focus and faint prayer.

Gaeul sits rigid, knuckles white on the armrest, her eyes glued on the screen, breathing shallowly. Every near-miss, every lurid slide, etches fresh lines of fear on her face. Her silent plea hangs in the air-conditioned chill.

Come back whole.

—————

Ahead, the landscape shifts. Titans loom. Russell’s silver Mercedes. Leclerc’s scarlet Ferrari. Hamilton’s own scarlet Ferrari. The C45 feels laughably crude against their engineering marvels. Yet, you see fissures in their armor.

Russell. Blisteringly fast but occasionally leaves the door ajar on corner entry, trusting his Mercedes’ acceleration. Lap 41. Down the endless back straight. DRS open. You ride the Mercedes’ slipstream, the tow monstrous. Russell defends the inside for the chicane complex. You feint left, then snap right, braking beyond the perceived limit for the first chicane apex, aiming for the sliver of space he left. Milliseconds. Tires shriek. The Sauber bucks, threatening to spin. Russell, startled by the sheer audacity, lifts minutely. You’re through. P8.

Crofty’s losing his voice. "He’s done it! Past Russell! A move bordering on suicidal! The sheer nerve!"

Brundle stays on quiet admiration. "Russell left him just enough room—a champion's width. And he took it with the precision of a surgeon. That’s not just speed; it’s racing intelligence under extreme duress."

Over the radio, Wheatley is elated. "Russell cleared! P8! Leclerc next, 1.8 ahead! Your tires are critical!"

Leclerc. The Ferrari is quicker, especially in Sector 1’s flowing curves. But it’s temperamental. Prone to sudden, vicious snaps of oversteer on power-down, particularly when pressured. 

Lap 44. You hound him through the marina sector, filling his mirrors, disrupting his rhythm. Into the tight left-right of Turns 8 and 9. You pressure him mercilessly on entry, forcing him to take a defensive, compromised line. On exit, as he feeds the power, the Ferrari’s rear steps out violently. Sparks fly as Leclerc course-corrects, scrubbing precious speed. It’s the microscopic opening. You pounce, squeezing the throttle earlier, surging alongside with superior traction. DRS opens. You sail past the momentarily crippled Ferrari before Turn 11. P7.

"Leclerc! You passed Leclerc! P7! Hamilton next! 2.5 seconds! But the tires—they’re on the canvas! Next lap, box! Box! Please!"

The softs are translucent, vibrating like unbalanced washing machines. Every bump threatens disintegration. But Hamilton. P6. The seven-time champion. In a Ferrari. The summit glows ahead. Yas Marina’s final sector offers one chance: the long blast after the Turn 16 hairpin, DRS activation, then the plunge into Turn 1.

Hamilton knows. He defends the inside ruthlessly down the main straight. DRS is open, but he blocks the tow, weaving subtly. You jink left, he covers. Speed bleeds away. Into Turn 1, he brakes impossibly late, securing the inside. You follow, biding your time, nursing the dying tires. 

Lap 46. Exiting the final Turn 16 hairpin, you summon everything—every ounce of grip left in the shredded softs, every shred of strength in your screaming muscles. The exit is perfect, transcendent. You’re glued to the Ferrari’s diffuser. DRS opens. Hamilton weaves, but you’ve anticipated it. You pull out early, get a cleaner tow, and draw level just before the hundred-meter board for Turn 1.

It’s a drag race headed towards oblivion. The Ferrari’s superior horsepower claws back inches. Side-by-side, wheels almost touching, the scream of engines vibrating your bones. The braking zone rushes up. You brake at the absolute limit—a force that feels like it will shatter your rebuilt ankle. Vision tunnels to a pinprick. The Sauber holds its line, shuddering violently, skating on the edge of adhesion. Hamilton, the master calculator, judges the margin. He brakes a fraction earlier, conceding the corner rather than risk mutual annihilation. You sweep through Turn 1 in the lead. P6.

Over commentary, Crofty has gone completely hysterical seeing the heroics. "He’s passed Hamilton! The Sauber is in sixth place! I am absolutely speechless! From the depths of P17 to the top six! This defies logic! It defies physics!"

Brundle, on the other hand, remains calm, but reverent. "A move of monumental courage and skill. He forced the greatest of all time into submission. Not with car speed, but with indomitable will and racecraft forged in fire. Legendary. Simply legendary."

"P6! You are P6! Hamilton 1.2 behind! 15 laps! Tires are critical! Manage! Bring it home, mate! Bring it home!"

Let it sink in. P6. Sixth place. In a fucking Sauber of all cars. A glorified lawn mower. 

The physical cost is apocalyptic—neck muscles in spasm, shoulder a molten knot of agony, ankle grinding with every pedal input, lungs burning. The softs are translucent rags, vibrating horribly, their grip a fading memory. Yet, the dream—P5, Antonelli’s Mercedes just 3.1 seconds ahead—pulses with terrifying reality. Yas Marina’s glittering lights stretch ahead, no longer just a circuit, but the anvil upon which your promise to Gaeul is being forged.

You take a shuddering breath, tasting blood and exhaust fumes. The hardest laps are ahead. You brace for the hotel complex once more, the defiant roar in your veins drowning out the scream of the engine and the whimper of the tires. 

The story demands an ending. You will write it.

The desert heat throbs inside the Sauber’s cockpit, a physical counterpoint to the screaming vibration of the disintegrating soft tires. Sixth place glows on your dash: a monument built on defiance and agony. Antonelli’s Mercedes shimmers just ahead in P5, a siren song of unfinished business. The podium isn’t a dream; it’s a physical ache in your bones, a ghost whispering from the Spa runoff.

Wheatley screams in your ear, part static, all urgent concern. “Box! Box now! Softs are shredding! Pitting now gets you P9, maybe P8! Guaranteed points! You cannot hold this pace! Hamilton is closing!"

The calculation hangs in the scorching air. Pit: safety, points, survival. Stay out: glory, ruin, redemption. 

Gaeul’s face flickers in your mind—her whispered "Come back whole"— then vanishes beneath the visceral memory of Spa’s rain-lashed barrier. 

Then you hear your own voice. A call to action. 

Finish the story.

"Negative. Hunting P5. Tires have life."

"They have minutes! At most! You’ll be a sitting duck! It’s—"

The transmission cuts off, drowned by a collective gasp from the grandstands. Ahead, exiting the fiddly Turn 7-8 chicane, Lance Stroll’s Aston Martin rides the inside curb too aggressively. The car snaps sideways like a startled animal, spearing violently across the track. It slams nose-first into the unforgiving Tecpro barrier at Turn 9’s entrance with a sickening, echoing crunch. Carbon fiber erupts in a shower of debris. The Aston spins to a halt, broadside, blocking half the track. Stroll’s hand emerges, waving weakly from the intact cockpit. Relief wars with utter shock.

Yellow flags are waved. The safety car deploys onto the track.

Crofty shouts over the din: "Stroll! Heavy impact! Yellow’s out! Safety car! He’s moving, thank God! But the race is neutralised!"

Brundle sees through the crash and notices an opening. "A catastrophic lapse of concentration! Absolutely unnecessary! But a lifeline for the Sauber! He can pit under safety car and lose minimal time!"

Wheatley also sees it. "Safety car! Box! Box now! Mediums! We can put you out on P6! Fresh rubber! Ten laps! Go! Go! Go!"

The decision is instantaneous. The gamble transforms into opportunity. Glory remains within reach. 

"Copy. Boxing. Mediums."

You peel into the pit lane’s controlled calm, the roaring pack replaced by the whine of the safety car’s engine. The stop is a blur of green. 2.9 seconds. Fresh, yellow-banded medium tires slam onto the hubs. Cooler water floods the system. A microsecond of respite before you’re released into the slow-moving queue and back into the fire. P6. 

The pecking order crystallizes under the yellow flag’s caution: Piastri. Norris. Verstappen. Antonelli. Hadjar. You. Hamilton. Leclerc. Russell. Alonso.

—————

A silenced gasp fills the room as Stroll’s crash unfolds over the live feed. Gaeul presses a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with horror-turned-relief. 

Rei jumps up, pointing accusingly at the screen. "Ya! Stroll you idiot!" 

Liz and Leeseo clutch each other’s hands tighter, both pale as snow. Yujin grips the Sauber team’s desk board, her knuckles white. 

Wonyoung murmurs, pensive and cautious, "The safety car—his only chance—" 

As the Sauber rejoins P6 on fresh rubber, Gaeul exhales shakily, a single tear cutting through the tension on her cheek. 

Hold on.

—————

The safety car folds in at the end of Lap 51. Green flag is waved. Seven laps remain.

The pack explodes like a shrapnel bomb. The fresh mediums ignite the Sauber. The C45, revitalized, plants itself into the tarmac, responding to inputs with predatory eagerness. Hadjar’s Racing Bull is first. Defends the inside into Turn 1, but his worn hards offer no traction on exit. You get a monstrous run, DRS flapping open, surging around his outside through Turn 2 with surgical precision. P5.

Next, Antonelli’s Mercedes looms quick. The rookie is fast but flustered by pressure. You harry him through the marina sector—a claustrophobic dance of concrete walls and abrupt direction changes. Into the Turn 6-7 chicane, he brakes a fraction early, guarding the inside. You feint left, then snap right, braking impossibly late for the second apex. Tires kiss. Sparks fly. The Mercedes wiggles as Antonelli corrects. P4.

Crofty roars. "He’s through! Past Antonelli! Now fourth! The tire advantage is absolute! He’s dismantled the field in two corners!"

Brundle sounds awe-struck, flared with raw emotion. "A masterclass in opportunism! He smelled the weakness, exploited the tire delta with cold, brutal efficiency. That Mercedes had no answer!"

Five laps remain. Ahead, a solitary blue-and-red machine. Max Verstappen. P3. 

The Red Bull glints under the floodlights like a resting predator. The ghost of Spa—the man who dared challenge him in the monsoon—has returned. He knows you’re coming. He sees the relentless green-and-black machine filling his mirrors. The gap is 1.8 seconds. Yas Marina’s final sector stretches ahead—the long blast after Turn 16, the DRS activation, the plunge into Turn 1. Your only battleground.

"P4! Verstappen 1.8 ahead! Four laps! Your tires are prime! His mediums are thirty laps old! You can do this!"

The hunt intensifies. You push the Sauber to its screaming limit. Through the flowing curves of Sector 1, you gain tenths. Through the technical marina maze, you gain more. The gap shrinks: 1.5, 1.3—Verstappen defends, his Red Bull weaving subtly on the straights, blocking the tow, his lines inch-perfect. He’s conserving, calculating, the ice to your fire.

Lap 54. The hotel complex. Turns 11-14. G-forces slam you sideways, a crushing weight on your screaming neck. Vision tunnels. You emerge onto the back straight, the gap down to 0.9 seconds. DRS opens. Surging forward, riding the Red Bull’s slipstream, the tow clawing you closer. 0.6 seconds. Verstappen defends the inside for the chicane complex. You jink left, he covers. No gap.

Crofty sounds breathless. “The gap is vanishing! Six-tenths! But Verstappen is defending like a lion! Where can he possibly pass?"

Brundle tenses. "It has to be the main straight. DRS. Turn 1. It’s his only chance. But Max knows it. He’ll make him earn every millimeter."

Lap 55. You replicate the approach. DRS open. Closer this time. 0.4 seconds. Verstappen weaves more aggressively. The Red Bull’s disturbed air buffets the Sauber. You hold firm, muscles burning, focus laser-sharp. No gap. Frustration is a live wire, but resolve is titanium.

Rei bounces, chanting, "Catch him! Catch him!” Liz and Leeseo are on their feet, hands still clasped. Yujin watches on, a statue of concentration. Wonyoung’s eyes track every jink, every gain. Gaeul stands rigid, one hand pressed to her chest, the other gripping the railing, her knuckles bloodless. Her lips move in a silent plea.

Lap 56. You hound Verstappen through Sector 2, filling his mirrors, disrupting his rhythm. Into the final Turn 16 hairpin. You take a tighter line, sacrificing exit speed for a fraction less distance. It’s a gamble. The Sauber’s nose inches closer to the Red Bull’s diffuser. Exiting the corner, you unleash every ounce of grip. The exit clean, but not transcendent. DRS activates. The gap is 0.3 seconds. Not enough. Verstappen defends the inside ruthlessly down the pit straight. The checkered flag looms on the next lap. Two more chances.

Wheatley’s voice is raw, hoarse. "Two more laps! Gap 0.3! You need a miracle out of turn 16! Give it everything!"

You sweep through 14, 15, 16—a blur of concentration and controlled aggression. The hotel complex is a white-knuckle ride, G-forces threatening blackout. Then, the final corner. Turn 16. A slow, hairpin right. You brake marginally later, carry a fraction more speed, turn in sharper. The Sauber rotates beautifully, its mediums biting hard. You plant the throttle earlier, harder than ever before. The rear twitches, threatening to snap, but you catch it with instinctive reflex. The exit is perfect. A surge of acceleration pins you to the seat. You’re instantly glued to the Red Bull’s diffuser.

DRS flaps open. The tow is monstrous. The gap evaporates. Side-by-side with Verstappen before the 100-meter board for Turn 1. The roar of the engines merges into a deafening howl. Wheels inches apart. The braking zone rushes up—a wall of inevitability. You brake at the absolute limit, a force that feels like it will shatter your rebuilt ankle, compress your spine. Vision tunnels to a pinprick of light framing Verstappen’s blue helmet. The Sauber holds its line, vibrating on the knife-edge of adhesion. Verstappen, the ultimate calculator, judges the vanishing margin. 

The desert air vibrates with the shriek of nineteen engines pushed beyond endurance. Inside the battered Sauber cockpit, every nerve screams in protest—neck muscles in spasm, shoulder a molten knot, rebuilt ankle grinding with each pedal stroke. Yet, the world narrows to a tunnel vision: the shimmering blue-and-red rear wing of Max Verstappen’s Red Bull, barely a few tenths ahead. Fourth place. The podium. Spa’s ghost demanding its due. Gaeul’s whispered plea—come back whole—echoes beneath the engine’s roar and the frantic hammering of your own heart.

Final Lap. Lap 58.

Exiting the Turn 16 hairpin, you’re glued to the Red Bull’s diffuser. DRS flaps open with a decisive thunk. The tow is monstrous, a physical punch slamming you forward. Side-by-side with Verstappen before the 100-meter board for Turn 1. Wheels inches apart. The desert sky bleeds deep black and sparkly-starry white as Yas Marina’s floodlights ignite, casting long, dramatic pathways across the tarmac. The roar of the engines merges into a deafening howl of defiance and desperation.

Crofty’s voice crackles with high tension. "Side-by-side! The Sauber and the Red Bull! Wheel-to-wheel down to Turn 1! This is it! The comeback kid versus the four-time champion! Shades of Spa!"

Brundle’s enraptured by the duel he’s witnessing. “The audacity! The sheer, unadulterated nerve! He’s forced Verstappen into a fight he never wanted on the final lap! Watch the braking!"

Verstappen defends with the fury of a cornered beast. The Mad Max of old resurfaces: desperate, ruthless, borderline violent. He jinks violently left, forcing you towards the pit wall, the disturbed air buffeting the Sauber like a physical blow. Holding firm, your muscles scream, steering inputs micro-corrected against the turbulence. Inches from the white line. He jinks right, trying to crowd you towards the runoff on the outside. Your tires kiss the artificial grass fringe, kicking up a plume of dust, the car skating perilously. You counter-steer instinctively, the Sauber snapping back onto the black stuff, momentum barely checked.

Over team radio, Wheatley’s shrieking harshly in your ear. "Hold your line! Hold! You’re alongside!"

Verstappen’s aggression is his shield, but it’s also his energy drain. His weaving costs him precious exit speed out of Turn 1. You carry a fraction more momentum, staying glued to his flank through the fiddly Turns 2 and 3. He slams the door shut at Turn 4, forcing you to lift, sacrificing precious tenths. 

The McLarens far ahead are distant specks, their private duel for the championship already decided. None of that matters. Only P3. Only Verstappen.

Through the flowing curves of Sector 1, you gain minutely, the fresher mediums granting superior traction. The gap shrinks: 0.4 seconds. Verstappen mirrors your line, inch-perfect, defensive, blocking any tow opportunity on the straights. The marina sector looms—a concrete canyon demanding millimetre precision. You hound him, filling his mirrors, every twitch of his car telegraphing his next move. Into the tight Turn 8-9 chicane, you pressure him hard on entry, forcing a slightly compromised exit. You gain another tenth. 0.3 seconds.

Crofty’s all but out of breath: "He’s crawling all over him! The gap is vanishing! Three-tenths! But where can he possibly pass? Verstappen is defending like a man possessed!"

Brundle’s tensing up, yet still analytical. "It has to be the hotel complex exit or the final straight. But Max knows it. He’s conserving every ounce of energy, every scrap of tire, for the defence. The Sauber driver needs complete perfection."

The hotel complex. Turns 11-14. The crucible. Sustained, brutal G-forces slam you sideways, crushing your screaming neck against the headrest, blurring vision at the edges. It’s agony distilled. Verstappen navigates it flawlessly. Tight, but defensive. You push harder, carrying a whisper more speed through the banked turns, feeling the Sauber’s chassis groan in protest, the tires howling at the limit. You emerge onto the back straight mere car lengths behind. 0.2 seconds. DRS opens. You surge forward, the tow clawing you to his gearbox. 0.1 seconds. Nose to tail.

“Last corner! Make it count! Perfect exit! Perfect!”

Turn 16. The final hairpin. A slow, agonizing right-hander before the blast to the line. Verstappen brakes early, guarding the inside line, sacrificing exit speed to block any possible lunge. It’s textbook defence. But in that moment of hyper-aggressive control, focused solely on blocking the inside, he pushes his worn mediums a fraction too hard. The RB21 rear snaps out: just a tiny, almost imperceptible slide on the dusty apex curb. 

A microsecond loss of traction. A human moment of fallibility.

It’s all the opening you need.

You’ve braked marginally later, carried a fraction more speed. More than enough to close the near-nonexistent gap. You turn in sharper, the Sauber rotating beautifully on its fresher rubber. As Verstappen corrects his slide, sacrificing crucial exit momentum, you plant the throttle earlier, harder. The rear twitches but holds. The Sauber rockets out of the corner, catapulting down the main straight with explosive traction.

Verstappen, desperately trying to claw back lost momentum, fishtails slightly, his exit compromised. You streak past him before the 50-meter board, clean air suddenly yours. The roar of the crowd hits you like a physical wave, drowning out the engine. The checkered flag waves.

P3.

Over at commentary, Crofty explodes, even more so than when Piastri’s McLaren took the win. "He’s done it! The Sauber takes third! He’s passed Verstappen on the final lap! Unbelievable! From the brink of retirement to the podium! A miracle in Abu Dhabi!”

Brundle, full of reverent awe, adds: "A move born of patience, precision, and capitalizing on the tiniest crack in the champion’s armour. Verstappen’s aggression forced the error, and the Sauber driver was clinical in its exploitation. One of the greatest final lap overtakes, on sheer guts and guile, I have ever witnessed. Legendary."

Over team radio, Wheatley’s voice cracks, evidently marred with raw emotion. "P3—P3! I don’t—I don’t believe it! That was—a miracle! An absolute bloody miracle! You magnificent bastard! Welcome back! Welcome back!"

Coasting down the straight, the adrenaline surging through your muscles like a tidal wave recedes, leaving utter exhaustion and profound, shaking elation. Piastri takes the flag and the Drivers’ championship. Norris follows, disappointment etched beside pride for his teammate. You cross the line third, the weight of the impossible settling like a physical mantle.

“We did it. We fucking did it.” 

Your words hang heavy, a verbalization of a dream now fully realized.

—————

The Sauber garage erupts. Mechanics and engineers leap over barriers, hugging, crying, pounding each other on the back. Hulkenberg, who finished P11, barely missing out on points, is the first one to your car as you crawl into the pit box. He rips off your steering wheel before the mechanics can swarm, his weathered face split by a grin of pure, unadulterated joy and respect. He grabs your helmet, forehead pressed against yours.

"Crazy bastard," he rasps, his voice thick. "You magnificent, crazy bastard. Told you you’d scare the shit out of them." He pulls back, clapping your shoulders, his eyes shining. "Podium. In this shitbox. Unreal."

In your heightened joy, you can’t help but aim at that low-hanging fruit. “While you—”

“Suck my balls mate.” The response is immediate, like he already anticipated it. But it’s all in light jest. He helps you out of the cockpit and back down to earth. “Well done.”

Drivers flood towards you, abandoning the usual parc ferme protocols. Oscar, the newly-minted champion, detours straight to you, grabbing your hand with both of his, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Mate—that lap—that last lap—incredible! Absolutely incredible! Welcome back!"

Lando slings an arm around your neck, still buzzing from his own race. "You maniac! Passing Max like that on the last corner? Spa wasn’t a fluke! You’re properly back!"

Lewis offers a firm handshake, his gaze deep, knowing. "Respect," he merely says, the single word carrying the weight of a legend recognizing a budding growth of greatness. 

Charles pats you on the back, a genuine smile replacing his usual intensity. "Chapeau. Truly."

George grins, shaking his head, clapping. "Unreal drive, mate. Just unreal."

Fernando also pats a hand on your shoulder, shaking his head in amusement. “You really are one crazy son-of-a-bitch, amigo. Helluva drive.”

In the midst of the commotion, Max approaches, cutting through the growing circle of competitors. The usual harshness is there, but softened by a hint of rueful respect. 

He extends a hand. You accept it. His grip is firm, but gracious.

"Almost Spa again, huh?" he says, shades of a smile touching his lips. "Good move. Hard, but fair. Welcome back." 

It’s the ultimate acknowledgement from the fiercest competitor. 

You curtly nod, sharing newfound respect for each other’s game.

But amidst the sea of green overalls and starry-eyed rivals, you see her—Gaeul. Pushing through the throng, the other IVE members trail right behind her: Rei bouncing with unrestrained glee, Liz and Leeseo beaming, Yujin radiating proud warmth, Wonyoung offering a rare, dazzling smile of pure admiration. Gaeul’s eyes are red-rimmed, tears streaming freely down her cheeks, cutting tracks through the desert dust on her skin. She doesn’t give a fuck about protocol or cameras.

She crashes into you, her arms wrapping around your neck with desperate strength, burying her face against your sweat-soaked race suit. The other drivers respectfully distance themselves to make room for shared intimacy. You hold her tight, ignoring the protests from your battered body, breathing in the scent of her hair. A lifeline after what felt like a neverending storm. Her shoulders shake with silent sobs of relief.

"You did it," she gasps against your neck, her voice muffled, trembling. "You’re here. You’re whole. You’re safe." She pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, her hands cradling your grimy face. "You kept your promise."

"I did," you rasp, your own voice thick with emotion. You lean down, capturing her lips in a brief, fierce kiss, tasting salt and relief and triumph. It’s soft, warm, profoundly intimate amidst the surrounding chaos. "I came back to you. Whole."

"Oi! Podium finisher!" Lando’s voice cuts through the intimate moment, grinning. "Cooldown room awaits! Chop chop, hero!" 

Oscar nods along in agreement, widely smiling. The other drivers join in hearty laughter. Officials gently but insistently begin to whisk you away.

Gaeul clings a second longer. "Go," she whispers, wiping her tears, a radiant smile breaking through. "Enjoy it. You earned it. I’ll be here."

You squeeze her hand, negotiating a silent promise, before being swept away by the tide of officials and fellow drivers towards the cooldown room.

—————

The cooldown room is a bubble of surreal exhaustion and exhilaration. Oscar is buzzing, the weight of the championship settling on his young shoulders. Lando is gracious, his disappointment of P2 tempered by overall team success and the sheer spectacle he witnessed. You slump beside the newly-minted champ, the adrenaline crash hitting viciously hard, every ache and pain announcing itself with renewed vigour.

"Seriously, mate," says Oscar, handing you a cold drink. You’re rewatching highlights of the race on the giant screen, soaking in every piece of nail-biting action. The closing lap shootout between you and Verstappen plays beat for beat like an extended movie scene only Hollywood can write. "That move on Max—I was watching the screens. Unreal. How did you even see that gap?"

"Didn’t see it," you admit, taking a grateful sip. "Felt it. Knew he’d push too hard defending. Knew the tires would bite him."

Lando shakes his head. "Madness. Brilliant madness. Spa wasn’t a one-off. You’re a force of nature." 

The respect in their eyes is genuine, humbling.

The podium ceremony is deafening. The cheers for Piastri, the new champion, are immense. The applause for Norris is warm. But when you step onto the third step, the roar that erupts shakes the foundations. It’s a wave of pure adulation, respect, and shared disbelief. Fans waving Sauber green, chanting your name. It’s for the miracle, for the defiance, for the story.

The Australian anthem plays. The trophies are presented. Oscar lifts his winner’s trophy aloft, aglow with a beaming smile on his face. Then, as the champagne bottles are handed out, Lando catches your eye. He grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. He points his bottle not at Oscar, but squarely at you. Oscar, understanding instantly, follows suit.

A deluge of icy champagne hits you full force. You gasp, laughing, raising your own bottle in retaliation, showering them back. The podium dissolves into a chaotic, joyful melee of sparkling wine and shared triumph. The champion gets drenched, but the celebration is undeniably for the phoenix who rose from the ashes. Wheatley watches from below, openly weeping now, surrounded by his ecstatic, disbelieving team.

—————

Descending the podium, soaked in champagne and euphoria, the media swarm is relentless. Microphones are thrust in your face. Questions about the pass, the recovery, the future—they fly thick and fast. You offer tired smiles, heartfelt thanks to the team, praise for Piastri and Norris, immense respect for Verstappen. The story speaks for itself.

Finally, you break free, scanning the crowded parc ferme area. And there she is. Gaeul. Waiting patiently near the Sauber garage, the other IVE members forming a protective, beaming half-circle around her. As you approach, they part like a curtain.

She meets you halfway. No words are needed. You wrap your arms around her, lifting her slightly off her feet, burying your face in her hair, breathing her in—the scent of her perfume cutting through the champagne and petrol fumes. 

It’s home. It’s peace. It’s the real victory.

"I'm so proud of you," she murmurs, her voice muffled against your shoulder. "So incredibly proud."

You set her down, holding her at arm's length, looking into her eyes, still shimmering with residual tears and pure happiness. The noise of the paddock fades. "I kept my promise," you say softly, an assurance fulfilled. "I'm here. Whole."

Rei bounces over, thrusting your third-place trophy into your hands (retrieved by a helpful mechanic). "You won! Well, third! But it’s like winning!" 

Jiwon and Hyunseo chime in with shared congratulations. Yujin offers a warm hug. "Amazing drive. Truly." 

Wonyoung gives a graceful nod and a slow clap. "You showed everyone. Great job."

Gaeul smiles, tracing the edge of the trophy with a fingertip. "So what now?" she asks, her voice gentle. "The world is yours. Mercedes and Red Bull—they’re already calling Jonathan. The offers—" She looks up, searching your eyes. 

The unspoken question hangs: Will you leave again. For the top teams. For the ultimate glory.

You look at the trophy: a heavy symbol of an improbable journey. Then you glance back at Gaeul, at the love and quiet hope in her eyes. You recall the hospital bed, the pain, the fear, the promise whispered in the sterile air. You think of the roar of the engines, the taste of champagne, the adulation. Then you remember this. Her warmth. Her presence. The life waiting beyond the grid and the checkered flags.

You take her hand, lacing your fingers through hers. The trophy feels secondary now. A chapter closed in magnificent fashion. The next chapter beckons.

"I already have everything I want right here," you say, your voice clear, certain. You raise her hand, kissing her knuckles, your gaze locked on hers. "The offers can wait. The season’s over. Tonight—tomorrow, and beyond—I’m with you. I’m here. Always will be.”

—————

(dedicated to raf <3)

(A/N: I hate lying to myself. LOL. As you can tell by now this is practically an F1 story first and foremost. My first brush with the sport was all the way back in 2008 (is that Glock was the first real sports moment I can vividly recall besides Kobe's 81). Up until circa 2010-2011, when Vettel was beginning his dominant run in RB. Got back into it literally last month cause all the friends on Discord were tuned in and the Lakers fucking suck (also LOL). Was kinda easy to adjust back and catch up on the last few years, to be honest! Also there's the movie with Brad Pitt coming out in over a week when this goes live, and I really wanna see that in theaters. Some inspiration from the trailers/marketing definitely bleeds into the story. This is the most action-heavy fic I've ever written and that's mainly due to the third act which is basically an entire race weekend. Tried to blend realism with Hollywood-level bullshit—don't care, I think heightened reality is fun, especially in settings like sports. I hope it didn't stray too far and I tried my best to keep everything mostly accurate to current day, but it is what it is, I'm still catching up on what I've missed. And then for the idol: there was only one choice. Gaeul's got that sweet, mature, tender vibe around her that made the perfect love interest, besides the friend this was written around. Thank you for reading!)

[rvp32]

Studio Overtime - Chap 2

Jiihyo x 3 Illustrators

Continuation of Chap 1

Proofread by @vorrentis , big thanks @kise15 for helping me with ideations

Word Counts : 10600 words

All works are fiction

ENJOY !!!

9:00 AM

“Hey! Clean your shit! Boss is coming!”

Down at the lobby, a white Mercedes-Benz stops in front of the door.

As the driver hurries to the door, a woman in white steps down, hand-carrying a Marni bag, walking up with full confidence.

The security guy runs fast to open the door.

“Good morning, Boss! You look beautiful today!”

“Thank you, Han. Have a great day ahead.” The woman gives the security guard a smile, while he bows to her in full respect.

As you already know, the woman is Park Jihyo, and she’s the boss lady of TDG Design Agency.

While Jihyo walks toward the elevator, three girls are standing there in front of her. Once they see their boss, they bow deeply.

“Good morning, Boss!!” the three girls say in unison.

“Morning, Lily, Bae, and Sullyoon. You dress well today.” Jihyo gives them a compliment.

“T-Thank you, Boss! We just got our dresses yesterday! We're glad you like it!”

“I would love to visit the store you bought them from. Have a good day ahead.”

“Thank you, Boss!” The three bow again as Jihyo enters the elevator.

DING

As the elevator doors open, Jihyo walks out while the staff bow to her.

“Good morning, Boss!!” everyone says in unison.

“Good morning, everyone. Today will be a busy day for our schedule. I want all staff to gather for a meeting before the day ends so we can elaborate on what’s to come during the week. All team leaders, please prepare your files for presentation at 3:30 PM, we will start at 4 PM. I want to make sure our week is as productive as usual. We're working on a great project so far, so let’s all do our best to make it fruitful.”

“YES, BOSS!” everyone replies in unison again.

“Sana and Mina, please make sure my files are ready before the presentation this evening. I want to elaborate on my directions to the teams as clearly as possible, and I want you two to help me organize some of it in my office in an hour. Please bring all the notes I sent you last Friday too.”

“Yes, Boss! We’ll do it right away! Arigatou gozaimasu!” The two Japanese girls bow in unison.

“That will be all, everyone. I will be in my office. If you have any questions, please leave a notice for Sana and Mina, and I’ll look at it during the day. Thank you, and please get to work.” Jihyo smiles, then bows slightly.

“Thank you for your time, Boss!” Everyone else bows in unison.

Jihyo walks toward her office, passing by where the trio: Peter, Aaron, and Archie are seated. She gives them a slight wink, then closes the door behind her.

“Heh, dude, boss is looking pretty today.”

“Of course, doofus, she’s always pretty. The fuck you on?” Aaron throws a paper at Peter.

“Alright, dirtbags, get to work. We’ve got to present her the preliminary sketches today,” Archie scoffs at the two while Peter gives him the middle finger.

Sana, standing right behind them, slaps their shoulders while scoffing.

“You three better do good work today or I’ll tell Boss to fire-ouch, my foot!” Sana stumbles as she accidentally hits her tiny foot on the chair.

“Ayyyy, Captain Shiba, lol.”

And the day goes on…

5:00 PM

“So, that will be all for what I want us to achieve during the week, and the deadline will be next Monday. I want everything to be submitted to me before Friday ends so I can give a good review next Monday. Our clients this time will help us boost our studio’s reputation, if the work goes as planned. Any questions?”

“Boss, I do have a question. If there are some delays due to the workload, should we notify you or Sana and Mina?”

“If it’s an issue that doesn’t need immediate attention, then yes you can notify Sana and Mina. They will transfer it to me during their work hours. If it’s urgent, then team leaders should notify me via our new local server and ping me along with Sana and Mina in your urgent requests. That way, I will know which ones need to be treated with utmost care. I don’t want delays that can be harmful to the work schedule. Is that clear for everyone?”

“Yes, Boss!”

“Any other questions? If not, our meeting has ended. See you tomorrow, everyone.”

“Thank you for your time, Boss!” Everyone stands up and bows to Jihyo, then slowly exits the meeting room.

“Aaron, Archie, Peter. I would like a word with you three.”

“Yes, Boss!” the three say in unison.

“Ooohhh, someone’s in trouble! Told you to do a great job! Bleeee! Hope you survive so you can pay me lunch!” Sana teasingly calls out while collecting her files.

“Come on, Sana-chan, don’t let the Boss wait.” Mina gently drags Sana out of the meeting room while she’s still playfully teasing the three.

As the two Japanese girls leave the room, the three sit down in their chairs and ask:

“Is there anything you need from us, Boss?”

“I looked at your sketches. They were…”

“Oh shit, fuck, so it was bad after all…” The three think to themselves.

“They were quite well done. I like the direction so far.” Jihyo smiles while looking at the three.

“Oh wow, phew, Boss. I thought we did something that didn’t meet the quality!”

“You scared the hell out of me, Boss! But thank you for your review!”

“So Boss, we’ll continue with the direction and give you more versions based on the sketches?”

“Yes, that will be all you need to do for the week.”

“That’s all Boss?”

“Or you need something else from us Boss, hehe, why call us to talk in private like this.”

“Yeh, there must be … SOMETHING only us can do FOR YOU hehe.”

The trio then stand up from their chairs and walk towards where Jihyo is standing. They then surround her with bright smiles on their faces.

They slowly move their hands to touch her on her shoulders, then towards her arms and her thighs, with Jihyo slightly smiles, understanding the situation.

“I think you all know what I do like then.” Jihyo speaks out softly and calmly while still smiling at the trio.

“Of course we do Boss, we know each other too well at this point.”

Aaron then puts his hand towards Jihyo’s beautiful face, gives her a peck on her cheeks, then move on to her lips for a kiss, with Jihyo gladly returns, while Peter then kisses to her neck, enjoying the perfume from Jihyo’s body, with Archie is still moving his hands across her thighs, then to her plump butt cheeks, slightly grab her mounds.

The trio go on like that with her for a few moments, until Jihyo must stop them, even if she doesn’t want to.

“As much as I want to, not now you three, at least not today, I still have some works to do.” Jihyo hides her slight frustrations well behind her calm words.

“Sure, thing Boss, whenever you want us to, we won’t deny any chances hehe.”

“And you three need to submit great works if you want to have THAT time with me this Friday.” Jihyo pushes them back slightly with her hands on their chests.

“Of course we will, we ALWAYS deliver!”

“Actually Boss, I ... I mean, we have a proposal that we want to discuss with you, and, I think you will like it, it’s about EXTRA CREDIT from our works, can we discuss with you?”

“I’m listening.”

The trio then discuss with Jihyo an idea that she herself finds it both interesting and daring, but nonetheless, she agrees.

“Thats its boss! See you tomorrow!”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Thank you for your time boss!” The three bow in unison the leave the room, with Jihyo left alone thinking to herself.

“These three are such interesting individuals. Let’s see what they’ll have tomorrow. I’m quite excited.”

The next day…

In TDG chat server…

“SanaShiba: Hey Archie! Wake up you nerd! Boss has some reviews on your stuffs in the review boxes!!  You’re in BIGGGGGGGGGG trouble now!!”

“ArchieWicked: Ok thanks grandma.”

“SanaShiba: Stops calling me that!!!  Bakaaaaa!!!”

“MinaPenguinLego: Sana-chan stop teasing him …”

“SanaShiba: Mii-tannn!!! Stop taking his side!! You’re supposed to back me up!”

“MinaPenguinLego: …. “

“ArchieWicked: Poor Mina-chan, keep being bullied by that Hamster.”

“SanaShiba: angryhamsteremoji:”

Archie then opens the review box. Inside is a long review for his work from boss Jihyo, and a shorter one.

“Hello Archie, I already reviewed your submission: the design is working well so far, I like the compositions and the lightings from them, and I think it would be best if we continue with option three. In my opinion option three works the best with the vision for this cover the most out of the four, so please continue with that ideation. For the next step please give me detailed drawings and color moods so I can present it to our clients. Thank you”

Archie then opens the second one

“You earned the extra credit, meet me in one hour at your desired place through my number.”

“Ehe, boss got it.”

“Alrighty dork, have FUN with the boss!” Peter teases.

“Don’t forget to take some SOUVERNIRS lol” Aaron chimes in.

“SanaShiba: Hey, are you three up to something? what’s with the weird smile???? I can see it from my desk right here!!”

“ArchieWicked: We won’t tell you grandma, HAHAHA.”

“SanaShiba: AH MOUU!!! I’LL KICK YOUR ASS! BAKA ARCHIE!! BAKA!!!: angryemoji:”

An hour later…

In TDG VIP chat server…

“BossJihyo: Sana, I want to leave the room for some break. I will be back shortly, if anyone has anything for me just leave it to my request boxes.”

“AssistantSana: Oh yes Boss! Do you need some refreshments? I can bring it to your room before you take your break.”

“BossJihyo: that won’t be needed, thank you Sana.”

“AssistantSana: Have a nice break Boss! Please let me know once you return!”

Jihyo then exits her office, then walks out of the studio.

Her paces quicken towards the other side of the floor, where they still have unused office space, down the hallway towards the restroom that people rarely use, still fresh & clean.

Once she opens, Archie is already there waiting for her with a big smile on his face.

“Hello boss! You’re on time!”

“Yes, and you’re early.”

“Don’t want any suspicions hehe, does anyone following you?”

“No, no one was following me here.”

“Then shall we proceed with my EXTRA CREDIT?”

“Yes.” Jihyo smiles at Archie while locking the door.

Archie then pulls out a coin, he then explains the rules again to Jihyo.

“So boss, I’ll flip the coin, if it’s heads, I’ll have blowjobs from you, if it’s tails, I’ll get to fuck your tits. Shall we proceed?”

“Yes.”

Archie then flips the coin, then catches it with his palm. Once he opens, the coin reveals to be heads.

“That was for the first round. Now for the second, if I get heads, I’ll have vaginal sex, if I get tails, I’ll have anal sex. shall we proceed?”

“Yes.”

Archie flips again, and the coin still reveals to be heads.

“Soooooo, with that’s said, I will have blowjobs and vaginal sex with your Boss! You’re ready?”

“I am.”

Without further due, Archie then grabs onto Jihyo’s face, pulling her towards him and give her kisses, with Jihyo returns the favor.

He doesn’t waste any time making out with her, kissing her down to her neck, while his hands are moving to her butt cheeks, grabbing and groping as fast as he can, hungrily taking his beautiful boss.

“Fuck boss, I’ve been waiting for this this entire morning. And you’re using the perfume I bought it for you too hehe.”

“Yes, I do, and I like the scent.”

“Good, makes me want to fuck you even more now boss. I’m fuckin hard seeing you in this tight fit. You’re goddamn hot boss.”

“Thank you, Archie, glad you like my outfit.” Jihyo speaks out while still kissing Archie, letting him grope every part of her body that he likes.

“Come one boss, I want to fuck your mouth.”

Jihyo proceeds to kneel, with Archie quickly pulls his zipper and stroking his dick to its erected size, teasing it in front of Jihyo’s beautiful lips.

“Suck my dick boss, I can’t wait anymore.”

“I hope you’ll like it.”

“I fuckin do boss.”

Jihyo then starts grabbing his dick with her hands, stroking it a bit.

She opens her mouth and slowly touches her tongue at the tip of his, licking it in circular.

She then puts his length into her mouth, inches by inches, until her nose is close to his crotch.

His size is quite big for her mouth, as Jihyo must take it a bit slow at first, moving her head back & forth along his length, with Archie starts to moan as a sign of pleasure.

“Ah shit, yes boss, fuckkkk, keep doing it, feel so good.”

Jihyo quickens her pace a bit more, her tongue is swirling around his hardened dick, tasting every bit of it.

Her mouth is fully wrapping around, tasting every inch, while gazing up with her big round eyes to his face, making Archie turns up his volume .

“AH SHIETTT!! Yes Boss, fuck you look pretty sucking my cock like this!!! Fuckkkk!!”

Archie doesn’t want to just stay still, he holds his hand to the back of her head, quickly and hardly pound into her mouth in fast paces, not letting her have a break. He pounds her fast like a jackhammer, fucking her face like he never had oral sex before.

“Yesss!!! Oh fuckkkk!! Gonna fuck your mouth hard boss!!! Feels fuckin good!”

“He’s penetrating my mouth like it was nothing for him, somehow even harder than when I had intercourse with him and the other two. Is it because this is the first time we have oral intercourse secretly during work hours? Maybe that’s his motivation? I’m waiting for his next move because this is quite rousing. “Jihyo, once again being able to collect her thought while being face-fucked for the last five minutes.

“Fuck, boss, I can’t wait anymore, come over here, I want to pound you hard.”

“Okay.”

Archie pulls out, helping his boss stands up and drags her to the sink. Kissing her again, he lifts her up and let her sit onto it, spreading her legs to both sides. He then proceeds to remove her lower clothing, revealing her navy-colored panties, with him cracking a huge smile.

“Oooh, you came prepared boss, my fav lingerie color of yours hehe.”

“I’m glad you like it. “

“Of course I do.”

Not any moment wasted, he pulls her panties off and drops it to the floor, revealing her tight pink pussy.

He’s playing around with it with his fingers, then his tongue just to prep up Jihyo for what comes next.

“Time to fuck you boss.”

Archie lines his dick towards her lips, pushing his hardened rod into her, with both gasping out with the entrance. Her warmth and tight walls are wrapping around his rod, with Archie moves his hips slowly in and out with full pleasure, penetrating his boss in decent speed.

“Ahhh shiettt boss, tight as ever!!! Gonna make you and me feel great !!!”

Archie thrusts faster, wanting to break Jihyo’s pussy as much as he can. He doesn’t want any slow build-up, pistons her once he finds good pace, taking his chance to fuck his curvy boss, smashing his lower body into hers without mercy.

Suddenly, Jihyo’s phone rings up, she quickly turns on noise cancelling for her Air pods and take the call without stopping Archie.

“This is Park Jihyo.”

“Hello, good evening, Miss Jihyo, my name is Lee Soo-man from SM Entertainment, we talked on the phone last week, please to meet you!”

“Please to meet you too Sir! How can I help you?” Jihyo replies calmly while Archie keeps pounding into her.

“I call because of our contracts with your studio with my girls Aespa! I heard great things about the last time they were working with you and your studio! Thank you for taking care of the girls on my behalf! Did they behave well during the photoshoot?”

“Absolutely Sir! Your beautiful ladies were a delight to work with! They were very professional and cheerful; we had a great time during the shoots! Did the sales for their promotions gone well?” Jihyo keeps on talking, while uses his hands to unbutton her top, dives his face into her big tits and suck them, with Jihyo still remains calm.

“The sales went up 10% with the photoshoots, and it was a success with marketing campaign and global recognitions for the girls! thank you so much to you and your team!”

“Thank you for trusting us with the project Sir! My team and I are glad the group is doing great; I think I could purchase an album myself!”

“There is no need, Miss Jihyo! A Limited Edition with signatures from the girls are already being sent your way as a gift! SM Entertainment would be glad to work with TDG Agency again for their next comebacks! Shall we set up another meeting for the new contract? Let’s say next Tuesday, would that be possible?”

“Of course, Sir! Another project with SM Entertainment will be another great chance for TDG Agency too! And we’ll be very happy to welcome the girls to our studio shoot again!”

Jihyo still remains her composure during the calls, with Archie is still pounding his soul into Jihyo’s wet & tight lips. Occasionally, he gives her kisses on the lips or diving into her nipples again, like a hungry animal feasting on its prey.

“He keeps on penetrating me without caring my situation with the phone, I wish I can hear his usual vulgar words every time he thrusts into me. Such an interesting situation we’re in right now, “Jihyo is multitasking with her thoughts, while still on the call and being fucked to the brim by Archie.

“So yes Miss Jihyo, I think it’s all set! I think we will have that meeting and the new contract by next week! I hope to see you again! Have a wonderful rest of your week!”

“Have a delightful week to you too Sir! See you at SM Entertainment soon!”

As Jihyo turns off the noise cancellation, she can hear Archie’s moans again while fucking her, giving her passionate kisses afterwards.

“Always so busy huh Boss, hehe, even when getting fucked by your employee like this, you like the thrill boss?”

“It’s quite fascinating.” Jihyo smiles and returns the kisses to Archie.

“Fuckk boss, I’m very close now, fuckkkk!! I’m going to cum in your goddamn tight pussy, you’re tightening on me so much!! I’m going to fuckin fill your pussy with me cum boss!!”

“Go ahead.”

“Fuckk, I’m gonna cumm!! Holy shit I’m cumming!!”

Archie doesn’t lie, he cums straight and deep into her warm hole, filling his boss with his fill of thick cum.

Shots after shots shoot straight into her, with Archie moans in full orgasm.

“Fuckkkk!! Hahhh!! Fuckin good boss !!!”

He stays there for a bit, kissing Jihyo’s plump lips for a moment, then slowly pulls out from her, enjoying the last bit of himself inside her walls.

His cum is leaking and gushing out of Jihyo’s pussy, dripping down the sink’s surface and some drops onto the marble floor.

Once he’s completely detached from her body, Archie takes out his phone and take some pics of Jihyo in her creampied state as proofs, then quickly send it to Aaron and Peter with a small text.

“ArchieTheWicked: Creampied boss Jihyo in office restroom, done :thumbsup:”

“PeterTheCyberSpider: Way to go Jerk, achievement completed.”

“AaronTheMetaHuman: fan-fucking-tastic.”

As Archie pulls the paper to clean himself, and pulls up his pants, he quickly walks to Jihyo, still sitting on the sink, body is heaving up and down post-sex.

“I’m sorry I was into it too much during your all boss, got hooked into it too much, hope it didn’t feel too uncomfortable…”

“No, you did great.” Jihyo forms a smile while slightly catching her breath.

“Lemme clean things up for you boss, I’ll do it quick so you can get back.”

“Thank you, Archie,”

Archie quickly grabs more papers, wiping off sweats on her face his cum in her pussy and what’s left of his on the sink and the floor. He then helps her dress up again, firmly and tidy like nothing happened over the past 15 mins.

“All done boss, I hope I didn’t make too much of a mess and didn’t ruin your outfit.”

“You did well Archie, I feel fine, “Jihyo smiles again as a confirmation for Archie’s “extra credit”.

“May I have the picture you took of me?“

“Of course, Boss! Is there anything I can help you before I get back to my work? I will deliver the next steps for you before the day ends!”

“That’s all Archie, you can go.”

“Thank you for your time boss!”

Archie then bows to Jihyo, then he exits the restroom and runs back fast to his place.

Jihyo, looking at the pic from her phone, then look at the mirror, forms a smile and think to herself.

“That was eventful, and he was polite to me, I guess I like situations like this more than I thought.”

Jihyo then tidies up her outfit a bit, then exits the restroom, walks back to her office.

“BossJihyo: I’m back Sana, let’s continue our works, please give me any submissions while I was offline. Thank you.”

“AssistantSana: Welcome back boss! yes, I will attach the files right away for you! Do you require any refreshments or snacks?”

“BossJihyo: Lemon tea please, and Tiramisu Cake.”

“AssistantSana: I will bring it directly to you shortly! Anything else boss?”

“BossJihyo: That’s all Sana.”

“AssistantSana: Thank you for your time boss! Arigatou Goazaimasu!!”

The next day…

“BossJihyo: Mina, I want the submissions from Peter, will you collect the files for me?”

“AssistantMina: Hai Boss! I will do right away! is there anything else I can get your boss?”

“BossJihyo: That’s all for now Mina, thank you.”

“AssistantMina: Arigatou Gozaimasu Boss!”

In TDG chat sever

“MinaLegoPenguin: Peter-kun, Boss wants your files, send me the link of your folders here!”

“PeterCyber: Ok Mina-chan, will do, I owe you a Lego technic set.” “MinaLegoPenguin: “Ie ie, dōitashimashite! Send it to my apartment, okay?”

“PeterCyber: Gotcha.”

“SanaShiba: Nani? You bought her Lego and give me nothing ???”

“PeterCyber: Paid your lunch last time Osaka’s honey punch, now let me be bro “

“SanaShiba: I’M NOT A BRO!!! BAKA PETER BAKA!!: angryhamsteremoji:”

A few moments after Peter submits his works, he gets the reply from both Mina and Jihyo right away.

“MinaLegoPenguin: Peter-kun, boss replied in your in the review box!”

“PeterCyber: Oki Doki”

“SanaShiba: Boss might hate your designs so much she replies fast: laughingsquirellemoji:”

“PeterCyber: you want me to send you clips of Thunder sounds? your fav?”

“SanaShiba: NANI??? NOOOOO!!“

As Peter opens the review box, he sees two notifications.

“Hello Peter, here’s my review from your works: I like the 3D models’ thumbnails you did; I personally think Option two would be a better choice since it shows what the clients want right away. For the next step I want you to proceed to upgrade that model with different camera angles so I can show the clients different views of it. Excellent work.”

And the second notification…

“You earned the extra credit, meet me in one hour at your desired place through my number.”

“Guess that’s my cue boys, see you in a bit.”

“High five,” Aaron teases.

“Heh, remember, always has souvenirs from your trip dipshit.” Archie chimes in.

“SanaShiba: You three with those smiles like a bunch of hyenas again!!!! Nanda Kore wa ????”

“PeterCyber: none of ya business Squirrel Girl, I’ll tell Mina-chan not you.”

“MinaPenguinLego: ehh… don’t think I want to know …”

In TDG private server…

“BossJihyo: I will take my break, please leave any requests into my requests and I will return shortly.” “AssistantMina: Hai Boss! I will inform you if there’s anything, do you need any refreshments or snacks once you come back?”

“BossJihyo: Chamomile Tea please.”

“AssistantMina: Hai Boss!”

Jihyo exits her room, then walks out of the studio towards the same place as yesterday, but this time, she goes through the storage room at the end of the hallway, where Peter is waiting for her there.

“Hello Peter, you got here early.” Jihyo smiles while closing the door behind her

“Of course, Boss, and you’re always one time! Ok, I think you know the rules, right?”

“Yes.”

“Here goes!”

Peter flips the coin, for the first round, the coin reveals tails.

“Guess I’ll have your tits today.”

Then another flip, the coins reveal heads

“So, I’ll have your tits & your pussy today boss hehehe. You ready?”

“I am. Go ahead.”

With no minutes wasted, they kiss each other, making out as fast as they can, with Peter is moving his hand all over Jihyo’s curves and grab a large amount on her butt cheeks, slapping it a bit.

“Goddamn it bosses you’re fuckin thick, and that perfume of yours.”

Peter then pulls a chair and sits on it, giving Jihyo signs what he needs

“Boss, I guess we should start what I want hehe.”

“Sure.”

Jihyo doesn’t hesitate, she unbuttons her top to reveals a red bra underneath, then pulls out her big tits dying for some air, which excites Peter.

“Red bra, just as I like Boss! Come one, gimme those tits.”

“I will”

Jihyo then kneels to Peter’s crotch, helps him pulls down his pants down to his knees, with his hardened dick pops out like an antenna.

Holding tight to her boobs, she puts his erected rod in between of her giant mounds, moving them up & down slowly in rhythm, with Peter’s monas can be heard in each movement.

“Ahhh… nice… That’s fucking good boss!! Keep going please!”

“I’m glad you like it.” Jihyo gives a smile to Peter, while he himself fully enjoys the sensation

Once Jihyo is more comfortable with the position, she quickens the frictions, moving her tits through the motions, while sometimes using her tongue to tease the tip of his dick, making Peter barely could hold down his voice

“Ahhh shieettt I like when you do that Boss!! Fuccckkk !!!”

A few moments passed by Peter then holds onto Jihyo’s face and telling her the things he wanted most the entire time

“Boss, how about your fuckin ride me on this chair? I want you so much now!”

“I’ll do that.”

Jihyo then stops what she’s been doing, stands up then removes her lower garment, puts it at the side, revealing her red undies.

She doesn’t waste any time to finally remove it, getting herself naked down below, while sitting onto Peter’s lap.

She’s using her hand to line his dick towards her pussy lips, then slowly penetrate her warm walls, sitting down to his lap, letting his dick pushes through her tight walls, with both Jihyo & peter are giving out moans afterwards.

“Fuckkk it’s hot Boss!!”

“It is.”

“Now bounce yourself for me, I want it!!”

Jihyo takes no break, she bounces herself on top of Peter from flow to faster movements, holding onto the back of his head. Occasionally, they’re giving out kisses, or Peter shoves his face straight into her tits, enjoying the softness of her big mound, kissing and licking her nipples.

Jihyo’s phone, out of the sudden, rings up again, and she does the same thing as yesterday, turning on noise cancellation

“This is Park Jihyo.”

“Hello Miss Park, this is Hometown Real Estate, we had completely transferred the information for your purchase with the new apartment blocks, we wonder if you can provide us with some final confirmations about the name and owners?”

“Absolutely, once I confirm, when can everything finally be done? I don’t prefer any delays “Jihyo speaks in stern voice while still riding on Peter’s lap

“It should be done by the evening Miss Park; our agents will do their bests to rush the process.”

Jihyo continues her calls, while Peter, from down below, holds his hands around her butt cheeks, thrusts his hips upward into Jihyo’s tight hole, while she’s still holding onto his neck, keeping a calm demeanor with the call. Peter thrusts hard and fast, pistons her deep and quick as possible, making the chair below them shakes with the harsh movements.

“So greedy to penetrate me, yet he’s done it very well so far, seems like he has no problem of making me feel excited while in this situation, and in one of my favorite positions too. His moans and vulgar words must be quite loud at this point.” Jihyo is still collecting thoughts while finishing her call.

“And that’s its Miss Park; every information has finally been transferred completely to your account and on your name. Congratulations Miss Park, you’re the new owner of the building blocks!”

“Thank you for your service.”

“We’re glad to be of help Miss Park! Please have a good day ahead!”

Jihyo turns off the noise cancellation again, and all that’s left is the sound of Peter’s moans and the sounds of his lower body’s slapping straight into hers

“Hehe, new purchase huh boss? You’re one successful woman now, both successful and sexy! That makes you even hotter to me and makes me want to fuck you more boss!!”

“Thank you, Peter,” Jihyo gives him a smile while returning his kisses.

“Fuckkkk boss, I love fucking you like this, too fuckin good!!! I’m going to blast my entire load in you soon!!! Fuckkkk your body and your pussy are fuckin tight !!!”

“Then you can do it.”

“I’m going to cummm!! Fuckkkk Boss I’m gonnna cum !!!”

Peter keeps his words, a full blast of cum shooting straight up into Jihyo’s pussy filling her with hot cum.

He cums in her deep, emptying his loads straight into her warm walls, feels like he could stay like this for a long time, with his orgasmic moan confirms the pleasure on his end.

Jihyo then pulls out from him slowly, stands up from his lap and removes herself from his still erected dick, with his cum leaks out from her walls, dropping down to the chair, running onto her inner thighs a bit and some drops down to the floor, as Peter quickly takes a shot with his phone with a bright smile. He then sends it to Aaron & Archie in quick text:

“PeterTheCyberSpider: Creampied Boss Jihyo in storage room, done: thumbsup:”

“ArchieTheWicked: Fuckin hell yeah”

“AaronTheMetaHuman: You did it you lewd mofo “

The two then slow regain their senses a bit, with Peter quickly takes some tissues and cleaning himself, then helping Jihyo to clean up the mess

 “Lemme do it Boss, I made the mess, I’ll clean it! I’ll make sure of it for you!”

“Thank you, Peter"

“I apologize if I was being too rough with you back then, my horniness took over a bit much Boss.”

“I like it Peter, you did great job.” Jihyo confirms with a smile, gives him a peck on his cheek.

Once Peter and Jihyo are finally cleaned up and well dressed again, he quickly opens the door, not forgetting to ask Jihyo some questions before leaving

“Anything you need me to do for your Boss?”

“No, I can go back myself”

“So, more details on the 3D models right boss? and some camera angles? I will deliver before the days end for you for sure!”

“That will do Peter “

“Thank you for your time, Boss!” Peter bows, then quickly leaves the room back to his desk, not before sending Jihyo the picture of herself.

Jihyo takes a quick look at the photo, gives out a bright smile

“I do look quite erotic in this.”

She takes no further due, quickly walks back to her office and back to her daily work.

“BossJihyo: I’m back Mina, can I have the Chamomile tea please “

“AssistantMina: Hai Boss! I’ll be right with you!”

“AssistantSana: Glad to have you back Boss!”

“BossJihyo: I also want you two to bring some notes to my office, I want to schedule our new projects for the upcoming weeks. We should plan it ahead at this point.”

“AssistantSana: yes Boss! I’ll be right there!”

“AssistantMina: Hai Boss! I will bring that and your chamomile tea!”

The next day

“BossJihyo: Sana, Mina, did Aaron send me the new updates yet?”

“AssistantMina: Hai Boss! I just got his files; I will transfer to your review box right away!”

“AssistantSana: I will keep you up to date if there’s anything more boss!”

In TDG chat sever

“SanaShiba: you’re dead Aaron!! Boss is reviewing your stuffs!!!! I can’ wait to see her nutmeg you with her words !!!!”

“AaronMeta: Dream on Squirrel “

“MinaLegoPenguin: Aaron-kun she just replies! Go see it!”

“SanaShiba: bet ya she killed you with her words!!!!!!!!!!!”

“AaronMeta: On the contrary, obviously not, so you lose Squirrel”

“SanaShiba: BAAKAAAAA!!!!!!”

As Aaron opens the review box, he sees two notifications

“Hello Aaron, this is my reviews for you. I like the color thumbnails and composition for these; they are matching both my directions and the client directions. However, we can only choose one so please proceed with option 1, since the other two options, while meeting expectations, could be quite controversial with the color choices. So, with that’s being said, please provide me another round of finished sketch for this one, and it would be better if you can provide different color values and saturations. Thank you”

And the other one:

“You earned the extra credit, meet me in one hour at your desired place through my number.”

“It’s time for my crusade my fellowship of the rings.”

“Go on, claim your victory asshat lol”

“Take pics and better get a good view ya noob.”

“AaronMeta: Guess the Boss lady loves my stuff Squirrel, you’re out.”

“SanaShiba: Nani?????? She likes it??? Man, those looks terrible!!!!! Can’t believe you three dorks are still laughing about it!!!”

“AaronMeta: I’ll screencap this and send it to Boss, let’s see if she agrees with your opinions.”

“SanaShiba: YAMETE KUDASAIIIII!!! DON’T DO THAT!!!: scarehamsteremoji:”

Sana types while making surprised noises, making everyone in the studio to look at her while she bows in complete shame and embarrassment.

In TDG VIP server…

“BossJihyo: What was that noise? I just heard someone’s loud echo.”

“AssistantSana: It’s all my fault Boss!! I will not do that again!”

“BossJihyo: please refrain from doing unnecessary sound Sana, I don’t prefer my studio to be a playground.”

“AssistantSana: Gomen nasai Boss!!! I won’t do that again!”

“AssistantMina: I’ll make sure she won’t do that again Boss …”

“BossJihyo: I will take my break now, please inform me if there’s anything in the request box.”

“AssistantSana: I will Boss! DO you prefer any snacks & refreshments once you’re back?”

“BossJihyo: Lemon Juice please.”

“AssistantSana: Hai Boss!!!”

“AssistantMina: let us know once you’re back!!”

Jihyo, once again, for the 3rd time of the week, walks fast towards the empty halls of the floor, but this time, she enters the emergency exit stairwell, with Aaron already waiting for her.

“Hello Aaron, you’ve been here already.”

“Yes Boss!! Can’t be late for this one!! Now lemme flip the coin!”

Aaron does his first flip; it goes to heads.

“Blowjobs, ah ha, guess my first round is your mouth boss!”

Then the second flip, it goes to tails.

“Ahh yehh, guess I’ll have your ass Boss!! You’re ready? I’m sooo so ready!”

“I am ready.”

The two dives into each other, giving out kisses as fast as they can, while Aaron doesn’t hesitate to grope Jihyo’s all over, but he’s more of an impatience guy, so he just goes right in with her buttons and pants, pulls them off quickly, with her black bra & undies.

“Oh shiet, black ones, you know my fav isn’t you hehe.”

“I do.”

“And that perfume too, man, I’m so wanting you now boss!”

Understands the cue, Jihyo drops down to her knees and face herself towards his crotch, helping him removes his pants down to knee level, with his dick pops straight up to her face, surprises her a bit.

“Sorry for the sudden erection Boss hehe, hope you don’t mind suck it for me “

“Sure Aaron.” Jihyo returns a smile to Aaron.

Jihyo wraps her mouth completely around this dick, bobbing her head back and forth onto his lengthy one. Knowing Aaron’s impatience, she goes hard and fast from the get-go, making him way more excited than he should be.

“Ahhhh yehhh fuck yehhh boss!!! That’s right suck me hard!”

He’s using this as a leverage, deepthroat Jihyo once in a few strokes, gagging her at some point during the blowjobs, but Jihyo takes it well without any complaints or sudden stop.

She lets him does what he wants, not letting small discomfort interrupt the process.

“Hope you like getting its deep boss!! Cause I’ll go even deeper in your ass!!”

“I would like to see that.”

Aaron then help Jihyo stands up, kissing and groping her big tits for a bit before his main course.

He lets her hold on to the railing of the stairwell, bending down a bit, not forgetting to grab and slap her butt cheeks, make them ripples while fondling the softness of her big tits.

“Time for the main task boss hehe “

Jihyo’s undies are quickly being removed, revealing her pussy lips and butthole, all out for Aaron to enjoy.

Using his fingers, he moves his index and middle fingers across her pussy lips to tease her, then circling around her tight anal hole pushing his digits into it a tiny bit just to prep her up for the penetration.

Without further due, Aaron lines his pointy shaft towards her puckered hole, goes in with the best of his abilities to push his tip passing her anus, pushing it further. With some complications and some delays due to her tightness, but once Aaron can fully penetrate her hot tight hole, both give out erotic moans together.

“Ah. that’s very tight.”

“Ahhhh shiett Boss, fuck your ass is sooo tight!!! I might cum faster than I thought!!”

Aaron slowly moves his hips, thrusting himself into Jihyo in slow pace just to enjoy her warmth and tightness first, then he’s taking up his pace, goes faster, just like both him and Jihyo wanted.

“Ahhh fuckkkk, so good Boss!!!! Your ass is sooo good!!”

And, like usual, Jihyo’s phone rings again.

“This is Park Jihyo.”

“Hello Ms. Jihyo, this is HYBE Entertainment, we would love to discuss with you about a possible collaboration with your studio and an upcoming project with our Idol group, would you be of interested?”

“Yes, I am listening.”

“The project will be a new collaboration for Le Sserafim with a new promotion for electronic devices, and we would love to have your hands on our branding and illustration/concept designs for this one. It will be a long-term project till the end of this fall, would this opportunity suitable with your studio’s schedule?”

“Absolutely, me and my team would love to give our skills to provide the best qualities to meet your requirements!”

“That is delightful to hear! We would love to have further discussion with you over our online meeting. How about next Friday at nine, would that be suitable for you?”

“That won’t be a problem!”

Jihyo keeps on talking, while her ass is being plowed from behind by her employee.

Her hands hold tight onto the railings, her face contorts a bit due to the tightness and quick penetrations in her ass, but she remains utmost calm as much as possible.

“Ah. He’s penetrating my rosebud with hard movements. Having intercourse in that place is always both a slight discomfort and pleasure for me, but his dedications to it make me enjoy the advantage side of it more. Even with this noise cancelling I can tell that his moans and emotions defy the pleasure from his end.”

“And that would settle it Miss Jihyo, we can discuss even more information about the project at the meeting! If you have any further question, please let us know! Otherwise please have a productive day ahead!”

“I will, thank you for contacting! TDG Agency is pleasure to work with you!”

Once the noise cancelling is off, Aaron’s moans quickly replaced the calls

“Always on the calls huh boss, hehe, even when you’re getting anal fuck by your employee! Fuckkkk you’re so hot when I fuck your ass from behind like this Boss!!”

“I do like multitasking.”

“And I’m multitasking on your body now boss hehe! Fuckkkk, I want to cum so bad now!! I’m going to cum fucking soon!”

“Yes, you can do that.”

“Fuckkk I’m cumming!!”

Aaron goes for one final pushes, he pushes deep inside her ass, then cum his entire load into her, filling her whole. His entire cumload is shooting inside her like a fountain, hot and thick cum explode insider Jihyo’s warm anal hole.

Aaron stays there with his orgasm a bit, then bend down to kiss Jihyo on the back of her neck, then her lips, before slowly pulls out of her.

His cumload is flowing out of her gaping hole, thick blob of cum runs onto her thighs, then drops down to the floor in streams.

Quickly take a shot, Aaron then sends right to his chat box with the other two.

“AaronTheMetahuman: Creampied Boss Jihyo in the fire exit, completed :thumbsup:”

“ArchietheWicked: Congrats doofus, you did the thing.”

“PeterTheCyberSpider: The mad lad did it.”

Aaron cleans himself up, not wasting time to do the same for Jihyo too, then helps her dress up again, just like how the other two did with her.

“Boss I apologize if I did go too hard on you, I … think I liked it too much without caring for your situation.”

“No, that was enjoyable, I like it Aaron.”

“Phew, thanks Boss. SO, color variations right Boss? And that will be the rest of the tasks before the days end?”

“Yes.”

“Awesome Boss, I’ll deliver for you at 4:30pm, it won’t be much of a problem.”

“Thank you, Aaron,” Jihyo smiles at him while giving him a peck on his lips.

“Thank you for your time, Boss!”

Aaron then quickly leaves, with Jihyo is left standing there checking on the pic of herself being anal creampied.

“Huh, I can’t believe having anal intercourse in a place like this is quite hot.”

Jihyo walks back to her office like nothing happened for the past 15 min, then resume her daily task again.

“BossJihyo: Sana, Mina, I’m back.”

“AssistantMina: Hai! your lemon juice coming right up boss!

“AssistantSana: We’ll always be here for your boss!!”

“BossJihyo: Thank you two, now let’s proceed with the plan, come to my office in 10 min.”

“AssistantMina: Hai Boss!”

“AssistantSana: Yes Boss!”

Friday

“Great work for the week everyone. I am very pleased with our progress so far, even with delays you managed to provide me with great quality work, and I’m thankful for that.”

“Your welcome boss!” everyone in unison

“Have a great weekend, next Monday we will have another meeting to discuss about our upcoming new projects, team leaders be ready to take important notes and divide the tasks to your teams. Thank you “

“Thank you for your time, Boss!” Everyone in unison again

With everyone is packing up to leave for the day, the trio Aaron Archie Peter stay at their places for a bit.

Sana and Mina is helping Jihyo to recollect the files, then hurrying up to shut down their computers

“Have a nice weekend you nerddddddssssss! I’m going to enjoy my two-day vacationnnnnnnn.” Sana is cheering up herself

“Peter-kun, remember to send the Lego technic to my place, ok? Arigatou gozaimasu!” Mina is packing while chatting with Peter.

“Mata ne Mina!“ Peter waves his hand.

“Oyasumi Mina!“ Aaron and Archie chimes in.

“Hey, you nerds didn’t do that to meee!!” Sana whines.

“We’re not your personal butler Osaka’s honey punch.“

“Bleeeeee, no wonder you three don’t have a girlfrienddddddd.” Sana tease while hopping out on her feet to the elevator, with Mina follows behind.

Once everyone leaves the studio, the three then crack a smile to each other

“it’s time boys hehehe.”

“Yeppp, let’s check on boss!!”

“That’s right.”

Surprisingly, it’s Jihyo the one who’s approaching them, as she walks out of her office towards their places.

“Woah boss, you’re way ahead of us!”

“I don’t think I should be late right?“ Jihyo greets them back with a smile.

“Well boss, shall we begin?“

“Of course,”

A few moments later…

It’s already passed office hours.

People are leaving to their homes one floor after another, emptying the building.

Lights are being turned off one place after another by the security guards, leaving no one behind.

Except for TDG Agency, where the main lobby’s light is still on, with Jihyo and the trio are engaging in their “overtime activities.”

Jihyo kneels to near the sofa, still on the call with her AirPods, while the trio Aaron Archie and Peter surrounding her, their pants are below knee level, dicks are pointing out and being engulfed by their boss simultaneously, either by her hands or her pretty lips.

“And yes Miss Jihyo, I hope that our services had provide you with the best qualities for your new kitchen setup! Our customer service is online 24/7 so you can reach us through this number anytime you wish! Is there anything we can do for you Miss?”

“Mhmmm. I would love to have some further upgrades with my washing machines as well after the installation for my kitchen, but for the time being I’m pleased with the new sets.”

“We’re glad to hear it from you Miss Jihyo! is there anything else we can do for you?“

“Mphhhhmmm. That will be all.“

“Thank you for your time, Miss! We wish you a good night and a great weekend!”

Once the call ends, Jihyo resume with her acts, sucking the guys’ erected dicks without any problems.

“Damnn Boss, I got to admire your skills of doing this haha.” Peter compliments Jihyo

“Yehhhh Boss!! Fuck you look hot doing that calling & fucking trope!!” Archie adds.

“And you did it soooo well!! Fuckkkk!!! Yes, boss keep sucking my cock!!”

“Thank you three, like I said, I like multitasking.“ Jihyo returns to them while continuing sucking their big rods.

The trio then take further steps, each of them take turns pounding Jihyo’s beautiful face in faster pace, almost gagging her in the process with their hard thrusts.

Each of them enjoys having their dicks fully wrapped inside Jihyo’s mouth, her tongue also does wonder by helping with the frictions, swirling around their dicks in each turn.

Jihyo takes their dicks well, she adjusts to the movement of their hips as stable as possible, even if there are some sloppiness from the guys, but she’s calmly taken it like a true boss that she is.

Some of her drools are dropping down to her now button-free chest, as Jihyo slowly unbuttons her top, popping out her tits from her white bra, freeing them from its tightness.

“White bra, yesss Boss!!”

“I’m glad. mhpppm. You like it. phmm.” Jihyo does her best to reply while being face-fucked by the trio.

“You always know what to wear for us right Boss? Always wear the ones that make us hard!!”

“Yepppp!! and your curvy body helps with that PERFECTLY!!”

Jihyo gives them a smile through her beautiful round eyes, keep on sucking the trio with pleasure.

She even does harder tricks with them, taking two dicks in her mouth oat the same time while maintaining her pace, surprising the trio with her skills, raising their desires with her even further.

“FUCKKK Boss !!! that’s amazing!! I guess it’s really time for the main task!!”

“Yesssss!!! Hard to hold myself up anymore!!”

“Fuck yehh!! let’s do it!!”

The trio then help Jihyo stand up, with them giving her kisses all over her body, taking her like hungry animals.

Their hands are groping her, touching her in any places possible.

They’re also removing their own clothes, then throw it to the sides of the sofa.

Jihyo on the other hand, calmly removes her clothing’s, first her top, then her bra follows, as her big tits bounce off immediately.

Then following with her pants and undies, and in a matter of seconds the four of them are fully naked, as they dive into each other once again, with the trio proceed to suck onto Jihyo’s tits & nipples, kissing her abs up & down.

Their fingers are teasing into her pussy and anal hole just to prep her up, somewhat entering her holes and feel the wetness and tightness.

“Guess you’re ready Boss! Come here!!”

Aaron then guides Jihyo towards the sofa.

He kisses her a bit, then sit his body down to the sofa, dick pointing up the ceiling, hard and ready for penetration.

Jihyo gets the cue, she mounts herself on top of him, lines up her pussy lips to his pointy shaft, then lowering herself down into it, resulting in a moan between the two.

Once Jihyo straddles fully onto his lap, with his dick penetrates the deepest of her wet pussy, then she starts to bounce herself up and down onto him, with her tits are slowly matching up the paces.

Jihyo bounces faster, letting her body getting more comfortable with the position, while Aaron’s hands are grabbing onto her curvy butt cheeks from behind to help her gain some balance, with his face close to where her tits are.

Another phone call rings…

“This is park Jihyo.”

“Hey Ji, you’re packing up for tomorrow yet?“

“Oh, hi Jeongyeon, I haven’t finish packing yet, been pretty busy with works, but will do tonight for sure.” Jihyo replies with an unusual friendlier and relaxed voice than usual.

“Huh, man you’re always working, but oh well, make sure to pack those things, I already had mine already, now all I need is to pack the stuffs for my “housemate”, goddamn it she’s handful sooo many times.”

“Ah really, well, I can’t help you with that sorry, but don’t think that will be a problem, right? If you can’t I can pack some more stuffs, I only go by myself with a light carry suitcase anyway?”

“Even if you do pack it, I just want to make sure, my “housemate” is one hell of a problem, ughhh, feels like I’m her mom more than her own mom.”

“I’m sure you do well take care of her Jeongie, you’re the best at that our of us three anyway. You need anything else?” Jihyo replies with softer tone.

“Well, I do, going to give you a list now, let me find my list of stuffs, where is it anyway?? Ah ok here it is. Gonna be quite long.“

“I don’t mind that, so what will we need?”

While Jihyo is still on the call, Archie from behind then approaches the two on the sofa.

His hand is stroking his dick to its maximum length, while giving signs to Aaron from below, as he then holds onto Jihyo’s back and pulls her torso towards himself, prepare her for the next act.

 Archie wastes no time, he uses his fingers to circle around Jihyo’s back hole, somewhat using his digits to ease up her tightness.

Then, he points his dick at the entrance of her small hole, slowly pushes it in passes the tip of his head a bit, and within a few tries, he’s able to move his inches into Jihyo’s unbelievably hot anal hole, giving her a slight surprise.

“Ahh. Ahh.”

“Uh… what was that? You okay Ji?”

“Oh, it was. nothing, I dropped some stuffs from the desk.”

“Damn you’re still working. Man, it’s late! Better wrap up and go home yo, we’ll go early tomorrow!”

“I’ll wrap up… as soon as possible.”

“Ok, so we still have this thing to get, while you and I already had each.”

Jihyo is doing her best to keep up the call, while Archie and Aaron start to find their paces inside both her holes, double-penetrating her to full pleasure.

They’re pounding her in good rhythm, in and out their dicks are thrusting in her in steady paces, opening her tight and wet holes wider through each thrust, with Jihyo is still managing herself between the two.

Doesn’t want to feel left out, Peter finally approaches where the three are pounding into each other, getting his dick ready.

He climbs onto the sofa at the side, aiming his erected shaft towards Jihyo’s opening mouth, pushes in the last available entrance on her body, with the trio are finally stuffing Jihyo in all three ends, leaving no room left on her body.

“They’re finally penetrating me at the same time once again, and this time they make me have intercourse with them while on the phone, it’s like they barely care of anything now. They keep on thrilling me with new experiences, one week after another, and that’s’ why I always enjoy having intercourse with them, rough or sensual, now matte the sensation they can bring to me. I think I should relax my body more starting from now and let them handle the situation even further, because I honestly can’t wait what will this night bring me. So, excite me up once again you three.” Jihyo is multitasking again, having deep thoughts while being airtight by three guys, while also on the phone call with her friend, and she does it exceptionally.

 A few moments passed, Jihyo is still on the call with Jeongyeon, while the trio are still fucking her to no end.

Their paces are fast and chaotic, their dicks are being fully engulfed and wrapped inside Jihyo’s tight, wet and crazily warm holes, with no signs of discomfort coming from her.

Their dicks keep on pounding and pounding, wanting to break their boss’s body with their lewd desires, fucking Jihyo in tandem.

Her body, her curves entirely belong to them at this point, it’s like heaven on earth for the trio.

The only thing that is between them now is the noise cancellation from her phone calls, in which Jihyo wishes that she can hear their loud moans while chatting, as she must somewhat imagine how loud they can be while being pounded repeatedly.

The moment finally comes, as Jihyo can sense that their paces are reaching its peak, in which Jihyo understands that their ejaculations are getting near.

She doesn’t feel like stopping them, well, she couldn’t if she wanted to at this point, as the trio are revving up their balls for their final thrusts, fucking her even harder just to reach their orgasms, while Jihyo still continues the call with any sign of hanging up.

And, within a blink of an eye, the trio cum their loads into her.

Archie goes first with his cum, filling her anal hole with his hot cum shots, shooting straight into the deepest part of her ass.

Aaron then follows, his thick cum is blowing inside her pussy, giving her hot blows of cum inside her wet walls.

And finally, Peter, explodes his entire load onto her face, some of his cum fly straight into her tongue and mouth, while the rest make a mess onto her facial features.

“Anddddddd that’s about it, ready for our two days hot spring trip ??”

“Oh yes. yes Jeongie, I do. Any. other things. I must note down?”

“Nope, the only thing I need to note down is how I’m going to wake up my “housemate” tomorrow while she’s still watching her silly dramas. Ugh, I do not get paid for this shit.”

“You’ll do well Jeongie. Guess. We’ll meet tomorrow. at the bus stop?”

“Yeppppp, alrighty, see ya Ji, don’t be late!”

“Goodnight Jeongie, see both of you tomorrow.”

As Jihyo hangs up, loud noises can be heard around her, and she’s already known what they are.

“FUCKKKKKK!!! That was fuckinnnn goooooodd!! I can’t… believe. you’re able to pull that off Boss !!!” Archie groans out loud while his body feels the orgasm, letting go of Jihyo’s body.

“You’re fucking amazing Boss!!! Fuckkkk. Like how you do… even do that ???” Aaron adds to it while removing himself off Jihyo and drops his butt to the floor.

“Fucking darn amazing feat you got their boss!! Like… how. how did you even do it without … any discomfort or. interruptions ??” Peter feels his orgasms while moving out of the sofa and sit on a chair near there.

“I. like to multitask. that’s all” Jihyo finally replies, while her body is full of sweat, heaving up and down, dropping herself down to the floor, with cum leaking out from her holes and to the marble floor below, while some more cum are still sticking onto her face, some drops onto her heaving big titties.

“Boss… That was fucking amazing, but. it’s unfair if us three only had one chances. with one of your holes … right?”

“Yeh…. Boss, I can go on for more… Fuck I can always go more for you boss!!”

“Me three, can go… anytime for your boss!!”

“I. do not oppose that idea. You three. can continue with me. as much as you desire…” Jihyo replies while catching her breath.

Her words are the confirmations for the three, as they take their water breaks a bit, then continue their sexual engagements with her.

Jihyo does not hold herself anymore, she just let them do anything as they please, taking her from sessions to sessions of airtight fuck, penetrating her tight holes for as long as possible, changing into any positions as they please, with the trio then take her holes in switching turns.

Either Peter takes her asshole, Archie takes her pussy while Aaron takes her mouth in a reverse position, to having her straight to the floor with them keep on penetrating her.

And even better, while she’s on a few other calls again, but that doesn’t stop her from enjoying the hardcore sex with the three, because that’s how they want to end their fruitful work week: having a full-on sex activity before weekend comes.

An hour later…

“Phewwwww, man I’m spent!!! … Fuck that was awesome “Aaron is catching his breath while taking the water.

“Fuck yeah… hell yeah. One hell of a way to wrap the week!!” Peter, lays flat to the floor and moans out.

“Holy shit I can barely move now haha… man… that was fan fucking tastic!!”

The three finally give into their tiredness, laying flat on the floor or just near the walls. Jihyo, on the other hands, sitting down in the middle of everything, her body is reddened, with some handprints on different parts of her body.

Her ass sores and gapes, her pussy is also reddened thanks to the poundings.

Cum are flowing in streams from her holes, make a huge pile below her body, while her beautiful face is now being “decorated” with cum, ruining her makeup, hair falls and messy all over. But does she love it, yes.

“That was… a great… sensation… you three. did … a very excellent job… with me.” Jihyo finally able to form some words, while doing her very best to open her eyes and catching her breathes.

“Man, Boss. I’ll be honest… I have a huge appreciation for you now… like. VERY HUGE …”

“Yeh. Like seriously. still don’t know. how you did that with us …”

“I guess. That’s why she’s our boss your noobs. she can do EVERYTHING!”

“Thank you… for your compliments. I. did. my best. as always.”

“So boss, guess we’ll help you. clean things up then. don’t want to leave a mess here, right guys?”

“Yeh… we should,  . it’s getting late, don’t want the security to check on us.”

“Sure, let’s clean things up, we’ll help you boss … We always will do that for you.”

“Thank you… you three.”

And with that, the four of them then clean up the place, doing their very best to not leave any traces.

As a nice gesture, Jihyo also offers them to wash themselves up with her inside her private restroom, cleaning any last evidence left on their bodies, and finally packing up and close the studio.

“Damn I’m hungry, you two want to go eat something?”

“Yeh, I can eat an entire hot pot now.”

“That’s a good idea, why don’t we do that, you… want to join us Boss? There’s a nice place near our studio! We’ll love you to join!”

“I think that will be a go.” Jihyo smiles back in full agreement with the three, as four of them leaves the building and walk to the hot pot restaurant, ending their nights.

Half hour later, at the restaurant…

“Cheer boss!!! For this productive week and more to come ahead!!“

“Alrightyyyy !! let’s dive in!!!“

“Here Boss !! take this one, it’s a special dish here!! We’re saving it up for you.”

“Thank you three, this place is cozy, I really enjoy it so far. I will recommend to my family and friends once they visit.”

“So boss, you’re going on a vacation tomorrow? Sounds exciting!“

“Yes, I planned this one a head a few weeks ago with my close friends, I really enjoy a hot spring weekend from time to time.”

“Damn that sounds amazing Boss! We nerds going to go to a Gundam convention tomorrow, going to spend our weekends there!”

“Gundam? is it anything like what Mina has on her table? The Legos?”

“Ohhhhh you probably don’t know boss, it’s more on robotic stuffs, like this here lemme show you: swiping the phone for Gundam images:  You see us three we share this hobby of building model kits together for a while now and that’s how we connected too back then!”

“That’s quite fascinating that you three share a lot of activities together, I’m impressed.”

“Yehhhh Boss !! but anyway, sorry if I ask you this but Boss, are we having more projects with different celebrities? Like Aespa and Le Sserafim per se?“

“Yes, we will, and it will be long term contracts too. And, since you three are here with me, I can hint to you one project, that might be very beneficial for our studio on a long run. And it will include my two close friends.“

“Holy damn, really Boss? So. your friends, the ones we’re going to collab with, they’re celebrities too?”

“Actually, only one of them, the other is her manager.”

“Ohh ok, so … boss, who is it going to be?”

“She’s a beauty pageant turned KOL and Idol now, I think you know of her status.”

“Actually Boss, that’s a whole lot of them, no offense at all.“

“Well then, have you ever heard of Im Nayeon?“

“WHATTTTTTTT!!!” The three drop their chopsticks in huge shock.

[rvp32]

Translate - Part 2

Part Two of Three. Part One. 12k words.

---

You steal glances at her from across the venue. 

Sometimes a passing waiter or attendee blocks your line of sight; sometimes another copied-and-pasted investor steps in between you, hand extended, wishing to introduce him or herself; sometimes the woman next to you steals your attention, usually with a laugh that sounds like music in the cool Seoul evening.

The woman next to you is Taeyeon Kim - Vice President, Strategy, 2024-present and also ex-girlfriend, 2018-2021 - but tonight she’s a celebrity, investors and staff members and junior analysts alike all clambering over themselves for a moment of her time, for the opportunity to introduce themselves to the brightest star in the industry. She looks like one too, in her smoky eyeshadow and little black dress with its daringly low cut and short hem, wrapped almost too tightly around a slim body that is thirty-six but looks a decade younger.

Taeyeon laughs, smiles, and places her hand affectionately on the shoulders and forearms of colleague and investor and intern alike when they make a joke or interesting anecdote. She’s magnetic, almost, the way she draws the entire gala to her. She knows how to play a crowd, and is all smiles, a definite contrast from the cold, calculating businesswoman she was during the day. She knows what mask to wear and when - experience hard won by long years in the corporate world.

But on this night, her charms are only half-effective on you. You stand next to her and laugh and smile along with the crowd but most of your attention, when it is freed from nosy colleagues and investors, is focused not on the charming Vice President but on the lonely Marketing Lead across the venue. 

Ryujin Shin takes short sips from one of the two champagne flutes present on her stand-up table. She talks softly to Yuna, who is standing next to her. There is a blank expression on her face, unreadable. Every now and then she forces a smile. Yuna reaches out and squeezes her wrist, as though to comfort her. Not once does Ryujin lift her eyes to even glance in your direction.

She is not more than a hundred metres away but she may as well have been on the other side of the city. With Korean being amongst the half-dozen languages Taeyeon was fluent in, there was no need for a translator as she holds court with the Korean and international investors surrounding her.

“...rumor has it that she runs a small sushi joint in Vancouver, and just had a kid. She had him and her father at gunpoint, and the Senior VP convinced the cops to let her go! Crazy story, isn’t it?”

A hand, hers, grasps your arm. You turn to find Taeyeon looking at you, eyes expectant.

“Crazy,” you stammer, catching on quickly. “I still don’t believe any of it actually happened.”

Taeyeon smiles a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, which are still locked on yours. “Anyway,” she continues, turning to the crowd gathered around your table listening intently to her every word. “He’s married to another Senior Vice President now - his former colleague. And she’s pregnant. Not sure what he’s up to. Maybe he’s off on some new daring corporate adventure involving car chases and the Tokyo PD?”

The crowd oohs and aahs at Taeyeon’s story - some with a slight delay as the Vice President translates it into flawless Korean, the foreign language giving her voice a pleasant, melodic tone. She continues to work the crowd. For a moment you listen, and for a moment you see why they were so enraptured by her. For a moment you remember why you-

-your phone vibrates. You reach into your pocket to retrieve it, finding a message from Ryujin. She tells you that she’s going to call it a night and head back to the hotel first. She reminds you of your early flight to Tokyo the next morning.

She says she’ll meet you in the lobby of the hotel at 7am.

You turn your gaze to her table to find her, but she’s gone. Her empty champagne flute sits on the table next to the one she never got the chance to give you.

---

Taeyeon made for an exercise in material contrasts - her tight, tiny black Prada dress beneath the cheap suit jacket you’d draped across her shoulders to ward against an evening chill you weren’t sure was actually there; the glint of the Cartier watch on her wrist as she poured cheap, convenience store soju into two paper cups; the 1,000 won lighter she held in her thin, slim fingers to light the artisanal cigarette she plucked from a slim titanium case in her purse.

She takes a long drag. When the smoke leaves her nose it almost clings to her. She wears it as much as she wears her dress, or the suit jacket of yours she was currently swimming in. Like the smoke she’s ephemeral, ethereal, beautiful - but her presence stung when you breathed her in. 

You’d left Vancouver on good terms with her - warm, friendly, joking - but something about her surprise appearance tonight, and what it might have meant, rubbed you the wrong way.

“You two together now?” she asks, voice flat and direct, now that the melodic charm of the social gathering was no longer needed in her words.

On the bench next to her, you look away with a scoff. You knew who she was referring to, even if she never said her name. You bend forward, elbows on your knees, hands clasped together. You play with your thumbs and rub your nails, as though you could wring an answer from between your fingers.

“What’s her name again? Soojin? Yujin?” she continues.

You shake your head. A smile with no warmth in it bends the corners of your lips. The gall of this woman.

“Ryujin,” you state, firmly.

“Hmm,” she murmurs, giving Ryujin’s name as much attention as the ash she flicks off the end of her cigarette, as though it were beneath her somehow. She takes another drag, leaves another layer of smoke floating between you filled with all the words you’ve never said to each other. “Are you two… real?”

You don’t look up at her. The faux-smile leaves your lips.

“I’m not sure,” you answer, slowly. “But I want to find out,” you add, hoping that it would send her a message.

A few moments of silence. Taeyeon takes one of the paper cups and downs her shot. You do the same, before re-filling both of them. Neither of you look at each other. The alcohol does nothing to ease the tension between you.

“You’re never sure about anything,” Taeyeon says, softly. 

Her words trigger you - more than she did when she showed up unannounced at the event, more than when she forgot Ryujin’s name, more than she did when she slid her hand into yours as you both left the event in full view of your colleagues. 

You stand up, suddenly angry, suddenly upset. The words rush to your mouth and leave your lips before you even know you’re saying them. “I was sure about you.”

---

Friday, May 14th, 2021. 8:19pm.

She’s twenty-six again. Still beautiful - but in a bright, fresh-faced way. The kind of beauty that is found only in youth, in the features of a young woman yet to be truly hardened by the realities of life.

An image of her flashes on the screen of your phone as it lies on the table. She’s wearing a cheap Uniqlo sundress and the oversized circular eyeglasses she needed because she was blind as a bat before the Lasik surgery she’d get years later after a promotion. A cheap silver ring you’d bought her hours before from an artisanal market - a pre-engagement ring, she’d called it - glimmers on her left ring finger as she waves awkwardly at you, the photographer.

She’s in London, in front of Big Ben, where you’d both been sent on your first overseas business trip together. She wasn’t ready for the picture and has an odd, crooked smile on her face. You remembered her protests when you set it as her contact picture, insisting you replace it with a better one, perhaps one of the two of you together - but you kept it nonetheless, partially because you wanted to tease her about it, and partially because the picture reminded you of your first few weeks together. 

You were in love with her - there was no mistaking it. It was there in the way your heart leapt when she walked in the door of your apartment, there in the way you brushed hair from her face as she snored fitfully next to you, there in the way you made her coffee as she rushed out the door in the morning and a quick dinner when she got home late at night.

It’s still there now, as you pick up the phone and raise it to your ear.

“Hello?” you answer.

“Baby,” she says, stress already apparent in the way she said it. “Another long night for me today. I’m so sorry.”

You sigh, a sharp exhalation from your nose. You feel a sharp pain in your chest - not physical, no, another kind of pain, the kind that leaves you feeling empty.

“When will you-”

“I don’t know,” she answers, before you can even finish. In the background of the call, members of her team mumble. Someone is clacking away entirely too loudly at a keyboard. A voice is speaking sternly in Japanese. “I’ll get home as soon as I can,” she continues amidst the din of the busy office behind her, “but… you shouldn’t wait up.”

Your eyes drift closed. The pang of pain in your chest was becoming all too familiar. It started with her taking phone calls and drafting emails during meals, before escalating to missing dinners and forgetting important dates. Work had always been important to Taeyeon, but these days it had consumed her - and your relationship. Nights like these were becoming common. 

You loved her, still loved her, even when those lonely nights became lonely months. Your head tilts back. A headache begins to form in the front of your skull, and love could only dull so much of it.

She must’ve heard the sigh that leaves your lips.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “So, so sorry. But Hirai’s on my ass and you know how she is if I don’t meet these deadlines. If I want to make director I need to-”

“I know, Taeyeon,” you say, the words leaving your lips in another sigh. “I know.”

A few moments of silence pass. The background murmur continues on her side of the call, filling the line with ambient noise, but the silence between you is deafening.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, but the sound of paper shuffling and a keyboard being typed upon tells you her apology is half-hearted. A warm rush of anger pulses in your chest.

“So am I.”

You hang up. You stand and leave your table, apologizing to the waitress as you leave and making up some excuse about how your date had become ill and couldn’t make it.

Taeyeon finally arrives at your apartment at 2:21am. When you both wake the next day an argument begins. When she storms out of your apartment at 1:15pm, she leaves her ring behind on the kitchen counter.

---

In the present, your words create the slightest quiver in Taeyeon’s lip, but she hides it by bringing her cigarette, by now almost a stub, to her mouth. She takes a last drag before crushing it beneath a Prada heel.

“Send her ahead,” she begins, reaching for the paper cup of soju and cradling it with both hands as though it were something precious and not cheap convenience store liquor. “Send her ahead to Tokyo and tell her you’ll follow her later in the week. I’m here for three days. You can stay with me.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. The sheer audacity was hilarious, in a way.

“Why, Taeyeon?” you snap, finally looking at her for the first time, “so you and I can spend a couple of days drinking and fucking in your suite?” 

Her eyes meet yours for the first time, and there is ice in them.

“Is that so different from what you’ve been doing with your translator?”

Your hands ball into fists. You want to snap, shout and yell at her.

“Her name is Ryujin,” you snarl. 

“I wasn’t sure then,” she replies, not sparing Ryujin’s name even a scrap of her attention as she returns her attention to the soju in her cup. She smoothly downs the shot, before pouring herself another, ice in her veins. “But I’m sure now.”

“About what?”

“About us.”

The anger pulsing through your chest explodes into something dark, something ugly.

“No,” you spit, taking a step toward her. “Fucking no, Taeyeon. You’re fucking hilarious, you know that? You walked out on us. You ended us, and managed to sucker me into staying friends. I leave Vancouver making jokes like we’re two best buds, then you show up out of the blue wanting to get back together after seeing me with another girl? Please, Taeyeon.”

Taeyeon’s lips purse into a grim line. She looks away. Her silence spurs you, gives you license to vent your anger.

“You don’t get to just have me again now that you’re done climbing the corporate ladder and can spare some free time in your Outlook calendar for a boyfriend,” you state, words leaving your mouth with the intention of hurting. “And you sure as hell don’t get to have me again just because you’re fucking jealous.”

You don’t take any pleasure in the way her eyes close, the way she flinches and turns her head as though you’d slapped her across the cheek.

“You’re right,” she admits, softly, the tiniest hint of a tremble in her voice. Her head is lowered, as though she were speaking to the concrete beneath her thousand dollar heels. “You’re right. I fucked things up when we were together. We broke up because of me.”

She takes her last shot of soju before standing, crumpling her cup in her hand and dropping it next to the full shot you never took. She slips your suit jacket from her shoulders, carefully folding it lengthwise. In the chilly Seoul evening, clothed with little more than a scrap of silk and wisps of smoke, she suddenly looks very small.

The look on her face as she steps close to you is carved from ice - but her eyes glisten, and her lip trembles.

“But maybe,” she begins, “-maybe it took me seeing you with her before I realized how badly I fucked up by letting you go. Maybe I needed to see it to make me realize how badly I need you. How badly I’ve always needed you.”

Words fail you, and you can do nothing but accept your suit jacket. Anger, pain, some small lingering remnant of your feelings for her - it all warred within you, and none of them dominated long enough to manifest into words.

She presses your suit jacket against your chest, and for a moment she’s the twenty-six year old version of her again, standing in front of Big Ben with her phone in your hand, asking you to take a photo of her.

“Go to her,” she continues. Her eyes bore into yours, searching, even if you could tell that there were tears behind them being held there by the force of her will. “Fuck her. Love her, if you do. But if… when she fucks up-”

“Taeyeon,” you say, resistant but helpless.

“-I’m here,” she finishes.

You watch, helplessly, as she turns and begins to walk to the curb, where the sleek black sedan that picked you both up from the event has been waiting the entire time. Its driver notices her approaching and exits the car to open the back door for her. She steps inside without looking back. 

The car pulls away from the curb, leaving you alone.

---

Ryujin is in the hotel lobby when you see her next, leaning on the extended handle of her luggage with one hand and scrolling her phone with the other. She is dressed casually, in a sleeveless white button-up that hugs her slim figure and rimless, oversized glasses.

“Ryujin,” you say, approaching her, cautiously. You’d thought of texting or calling her last night when you got back to the hotel, but by then it was in the early hours of the morning and you didn’t want to disturb her. You’d spent the next few hours tossing and turning, processing what had happened between you and Taeyeon and doing what you could to prepare yourself for this moment.

Would she be upset? Would she be furious at you for having ditched her for your boss, who just happened to be your ex-girlfriend? Would she not care at all? Would she-

“Did you fuck her?” she asks, not bothering to look up from her phone.

Her question catches you off guard. You hadn’t expected her to be so straightforward, although in retrospect she was nothing if not that.

“No,” you reply. Ryujin locks her phone and tosses it into her pocket.

“She still loves you,” she says. She turns to look up at you for the first time and while she clearly tried her best to hide it with makeup and glasses you’d never seen her wear before, the dark rings beneath her eyes betray the similarly sleepless night she’d had.

There is an awkward pause that stretches out for far longer than either of you were comfortable with. But you weren’t sure how to answer. You knew that Taeyeon still loved you - she’d more or less confessed as much last night - but what were you supposed to say?

“The way she looks at you…” Ryujin continues, her eyes straying to the handle of her luggage as she fidgets with the button that retracts the handle. “Do you still have feelings for her?”

The answer comes quickly. Quicker, you realize, that you thought it would.

“No.”

There is a short pause. Ryujin’s eyes find yours again. Her look disarms you. You can feel her look past your own eyes and into your soul.

“Do you still want to be with me?” she asks, firmly.

“Yes, Ryujin,” you answer. The words came quickly, but you meant them - and last night with Taeyeon convinced you of it. “More than ever.”

Another few moments pass. Behind her glasses Ryujin’s eyes search yours for any hint of deceit. There is the slightest quiver in her lip, as though she wants to say more.

In the end, she gives you a small nod. She considers the feelings and thoughts running through her head - suspicion, confrontation, anger - but chooses none. She chooses to trust.

“Okay,” she says, finally, before taking your hand in hers and heading to the airport.

---

“Do I… taste like her?”

She squirms and writhes under you. You hold her down with a palm on her core. You feel the toned muscles beneath your hand flex and tense as she struggles atop the bed.

“Better,” you hiss into her inner thigh. She’s slick and wet on your tongue, lips, and chin. You close your lips around her clit again. Inside her, your fingers arc upward, and her back arches off the bed as if to mirror your movements.

“Fuck, Daddy-”

“Mmmmph,” you mumble against her clit. The vibrations send another pulse of pleasure up her spine. She’s right there, right on the verge, right on the edge. 

Only five minutes have passed since you both entered your Tokyo hotel suite. She wouldn’t make it past minute seven before her first orgasm.

She goes almost rigid on the bed, back arched in such a way that causes her small, round breasts to jut forward and out. One of her hands claws at the sheets and the other digs sharp furrows into your scalp, but you keep going - mercilessly - and soon she’s cumming on your tongue.

Her voice cuts out mid-moan. Her nails are spikes digging painfully into your skull. Her cunt spasms around your fingers. She drenches your tongue, mouth, and chin in her juices.

Eventually her back lowers tenderly back onto the mattress, and her nails retreat from the painful, reddened scratches they leave on your scalp. You give her trembling clit a few more tender licks, before pressing your lips against it in a soft kiss. Your fingers slide out of her cunt, saturated and glistening with her.

You raise your face from between her legs and find her watching you, cheeks flushed, hair messy around her face. She trembles and quivers, as though her orgasm had taken everything solid out of her and turned her into jelly. She reaches down with both hands on either side of your face and you rise from between her legs. She pulls you to her face.

You kiss - her tongue quickly slipping between your wet, slick lips and chin to taste herself on you. Her lips leave yours and you feel her lick her own juices off your face.

“Come fuck me, then,” she hisses, eyes boring into yours - needy, vulnerable, raw. “Forget her.”

Without breaking eye contact you reach down with one hand to pull your pants the rest of the way down your hips - she hadn’t gotten far in undressing you before you’d pushed her onto the bed and started devouring her. Your cock springs free, hard and hungry.

You slide inside her in one swift thrust that punches the air from both of your lungs. 

You’d fucked her dozens of times by now in the two weeks you’d been together. But this one felt different, meant more. The other times had been about claiming and ownership - this one was about affirmation.

She is slick and wet and tight. Her legs wrap themselves around your hips, heels - with her socks still on - digging into your lower back.

Without knowing it you’d closed your eyes, the feeling of sinking into her tight little cunt shutting them involuntarily - but her hand on your cheek causes you to open them. 

Her eyes are wide, flushed with pleasure but glassy with emotion. They stare up at you and there is nothing there but naked need - no games, no hidden meanings. She needs you, both for pleasure, lust, and validation.

“Look at me,” she begins, although you already were. Perhaps she wanted you to see more than what your eyes were showing you.

“Ryujin…”

“I… I-” she continues, voice a light hiss. Her cunt pulsates around you as she squeezes you tight. “Me. All of me. This pussy. This is what you want.”

You slide out of her half way, before her heels on your lower back pull you back inside her. You both let a gasp escape your lips before you slide back out and soon you’re fucking her slowly, the both of you feeling and savoring every entry and exit.

Ryujin grasps your right wrist, pulls it down between your bodies. She places your palm flat against her lower stomach, right above the neatly trimmed patch of hair above her cunt.

“See how I… See how I take you? How I need you?”

You gasp. She holds your gaze throughout it all, through every sigh and moan and gasp, even as the pleasure overtaking her brain causes her eyelids to quiver but never truly shut.

“Feel how tight I am for you,” she continues as the pleasure builds. Her brow furrows, as though she is worried about something. Her eyes are needy now, wanton, as your cock continues to drill in and out of her.

“So fucking tight, Ryujin,” you say through gritted teeth. “Always so fucking tight for me.”

For the first time her eyes shut as her neck arches, casting her head back for a moment, mouth open in a silent moan, as a particularly deep thrust steals the sound from her lips. Her back arches off the sweat-soaked mattress. Her hips move against yours, meeting your every movement. Her body does everything it can to increase the warm, hot pleasure building between you. 

Her eyes find yours again. 

“Feel how wet I am, Daddy?” she continues, the words leaving her lips half-moan. “So wet around your cock. You’re stretching me out. I’m your good little girl, your good little fucktoy. So wet, wetter than-”

“Ryujin-”

“Just fuck me, Daddy,” she spits, interrupting. Her eyes open fully, staring, re-energized by lust and an emotion that was closer to jealousy and anger than she’d ever admit. “Just fuck me. You’re my Daddy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Ryujin. Fuck, you feel so good-”

“Mine,” she hisses. “Mine, only mine.”

Her eyes are too much to take. It was all too much - her body, her cunt, the words leaving her mouth - all too much. You break eye contact, eyes shutting out of some involuntary defensive response. You bring your head next to hers and hiss in to her ear-

“I’m yours, Ryujin. Only yours.”

“I’m yours too,” she repeats, and she says your name - no title, no pet name, your first name - and it leaves her lips in a soft, wistful moan, directly into your ear. You think, for a moment, that she’s crying.

You sigh into her neck. She is close again, and so are you. Her cunt tightens. Your cock stiffens even further, and you feel that telltale tingle at the base of your shaft that tells you this beautiful, terrifyingly intimate moment is nearing its end. Too quickly. Too soon. You want it to last-

“Deeper, Daddy, please,” she sighs. “You’re mine, right? Cum inside me, breed me, make me yours-”

You tear your face from her neck, propping yourself up on your knees for a moment. She whimpers at the loss of your closeness, but only until you hook your forearms beneath her knees and lean forward planting your hands flat on either side of her head. Her knees brush against her breasts. You fold her in half. 

You fuck her deep, as deep as you can.

There are no words now, because you’d both already spoken them, and because the pleasure nearing its boiling point within both of your bodies has robbed you both of the mental capacity needed to form them. You fuck Ryujin Shin deep and hard because she is the only thing that exists, the only thing that matters.

She is yours. You are hers.

Every thrust brings you closer and closer to that edge, the same one you want to reach but don’t really because it would mean the end and suddenly you tumbling, falling uncontrollably over it and the fall from that edge is all, everything.

You bury yourself as deep as you can inside her and fill her cunt with long, thick streams of warm semen. The feel of your cum pooling inside her triggers her own orgasm, and you become two moaning, sighing bodies, bound and glued together by the wet slickness between you.

When your eyes open some time later your forehead is pressed to hers. Her eyes flutter open. There is a vulnerability there that you hadn’t ever seen in them before. Her hand finds your cheek, holds you close, as though afraid you would leave.

Her lips tremble, but eventually turns into a soft, warm smile. 

“I’m yours. And you’re mine,” she says, claiming, as though she’d pulled the sentiment directly from your heart and turned it into words.

---

“...Honda Hitomi, Marketing Lead. Yabuki Nako, Legal Counsel. And Uchinaga Aeri, HR Lead. They’re all looking forward to working with you.” Each of the Tokyo office’s leads turn sharply in your direction as their name is called, offering you a polite bow and what you assume to be a basic corporate-approved greeting. A slim smile perks up the corner of your lips as you realize Ryujin didn’t bother to translate the greetings until the very last one.

There is an awkward pause as all eyes turn to the two empty seats at the head of the table. Several of the Tokyo team members fidget awkwardly.

Just when you are about to ask Ryujin to inquire as to where the two missing members are, the large double doors behind you burst open.

Framed by the stark light of the hallway are two figures - one a tall, slim woman with straight hair, a perfectly tailored pantsuit, and ramrod-straight posture. The other, judging by her unkempt neon pink hair and ill-fitting blazer and pencil skirt, had just rolled out of bed.

The tall woman bows sharply, her waist bending easily at an exact ninety degrees. The pink-haired girl, seeing her colleague bowing, lets out a scoff out of her nose before also offering a bow that was neither as deep nor as precise. The loses her balance for a moment as she bows a little too deeply and has to right herself.

Head still bowed, the taller woman speaks quickly and sternly in Japanese. Ryujin, translating at your shoulder, explains that the pink-haired woman had slept in and had to be dragged out of bed. She offers her sincere apologies on behalf of herself and her colleague.

Without further word, the two women make their way to the two empty seats. The tall woman moves with the poise of a ballerina and the precision of a soldier, clutching her tablet like her issued rifle; the shorter, pink-haired woman moves with the sluggishness of a newly-turned zombie. Like the rest of the Tokyo team before them, they introduce themselves.

“She’s Nakamura Kazuha, Associate Director and Operations Lead,” Ryujin says softly at your shoulder. “The pink-haired one is Miyawaki Sakura, Director of the Tokyo office.”

Sakura’s name rings a bell - one you’d heard from the stories. You turn to Ryujin. “Is she-?”

“Yeah. It’s her. She was former Tokyo PD, If you can believe it. One of the SVPs brought her into the company two years ago.”

Kazuha offers the same corporate greeting as the others, delivered with another crisp bow; Sakura gives you a wink and shoots you a finger gun before quite literally falling into her leather chair. You watch as she reaches into her blazer’s chest pocket to retrieve what was clearly and obviously a Nintendo Switch, which she places none-too-discreetly beneath the folder of briefing papers on the conference table.

Kazuha marches, swiftly and precisely, to the podium at the front of the room. The light in the conference room dims as the projector throws the title slide of her presentation against the wall. 

Out of the corner of your eyes, you watch as Sakura stands her briefing folder up in front of her like a makeshift wall. You could’ve sworn you hear a certain handheld console’s startup chime not soon after.

On the screen, a different chime heralds Taeyeon’s arrival into the meeting. From her hotel room in Seoul, she waves a good morning greeting to everyone in Tokyo. The smile on her lips is proper, precise, and calculated. 

Taeyeon is wearing the oversized circular glasses she wore a decade ago - a message sent only to you.

---

The meeting is mostly introductory, surface-level fluff on the Tokyo office’s last financial year. Kazuha leads most of it from her podium at the front of the room, every gesture and sentence measured and precise. Her tone is matter-of-fact, without any attention spared to personal anecdotes or jokes to shake things up or lighten the mood. Even without Ryujin’s whispered translations in your ear, you could tell that the young woman was all business, all the time, and essentially ran the entire Tokyo office on her own, despite technically being one spot from the top in the office hierarchy.

She made for a stark contrast to the actual Director of the Tokyo office, who spent almost the entire meeting engrossed in whatever game she was playing on her Switch. 

Kazuha pays her boss’ disinterest in statistics no heed as she continues her presentation. Taeyeon, from a thousand kilometers away, interrupts her with a question in perfect Japanese. Kazuha is shaken for only a moment before informing Taeyeon that yes, the Q4 results did in fact take into account the company’s recent supply chain changes in Seoul.

Taeyeon listens intently to the younger woman’s answer, a measured look on her face - a predator sizing up prey. The Vice President asks a series of pressing questions, and for the first time the young Associate Director appears frazzled, shuffling her papers at the podium awkwardly as she frantically searches for answers amidst them.

“A 13.4% dip in profit from the Tokyo office is a disappointing result,” Taeyeon continues, arms crossing in the way it did when she smelled blood in the water. “One that may call into question the competency of your office’s logistics and leadership team.”

Ryujin translates the interrogation from Japanese into English with an even, calm tone - but out of the corner of your eye, you watch as her grip tightens around her pen.

Kazuha scrambles for a response. You glare up at Taeyeon’s image in the corner of the projection - some mixture of disappointment and anger flaring up in your chest. 

This was unnecessary. You saw why Taeyeon was pressing her - the Vice President of Strategy doing things a Vice President of Strategy should do - but this was neither the time nor the place; there was no need to put the younger woman on the spot and embarrass her in front of her subordinates and colleagues the way she was doing. 

A part of you wonders if she was doing it because she knew you and Ryujin were in the room. You are moments from turning to Ryujin and having her translate an interjection when-

“Recent tax-related developments in international trade have introduced some unforeseen obstacles to meeting our Q4 goals,” comes a clear voice, suddenly, in perfect English - Sakura’s. “In addition, we’ve experienced considerable difficulties in our transportation chain between Osaka and Tokyo, which have resulted in lesser than expected stock levels and a corresponding dip in revenue.”

On the Tokyo Director’s face is a look of intensity you hadn’t seen before, one that you had no idea she was even capable of. She makes a show of pausing her game before continuing, as if having to actually participate in the meeting was somehow offensive to her. Neither her hands nor her eyes leave the poorly-hidden handheld. 

“The goals set for this financial year by your Strategy department were exceedingly optimistic, Miss Vice President,” Sakura continues, tone carrying a slight edge beneath the thin veil of corporate jargon. “-And my team did our best to meet them, but fell just short due to forces beyond our control. We have several initiatives in our pipeline which we feel will deliver improved results as we move into the next financial year. I’m sure these results will match and exceed your high standards, Vice President Kim.”

Sakura spares a moment of attention from her Switch to glare up at the screen, and Taeyeon’s box in the corner of it. Taeyeon was older and may have been a rising star amongst the company’s leadership, but Sakura’s exploits a few years ago in Tokyo and Seoul were legendary, and had earned her a near-mythical status amongst its employees.

Despite being a thousand miles apart, the two women have a short, tense standoff - neither blinking, neither backing down.

After a heavy moment of silence that felt much longer than it actually was, Taeyeon offers a token acceptance of Sakura’s explanation in terse Japanese before reluctantly returning her attention to the slides on her laptop screen, teeth clearly gritted behind her perfectly applied lipstick. Kazuha awkwardly and hesitantly continues with her presentation, confidence visibly shaken. 

Sakura returns to her game, all trace of seriousness fleeing from her face as quickly as Mario was no doubt fleeing from the goombas chasing him on her Switch.

When the meeting eventually concludes, Taeyeon signs off with a stern, unimpressed look on her face, staring directly at her camera as though she were passing judgement on everyone in the room. You don’t miss the plain look of disdain Ryujin gives the Vice President’s projection before her image disappears.

The afternoon passes relatively uneventfully, with presentations from the other Tokyo Department Leads that must have been beneath Taeyeon’s interest, if her absence was anything to go by. The spat between her and Sakura had cast a pall over the rest of the afternoon, an elephant in the room that the Marketing and HR Leads’ presentations on Gen Z marketing trends and Japan’s shift in workforce demographics did little to dispel.

At least Sakura was making decent progress in collecting the six Royal Seeds needed to reach the evil Bowser and free the Flower Kingdom, if her poorly-hidden fist pumps and smirks of triumph were anything to go by.

---

She made for quite the sight. She made it hard to concentrate.

Ryujin crosses her legs every few minutes as she lounges on a chair by the floor-to-ceiling window reading a book, feet drawn up on a footstool, those long, bare legs and full thighs on full display. After your room service dinner she’d made a show of choosing the same button-up shirt you’d worn to work that day as her sleepwear for that night, draping it around her naked body and doing up a single button before plopping down on the chair and putting her feet up.

You try to turn your attention to your laptop and the document open on it, but try as you might, the half-naked woman by the window was proving too much of a distraction.

“Are you reading, or putting on a show?” you ask, wryly.

She lets a huff leave her lips, and a small smile perks at the corner of her mouth as she turns her attention from the pages in her hand to look at you. The gold of Tokyo’s sunset paints half her face in warm yellow and orange.

“Maybe a little bit of both,” she answers with a wink, before returning her attention to her book.

Minutes pass. You get through precisely one slide of the two dozen that made up the presentation you were giving tomorrow. You’re tired and drained, and you feel it in your shoulders. It had been a surprisingly long, difficult first day at the Tokyo office, made even harder by the drain of constant travel. 

The little spat between Taeyeon and Sakura would no doubt echo throughout the two weeks you were going to spend here. You sit back on your chair and sigh, the presentation slides suddenly becoming a Herculean task that you had neither the energy nor the willpower to overcome.

Ryujin stands abruptly from her chair by the window, dropping her book on the footstool and staring out at Tokyo’s skyline for a moment before turning to you.

“Bored,” she says, before beginning to walk toward you. “Entertain me, boyfriend.”

The title stirs you, and the fact that she says it while wearing your shirt and nothing else ignites a warm feeling in your chest that bends the corners of your lips up into a smile.

Ryujin steps between you and the laptop and straddles you on your chair. Her stolen shirt parts as her legs spread, revealing the well-kept patch of hair between her legs and the inviting flesh beneath; but she makes no effort to cover herself. Ryujin Shin was nothing if not confident with her body.

She gives you a soft kiss, hands cradling your cheeks before sliding down to softly massage the tense muscles at your neck. Your hands caress her full, round thighs as they bracket your waist. The warmth of her next to you was already doing much to ease the exhaustion of the day.

“You look like a mess. What are you working on that’s made you so tense, anyway?” she asks, turning to glance at the laptop on the table behind her.

On it are your presentation - and the comments Taeyeon had left on them. Front and center: “Don’t forget to make sure you’re consistent with your use of the Oxford comma, dummy! Either use it for all of your sentences, or don’t! Wouldn’t be the first time your grammar’s fucked up a presentation (see 2018 Taiwan acquisition notes) --<3 ;)”

You see the near-instant effect it has on Ryujin - the way her shoulders slouch slightly, the way her lips curl into a barely-perceptible frown. 

“I sent her the presentation I’m giving tomorrow,” you say, eager to address the worry that was no doubt already worming its way into her head. “She wanted to see it first.”

Ryujin turns back to you. The frown remains.

“She’s still my boss, Ryujin,” you add.

Taeyeon was a thousand miles away, and yet she was still somehow still in the room, lingering, ever-present. The ghost of her seemed to haunt every facet of your lives since her appearance in Seoul; one neither of you knew how to dispel.

Ryujin’s eyes find yours, searching, the way she did at the airport the day before. You wonder what she sees in your eyes. You wonder what she feels, what thoughts are running through her head.

“I’m yours,” you say, because you knew it was what she need to hear. “And you’re mine.”

Her lip quivers for a moment, before she nods to herself. 

“I believe you,” she says, seemingly satisfied, at least for now. She plays with your t-shirt, fingers searching for her next words in the cotton strands. The silver chain on her wrist that you never saw her without catches the light of Tokyo’s dusk, turning it into gold.

Her eyes are still on yours, but they lack the playfulness that was present in them just a few moments before. In its place is uncertainty, and she struggles to turn that feeling into words. “But I… but she-”

“She’s a million miles away, Ryujin.”

“Is she?” 

Silence for a moment. A long moment, the latest in a long line of them.

“Tell me why you’re not with her,” she says, eventually. Her voice is small, the way she suddenly is. Your button-up begins to drown her in white linen as she slouches further and she sinks even further into it. “You have so much history together. She knows everything about you. She’s successful. Smart. Charismatic. Almost forty and gorgeous. She’s a fucking vampire in Prada.”

A moment passes. You breathe in, knowing what you are going to say, but steeling yourself enough to say them.

“She chose a promotion over me,” you answer, the words coming quickly, because they were true, and because it was a truth that had spent the last few years looming over you. “She chose a title over love, and it broke me.”

The word hangs heavy in the air. Ryujin’s entire body tenses.

“Did you… love her?”

Another long moment. Another long silence.

“Yes,” you admit. “I did.”

Ryujin’s lips curl against each other as she sucks her lips into her mouth. She nods to herself again, processing your words and the sharp pain they suddenly create in her chest. She’s suddenly unable to hold your gaze and lets it drop to your shirt, where her fingers have stopped the path they were tracing. The chain on her wrist loses its golden lustre as she moves her wrist away from the sunlight, returning to plain silver as though mirroring the emotional state of its owner.

The look on her face breaks your heart. You want to say something. 

“Past tense,” you manage, offering her a small smile she doesn’t see. Ryujin smiles softly, but her eyes don’t lift. You bring a hand from her hip to her cheek, raising her head. When her eyes find yours again they are glassy with tears she refuses to shed. You suddenly feel an overwhelming need to comfort her, reassure her, make sure she knows she’s yours and you’re hers-

“You’re my present, Ryujin.”

A smile appears on her lips - warm and raw and real. A moment passes. Her lip quivers again. Emotion dances behind her teary eyes. Eventually, she lets a scoff escape her nose.

“That was corny as shit, old man,” she says, wiping at her eyes quickly with the sleeve of your stolen shirt. Her eyes find yours again. The tears are gone, absorbed by your stolen shirt before they had the chance to be shed. The smile stays. 

Your hand is warm on her cheek. She turns her cheek and nuzzles softly into your palm, places a soft kiss on the underside of your thumb.

“Tell me why you’re with me, then,” she says, almost a whisper.

Her skin is warm against your palm. Your thumb caresses the soft, flushed skin of her cheek.

“You slipped a power bank into my bag because I keep forgetting to charge my phone,” you begin, wrestling a small, reluctant chuckle from the young woman on your lap. “You order real soju and not that shitty sugar water they sell back home, but take your fucking venti iced caramel macchiato with extra whipped cream and extra caramel drizzle like a psychopath. I watched you give that kid his rubber ball back after it bounced in front of us at the mall and the smile on your face broke me. I like the way you brush your hair behind your ear when it comes loose. I like the way you haggled with this ajummas in the market last week to save a couple thousand won like you were a local. You think the Canucks should have won the Cup in ‘11 if Hamhuis was healthy and Rome didn’t get suspended. You always ask me if I want the last french fry, even though you love them and know I’ll let you have it anyway. I like the way your pinky hooks into mine when we walk down the street. You hate olives. You chose Verso’s ending in Clair Obscur. You don’t care that don’t fold my clothes before I toss them in my luggage-”

“-they get so wrinkly, though! Look at this!” she interjects, slapping your chest playfully and pulling the wrinkled sleeve of your shirt in front of your face, “and you almost burned this fucking hotel down when you tried to iron it this morning. And you only ironed the collar and the front of it! I didn’t even know fabric could get this wrinkly.”

“No one sees the sleeves under my jacket, as long as I keep it on. Good thing the Tokyo office has great AC.”

She chuckles again, but does her best to suppress it. She lets out a little unintentional snort as she does so, and you both laugh at it. You think it’s the most beautiful thing she’d ever done.

Your free hand reaches for her other cheek, until you are cradling her face in your hands.

“You’re my present, Ryujin. And my future, if you’ll have me.”

A long moment passes, but unlike the others, the silence is not unwelcome. Ryujin smiles again, raw and real and true, and so you do too.

“That was the cheesiest shit ever, ohmygodstop--” she sighs, rolling her eyes and making an exaggerated show of peeling your hands off her cheeks in disgust - even as her smile pulls at her full, flushed cheeks.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you admit, playing along. “Ugh, I fucking knew I should’ve stayed with the whole ‘you’re my present’ thing, but I fucking had to push my luck with the ‘...and my future,’ fuck, what was I thinking, so cringe-”

Ryujin laughs, unguarded and real, until suddenly she’s kissing you. Soft, passionate. Intimate in a way that the words just shared between you were. 

“You didn’t say anything about how great the fucking is,” she says, teasingly, between kisses.

“Yeah, no, it’s pretty great,” you manage. Your hand finds the single button keeping her shirt closed, and undoes it. Your hands slide under the shirt and around her sides. She’s warm and soft beneath your palms. Her naked hips pull closer to yours, the heat between her thighs sliding over the stiffness quickly appearing beneath your pajamas.

Ryujin breaks the kiss but maintains eye contact as her hands slide between your bodies and into your sweatpants. Your eyes shut as her fingers wrap around your length. She drinks in the sight of you, sees what she’s doing to you, and it sends a little thrill up her spine.

“Your future’s looking real good right now, huh?” she asks, the sweet smile on her lips turning wicked. In response, you reach up and pull the halves of her shirt apart and over her shoulders. The shirt falls around her elbows, draping her in the gold of Tokyo dusk. Your right hand drifts to her breast, giving it a firm squeeze and feeling her nipple stiffen under your palm - her turn for her eyes to shut, your turn to drink in the sight of her.

You open your eyes and look at her - all of her.

“Future’s bright,” you answer.

---

The meeting stops for a moment when Hirai Momo joins it.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says as she waddles into the meeting room in downtown Vancouver, patting her round tummy. “Little one’s being a bit of an asshole. Gets it from his dad, I think.”

From an ocean away in Tokyo, you watch as Taeyeon half-rises from her chair to help Momo, only to be waved off. Momo plops into the chair opposite Taeyeon.

“You look like you’re about ready to pop,” says Sakura, sparing a glance from her Switch to shoot Momo’s image on the screen a smile. That fact that she was able to speak so casually to one of the most senior people in the company spoke volumes as to the relationship and history that existed between them.

“Almost,” Momo agrees with a sigh. The Senior Vice President of the company probably should have been getting ready for her clearly imminent delivery, but considering her reputation as a workaholic it probably shouldn’t have surprised you that she was working up until the day she was due. After she has settled into her seat with a huff, she looks up at the camera and offers an awkward but warm smile to the other participants in Tokyo.

“Please, continue, Director,” she says, motioning for you to proceed.

“Thank you,” you reply, before continuing. “As I was saying, the Otensoto deal and the merger with Anon-JY Corp. have alleviated some of the concerns regarding the last financial year, which is a credit to the Tokyo team’s efforts. While there is some room for improvement, the numbers are, on the whole, acceptable and within the lower parameters of our projections.”

Across the conference room table, Kazuha listens to a mumbled English-to-Japanese translation out of the corner of Sakura’s mouth - who was at the moment more engrossed in the plight of a certain Italian plumber rather than that of her office. Kazuha straightens and offers a response in Japanese.

“She admits that there have been significant challenges with regards to moving goods from the port of Osaka to Tokyo, where they make their way to North America,” Ryujin translates at your shoulder, “Trucks are breaking down, gas is expensive, and traffic’s a bitch between Osaka and Tokyo. And that all costs money. Moving shit’s getting expensive.”

You finish your part of the presentation with a recap of your review on the Tokyo office - while income didn’t quite meet Taeyeon’s lofty expectations, the underlying business was still doing well despite external, uncontrollable factors. 

“Thank you, Director,” Momo states with a smile, “and thank you for your work reviewing the Tokyo and Seoul offices. I trust you’re finding time to enjoy the sights in between your meetings and site inspections. You deserve it after the deal we worked on last year.” You find yourself smiling softly in reply, and out of the corner of your eye you watch Ryujin do the same - the Senior Vice President’s pregnancy had given her a glow that only amplified her already considerable charms.

“The Strategy team has several initiatives that will address the Tokyo office’s numbers moving forward,” Taeyeon pipes up. “The Tokyo office’s leadership has assured me that they have several internal initiatives in their pipeline that should assist us in meeting the goals we’ve set for the next quarter. Tokyo’s Operations Lead will provide an overview of those initiatives now.”

At her cue, Kazuha shares her laptop screen, where she’s prepared a meticulous, thorough presentation of the various initiatives she no doubt prepared herself. She begins with outlining the challenges - increased costs of fuel, labor, and maintenance associated with trucking - and moves on to the initiatives she hopes will address them.

Throughout it all Taeyeon needles the young Associate Director with question after question. Kazuha does her best to answer them, and even Sakura is forced to actually pause Mario’s journey at several points to interject a defensive comment or snarky retort. It begins with insinuations and implications, and slowly escalates into thinly-veiled accusations of incompetence and negligence.

The bright glow surrounding Momo seems to have dimmed somewhat as she watches her underlings squabble, but she watches and listens intently nonetheless, as though measuring each participant in the meeting and noting how they were reacting to the ongoing debate.

Fifteen minutes pass, and then half an hour. Taeyeon, Kazuha, and Sakura go back and forth, the logistics of moving goods between Osaka and Tokyo their chosen battleground. As an outside observer your duty was done and it was up to your colleagues to choose how to move forward, but even you thought that the meeting had moved past discussion and into petty squabble. An interjection forms one your lips-

“Trucks to trains.”

All eyes turn to the speaker - Ryujin. An odd, awkward silence falls over the meeting. “Trucks to trains,” Ryujin repeats, a little louder this time. She looks, for a moment, like a tourist speaking a foreign language that no one around her understood.

You watch as she gives her head a small shake, as if to center herself. Her brow furrows. She takes a glance at Sakura and Kazuha on the opposite side of the table, and then up at the projector, where Taeyeon and Momo watch virtually from across the ocean, puzzled. Finally, she glances at you. You offer her a reassuring smile.

She sees her moment, and she takes it.

“Our Seoul office recently made the transition from light and heavy trucks to light rail in order to move goods from the port of Busan up to our Seoul office before distribution to the rest of Asia,” she states, her voice gradually increasing in volume and confidence as she continues. “They experienced a notable savings in shipping costs thanks to the switch, amongst other benefits.”

Ryujin’s fingers fly on the keyboard of her laptop. She shares her screen with the meeting and on it are the charts and graphs from the Seoul office.  When she speaks again, her voice is firm, self-assured.

“Seoul experienced an eighteen point nine five percent increase in shipping savings thanks to this transition. Not only did they save costs - they also experienced a higher on-time delivery rate and shorter expected delivery time overall thanks to the generally higher reliability and speed of rail as opposed to trucks. This resulted in a cascading series of benefits - our distribution staff in Seoul received more goods faster and more reliably, meaning they could distribute them throughout Asia faster, which meant our distributors throughout Asia were receiving more reliable supply, etcetera. A transition to rail would come with several upfront costs, meaning it would take several quarters for the savings to take effect, but…”

The room falls silent for another moment, before Sakura leaps into action. You’d heard the stories, and saw glimpses of it in her verbal duels with Taeyeon, but until that moment you didn’t fully believe in them. 

Sakura moves like a woman possessed. Her fingers are a blur on her laptop’s keyboard - which, to that point, had really only been used as a makeshift screen to poorly hide her Switch. She gestures sharply to Kazuha at several points, barking orders in sharp, terse Japanese which her younger subordinate scrambles to follow. She scribbles wildly on a nearby legal pad, although whether they were words or numbers or something only she could understand, no one else in the room seemed to know.

On the screen, you watch as Taeyeon is taken aback by Sakura’s transformation, shocked into silence. Momo leans back in her chair, fingers interlaced crossed over the fullness of her tummy. She’d seen this before, and knew what was about to happen.

A minute or two passes. Eventually Sakura raises her head from her laptop, a fiery intensity in her eyes that is almost frightening.

“A transition from trucking to rail in order to bring goods from Osaka to Tokyo would result in a twenty two point six percent improvement by the end of the financial year,” she states, slamming her pen down atop the legal pad for emphasis.

Taeyeon is the first to object, as you’d assumed she would. “We can’t just jump into such a drastic change so quickly without the necessary due diligence,” she states, hurriedly. “We’ll need to upstaff and delegate a project manager. We’ll need to do a feasibility study and ROI report on the whole idea, not to mention putting together a business case for Board approval and then eventually RFPs and a competition for any possible rail providers-”

Momo stops her with a raised hand. When she speaks, it is firm and decisive.

“Make it happen, Sakura,” she says to the camera, before turning to Ryujin. “Excellent idea… Miss-?”

Ryujin clears her throat. There is a new confidence in her features that wasn’t there minutes ago.

“Shin. Ryujin Shin,” she states, straightening her posture and giving Momo a confident smile. “From the Vancouver office’s Marketing department.”

“Ryujin Shin,” Momo repeats, an approving look on her face. “I’ll remember that name. And you’re in Marketing, huh? With ideas like that, I think there’s a place for you in Strategy. Well done.”

You don’t miss the loaded look she gives Taeyeon before she continues.

“Sakura, I trust you’ll keep me updated on the transition. Good meeting, everyone.”

If Sakura heard Momo sign off, she made no indication of it. She and Kazuha are suddenly a flurry of activity and hissed Japanese, the former already setting into motion a series of plans with an almost frightening intensity that the latter struggles to keep up with. Across the ocean, Momo does her best to get up from her chair and hurry to her next meeting. 

Taeyeon seethes, and Ryujin glows.

--

It doesn’t take her long. Ryujin slips into the spare executive office the two of you have been using for the duration of your visit to the Tokyo office, and the sly smile on her lips and mischievous look in her eye tell you exactly what she’s intending.

The smile that finds itself on your lips mirrors hers.

“This is a place of work, Ryujin Shin. One that we shouldn’t defile with your-”

“Office is almost empty,” she says, voice low and conspiratorial. She closes the door behind her with a click, eyes still locked on yours. “I just saw the HR team duck into a meeting room and the tablet on the door says it’s an hour-long videoconference with Vancouver. Plenty of time.”

“Miss Shin,” you begin with a smile, returning your gaze to your laptop even as the click-clack of her heels signalled her approach, “this office isn’t for lewd, profane acts like the ones that are no doubt running through your head. And to think you’d want to engage in such acts with our colleagues in Human Resources a mere few rooms away? Unthinkable!”

She spins your chair around to face her, placing her hands on the back of your wrists, pinning them to the armrests. The smile on her lips is wicked - in a way you’d never seen before.

She bends to kiss you and it’s almost violent the way your lips and teeth clash. Your lips grind against her teeth at one point and you’re pretty sure she’s literally cut you open with a kiss - or maybe it was a bite - either way, the slight metallic tang on your tongue was most definitely blood.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never fantasized about me riding you on that couch,” she says, pointing with her gaze toward the two leather couches that sat opposite each other in the rather lavishly furnished office, “or maybe you’d prefer bending me over it?”

“Miss Shin,” you say, mockingly. “Those couches are for important client meetings-”

Another kiss. She drags her tongue over your cut lip, then pulls away. Her tongue slides over her cherry-glossed lips, as though she is savoring the taste of your blood on her palette.

“Come on,” she says, suddenly pouting. “Don’t you think I deserve a reward for how well I did in that meeting today, Daddy?”

You smirk, despite yourself. Ryujin’s idea to convert the company’s transportation from trucking to trains on the Osaka to Tokyo route was just what the Tokyo office needed to meet Taeyeon’s lofty expectations - to say nothing of the personal satisfaction she gained from Momo’s dismissal of Taeyeon’s objections and subsequent compliments. Maybe it was one of those things, or some combination of them - either way, the events of the afternoon’s meeting had clearly awakened something in her - a side of her you hadn’t seen before. 

“You did well today, baby girl,” you say, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “A reward is definitely deserved.”

You knew how the next few minutes would turn out. For all her self-confidence outside of it Ryujin was relatively submissive in the bedroom. 

But today she flips the script on its head. She flashes you a sinful smile before she pulls you to your feet by your tie. She drags you in front of one of the couches and pushes you onto it with more roughness and strength than you were expecting, or even knew she was capable of.

Before you know it she is straddling you. Her lips find yours and the kiss is as violent and needy as the ones previous - a clash of lips and teeth and tongue that was more a single-sided display of dominance than a mutual display of affection.

Your hands find their way to that tiny torso of hers and the waistline of her grey pencil skirt - only for her to grasp them both by your wrists and pin them to the seat of the couch.

“No touching this time,” she hisses into your ear. “No doing anything unless I let you. This time, you’re mine, Daddy.”

“Fuck, Ryujin-”

She silences you with a kiss again, this one only slightly less aggressive. You feel her lips smiling even as she continues it, and even as her hands reach between you to quickly get your belt and pants undone.

You let a sharp breath leave your lungs as she slides her hand under your boxers and finds your mostly-stiffened cock. Her hands wrap around your length, teasing it to full hardness. She takes her time, her fingers moving at a glacial pace, fingers sliding up and down your shaft and making your eyes shut involuntarily as the first few spikes of pleasure work their way up your spine. She stops for a moment with her fingers tight around the upper half of your shaft, her thumb catching and spreading the bead of pre-cum she finds leaking from you, smearing it over your tip.

“Did you like it, Daddy? Did you like how I did?”

“Fuck yes, Ryujin,” you hiss, even as she begins to pump her hand up and down your length, the added lubrication of your pre-cum making her every movement that much more pleasurable. “You did so well, baby girl. You made Daddy so proud.”

Your praise ignites something in Ryujin, and for a moment there is a flush of warmth on her cheeks. “Thank you, Daddy,” she says, softly. With her free hand, she is undoing the buttons on the tight white blouse she is wearing, until it is undone to her waist. She untucks it, pulling it free from the waistline of her skirt.

Her fingers play with the halves of her blouse, pulling them apart, revealing the simple white lace bra she is wearing beneath it.

Her fingers grasp the left cup of her bra, before pulling it down slowly. Her small, round breast pops free with a small, teasing bounce, nipple already tight and stiff with need. She does the same to the other cup, relishing the sight of you following her fingers and taking in the sight of her bared chest.

“Do you like them, Daddy?” she asks, voice low and needy. “Do you want to touch them? Or wrap your lips on them and suck? You know how wet I get when you suck on my tits-”

She is interrupted for a moment when your hands leave the couch to fondle her - only for her to catch them by your wrists and pin them against the seat once more.

“Uh uh,” she teases, smile sinful. “This is my reward, remember Daddy?”

“Fucking hell, Ryujin.”

Satisfied that you weren’t going to resist, Ryujin’s hands leave your wrists. She raises her hips slightly, until her cunt is hovering less than an inch from your aching tip. With one hand she pulls the hem of her skirt up, revealing her drenched panties - with the other, she pulls them aside. She is glistening and drenched and you can almost feel the heat and wetness of her on the tip of your cock. It twitches with need.

Your eyes find hers and you have never seen such a wicked, devilish look on her features. 

The hand at her skirt leaves it, and reaches down for your cock, aiming it at her cunt. She slides down your length. You both sigh, the breath leaving your lungs in a sharp exhalation of sharp, pure pleasure.

“Fuck, Daddy,” she hisses into your ear as her arms wrap themselves around your shoulders and neck. You bottom out inside her, and for a moment she sits fully impaled on your cock. “Fuck, always so big inside me, stretching me out. Making me take you.”

A breathless “Mmmm” is all you can manage. She begins to move, and for a few moments neither of you are able to do much more than simply process the pleasure that begins to course through your bodies.

In, out, up, down, nothing else mattered aside from the feel of your cock and the way it felt in Ryujin’s tight, wet little cunt. Not the fact that you were fucking at the office and literally anyone could walk through the door; not the fact that this relationship would probably end up ruining one or both of your careers; not the fact that you were entering the final week of your trip and you’d found yourself wishing more than once that it would never end.

No, none of that mattered. All that exists are her sharp gasps of pleasure in your ear, the slick, wet sounds her cunt makes as it takes your cock in and out between her drenched lips, and her warm, hot breath against your cheek.

The minutes pass, but time soon becomes an abstract, foreign concept. It’s a lot. It’s overwhelming.

Your hands, unable to remain motionless, move to her thighs. Ryujin grasps them again and pins them to the backrest of the couch - forcefully.

“Mine,” she growls. “You’re mine, Daddy.”

It had been a recurring theme during sex, and in your relationship as a whole - ownership. Often it was used in passionate context; sometimes it was softer, more intimate. But it was different today. Darker. More intense. More real, more aggressive in a way it hadn’t been up to this point.

You watch as she rides you, hands pinning your wrists to the couch, hips and thighs and core moving to throw herself against your cock over and over again with increasing speed and tempo. You could’ve easily overpowered her, ripped your hands from the couch and done what you willed with her - but the sight of her pinning you down, the feel of her taking what she wanted from you, heedless of your own wants and needs - it was a new kind of pleasure, a new kind of power over you that she hadn’t shown before.

Her gasps raise in volume until she realizes, for a moment, where she is - at work, in an office, just a few empty rooms apart from a room full of colleagues - and the bite she gives her own lip in an attempt to stifle her moans drives you crazy.

Her small breasts bounce with each movement of her body, peaked nipples begging. She sees it, sees the need in your eyes. Mercifully, she bends forward - just far enough for you to capture one of them between your lips.

She slows her pace slightly, grinding against you now rather than bouncing atop you, squeezing her cunt in a well-practiced rhythm with each entry and exit of your cock. You feel her juices drip down your shaft and onto your balls. She’s so wet, so very wet, and she’s making a mess of the couch that you’d have to clean up afterward. 

But she doesn’t care. Her hands tighten around your wrists as she tries to ground herself against the pleasure coursing from her pussy and the suckling of your mouth on her breasts.

“Fuck, Daddy-” she hisses, breathless, onto the top of your head. “Soon, gonna, oh god-.”

You’re surprised by how quickly she’s approaching her first orgasm. But the danger, the aggression, the powerlessness - you would’ve been lying if you’d said you weren’t almost as close as she was. It was intoxicating. Overwhelming.

“Ryujin, fuck, me too. Let me cum in you, baby girl-”

“Do it, Daddy, please-” she hisses, voice rising in pitch as if to mirror the level of pleasure coursing through her veins. “Make me drip you, Daddy. I’m gonna cum too. Are you… are you going to breed me today? Are you going to breed me, here in this office? Put a baby in my belly? Look at me, please, look at me, just me, look at only me--”

She pulls your mouth from the sore, reddened peaks of her nipples. Her eyes find yours and they’re just as lost in pleasure. Her lips part-

“Fill your girl.”

Her cunt tightens and pulses rhythmically as she cums on you. You are unable to fight the pleasure any more than she is, and you let yourself go, burying yourself as deeply as you are able inside her before you follow her into bliss. Your eyes, by some miracle, remain locked on each other the whole time as you watch each other cum.

Your cock pulses as it fills her, paints her cunt white. She trembles and quivers with each spurt as though she felt each one hit the most vulnerable part of her. Her eyes twitch with each rope. They quiver and tremble but she manages to keep them open, locked on yours.

You both sit there for a while, breathing heavily, two sacks of boneless, powerless flesh. Eventually she breaks your gaze to drop her forehead to yours. It was a quickie in almost every sense and you both probably spent more time recovering than you did actually having sex - not that it mattered. Not when the high was so high.

Some amount of time later her head lifts. Her eyes find yours again. You both want to say something - perhaps repeat the pledging of yourselves to each other the way you had so many times before in a post-sex haze - but this time neither of you felt the need.

Perhaps somewhere along the way you’d both realized that this was more than just a business trip fling, more than just two lonely souls seeking companionship while away from home. Perhaps it was because you both knew it by now, and it didn’t need repeating, because the truth of it was already right there, plain to see, in each others’ eyes and in the language spoken with soft lips and gentle touches. 

She smiles, she kisses you, and nothing else matters.

---

You’re wandering the streets of Shimokitazawa on a day off in Tokyo when the email arrives.

The day is warm, but thankfully the wonderful sugar and salt water concoction of Pocari Sweat did well to keep you hydrated and cool in the mid-summer Tokyo heat. The small bench opposite the vintage store Ryujin had hopped into provided a suitable place for you to take a well-deserved break from all the shopping and sightseeing. Transportation and logistics be damned; touristing was the hardest work.

You’re scrolling your phone for a suitable dinner location, debating between the tonkotsu ramen place in Ginza that had been recommended to you by your assistant and yet another visit to the local branch of CoCo Curry. 

The email banner notification steals your attention. The email itself isn’t even addressed to you - you’re just a copy on it. An afterthought. An FYI. The email itself is simple, business like:

---

To: Shin, Ryujin

From: Bae, SuzyCC: Hirai, Momo; Kim, Taeyeon; Miyawaki, Sakura; Nakamura, Kazuha

Subject: Employee Transfer/Relocation Approved - Shin, Ryujin, EE# 2113 - Vancouver -> Tokyo

Hello Ryujin,

Please find attached a completed and approved Employee Transfer/Relocation Form detailing your transfer and relocation from the Vancouver Head Office to the Tokyo Regional Office, effective immediately. 

As a part of this transfer you have been seconded from the Marketing department to the Strategy department for the duration of your project in Tokyo, which is expected to last 24-36 months. For the duration of your project you will report to Sakura Miyawaki, Director, Tokyo office.

In recognition of your efforts and to ensure a smooth transition into the Tokyo office’s reporting structure, you have been promoted from Marketing Lead to Senior Operations Lead.

Please also find attached resources and guides that will assist in your relocation to the Tokyo office, including visa, accommodation, and other related relocation forms and documents. One of our Relocation Specialists will be in touch shortly to assist you further with this process.

Reach out if you have any questions or concerns. Congratulations on your promotion, and best of luck in Tokyo!

Sincerely,

Suzy Bae

Director, Human Resources

JYP Inc.

---

It takes you several reads before you can even begin to process it. Surprise, pain, rage - it all battles inside you, all at once.

Ryujin emerges from the store, a new shopping bag in hand. Her smile is bright, unaware of the heartache that awaits her the next time she looks at her phone.

She's wearing your shirt again, that white button-up - one that probably needed a wash, but she'd picked it out of the pile of clothing you'd draped over a chair in your hotel suite and worn it because it smelled like you.

She reaches for you, pulls you up off the bench, and threads her fingers in yours. You stare down at your intertwined hands. The silver chain on her wrist catches the Tokyo afternoon sun, turning it gold again. 

Still in shock, you let her lead you down the street to your next destination, unable to say or do anything more.

Oblivious, she turns to you and smiles.

---

Author’s Note: Tomorrow comes.

[rvp32]

The Gentle Ember, ft. fromis_9 Saerom

length: 6k

author's note: This one is rather aimless, honestly—and yes, I'm getting addicted to writing in third person.

---

Saerom watches Hyeonjun from across the kitchen island, a gentle smile playing on her lips. He is absorbed in carefully slicing strawberries for their morning oat, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration. The early morning light filters through the window, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow that catches the faint dust motes dancing in the air. She sips her lukewarm coffee, the ceramic mug warm against her fingers, a small comfort in the quiet hum of their usually busy home.

A familiar ease settles over her as she observes him. There's a subtle rhythm to their mornings now, a comfortable dance perfected over years of shared space and silent understanding. They don't always need words; sometimes, it’s the quiet presence of the other that speaks volumes. Lately, however, a new kind of quiet has crept in—not bad, not unsettling, just… different. A little less spark, a little more routine, like a well-worn bridge that's still sturdy but perhaps less exciting to traverse.

Hyeonjun, sensing her gaze, looks up, catching her eye. His lips curve into a relaxed smile, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and he gestures with the knife towards the bowl of fruit. "More berries, baby?" he asks, his voice soft, a hint of sleep still lingering in its depths. Saerom shakes her head, a quiet affirmation of contentment. No, no more berries, but perhaps more of this, this gentle connection that feels like a forgotten melody humming back to life.

Pushing off the counter, Saerom makes her way around the island. As she approaches, Hyeonjun sets the knife down, his hands instinctively reaching for hers. Their fingers intertwine, a simple touch that sends a surprising, tender warmth through her. It’s just a morning, just a quiet moment in their kitchen, but in the familiar press of his palm against hers, Saerom feels a tiny, fragile bloom of something new, or perhaps, something wonderfully old and rediscovered.

Hyeonjun presses a tender peck to her knuckles, his lips softly grazing the ring on her finger. “We haven’t had time to talk much, have we?” he mutters, his tone heavy with regret, his wish for more time together lying beneath the question. “We haven’t,” she echoes, her tender gaze staying locked with his. Her heart is filled with warmth at his recognition of their trajectory, his understanding that they haven’t spent much time with each other.

“And to think that we used to do so much together…” he trails off, unable to finish his sentence, a sense of guilt pressing down on him. “I’m so sorry, my heart.” Saerom shakes her head. Not denying his apology but rather telling him that it’s not his fault. None of this is anyone’s fault. “No, please don’t,” she murmurs, her hand squeezing his harder, her eyes turning glassy at his words. “It’s just how life is, love.”

Hyeonjun's thumb strokes the back of her hand, a silent conversation passing between them. He nods slowly, accepting her quiet absolution, but his gaze remains weighted with the unspoken. "Still," he continues, his voice barely a whisper, his gaze distant. "It feels like we've been running on autopilot." Saerom's eyes soften, a mirror of his own understanding. She leans in closer, resting her head gently on his shoulder, the familiar scent of him ‒ coffee and something uniquely Hyeonjun – filling her senses. It's a comfortable silence, different from the recent "quiet," this one filled with the soft promise of shared realization.

“If you want, though, we can go to that ramen shop tonight,” she offers. “Maybe a bowl of spicy ramen could help us unwind.” Hyeonjun smiles at the mention of the special restaurant, his mind replaying the evenings they shared with warm bowls of ramen, but that smile is quick to falter. “But you’re going to work overtime tonight, no? Because of the audit and all?” Saerom sighs; his reminder lands with a soft thud, a well-meaning truth that still feels burdensome. “You’re right…” she mumbles, the small spark of excitement dimming, replaced by the reality of her professional responsibilities.

Hyeonjun's hand, still cradling hers, tightens almost imperceptibly. He doesn't press the point; he never does. Instead, he simply brings their joined hands up, pressing a soft kiss on her palm. "It's alright, my heart," he murmurs, his voice a balm. "We can always do it another time," he adds, a new thought brightening his expression, "Besides, maybe a quiet night in is exactly what we need. I can whip up some pasta for dinner, and we can finally watch that series about that nuclear reactor meltdown."

A small smile takes root on Saerom’s face, a warmth spreading through her at his easy willingness to adapt, his endless patience always touching her. She accepts his idea with a peck to his cheek, resting her head on his shoulder after. “I love you. For everything that you are,” she utters, her voice shaking from the rise of emotions within. Slowly, her fingers trace lines on his arm, her nails digging oh-so-slightly into his skin.

Hyeonjun's arm slides around her, pulling her into a gentle hug. He rests his chin on the top of her head, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair, a comforting anchor in their often-hectic lives. "I love you too, my Saerom," he murmurs against her hair, his voice deep and warm. It’s a quiet moment, the kind that used to be plentiful and effortless, and now feels like a precious rediscovery. The sun has risen higher, painting the kitchen in brighter hues, but inside their embrace, the warmth feels deeper, more profound than any light.

“Go take a shower, baby. I’ll clean up here,” he says, a loving nudge to get her moving. Saerom nods, a fond smile gracing her lips. She frees herself from his embrace and heads off, smiling all the way to the bathroom. As the sound of the shower starts, Hyeonjun turns his attention back to the kitchen. The familiar task of wiping down counters and putting away dishes feels less like a chore and more like an extension of their shared morning. The air still hums with the recent tenderness, reminding them kindly that even in their usual routine, new sparks can ignite, transforming the mundane into something quietly profound.

With a satisfied sigh, Hyeonjun puts away the last of the breakfast dishes. He glances towards the bathroom, a soft smile on his face as the shower continues to run. “Maybe I can join her in the shower,” he considers, looking to kick off the day with a bit of intimacy. He pads over to the bathroom, knocking on the door softly. "My love?" he calls, raising his voice slightly against the rush of running water. “Can I join you, please?”

The shower cuts off, and a momentary silence stretches before Saerom opens the door for him. “Did you say something?” she asks. Hyeonjun’s eyes roam her body; water clings to her hair and skin, the light bouncing off making for quite the spectacle. Not wanting to get caught up in his own thoughts, however, he shifts his gaze to meet hers. “Can I join you, please?” he repeats, looking for her permission. A smile, brimming with understanding, blooms on her face. “Of course, dear.” As the door widens, Saerom extends a hand, inviting him to join her in the second-most sacred place in the house.

Hyeonjun steps inside, the warm, steamy air immediately embracing him. Saerom's fingers, cool and soft from the water, close around his, guiding him past the threshold. The door clicks shut behind them, sealing them into their own private world of steam and soft light. As the water begins to spray again, warm rivulets tracing paths down their skin, he pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her waist. Her head fits perfectly beneath his chin, and the quiet comfort of their joined bodies, enveloped by the cleansing steam, feels like a forgotten luxury, now rediscovered and deeply cherished.

“Saerom-ah,” he whispers, his fingers gently running on her belly. “Do you remember the first time we showered together?” Saerom turns, her adoring smile meeting his eyes as a fond memory replays. “We showered together after our first time,” she completes his thoughts, guiding his hand towards her private part, as if looking to recreate that moment. “There was so much blood, and you were so… nervous,” she adds.

Hyeonjun plants a soft peck on her nape, a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks as his initial cluelessness resurfaces. “I mean, I had never known anything about sex,” he reasons. Saerom giggles, her hand sneaking around to find his manhood. As she touches him, her mind takes her on a quick trip to the past; the sight of him coated in her blood—a testament to her lost innocence—is such a precious memory. “Yet, you somehow managed to take me to cloud nine,” she reflects.

Hyeonjun's own hand finds hers, intertwining their fingers as the warm water streams over them. "You were so brave," he whispers, his voice thick with a renewed admiration, his lips brushing her wet hair. He remembers the mix of fear and tenderness, the overwhelming desire to be gentle and kind. "And you were so kind to me," she ponders, remembering how bare and exposed she felt, and how his gentle touches were so soothing.

He pulls her closer, their bodies fitting together perfectly in the small, steamy enclosure. This shared history, this raw, unfiltered memory, isn't something to hide from; it's a foundation, a deep root that makes their love, and this rekindled spark, feel even more profound. “Thank you, Jeon Hyeonjun. For everything that you are. For everything that you’ve done for us.” His eyes turn wet, not because of the water washing over them, but because of her affirmation, her recognition of his efforts to make her feel loved and cherished. “Thank you, Lee Saerom,” he echoes, his heart warm at her assertion. “It’s you and only you, my heart.”

The water continues to fall around them, a soft, steady rhythm accompanying the beating of their hearts. They stand there for a long moment, simply holding each other, allowing the warmth and the weight of their shared history to settle deep within them. The world outside the shower fades away, leaving only the two of them, rediscovered and irrevocably bound. Slowly, reluctantly, Saerom reaches for the faucet, turning the water off with a soft click, drawing out the precious intimacy for as long as possible before the practicalities of the day call to them.

“I want to give you a little present. Something to remember me by during the day,” Saerom says. “Oh?” His eyebrow rises with intrigue, wondering what she has in store for him. “And that would be…?” Hyeonjun keeps his eyes fixed on her, as she slowly sinks onto her knees, a teasing smirk playing on her features. “Oh, yes, please…” he murmurs, his fists balling up in eagerness, fully aware of where this is headed.

Saerom's fingers, still cool from the shower, wrap around him, a gentle yet firm touch that steals the breath from Hyeonjun's lungs. His eyes flutter for a moment, savoring the feeling, the renewed intimacy that fills the steamy bathroom. Her lips ghost along his skin, a soft whisper against him, and he lets his head fall back against the tiled wall, completely at her mercy.

Hyeonjun gasps, his body shuddering in pleasure, as she takes him so far down. “That’s… that’s illegal, Lee Saerom.” He can only chuckle when she repeats the movement, not heeding his warning, if it can be even called that. Placing his hand on her head and stroking her tenderly, he looks on with a satisfied expression as Saerom continues her ministrations. “Just… take everything you need from me, my love,” he adds, happy to let her do her thing.

Saerom feels the subtle tremor that runs through his body, a silent testament to her effectiveness. The warmth radiating from him, the soft pressure of his hand on her head, fuels her own desire to please, to give him this moment of pure, unburdened pleasure. She continues, her gaze fixed on his closed eyes, seeing not just the man she loves, but the history they share, the quiet promise of their future. This isn’t just a physical act; it is a reaffirmation, a tangible rekindling of the profound connection that has always been there, waiting to be rediscovered.

He trembles violently, and Saerom closes her eyes, his warmth still filling her mouth. Eventually, he comes undone, flooding her warm mouth with his virile seed. “Mmph…” Her moan is muffled by his intruding fullness, her eyes fluttering like his. Eagerly—perhaps also greedily—she swallows his release, not letting any bit leak out. “Oh, God, you’re amazing,” she hears him say. Wiping her lips, she pulls away, smiling in pride at her undeniable success in making him finish. “I will surely remember you during the day.” Saerom chuckles, rising to her feet, and plants a peck on his cheek. “If you can stay awake during the show tonight, I’ll reward you even more,” she promises.

Hyeonjun's arms come around her, pulling her into a slow, post-intimacy hug. He rests his chin on her head, inhaling deeply, still a little breathless, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Your love is stronger than any coffee, baby," he murmurs, his voice warm with affection. The steam in the bathroom slowly begins to dissipate, but the warmth between them lingers, a pleasant hum of shared pleasure and profound connection. It's a sweet, silent agreement that this newly ignited spark will continue to warm their everyday routines.

He unwraps his arms, though his gaze lingers on hers, full of peaceful, reawakened adoration. "Time to face the world, I suppose," he says, his voice still soft, a gentle tease in his eyes. Saerom smiles, a genuine, radiating smile that feels like a new dawn breaking. She reaches up, pressing a quick, firm kiss to his lips, a silent promise of more to come. They step out of the shower, the cool air of the bathroom a stark contrast to the heat they just shared, but the warmth in their hearts is more than enough to carry them through the day.

-

Hours later, as dusk settled over the city, casting long shadows across the streets, the memory of the morning's intimate surprise was still a soft hum beneath Saerom's skin. She steps into their apartment, shedding her work bag by the door with a sigh of relief. The apartment is quiet, but a warm, inviting aroma already drifts from the kitchen. Hyeonjun is there, just as he promised, stirring a pot on the stove, the soft glow of the range hood light illuminating his concentrated profile. A profound sense of belonging settles over her, like coming home to exactly where she's meant to be.

Not bothering to remove her coat, Saerom crashes into him from behind. “Oppaaaa,” she whines, tapping into the cutesy side. “Yes, baby. What is it?” he murmurs, his free hand instinctively coming up to stroke her arm, ready to hear whatever she has to say. She presses her face into his back, filling her system with the familiar scent of his perfume. “I love you,” she mumbles. “Aw, I love you more.”

"Rough day?" Hyeonjun asks, his voice soft, his hands gently covering hers where they're wrapped around his waist. He shifts slightly, making them both more comfortable in the embrace. Saerom sighs, nodding into his back. "Just long—like, very long," she admits, the weight of the day pressing down but already feeling lighter now that she's home.

Hyeonjun chuckles softly, carefully turning down the stove with his free hand. He leans back into her embrace, content in her warmth, feeling the day's stresses melt away with her presence. "Dinner's almost ready," he says, his voice a low rumble against her ear. "Just needs a minute or two more." He turns in her arms, pulling her gently until she faces him, his eyes sparkling with the same tenderness that had filled their morning. “Let’s unwind with some creamy carbonara, baby.”

Hyeonjun taps the back of her hand, a soft signal for her to release, but her grip only tightens, clinging to him. His heart aches: Saerom is clingy, but something bigger, likely also heavier, is causing her to be extra clingy. “What’s wrong, my Saerom?” he asks, genuine concern carried in his voice. “Nothing; it just feels so safe to be with you,” she answers. Sighing, he asks once more. Not because her answer doesn’t satisfy him; he’s simply sympathetic. “Love, please. What’s wrong?”

Saerom's grip tightens again, a small tremor running through her. She buries her face deeper into his back, and her voice comes out muffled, thinner than before. "It's just... the audit. It's more complicated than I thought, and my boss is really pushing for impossible deadlines." She sighs, a tired, defeated sound. "I just want it to be over. I just want to relax."

Freeing himself from her clenching grip just enough, Hyeonjun turns, pulling her flush against his body. “Baby…” he mutters, his voice hushed by her hair. “With hardship comes ease—we’ve proven that many times over.” He strokes her back tenderly, his hand running softly along her spine. “I’m proud of you, and I will always root for you, because I know you always bust your bum-bum for everything," he adds, giving her lower back a gentle, affectionate squeeze.

He holds her tighter, feeling the lingering tension in her shoulders. His gaze softens, filled with a desire to protect her from the pressures of the world. " My poor baby. Let's not talk about work anymore," Hyeonjun decides, his voice firm but gentle. "Tonight, you just focus on unwinding. Let me take care of dinner, and then we'll just... be." He pulls back slightly, tilting her chin up so their eyes meet, but Saerom just breaks down in his embrace. She just lets everything be bare before him, the only one who can comfort her.

“Oh, Saerom, no…”

Hyeonjun's heart clenches at the sight, his strong arms tightening around her, holding her fast. He says nothing, offering only the solid warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart. His hand rises to stroke her hair, a soft, soothing motion. He lets her cry, letting the tears wash away the day's pressure, knowing that sometimes, all a person needs is a safe harbor, a place where they can truly fall apart without judgment. The only sound in the kitchen is the soft murmur of her sobs and faint bubble of the idling carbonara pasta.

He continues to hold her, patiently waiting for the storm to pass. After what feels like an eternity, Saerom's sobs soften, becoming quiet sniffles. Hyeonjun gently pulls back enough to look at her, his thumbs tenderly wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Better?" he murmurs, his voice filled with gentle inquiry. She nods, and then, seeking further comfort, presses her cheek into his chest. “Thank you, oppa. I-I know I shouldn’t have cried, but… I felt like there was no other choice.”

"Never apologize for feeling," Hyeonjun says, his voice a soft, soothing balm, as he wraps his arms around her again. “After all, feelings are what make us humans.” He rocks her gently, letting her find her grounding in his embrace. He understands that sometimes, the strongest people need to release the pressure, and he is her chosen release valve, a role he accepts without question.

Slowly, carefully, Hyeonjun unwraps her arms from around his body, their fingers tangling between them. “Can I feed you, baby?” he offers, thinking only about making her feel better. Saerom nods, so he gently guides her to sit at the dining table before returning to the kitchen to prepare a full plate of creamy, warm, and slightly spicy pasta for her.

He returns to the dining table, a fork already laden with creamy pasta. Saerom watches him, a soft, weary gratitude in her eyes. He lifts the fork, gently blowing on the steaming strands before guiding it to her lips. She opens her mouth, accepting the bite, the warmth and familiar taste a welcome comfort. Each slow, deliberate movement from him is a quiet act of devotion, a testament of his promise to be her anchor.

As more and more pasta fills her tummy, the color begins to return to her face, a faint, contented hum replacing the lingering tension. “Love, I want to do something.” Saerom takes the fork from him, directing his free hand to wrap around her instead. “I can eat, and you can, I don’t know, pet me or something.” Giggling mirthfully, Hyeonjun does as she asks, his hand softly tracing paths on her back, sometimes also on the back of her head, pouring his heart into the light actions. “Like this?”

Saerom hums softly, the combined comfort of the warm food and Hyeonjun's gentle touch melting away the last remnants of the day's strain. She leans back against his hand, eyes half-closed in bliss. "Perfect," she murmurs, her voice thick with contentment. The rhythm of his fingers on her skin, the soft clink of the fork against the plate, and the quiet presence of the man beside her, all combine into a symphony of peace. She sighs in relief, no trace of stress in the sound at all. “Absolutely perfect…”

Hyeonjun smiles, a soft warmth spreading through him as he feels her complete relaxation. He lifts his hand from her back, a reluctant farewell to the comforting contact, then gently helps her rise from the table. "Shall we take that peace to the living room?" he murmurs, already envisioning them curled up on the sofa, the soft glow of the lamp creating their own little haven.

Letting the empty plate sit forgotten in the sink, Hyeonjun takes his wife to the sofa, but only after shedding the outer layers of her clothes do they curl up on it. “Oppa, thank you, seriously,” she says, punctuating it with a tender kiss to his knuckles. “I know you’re tired, but you’re always so patient with me.” A peck lands on the back of her head, him accepting her gratitude with a warm heart. “What I wouldn’t give for you, Saerom-ah…”

Saerom snuggles deeper into his side, feeling completely at ease, all traces of the day's stress finally gone. Hyeonjun reaches for the remote, his movements slow and unhurried. He finds the streaming service, navigating to the series discussed this morning, the one about the nuclear reactor. The screen flickers to life, casting a soft glow over their faces. He drapes a soft, worn blanket over them, his arm tightening around her, content in the quiet hum of the television and the steady beat of her heart against his.

As the dramatic opening credits roll, Saerom glances up at Hyeonjun, finding his gaze already on her. He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. "Rest, my love," he whispers, his voice a gentle caress. Saerom sighs contentedly, closing her eyes for a moment before turning back to the screen, already feeling the pull of the story. More importantly, however, she feels the profound, unwavering warmth of his presence beside her. “Don’t worry about falling asleep. We can always watch it again some other time,” he adds, inviting her to relax. Something that she yearns for.

Hyeonjun fights to keep his eyes open, taking in as much detail as he can so they can talk about it tomorrow. However, against all his good intentions, his eyes grow heavy, Saerom’s subtle snores adding to the allure of rest. “3.6 roentgen is 400 chest x-rays, huh?” he wonders silently.

His silent thought echoes in the quiet room, unheard by her, who remains peacefully asleep against his side. Hyeonjun's gaze drifts from the screen to Saerom, her reflection illuminated softly by the flickering light. He presses a soft kiss to her hair, then gently adjusts the blanket around her shoulders. Just as his own eyes threaten to close for good, Saerom stirs slightly, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

“Shh, easy, baby. Just relax and…” he trails off, his speech interrupted by a yawn he can’t stifle. She snuggles closer, her hand finding his, and their fingers intertwine in the darkness, an invitation to join her in the peace. “I know, I know,” he murmurs. “I’ll turn off the TV now, and we can move to the bedroom.”

-

A subtle shift in the mattress stirs Hyeonjun from a deep sleep. His eyes open slowly, adjusting to the sunlight filtering through the gap in the curtains, signaling the start of a new day. Beside him, Saerom stretches languidly, a soft sigh escaping her lips. He watches her for a moment, a wave of tenderness washing over him in the calmness of the morning. The events of their day, the earlier intimacy, feel like a warm ember glowing softly beneath the surface of their sleep.

“Hi,” Hyeonjun whispers, his voice rough from the sleep. Saerom sighs contentedly, whispering back, “Hi.” She scoots over, closing the gap that was created at some point in the night, pressing her body into him. “I don’t want to go to work, oppa,” she complains, already getting a headache at the thought of facing those auditors. “I mean, you can call in sick,” he offers an escape route.

Saerom sighs, the idea of calling in sick a tempting idea for her weary spirit, but the weight of her responsibilities presses down. "I can't," she murmurs into his chest, her voice muffled and tinged with frustration. "It's too important. A key account’s request." Hyeonjun's arm tightens around her, a comforting anchor. He understands, of course, but a part of him aches to shield her from all stress. "Just lie with me for a bit then,” he suggests, his hand gently tracing a path along her spine. “Even a short break can make a difference.”

A small, grateful smile touches Saerom's lips, unseen by Hyeonjun. She closes her eyes, relishing the soft pressure of his hand on her back, the comfortable weight of his arm around her.

“Don’t let me fall asleep again, though.”

“I’ll try, baby.”

The silence then stretches, broken only by their breathing and the distant sounds of the city beginning to stir. They lie there, two bodies perfectly intertwined, finding a profound stillness in the heart of a burgeoning day. It's a stolen moment, a precious fragment of peace, before the responsibilities that await them pull them inevitably apart.

The tranquility holds them captive for a few more minutes, a tiny rebellion against the world outside. Saerom feels the gentle quickening of Hyeonjun's breath, a subtle sign that his mind is already turning towards the day's tasks. She tightens her grip on his hand, not wanting to let go, not yet. He squeezes back, a silent understanding passing between them. The peace, though profound, is fragile and fleeting, already beginning to fray at the edges as the sun climbs higher.

“Oppa,” Saerom calls to him, her whispered voice barely audible. “I want to take a leave after this. Can you also take a leave?” Hyeonjun hums quietly, counting how many days of paid leave he has left. A slow smile touches his lips. “Actually, the company owes me five days of leave,” he murmurs, a hint of surprise in his voice. She sighs in relief, satisfied with the small revelation. “Great. We can stay at home for a whole week,” she says.

A wave of quiet excitement washes over them both, chasing away the last vestiges of morning grogginess. "A whole week," he repeats, the words a soft promise, a luxurious thought. He imagines lazy mornings, slow cooking, perhaps even staying in their pajamas all day. The stress of the audit still looms for today, but the prospect of a full week of uninterrupted togetherness feels like a balm already settling over their hearts.

-

Three days into their leave, the apartment feels transformed—not by some grand renovations, but by the simple luxury of unhurried time. Saerom finds herself waking up naturally, without the blaring intrusion of alarms, her body slowly surfacing from dreams to the soft morning light filtering through their bedroom curtains. Beside her, Hyeonjun sleeps peacefully, his face relaxed in a way she hasn't seen in months. The harsh lines of workplace stress have melted away, replaced by the gentle vulnerability of true rest.

Placing a hand on Hyeonjun’s bare chest, Saerom watches, feeling his heartbeat pulse gently against her fingertips. “My love…” she murmurs, not exactly calling to him, but rather expressing her admiration. “We deserve this, don’t we?” she asks her sleeping husband.

Hyeonjun stirs slightly at her touch, a soft sigh escaping his lips, but his eyes remain closed. His hand finds hers instinctively, fingers intertwining over his heart as if even in sleep he seeks that connection. Saerom marvels at this unconscious gesture—how many times had they fallen asleep holding hands in their early days together, only to wake up on opposite sides of the bed in recent months? Now, even his sleeping self seems determined not to let her drift away.

She traces lazy circles on his chest with her free hand, mapping the familiar landscape of his body as if seeing it for the first time in ages. He finally wakes, his hand gripping hers more firmly as his consciousness returns. “Good morning, my heart,” he mutters, his rough voice thick with calmness rather than the usual grogginess of rushed mornings.

Moving with languid grace, Saerom climbs onto him, pressing her face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. “Mm, someone’s eager,” she quips, noticing his morning wood pressing against her abdomen. Hyeonjun laughs softly, his manhood growing even more at her tease. “I mean, last night, we fell asleep before… you know…” he trails off, but the unspoken words are clear to her.

Saerom lifts her head to meet his gaze, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "We have all the time in the world now," she whispers, her voice carrying a promise that makes his breath catch. There's no rush, no clock ticking in the background, no mental countdown to when they need to shower, dress, and scatter to their separate worlds. Instead, there's only this—the weight of her body against his, the morning light dancing across her skin, and the luxury of desire without urgency.

Their gazes hold, deep and searching, as if each waiting for the other to voice what they both already know. Eventually, Saerom straightens her body, her hair catching golden highlights in the morning sun. “Okay, I concede; I want you, oppa. Right now.” Hyeonjun’s fingers dig deeper into her waist, her whispered admission sending heat through him. “Tell me how much you want this, baby,” he teases, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties, ready to pull them down swiftly.

A soft blush spreads across Saerom's cheeks at his playful challenge, but her eyes never leave his. "I want this so much it aches," she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper, filled with raw honesty. "I want to feel us again, the way we used to be." Her admission carries more weight than simple desire; it's about reclaiming something precious they'd nearly let slip away in the chaos of their busy lives. She lifts herself slightly, allowing him to slide the delicate fabric down her thighs, the simple act feeling both familiar and thrillingly new after their recent distance.

The morning air kisses her newly exposed skin, but Hyeonjun's warm hands quickly follow, tracing paths he knows by heart. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion that goes far beyond physical attraction. It's appreciation, gratitude, love—all wrapped into those simple words. His thumbs trace gentle circles on her hips as she settles back against him, both of them savoring the unhurried intimacy they'd forgotten was possible.

"No rushing," Saerom whispers, though whether she's reminding him or herself isn't entirely clear. Her hands find his chest again, palms flat against his heart, feeling its steady rhythm quicken beneath her touch. “Yes, no rushing,” he repeats.

Saerom lifts her hips before slowly sinking back down, savoring the gentle intimacy of their connection. “Oh, God…” she breathes, still maintaining the relaxed tempo. “I’ve missed this… I’ve missed us, baby,” he murmurs, his hands guiding her movements. She nods, her eyes clouding briefly with the memory of too many nights when exhaustion won. “Me too, my love…”

Saerom leans into his touch, her body swaying with languid grace as she continues to set their pace. The morning light paints shifting patterns across their skin, illuminating every curve, every shadow. The world outside the bedroom feels distant, irrelevant. There's only the exquisite friction, the soft sounds of their breaths intertwining, and the overwhelming sensation of two souls reconnecting on the most fundamental level. This wasn't just intimacy; it was a conversation, a healing. A profound reaffirmation of their unwavering love.

Minutes blur into each other, unmarked by any urgency or countdown. Saerom's movements become more fluid, more instinctive, as if her body remembers exactly how they used to dance together in their early days. "Look at me, my heart," Hyeonjun whispers, his hands cupping her face gently, thumbs brushing away tears she didn't even realize had fallen. When their eyes meet, there's something raw and vulnerable in his gaze—not just desire, but a kind of desperate gratitude, as if he's afraid this moment might slip away if he doesn't hold onto it tightly enough.

"I'm here," Saerom whispers back, understanding instinctively what he needs to hear. "I'm right here with you." Her words seem to unlock something in him, and she feels his body respond beneath hers, his breathing becoming more ragged, more urgent despite their commitment to taking their time. She increases her pace slightly, still maintaining that leisurely pace, but with more intention now, more focus on the building sensation between them. The morning light has shifted again, casting longer shadows across the rumpled sheets, but neither of them notices anything beyond the space they're creating together.

“Give it to me, my love,” she urges, looking to cross the finish line together. “Just let go and give me everything.” With a deep, guttural groan, Hyeonjun explodes, a rush of heat blooming deep within her. Saerom’s eyes flutter close, satisfied and sated, basking in the sensation of intimacy.

Saerom collapses onto him, their heartbeat matching as they ride the last waves of pleasure. Hyeonjun holds her close, pressing his lips onto her temple, his heart swelling with affection and gratitude. “Perfect,” he mutters. “You’re perfect, baby.” Saerom hums in agreement, her body heavy and relaxed against his. The thought of getting out of bed holds no appeal; instead, they simply lie intertwined, letting the warmth of their connection and the quiet joy of their leisure-filled week wash over them.

Saerom lifts her head slightly, just enough to press a soft kiss to the warm skin of his collarbone. She can feel his steady breath against her hair, the rhythmic beat of his heart against her ear. "Mm," she murmurs, a sound of utter satisfaction. Hyeonjun tightens his embrace, not wanting this moment to end. They lie there, connected in the most intimate way possible, two souls mending into one.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

This is the true luxury of their week. Not just time away from work, but time fully devoted to the rediscovery and nurturing of each other. The lingering stress of the audit will eventually fade, replaced by these precious memories. They will carry this feeling, this profound, unwavering warmth, with them, transforming ordinary days into something extraordinary, always finding their way back to this quiet, tender peace, together.

[rvp32]

D.A | C.R.E.A.M

Male reader x Danielle Marsh

16.3k words

tags: if you hate italy don’t read it (probably a galli mf), bathtub/shower sex, kinda public sex, some feet stuff, some massage oil stuff

🔙 Previous update | 📄 C.R.E.A.M

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Florence was beautiful at night, yes—like all of Italy, basically. But after a 15-hour flight, you didn't have the energy to go out for a drink alone that night when you arrived.

You were so tired that you didn't even go to the hotel you were going to stay at for the rest of those days. Instead, you ended up in a modest hotel run by a kind and hospitable older woman, who even helped you carry your luggage even though you'd insisted she didn't need to. As a thank you, the next morning upon departure, you not only paid for the room, but also left her a sizable tip to look after your luggage while you did all your chores.

So, feeling full and prepared, you hit the streets of Florence to make all the preparations for Dani's arrival the next day. The first thing, of course, was breakfast, and your choice was the Pasticceria Nencioni, a small dessert shop in the Sant'Ambrogio neighborhood, near the city center. The normal thing would have been to walk, since that's what you always did, but you were so far away that you ended up calling a taxi.

You were hoping for a peaceful day, but as you got out of the taxi and walked into the pedestrian street, a couple of guys stopped you to ask for photos. It didn't bother you; you were always very friendly and receptive to people who knew you and loved your job. But you didn't expect someone to recognize you on that remote street. It was to be expected in places like Rome or Milan, full of tourists and people of all cultures, but Florence was slightly more niche. A mere coincidence? Maybe.

What was certain was that you had to start getting used to the fact that your popularity wasn't the same as it had been two years ago, when you were barely known by chronically online folks. Now things were quite different. And you didn’t know how to feel about it.

After the minor setback, you walked down the street until you reached the small pastry shop, whose facade consisted solely of its awning with the name on it and the glass doors wide open, giving it a modest and welcoming appearance. The place was already bustling with activity at that hour, so you waited patiently in line to order, your mouth already watering with the smell of baked sugar, hot butter and hazelnut. 

Your breakfast ended up being a couple of pieces of torta al semolino—a traditional pastry filled with semolina cream and covered in chocolate—a cream-filled croissant, a cappuccino, and a small glass of water that Italians always served with their coffee.

Many customers just placed their orders and left after paying, so inside the pastry shop there were a couple of free tables next to the tall wooden display case to the left of the main counter, filled with antique bottles, books, small statues, and collectibles. Although you usually sat near the front, this time you went to a table at the back so you could do what you wanted to do in peace.

It must have been around midnight in L.A, which meant Wony was already at her hotel. Your girlfriend answered the video call as quickly as ever.

"Hi honey!" Wony greeted, walking across her room to lie down on her bed. She was wearing the same pink sweater she'd been wearing in the photos she sent you while you were asleep.

"Hey, darling," you smiled at your phone screen, adding sugar to your cappuccino. "Caught you busy?"

"Oh nah, I just got back to the hotel," Wony replied, and looked away for a moment to grab something before looking at you again. Judging by the shape of what she put in her mouth, you guessed it was her multivitamins. "How was your flight?"

"Terrible," you sighed, and took a sip of the cappuccino, careful not to burn your tongue. "I didn't get to sleep, for some reason. I just read and watched movies the whole trip."

"Oh my," Wony pouted and raised her eyebrows in concern as you scooped up a piece of cake with your spoon and brought it to your mouth. "My poor boy... At least you slept when you landed?"

"Not where I had planned, but yeah," you replied, your gaze momentarily on your breakfast. The cream-filled croissant was your next victim.

"Not where you had planned?"

"Seeing as I couldn't handle myself, I told the taxi driver to take me to the first decent hotel he found," you spoke with your mouth full, so you covered it with the back of your hand to avoid being unpleasant. You quickly swallowed. "And so I ended up in a quaint little place run by a kind old granny named Giuseppina."

Wony laughed, making you smile.

"Giuseppina?" she repeated. Her Italian pronunciation was improving every day.

"Oh yeah," you nodded. "A real sweetheart. And how are you? How's Tommy Jeans treating you?"

"Wonderful!" Wony responded, her face lighting up. "They were so nice to me. And they gave me a ton of snacks and clothes."

"Clothes you'd model for me, right?"

"I always model my new clothes for you, babe. By the way, where are you?"

"Oh right," you picked up your phone, which was leaning against the vase in the middle of the table, and put the back camera on to show her the bakery, just for a few seconds so as not to upset anyone. "A bakery near the center. It's amazing. I have to take you here sometime."

"Oh gosh, it's so pretty!" Wony said as you put the front camera back on. "You're having breakfast, aren't you? Let me see."

As if you were at a mukbang, you picked up both plates with the cakes and the croissant and showed them to the camera.

"Damn, that's yummy," Wony sighed. "Now I'm hungry."

"You have snacks to spare, right?"

"Yeah, but none of them are that cake."

"Well, I know the recipe. I can make it for you when we're home."

Wony remained silent, just looking at you with her head tilted. They were eyes full of love. Whenever she looked at you like that, you kissed her out of pure instinct. You wished you could have done it at that moment.

"My sweet boy, have I ever told you how much I love you?" Wony said, making you blush like an idiot in the middle of the pastry shop.

"All the time," you smiled.

"Great, because I don't want you to ever forget it."

"I'll never forget it because you love me as much as I love you, darling."

Wony brought her camera to her lips and covered it with kisses before returning to the usual shot.

"You're not prepared for how clingy I'll be in Paris," she said. "Poor you."

"Oh come on, you say that like I don't love it."

"I'm just warning you, sweetie."

The next few minutes were spent talking about your respective flights and things that happened along the way. You'd already finished your cake and croissant, and there was only a little cappuccino left when you saw the time.

"Honey, I should go," you said, stacking the empty plates. "I still have a lot of things to do."

"Okay, baby," Wony replied. "I'll take a bath and go to sleep. Will you be awake when I wake up?"

"Most likely. Will you wake up early?"

"8 in the morning, I think," Wony nodded.

"About 5 in the afternoon here, great."

"I'll text you when I get up then," Wony waved goodbye and blew you a kiss. "Bye baby, I love youuu! Don't forget to send me pictures. Of you, if possible."

"You have my word, honey," you blew the kiss back. "Love you too. Ciao."

After hanging up the video call, you sat for a moment checking your messages and email. Sohyun had sent you pictures of your cats and asked if everything had gone well on the flight. Sully had also texted you with the same intention. Dani, for her part, had told you her flight from Seoul was leaving at midnight—around 5 p.m. there in Florence—and that she would arrive tomorrow morning. 

But the one you didn't expect a message from, considering how busy she must be with all the preparations for her trip to Milan, was Rina.

Just as you were leaving and opened her chat, she was online, and she'd sent you a photo that you feared was... God. Your heart nearly leaped out of your mouth.

You had to take a moment to make sure no one was watching your screen and to process the content of the photo. A nude, of course. Sexy as hell, as only she knew how to make them.

With the Rina issue settled for now and your stomach full, you paid for your breakfast and finally left the bakery to take a taxi to the Maserati dealership, because clearly you couldn't take a taxi everywhere while you were in Florence.

Now, last year, your visit to Milan had made you discover a guilty pleasure, and it was expensive things. Very expensive things.

This was demonstrated when you unnecessarily rented the Purosangue, only to buy it months later at a higher price than usual due to import costs to Korea. Also a couple of months ago, when in a fit of love for your beloved girlfriend you had splurged $150,000 on just one necklace—she always wore it, so it wasn’t a regret for you and, to be honest, now you saw that figure as a small change.

And now, at the Maserati dealership, you exclusively consider the high-priced options. Although it's not as if there were any cheap options. It was either expensive or... less expensive.

The salesman who advised you, realizing that you knew more about cars than he might have expected, thankfully didn't try to take you for a fool and was quite helpful. One of the options was a convertible, but the point of those cars was to drive without the top up, and considering the mess that would arise if Dani was caught co-piloting a foreign guy—the two of them alone, in an Italian city—you decided to rule it out.

The final decision was a silver GranTurismo Trofeo, a gorgeous coupe with a 550-horsepower V6 engine. It was one of the few units left that was still brand new, as Maserati would soon become a 100% electric brand in a few years. The salesman clarified that the unit they had at the dealership wasn't available for rent, and that he would contact the third-party company they partnered with to bring yours in as soon as possible.

When the car arrived, you signed all the necessary paperwork and the contract, checked the condition of the vehicle, and proceeded to pay for the days you would use it. Your little treat cost you around $4,500. Minutes later, you were driving the coupe through the beautiful streets of Florence to Grandma Giuseppina's hotel.

After picking up your luggage and leaving the elderly woman another tip, you packed everything in the trunk of the car and drove to the Four Seasons, the hotel you had originally planned to stay at with Dani for those few days.

The imposing palatial building, worthy of a Raffaello Sanzio painting, rose along the narrow one-way street. At that hour, sunlight bathed the smooth ochre facade, casting shadows from the trees in the park on the opposite side of the road, where you had parked to get out and take a quick look at the small windows on each floor before crossing the street.

On the other side of the road, you passed between the two ornate columns and went through the stately dark wooden door that led you inside the hotel.

The palatial appearance of the hotel was also preserved inside. The first thing to attract attention was the majestic marble statue in the center of the interior patio, which was surrounded by four corridors with high arches and open columns crowned with murals and ornamentation carved from the same stone. The air was fresh, sweetened by the scent of freshly picked flowers from the patio. A group of visibly wealthy people chatted with courteous ease, sitting on the chairs and the green velvet sofa in front of the statue.

The corridor you were standing in had display cases behind each column on your left, featuring Rolex watches, handbags from various Italian brands, and jeweled accessories. But as you walked toward the reception desk, your attention was drawn to the arched ceiling, coffered with hexagonal panels that covered the entire surface, each decorated with ornamentation around the edges and a carved flower in the center.

As you walked through the corridor, you passed through the open door at the far end and entered the reception. Behind the counter on your right was the receptionist, a woman with her hair tied back in a bun and wearing the hotel uniform. You went with her to inquire about the available suites, giving you a range of options, from which, once again, you chose the most expensive option.

With your reservation for the suite—if you could call it that—made, you went to the car to get your luggage and returned inside to be helped and directed by a bellboy. To get there, you went out to the hotel's back garden, which was part of the Giardino della Gherardesca: a big shared garden that took up the entire block and served as a common space between hotels and institutes.

Outside, you circled the pool and left the hotel area enclosed by the hedges behind. The garden was larger than it looked, with paths winding through groves and small points of interest like fountains and parks where people gathered for various activities.

The suite was tucked away in the opposite corner of the garden, so you had to walk a couple more minutes until you spotted it in the distance. It was a cabin preceded by a wide semi-roundabout with a fountain in the center. As you passed through it, a perfectly manicured hedge and flowerbeds caught your attention: in the center, an archway covered in vines and flowering bushes led you inside.

The bellboy spoke to you as you passed under the arch, explaining the services available, the hours of service, and also giving you some historical context about the suite.

As soon as you crossed the archway, you were greeted by the wide circle formed by the perfectly manicured garden, with the small pool—more like a good-sized jacuzzi—on the left side, next to two lounge chairs and an umbrella. On the right side, there wasn't much else, just grass, flower beds near the side of the cabin, and a tree.

The cabin consisted, of course, of a single floor, accessed through two double glass doors, flanked by windows and framed at the top by a wrought iron structure with patterns of symmetrical circles and curves. Both were wide open, one revealing the living room and the other the only bedroom.

"D'ora in poi starò bene, fratello. Grazie mille," you told the bellboy with a smile, asking for your other suitcase.

"Ci faccia sapere se ha bisogno di qualcosa, signor Leone," the bellboy replied, handing you the suitcase handle as you took a few steps back. "Buon soggiorno."

"Grazie," you nodded, shook his hand in gratitude, and followed the stone path to the bedroom.

The first thing you did upon entering was leave your backpack and briefcase on the queen-size bed to the right. The two suitcases went into the corner between the mattress and the back wall. Then, you took off your shoes and sat on the lower edge of the bed with your feet up on the upholstered bench, taking out your phone and taking some pictures to send to Wony and Sohyun. Some shots were more elaborate than others, but you made sure to show as much as possible: the chandelier above your head, the television resting on the hand-painted bombé dresser, and even the visible part of the garden.

After taking the photos, you climbed into bed and began unpacking things from both your backpack and your briefcase. Since you weren't planning on going out again, you also went to one of your suitcases and took out some sweatpants and a wool sweater to change into.

Now more comfortable and without much to do, you set out for a mini tour of the cabin. First, you went to the right. There, the small hallway, with a circular mirror on the wall, opened in two directions.

The room to the left was a sort of dressing room, with an electronic safe and spaces for hanging and storing clothes. Nothing special.

But on the other side was the bathroom, which in itself looked like the lobby of a palace thanks to the marble walls and the gilded details of the double sinks and the large mirror on the left. On the opposite side, a dressing table with a stool and an ornate mirror placed above it, which you took to take another couple of photos. And within the same room, through a door to the left of the sink, were the toilets.

The other path led to an intersection, with the glass shower door on your left. You went to the right, and smiled at the sight of the bathtub embedded in the floor in the last room. You also took a photo, but you sent it to Dani, hoping she'd understand the possible uses you could give to it.

With that part explored, you returned to the bedroom and took the path to the other end of the cabin, past the central window visible from outside and another small bathroom.

The living room wasn't exactly modern, at least not by today's minimalist standards. It was more of a perfect blend of various vintage and eclectic styles, such as the white upholstered furniture, the classic-looking rug with brown prints on khaki, the nineties chairs, and the chandelier. And the entire right-hand wall consisted of gleaming glass panels, with a recessed space for a dresser, adjacent to a shelf with another gold-framed mirror above it.

All in all, it was one of the best $24,000 you'd ever spent. There was no way you'd regret it. On top of that, Dani's company was only going to make it better.

The cold breeze was starting to pick up, and the sun was already setting. In theory, it was still winter in Italy, which meant the delicious chill would slowly begin to penetrate the cabin. There wouldn't be any need to lock the doors just yet, so you sat on the couch, put your bare feet up on the coffee table, and relaxed with your phone. You even did an hour-long IG live to update your followers.

Wony also texted you, having woken up on her side of the world. You didn't speak for too long, as she had to grab a quick breakfast and rush to her schedule. But you made sure to give her the boost of motivation and affection she needed from her boyfriend to face her day.

Hours later, you ordered dinner from the hotel staff, and after eating, you showered and finally closed the cabin doors to go into your bedroom. Then you took out your laptop and started handling business matters in your email. The most important thing was to confirm your attendance at Fashion Week in a few days. Upon doing so, your internal point of contact at Prada almost immediately sent you a dossier-like document containing information about the event, such as schedules, exact locations, content guidelines for social media, and appointments with the styling, marketing, and logistics teams before the event.

By the time you'd tied up as many loose ends as possible it was almost midnight, which meant it was time to go to sleep since Dani would arrive first thing in the morning.

So you closed your laptop, went to close the curtains, and set an alarm for 6 a.m. before snuggling under the blanket and going to sleep.

The morning in Florence was beautiful as you drove to the Amerigo Vespucci Airport. Caraphernelia by Pierce the Veil played through the car speakers at a moderate volume. There were just under ten minutes until Dani landed, so you were on time.

Traffic was light at that time of day, so you were able to cut some corners and arrive a couple of minutes early.

Once parked, you put on the sunglasses Prada had given you as part of a welcome gift a couple of days earlier and got out of the car to head into the airport, hands in the pockets of your brown aviator jacket.

When you stopped to wait near the airport shopping center it was already 7:04. But it wasn't long before Dani Marsh appeared in the distance, looking like something out of a fashion magazine, wearing a black hat, sunglasses, a pink Hysteric Glamour oversized aviator jacket, a long black skirt, and brown boots. A large suitcase in her hand and her phone in the other.

Just as she'd told you, she was coming alone. She'd mentioned something about the possibility of her sister joining her, but it seemed her plans didn't work out. It was a shame, because her sister was just as lovely as she was, and you were happy to be able to show them both Florence.

But being alone would definitely have its advantages.

Dani smiled from ear to ear when you took a few steps forward and made her notice you. Her gait quickened, dodging the traffic. You closed the distance until you met halfway and hugged.

"Hi dearrr!!" Dani squealed, her arms clinging to your neck.

"What's up, darling?" You smiled, wrapping your arms around her body and holding her tight. "How was the flight?"

"Uhm, pretty chill! I slept through most of it," she replied as she pulled away and took off her sunglasses. You did the same. "Then I woke up two hours before landing. And you? How are you doing? Sorry for making you wake up so early."

"Nah it's okay," you shook your head. "I slept enough. Although I can't say the same about my damn flight here. You were lucky, at least."

Dani giggled.

"The pills helped, believe me. I can recommend the ones I use."

"Please tell me it's Klonopin, those are my favorite."

"What the hell are you talking about, Leone?!" Dani laughed, tapping you in the chest with the palm of her hand. "Don't say that again!"

"Sorry, you made it too easy for me," you smiled, and opened an arm toward the exit. "Shall we go?"

"Alright!" Dani nodded, putting her sunglasses back on.

"Let me help you with that," you said, taking her suitcase and starting to walk outside. "I hope you're hungry. I know the perfect place for us to have breakfast together."

"Thought of everything, huh?" Dani giggled, holding onto your arm. "I am, yeah."

"Your first time in Florence can't be a mediocre experience, Marsh. Of course I thought of everything."

"Something more like my first time in Rome, then?"

Suddenly, memories of that spontaneous trip quickly flooded your mind. A jacuzzi, on a terrace overlooking the Colosseum, Hanni, Dani, and Minji, all three of them on your cock...

"Yeah, something like that," you sighed, forcing yourself to push the memory out of your head.

Dani just laughed again. Perhaps noticing the blush on your cheeks.

After a couple of minutes of walking, you walked out of the airport and headed to where you were parked, which wasn't too far from the main entrance.

"Oh wow, you didn't spare any expense either, I see," Dani said as you crossed a road, watching you press the car remote to unlock the doors.

"And wait until you see where we're staying. Hop in, honey."

You opened the passenger door for Dani and went to put her suitcase in the trunk. Then you got into your seat, took off your sunglasses, and left them folded on the dashboard. Dani followed suit, taking off her hat as well.

"Do you really know how...?" Dani pointed to the touchscreen embedded in the dashboard. "You know, how to use that thing."

"It's not that complicated," you replied, and pressed the button to the left of the steering wheel to start the engine. "Put your seatbelt on, thanks."

Dani and you put your seatbelts on, and after adjusting the car's internal GPS through the touchscreen navigation panel, you hit the accelerator and drove to Via Alessandro Guidoni, heading for the Caffè Gilli. It was about a 20-minute drive, so you told Dani to get comfortable and put on some music.

"Did you come here often?" Dani asked halfway there, her eyes on the Hilton Garden Hotel park as you rolled past. "I mean, I know you're from Milan, but you seem to know this city well."

"I've visited every city in Lombardy and Tuscany at least twice," you replied, taking a small right turn. "I used to come to Florence in particular all the time," you took another left. "I mean, I don't know every shortcut and every detail, but I'm pretty familiar."

"Oh, okay..." Dani nodded, still entranced by the park to your right. "What about the south?"

"Southern Italy? Well, I've been there a few times, yeah," you nodded. "I was recently in Naples on vacation. There's some of that on my IG feed."

"Yeah, I remember seeing some stories. But did you go alone?"

Sohee had asked you to be a walking grave about that vacation of yours last September. In her words, no one, absolutely no one, could find out about that. Months had passed since you last spoke, and you had agreed to distance yourself due to the dangerous nature of whatever it was you had going on between you, but like the gentleman you were, you were going to respect her request. The secrecy was so profound that not even your closest friends knew.

Although, of course, the sharpest among them could have made connections, since Sohee had also posted photos in the same places as you... with photos you had taken. Like, no one had ever accused you of anything, thankfully. But chances are someone would be suspicious.

"Nope, I went with a friend and his brother," you replied. "The pizza there is incredible. The scenery too. Especially on the Amalfi Coast when you take a boat ride."

"Then I have to go sometime. I love boat rides."

"You're Aussie, no surprise there."

Dani chuckled.

"Look, I could be offended but you're right. In fact, since I'm such an Aussie, I've got a spider here for you."

Dani then reached out and tickled your ribs and thigh. She knew you hated that shit.

"Hey, no!" You squirmed, between pain and laughter. But Dani wouldn't stop. "Stop!! You're going to fucking kill us!"

With your free hand, you tried to stop her, and between struggles, her hand ended up on your crotch. She could have immediately removed it and kept bothering you, but fortunately for your hatred of tickling, she didn't.

"Oh, woopsies," Dani giggled, giving your bulge a squeeze that made you gasp. Then she removed her hand. "Are you going to feed it to me one of these days?"

"Not if you keep fucking tickling me," you snapped, a little angrily.

"Okay," Dani clasped her hands in her lap and looked out the window. "I'll be a good girl... daddy."

You took a deep breath and forced yourself to focus on the road so as not to wind her up. After about 10 minutes, you were driving into the historic center of Florence, through the narrow Via del Corso, lined with buildings with shops on their ground floors. The Caffè Gilli was located in the Piazza della Repubblica, a large square famous for its cafes and restaurants, so you had to get out of the car a corner earlier to continue on foot.

Dani stopped at a few places to take pictures and have you take them for her. She seemed enchanted by the place, even though the day wasn't as beautiful as in warmer times of the year and the sky was slightly clouded. If only she knew what you had in store for her.

After filling Dani's gallery with the first photos of the trip, you finally walked toward the café.

The place had two areas: the usual facade, on the ground floor of the building, with columns between each entrance and an awning that stretched from side to side; and a large covered dining area right in front, which you entered.

It was the time of day when people usually went out for breakfast, so the tables filled up more quickly. You hurried to take one toward the back of the left wing, not too far from the rear glass wall. Dani took more photos there, until a waiter came to welcome you and take your orders.

"Are all the cafes in Italy this cute?" Dani asked a couple of minutes later, glancing around. "I remember saying the exact same thing in Rome."

"Our breakfasts are sacred," you replied, arms crossed on the table. "Most Italians' day begins right here. So all our cafes are made with love. Pure tradition."

The waiter arrived with the first part of your order: a cappuccino with oat milk for you and a doppio espresso for Dani, along with a bowl of fresh fruit with figs, grapes, melon, and berries.

"Speaking of love..." Dani's smile slowly faded. She looked down as she opened a sugar packet for her espresso. "What happened between you and Hanni? She never wanted to talk to me about it."

You sighed and looked down at the bowl of fruit to pick up a grape and eat it. That topic was already a thing of the past, or so it was supposed to be. Talking about it and rubbing salt in the wound was a bitch. Especially with how everything had happened.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it, really," Dani said.

"No, it's okay," you shook your head. "I just don't like remembering," you looked up. "Fuck, where do I start? Well... it was the day of her testimony in court. You know, when she was on TV and everything. That day she came to my apartment to, you know, sleep over and whatever. All cute and normal as ever.

"But the next morning she was... weird. She woke up before me. And she never wakes up before me. She didn't kiss me good morning, nor was she as smiling as usual. Of course I immediately asked her what was wrong and... fuck, it was like a fucking ice bath. It was horrible.

"But what did she say to you?" Dani asked, distressed. "You're adding too much suspense. Spill it."

"She said she couldn't do it anymore. I'm not going to go on and on about everything we talked about. But basically, she said that given her current life state, she wasn't sure she could give me the best of herself. And that there were a lot of things she needed to focus on before focusing on a relationship."

There was a momentary silence. Dani stared at you as your expression turned gloomy.

"Ouch..." Dani said.

"Yeah... I mean, now that I think about it, I understand that reason. But come on Dani, I was always there for her through thick and thin. Always. I don't think there was a single thing I couldn't help her through. Like... ugh," you groaned in frustration. "Whatever."

Just then, the waiter arrived with the food. You had ordered cornetto al pistachio, and Dani ordered a mini platter of mixed pastries: a small cannolino, a sfogliatella, and a croissant filled with lemon cream.

"Grazie," you forced yourself to say so as not to be rude, as the plates were placed in front of you.

"Thank you," Dani smiled at the waiter, but the smile faded when she looked at you again. "Jeez... I'm sorry, baby. For you know… reopening the wound."

"It sucks, but whatever," you shrugged. "I'm lucky to have found someone who helped me get over it."

"That's cute," Dani smiled. "And I'm very happy. But you should know that Hanni has been deadass jealous at least three times since then. I mean she denies it. But I can read her face."

"That's her problem. She should have known better than to leave me like a dog in the cold."

Dani chuckled.

"Look, in her defense, I must say that everyone's life is really turned upside down right now. It hasn't been easy."

"I know it hasn't been, but that doesn't stop anyone from having some emotional intelligence. Anyway, enjoy your meal, dear."

Everything was as delicious as you'd hoped, and Dani was so enamored with the sfogliatella that she ordered another one to go. You could have stayed and chatted for a while longer, but you had other places to take her. And what better way to go than to a museum?

Dani loved art; she was almost as devoted to it as you were. If there was anyone who would appreciate the Uffizi Gallery, it would be her, without a doubt. So that was your next destination.

"Hey, it's not that I'm not excited about going to the museum, but can we go shopping later?" Dani asked as you drove to the gallery. "I want you to know that my suitcase is purposely half empty."

You chuckled.

"Are you serious?" you said, your eyes on the road. "Well, it wouldn't hurt to update my closet. I'm in."

"Great! Because I don't know anyone better to be a fashion judge than you."

"Well, yeah, that's obvious. And...?"

"That you'll have to approve every item I want to buy," Dani leaned over the center console between the seats and leaned close to your ear. "Even the underwear," she whispered.

"Danielle Marsh, should I find an alley and fuck you on the hood of the car? I swear to God you're getting on my nerves."

"We don't have time for that, dummy," Dani replied, returning to her seat. "We have a museum to go to, remember? And then some shopping to do."

The sugary, innocent tone of her voice, along with her cute Aussie accent, made you let out a heavy breath. There was no possible objection you could make; after all, you were the one responsible for your itinerary. But at this rate, with two days still ahead of you, there was no doubt that things were going to happen more than once.

You sincerely hoped so, because that tight body was a marvel.

A short 10-minute drive later, you arrived at the Uffizi Gallery, a massive building that housed entire collections of Renaissance paintings on the banks of the Arno River. The tour lasted almost three hours, as you spent a good amount of time talking about each of the most interesting paintings, such as The Birth of Venus or Spring by Sandro Botticelli, or Caravaggio's Medusa, among the dozens of others in the museum.

By the time you finished your visit it was around 2 p.m. Dani loved every second of the tour, which was especially satisfying for you since it was the first place you'd thought of showing her when she'd asked you to be her tour guide a few days earlier. Nothing was better than having someone reaffirm your excellent tastes and actually enjoy them.

"The Birth of Venus is a beauty in person, wow," Dani said, scrolling through her gallery to see all the photos she'd taken. She was no longer wearing her jacket: now it was wrapped around her waist, leaving her in a fitted black polo shirt. "Wait, wasn't that the one attacked by environmental activists last year?"

"That's one, yeah," you nodded. You were taking a break in front of the gallery entrance, leaning against the stone railing that overlooked the river. The sun was already peeking out from under the blanket of clouds in the sky, reflecting on the still-calm water. "Idiots who think that'll change anything. They only gained six months in jail."

"Well, at least they tried to make a change. It's something."

"You wanna know how I think a change can be made? It's not pretty, and it has to do with multibillionaires."

"Nope, I don't wanna know," Dani said, looking up to pat you on the chest. "You know what I do want to know? How many new clothes can I bring home."

"Don't you want lunch first? I know the perfect place."

"I don't think I'm hungry yet. Let's go shopping, come on!" Dani said with a little jump, grinning from ear to ear to try to convince you.

"Consumerism consumes you, girl."

"And it makes me happy too!" Dani took your hand and pulled you along as if she knew the way—she didn't. "Walk!"

Well, anyway, you had no choice.

After a couple of minutes of walking, you reached the place where you had parked the car. You got in and headed toward Via de' Tornabuoni, a long, straight street lined with luxury brand stores on every side and at every corner.

A little over five minutes later, you were there. You parked a corner early, near the Column of Justice, an iconic monument in Piazza Santa Trinita. When you got out, you just had to walk straight until you entered the aforementioned street.

The first store was Burberry. Dani let you search first, knowing that she would be the one who would take the longest. There weren't many things that caught your eye there; you only ended up picking up a black wool sweater, an oversized cotton T-shirt, some sneakers, and a gold ring.

Dani, on the other hand, was a Burberry ambassador, and therefore felt a greater affinity for the brand than you did. Her choices were more varied, and while you didn't end up approving of all of them, the number of items she bought almost doubled yours.

And of course, she also struck the first blow.

Without you realizing it, she'd sneaked a swimsuit into the clothes she was going to try on, and she sent you a photo from the fitting room wearing the tight garment, which perfectly hugged her slim, curvy figure. There were two photos: one from the front and one from the side. Both blatantly suggestive. The design was very pretty, it was worth noting: white stripes and black checks on a beige base. Approved.

The next stop was right in front, across the street. Pucci's extravagant and colorful prints weren't exactly your favorite, so you didn't check out too many things: just an iridescent hoodie, some swim shorts, a lighter case—yes, they had those—and a three-pack of trunks. It's not like you had much to do with it, either; Pucci was a brand more focused on women, and the men's section was tiny compared to the rest of the store.

Dani took her time again. Her tastes matched her personality, and unlike you, she loved colorful clothes with abstract designs. So she swept every corner of the store, grabbing item after item to try on. She also included a three-pack of briefs, which she thought you hadn't realized she'd snatched.

So it didn't take you by surprise when, from the fitting room, she sent you photos of herself trying on the panties. One photo for each style: the multicolored one, with an abstract pattern of curved shapes in black, white, pink, purple, and beige; the white ones, and the black ones. Now you received back shots of her pretty ass, and also close-up shots of her crotch at stupidly hot angles. Approved. And now you were horny.

"You know I'm throbbing for you right now, right?" you asked quietly in her ear as she paid for her clothes. You'd already paid for yours. Between Burberry and this one, you'd already spent around $5,000.

Dani held back a smile and turned around after a few seconds to lean closer to your ear.

"Good for you," she replied. "But we still have a lot of stores to see. Hang in there."

Reluctantly, you followed her back to the opposite side of the street, this time to enter Tiffany & Co.—where the necklace you bought for Wony was from. Being a jewelry, watches, and accessories brand, there was no attack towards you this time. But it was by far the place that took you the longest.

Dani could afford to buy everything she'd been buying up until now, yes. But there were things in that store whose prices were exorbitant, so she only ended up buying two pairs of earrings for 3.100 euros each. What she didn't know was that you were feeling pretty generous that day, and you let her choose anything else regardless of the price.

Her choice was a diamond ring, specifically the Tiffany Titan designed by Pharrell Williams. 12,000 euros. Convincing her that it was fine and that you wanted to buy it because you wanted to was a difficult task, but in the end, you managed to get her to leave the store wearing the ring and with a smile on her face.

The next store was Celine. There, the number of items you bought broke that day's record, but it was Dani who was most hesitant about her choice. There were only a few things she actually tried on that you approved of. That was because her focus had changed: more damn swimwear.

Celine had been one of the stores with the most swimwear so far, and you were sure Dani had sent you photos of herself in almost all of them, including the bikinis. Some were prettier than others, you even told her to buy a pair. But they all shared the same common factor, and that was her tight body looking delicious in every single photo.

It was already getting too difficult to hide how needy you were for her. Dani knew it, and she enjoyed every second of it, knowing that, despite you being the guide and the reason she was there in the first place, she was in control. Everything indicated that she wouldn't be satisfied until you set foot in every single store on the damned street.

Sadly, that’s how it was.

Alexander McQueen, Balenciaga—one of your favorite brands—, Fendi, Jil Sander, Prada—where, to your surprise, the attendants already recognized you as a new brand ambassador, and let you choose whatever you wanted to take with you at no cost—, Gucci, Giorgio Armani, Bvlgari, and finally Versace. In absolutely every store you bought at least one or two items, and you didn't even keep track of how much you'd spent anymore.

The problem was that the number of bags you were carrying was bordering on the bizarre. You didn't know the exact number; you only knew that you were also holding two with your teeth and that you'd have to make two trips.

Thank goodness the car was close, because you were starting to feel empathy for the poor pack animals. The bags you were already carrying filled the back seats and the footwell, while the rest went into the trunk next to Dani's suitcase.

"Jesus, it seems like we raided the entire street," you sighed, getting into the car. You closed your eyes with your hands on your knees, your head resting on the seat.

"It was quite a productive afternoon, don't complain," Dani replied.

"I have plenty of reasons to complain."

Dani didn't respond. You heard her shift in her seat, but you thought she was just searching for something in her bag or something else. When you opened your eyes and looked at her, your eyes nearly popped out of your head.

She had taken off the heavy skirt she was wearing, along with her shoes. Now she was wearing only her black polo shirt, stockings, and a pair of black panties. Your sense of alarm went off, making you look around in every direction in case anyone was watching. The car windows weren't completely black, just tinted, so if anyone had taken a look, they would have seen Dani half-naked in the passenger seat.

"Dani, what the fuck are you doing?!" you asked, rushing to start the car.

"I'm making up for the inconvenience," Dani retorted, and as you hurried to get out of there, she reached out to squeeze your cock through your pants. "Or are you not throbbing for me anymore?"

"You didn't have to fucking strip in the middle of the square," you scolded her, driving without knowing where to go. An alley was what you were looking for, but being so central in the city, it would be a difficult task. "Someone could have seen you."

"So what? No one knows me here," Dani said, unbuttoning your pants to unzip them and slip her hand into your boxers. Her fingers wrapped around your cock, rubbing it until it was hard. "To them I would’ve just been some exhibitionist Asian whore."

"At least one of those three things is true."

You gasped as Dani pulled your pants down to your mid-thighs and held your cock upright, slowly moving her hand over it.

"Yeah, I may be a whore," Dani acknowledged as she gave you a lazy handjob. "But you've been craving this whore's pussy all afternoon. You haven't even bothered to hide it."

Well, that was a point well earned.

Dani sped up her hand movements, not caring how focused you had to be to drive through certain stretches and certain curves. Then she climbed onto her knees in her seat and spat into her hand before returning it to your shaft. Her wrist was now moving at a fast, steady pace. Not abrupt or frantic. Careful and measured.

As you stopped at a light, Dani stopped her hand and moved from sitting on her heels to back on the seat, only now, carefully, she leaned her back against the car door and stretched her long legs into your lap, lifting her feet and removing her stockings right next to your face. With her now bare feet, she lowered them to your cock and took it between them.

"Dani, for God's sake," you gasped, taking one hand off the wheel and moving it to her lower abdomen, rubbing her pussy over her panties with your thumb. "How do you expect me to drive like this?"

"Find a way. That's not my problem," Dani replied, now masturbating you with her pretty feet.

You were forced to return your hand to the wheel when the light turned green, and also to speed up as you searched for an alley. All the while Dani's feet moved up and down on your cock. At certain points, you could afford to touch her, rubbing her slit again and again until her panties were wet. It got to the point where her panties were already pushed aside, and whenever you could afford to finger her, you did.

It took you 15 minutes to find a damn decent spot. Along the way, you'd probably angered more than one driver with your erratic driving, but it wasn't your damn fault.

The alley was narrow enough, with a residential building on the left and the wall of a small garage on the right. A few meters ahead, where the alley opened up, there was a guardhouse, but the lights were off and no one seemed to be inside. It wasn't the right place to take her outside and commit an obscene act, but at least it gave you discretion inside the car.

As soon as you parked and turned off the car, Dani swung her legs from your lap and hurriedly climbed over the console to straddle you. Her arms flung around your neck and her lips crashed down on yours. And you hurried to use the buttons on the side of the seat to move it away from the steering wheel and then tilt it all the way back.

Dani cradled your face in her hands, kissing you between small moans and heavy breaths. Her legs settled between the sides of your body and the car seat as you wrapped your arms around her slender body, sliding your hands under her shirt to feel her back, then lowering them to her small waist and then her ass.

You lifted your hips and pulled the rest of your pants down to your heels, then pushed Dani's panties aside to grasp your cock and rub it against her folds, already slick with wetness. Dani also lifted her hips and slowly impaled herself on your cock until she took it all inside her tight pussy.

"Mmmgh fuck," Dani moaned against your lips, moving her hands down to your chest. Her firm little ass rested against your pelvis. "I can't believe it's been six months since I last had this cock inside me."

"Time flies, huh?" You gasped, holding her waist as she began to move her hips, fucking herself with every inch of you. "And who knew the first time I was inside you was also on Italian soil?"

"Oh I wouldn't mind being fucked every time I set foot in this country if it was you."

Dani went slowly at first, letting you feel her grippy folds hugging your cock every time she lowered her hips. Her lips moved from yours to your jaw and chin, planting small kisses on them, something she, being such a romantic, loved to do. Meanwhile, you groped her ass with gentle squeezes, returning the kisses she gave you but on her neck.

The car began to shake a bit as Dani accelerated, now moving her hips as fast as she could without jumping. That changed when she managed to prop her feet up on the seat and start bouncing on your cock, her hands braced under your pecs and her eyes on yours. Her face, gorgeous as usual, twisted with moans until her mouth fell open and her head fell back.

"Are you gonna cum, hmm?" you asked, holding her under her buttocks as she bounced on your cock. The sight of her abdomen bulging with your shaft increased your revs a thousandfold.

Dani just nodded, stifling a moan against her bitten lip. The sound of her ass slamming against you drowned out the music playing from the car speakers far below.

Her orgasm simmered inside her until she exploded with a squeal that muffled against your lips as she fell forward.

You wrapped your arms around her as she came on your cock, her body shaking until she moved her hips up and down again. Then, with your hands on her tiny waist and kissing her, you took control and began to fuck her hard and fast. Dani sank her teeth into your lower lip and pulled it before looking up at you.

"Are you gonna cum as well daddy?" Dani asked, gently cradling your face in her hands. "Would you do it in my mouth? I don't want to get dirty yet."

"Dirtier than riding me in the middle of a remote alley?" you gasped.

"I don't have anything on hand to clean up the big load you're gonna shoot inside me," Dani's words rushed out of her mouth. "So I'd rather swallow it."

So be it, then. Honestly, you didn't feel like getting cum on the seat of a Maserati either. Sacrilege.

Your hands moved down to Dani's ass and squeezed it as you started going faster than usual. Seconds later, as your cock began to tingle, you patted her back in warning. Dani quickly got off you and stumbled to her seat, kneeling up, bending over you, and taking the tip of your cock between her lips as you jerked off.

Dani's small sucks and licks on your tip sped up your climax considerably, and just a couple of seconds later, you exploded inside her mouth.

Dani took charge and slid her lips down your cock to suck it and take your load in her mouth. Her moans as she swallowed drop after drop made you moan too, holding the back of her head as she slurped on your shaft with slow, deep strokes.

When you emptied your balls down her throat, Dani pulled you out of her mouth and licked her lips. She straightened her back and looked at you with a sly smile, still holding your cock.

"Shall we go to the hotel, daddy?" she asked in that tone of voice that always drove you crazy, and let go of your cock to look around. Once she made sure no one was watching, she laid her eyes on you again and tilted her head. "The appetizer was delicious, but I'm starting to need that lunch."

"Yeah, but please get dressed before a busybody comes along," you said, and sat up to pull up your pants and boxers. "Those are abundant in Italy."

Dani hurried to obey your order, readjusting her underwear and putting on her skirt as you returned your seat to its normal position. When she settled into her seat, you started the car and reversed out of the alley, turned around, and headed back to the hotel.

It was around 7:30 p.m. when you finally arrived at the Four Seasons. Getting out of the car, you immediately went inside to ask some bellboys to help you with the bags you and Dani couldn't carry and with her suitcase. One of the guys—the same one who had guided you to your suite yesterday—took the lead with Dani's suitcase. The other one escorted you from behind.

Dani frowned as you stepped out into the hotel garden, confused by the path you were taking.

"Are we camping or what?" Dani asked, looking at the trees around you as you left the hotel behind. Not bothered by it, but curious. As if the possibility excited her.

"Close, but better than that," you replied. "You'll see."

A couple of minutes later, Dani's face lit up as she saw the cabin in the distance.

"No way..." she said softly, the light from the lampposts near the roundabout reflecting in her pretty eyes. "Is that...?"

"Aha," you nodded.

Dani was as amazed as you were yesterday as you passed under the arch, unable to close her mouth. She gasped in surprise as she stepped through and looked around the immense garden you had, paying special attention to the pool. The bellboys continued walking and went to leave the things they were carrying in the living room, not in the bedroom since you had left those doors closed with the curtains drawn.

"Oh gosh, this is gorgeous!" Dani sighed, a small smile on her face. The bellboys returned and offered to carry what you were carrying inside as well. "Yes, please. Thank you."

"I knew you'd like it," you smiled, handing the bags you were carrying to one of the bellboys. "Fratello, sai parlare inglese?"

"Of course, sir," one of the bellboys nodded with a thick accent.

"When you get those things inside, can you put that table here in the garden?" you asked, pointing to the table on the right side of the cabin under a small porch. "It's for lunch."

The bellboy nodded and, along with his colleague, carried the rest of the things inside.

"Man, I could live here forever," Dani said, taking a few steps onto the grass.

Dani walked a little further, passed under the umbrella, and stood on some wooden planks placed end to end to dry off after getting out of the pool. She stood on her tiptoes to peer in.

"Good thing you bought swimsuits, huh?" you asked with a chuckle, watching out of the corner of your eye as the bellboys carried the table to where you'd indicated.

"See? And then you say the afternoon wasn't productive," Dani giggled.

When the bellboys had put everything back in place, they returned to you. You thanked them both, and as you passed under the arch, you went to Dani's.

"Hey, let's go inside and call for lunch."

"Lunch? It's almost 8 at night."

"Dinnerlunch. Whatever the fuck you want to call it dude."

"Fair, let's go," Dani nodded and followed you inside. "We'll use that pool, right?"

"Of course we will," you replied. "But I think we'll have more fun in the indoor bathtub."

Dani just laughed before entering the cabin with you.

While you called the front desk, Dani took her suitcase and some of her bags to the bedroom to organize her clothes. She came back a short time later to decide what you were going to eat together.

The order you placed was large enough that you wouldn't have to order anything else for the rest of the night. You waited for it sitting at the table outside, still in your clothes since you wanted to eat before showering.

The wait staff arrived—quite understandingly considering how far the hotel was from the suite—about 15 minutes later, bringing your appetizers and drinks first. A classic bellini for Dani and a bergamot-infused negroni for you. Another 20 minutes later, the main courses arrived. Dani had ordered branzino al forno, with caramelized fennel and cauliflower puree, while you had fresh pasta with butter and white truffle. You both also had oven-roasted vegetables and arugula salad on the side.

"Hey, thanks for this, Ezio," Dani said a while later, when you'd finished your main courses. You were sipping white wine from your glass, a Vernaccia di San Gimignano. "This is just beautiful."

"Don't thank me, I like seeing people happy," you replied, setting your glass aside. "And I was looking forward to coming back here to Florence. So it's a win-win."

"You have to go to Milan after this, right?" Dani asked, then sipped her wine.

"Yup," you nodded, picking up a slice of veal left over from the appetizer and bringing it to your mouth.

"How are you holding up with that? Prada Global Ambassador, who would have thought."

"I try not to think about it," you replied, still chewing but covering your mouth with the back of your hand. "If I think about it too much I'll end up having a panic attack."

"But isn't it one of the things you've always wanted?"

"It is. But it's a whole new level of pressure for me. More exposure. More fame. You're never prepared for that stuff."

"I don't think you're taking the fame badly," Dani tilted her head. "You've been doing well so far. Although I understand what you're saying, now you have to be twice as perfect with all those cameras pointed at you."

"Yeah, and I've never dealt with anything like that. Not in the art world, at least."

"It's a new step, dear."

"A huge one," you sighed. "Anyway. Are you going to shower first, or am I?"

"Me," Dani carefully rose from her seat and took a quick sip of her wine. "And then I'll get back to organizing what I bought."

"Okay, hurry up."

Dani went inside, and you stood there alone, gazing at the slightly cloudy night sky while smoking a cigarette. After finishing it, you left two 500-euro bills under a salt shaker as a tip and went inside to call reception to come and collect the dishes. The only thing you brought inside was the bottle of wine, which you'd pay for separately.

While Dani showered, you started closing the remaining door and curtains, and, just as she'd planned, organizing all the clothes you'd bought. When she came out after about 20 minutes, you'd already replaced most of the clothes in your suitcase with new ones. But that left you with the small problem of not knowing what to do with the old ones.

"And now what am I supposed to do with all this?" you asked yourself, pointing at the clothes you'd left on the floor.

"I don't know," Dani replied behind you, getting dressed. "Buy a new suitcase?

"How the hell am I going to take three suitcases to Milan?"

"If you're taking two, you can take three."

"I don't think that's how it works," you turned your head to look at her out of the corner of your eye. "Can I turn around now?"

"No!" Dani said quickly. You could smell the oatmeal in the body lotion she was applying.

"I've seen you naked before, what's the difference?"

"Vulnerability!"

You sighed.

"Well, I'll go take a shower," you stood up. "By the way, I brought my Switch. Wanna...?"

"Yeah!"

"Nice. You can go take it out of my backpack and set it up." I'll be right back."

You walked straight to the bathroom, undressed, and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water run over your body for about five minutes before actually washing yourself. When you were finished and walked out to the bedroom with the towel around your waist, you found Dani kneeling in front of the TV, plugging in cables.

"That's it, stay like that while I get dressed," you said, going to get your clothes.

Dani chuckled.

"Vindictive bastard."

You hurriedly put on your sleepwear and went to help her. With the Switch already installed on the TV, you both climbed into bed and started playing a new game of It Takes Two—the main one was untouchable, since it was your game with Wony. The hours flew by, and you ended up leaving it when Dani felt sleepy around 1 a.m.

The next day was going to be long with all the destinations you were taking Dani to, so you couldn't afford to go to bed much later. You stood up and went to put the JoyCons back in their holders, then closed the doors and went back to bed with Dani. Soon you were asleep.

Dani woke up before you the next morning. She was the one who opened the bedroom curtains, allowing sunlight to filter through the glass door and shine directly into your eyes.

That morning you had breakfast in the suite, and immediately afterward you got dressed to head to your first stop: the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore.

Before entering, you spent about half an hour seeing it from as many angles as possible, admiring the beautiful white marble façade full of small details. Then you went inside the Duomo, and finally, you paid for the access to Filippo Brunelleschi's dome.

The 463 steps you climbed to reach the top of the dome were worth every second of physical effort, as you ascended, you saw the Judgment Day frescoes by Vasari and Zuccari up close. Once you reached the top, you were greeted by a beautiful panoramic view of all of Florence that made you forget you couldn't feel your legs anymore.

About ten minutes later, after taking as many photos as possible and having the private guide you had hired fill you in on the historical context, you descended from the dome and left the cathedral to walk right next to it, to Giotto's Campanile, one of the four monuments in Piazza del Duomo.

The visit was brief there. Your legs were sore from climbing the dome a moment ago, so you settled for seeing it from the outside, delighted with admiring the bas-reliefs and niches at the base of the tower.

The tour of Piazza Duomo ended with the Baptistery of San Giovanni, one of Florence's most famous religious buildings and the oldest in the square. This was by far Dani's favorite monument, simply because of the great amount of natural light it received and the impressive Byzantine mosaics inside the dome.

The next stop was the Mercato Nuovo and then the Mercato Centrale, both local markets with vendors everywhere. There, you bought souvenirs and tried street food, and when it was time for lunch, you headed to the Enoteca Pinchiorri, a magnificent 3-Michelin-star restaurant.

After that, you still felt good enough to continue. First, to Piazza della Signoria, probably the most famous square in all of Florence and the most visited, packed with historic buildings and points of interest. You let the rest of the night go by before heading out to dinner, and exhausted from that meal, you returned to the hotel around 11 p.m.

"Fuck, I'm exhausted," Dani sighed, dropping her bag on the coffee table in the living room before throwing herself onto the couch.

"And me," you said, closing the glass doors behind you. "Those 463 steps left me feeling dead."

You walked around the table and went to sit on the other couch, sinking into the seat with your head resting on a pillow. Dani rolled over to look at you.

"Are you sleepy already?" Dani asked.

"Nah, why?" You raised your hands to hug the pillow behind your head.

"I don't know, I thought we could... you know, do something."

"Something like what?"

"Didn't you tell me we could have fun in the tub?" Dani raised an eyebrow.

You smiled.

"I was waiting for you to say that." You let go of the pillow and leaned forward. "Because actually, I prepared for it."

"Oh, did you?"

You stood up and stood beside the couch where she was lying, hands clasped behind her back.

"Will you wait here, please?"

"Go ahead, take your time," Dani giggled.

All the things you were going to use to prepare the tub were inside one of the dresser drawers in the bathroom. It was the morning Dani arrived—before you left the hotel—that you had all of that stuff brought in, and of course you had spared no expense.

The first thing you did was partially close the blinds on the window on the wall next to the tub and close the curtains on the window facing the entrance, allowing only a minimum of light from outside to filter into the room. Then you started arranging scented candles: one in each corner of the tub, and three more arranged in a triangle above the dresser. After turning them all on, you turned off the room lights and made way for the dim candlelight.

The next step was to find your portable speaker and put on a playlist of R&B and jazz of your own making, so you could concentrate on preparing the bath. While you filled it with hot water, you added mineral bath salts, a few drops of rose essential oil, and a splash of oat and almond oil to make the water silky smooth. The foam was generous, enough to cover your skin but not making it look like shaving foam.

With the bath ready, you slipped out as quietly as possible to the living room to grab the bottle of white wine you had bought and a bowl of raspberries, grapes, and pieces of milk chocolate from the mini-freezer. You placed everything on a silver tray on the floor to one side of the bath: the glasses with chilled white wine on the sides, and the bowl in the center. Finally, on the edge of the tub, you placed massage oil, a natural sponge, and homemade soap.

"Dani! Come here!" you called her.

Dani hurried to answer your call and bumped into you outside the tub room. She tried to sneak a look behind you, but you shifted your body so she couldn't see much.

"Wait a minute," you said, standing under the frame. "Close your eyes."

Dani obeyed, and you were quick to stand behind her and cover her eyes with both hands.

"Come on, walk forward," you whispered in her ear.

You and Dani walked into the tub room. Then you uncovered her eyes.

"Oh my god..." Dani gasped, looking around with a small smile. "You did all this by yourself?"

"Well, yeah, what do you think? All the doors are locked."

"Wow... you really went all out in here," Dani giggled, taking a few steps forward before squatting down on the side of the tub. She moved her fingers on the water. "Oh, it's warm."

"You like it like that?" you said behind her.

Dani looked at you over her shoulder.

"I love it. You know that."

"Should we go in?"

"Yeah..." Dani stood up to face you. "But close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Just do it, Ezio."

You closed your eyes, and instantly heard Dani stir. Clothes falling to the floor, and then the water stirring after a slight splash.

"You can look now."

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was the pile of Dani's clothes in front of your feet, bra and panties included. Then you looked up and found her in the tub, sitting on the right side, the foam in the water covering her breasts.

"You did that so I wouldn't see you naked?" you chuckled.

"A little playfulness never hurts, right?" Dani said with a raised eyebrow. She'd also pulled her hair back into that signature double bun that looked so pretty on her, with a few strands falling down the sides of her forehead.

"Don't look at me either."

Dani giggled.

"Okay, okay. I won't."

Dani covered her eyes, and you quickly stripped down to get into the tub with her. The space wasn't too big, so you ended up touching the sides of her buttocks with the insides of your feet when you stretched out your legs. Dani then stretched out her legs too, resting her feet on your lap, right at the top of your thighs.

"Gosh, the water is delicious," Dani sighed, closing her eyes for a moment to lean back against the tub wall. When she opened them again, she looked at the floor beside you. "And what about that massage oil?"

"I don't know, just in case," you left both arms out of the water so you could pick up your wine glass. "Do you want some?"

Dani also picked up her glass, along with a couple of grapes, which she brought to her mouth to wash down with the wine.

"Mmm, che buono," Dani said, and couldn't help but laugh at your face.

"You've picked up Italian expressions so quickly?" you chuckled, as she picked up another couple of grapes.

"It's not that difficult, you say them without realizing it," Dani brought a grape to your mouth.

You plucked the grape from between Dani's fingers with your mouth.

"It's the consequence of spending days back here, sorry," you said, chewing the grape. "When I return to Korea it will be horrible to have to speak Korean again."

"God, don't even mention it," Dani sighed, and thinking you wouldn't notice, she placed a foot on your thigh, moving it very slowly. "I've been speaking English for a whole month now."

Like her, you discreetly placed your left hand on her knee to caress her skin with your fingertips.

"You can move here to Italy," you tilted your head, staring into her eyes. She looked gorgeous in the candlelight. "Naples would suit you perfectly; you're a sunshine girl."

Dani giggled, holding your gaze. Her foot moved closer to your crotch, very close to your pubic bone.

"In the future, who knows?" Dani took another sip of her wine and popped two pieces of chocolate into her mouth. "I haven't closed the door on crazier things."

"Even if it means moving to a completely different country than Australia or Korea?"

That night you were feeling peckish, eager to warm up, so you picked up your wine glass and emptied it completely down your throat.

"I'd need help, of course," Dani did the same as you, without a single scrunch, and set the glass aside. "You know, maybe a local advisor... sexy and handsome, preferably."

"As a northerner I don't think I'm exactly an expert on Naples. But I meet the last two requirements, I think."

"You meet them with flying colors, that's for sure," Dani inched her foot from your lap to your lower abdomen, caressing it with her toes. "And you're excellent at making your guests comfortable."

"Have you felt comfortable here in Florence with me?" Not wanting to be left behind, you moved your hand up as far as you could go without reaching so you could stroke her thigh with each finger.

"Oh, very comfortable," Dani nodded. "You've done a fantastic job as a guide. But you know what? I feel like you could..." Dani let the sentence hang in the air for a moment, and you felt her foot rise up your chest until it emerged from the water right in front of your face, covered in foam. "Do it better."

And with that alone, Dani got your blood pumping to your groin at the sight of part of her wet leg sticking out of the foamy water.

"Fuck, are you calling me incompetent?" you asked.

Dani laughed and rested her foot on your chest.

"What are you talking about, dummy? No, not at all." Dani moved her other leg underwater and pressed the sole of her other foot against your cock, accelerating your erection. "I'm just saying you can do even better."

"And how exactly could I do that?" you asked, taking her foot to lift it out of the water and skim off the foam. Her other foot was beginning to move along your cock.

"Just try," Dani replied. "I don't think it'll go badly for you."

Without further ado or wanting to delay the inevitable, you took Dani's foot by the heel and brought her big toe to your mouth. At first, the taste wasn't too pleasant, given all the bath products in the water, but that became irrelevant when you started salivating on her soft toes.

Dani muffled a moan against her puckered lips, rubbing you from tip to balls with her right foot. She picked up the wine bottle from the floor, and after uncorking it, she drank directly from it, a good gulp that went down her throat and spilled from the corners of her lips to her sexy neck.

"Do you want some, daddy?" Dani asked softly, while you swirled your tongue around her big toe and rubbed the underside of her thigh with your hands.

You nodded, took her foot out of your mouth, and lifted your head. Dani knelt up, finally letting you see her pretty little tits. She moved through the water until she was positioned on your lap, her knees on either side of your hips. She grabbed your head and tilted it back, and you opened your mouth for her to pour wine into it.

"It's delicious, isn't it?" Dani said, kissing you for a moment after you swallowed the wine. "What do you think of this?"

Dani took another long gulp of wine, then floated her face over yours and let the wine fall from her mouth to yours. That turned you on so much that your cock throbbed underwater and brushed against her pussy for a second.

"Fuck," you gasped, wrapping your arms around her slender frame to press her against you and taste her lips. "Give me your tits."

Dani lifted her chest and held her perky, wet breasts right in front of your eyes. You placed your hands on her back and brought one to your mouth. Dani immediately poured wine over her collarbone, letting it run down her skin and allowing you to suck it into your mouth from her breasts. As you did, she continued to drink straight from the bottle. Until, between gulps and spills, the bottle was empty.

"Turn around, darling," you said, giving one last suck to one of her nipples. "I know another way to make you comfortable."

Dani placed the empty bottle on the floor next to the tray and turned around to sit between your legs, resting her back on your chest and her head on your left shoulder. She turned her face so that it was inches from yours, and you gently took her chin and brought your lips together.

As your kiss heated up and you were exploring each other's mouths with your tongues, you slowly lowered one hand down her chest and toned abdomen until you reached her pussy, which you began to rub slowly with your ring and middle fingers.

Dani moaned against your lips and opened her legs, lifting them over yours. Your other hand slid from her waist to her breasts, cupping one to squeeze and pinch her nipple. Meanwhile, you gradually accelerated the movement of your right wrist until the rapid circles caused your lips to part and her to lean back against your shoulder and relax.

"Is this what you had in mind?" you asked in her ear, gently sucking on her earlobe. Dani twisted her hips slightly, causing your cock to rub against her lower back. "I hope I'm doing a good job."

"You're doing great, daddy," Dani gasped with her eyes closed, holding your left wrist with her left hand and your neck with her right. "But could you maybe...?"

No more words were necessary. You stopped your fingers, and between kisses on her cheek, you lowered them down her folds to carefully insert them inside her pussy. Deni tensed and tightened her grip on your neck as you reached deep inside her tight pussy, only leaving your knuckles outside.

"Open your mouth," you whispered as she let out a moan.

Dani obeyed, and you stretched out your left arm to grab a piece of chocolate and place it in her mouth. As she chewed, you made her moan by pumping your fingers in and out of her pussy.

"Oh fuck daddy," Dani moaned, her chest rising and falling with her labored breathing. She put her left hand underwater, slid it between your bodies, and with a grip that was somewhat uncomfortable for her, stroked it up and down. "I want to suck your cock so bad."

"Cum first and it'll be all yours, baby," you murmured against her neck, planting kisses.

"God, I'd be happy to."

Dani turned her face and met your lips again, arching her back and moaning against them as you pumped your fingers faster and faster. The water began to slosh and churn as you began to use all the strength in your arm to make Dani squeal with pleasure.

"Yes, yes... keep going, daddy, keep going, yes! Mmmmgh!!"

Part of Dani's breasts bulged out of the water as her orgasm crashed through her. You wrapped your left arm around her and held her close. Dani writhed underwater, causing some to spill over the side of the tub and nearly extinguishing one of the candles.

"That's a good girl," you gasped, your fingers deep inside her, only moving the tips to stimulate her upper wall. "Remind me what you wanted?"

"Suck your cock, daddy," Dani sighed, still trembling. "So bad."

"Let me up then."

Dani moved forward and gave you room to carefully stand up. When she turned around and got onto her knees, your erect, throbbing cock was between her eyes. Her hand quickly went to it to remove the lather and soap, and then she didn't hesitate to take it directly into her mouth.

You moaned as Dani's lips slid in a single motion halfway down your shaft, sucking on those first few inches without paying any attention to your eyes. Her hands stayed on the sides of your thighs as she pushed her limits further and further, finally stopping when her gag reflex kicked in just a few feet from your base. She pulled you out of her mouth with a gasp.

"Mmmm, so tasty," Dani moaned. She looked up at you while biting her lower lip. Her hand stroked your cock for a moment before placing wet kisses on the underside. "Are you going to give me the best fuck of my life with this cock, daddy?"

Dani took you back into her mouth and didn't let you respond immediately.

"God," you gasped, as Dani sucked your cock with slow, deep pumps. "I promise you won't walk well tomorrow."

"Good thing we're not planning on going out tomorrow, then," Dani replied one last time before focusing fully on giving you a wet and sensual blowjob.

Dani's loud slurps harmonized with the soothing jazz playing in the background. The scene was wonderful, and it felt even better. But Dani's slender body, wet and illuminated by the warm candlelight, was already starting to look irresistible to you.

A minute passed when you stopped her and helped her stand. Dani quickly grabbed your face and kissed you. You wrapped your arms around her in a tight hug, reciprocating the kiss while your hands moved to her back and ass. After a moment, you grabbed her by the waist and turned her around. Dani's first instinct was to bend forward, brace her hands against the wall, and arch her back to give you her ass. Then, you placed your hand on her lower back, took your cock and guided it between her buttocks, and slowly began to fill her tight pussy with throbbing flesh.

"Mmm fuck," Dani moaned softly. "Put it all in daddy, all of it. Please."

Dani let out a louder moan as the entire length of your shaft disappeared inside her tiny pussy. Her head fell between her shoulders, and she lifted it again to look at you over her shoulder. Your eyes locked on each other's as you began to pump your hips. Dani's tight walls forced you to go slowly at first, but as you stretched her inside, you finally allowed yourself to pick up speed.

"Fuck me hard daddy," Dani begged with a pretty moan. "My tight body can handle it..."

Despite her pleas, you took a moment to enjoy how good her pussy felt inside at a slow, deliberate pace, watching her outer walls clench so tightly around your shaft. There was no rush, and Dani didn't complain about it. But the look in her eyes told you that what she desperately needed was for you to pound her like an animal.

So be it.

With one hand gripping her tiny waist and the other on the back of her neck, you began pounding her pussy so hard that drops of water splashed out of her buttocks with each collision of your pelvis. Dani squealed, her tight body being shaken by every inch of your cock.

"Yes daddy, just like that!" Dani moaned, struggling to hold onto the wall without slipping. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!!"

Aware of the danger of her wet hands and the fact that she was holding onto a marble wall, you grabbed Dani by the wrists and pulled her arms back. She instinctively raised her body slightly, but kept her back arched so you could continue fucking her, while you held her behind her elbows.

Between strong, fast thrusts, Dani came a second time without warning, her knees shaking like the rest of her body. It was easy to fall there, so in an effort to avoid a tragedy, you quickly pulled her towards you and pressed her back against your chest, holding her upright with your left hand on her neck and the other on her waist.

"Give me more, daddy," Dani said in a small voice, her hand on yours at her neck. She squeezed as a signal for you to do the same, and you did, tightening your fingers around her long neck. "Just like that, fuck."

A new round of hard pounding on her pussy began, causing Dani to erupt in a wave of screams that rattled your eardrums from very close range.

The fear of falling was still there; you felt it in the unreliable grip your feet had on the bathtub floor, so you wanted to get out of there quickly. The quickest solution was to slide your right hand from her waist to her pussy, and with the use of two of your fingers, rub her clit in quick circles while you fucked her until Dani came again.

"Oh my god!!" Dani screamed, thrusting her hips back. Her spasms shook every muscle in her body. "So goood!!"

"Let's go outside, baby," you whispered in her ear after a minute, when Dani relaxed her muscles. "I wouldn't want to fall here and break my neck."

Dani nodded, and you pulled her out to hand her a towel. You both got out of the tub and dried off quickly.

"Want to try that massage oil?" you asked, somewhat desperate to get back inside her pussy but careful not to let it out.

"Whatever you want, daddy," Dani replied, leaving her towel spread out on the bathroom floor. She lay on top of it, her legs intertwined and her hands crossed on her abdomen as she looked at you.

You squatted down and grabbed the massage oil, a small purple bottle of about 300 milliliters that said it smelled of almonds and lavender. With it in your hand, you went to Dani and spread her legs to enter her pussy again. Dani arched her back and moaned, at which point you began pouring the oil in long lines all over her body.

"Mmm, it's warm," Dani said. Her eyes followed your hands as they spread the oil over her body, leaving her skin slick and shiny in their wake. "Do I look sexy?"

"You have no idea," you replied, now concentrating on her legs and moving your hips. You also covered her feet with massage oil.

Dani bit her lower lip and played with her own tits, circling her nipples with her fingers. Your slow thrusts against her pussy made her let out small moans.

"I want to do the same with you..."

"Absolutely."

You pulled out of her, and Dani stood up so you could lie down in her previous spot. She then straddled your lap, impaled herself on your cock, and, as she moved up and down, grabbed the bottle of oil and repeated the same process with your body. Your upper body was ready in a matter of seconds, and Dani then rode you in reverse to work on your lower body.

As Dani bounced on you with moans that became loud again, you noticed that her body from behind, both her back and her ass, were completely dry. So you took the bottle from her hand and let her continue enjoying your cock while you left that visible part of her skin glistening.

"Oh yeah, now we're talking," you gasped, and set the bottle aside to grab her slick ass as she bounced on your cock.

A few seconds later, you grabbed Dani by the shoulders and made her lie back against your chest. You wrapped your left arm around the back of her knees and pulled them up toward her torso. With another grip on her waist, you could now pump your hips up and down to fuck her.

"Mmmh fuck fuck fuck!" Dani moaned. Her back slid against your chest, making it difficult for her to stay still while she was pounded. Fortunately for her, neither of your grips weakened. Although you had to dig your fingers hard into her waist to keep her from slipping. "Harder daddy. Yes! Yes!"

Dani came a moment later. You both moaned. Her pussy smothered and throbbed around your cock. She gripped the sides of your body, spasming intensely, nearly causing her to fall to your left. You held her chin with your right hand and made her kiss you as she rode out her orgasm.

"Darling, I need a break," Dani said against your lips before looking into your eyes. "Are you close?"

"Enough," you nodded with a gasp.

"Use my feet," she planted a small kiss on your lips. "I know you love them."

It was somewhat embarrassing how quickly you lowered her onto the towel beside you and knelt in front of her legs. Dani gave you a teasing smile. She raised her feet, her soles facing each other. You placed your cock in the middle, and Dani brought her feet together to make a sandwich filled with your shaft.

"Oh lord..." you gasped, closing your eyes to enjoy how good her slick feet felt as you fucked them.

"Come on, daddy," Dani purred, looking into your eyes. "Give me that load... give it all."

You began pumping your hips rapidly, holding her feet by the heels to keep them in place. The sensation was overwhelmingly delicious, making you moan loudly as your climax approached.

"Fuck, Dani, I'm going...! Mmmgh!!"

A powerful jet of cum shot out of your cock as you thrust forward and exploded. It landed directly in Dani's mouth and between her breasts. As you continued pumping, the remaining jets landed on her abdomen and stained her feet as well. By the time you were done, Dani was a perfect canvas covered in thick white. So pretty, with such innocent eyes and a delicate face, it almost blew your mind.

"You came a lot daddy..." Dani said with a small smile, licking the cum that had fallen on her lips.

"Wanna go shower?" you asked, panting, still mentally dazed from that melting orgasm. "That way we can clean ourselves up."

"You still have something for me, don't you?" Dani raised an eyebrow.

"Of course I do," you nodded, struggling to your feet. "But just like you, I need a little break."

Dani extended her hand for you to help her up, and then you laced your fingers with hers as you walked slowly out of the tub, through the room with the sinks, and into the shower, a glass cubicle set between the marble walls.

It was a small space. Not claustrophobic, but small enough that with every movement your bodies brushed somehow. Dani slipped an arm under yours and turned on the faucet. The water fell cold on your body, but it turned lukewarm when Dani turned the hot knob.

Dani undid her buns and left her hair down as you washed the oil off your body. She then took your place under the shower, and with a sponge and soap, you helped her wash until her body was clean.

"Better?" you asked in her ear, your hands on her waist.

"Much better," Dani replied, pushing all her wet hair back. She turned her head to look at you as you kissed her shoulder. "And you? Have you taken your break yet?"

"Not yet," you replied, shifting kisses to her shoulder blade and then to her back. "There's something I still want to do."

You switched positions with her, leaving her facing the marble wall. Dani rested her hands there as you crouched behind her, trailing kisses down her back to her ass, where you distributed a short series of kisses and bites before parting her buttocks and planting your mouth on her pussy.

"Oh my..." Dani sighed as you ate her pussy from behind with slow licks and kisses. "I was starting to wonder when you were going to eat me out."

The warm water fell over your lower back as you devoured her, hands on her thighs. Dani's moans began to flow, indicating which spots to hit faster or which to kiss. She placed a hand on the back of your neck, tangled her fingers in strands of your hair, and as she pushed her hips back, she pulled you into her buttocks to smother you with them.

"Fuck, daddy, I missed your tongue so much," Dani moaned, tugging at your hair. Her pussy was soft and delicious. Addictive like few others. "Please make me explode in your mouth."

More than a request, that sounded like a challenge which you took very seriously. You slid your hands from her thighs to her buttocks and squeezed both, moving your tongue faster and using your head to move it in different ways. When you found the right one, you held onto it and used it until you made Dani cum.

"Mmmgh, that feels so good!" Dani squealed, grinding her ass against your face. You collected her juices and drank them, with the thirst of a castaway who had been on a random Indonesian island for days. "Put your cock inside me, daddy, please. You still have to fill me."

"Fuck, Marsh," you gasped, pulling away from her ass. "What's with this sudden thirst for cock?"

Dani didn't respond as you stood up and smashed your lips together again. She used the same hand she'd had in your hair to grab your cock and stroke it until it was hard. Then, in the middle of a hot, sloppy kiss, she guided your cock between her ass cheeks and back into her pussy.

"Mmm, are you going to fill my pussy with cum daddy?" Dani asked between kisses. You were already starting to move, both hands clamped around her waist. "Please fill me deep."

"Fuck, woman, that's what I intend to do," you managed between gasps. For some reason, you were exhausted, and you weren't sure how much you could match her energy level. But you were going to make the effort. "Just be a good girl for daddy and keep cumming."

Dani nodded between moans and bit your lower lip before kissing you again.

A sudden, autopilot trance took over you, erasing consciousness and the notion of time. All you knew was that within seconds you were fucking her like an animal against the bathroom wall, biting and kissing her neck until she came.

But without even giving her a chance to calmly ride out her orgasm, you lifted her right leg behind her knee and made her stand sideways, her thigh resting against your left arm. Similar to the way you fucked Rina that time in the elevator. Only Dani's body was considerably thinner, and the spots your cock hit in that position were more sensitive to her.

Dani squealed with pleasure, unafraid of being too loud for someone to hear. She came a second time. And then you, without thinking, lowered her leg and picked her up in your arms. Her back was pressed against the wall, her arms wrapped around your neck. Your hands spread her thighs wide, pinning her knees against the wall as you pounded her into an intense frenzy.

"Oh my fucking god!!" Dani screamed, clawing at your back with her nails. "Yes, yes, yes!!" Her screams were getting louder, and you were sure she was crying with pleasure now.

It was incredible considering the temperature in Florence at that moment, but fucking that woman had you sweating like a motherfucker. She enjoyed it three times as much, which was all that mattered to you. But for God's sake, you weren't going to need any cardio for at least two weeks.

"Cum inside me, daddy!" Dani moaned in your ear, no longer knowing what to hold on to. "I can't feel my fucking legs anymore, damn it!"

Panting like a raging bull in the middle of a run, you entered the final stretch of your climax. All your blood rushed down like adrenaline shots, until with a heavy snort, you dug your fingers into the flesh of her thighs and exploded inside her.

"YESSS!!" Dani screamed, cumming at the same time as you. The thick, abundant load you shot inside her only made her moan louder. "Oh my god, I'm going to pass out!"

"Calm your slut ass down," was the first thing you said after all that time. "I don't want to carry a dead weight out of the shower."

Dani held onto you as you emptied your balls inside her and her muscles spasmed. Completely spent, you pulled out of her pussy and let all your cum seep through her folds and spill onto the shower floor like a waterfall.

"Satisfied, darling?" You asked, looking into her eyes closely. Your arms were starting to hurt from carrying her.

"Can't you continue?" Dani asked.

You chuckled, incredulous.

"Unfortunately not," you shook your head. "At least not right now. Forgive me."

"No, silly," Dani stroked the back of your neck. "Nothing to apologize for. It's fine. You did a lot, actually."

"Not enough to quench your slutty thirst, I see."

"I never said I wasn't satisfied, I just asked if you could continue."

"And I already said no, so let's go to fucking bed, please."

"Should we clean the tub?"

You thought about it for a moment. Having to empty the bathtub, clean the floor, pick up the tray, put away what you hadn't eaten, the glasses...

Fuck, what a drag.

"No, save it for tomorrow morning."

"Fair. We'll be here all day, right?"

"That's what I had in mind, yeah."

And that's exactly what happened.

After going to bed that night, you slept a peaceful 10 hours and woke up around 11 a.m. You spent the whole day in the cabin, enjoying the outdoor pool, getting wasted on martinis and negronis, and playing games on your laptop.

By the next morning, you were both ready to catch your respective flights. Dani would be returning to Australia to meet her sister. And your next stop was the terrifying, intimidating, and also exciting Milan Fashion Week. The biggest black sheep moment of your life, potentially.

But you were so fucking ready.

[rvp32]

Before the World Knew

Part 1

Yoo Jimin (Karina) x male reader

word count: 20K

The automatic glass doors hiss shut behind you, sealing you back into the humid chaos of a Seoul afternoon. You shove your hands deep into your pockets, shoulders slumped, the stiff collar of the button-down you wore specifically for this interview suddenly feeling like a noose. "Nailed it", you think. Yeah, right.

Nailed it like a coffin lid.

That interview was a fucking train wreck. Stuttering over standard questions, sweating through your shirt despite the blasting AC, pretty sure you called the interviewer by the wrong name at least once. You can practically feel the rejection email drafting itself in their system right now. Landing a decent PR job in this city is proving harder than cracking Fort Knox with a toothpick. You thought graduating with a Public Relations degree, even from a university abroad, would give you some kind of edge. Turns out, it just makes you another drop in an ocean teeming with overqualified, hyper-competitive graduates who probably know the right people (something you definitely lack).

It's been a few weeks since you touched down at Incheon, hauling two overweight suitcases and a boatload of naive optimism. Seoul. The big leagues. You figured, new city, new start, maybe finally shake off that aimless post-college dread. You found a shoebox apartment that costs a criminal amount of money and have been pounding the pavement, digitally and literally, trying to find something, anything, that doesn’t involve fetching coffee or making copies for peanuts. So far? Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Just a growing pile of polite "we'll keep your resume on file" emails and the soul-crushing realization that your savings account is evaporating faster than puddle water in August.

Only a divine miracle would be able to make you feel anything remotely close to happiness now.

You sigh, kicking at a loose pebble on the sidewalk. The city rushes around you, a blur of impeccably dressed office workers, delivery scooters weaving through traffic like suicidal insects, the distant thrum of k-pop blasting from a storefront. It’s overwhelming, vibrant, and right now, utterly indifferent to your dwindling prospects. You just want a decent meal and maybe to wallow in front of Netflix for twelve hours straight.

Lost in your pity party, you don't see the person turning the corner until it's too late. Thump. You stumble back, colliding shoulders hard enough to knock the phone clean out of their hand. It clatters onto the pavement with a sickening plastic crack.

"Oh, shit! Sorry, my bad!" you blurt out, scrambling to pick it up, praying the screen isn't spiderwebbed. You snatch the phone (miraculously intact) and look up to hand it back, apology ready on your lips.

And then your brain just… stops.

Everything stops. The noise of the city, the frantic rush, the self-pity spiral: it all evaporates. Because the person standing in front of you, rubbing their shoulder with a slight wince, eyes wide behind a pair of large, stylish sunglasses… No. It can't be.

She’s smaller than you remember, but the face… fuck, that face. The perfect, almost unreal symmetry, the sharp jawline softened by full cheeks, the distinctive curve of her lips, currently pressed into a thin line of surprise. Even with the sunglasses and a simple baseball cap pulled low, obscuring most of her hair, it's undeniably her. Years have passed, sure. She’s changed. She’s… Karina now, a name screamed by millions, plastered on billboards, dominating charts. But beneath the idol gloss, beneath the global fame, it’s still her.

It's still Jimin. Yoo Jimin. Your childhood best friend. The girl you haven't spoken to since she vanished into the K-Pop trainee vortex years ago.

She takes the phone, her fingers brushing yours for a split second, sending a jolt up your arm that has nothing to do with static electricity. Her gaze flicks up, meeting yours through the dark lenses. You see confusion flicker there, then a dawning recognition that mirrors your own shock.

Her lips part slightly. “No way…”

Her voice. It’s softer than you remember, maybe a bit huskier, but it’s still Jimin’s voice. Hearing her say your name after all this time feels like being struck by lightning. You just stare, dumbfounded, unable to form a coherent thought.

She pushes her sunglasses up onto her head, revealing those large, dark eyes you used to get lost in during boring classes back home. They widen further as she really looks at you.

“Holy shit, it is you! Oh my god! What the hell are you doing here?”

The sheer, unadulterated surprise in her voice snaps you back to reality. You manage a shaky laugh, running a hand through your hair. “Jimin? Wow. Uh, hi.” Eloquent, very eloquent.

She laughs, a bright, musical sound that cuts through the city noise. It’s the same laugh you remember, the one that always made your stomach do stupid flips. “Hi? That’s all you’ve got after, what, six years? Seven?”

“Something like that,” you say, still reeling. “Damn. You, uh… you look…” Famous? Untouchable? Like a goddess who accidentally stumbled onto a mortal sidewalk? “…different.” Lame. You mentally kick yourself.

Jimin grins, the expression lighting up her whole face. It’s that specific grin, the one that crinkles the corners of her eyes. God, you missed that. “Yeah, well, a few things have happened since middle school.” She gestures vaguely, a hint of playful understatement in her tone.

“Yeah, no kidding,” you say, finally finding your footing. “Saw you… everywhere, basically. Aespa, huh? That’s insane, Jimin. Congratulations.”

Her smile softens slightly at the use of her real name. “Thanks. It’s… been wild.” She glances around quickly, lowering her voice a fraction. “But seriously, what are you doing in Seoul? Last I heard, you were going to college somewhere overseas?”

“Yeah, I was,” you explain, stuffing your hands back in your pockets. “Finished up my PR degree a few months back. Moved here a few weeks ago to, you know, try and find a job. Join the rat race.” You grimace, thinking of the disastrous interview. “Not going great so far, but hey, Seoul’s cool.”

Her eyes light up, genuine happiness flashing across her features. “You live here now? That’s amazing! Oh my god, I can’t believe it!” She bounces slightly on the balls of her feet, looking genuinely thrilled. The reaction warms something inside you that the job rejection had chilled.

“Yeah, it’s… definitely a change of pace,” you admit. It hits you again: you’re standing on a random street corner, catching up with Karina from Aespa. One of the biggest names in K-Pop. Your childhood friend, the one who disappeared into SM Entertainment and became someone else entirely. What are the actual, statistical chances of this happening? It feels like the universe is fucking with you, dangling a piece of your past right in front of your face when you least expect it. Fate? Maybe. Or just Seoul being a surprisingly small world sometimes.

“We have to catch up properly,” Jimin says immediately, her excitement palpable. “Like, actually talk. Are you busy right now?”

You glance down at your slightly rumpled interview clothes. “Uh, not exactly. Just finished bombing a job interview, so my schedule’s wide open for existential dread and instant noodles.”

She winces sympathetically, then pulls out her phone again (the one you nearly shattered). “Okay, first, give me your number. Is it still the same old one?” You rattle off your new Korean number, and she quickly taps it in, sending you a test message immediately. Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

It’s really you!!!

You look up, grinning. “Got it.”

“Good.” She slides her phone away, pulling her cap down a bit lower. “Look, I’m kind of on my way to practice right now, but are you free later this week? Or maybe this weekend? We could grab coffee? Drinks? Food? Whatever works.”

Hanging out with Jimin again. After all these years. After… everything.

“Yeah,” you hear yourself say, maybe a little too quickly. “Yeah, definitely. Coffee sounds great. Or drinks. Whatever’s easier for you, I know you’re probably crazy busy.”

“Never too busy for you,” she says, and the way she smiles; warm, genuine, a flash of the girl you knew before the fame… makes your heart do that stupid flip again. “Seriously, text me when you’re free. We’ll figure it out. It’s… it’s really, really good to see you.”

“You too, Jimin,” you reply, meaning it more than you thought possible. “Like, really fucking good.”

She laughs again, shaking her head. “Okay, I actually have to run before my manager sends out a search party.” She steps back, adjusting her cap and sunglasses, the idol persona clicking back into place. But just before she turns away, her eyes meet yours one last time, and there’s a spark there; something familiar, something you both thought was long buried.

“Text me!” she calls over her shoulder, before disappearing into the flow of the crowd, leaving you standing there, blinking in the afternoon sun, wondering if any of that actually just happened.

—

The days following that almost-too-surreal-to-be-true bump-in on the street are a weird blur of text messages and tentative plans. You’re talking to Yoo Jimin. Karina. Actually talking. Not just a polite exchange, but actual back-and-forth, interspersed with smiley faces and those little KakaoTalk character reactions she always overused, even back then. You finally manage to nail down a time to meet properly, a casual stroll through one of Seoul’s sprawling, meticulously landscaped parks. Her idea. Probably safer for her, less chance of being mobbed.

You tell yourself the knot in your stomach is just… nerves. Normal, run-of-the-mill nerves. Anyone would be a little keyed up about meeting a global superstar, right? Especially one you used to share juice boxes and secrets with in your dorky pre-teen years. Yeah, that’s it. It’s the Karina factor. Definitely not the Jimin factor, not the sudden, unwelcome resurgence of that colossal, all-consuming crush you thought you’d successfully buried under six years of distance and a different continent.

Nope. Not at all.

But your brain, the traitorous bastard, keeps replaying flashes of the past. Jimin, with her scraped knees and fierce determination during school sports days. Jimin, laughing so hard milk nearly shot out her nose in the cafeteria. Jimin, biting her lip in concentration while trying to teach you a ridiculously complicated handshake. These images, once faded and dusty, are now vivid, almost painfully sharp, overlaid with the equally mind-boggling reality of who she is now. It’s a strange cocktail, this potent nostalgia mixed with the sheer absurdity of her current life. You feel like you’re about to meet two people at once: the girl next door and the untouchable idol.

—

You spot her near the park entrance, leaning against a cherry tree that’s probably in full, glorious bloom (though you barely register the flowers). She’s wearing a dress today, something new, light, and airy that dances around her knees when the breeze catches it. It's a soft, pastel color that makes her skin look even more luminous. Simple, yet on her, it looks like it walked straight off a runway. Her hair is down, long and dark, catching the sunlight. Even from a distance, she’s ridiculously, effortlessly beautiful.

“Hey,” you say, trying for casual, hoping your voice doesn’t crack.

She turns, and that smile (the one that could probably power a small city) spreads across her face. “Hey yourself! You found it okay?”

“Yeah, a park. Pretty hard to miss,” you joke, falling into step beside her as you start down a wide, tree-lined path. It’s surprisingly uncrowded for a weekend afternoon.

The conversation flows easier than you expected, or maybe feared. You start with the safe stuff: how crazy it is to see each other after so long, the "what are the odds" of it all. She’s a natural in front of a camera, even if it’s just her phone. Every few minutes, she’ll stop, pointing. “Ooh, here! The light’s perfect.” And you, feeling like an unqualified, suddenly very sweaty personal photographer, do your best to capture her. She poses with an easy grace, a slight tilt of her head, a playful smile, a candid laugh as a gust of wind messes with her hair. Each shot is stunning. She’s just…photogenic doesn’t even begin to cover it. She makes a random park bench look like a high-fashion editorial.

“So,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear after a particularly enthusiastic mini-photoshoot by a koi pond, “tell me everything. College overseas must have been wild. Did you turn into some party animal I wouldn’t recognize?”

You laugh. “Hardly. Mostly just late-night study sessions fueled by questionable instant ramen and an unhealthy amount of caffeine. PR’s no joke. But it was good. Different. What about you? From quiet Jimin who was scared of the dark to… well, Karina, leader of Aespa, breaking records and being the it girl of this generation. How does that even happen?”

She chuckles, a soft, genuine sound. “It’s… a lot. Still feels unreal sometimes. The training was brutal, no lie. There were days I wanted to quit, thought I wasn’t good enough.” Her voice drops a little, a hint of vulnerability seeping through. “But then… we debuted, and suddenly everything changed. The fans, the music, performing… it’s a different kind of magic, you know?”

You nod, trying to imagine it. The Jimin you knew was fiercely talented, Always singing and dancing at school talent shows, but this level of fame? It’s on another planet. “I can’t even picture it. Standing on those huge stages, millions of people screaming your name.”

“It’s terrifying and amazing all at once,” she admits. “But enough about me. What about your job hunt? Any better luck since… the sidewalk incident?” She grins, and you groan.

“Marginally. Had a couple more interviews. One was for a junior PR role at a gaming company, actually sounded pretty cool, but I think I fumbled the ‘what’s your five-year plan?’ question. Said something about ‘not starving’ which, in hindsight, maybe wasn’t the power move I thought it was.”

Jimin laughs, bumping your shoulder playfully. “Hey, honesty is a virtue. Besides, gaming PR? You’d be great at that. You practically lived in arcades back in the day.”

“True. But ‘great at Street Fighter’ doesn’t exactly scream ‘hire me’ on a resume.” You sigh. “It’s tough out here, man. Competition’s insane.”

She nods, her expression turning more serious. “How are you managing? Like, financially? Seoul’s not cheap.”

You shrug, trying to keep it light. “Oh, you know. Freelance gigs here and there. Been doing some weekend shifts at a department store in Myeongdong, in the electronics section. Surprisingly good for people-watching. And it pays the bills. Barely.” You force a smile. “It’s fine. Temporary. Just until something in PR lands.”

Jimin stops walking, turning to face you properly. She’s biting her lip, a thoughtful expression in her eyes. “Send me your resume.”

“What?”

“Your resume,” she repeats, more firmly this time. “And your portfolio, if you have one. Anything that shows off your PR skills. I’ll send it to the team at SM.”

You can’t help it; a laugh bursts out of you, loud and incredulous. “Jimin, no. Come on.” You even raise your hands in a placating gesture. “I appreciate it, seriously, that’s incredibly sweet of you, but… SM Entertainment? They’re not going to hire some random, inexperienced guy who just rolled into the country. Especially not for their PR team. They probably have a waiting list a mile long of geniuses with connections.”

Her expression doesn’t waver. If anything, it becomes more determined. “Don’t doubt me. And don’t doubt yourself. You’re smart, you’re good with people, you get how things work. Just send it to me. What’s the worst that can happen? They say no? Big deal. You’re already getting that.”

There’s a conviction in her voice that’s hard to argue with, even though every rational part of your brain is screaming that this is a pipe dream. “I… I don’t want you to go out on a limb for me, Jimin. Especially if it’s for nothing.”

“It’s not for nothing if I believe in you, is it?” she says softly, and damn her, that hits you right in the feelings. “Just promise me you’ll send it. Please?”

You let out a long breath, rubbing the back of your neck. She’s looking at you with that earnest, hopeful expression, and you know you’re going to cave. “Okay, okay. I promise. I’ll send it tonight.” You still think it’s a snowball’s chance in hell, but for her? You’ll try.

She beams, her good mood instantly restored. “Good! It would be so crazy if we ended up working at the same place, wouldn’t it? Like fate, again!”

“Yeah,” you agree, a small, hesitant smile on your own face. “Completely insane.” But the thought, as outlandish as it seems, sparks a tiny, traitorous flicker of hope. It’s nice, you realize, to have someone in your corner. Someone who, despite the years and the fame, still seems to genuinely care.

“Ice cream break?” she suggests, pointing towards a small vendor cart surrounded by happy kids. “My treat. To celebrate your future employment at SM.”

“Don’t jinx it,” you groan, but you’re already following her, the weight on your shoulders feeling a little lighter than it did before.

The ice cream is sweet, cold, and a welcome distraction. You talk about lighter things: terrible movies you’ve both seen, the weirdest food trends in Seoul, the time you both tried to dye your hair with Kool-Aid in eighth grade and ended up looking like deranged parrots. It’s easy, comfortable, like no time has passed at all.

As the sun begins to dip lower, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you find yourselves back near the park entrance.

“This was… really great, Jimin,” you say, meaning it. “Thanks for today.”

“I had fun too,” she replies, her smile soft. “We definitely need to do this again. And sooner than another six years, okay?”

“Deal.”

She pulls out her phone. “Okay, one more photo. But this time, you have to be in it.”

You instinctively start to protest. “Oh, no, I’m good. I’ll just–”

“Nope! Non-negotiable,” she says, already switching to the front-facing camera. She grabs your arm, pulling you closer until your shoulders are pressed together. You’re acutely aware of her warmth, the faint scent of her perfume, the way her hair tickles your cheek. She holds the phone up, angling it for the perfect shot. “Okay, smile! Or… try not to look like you’re being held hostage.”

You manage a slightly stiff, awkward smile as she snaps a few pictures. She scrolls through them, a pleased expression on her face. “Cute! See? Not so bad.” She shows you one where you’re both actually smiling, the city lights just starting to twinkle in the background. It is cute. This crazy, unexpected reunion, now captured in a small digital frame.

She sends the photo to you, and as you look at it on your own screen, a feeling of… something warm, something hopeful, settles in your chest. Okay, maybe this move to Seoul wasn't a complete disaster after all. Maybe fate really does have a weird sense of humor. And maybe that spark you both felt isn't just a relic of the past.

—

You’re elbow-deep in a tangled mess of headphones and Bluetooth speakers at your soul-crushing electronics store job a few days later, trying to explain to a very persistent customer why his twenty-year-old MP3 player probably isn’t compatible with the latest Bose noise-cancelling monstrosities, when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You almost ignore it (probably another scam likely call) but the insistent vibration continues. Excusing yourself with a strained smile, you fish it out.

Unknown number.

You almost swipe it away, but something makes you answer. “Hello?”

A clear female voice speaks your name.

“Uh, yes, it’s me,” you reply, already bracing for a sales pitch.

“This is Kim Hana from SM Entertainment’s Human Resources department. We received your resume regarding a potential opening in our Artist Relations team, specifically working with Aespa. Are you available for an interview later this week?”

Your brain short-circuits. SM Entertainment? Aespa? You almost swallow your tongue. The headphones in your hand slip, clattering onto the counter. The customer gives you a weird look. You try to speak, but only a strangled squeak comes out. Clearing your throat violently, you manage, “Excuse me? SM… Entertainment?”

“Yes,” Ms. Kim says, her voice betraying no hint of surprise at your shock. “Yoo Jimin forwarded your details. She spoke very highly of you. We have an opening for a Junior PR and Communications liaison for Aespa’s team. It involves assisting with press releases, social media coordination, and general support for the group's public-facing activities. Would Thursday at 2 PM work for you?”

Yoo Jimin. Holy shit. She actually did it. Your head is spinning. This has to be a prank. But the voice on the other end sounds far too official, far too… SM.

“Uh, yes! Yes, Thursday at 2 PM is… perfect,” you stammer, your mind racing a mile a minute. Junior PR liaison. For aespa. Working with Jimin. This is insane.

“Excellent. We’ll send a confirmation email with the details and address. Please bring a physical copy of your resume. We look forward to meeting you.”

“Thank you! I mean, yes, looking forward to it too!”

The line clicks dead. You stare at your phone, then at the annoyed customer, then back at your phone. Your first instinct is to call Jimin. You dial her number before you even consciously decide to, heart hammering against your ribs.

She picks up on the third ring. “Hey! What’s up?” Her voice is bright, cheerful.

“Jimin! You… you actually sent my resume to SM?” you blurt out, pacing behind the counter.

She laughs, that easy, musical sound. “Of course, I did. I told you I would, didn’t I? So, did they call you?” There’s a playful, knowing tone in her voice. She knew.

“They just called! I have an interview on Thursday! For a PR liaison role with Aespa! Jimin, this is… I don’t even know what to say. Thank you isn’t enough.”

“Hey, no need to thank me,” she says, her voice warm. “You’re qualified. You just needed a foot in the door. Now go ace that interview. I know you can.”

“But… SM? And working with your team? That’s… that’s insane.”

“Is it?” she teases. “Or is it fate? Again?” You can practically hear her smiling. “Just be yourself. They’ll love you. And hey,” her voice drops a little, becoming softer, more personal, “it would be pretty cool to see you around the office.”

“Yeah,” you manage, your voice a little breathless. “Yeah, it really would.”

—

Two days later, you’re standing in front of the imposing SM Entertainment building, dressed in your only decent suit, clutching your resume like they’re religious relics. The place is even more intimidating from the inside. Sleek, modern, buzzing with an undercurrent of focused energy. You see trainees rushing by, staff members with headsets, snippets of music drifting from behind closed doors. It’s a whole other world.

The interview itself is a blur. You meet with Ms. Kim from HR and a stern-faced senior manager from the Artist Relations department. They grill you on your PR experience (minimal, aside from college projects), your knowledge of the K-Pop industry (decent, from a fan perspective), and your ability to handle pressure (questionable, judging by the sweat currently soaking your palms). You try your best, channeling every ounce of professionalism you can muster, talking about your degree, your adaptability, your passion for creative communication. You highlight your international college experience, hoping it sounds impressive. You don’t mention Jimin, not directly, but you talk about your admiration for Aespa’s innovative concepts and global appeal.

When it’s over, you’re convinced you’ve blown it. You thank them, shake their hands, and walk out feeling a familiar wave of disappointment. Well, at least you got to see the inside of SM. That’s something, right?

You’re about to head for the exit, already composing a ‘thanks anyway’ text to Jimin, when you spot her. She’s further down the hallway, talking to someone who looks like a choreographer, dressed in stylish dance practice gear. Your heart does a nervous leap. You almost don’t approach her, but then she turns, her eyes meeting yours. A bright smile instantly lights up her face.

“Hey! How did it go?” she asks, excusing herself from the choreographer and walking towards you.

You can’t help but smile back, despite the lingering anxiety. “Hey. It was… an experience.”

She tilts her head, searching your face. “That doesn’t sound too enthusiastic.”

You sigh. “Honestly, Jimin, I think I tanked it. I was a nervous wreck. Pretty sure I forgot my own name at one point.”

Jimin just laughs, lightly punching your arm. “Oh, stop it. I’m sure you were great.” Then, her eyes sparkling with mischief, she asks, “So, did they offer you the job on the spot? Did they weep with joy at finding such a PR prodigy?”

“Hardly. They said they’d be in touch. Which is corporate speak for ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you, and by ‘we’ll call you,’ we mean never.’”

Just as you say it, your phone buzzes. You glance down. It’s Ms. Kim from SM. Your blood runs cold. Jimin peers at your screen, her eyes widening. “Well? Answer it!”

With trembling fingers, you swipe to answer. “Hello?”

“Hello,” Ms. Kim’s voice says. “We were very impressed with your interview. The team feels your background and enthusiasm would be a great asset. We’d like to offer you the Junior PR and Communications Liaison position for Aespa. Congratulations.”

You actually sway on your feet. Jimin grabs your arm, her eyes wide and questioning. You just stare at her, speechless, a slow, disbelieving grin spreading across your face. You manage to stammer out a “Thank you, I accept!” to Ms. Kim, who tells you HR will be in touch with the contract and start date details.

As soon as you hang up, Jimin is practically bouncing. “You got it?! You actually got the job?!”

You nod, still in shock, then burst out laughing. “I got the job! Holy shit, Jimin, I actually got the job!”

“I told you!” she exclaims, throwing her arms around you in a spontaneous, ecstatic hug. You hug her back, lifting her off the ground slightly, both of you laughing like idiots in the middle of an SM Entertainment hallway. When you finally set her down, you look at her, your heart full. “Thank you, Jimin. Seriously. This… this is because of you. I owe you big time.”

She waves her hand dismissively, but her smile is radiant. “You owed me for that time I covered for you when you broke Mrs. Lee’s prize-winning bonsai tree in fifth grade. Now we’re even.” She winks. “Besides, it’s going to be awesome having you here. Just try not to be too starstruck all the time, okay?”

“No promises,” you say, still grinning like a fool. Working at SM. With Jimin. This is actually happening.

—

Your first day is a whirlwind. You’re officially part of Aespa’s core PR team. The office is a hive of activity, a stark contrast to the quiet desperation of your job hunt. You meet your direct supervisor, a sharp, no-nonsense woman named Ms. Park, who walks you through your responsibilities: drafting social media posts, liaising with journalists (under strict supervision, of course), helping coordinate schedules for interviews and appearances, and generally being an all-hands-on-deck support for the group’s public image. It’s a lot to take in, but it’s exciting. You’re actually doing PR, not just theorizing about it in a classroom. And the best part? Your desk is in the same wing as Aespa’s dedicated team rooms. You can hear snippets of their music, see them occasionally passing in the hallways. It’s surreal.

During a much-needed lunch break, you’re trying to decipher the SM cafeteria menu when Jimin appears at your elbow, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Lost, newbie?” she teases.

“Completely,” you admit. “This place is a maze. And I think I accidentally ordered fermented skate for lunch.”

Jimin laughs, shaking her head. “Rookie mistake. Come on, I’ll show you the good stuff. And then there are some people I want you to meet.”

She leads you through the bustling cafeteria to a slightly quieter corner where three other girls are already seated, chatting animatedly. Your breath catches. Ningning. Giselle. Winter. The Aespa. In the flesh. Eating bibimbap.

Jimin grins, pulling you forward. “Girls, here he is. He’s the new PR liaison for our team. And also my super old, super dorky childhood friend.”

All three of them look up, their expressions ranging from curious to friendly.

Ningning, with bright, expressive eyes, offers a wide smile. “Oh, you’re the friend Jimin’s been talking about! Welcome to the chaos! I’m Ning Yizhuo.” Her energy is infectious.

Giselle, looking effortlessly chic even in casual clothes, gives you a cool, appraising nod. “Hey. Aeri Uchinaga. Or Giselle, whichever you prefer. Nice to finally meet you. Jimin’s been… enthusiastic about you joining.”

Winter, with her softer, almost ethereal beauty, offers a shy smile. “Hi. I’m Kim Minjeong. It’s nice to have you on the team.”

You manage to stammer out hellos, feeling completely out of your depth. You’re shaking hands with idols, people you’ve seen on giant screens and in glossy magazines. And they’re just… eating lunch. Talking. Laughing. It’s the most normal, yet utterly abnormal, situation you’ve ever been in.

The conversation is surprisingly easy. They ask you about yourself, where you’re from, how you know Jimin. You keep your answers vague about the ‘how you know Jimin’ part, sticking to the ‘childhood friends’ line. They talk about their upcoming schedule, a new music video concept, the usual idol banter. They’re all incredibly nice, welcoming, and you find yourself relaxing, actually enjoying their company. It’s still hard to reconcile these friendly, down-to-earth girls with the powerhouse performers they are on stage.

After lunch, as you’re heading back to your desk, Jimin falls into step beside you.

“So? What did you think?” she asks. “They’re pretty cool, right?”

“Yeah,” you say, still a little dazed. “They’re… amazing. And this whole thing is still kind of blowing my mind, to be honest. Working here, meeting them, seeing you…”

She bumps your shoulder playfully. “See? Told you it would be fun. It’s really good to have you here. Like, really good.” There’s an undercurrent to her words, a warmth that makes your chest feel tight.

“It’s good to be here, Jimin,” you reply. You look at her, and her presence so close to you makes you feel a mix of strange sensations; your childhood friend, now a global superstar, who somehow pulled strings to get you a job at one of the biggest entertainment companies in the world, just so you could be close. The thought is overwhelming, terrifying, and exhilarating all at once.

The dynamic between you is already shifting, the old, forgotten feelings bubbling closer to the surface now that you’re in her orbit again. And as you walk back to your new desk, you wonder if she is also feeling the same way as you.

—

It’s been a couple of weeks since you officially became Junior PR and Communications Liaison for Aespa, and that initial feeling (the one that hit you walking back to your desk after Jimin’s introduction to her members, that premonition of everything changing) hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s intensified.

You try to shove it down, to compartmentalize. You’re here to work, to prove Ms. Park, your sharp-as-a-tack supervisor, right for hiring you (even if Jimin’s recommendation was the battering ram that got your resume through the door). You spend your days buried in spreadsheets tracking social media engagement, drafting press release snippets that get dissected and reassembled ten times over, and fetching coffee more often than you’d care to admit. It’s grunt work, mostly, the bottom rung of the PR ladder, but it’s real. You’re in the game. And every so often, you catch a glimpse of the glittering prize: a quick, positive comment from Ms. Park on a draft, a nod of approval from the senior team members, the quiet satisfaction of a task completed efficiently.

Your attempts to maintain an air of cool professionalism around Jimin are… a work in progress. A fucking daily battle, if you’re being honest with yourself. She, on the other hand, seems to have no such internal conflict. Jimin is clearly, unequivocally, incandescently happy you’re there. It’s in the way her eyes light up when she spots you across the bustling open-plan office, the way she makes a beeline for your desk pretending to need a paperclip or ask about a non-existent email, her shoulder brushing yours a little too long as she leans in. It’s in the extra-bright "Morning!" that cuts through the general office murmur, often accompanied by a smuggled pastry from some high-end bakery she “just happened to pass.”

You try to reciprocate with a polite, colleague-appropriate smile and a "Morning, Jimin-ssi," emphasizing the honorific, a subtle reminder of the professional context. Sometimes. Other times, when she winks, or her smile is just for you, that old, familiar warmth floods your chest, and "Jimin-ah" slips out before you can catch it, a relic from a time before honorifics and idol personas mattered between you two. Her answering grin on those occasions is like a shot of pure sunshine, potent and dangerously addictive.

The other Aespa members are great. Ningning often swings by your desk to ask about some new Western slang she’s heard or to show you funny videos on her phone. She’s easy to talk to, her curiosity genuine, and you find yourself quickly falling into a comfortable banter with her. Giselle is cooler, more reserved initially, but possesses a dry wit that catches you off guard and makes you laugh out loud. She’s sharp, observant, and you get the feeling not much gets past her. Winter is quieter, often observing with a gentle smile, but when she does speak, it’s thoughtful and kind. You make a point of being equally friendly and professional with all of them, mindful of your role. You’re part of their team, here to support them, not to be a distraction or play favorites.

It's during one of these interactions with Ningning, about a week into your third week, that you notice it for the first time. You’re both hunched over your monitor, Ningning giggling as you try to explain the nuances of a particularly baffling English meme that’s gone viral. You’re leaning back in your chair, pointing at the screen, and she’s close, peering over your shoulder, her hair tickling your ear. It's an innocent, work-adjacent moment.

"Ah! So that's what it means!" Ningning exclaims, clapping her hands together. "Okay, okay, I get it now. You have a future as an official idol translator."

You chuckle. "Modesty aside, I am really well versed in the nuances of the English language, especially when it comes to memes."

"Apparently!”

The weeks bleed into a month, then two. You’re no longer the wide-eyed newbie fumbling with the coffee machine or getting lost on the way to the third-floor dance studios. You’ve found your rhythm in the relentless pulse of SM Entertainment. Your PR drafts for Aespa are getting fewer red marks from Ms. Park, you’ve memorized the building’s labyrinthine layout (mostly), and you actually feel like you’re contributing something more than just an extra body in meetings. You’ve even started to differentiate between the dozen slightly different shades of black that seem to constitute 90% of the staff’s wardrobe.

The other members of Aespa have become familiar, friendly faces. You’re careful, always. Professionalism is your mantra. You’re staff. They’re idols. But in those stolen moments, the casual chats in the quieter corners of the building, a genuine camaraderie is forming.

Jimin, though… Jimin is another story. She’s undeniably, overtly thrilled to have you around. Her smiles are brighter when directed at you, her laughter louder. She seeks you out for “work-related questions” that could have easily been answered by anyone else, her hand lingering a fraction too long on your arm when she makes a point. She brings you your favorite coffee "just because she was passing by the good place." While a part of you, the part that still remembers sweaty palms and a racing heart from your teenage years, basks in that focused attention, the professional, adult part of you is on high alert.

You’ve seen the glances. The whispers that die down when you approach a group of staff members. The subtle, almost imperceptible raising of eyebrows from some of the senior managers when Jimin’s interactions with you are a little too familiar, a little too warm for a global superstar and a junior PR guy. Idols, especially female idols at the top of their game, aren’t supposed to be this close, this visibly chummy, with male staff. It’s a dangerous line, and you’re terrified she’s either blissfully unaware of it or, worse, doesn't care. You try to dial back your own responses, keeping things friendly but more reserved, adding the honorific "Jimin-ssi" more consistently, hoping she’ll take the hint. Sometimes she does, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes before her professional mask slips on. Other times, she just bulldozes past it with that radiant grin, leaving you feeling like you’re walking a tightrope over a pit of vipers.

Her thing with the other members… that’s new. And it’s weird, kinda unsettling if you’re being honest with yourself. It’s never anything, like, obvious. She never says anything. But you see it.

Or you think you do.

It’s in the little things. Like when you’re cracking up with Ningning, sharing some stupid meme, and you catch a glimpse of Karina out of the corner of your eye. There’s a flicker of something in her expression, a barely-there tightening around her mouth before it smooths out into a small, polite smile. It’s so fast you question if you even saw it.

Or when Giselle gets all close, leaning into your space to show you a video on her phone, and Karina’s eyes just seem to… stick. They linger on you for a beat too long, her gaze heavy in a way you can’t quite decipher before she blinks and looks away, suddenly engrossed in her own phone.

Maybe you’re just making it up, projecting or something. But then she’ll walk over when you and Winter are in the middle of a conversation, laughing and vibing, and it’s like the temperature drops a few degrees. Her posture shifts, just a fraction, but she seems

One late afternoon, you find yourself in one of the smaller, less-used lounges on Aespa’s floor. It’s a comfortable space, rarely occupied, with a couple of plush sofas, a low table littered with old magazines, and a window overlooking a surprisingly green courtyard. You’d ducked in to escape the main office buzz for a few minutes, intending to just scroll through your phone and decompress. Ningning had found you first, plopping down beside you to complain good-naturedly about a particularly grueling choreography session. Soon after, Giselle and Winter had wandered in, drawn by Ningning’s animated voice, and the three of them were now comfortably arrayed on the sofas opposite you.

You’re in the middle of recounting a truly disastrous blind date your college roommate had dragged you on years ago (a story involving a mistaken identity, an escaped ferret, and a very public argument with a mime). You’re hamming it up, using voices, expansive gestures, and the girls are in stitches. Ningning is practically falling off the sofa, tears of laughter streaming down her face. Giselle, usually so composed, is clutching her stomach, her shoulders shaking. Even Winter keeps asking you for more details about the story, and for a moment, you forget the pressures of the job, the complexities of your situation with Jimin, everything. You’re just a guy, shooting the shit with friends.

"...so then the mime starts gesturing wildly, right? And my roommate, bless his clueless heart, thinks the ferret belongs to the mime and is trying to give it back!" you say, trying to catch your breath between laughs. "And the mime is getting more and more agitated because, apparently, he's deathly afraid of rodents..."

Ningning lets out another shriek of laughter. "No! Oh my god, a mime afraid of ferrets! That’s too much!"

Giselle wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. "Okay, that’s actually the funniest thing I’ve heard all week. Poor ferret, though. And poor mime!"

"The ferret was fine!" you assure them, grinning. "Made a clean getaway into a nearby bakery. The mime needed therapy, probably."

Winter shakes her head, still chuckling softly. "You always have the craziest stories."

"It's a gift," you say with a mock bow, eliciting another round of giggles. "Or a curse. Depends on whether you're the one living through it or just hearing about it."

It’s at this moment, surrounded by their genuine laughter, that the door to the lounge creaks open. You don’t even register it at first, too caught up in the shared mirth. But then a shadow falls across the room, and a new voice, cool and distinct, cuts through the air.

"Having fun?"

Your laughter catches in your throat. The shift in atmosphere is instantaneous, like a cold front rolling in. Ningning, Giselle, and Winter all visibly react; their smiles falter, their postures subtly stiffen. You turn, your heart giving a sudden, uncomfortable thump against your ribs.

Jimin is standing in the doorway, one hand resting on the doorframe. She’s dressed in sleek black leggings and an oversized hoodie, her practice gear, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail. Her expression is unreadable, a carefully blank mask, but her eyes… her eyes are fixed on you, sharp and intense. There’s no smile, no warmth, just that unwavering, assessing stare.

You scramble to your feet, a little too quickly. "Oh, hey, Jimin-ssi. We were just, uh..."

Ningning, recovering first, offers a slightly strained smile. "Jimin-unnie! We were just listening to his hilarious story."

"Yeah, unnie," Giselle adds, her voice a little less effusive than it was moments before. "He was telling us about his old roommate’s disastrous date."

Jimin’s gaze doesn’t leave yours. She takes a slow step into the room, her presence suddenly dominating the small space.

"A disastrous date?" Jimin repeats, her voice still devoid of any discernible emotion. Her eyes finally flick towards the other girls, then back to you. "Sounds captivating. You seem to have them quite entertained."

There’s an edge to her words, a subtle accusation. You can feel a prickle of sweat on your palms. This is exactly the kind of situation you’ve been dreading, her finding you in a moment of unguarded ease with her members, their laughter clearly for you, excluding her.

Winter shifts uncomfortably on the sofa, her earlier smile completely gone. Ningning is fiddling with the drawstrings of her hoodie, avoiding eye contact. Giselle maintains a neutral expression, but her eyes dart between you and Jimin. You feel like you're under a fucking microscope, and Jimin is the one holding the lens, her gaze burning into you, searching for… something.

"Well," you begin, clearing your throat, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet. You force a casualness you don't feel, gesturing vaguely towards the door. "I should probably, uh, get going. Got that report Ms. Park wanted… needs finishing." It’s a flimsy excuse; the report isn’t due until tomorrow afternoon, but escape is paramount.

You offer a quick, slightly strained smile to the other girls, who are still looking like they wish the floor would swallow them. "Was fun chatting, though. See you guys later."

Ningning manages a small, "Bye." Giselle gives a curt nod, her eyes still flickering towards Jimin. Winter offers a tiny, almost imperceptible wave.

As you turn to leave, Jimin’s voice stops you again. "I'll walk with you."

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. Your mind screams No, absolutely fucking not, bad idea, abort mission! but your mouth, like a traitor, says, "Oh. Uh, sure. Okay." Because what else can you say? Arguing would only make it worse, draw more attention, confirm whatever suspicions are brewing in her mind.

The walk from the lounge down the hallway towards the main office area feels like miles. The silence stretches between you, taut and uncomfortable. You can feel her presence beside you, a subtle tension in the air that wasn't there before. You risk a quick glance at her. Her expression is still set, jaw tight, eyes fixed straight ahead. You can practically hear the gears turning in her head. You brace yourself.

Finally, as you round a corner into a less populated corridor, she speaks, her voice low.

"You and the others seem to be getting along really well."

It’s a neutral observation on the surface, but you hear the undercurrent. You try to keep your own tone light, even. "Yeah, they’re great. Easy to talk to." You pause, then add, trying to steer the conversation onto safer ground, "Isn't that good? They're your members, your friends. I'm your friend, working with your team. It’s good that we all… you know, get along."

Jimin doesn’t look at you. Her gaze remains fixed on some indeterminate point down the hallway. "It depends."

"Depends on what?" you ask, afraid of what will come next.

"Depends if you start ditching me for them," she says. "Because lately, it feels like you’re avoiding me."

Your step falters for a split second. "Avoiding you? Jimin, that’s… that’s not true." The denial is automatic, but even as you say it, a flash of guilt hits you. You have been more reserved, more careful.

She finally turns her head, her eyes, dark and intense, meeting yours. There’s a flicker of hurt in them that makes your chest ache. "Isn't it? What about yesterday, in the cafeteria? I waved, you just nodded and hurried off with your tray. And Monday, when I asked if you wanted to grab a coffee after that marketing meeting, you said you were swamped. I saw you five minutes later scrolling through your phone at your desk." Her voice isn't accusatory now; it's quieter, tinged with a genuine bewilderment and that raw hurt. She remembers specific instances, and fuck, she’s not wrong. You were being short, deliberately creating distance.

Your throat feels tight. You glance quickly up and down the corridor. It’s relatively empty, just a couple of junior staffers disappearing around a distant corner. This isn't a conversation for public consumption. You stop, turning to face her more directly, lowering your own voice.

"Okay, look," you begin, trying to choose your words carefully. "Can we just… can we be real for a second?"

She watches you, waiting, her arms crossed over her chest now, a defensive posture.

"Jimin," you say, your voice earnest, "you know I’m happy to be here. And I’m happy you’re here, obviously. But you have to understand… this isn't like before. You’re Karina. You’re one of the biggest idols in the world. I’m… just a guy who works for the company. Your PR guy, technically."

Her brow furrows slightly, a hint of confusion. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It has everything to do with it," you insist. "Don’t you see how it looks? How we look? You being so… openly friendly with me, all the time? The little extra things, the way you seek me out? People notice that stuff, Jimin. Staff talk. Hell, fans would lose their minds if they saw half of it. This industry… it’s brutal. One wrong rumor, one misinterpreted photo, and it could be disastrous. For you, especially. For Aespa."

You run a hand through your hair, feeling the stress of it all. "I haven’t been avoiding you, Jimin. I’ve been trying to be careful. Trying to protect you. Trying to protect us from… from that. From the bullshit that could come from it. When I seem distant, or 'short' as you put it, it's not because I want to be. It's because I’m trying to keep a professional boundary in public, for both our sakes. I’m worried about your career, about you getting dragged into some stupid scandal because people misunderstand."

You let out a breath, the words tumbling out, a weight lifting slightly now that it’s said. You search her face, hoping she understands, hoping she doesn’t see it as a rejection.

Jimin stares at you, her expression slowly shifting as your words sink in. The defensiveness in her posture softens. The intensity in her eyes dims, then something akin to… embarrassment. Her gaze drops from yours to the floor, a faint blush creeping up her neck, painting the apples of her cheeks. She uncrosses her arms, fiddling with the sleeve of her hoodie.

When she finally looks up, her eyes are wide, a little watery, and full of a vulnerability that punches you right in the gut.

"Oh," she says. "Oh my god. You’re… you’re right." She winces, biting her lip. "I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking about it like that. At all." She shakes her head, looking genuinely mortified. "I'm so sorry. I’ve been… God, I’ve been acting like such an idiot. Paranoid." She lets out a shaky little laugh that has no humor in it. "I don’t even know why I’ve been like this. So… clingy or weird. It’s just…" She trails off, looking lost.

Seeing her like this, so exposed and contrite, melts away any lingering frustration you felt. All you want to do is reassure her.

"Hey," you say softly, taking a hesitant step closer. "It’s okay. Seriously. Don't beat yourself up about it." You offer a small, gentle smile. "It’s a weird situation for both of us, right? We’re figuring it out."

You pause, then add, you add, your tone surprisingly gentle, imbued with all the sincerity you feel, "And for what it’s worth, Jimin… you know how much I like having you around. How much I like you. Being near you, talking to you… it’s the best part of this whole crazy thing. I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you. I haven’t forgotten that. Not for a second."

Her eyes, still glistening, meet yours. The blush on her cheeks deepens, but there’s a flicker of relief, of gratitude, in her gaze now. "Thank you," she murmurs. "For… for saying that. And for being honest. And for, you know, looking out for me even when I’m being a dumbass."

"Always," you say, and the word feels solid, true.

A comfortable silence settles between you for a moment. "So," you say, breaking the quiet gently, "how about this? To make up for my perceived avoidance, and your… non-dumbass-ness…" You grin, and she lets out a small, watery chuckle. "Later this week, or whenever you’re free from practice and schedules, we do something. Properly. Just you and me. No work, no office, no other members. Like old times, but… new times."

Her face lights up, a genuine, brilliant smile chasing away the last of her embarrassment. It’s the Jimin you remember, the one whose happiness is infectious. "Just us?"

"Just us," you confirm, your own heart feeling a little lighter, a hopeful anticipation bubbling up.

"I’d really like that," she says. "A lot." She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes sparkling again, this time not with suspicion, but with something that looks a lot like the excitement you’re suddenly feeling too.

—

The relief that flooded you after that honest, vulnerable conversation with Jimin in the hallway lingers for days. It’s like a heavy weight you didn’t even realize you were carrying has been lifted. There’s a new lightness in your interactions, a shared understanding that makes the stolen glances and brief smiles across the busy office feel less fraught with anxiety and more like thrilling little secrets.

True to her word, before you part ways that day, Jimin’s eyes sparkle with that familiar mischief.

"So, about that 'just us' time," she says, leaning against the wall, a playful smirk on her lips. "My place. Dinner. I’ll cook. Don’t look so surprised, I can actually make more than instant ramen."

You raise an eyebrow, feigning skepticism. "Oh really? Color me intrigued. Are we talking a five-star gourmet experience or something that might involve a fire extinguisher?"

She swats your arm playfully. "Hey! I’ll have you know my kimchi jjigae is legendary. Or, at least, edible. You in?"

The thought of it: Jimin, cooking for you, in her apartment, away from the relentless scrutiny of SM, it feels intimate, a significant step. "Absolutely in," you say. "When?"

She pulls out her phone, already scrolling through her calendar app, a frown of concentration on her face. "Hmm, schedule’s insane next week… What about… Friday? A week from today? I think I have that evening clear. For now, anyway."

"Friday it is," you confirm, a grin spreading across your face. "I’ll even bring dessert. To, you know, potentially counteract the legendary kimchi jjigae."

"You wound me! But deal." She winks, then with a quick, "Gotta run, practice!" she’s off, leaving you feeling a ridiculous sense of anticipation for a dinner that’s still a full week away.

The following days pass in a blur of work, punctuated by those small, shared moments with Jimin. A quick coffee break where you actually sit together for ten minutes, talking about nothing and everything. Her dropping by your desk with a new song recommendation, leaning in close so you can share an earbud, her hair brushing your cheek. The professional boundaries are still there, especially when others are around, but the fear and awkwardness have been replaced by a conspiratorial warmth. You’re both more careful, more aware, but the connection feels stronger, deeper.

Friday arrives, and you spend most of the day in a state of low-level excitement, replaying your outfit choices in your head, wondering what her apartment is like, what it will feel like to just be with her, without the roles of "idol" and "staff." You even bought an expensive cake from that fancy bakery she likes.

Then, around 3 PM, your work phone buzzes with a message from Jimin:

NOOOO! I’m SOOOO sorry! Next week's photoshoot was brought forward to today. I'll be tied up until late. They just told us. I was really looking forward to it. Stupid schedules. Can we reschedule? Please say yes!

Disappointment settles in your chest, but you push it down. This is idol life. This is what you signed up for, being in her orbit.

You text: Of course. No worries at all, totally understand. We’ll find another night. Good luck with the shoot! You’ll kill it.

You’re the best. Raincheck for sure!!! Next week? I’ll make it up to you!

But "next week" turns into a series of near misses. An unexpected variety show filming crops up for her. A last-minute fan sign event gets added. You have a late night at the office handling a minor PR flare-up for another group. The universe, it seems, is conspiring against your private dinner. The expensive cake sits in your fridge, a sad, delicious monument to your thwarted plans.

And as the days turn into another week, something else starts to creep into your awareness, a subtle, unwelcome shift in your own internal landscape. You’re part of aespa’s PR team, which means you’re privy to schedules, collaborations, and the general buzz around them. You see Jimin interacting with other people in the company, naturally. She’s the leader, charismatic and friendly. It’s her job, her personality.

But it’s her interactions with some of the male idols that start to… prickle.

It begins subtly. You’re in a meeting discussing upcoming cross-promotional content, and one of the senior members from a popular SM boy group, a guy known for his sharp looks and easy charm, casually mentions how he and Jimin were just laughing about a shared embarrassing trainee story the other day in the practice rooms. A tiny, almost imperceptible muscle tightens in your jaw. They just happened to be in the practice rooms? Laughing? You tell yourself it’s nothing. Colleagues. Friends.

Then, a few days later, you’re walking past one of the recording studios and you see Jimin through the soundproof glass, headphones on, talking animatedly with a well-known producer, also male, also handsome. He leans in close to adjust something on the mixing board, his hand brushing hers. She throws her head back and laughs at something he says, a bright, unrestrained sound. The knot in your stomach tightens a little more. You find yourself lingering a second too long, watching them, a sour taste creeping into your mouth. You force yourself to walk away, chiding yourself internally. She’s working. He’s a producer. This is normal. Get a grip.

The worst is when you’re scrolling through internal staff memos or even semi-public social media feeds from other idols. A candid behind-the-scenes shot from a music show, and there’s Jimin in the background, deep in conversation with a member of a rival boy group, both of them smiling. A congratulatory post from another male idol for am Aespa’s latest achievement, with a throwback photo of him and Jimin making silly faces from some past event. Each instance is like a small papercut, insignificant on its own, but collectively, they start to bleed.

You start to question yourself, this ugly feeling coiling in your gut. Am I actually… jealous? The thought is mortifying. You have no right. You’re her friend, her colleague. You buried that teenage crush years ago, didn’t you? This is different. This is… possessiveness. It’s irrational, and you hate it. You tell yourself it’s just protectiveness, the same kind you talked to her about, you’re worried about her image. But who are you kidding? That’s bullshit. This isn’t about her image. This is about that tight, angry clench in your chest when you see another guy make her laugh that specific way, the way her eyes crinkle at the corners. The way she only laughs with you. Or so you thought.

You try to subdue it, to crush the feeling down with logic. She’s an idol. Her circle is full of other idols, producers, industry people. Male, female, it doesn’t matter. She’s allowed to have friends. You are being a fucking psycho. You try to focus on your work, burying yourself in spreadsheets and press drafts, but your gaze keeps drifting, your ears straining for any mention of her name, your mind replaying those brief, observed moments, dissecting them, looking for… you don’t even know what. Reassurance? Confirmation of your fears?

This slow burn of jealousy is exhausting. It simmers beneath the surface of your carefully constructed professionalism, a toxic undercurrent poisoning your thoughts. You haven’t said anything to Jimin. You haven’t changed your outward behavior towards her, not in any way she’d notice, you hope. You’re still friendly, still supportive, still the guy she relies on. But inside, you’re a mess, increasingly tangled in a knot of feelings you don’t want and can’t seem to shake, this unwelcome, undeniable jealousy taking root, growing stronger with each passing day, with each shared smile she gives to someone who isn’t you.

—

Most of the nine-to-fivers have already made their escape, and even the usual thrum of idol activity has quieted to a muted pulse. You’re tucked away in a small, blessedly empty meeting room on one of the upper floors, nursing a lukewarm cup of instant coffee. You’re supposed to be reviewing social media analytics (riveting stuff, truly) but mostly you’re just staring out the window at the sprawling grey expanse of Seoul, lost in the delightful internal monologue of your own burgeoning, and entirely irrational, jealousy. It’s becoming quite the hobby, this mental self-flagellation.

The click of the door opening barely registers until a familiar, melodic voice cuts through your brooding.

"Hiding out?"

You nearly jump out of your skin, sloshing coffee onto a stack of decidedly unimportant papers. Turning, you see Jimin leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile playing on her lips. And just like that, the carefully constructed wall of your professional cynicism crumbles into pathetic, lovestruck dust.

She’s not in practice gear today. She’s wearing a simple, cream-colored knit sweater that looks ridiculously soft and some dark, well-fitted jeans. Her hair is down, cascading over her shoulders in those perfect, effortless waves that probably take a team of stylists two hours to achieve. Her makeup is minimal, making her look younger, softer, more like the Jimin you knew before she became Karina, global phenomenon and recurring star of your anxiety dreams.

"Hey," you manage, trying for nonchalant and probably landing somewhere near 'startled chipmunk.' "Didn't hear you come in."

She pushes off the doorframe and ambles further into the room, her presence instantly making the generic corporate space feel… smaller, somehow. More charged. "Sorry to interrupt your very important… paper-staring session."

"It's a critical part of my process," you say, attempting a dry wit that she, thankfully, seems to appreciate with a small laugh. "Deep contemplation of spreadsheet ergonomics."

"Right." She perches on the edge of the ridiculously oversized conference table, her legs crossed casually. "Look, I just wanted to say sorry if I’ve been a bit MIA the last few days. Schedules have been… well, you know. Insane."

"Ah, the glamorous life," you quip, though the relief at her explanation is a palpable thing easing the tension in your shoulders. So, it wasn’t you. Or, not just you. Probably. "No worries. Figured you were off conquering another continent or something equally mundane."

She smiles, a genuine, tired-around-the-edges smile. "Something like that. Endless meetings about tour logistics, new endorsement shoots, trying to learn choreography when every muscle in your body screams for rest." She sighs, then her gaze softens as it meets yours. "It’s just… been a lot. Haven't had much chance to just… breathe. Or talk."

"I get it," you say, and you do. The pace here is relentless. "You look…" You pause, searching for the right word, because 'good' feels like an insult to whatever cosmic alignment is happening with her features right now. "You look beautiful today, Jimin." The words are out before you can second-guess them, honest and a little too raw. You quickly try to backtrack, to lessen the impact, lest you sound like a complete lovesick fool (which, of course, you are). "I mean, you always look beautiful, obviously. It’s kind of your brand. But today… there’s something. Extra. You’re glowing. Or maybe it’s just the cheap office lighting playing tricks on my caffeine-addled eyes."

A delicate blush, the color of a summer peach, rises on her cheeks. She ducks her head for a moment, a shy gesture that feels impossibly endearing. "Thank you," she says softly, looking up at you through her lashes. The directness of her gaze, coupled with that blush. "That’s… really nice to hear. Especially today."

You should probably say something about those analytics. Or the weather. Anything but stare at her like she’s the only source of oxygen in the room.

Then, her expression shifts. A wistful, almost faraway look enters her eyes. "Hey," she says, her tone quieter now, thoughtful. "Do you remember… do you remember that time, we must have been, what, thirteen? When we biked all the way out to old Haeundae beach, even though our parents would have skinned us alive if they knew?"

The question catches you off guard. The sudden shift to such a specific, distant memory throws you. But of course, you remember. How could you forget? Your mind immediately conjures the scene: the reckless thrill of that forbidden adventure, the salty spray on your faces, the cheap, borrowed bikes threatening to fall apart beneath you.

"Yeah," you say, a slow smile spreading across your face as the details flood back. "With those ridiculously ancient bikes we 'borrowed' from your uncle’s shed? The ones where the brakes only worked if you prayed really, really hard?"

Her answering smile is luminous. "Exactly! And then that insane storm blew in out of nowhere. One minute it was sunny, the next it was like the sky just… cracked open."

"Torrential," you agree, a chuckle escaping you. "We were soaked to the bone in about ten seconds. I thought my sneakers would never dry out."

"And we found that tiny, busted-up old bus stop shelter way up on the coastal road," she continues, her eyes sparkling with the recollection, lost in the memory with you. "It was leaking, there were probably spiders the size of my fist in there, but it felt like a palace."

"We were freezing," you remember, "shivering like crazy. And all we had to eat was that one squashed packet of stale crackers I’d forgotten in my backpack."

Jimin laughs. "And we split it, didn’t we? Crouched in that damp, smelly shelter, rain hammering down outside, sharing those awful crackers like it was a feast." She looks at you then. "We talked for hours, waiting for it to stop. About everything. Stupid stuff, serious stuff."

"Our grand plans to escape our boring town," you supply, the memory so vivid now it feels like you could reach out and touch it. "Your dreams of being famous, my dreams of… well, probably something equally ridiculous I’ve thankfully forgotten."

"It wasn't ridiculous," she says softly, her gaze holding yours. "It was just… us. Just talking. It felt like we were the only two people in the world for a few hours."

You know what she means. It was more than just getting caught in the rain. It was a moment of unvarnished connection, of shared vulnerability, of feeling utterly, completely understood by another person, a feeling so rare and precious, especially at that tumultuous age. You remember the damp chill, yes, but more clearly, you remember the warmth of her shoulder pressed against yours as you huddled together, the easy rhythm of your conversation, the feeling that, for a little while, all the complexities of the world had fallen away, leaving just the two of you and the roaring storm.

"I still think about that day sometimes," Jimin says, her eyes still locked on yours, searching, questioning. "A lot, actually."

Your carefully constructed composure, already teetering, threatens to shatter. All the air seems to have been sucked out of the small room. The irony isn't lost on you; here you are, a grown man, unraveled by a shared memory of stale crackers and a rainstorm from over a decade ago. Pathetic, really.

"Why?" The question slips out, hushed, almost involuntary. Your mind is racing. Why now? Why bring this up? What does it mean?

Jimin holds your gaze for another long moment, and you can see a universe of unspoken emotions swirling in the depths of her dark eyes. Then, she looks away, her gaze drifting towards the window, towards the distant, indifferent city. A tiny, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips.

"Actually, I don't know," she says, so quietly you almost miss it. "I really don't know."

It's an answer that's not an answer, a perfectly crafted piece of ambiguity designed, it seems, to send your already overthinking brain into a full-blown spiral. You watch her, this enigma you’ve known your whole life, and feel a familiar, frustrating helplessness. All those years, all that shared history, and she can still reduce you to a state of dumbfounded confusion with three little words.

She pushes herself off the conference table, the movement fluid and graceful. "Well," she says, her voice regaining a sliver of its usual brightness, though her eyes still hold that distant, thoughtful quality. "Maybe it’s better if I go. Don’t want to keep bothering you with… ancient history. And I actually do have that choreography meeting. Can't keep the dance monster waiting."

She turns and walks towards the door, each step feeling like a countdown timer on your chance to say something, anything, to pierce through this sudden, unbearable tension.

She reaches the door, her hand on the knob. It’s now or never, brainiac.

"Jimin," you call out.

She pauses, her back still to you, hand frozen on the doorknob. This is it. Your moment to say something profound, something that clarifies everything, something that bridges the gap of years and fame and unspoken feelings. Your mind races, a frantic slideshow of possibilities. 'What did you mean?' 'Do you feel it too?' 'That day meant something to me too, you know.'

And then, like a cold splash of reality, the internal killjoy (the one that pays the bills and reminds you of your precarious position) pipes up: She’s an idol, you idiot. Global superstar. You’re staff. This is how you lose your job and become a cautionary tale. Don’t be a walking, talking HR violation.

The grand, sweeping declaration dies on your lips, replaced by a pathetic little puff of air. When she finally turns her head slightly, looking back at you with a questioning gaze, all that comes out is a lame, "It's… uh… nothing. Never mind.”

A small, enigmatic smile plays on her lips. It’s impossible to tell if it’s knowing, amused, or just polite. With Jimin, it could be all three. "Okay," she says softly. "See you around."

And then she’s gone, the door clicking shut behind her with a gentle finality, leaving you alone once more with your lukewarm coffee, your useless analytics, and the fresh, agonizing weight of all the things you didn't say.

Hours later, the office has thinned out almost completely. You’re packing up your bag, ready to call it a day and go home to stare meaningfully at your ceiling, when Ningning bounces over to your desk.

"Heading out?" she asks, perching on the corner of your desk like an overgrown, incredibly cheerful pixie.

"Yep. Day is done. My brain feels like overcooked jjigae."

She giggles. "Mine too! We had vocal training for three hours straight. My throat is screaming." She leans in a little. "So, work stuff aside… how are things?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Things? Vague. But… okay, I guess? Survived another day in the K-Pop trenches. You?"

"Good, good!" she says, then her eyes get that tell-tale sparkle of curiosity you’re beginning to recognize all too well. "Actually… I was wondering. About, you know…" She gestures vaguely between herself and an imaginary Jimin. "You two."

Ah. Here we go. The subtle interrogation phase. You try to keep your expression neutral, a Herculean effort. "Us two? Do you mean Jimin? We’re… old friends. Colleagues. As previously established in multiple official and unofficial briefings."

Ningning tilts her head, her smile a little too knowing. "Riiight. Old friends. But, like… how old? What’s the real story there? Unnie can be… a little selective with details sometimes."

Before you can even begin to formulate a suitably evasive yet charmingly informative answer, footsteps approach. Giselle and Winter appear, looking equally ready to bolt for the day.

"What are you two whispering about over here?" Giselle asks. Winter offers a quiet smile from beside her.

Ningning beams at them. "Perfect timing! I was just asking about him," she points a thumb at you, "and our dear leader. The true story."

Giselle’s perfectly sculpted eyebrow arches. "Oh? The origin story? Spill it. We’ve only heard Jimin-unnie’s version, which, let's be honest, is probably heavily romanticized."

Winter chuckles softly. "She did mention something about a very dramatic rainstorm once."

Now all three of them are looking at you, expectant and clearly ready for some prime gossip, or at least, your side of the folklore. You’re surrounded. There’s no escape.

"Okay, okay," you say, raising your hands in mock surrender, trying to buy yourself some thinking time. "There’s nothing really interesting in our story. Mostly just a lot of questionable teenage fashion choices and an unhealthy obsession with the same five boy bands."

"Details, details!" Ningning urges, leaning forward. "What were you like in school? Was she always… Karina-like? Or was she a secret dork?"

"Definitely a secret dork," you say, a genuine smile touching your lips as you think back.

This gets a laugh from all of them.

"And you?" Giselle prompts. "What was your role in this dynamic duo?"

"Chief instigator of dumb ideas, probably," you admit. "And expert in procuring illicit snacks for movie marathons. We spent a ridiculous amount of time watching terrible action movies and critiquing them like we were seasoned film critics." You share a few more harmless anecdotes: the time you both tried to bake a cake that ended up looking like a volcanic eruption, the disastrous school play where you both forgot your lines, the endless summers spent biking around the city, dreaming of bigger things. It’s easy to talk about the past, the safe, sepia-toned memories. It makes the present, with all its unspoken tensions and Jimin’s idol status, feel momentarily distant.

As you’re talking, weaving these tales of your shared youth, you see your opening. It’s a long shot, and your attempt at casualness will probably be about as convincing as a politician's promise, but you have to try.

"Speaking of Jimin," you say, aiming for a nonchalant tone that you’re pretty sure misses the mark by a country mile, "she’s, you know, so busy and in the public eye all the time. Must be tough to… have a personal life. Is she… seeing anyone? Or, you know, hanging out with anyone in particular? Just curious, as a friend. Worried about her, you know. Safety, happiness, all that good stuff."

You try to make it sound like a casual afterthought, a fleeting concern from a dear old platonic pal. You think you almost pulled it off, right up until you see the looks on their faces.

Ningning’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and she exchanges a lightning-fast glance with Giselle. Giselle’s lips twitch, a smirk threatening to break free. Winter just smiles like she knows what's going on in your head. Oh, you are so transparent. They see right through your flimsy "concerned friend" charade.

"Hmm, 'seeing anyone'?" Giselle repeats slowly, drawing out the words. "Nope. Can't say that she is. Unnie's pretty much married to her work these days. And us, of course."

"Yeah," Ningning chimes in, a little too brightly. "No mysterious romantic entanglements that we know of! Our leader is a free agent!"

"Why do you ask?" Winter asks her gaze lifting to meet yours.

"Oh, you know," you say, waving a dismissive hand, trying to project an air of breezy indifference. "Just… she’s an old friend. You worry about your friends, right? Want them to be happy, not get mixed up with… undesirables. Standard friend protocol."

The three of them share another look. This one is longer, more laden with unspoken understanding. It’s the kind of look that says, “Oh, honey, you are so delightfully screwed.”

"Right," Giselle says. "Undesirables. Of course."

Ningning nods vigorously. "Totally. Friend protocol. We get it."

"So," Giselle starts, "all these shared memories, the dorky school days… was there ever, you know, anything more? Between you two back then?"

You can feel the heat rising up your neck. Your brain is frantically sifting through a thousand possible deflections, each one more unconvincing than the last. This is where your PR training truly shines, in the art of saying absolutely nothing while appearing to consider something deeply. A true masterclass in verbal evasion is about to unfold, you can just feel it.

"I mean, the bond between you two is… remarkable," Ningning adds, helpfully twisting the knife. "Unnie was so, so excited when she found out you were coming to work here. Like, beyond normal 'old friend joining the company' excited. More like 'rare Pokémon spotted in the wild' excited."

Giselle snorts delicately. "Eloquent, Ningning. But she’s right. There’s definitely… a vibe."

Just as you’re about to launch into what would undoubtedly be a completely disastrous attempt at a nonchalant denial, a voice cuts through the charged atmosphere.

"There you guys are! I’ve been looking all over for you."

Jimin. Of course. Her timing is, as always, impeccably dramatic. She steps into the lounge, her gaze sweeping over her members, then landing on you, a slight question in her eyes. She’s still in her practice clothes, a light sheen of perspiration on her forehead, making her look both ethereal and remarkably real. The girls, bless their meddling, gossipy hearts, snap into action with the practiced ease of seasoned operatives.

"Oh, hey, Unnie!" Ningning chirps. "We were just… talking."

"About what?" Jimin asks, stepping further into the room, her gaze lingering on you for a fraction of a second longer than strictly necessary. Or maybe you’re just imagining that part. Your imagination has been working overtime lately, particularly where she’s concerned.

"Nothing major," Giselle says smoothly, waving a dismissive hand. "Silly things. Random office gossip. You know how it is." She stands, stretching languidly. "Actually, we should probably head out. It’s getting seriously late.”

"Yeah, same," Ningning agrees, bouncing to her feet. Winter nods, already halfway to the door. "My everything aches."

You seize the opportunity, a drowning man grasping at a life raft made of convenient excuses. "Me too, actually. Long day. Lots of… spreadsheets." You try for a weary, put-upon sigh. You’re not sure it lands.

The girls offer quick goodbyes, a chorus of "See ya!" and "Night, Unnie!" and then they’re gone, leaving you and Jimin standing in the sudden quiet of the empty lounge. She turns to you. "They keeping you entertained?"

"They’re… a force of nature," you admit. "Never a dull moment."

"Tell me about it," she says with a sigh that seems to carry the weight of a thousand schedules. "Well, I guess I should let you escape too." She gestures towards the door. "I’m heading out as well. Want to walk?"

And just like that, you’re accompanying her again, the two of you falling into step as you navigate the increasingly deserted corridors of SM Entertainment. You find yourself acutely aware of the space between you, of the subtle scent of her perfume, of the way her hair catches the low evening light filtering through the hallway windows. It’s all terribly poetic and deeply unhelpful for your already addled state of mind.

As you approach the main lobby, her voice, soft and a little melancholic, breaks the quiet. "Have you ever wondered," she begins, not looking at you, her gaze fixed on the gleaming marble floor, "what might have happened? If… if things had been different? If I hadn’t gone into training when I did, if you hadn’t gone off to study in another country? If we hadn't… you know, gone our separate ways back then?"

The question, so similar to the one that started your recent emotional tailspin with her, catches you off guard. It’s a "what if" laden with years of distance and change, a path untaken, a story unwritten. You glance at her profile, the perfect line of her jaw, the slight furrow in her brow. She looks so much like the fierce, determined girl you knew, yet also like someone entirely new, someone shaped by experiences you can only guess at.

"I don't know," you say honestly, the words feeling inadequate but true. It’s your go-to answer for her profound, soul-searching question, apparently. "It’s… hard to predict those kinds of things, isn’t it? One tiny change back then could have led to a million different todays." You try for a philosophical shrug, as if you ponder alternate timelines on a regular basis. You mostly ponder what to have for dinner.

She nods slowly, still not meeting your eyes. "You’re right. It’s impossible to know." A beat of silence, then she adds, almost to herself, "Still. Sometimes I wonder."

Before you can overthink it, before your internal HR department can issue a cease-and-desist, you find yourself saying, "But, Jimin… whatever those other million todays might have looked like, this one? This is the one where we’re both here. You, me, in this crazy building, against some pretty insane odds when you think about it." You meet her gaze then, hoping she sees the sincerity in yours. "That’s got to be worth something, right?"

A slow smile spreads across her face, a genuine, heart-stoppingly beautiful smile that reaches her eyes and chases away some of the weariness you saw there earlier. "Yeah," she says. "Yeah, I think it is." She finally looks directly at you, and there's a warmth there, a shared acknowledgement of the strange, unlikely thread that still connects you.

"Thank you for saying that."

"Just stating the facts," you reply, though your heart is doing a fair impression of a hummingbird’s wings. You pause, then, emboldened by the moment, you ask, "Are you okay, though? You seem… a little tired." A masterful understatement, considering the grueling life she leads.

She lets out a soft sigh. "Yeah, I’m okay. Just… tired is my default setting these days, I think." She manages a wry smile. "This week has been particularly brutal. But it’s okay. It’s part of it."

"I’ve been seeing it up close, you know," you say, your tone earnest. "You, the girls… the amount of work you all put in, the sheer dedication… it’s actually insane. I had no idea, not really, before I started working here. It’s… genuinely incredible. You’re all amazing." You hesitate, then add, "Just… don’t overdo it, okay? Take care of yourself. Seriously."

Her smile widens, softens. The appreciation in her eyes is unmistakable, and it makes you feel ridiculously warm inside. "Thank you," she says again. "That means a lot. I will. I promise."

You reach the main exit, the cool night air of Seoul beckoning from beyond the glass doors. This feels like another one of those moments, a pause before the story shifts again.

"Well," you say, "my chariot awaits. Or, you know, the subway."

She laughs, a light, easy sound. "Same here. My manager’s probably already sent out a search party." She turns to you, and for a moment, it feels like there’s something more she wants to say, something hovering on the edge of her words. But then she just smiles that enigmatic smile again. "Good night. And… thanks. For the walk. And the concern."

"Anytime," you reply. "Goodnight, Jimin."

And with that, she’s gone, disappearing into the waiting black van that always seems to materialize out of nowhere. You watch her go, a strange mix of hope and confusion and that ever-present, damnably persistent affection swirling inside you.

—

The weekend arrives with all the fanfare of a damp squib. You spend Saturday mostly alternating between staring blankly at your laptop screen, pretending to job-hunt for something that isn’t your current, emotionally hazardous employment, and replaying every single micro-expression Jimin has made in your vicinity for the past two weeks. It’s a productive, well-adjusted way to live, you tell yourself with a hefty dose of irony. You’re bored, tired of your own internal monologue, and a little bit adrift.

You’re cleaning your room, contemplating mentally the profound existential question of whether to order jjajangmyeon or just eat cereal for dinner for the third night in a row, when your phone buzzes on the coffee table. You almost ignore it, expecting another spam text about a crypto scam or a discount on air fryers. But then it buzzes again, insistent. With a groan, you reach for it.

It’s a message. From Jimin.

Hey! Are you by any chance, miraculously, incredibly, unbelievably… free tonight? My schedule just cleared up like magic (don’t ask, it’s a K-Pop miracle). That dinner we talked about… still interested? My legendary kimchi jjigae awaits its challenger! Let me know! Fingers crossed! ✨🍜🤞

You stare at the message, reading it once, twice, a third time just to make sure your sleep-deprived brain isn’t hallucinating. Her schedule cleared? She’s asking tonight? After all the cancellations, all the near-misses? A slow grin, a genuine, uncomplicated, shit-eating grin, spreads across your face. All the weariness, the boredom, the overthinking from the past few days, evaporates like morning mist.

You type back, your thumbs flying across the screen, a surge of adrenaline making your hands shake slightly.

Tonight? Miracles do happen! Yes, absolutely, 100% still interested. My taste buds are primed and ready for legendary status. Send me the address. I’ll even brave rush hour for this.

Her reply is almost instantaneous. A string of happy emojis, followed by her address and a time.

It’s set. It’s actually, finally, set.

A laugh bubbles up from your chest, loud and unrestrained in the quiet of your small apartment. Suddenly, your weekend isn’t looking so bleak. Suddenly, you’re not tired at all. Suddenly, the only thing that matters is that in a few short hours, you’re going to Jimin’s apartment for dinner. Just the two of you.

—

The hours leading up to your dinner with Jimin are a masterclass in controlled chaos, existing primarily within the confines of your own skull. You tell yourself, with the stern authority of someone trying to wrangle a particularly unruly toddler, not to overthink it. It’s just dinner. A casual meal between old friends. One of whom just happens to be a globally recognized K-Pop sensation who occupies a significant, and frankly unhealthy, amount of your daily thought processes.

Yes, perfectly normal.

Your attempt not to overthink manifests as a meticulous, hour-long deconstruction of your entire wardrobe, a frantic search for an outfit that screams "effortlessly cool and put-together" while simultaneously whispering "I definitely didn't try too hard, but please notice I tried a little." You settle on dark jeans that actually fit well and a soft, unassuming button-down shirt (casual, yet hinting at the possibility that you own an iron).

On your way to her neighborhood, a sudden pang of "don't show up empty-handed, you heathen" strikes you. You duck into a small, upscale market, ostensibly for a bottle of wine or some trendy artisanal sparkling water. As you’re Browse, your eyes snag on a particular brand of imported Swiss chocolate, a rich, dark hazelnut bar. It’s a lightning bolt from the past. Jimin used to be absolutely obsessed with this exact chocolate back in your school days. She’d save up her allowance for it, savoring each square like it was a precious jewel. It’s a ridiculous, sentimental impulse, but you grab it, along with a respectable bottle of white wine that looks like it knows what it’s doing. The chocolate feels like a small, secret handshake with the past, a nod to the girl she was… a girl you knew before the world did.

Her apartment building is sleek and modern, nestled in a quiet, affluent part of Seoul. You buzz her apartment number, your voice sounding surprisingly steady through the intercom when you announce your arrival. A moment later, the lock clicks, and you’re granted access to the inner sanctum. So far, so good. No alarms triggered.

Standing outside her actual apartment door, a fresh wave of nerves – oh, hello again, old friend – washes over you. You perform the sacred pre-door-knock ritual: a quick, surreptitious sniff of your own breath (minty, check), a frantic adjustment of your shirt cuffs, and a final, desperate smooth-down of your hair. You take a deep breath, then you knock.

The door swings open, and there she is. And just like that, your carefully constructed composure evaporates. Jimin. Even in simple, dark lounge pants and a ridiculously soft-looking, oversized grey sweater that swallows her frame, she looks… breathtaking. Her hair is tied up in a loose, messy bun, tendrils escaping to frame her face. Her makeup is so light it’s almost non-existent, just a hint of color on her lips and a subtle definition to her incredible eyes, making her appear more close to you, more vulnerable, more… Jimin. The effect is devastatingly beautiful, far more so than any stage costume or red-carpet glamour. This is her, unvarnished, in her own space.

You just sort of… stare for a beat, your brain temporarily short-circuiting. She offers a small, slightly shy smile. "Hey. You made it."

"Yeah," you manage. "Traffic was… surprisingly cooperative. For once." You then remember the social contract requires more than just grunting acknowledgment. "You, uh… you look amazing, Jimin. Really." There, you said it. Not as smooth as you’d hoped, but honest.

Her smile widens, a genuine, pleased crinkle around her eyes. "Thanks. You clean up pretty nice yourself." She steps back, holding the door open wider. "Come on in. Don’t mind the mess, I was literally in the middle of a creative explosion in the kitchen."

You step inside, and as you do, you present your offerings. "Brought some wine," you say, handing her the bottle. "And, uh, this." You pull out the chocolate bar. "Not sure if you still… but I remembered."

Her eyes widen when she sees the familiar wrapper, a gasp of pure, unadulterated delight escaping her. "Oh my god!" she exclaims, taking the chocolate from you with an almost reverent care. "This! I haven’t had this in ages! How did you even remember?" Her face is alight with genuine happiness. "This is… this is the best. Thank you." That she’s happier about the relatively cheap chocolate bar than the expensive wine says everything. It’s a direct hit to the heart, that shared memory made tangible.

"My memory retains crucial information," you say, trying for a light, teasing tone to cover the sudden thickness in your throat.

She laughs, clutching the chocolate bar like a long-lost treasure. "Apparently so." She gestures around. "Well, this is it. Karina's home. Or, you know, Jimin’s slightly-less-glamorous-than-you’d-expect-for-an-idol-but-still-pretty-nice apartment."

You take a proper look around as she leads you further in. It is beautiful. Definitely what you’d expect for someone of her status – spacious, with high ceilings, large windows offering a glittering panorama of the Seoul skyline. The furniture is modern and stylish, a palette of soft neutrals and rich textures. But threaded throughout the obvious expense are unmistakable touches of her. A shelf overflowing with books, a worn acoustic guitar propped in a corner, a collection of quirky art prints that are more charming than high-concept, a ridiculously fluffy throw blanket draped over a plush sofa that just begs for someone to curl up on it. It’s a home, not just a showpiece. It’s… Jimin. And you’re in it.

The aroma filling Jimin’s apartment is genuinely incredible, a rich, spicy, and deeply comforting scent that immediately makes your stomach rumble in anticipation. She’s bustling between the small, open-plan kitchen counter and the dining table as she places steaming bowls and an array of colourful banchan (pickled radish, seasoned spinach, glistening myeolchi bokkeum) onto the table. You try to offer help, a classic "can I do anything?" gesture, but she waves you off with a smile, directing you to simply take a seat.

"Guest of honor tonight," she declares, "your only job is to eat and, hopefully, not require medical attention afterwards." It's a joke, but there's a hint of nervous pride in her eyes as she surveys her culinary efforts. It's endearing, this glimpse of her outside the polished perfection of Karina, the idol. This is Jimin, hoping you like her cooking.

You settle into a chair at the intimate wooden table, which is perfectly sized for two and positioned to offer a breathtaking view of the city lights beginning to ignite the deepening twilight outside. She slides a bowl of rice in front of you, then the centerpiece: a bubbling, vibrant red earthenware pot of kimchi jjigae, the steam carrying its potent, delicious fragrance. She serves herself, then gestures for you to dig in. "Well," she says, a little breathlessly, "moment of truth."

You pick up your chopsticks, you take a careful spoonful of the jjigae, the rich broth warming your tongue, the tender pork and tangy kimchi a perfect balance. It’s not just edible; it’s genuinely, profoundly good. Your eyes widen in honest surprise.

"Jimin," you say, after a moment of appreciative silence, letting the warmth spread through you. "This is… seriously incredible. You weren't kidding about the legendary status. This is restaurant-quality stuff." You’re not just being polite; it’s the best kimchi jjigae you’ve had in a long, long time. Maybe ever.

A pleased, slightly flustered blush colors her cheeks. She ducks her head, stirring her own bowl a little too intently. "Oh, stop," she says, but her smile is radiant. "It’s just an old family recipe. My grandmother taught me. I don’t get to make it that often, so… I’m glad it turned out okay." She takes a tentative bite herself, then nods, a little surprised. "Huh. Not bad, if I do say so myself."

You both eat in a comfortable, almost reverent silence for a few minutes. You try some of the banchan she gestures towards, a crisp, spicy cucumber salad, some savory pan-fried tofu. Everything is meticulously prepared, bursting with flavor. It's clear she put a lot of effort into this, and that knowledge warms you even more than the jjigae.

It's as you’re both reaching for the water glasses at the same time, your fingers brushing for a fleeting, electric instant, that the full weight of the situation seems to properly land. You pull your hand back a little too quickly, a jolt going up your arm. You look up, and she’s looking at you, her eyes wide, a similar awareness dawning in them. Here you are. Alone. In her apartment, a space few outside her closest circle probably ever see. Sharing a home-cooked meal. It’s not uncomfortable, not exactly, but it’s undeniably there: a potent mix of history and the sheer, unadulterated weirdness of your lives having converged like this again.

A small, nervous chuckle escapes her lips, a delicate, airy sound. Almost instantly, a similar laugh bubbles up from your own chest; a little shaky, a little breathless, but a genuine release of the mounting tension. It’s a shared acknowledgment of the elephant.

"Okay," she says, setting down her chopsticks and picking up her water glass. "This is… this is a little bit weird, isn't it?" She takes a sip of water, her gaze still holding yours over the rim of the glass. "Not bad-weird," she clarifies quickly, perhaps sensing your own internal monologue already composing a list of polite escape routes, "definitely good-weird. But still… wonderfully, ridiculously weird."

"Good-weird is my favorite kind of weird," you manage. The shared laughter, the naming of the awkwardness, has somehow made it less… awkward. "And yes, 'wonderfully, ridiculously weird' pretty much sums up my entire existence since moving to Seoul and, you know," you gesture vaguely to encompass her, the apartment, the situation, "all of this." You take another mouthful of jjigae, savoring the spice, buying yourself a moment. "Honestly, if you’d told fourteen-year-old me, the one convinced that high fashion was wearing a band t-shirt without holes in it, that one day I'd be having homemade kimchi jjigae in global K-Pop superstar Karina's apartment…" You shake your head, a wry smile playing on your lips. "Well, let's just say his tiny, angst-ridden brain would have imploded. He probably would have assumed it was a very elaborate prank involving hidden cameras."

Jimin laughs, a bright, clear sound that seems to chase away some of the shadows in the room. "Oh, please. Fourteen-year-old you was far too cynical for hidden camera pranks. You’d have assumed it was a stress-induced hallucination brought on by too many all-night gaming sessions." She pauses, her smile softening into something more reflective as she looks around her living space, then back at you, her dinner guest, the boy from her past sitting so improbably in her present. "But look at us now, huh? Actually sitting here, eating dinner, in my own place. Talking about nothing relevant… and just being. Like two reasonably functioning adults who manage to feed themselves without burning the building down." She takes a slow, deliberate bite of rice, her gaze drifting towards the window, towards the vast, glittering expanse of Seoul spread out below them. "Who would have thought any of this was possible back then?" She turns back to you, a wistful, almost tender smile on her lips. "Time flies, doesn’t it? Feels like a lifetime ago, and yesterday, all at once.”

There's a shared melancholy in the air, a sweet ache for the irretrievable past, but it's also undercut by the sheer, vibrating improbability of your present. You nod slowly, swirling the last of the spicy jjigae broth in your bowl, the warmth of it seeping into you, mirroring the warmth spreading through your chest from just… being here, with her.

"It really does," you agree. "One minute you're plotting how to get out of gym class, the next you're… well, you're an international icon, and I'm marveling at your exceptional kimchi jjigae skills and wondering if adulting comes with a manual they forgot to give me." You offer a small, self-deprecating smile, which she returns with a knowing one of her own.

"Tell me about it," she sighs, pushing her empty bowl away slightly. "Sometimes I look in the mirror and I'm still half expecting to see that gangly teenager with the terrible bangs staring back, wondering how on earth I’m supposed to lead a group and remember lyrics in different languages." She pauses, then a playful spark ignites in her eyes, chasing away the momentary wistfulness. "Speaking of adulting… that wine you brought isn't going to drink itself, is it?”

"An excellent point."

"Yeah," she says, already rising from the table. "Let me just wash these dishes and then we can relocate. My couch is significantly more comfortable for serious wine contemplation than these dining chairs. And you haven't even seen my prized collection of questionable drama movies yet, a true adult indulgence."

She begins clearing the table with an efficient grace, and you quickly stand to help, gathering bowls and chopsticks. "Questionable dramas, huh? I'm almost afraid to ask."

"Oh, you should be. We're talking peak early 2000s angst."

While she rinses the dishes (a task you offer to do but are again cheerfully waved off from) you retrieve the bottle of white wine from the counter where you’d left it. You find a corkscrew in a drawer after a brief, the satisfying pop of the cork feels like a small, official commencement of the evening’s next, less formal, chapter. Jimin reappears with two elegant, long-stemmed wine glasses.

Soon, you're both settled on her ridiculously plush sofa. It’s U-shaped, large enough that you’re not exactly pressed against each other, but close enough that you’re acutely aware of her presence, the subtle scent of her shampoo, the way the soft lamplight catches the curve of her cheek. She curls her legs up beneath her, looking impossibly small and cozy, and takes a grateful sip from her wine glass.

"Mmm," she hums, her eyes closing for a moment. "Okay, this is good. Way better than the soju bombs from our trainee day survival kits, that’s for sure."

You take a sip yourself. The wine is crisp and cool, a pleasant counterpoint to the lingering spice of the jjigae. "Glad it meets the approval of your sophisticated palate," you tease, settling back into the cushions. The sofa really is incredibly comfortable. Dangerously so. "Though I have a feeling even drain cleaner would taste good after some of the trainee stories I’ve heard."

She laughs, a full, unrestrained sound this time, and the warmth of it, combined with the wine already beginning to hum pleasantly in your veins, makes you feel… good. Really good. Relaxed in a way you haven’t been in weeks, maybe months.

"You have no idea," she says, shaking her head, a smile still playing on her lips. "There was this one time, during our first evaluation prep, we were all so stressed and sleep-deprived, Ningning tried to microwave a banana. The whole banana. Peel and all."

You snort with laughter, nearly choking on your wine. "No! What happened?"

"Let’s just say the dorm smelled like radioactive fruit for a week, and we were banned from unsupervised microwave usage," Jimin recounts, her eyes sparkling with shared amusement. "Our manager almost had a conniption. Good times. Peak adulting, right there."

The wine flows easily, and with it, the conversation. You find yourselves reminiscing more about those "good old days," the stories becoming funnier, sillier, with each glass. You remind her of the time she tried to dye her own hair blue using a questionable internet tutorial and ended up with three distinctly different shades of swamp green. She counters with the story of your spectacularly failed attempt to build a skateboard ramp in your backyard, which resulted in more bruises than airtime. The laughter comes more frequently now, less self-conscious, more open. There's a comfortable intimacy in revisiting these shared embarrassments.

With the second glass of wine, a subtle shift occurs. The silliness is still there, but it’s becoming tinged with a more playful, flirtatious edge. Maybe it’s the alcohol lowering inhibitions, or maybe it’s the cozy proximity on the sofa, or maybe it’s just the inevitable result of two people with a mountain of buried feelings finally being in a private, relaxed space together. You find yourself watching the way her lips curve when she smiles, the way she gestures animatedly when she’s telling a particularly outrageous story, the way her eyes seem to catch and hold yours for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

"You know," she says, swirling the wine in her glass, her gaze a little unfocused, a little dreamy, "you were always surprisingly good at listening. Even when I was rambling about the most ridiculous, angsty teenage dramas. You’d just sit there and nod, like it was the most profound stuff you’d ever heard."

"Hey, your angst was top-tier," you reply. "It deserved a captive audience. Besides, someone had to make sure you didn't actually follow through on your threat to run away and join the circus after that disastrous school talent show audition." You lean a little closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially. "Though, for the record, I still think your interpretive dance to that heavy metal song was… creatively ambitious."

She throws her head back and laughs, a genuine, unrestrained peal that makes your chest ache with a strange, sweet tenderness. When she sobers, she lightly punches your arm. "Oh, shut up! That was performance art! You just didn't understand my vision!" Her eyes are bright, cheeks flushed from the wine and the laughter, and she’s looking at you with an open, unguarded expression that makes your breath catch. "But seriously," she adds, "you were a good friend. Still are."

The compliment, simple as it is, lands with surprising weight. "You too, Jimin," you say, your voice equally soft, meeting her gaze. "Always."

Her eyes search yours, and you feel like she can see right through your carefully constructed facade, right down to the terrified, hopeful teenager still lurking somewhere inside. The wine has definitely done its job; the world feels a little softer around the edges, your inhibitions are pleasantly fuzzy, and the desire to just reach out, to bridge that small remaining distance on the couch, is becoming overwhelmingly, dangerously strong.

The wine, crisp and cool, continues its delightful work, unspooling the tightly wound threads of formality and apprehension that had clung to the early evening. Each sip seems to loosen your tongue a little more, and Jimin’s too. The comfortable U-shaped sofa, initially a vast expanse, feels like it’s subtly shrinking, or perhaps you’re both just… gravitating. Her laughter, when you recount another particularly embarrassing anecdote from your shared school days, is no longer just a polite chuckle. It’s a full-bodied, unrestrained peal of mirth that makes her lean back against the cushions, her eyes squeezed shut, one hand playfully batting at your arm.

You find yourself grinning like an idiot, the warmth spreading through your chest having very little to do with the alcohol content of the wine and everything to do with the sound of her unbridled joy.

"It’s funny, isn’t it? All those little things we obsessed over back then, thinking they were the most important things in the world." She swirls the wine in her glass, watching the pale liquid catch the light. "Who you sat with at lunch, whether you got picked for the team, if that one person looked at you in the hallway…"

Her voice trails off on that last phrase, and there’s a subtle shift in her tone, a new layer of something… emerging from beneath the playful banter. She takes a breath, then turns to you, her eyes, luminous in the dim light, searching yours. The playful glint is gone.

"Can I… can I tell you something? Something really stupid I used to think back then?"

Your heart gives a little thump. "Of course," you say. "My lips are sealed. And my capacity for judging stupid teenage thoughts is, believe me, at an all-time low, considering my own track record."

She offers a small, grateful smile, then her gaze drops to her wine glass, her fingers tracing the rim. "Okay, well… don’t laugh." A pause, then, so softly you almost miss it, "I… I used to have the biggest crush on you."

Your brain, already pleasantly fuzzy from the wine, seems to stall for a moment, trying to process. Jimin. Had a crush. On you. The fourteen-year-old version of you, the one with the questionable sense of humor and the complete inability to talk to girls he actually liked without sounding like a malfunctioning robot, would have spontaneously combusted from sheer disbelief and elation. Even now, the adult, slightly-more-composed version of you is struggling to keep his jaw from hitting the floor.

She peeks up at you through her lashes, a nervous blush creeping up her neck. "See? Stupid, right? I was so sure you just saw me as, like, your annoying little sister’s best friend, or just… Jimin, the dork who was always around. I used to spend hours overthinking every single thing you said to me, trying to decipher if there was some hidden meaning." She lets out a shaky little laugh. "God, it was exhausting."

You stare at her, a slow, incredulous smile starting to spread across your face. The irony, oh, the beautiful, painful irony of it all. All those years of your own silent, all-consuming crush, your own agonizing over every shared glance, every casual word, thinking she was completely oblivious, completely out of reach.

"Jimin," you begin. You clear your throat. "That’s… wow." You shake your head, a laugh bubbling up, a laugh of pure, unadulterated shock and a strange, retroactive relief. "The only thing 'stupid' about that is that I was doing the exact same goddamn thing."

Her head snaps up, her eyes widening, the blush on her cheeks deepening to a vibrant crimson.

"What?" she breathes. "You… you did? With… with me?"

"With you?" you echo, a wide, disbelieving grin plastered on your face. "Are you kidding? You were all I thought about. I was hopelessly, pathetically gone on you. I just… I figured you were way out of my league. That you only tolerated my presence because we were stuck in the same school and our families knew each other." The confession tumbles out, easy now, liberating, fueled by the wine and the sudden revelation of her own past feelings. It’s like a dam has broken, years of unspoken emotion finally finding their release.

She just stares at you, speechless for a long moment, her wine glass forgotten in her hand. Then, a tiny, incredulous laugh escapes her. "No. Way." She shakes her head slowly, as if trying to rearrange the entire narrative of her teenage years. "All that time? We were both…?"

"Apparently," you confirm, still grinning. "Two oblivious idiots, crushing on each other in silence. We could have written a really angsty, badly plotted teen drama."

She finally lets out a full laugh, leaning back against the sofa, looking utterly flabbergasted but also… lighter. "This is insane. I can’t believe it." Her eyes are shining, and not just from the wine anymore. "You know," she says, her voice regaining some of its earlier playful lilt, though it’s softer now, more intimate, "I used to get so jealous. Back then. If I saw you talking to… to other girls. Especially if they were, you know, prettier, or cooler." She makes a face, a little embarrassed. "It sounds so silly now, but it was true. I’d be all smiles on the outside, but inside, I’d be like, 'How dare she laugh at his stupid jokes? I’m the one who’s supposed to laugh at his stupid jokes!'"

You reach out, without really thinking, and gently touch her arm. "Hey. It wasn't silly. Or if it was, then I was just as silly."

Her gaze meets yours, and there's a warmth, a connection in that look that feels more real, more profound, than anything you've shared in years. She holds your gaze for a long moment, then a shadow crosses her face, her voice drops again, hesitant. "It’s funny… or, not funny, but… I kind of felt that way again. Recently." She looks down at her lap, tracing patterns on her pants with a fingertip. "When I saw you talking with Ning and the others that day in the lounge."

Your heart clenches. You remember that day, her sudden appearance, the tension.

"You all looked like you were having so much fun," she continues, "And they’re all so… bright, and funny, and talented. And for a second, this stupid thought just popped into my head, like… what if you ditch me for them? What if they’re more entertaining, or cooler to be around now? What if… what if I’m not that interesting anymore, compared to them?" She lets out a little, self-deprecating huff of air. "It sounds even dumber saying it out loud."

You gently cup her chin, tilting her face up so she has to look at you.

"Jimin," you say. "Listen to me. There is no one, no one, who could ever make me ditch you. And there is absolutely no one, not Ning, not Giselle, not Winter, not anyone on this entire planet, who is 'cooler' or 'more entertaining' or 'more interesting' than you are to me." You search her eyes, willing her to believe you. "And no one," you add, "no one makes me feel the way I feel when I’m with you. Not then. And definitely not now."

Her eyes search yours, wide and luminous, and you can see the emotions warring within them: surprise, disbelief, and then, slowly, a dawning, fragile hope. A single tear escapes and traces a path down her cheek, and you reach up, your thumb gently brushing it away, your touch lingering on her soft skin for just a heartbeat longer than necessary.

"When… when we met again," she begins, so fragile you have to lean in slightly to catch it. "That day on the street? All those… those old feelings…" She swallows hard, her gaze dropping to her hands, now twisting in her lap. "They just… they came rushing back. All of them. And I thought… I really thought I was over it. Over you." She attempts a small, shaky laugh that doesn't quite land. "So stupid. I’m a grown woman, a K-Pop idol, for crying out loud. I shouldn’t be… I shouldn’t be feeling like a confused teenager all over again just because my childhood crush reappeared."

She tries to continue, her lips parting, but the words seem to catch in her throat. Her brow furrows in frustration, and she shakes her head, a gesture of helpless self-reproach. "I… I can’t even…" Another aborted attempt. She looks up at you, her eyes swimming with unshed tears, a look of utter bewilderment on her face. "I'm sorry," she blurts out. "I don’t even know what I’m talking about anymore. It must be the wine. It’s making me all… emotional and stupid." She gestures vaguely, a hand fluttering near her chest. "I’m probably ruining everything, aren't I? Just… ignore me. I’m being ridiculous." She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, as if trying to physically block out her own chaotic emotions.

And in that instant, watching her so raw, so vulnerable, so utterly terrified of her own feelings (feelings that mirror your own chaotic internal landscape so perfectly) something inside you just… snaps. All the overthinking, all the caution, all the years of unspoken longing, converge into a single, undeniable impulse. The wine, the dim lights, the confessions, her tear-streaked face so close to yours… it’s a perfect storm, and you’re right in the eye of it. To hell with professionalism, to hell with the risks, to hell with everything but the raw, undeniable truth thrumming between you.

Before you can second-guess it, before your internal HR department can scream bloody murder, you lean forward and kiss her.

It’s not a gentle, tentative kiss. It’s clumsy, desperate, fueled by years of pent-up emotion and too much wine. Your lips meet hers, and for a split second, she’s completely still, a statue beneath your sudden onslaught. Her eyes fly open, wide and startled, pupils blown huge in the dim light, reflecting a pure, unadulterated shock. You feel the soft, unexpected give of her lips, the faint taste of wine and something uniquely Jimin, a taste you realize, with a jolt, you’ve been subconsciously craving for more than half your life.

For a horrifying moment, you think you’ve made a monumental mistake. Idiot! You absolute, unmitigated idiot! your brain screams. You’ve broken her! You’ve ruined everything! The irony of her exact words now applying to your actions is not lost on you, even in your panic.

But then, just as you’re about to pull away, to stammer out a mortified apology, something shifts. Her eyelids flutter closed. A tiny, almost inaudible sigh escapes her, a breath she seems to have been holding for a lifetime. And then, slowly, tentatively, she gives in. Her lips soften against yours, responding with a hesitant pressure that builds, her body relaxing slightly against the sofa cushions. The kiss deepens, still a little clumsy, still a little desperate, but now with an undeniable mutuality, a shared exploration of a boundary crossed together.

When you finally, breathlessly, pull apart, the silence in the room is deafening. You stare at her, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. Her eyes are still closed for a moment, her lashes dark against her flushed cheeks. Then they slowly open, and she just… stares back at you, her expression unreadable, dazed, her lips slightly swollen and glistening. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. You can only watch her, bracing for the fallout.

And then, her face crumples. Her lower lip trembles, and her carefully constructed composure shatters completely. A choked sob escapes her, and fat, silent tears begin to stream down her cheeks, unheeded. It’s not the reaction you were hoping for. It’s definitely not the reaction you were hoping for.

"Oh, god, Jimin, I…" Panic, cold and sharp, seizes you. You have ruined it. "I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have… I just… I’m an idiot. Please, don’t cry. I’m so, so sorry." The words tumble out, a frantic, jumbled apology.

She shakes her head, swiping at her tears with the back of her hand, though more quickly follow. "No," she whispers. "No, it’s… it’s okay." And then, to your utter astonishment, she launches herself at you, her arms wrapping around your neck, burying her face in your shoulder, her body trembling with silent sobs. You instinctively wrap your arms around her, holding her close, your mind reeling.

"I… I liked it," she mumbles into your shirt, her voice muffled but audible. "I really did." She pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes red-rimmed but shining with a confusing mix of emotions. "It’s just… it’s all… it’s a lot. Everything. All at once. Coming back. I feel… I feel kind of weird." She lets out another shaky laugh that sounds more like a sob. "Overwhelmed, I guess."

Fuck. She liked it. She actually liked it. You haven't irrevocably destroyed your friendship, your job, and your chances of ever experiencing joy again. Small victories. You gently shift on the plush sofa, pulling her more fully into your embrace until she’s settled somewhat in your lap, her side tucked against your chest. It feels incredibly intimate, yet also profoundly comforting. You rest your cheek against the top of her head, her hair soft against your skin, smelling faintly of her shampoo. After a few long minutes, her trembling stops. She lets out a deep, shuddering sigh and slowly lifts her head from your shoulder. Her eyes are still puffy, her cheeks tear-stained, but there’s a new calmness in her expression, a fragile sort of peace. She looks at you, her gaze soft and searching.

Then, a small, watery smile touches her lips. She reaches up, her hand, so small and delicate, coming to rest on your cheek. Her thumb gently strokes your skin.

"You know," she whispers. "for someone who claims to be an idiot…" Her smile widens, a genuine, almost dazzling Jimin-smile breaking through the tear-stained landscape of her face. "You’re not always wrong."

And then, before you can even process that, before you can form a coherent thought or even remember how to breathe properly, she leans in, her eyes fluttering closed, and kisses you.

This time, there’s no surprise, no hesitation. It’s a kiss that is both a question and an answer, a culmination and a beginning. It’s soft, tender, yet filled with an undercurrent of all those years of unspoken feelings, of rediscovered emotions, of the undeniable, terrifying, exhilarating truth that is thrumming between you. It’s a kiss that tastes of wine, and tears, and a hope so potent it makes your head spin.

When she pulls back, her eyes are galaxies, dark and swirling with emotion, a universe you’re only just beginning to navigate. A delighted, slightly breathless giggle escapes her, then you’re laughing too, a shared, giddy sound that bounces off the walls of her apartment.

"Wow," she whispers, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "This… this really happened, didn't it?" Her eyes search yours, looking for confirmation in a world that suddenly feels wonderfully, terrifyingly new.

"It really, really did," you affirm. The air between you is no longer just charged; it’s practically incandescent, thrumming with a potent energy that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end. The earlier nervousness hasn’t vanished, but it’s been transmuted into something else. She leans her forehead against yours for a moment, just breathing, then pulls back slightly, her eyes alight.

Her fingers, still feather-light against your skin, drift down from your jaw to the collar of your shirt. She toys with the fabric, a slow, deliberate movement, her gaze fixed on yours. The city lights outside paint her in hues of gold and shadow, making her look even more ethereal, more achingly beautiful.

"You know," she says, "you haven't, uh… you haven't seen my room yet." Her eyes flick towards a hallway leading off the main living area, then back to yours.

Your own breath hitches. You try to swallow, your throat suddenly dry. "No, I haven't," you manage. You search her eyes, needing to be absolutely sure. "Would you… would you like to show me?"

A slow, devastatingly beautiful smile spreads across her face. It’s a smile of pure, unadulterated desire, mixed with a touch of that endearing shyness that still clings to her, even now. "Yes," she breathes. "Yes, I really would."

That’s all the confirmation you need. In one fluid movement you lean forward, sliding one arm beneath her knees, the other around her back. You lift her effortlessly from the sofa, her gasp of surprise quickly turning into a delighted laugh as she instinctively wraps her arms around your neck, her legs around your waist. She feels impossibly light, yet incredibly solid in your arms, a perfect, intoxicating weight. And then you’re kissing her again, deeply, hungrily, the earlier tenderness now ignited with a fiercer, more demanding passion.

"Which way?" you murmur against her mouth, your lips still brushing hers.

"That way," she whispers, gesturing with a slight tilt of her head down the hallway, never breaking the kiss, her fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer.

You carry her through the apartment, your steps sure and steady despite the roaring in your ears and the way your heart is trying to beat its way out of your chest. Each step feels monumental, a journey into uncharted territory. She guides you with soft murmurs and the pressure of her body against yours, her kisses becoming more urgent, more demanding, her breath coming in soft, quick gasps against your skin.

Her bedroom is at the end of the hall. She reaches out a hand, fumbling for the doorknob, then pushes it open. You step inside, and the world seems to tilt again. The room is bathed in a soft, ambient glow from the city outside, filtered through sheer curtains, creating an atmosphere that is both intimate and dreamlike. It’s perfect.

You carry her over to the bed, your lips still locked with hers, a desperate, continuous kiss that speaks of years of unspoken longing. Gently, reverently, you lower her onto the soft duvet, following her down, bracing yourself on your hands on either side of her head. You break the kiss, just for a moment, to gaze down at her. Her eyes are dark and dilated, her lips swollen and flushed from your kisses, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She is, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

"God, Jimin," you breathe. You lower your head, burying your face in the soft skin of her neck, inhaling her scent, feeling the frantic pulse throbbing beneath your lips. "You are so unbelievably beautiful." You kiss the delicate curve where her neck meets her shoulder, then trail a line of slow, deliberate kisses up towards her ear. "The most beautiful girl in the world," you whisper, your lips brushing her earlobe. "You always have been. Always."

A soft, shuddering moan escapes her as you continue your exploration, your lips and tongue tracing patterns on her sensitive skin, tasting the salt and sweetness of her. Her breathing becomes more irregular, deeper, her fingers tightening in your hair, her hips starting to shift restlessly beneath you. You feel her arch into your touch, a silent plea for more.

Your hands, which have been resting on the bed beside her, begin their own exploration. They find the hem of her soft, oversized sweater, your fingers brushing against the warm, pale skin of her stomach beneath it. Her skin is like silk, radiating a heat that sets your own nerves on fire. You tug at the sweater gently, slowly, agonizingly, your eyes locked on hers, watching her reaction. Her eyelids are heavy, her lips parted, a look of pure, unadulterated anticipation on her face. With a final, deliberate pull, you slide the sweater up and over her head, tossing it carelessly aside.

And there they are.

Her breasts, even constrained by the delicate lace of her bra, are undeniably magnificent. Full, heavy, spilling slightly from the cups, their pale, creamy expanse a stark, breathtaking contrast to the dark fabric. You can see the gentle slope, the promise of their weight. Your own breath hitches in your throat. This is the reality of Karina, of Jimin, laid bare before you, a sight you’ve only dared to dream of in your most secret, most forbidden fantasies.

You take off your shoes, kicking them aside, never taking your eyes off her. As you reach for the hem of your own shirt, your fingers fumbling with the buttons in your haste, you see her hands move to her back. With a deft, practiced movement, she unhooks her bra. She holds it in place for a moment longer, her gaze locking with yours, a shy, almost vulnerable smile playing on her lips.

"I… I hope you like them," she whispers.

Then, with a deep breath, she lets the bra fall away.

Your world stops. Absolutely, irrevocably stops. Her breasts are… perfect. More than perfect. They are everything you've ever imagined, and so much more. They are large, gloriously full, spilling into her hands as she cups them for a moment, as if presenting a sacred offering. The skin is so pale it seems almost luminous in the dim light, smooth and flawless, save for the faint blue veins tracing delicate patterns just beneath the surface, hinting at the life and warmth within. Her areolas are a dusky rose, wide and perfectly formed, and at their centers, her nipples, a deeper, more insistent pink, are already hard and erect, puckered tight, practically begging for your touch, for your mouth. They look so incredibly soft, so utterly… juicy, for lack of a better, more reverent word.

You’re mesmerized, completely transfixed, your throat dry, your mind blissfully, wonderfully blank save for the overwhelming, primal need to touch, to taste, to worship. After what feels like an eternity, but is probably only a few seconds, you slowly reach out a trembling hand. Your fingers make contact with the warm, yielding softness of her right breast. She gasps softly as you cup its weight, your thumb brushing over the taut, sensitive peak of her nipple. So warm. So unbelievably soft. You gently squeeze, a possessive, reverent pressure, and a low moan rumbles in her chest, vibrating against your palm.

She lies back fully on the bed then, her arms stretching above her head, her body an open, trusting invitation. You quickly shed your shirt, your movements urgent, driven by a desire that is rapidly consuming every last shred of your self-control. You climb onto the bed, positioning yourself above her, your knees on either side of her hips, your gaze still fixed on the breathtaking sight of her bare, beautiful breasts.

And then, you lower your head and take one of those perfect, pink nipples into your mouth.

She cries out, a sharp, breathless sound that is pure, unadulterated pleasure, her back arching off the bed, her fingers digging into your shoulders. Her breast fills your mouth, the taste of her skin, salty and sweet, intoxicating. You suck gently at first, then more strongly, your tongue laving, teasing, drawing the hardened peak deeper. She is melting beneath you, writhing, her hips starting to buck a little, a silent plea for more.

"Oh, god," she gasps. "Yes… fuck, yes… right there… they’re so… so sensitive…" Her words are broken, punctuated by moans and sharp intakes of breath. "Please… don’t stop… keep going… it’s… it’s making me so fucking horny…"

You shift your attention to her other breast, giving it the same devoted worship, laving, sucking, gently nipping, while your hand continues to squeeze and caress the one you just abandoned, ensuring both are bathed in sensation. You can feel the frantic thrumming of her heart against your chest, the heat radiating from her skin, the way her entire body is trembling, on the verge of completely unraveling. You lift your head for a moment, just to look at her, at the sight of her, utterly consumed by lust, her eyes half-closed, her lips parted, her beautiful breasts flushed and glistening from your attention. This is Jimin. This is Karina. And she is yours, in this moment, completely and utterly yours to worship, to pleasure, to drive absolutely insane.

You continue your worship of her breasts, alternating between them, lavishing each with an equal, fervent devotion. One hand cradles the breast you’re not currently feasting on, your thumb flicking, teasing the already hard nipple, while your mouth works its magic on its twin. You suck strongly, drawing the peak deep, feeling the responsive tug in her body, the way her hips tilt upwards, seeking a friction that isn’t there yet.

"Fuck, yes," she pants, her fingers still tangled in your hair, now gripping, almost painfully tight, but you welcome the anchor in the storm of sensation you’re both caught in. "They’re so… oh god… so good… your mouth…"

You lift your head for a moment, your lips slick, your gaze devouring the sight of her: her chest flushed a deep rose, her nipples impossibly tight, glistening with your saliva, already looking delightfully, beautifully ravaged.

"Yours are the best, Jimin," you growl. "Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect. I could suck on these gorgeous tits all night."

A choked laugh, half sob, half pure ecstasy, bubbles from her throat. "Please do… God, yes… you suck so fucking well…"

You dive back in, attacking her nipples with renewed ferocity, sucking, licking, nipping gently with your teeth, drawing out her moans. You leave your marks, faint red circles blooming on her pale skin where your lips have been. Her breasts are indeed glistening, slick with your drool and her own faint sheen of sweat. She’s thrashing beneath you now, no longer trying to control her reactions, her head tossing from side to side on the pillows, her breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. Each pull of your mouth seems to send shivers racking through her entire frame.

Slowly, reluctantly, you drag your mouth away from her sensitive breasts, leaving them flushed, swollen, and thoroughly worshipped. Her soft whimper of protest is cut short as you begin to trail a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses down the center of her torso, over the subtle curve of her ribcage, across the quivering expanse of her flat, pale stomach. Each kiss is deliberate, lingering, your tongue flicking out to taste her skin. You feel the muscles in her abdomen clench and flutter beneath your lips.

"Don’t stop," she whispers, her hands now gripping the bedsheets on either side of her. "Please… whatever you’re doing… just… more."

You continue your downward pilgrimage, your lips brushing against the waistband of her lounge pants. They’re soft, loose-fitting, and offer little resistance as your fingers find the drawstring. With a deft tug, you loosen it, then slowly, agonizingly slowly, begin to slide the fabric down her hips, revealing the delicate curve of her hipbone, the smooth, pale skin of her thighs. Your hands skim down her legs, pushing the pants further, until they’re pooled around her ankles. You kick them impatiently off the end of the bed, your gaze fixed on the prize they were concealing.

Her panties. A tiny scrap of pale pink lace, stretched taut across the apex of her thighs, already dark with her wetness. Her thighs, usually so strong and toned from years of dancing, are trembling uncontrollably now, a fine sheen of moisture glistening on their pale inner surfaces. The musky scent of her arousal is stronger here. You can practically feel the heat radiating from between her legs.

"Look at you," you murmur as you trail your fingers along the damp lace, feeling the heat and moisture seeping through. "So wet for me already, aren’t you, babe? Fucking dripping."

A broken sob escapes her. "Yes… oh god, yes… please… I need…" She can’t even finish the sentence, her body arching, her hips instinctively grinding against the mattress.

You pull the panties down, slowly, inch by agonizing inch, revealing her to your hungry gaze.

And she is, as you knew she would be, perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect. Her shaved pussy is nestled between her thighs, a delicate, swollen mound. The outer lips are plump, flushed a deep, inviting pink, already glistening with her slick, arousal-heavy dew. They part slightly as you watch, revealing the even pinker, more tender flesh within, and the glint of her clit, a tiny, perfect pearl peeking out, already engorged and throbbing. This is the core of her, the secret, hidden place you’ve only ever dreamed of, now laid bare for your worship.

You shift your position, moving from beside her to kneel between her parted thighs. They tremble slightly as you settle there, and she lets out a shaky breath, her eyes, dark and wide, fixed on yours. There’s a beautiful, terrifying vulnerability in her gaze, a silent plea that makes your cock ache with an almost painful intensity. But you’re not going to rush this. Oh no. This moment, this offering, is too precious, too long-awaited. She needs to feel every second of this descent into pleasure, every nuance of her own burgeoning, desperate need. You’re going to make her burn for it. You’re going to make her beg.

"You are so fucking beautiful, Jimin," you murmur. Your gaze drops from her eyes to the glistening treasure nestled between her thighs, then deliberately, slowly, travels to the pale, trembling skin of her inner thigh. "So incredibly, exquisitely responsive."

Instead of diving straight for her pussy, as every instinct screams at you to do, you lean down and press a soft, lingering kiss to the delicate skin high on her inner left thigh, just inches from that wet, waiting heat. She gasps, her whole body jerking, her thighs instinctively trying to clench together, but you gently hold them apart, your hands firm but gentle on her hips.

"Easy now," you whisper against her skin, your breath hot. "Don't want to miss any of this, do we?"

You trail another kiss, then another, working your way in a slow, agonizing circle around that central, beckoning core, never quite touching it, but always promising it. Your tongue darts out, tasting the faint saltiness of her skin, the faintest hint of her arousal that has already slicked even this far out. With each kiss, each lick against her thigh, you feel her tremors intensify. Her fingers are fisted in the bedsheets, her knuckles white.

"What… what are you doing?" she pants. "Please… you’re… you’re driving me crazy."

"Am I, babe?" you purr, your lips brushing the impossibly soft skin just beside one of her swollen, pink outer lips. You can smell her now, that rich, musky, uniquely feminine scent of pure, unadulterated horniness, and it’s making you lightheaded, drunk on her desire. "Driving you crazy how? Tell me." You dip your tongue out again, this time lapping up a stray droplet of her slick wetness that has trickled onto her thigh. Her taste… fuck, it’s even better than you imagined. Sweet, tangy, utterly addictive. You groan softly into her skin. "Oh, you taste so fucking good right here… just a hint of what’s waiting for me."

"Please…" she begs. "Don’t… don’t tease me like this. I can’t… I can’t take it." Her hips are starting to move now, a small, involuntary rocking motion, trying to seek out the pressure of your mouth.

"Can't take what, Jimin?" you ask. You drag your open mouth slowly up her inner thigh, leaving a wet trail, then switch to the other, lavishing it with the same agonizingly slow attention. You can feel the heat pouring off her in waves. "You need to tell me what you want. Use your words, baby. You want me to stop?" You deliberately pull back a fraction of an inch, letting the cool air hit her heated skin, and she whimpers, a raw, frustrated sound.

"No! No, don’t stop, please, whatever you do, don’t stop," she cries. "I want… I want your mouth. There. Please. I need it. I’m so wet for you, can’t you feel it? Can’t you taste it?" Her words are a torrent now, the carefully constructed composure of Karina completely shattered, leaving only the raw, needy core of Jimin. "I’m aching… I’m fucking aching for your tongue, please… just… just eat me out. Suck my clit. Please, I’m begging you."

Her plea is music to your ears. She’s so close, so desperate. But you’re not quite done with her yet. You want her utterly, completely undone.

"Beg me how, sweet girl?" you murmur, your lips now hovering directly over her glistening, swollen clit, your hot breath fanning the sensitive nub. She gasps, her whole body seizing. "Tell me how badly you need it. Tell me what a good girl you’ll be if I finally give you what you’re craving. Convince me." The strategic irony here is that you're already convinced, already harder than you've ever been in your life, but the game, the sight of her unraveling at your command, It's the best feeling in the world.

"I’ll be so good," she sobs, her thighs trembling violently now, threatening to clamp shut around your head. "So fucking good for you. I’ll do anything. Anything you want. Just please… please put your mouth on me. I’m dying here. I need to feel your tongue… I need you to make me cum… I’m so close… Please, babe, suck me… suck me like you mean it…"

Her words, that broken, desperate plea to be eaten out, are the only permission you need. You lower your head, your hair brushing against the pale skin of her inner thighs, and finally, finally, you give in. You press your mouth fully against her, parting her slick, swollen lips with your own, and your tongue finds her clit. A sound is torn from her throat, a high, sharp keen that’s half shock and half pure, unadulterated pleasure. Her entire body jolts as if struck by lightning, her hips slamming upwards into your face in a single, convulsive movement. The taste of her floods your senses, and it's everything. It’s not just the sweet, tangy flavor of her arousal you'd already sampled from her thighs; it's deeper, muskier, the very essence of her, and it's intoxicating.

You're instantly, hopelessly addicted. You begin slowly, a reverent worship. Your tongue is soft, exploratory, lapping at her gently, learning the landscape of her. You trace the delicate shape of her outer lips, then dip inside to swirl around the plump, sensitive inner folds before focusing on that hardened pearl of her clit.

"Oh, god..." she breathes, her hands flying up to tangle in your hair, not pulling, just holding on as if she might float away. "Yes... that's..."

You hum against her, a low, deep vibration that you feel travel through her entire body. She lets out another soft cry. Her muscles are still coiled with tension, but it's the tension of overwhelming sensation, not desperation. She is melting, and you are the cause.

"Just relax for me, baby," you murmur against her slick flesh. "Just let me taste you. You're so perfect."

You settle in, continuing the slow, deliberate worship. For long minutes, this is all that exists: the sound of your mouth against her, her soft, breathy moans, and the rich, intoxicating taste of her on your tongue. Her hips are no longer bucking but have settled into a slow, swaying rhythm, rocking against your mouth in time with the gentle lapping of your tongue. She has given you control, and you intend to savor it. You can feel the change when her body becomes fully accustomed to the pleasure, when the slow worship is no longer enough. Her gentle sways become more insistent, her breath hitches with a new need, and her fingers tighten in your hair, this time with a subtle, pleading tug. She wants more. And you are going to make her beg for it.

You shift your technique, beginning the torture. You pull your mouth away from her clit, trailing your tongue down along the slick valley between her labia. She whimpers in protest, her hips pushing up, seeking the focused pressure you just denied her.

"Shhh," you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to one of her swollen inner lips. "So much to taste here. Can't rush."

You proceed to lavish attention on every other part of her, everywhere but the one place she is dying for you to be. You lick the plump flesh of her lips, suck gently on the inner folds, your tongue darting out to trace the rim of her opening, dipping just the very tip inside before pulling away. With every near-miss, a frustrated cry is torn from her throat.

"Please..." she pants, her hips rocking more frantically now. "Please... you're... you're driving me crazy. My clit... I need you there."

"Here?" you ask. You flick your tongue directly over the sensitive nub one time, fast and hard. She yelps, her whole body convulsing. Then you pull away again, moving to trace lazy circles on the sensitive skin around her. "You liked that, didn't you? Tell me how much you liked it."

"Yes! Fuck, yes, I loved it," she sobs. "Please, do it again. Don't tease me... I can't take it. Just... just suck it, please."

"Beg me," you command softly, your hot breath ghosting over her clit, making her shiver. "Tell me exactly what you want my mouth to do to you. I want to hear how desperate you are for it."

She’s a mess, completely undone by your teasing. "I'm so desperate for you," she cries, her words tumbling over each other. "I need your tongue on my clit. I need you to suck on it, hard. Lick me until I can't think. Please, I'm begging you. I'll do anything. Just go back there. I feel like I'm going to die if you don't."

Her plea is everything you wanted. You slide your mouth back over her, but instead of the hard pressure she's begging for, you give her the opposite. You open your mouth wide, your tongue flat, and you just... lick. Long, slow, deliberate strokes from the base of her mound, up over her clit, all the way to her perineum, and back down again. It’s a broad, wet, agonizingly gentle sensation.

"No..." she groans, a sound of pure frustration. "Harder... please, you have to do it harder."

"I don't have to do anything, baby," you murmur, continuing the slow, torturous laps. "I'm in control here. You'll take it how I give it to you. And right now, I want to feel you squirm."

She thrashes beneath you, so close to the edge but held back by your deliberate restraint. Her nails are digging into your scalp now, not painfully, but with a frantic urgency. It’s time to escalate. It's time to break her completely. While continuing the slow, steady rhythm of your tongue, you slide one hand down between her thighs. Her skin is flushed and hot to the touch. Your fingers find her entrance, already slick and gaping, practically weeping with need. You slide one finger inside her.

She screams, a raw, ragged sound, as the new sensation of being filled sends a fresh shockwave through her system. She’s so tight, so hot, clenching around your finger instantly. You push your finger deeper, feeling the texture of her inner walls, the way she convulses around you.

"That's it, Jimin," you praise, your voice muffled against her. "Take my finger. Feel how wet you are? Fucking dripping for me."

Now you change the rhythm of your tongue, finally giving her the focused attention she craved. You suck her clit into your mouth, your tongue working fast and hard, while your finger inside her establishes a steady in-and-out rhythm. The dual sensations are too much. She is completely lost.

"Fuck! Yes, both..." she gasps. "It's… it's too much… I'm going to…"

You add a second finger, stretching her, filling her more completely. She cries out again, her back arching so high off the bed it's a perfect, strained bow. Her pussy milks your fingers, slick and greedy. You can feel the muscles deep inside her starting to flutter, the tell-tale sign that her orgasm is gathering strength.

"You feel that, baby?" you ask, curling your fingers inside her, rubbing them against the nub of her g-spot. "My tongue on your clit, my fingers deep in your cunt. Does that feel good?"

"So good!" she screams. "It feels so fucking good! I'm so close, don't stop, please, please don't stop!"

You are her entire world now. She is aware of nothing but your mouth and your fingers, driving her towards the abyss. You increase the pace of everything. Your tongue is a frantic engine on her clit, sucking, flicking, laving. Your fingers pump in and out of her relentlessly. You can feel the final tension coiling in her body, a string stretched to its breaking point. Her breath comes in short, sharp gasps, and her moans have become a single, continuous, high-pitched keen.

"I'm going to make you come so hard, Jimin," you growl into her. "You're going to scream my name. Get ready."

You feel it start, the first deep, internal clench around your fingers. Her entire body goes rigid.

"I'm cumming! Oh fuck, I'm cumming! I'm cummmmming!"

Her scream is primal as her orgasm rips through her, a violent, world-shattering release. Her body convulses, her hips slamming up against your mouth in a desperate, uncontrollable rhythm. Her juices gush out of her, hot and thick, flooding your mouth with the sweet, musky taste of her release. You swallow greedily, catching every single drop as her body is wracked by wave after wave of intense pleasure. You don't stop your ministrations, gentling your touch now, your tongue soothing her hypersensitive clit, your fingers massaging her inner walls as the aftershocks ripple through her.

Slowly, her body goes limp, collapsing back onto the mattress. She’s trembling from head to toe, her chest rising and falling in deep, ragged pants. Her eyes are squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners, her face flushed a deep crimson. You finally lift your head, your chin and lips slick with her, and look at the masterpiece of your work.

You lean down, capturing her mouth in a soft, lingering kiss. It’s a stark contrast to the hungry, desperate kisses you shared before. This one is tender. She moans softly into your mouth, and you taste it: the lingering, musky sweetness of her own climax. She tastes it too, a jolt going through her body as she recognizes herself on your tongue. A faint blush rises on her already flushed cheeks, a mix of shy embarrassment and burgeoning arousal.

You pull back just enough to gaze down at her. Her hair is a wild halo around her head, her lips are swollen, her eyes are still dazed and beautifully unfocused. She is the most magnificent thing you have ever seen.

"You look so beautiful like this," you say. "Completely undone for me."

"You're an asshole," she whispers, but there’s no heat in it, only a deep, lingering pleasure. "Don't you ever tease me like that again." As she says it, she shifts, leaning up just enough to press her teeth against the side of your neck in a playful, possessive bite. It’s not hard, just a firm pressure.

You chuckle, then pepper her cheeks with soft kisses. "I'm sorry," you say, not sounding sorry at all. "I couldn't help it." You lean in close, your lips brushing her ear. "Hearing you beg for me, Jimin… hearing you lose control and tell me how much you needed it… it makes me fucking crazy. It’s addictive. I don't think I'll ever get enough of it."

Her breath hitches. Your words, your confession that her submission drives you wild, are exactly what she needs to hear. As you pull back, her eyes, now clear and focused, glitter with a new, dangerous kind of light. Her hand slides from your cheek, down your chest, over your stomach, coming to rest directly on the hard ridge of your cock through the denim of your jeans. Her fingers close around you, a firm, knowing grip that makes you hiss through your teeth. She squeezes, feeling the full, thick length of your cock straining against the fabric.

A slow, devastatingly confident smile spreads across her face. "Addictive, huh?" she purrs, her voice regaining its strength. "I can beg for a lot more than that." Her gaze drops from your eyes to your crotch, then back up, her expression pure, unadulterated hunger. "And right now," she says, her grip tightening, "I really, really want your cock."

Her words are a command and a plea all in one. Without another word, you pull away from her, getting off the bed. Her eyes are wide, tracking your every move as you reach for the button on your jeans. You undo it, the sound loud in the quiet room, then slowly pull down the zipper. You never break eye contact. You hook your thumbs into the waistband and push the jeans down over your hips, kicking them off impatiently.

Now you stand before her in just your dark boxer briefs. The fabric does little to hide the truth, straining to contain the thick, heavy bulge of your erection. You see her eyes fixate on it, her lips parting slightly. A sharp intake of breath is the only sound she makes. She is, as you suspected, absolutely captivated.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear. "You wanted this, remember?" you ask. You drag the fabric down slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until your cock springs free, heavy and thick in the dim light.

Jimin lets out a long, shuddering sigh. It’s a sound of pure awe. Your cock is fully hard, glistening with a bead of clear, slick precum. It’s big, bigger than she probably imagined, and her eyes trace its length, from the heavy weight of your balls to the thick shaft and the promising, wet tip.

You don't give her too long to just look. You move back to the bed, climbing on and positioning yourself between her parted legs. They tremble slightly as you settle in, her thighs falling open to grant you full access. She's still so beautifully wrecked, so open and waiting for you. You take your cock in your hand, stroking it slowly, the pre-cum making your skin slick. You want her to watch. You want her to see exactly what is about to fill that empty, aching space inside her.

"Wait," you say. The thought hits you, a brief flash of real-world responsibility in this haze of lust. "Condoms. We should..."

"No," she says immediately, her voice firm, cutting you off. She shakes her head, her eyes blazing with a fierce, undeniable need. "No. I don't care about that right now. I need to feel you. All of you. I just want to feel your dick inside me. Now."

You hesitate, searching her face. "Jimin, are you sure?"

"Yes," she moans. Her hips arch off the bed, a desperate, silent invitation. "Please. I'm on birth control. Just… please, I need it. Don't make me wait anymore."

That's all you need. Her certainty, her raw need, erases any doubt. But you’re not going to let her off that easy. The teasing isn't over yet. You lean forward, bracing your hands on either side of her head, and lower your body until the tip of your cock is pressed against her. She gasps as the heat of you makes contact with her slick, swollen folds. She is unbelievably wet, her juices from her earlier orgasm making a perfect lubricant.

"So wet for me," you murmur, grinding the head of your cock against her clit. "You want this cock so badly, don't you?"

"Yes! Please, just put it in," she begs, her hands fisted in the bedsheets.

You ignore her plea, continuing the agonizing tease. You slide the head of your cock up and down her slit, gliding through her slickness, letting her feel your thickness, your hardness, but denying her the entry she craves. With every pass, she whimpers, her body straining, trying to force you inside her.

"Look at you," you whisper. "Trying to impale yourself on my cock. You can't wait, can you?"

"I can't," she sobs. "It feels so good… just the tip… please, I need to feel all of it. I need you to stretch me. Fill me up."

"Then you know what you have to do," you say, pausing your movements, holding the head of your cock right at her entrance, a promise and a threat. "Beg for it. Beg me to fuck your tight, wet pussy. Tell me how much you need this cock inside you."

"Please," she cries. "Please fuck me. I'm begging you. I need your cock. I need it inside my pussy right now. Please, I'll be so good for you, just fuck me!"

Her desperate, broken plea is the most beautiful sound you've ever heard. "Good girl," you praise.

And then you give her what she's begged for. You shift your hips, aiming the thick head of your cock at her entrance.

You push.

The feeling is indescribable. You stop, buried deep inside her, and the world just… ceases to exist. There is only this. The sensation is overwhelming, a sensory overload that shorts out every coherent thought in your brain. Her pussy is a revelation. It’s impossibly tight, a velvet clench around your entire length, gripping you with an intimate pressure that’s both demanding and welcoming. It’s slick, her juices coating your cock in a hot, wet sheen that makes every tiny shift an act of pure friction and pleasure. And it’s so, so hot, a deep, internal heat that feels like it’s seeping right into your bones.

Jimin lets out a choked, shuddering gasp, her eyes squeezed shut as her body tries to process the feeling of being so completely and utterly filled like this. Her inner walls pulse and clench around you, an involuntary, welcoming spasm that nearly makes you come right then and there. You have to clench every muscle in your body to hold back.

"Fuck, Jimin..." you groan. "You feel... I don't even have words. You feel so fucking perfect."

"You're so big," she whispers, her voice trembling. Her hands come up to rest on your chest, her fingers pressing into your skin. "You... you fill me up completely. I can feel you all the way inside me."

"I want to feel every inch of you," you say. You begin to move, but not in the hard, fast way you're both craving. Not yet. You pull back, agonizingly slowly, until just the thick head of your cock is inside her. She whimpers, a raw sound of protest at the loss, her hips lifting instinctively to follow you. Then, just as slowly, you push back in, letting her feel the full length of you sliding home once more.

"Oh, god," she moans, her head tossing on the pillows. "That... that feels..."

"I know," you say, continuing the slow, torturous rhythm. In and out. A deep, deliberate friction that is designed to let both of you savor every millimeter of contact. "I want you to feel all of it. Every time I slide into your tight, wet pussy. I want you to remember this feeling forever."

You do this for what feels like an eternity, just fucking her slowly, deeply, letting the tension build to a fever pitch. Her initial awe begins to melt away, replaced by a raw, hungry lust. Her hips are no longer just receiving you; she’s starting to push back, meeting your slow thrusts with an eagerness that makes your blood run hot. She’s ready.

"Okay, baby," you rasp, grabbing her hips firmly, your thumbs digging into the soft flesh above her hipbones. "You wanted this. Now you're going to get it."

You change the rhythm. Your thrusts become hard, deep, and punishing. You slam into her, your cock slapping against her wet folds, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing in the quiet room. You fuck her with a desperate, pent-up energy, each thrust driving you deeper, stretching her, filling her completely.

And she loves it. She cries out with every powerful slam of your hips, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you even deeper. Her head is thrown back, her neck arched, a long, continuous moan spilling from her parted lips. This is what you’ve both been waiting for.

You watch her as you fuck her, your gaze devouring the sight of her. And her breasts… fuck, her breasts are perfect. With every hard thrust, they bounce, a heavy, hypnotic jiggle that mesmerizes you. They are large and full, their weight made obvious by the way they sway and tremble with the force of your fucking. Her nipples, still hard and puckered from your earlier attention, are a deep, flushed pink, pointing right at you as if in offering.

"Look at them," you pant, your voice strained with effort and lust. "Look at your perfect tits bouncing for me. Every time I fuck you."

She glances down, a dazed, lust-filled smile spreading across her face as she watches the motion. "Fuck..." she breathes. "They're… they're so heavy…"

"I love how they move," you say, never breaking your rhythm. "I want to see them bounce harder."

You increase your pace, pounding into her with a relentless, frantic energy. You’re lost in it now, lost in the feeling of her tight, wet heat, the sight of her beautiful body taking you, the sound of her cries filling the air.

"More!" she screams. "Please, don't stop! Fuck me harder! I need it harder!"

"Like this, baby?" you growl, slamming into her with as much force as you can muster. "You want your pussy fucked like this?"

"Yes! Oh god, yes!" she cries, her nails digging into your back, leaving fiery trails on your skin. "Your cock… it feels so fucking good inside me! It's hitting everything! Please… don't ever stop!"

You are both drenched in sweat, your bodies slick, moving together as one. You lean down, fucking her senseless, and she is taking every inch, begging for more. You press her deeper into the soft mattress, your combined weight creating a perfect hollow of heat and friction. You are buried inside her, a seamless join of wet, hot flesh, and yet you crave more. You need to consume her, to taste her, to feel her surrender in every way possible. You capture her lips, crashing your mouth against hers again. It’s not a tender kiss; it’s a rough, hungry claiming. It’s the kiss of two people who have starved for years and just found a feast.

She kisses you back with an equal, startling fervor. This isn’t a passive acceptance; it’s a demand. Her tongue pushes against yours, her hands leaving your back to tangle in your hair, pulling your mouth harder against hers. You are both lost in it, fucking and kissing, a closed circuit of overwhelming sensation. The deep, rhythmic plunge of your cock into her pussy is punctuated by the wet slap of your mouths, the soft, desperate moans she makes when you deepen the kiss, the guttural groans you can’t hold back when she sucks your tongue into her mouth. It’s filthy, it’s perfect, and it’s driving you both insane.

But it’s still not enough. You break the kiss, leaving her panting and breathless, her lips swollen and glistening. You look down at her, at the magnificent sight of her breasts, flushed and trembling with each powerful thrust of your hips. You need to taste them again. While maintaining the relentless, pounding rhythm of your fucking, you lower your head. Her skin is slick with a fine sheen of sweat, and it tastes salty and sweet as you lick a path from her collarbone down to the valley between her breasts.

"God, you're so beautiful," you rasp, your lips moving against her skin. "So fucking perfect."

You reach the peak of her right breast and take the nipple into your mouth. She screams, a high, sharp sound of pure ecstasy. The dual stimulation; the deep, stretching fullness of your cock filling her pussy while your mouth works its magic on her sensitive nipple: is too much for her nervous system to handle. Her back arches violently off the bed, trying to push herself deeper onto your cock and, somehow, press her breast harder into your mouth at the same time. You suck strongly, laving the hardened peak with your tongue, nipping gently with your teeth. Her moans change, deepening from pleasured cries into long, keening wails.

"Fuck! Oh, fuck, yes!" she gashes. "That… your mouth… while you're… inside me… it's too much! I can't…"

You switch to the other breast, giving it the same devoted attention, refusing to let either feel neglected. You feel the frantic thrumming of her heart against your chest, the way her entire body is trembling on the verge of completely unraveling. You continue to fuck her hard and fast, your hips a relentless engine of pleasure, your mouth a vortex of sensation on her breast. She is being attacked from all sides, besieged by a pleasure so intense it’s a breath away from pain.

"Please," she sobs. "Please, I need to… I need to cum. You have to let me."

You lift your head from her breast, your lips slick, and look her in the eyes. Her gaze is wild, unfocused, pupils blown wide. "You want to cum for me, baby?" you ask, not slowing your pace for a second. You drive into her, hard, and she cries out. "You want to feel my cock deep inside your pussy when you come?"

"Yes! Yes, please, I'm begging you!" she cries, her hips bucking wildly, trying to match your frantic rhythm. "I can't hold on anymore. It's so good… it's too good. Please, make me cum. Fuck me until I cum."

This is it. This is the surrender you crave, the sound you are addicted to. Her begging is the sweetest music you’ve ever heard. You lean in close, your mouth right next to her ear, your hot breath ghosting over her skin. You can feel the fine hairs on her neck stand on end.

"You're so close, aren't you?" you whisper. You feel her shiver violently. "I can feel your pussy clenching around my cock. It's getting tighter. You're about to fall apart for me."

"I am," she whimpers, turning her head, trying to capture your mouth with hers, but you deny her, wanting her to focus on your words, on your cock filling her. "Please… let me. Let me go."

"Then go," you command, grabbing her hips, lifting them slightly to change the angle, driving your cock into a spot deep inside her that makes her see stars. She lets out a sound you’ve never heard before, a raw, animalistic cry of pure sensation. "Let go for me, Jimin. Come for me. I want to feel you come all over my cock. I want to feel your pussy milk me while you scream my name. Cum for me now!"

The command, the raw filth of your words, combined with the relentless, punishing fucking, is what finally does it. You feel the first tremor deep inside her, the unmistakable sign that she's tipping over the edge.

"I'm gonna cum!” she screams, the sound exploding right next to your ear, a hot, vibrating wave of pure ecstasy. "OH FUCK, I’M CUMMING!!”

Her orgasm is a violent, beautiful storm. Her body convulses around you, her inner walls clenching and pulsing on your cock in a frantic, unstoppable rhythm. She throws her head back and screams, a long, ragged sound of pure, untethered release. Her hips slam against you, no longer in rhythm, just wild, spasmodic movements as the pleasure rips through her. You don't stop fucking her; you match her intensity, pounding into her as she comes, driving her deeper into her climax. You feel her hot juices flood her cunt, coating your cock in her release.

After what feels like an eternity, the violent convulsions begin to subside, replaced by deep, shuddering tremors. She collapses back onto the mattress, completely spent, a string of breathless, broken sobs escaping her lips. You slow your thrusts, moving in and out of her gently now, letting her ride the last waves of her pleasure. You pull out slowly, your cock slick and dripping with her essence, and collapse beside her, pulling her sweat-drenched body against yours. You are both trembling, both breathless, both utterly, completely undone.

You hold her, your bodies slick with sweat, tangled together in the rumpled sheets. You can feel the frantic, rabbit-fast beat of her heart starting to slow against your chest, her ragged pants gradually deepening into something more controlled. For a long moment, you just lie there, listening to the sound of your own breathing mingling with hers, feeling the aftershocks of her powerful orgasm tremble through her body. You press a soft kiss to her damp forehead, your thumb gently stroking her back.

After a few minutes, she stirs, letting out a long, contented sigh. She lifts her head from your chest, her hair a wild, beautiful mess, her face flushed and glowing.

"Hey," you whisper. "How are you feeling?"

She looks at you, her eyes still a little dazed, but shining with a bright, clear light. A slow, languid smile spreads across her face. "Great," she pants, the word a soft puff of air. She shifts, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at you. "No, that's… that's not the right word." She shakes her head, as if searching for a better one. "I've never… ever felt that good in my entire life. I feel… obliterated. In the best possible way." She reaches out, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "You made me cum so hard. I think my soul left my body for a minute."

"Good. That's what I was going for." You love seeing her like this, so completely sated, so open and unguarded. "So, I guess that answers my next question," you tease, your hand sliding down her back to cup her ass, squeezing gently. "Or do you think you can take any more?"

You expect her to laugh, to say she needs a break, to maybe curl up and fall asleep. But the look in her eye changes.

"More?" she says. She lets out a soft, throaty laugh. "Of course I can."

Before you can react, she moves with a sudden, surprising strength. She grabs your shoulders, pushing you firmly onto your back. You go willingly, sinking into the mattress, intrigued by this sudden shift in energy. She straddles your chest, her knees on either side of your head, and leans down, her face just inches from yours.

"But," she whispers, her hair falling around you like a dark curtain, "it's my turn now."

She pulls you up by your hands, maneuvering you until you're sitting up, then pushes you back down again until you're lying flat on your back in the center of the bed. She crawls over you, her movements fluid and deliberate. She settles over your hips, straddling you, her knees planted firmly on the mattress on either side of your body. The view is breathtaking. You look up at her, at the perfect, heavy swell of her breasts, the soft curve of her stomach, her pink, swollen pussy still slick with her juices.

She reaches down, her fingers wrapping around your still-hard cock. You hiss as her cool fingers touch your hot, sensitive skin. She strokes you slowly, once, twice, watching your reaction, her eyes glittering with newfound power.

"You liked making me beg, didn't you?" she asks. "You liked hearing how much I needed you." She leans down, her lips brushing against yours. "Well, now it's your turn to feel what it's like. To just lie there and take it."

She positions herself, guiding the thick, slick head of your cock to her entrance. You can see the muscles in her thighs tense as she prepares to take you. She lowers herself with agonizing slowness, her eyes locked on yours. You watch her face as she takes you in, her expression a mixture of intense concentration and dawning pleasure. Her lips part, a soft hiss escaping as the head of your cock slides past her wet folds. She sinks down, inch by excruciating inch, her tight, hot pussy swallowing you whole.

The feeling of her taking you, of her being in complete control, is a whole new kind of ecstasy. When she has taken your entire length, she sits still for a moment, letting you both get used to the feeling of being joined again in this new configuration.

Then, she begins to move. It’s not the hard, frantic fucking from before. This is different. This is pure, sensual control. She starts with a slow, deep grind, her hips rolling in a lazy, circular motion. You groan, your hands coming up to grip her hips, but she just smiles, placing her hands on top of yours, stilling them. "No," she whispers. "My turn, remember? Just lie back and enjoy the ride."

She moves with an innate, hypnotic rhythm, her hips swaying, rotating, grinding your cock against all of her most sensitive inner walls. You can do nothing but lie there, completely at her mercy, as she plays your body like an instrument. She leans forward, bracing her hands on your chest, her breasts dangling just inches from your face. She picks up the pace slightly, her slow grinds transitioning into a steady, sensual bounce. She rises up on your shaft, then sinks back down, her movements fluid and graceful. With every downward slide, she lets out a soft, contented sigh, her head falling back, her eyes closing in bliss. This is Jimin in her element, a performer, a dancer, and right now, you are her stage, and she is giving the performance of a lifetime, her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles, grinding your cock against her deepest, most sensitive walls.

Each rotation sends a wave of exquisite friction through you, a pleasure so profound it’s almost agonizing. You can do nothing but lie there, a willing captive to her rhythm, your hands gripping the sheets at your sides to keep from grabbing her, from disrupting the perfect, hypnotic control she has established. Her head is thrown back, her eyes closed, a single, continuous, breathy moan spilling from her lips. She is completely lost in the sensation of filling herself with you, of being in total command.

It is, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing you have ever witnessed. The soft light from the window traces the elegant curve of her spine, the subtle flex of the muscles in her back and stomach as she moves. Her breasts, full and heavy, sway with each languid motion, their own mesmerizing dance. You watch, transfixed, as she smiles, a slow, secret smile of pure, selfish pleasure.

You can’t resist any longer. Your hands leave the sheets and come up to her, not to her hips to control her, but to her breasts. You cup their weight, your thumbs finding her still-puckered nipples. Her flesh is soft and warm, yielding to your touch. You squeeze gently, and her eyes fly open, locking with yours. Her moan deepens, becoming a throaty, guttural sound, and her hips grind down on you harder, a clear, unmistakable response. She likes it. She likes you touching her, worshiping her, even as she controls the fucking.

You continue to knead her breasts gently as she rides you, your thumbs flicking over her nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through her that you can feel in the way her pussy clenches around your cock. The combination of watching her, touching her, and feeling her move on you is an intoxicating cocktail of sensations.

She leans forward, bracing her hands on your chest, bringing her face close to yours. Her eyes are dark, swirling with a mixture of lust, power, and something else, something playful.

"Have you ever," she whispers as she continues her slow, steady bounce on your cock, "imagined this? Fucking a K-Pop idol? Having Karina from Aespa ride your dick like this?"

You let out a shaky laugh, the sound half disbelief, half pure awe. "Never," you say. "Not in my wildest, most fucked-up dreams, Jimin. I never thought I'd even speak to you again, let alone… this." You gesture vaguely to the impossible reality of your bodies being joined. "This is… beyond anything I could have ever imagined." You reach up, your hand leaving her breast to cup her cheek. "You are so unbelievably beautiful right now. On top of me. Taking my cock. I can't… I can't even process how beautiful you are."

She leans into your touch, her hips never ceasing their hypnotic, sensual movement.

"I think…" she says, so soft you have to strain to hear it over the wet sounds of your fucking. "I think this is where I belong." She searches your eyes, a desperate need for validation in her gaze. "On your cock. Like this. It feels… right."

"You do," you say. "You're right. This is exactly where you belong, Jimin. You're mine."

Your words are the final permission she needs. It’s as if you’ve unlocked the last cage, unleashing the wild, untamed creature she keeps hidden from the world. The shift is instantaneous. The slow, sensual grind vanishes. She picks up the pace, her hips slamming down on your cock with a force that drives you deep into the mattress. She starts riding you with a frantic, desperate energy, no longer teasing or exploring, but fucking. She is fucking you with everything she has.

Her hair whips around her face, her body is drenched in sweat, and a stream of filthy, broken moans pours from her lips. She moves with a startling, intuitive skill, her hips tilting, rotating, grinding in a way that she knows, that her body inherently understands, will maximize your pleasure. She’s hitting hard with every downward slam, dragging the head of your cock along all the right walls. Her breasts are no longer swaying gently; they are bouncing wildly, a beautiful, chaotic jiggle that mirrors the abandoned rhythm of her hips. You are completely at her mercy, pinned beneath her, as she rides you with a single-minded goal: to drive you absolutely insane.

"Fuck, you're so hot," she pants. "Your body… I can't believe this is real. I can't believe I'm actually doing this, that I'm riding you." She shakes her head, a look of genuine, wondrous disbelief on her face. "I feel like I'm going to wake up."

You want to anchor her to this reality, to prove to her that this is not a dream. You lift your hands from her tits and reach for hers, the one still braced on your chest and the other tangled in the sheets beside you. You capture them, your fingers intertwining with hers, your grip firm and steady. She gasps, her eyes locking with yours. You squeeze her hands, a silent message passing between you. I'm real. This is real. We are real.

The gesture works. A new wave of confidence washes over her, the last vestiges of her disbelief burned away by the simple, grounding touch of your hands locked with hers. A fierce, determined look enters her eyes. She picks up the pace again, her bounces becoming higher, harder, each downward slam of her hips punctuated by a shared grunt of effort and pleasure. You can feel the tension coiling in your own body, the familiar pressure building deep in your balls. You’re getting close, and she can feel it too. The way your hips have started to buck up to meet her thrusts, the way your breath is catching in your throat—she knows.

She leans down, her face close to yours, her expression a perfect mixture of seductive confidence and genuine curiosity. "You're close, aren't you?" she asks. "I can feel you twitching inside me. You're going to come for me soon." She grinds her hips down, a slow, deliberate circle that makes you groan her name. "Tell me where you want it. Where do you want to cum?"

The question is so direct, so filthy, so utterly her in this new, empowered state, that a raw laugh escapes you. "Guess," you manage to rasp.

A wicked, knowing giggle bubbles from her lips. She doesn't even have to think about it. "On my breasts," she says immediately, full of certainty. "You want to cover my tits with your cum, don't you?"

"Is it that obvious?" you ask, your hips thrusting up involuntarily.

"A little," she teases, a wide, beautiful smile lighting up her face. "You're such a pervert."

"Can you blame me?" you groan, your gaze dropping to her magnificent, bouncing breasts. "They're perfect. I've been thinking about doing this since the moment you took off your sweater."

"I know," she says, and the way she says it, so full of pride and satisfaction, makes your cock throb inside her. "They're all yours." She leans in again. "But you have to make a good mess. I want you to cover them completely. Get them all sticky and hot with your cum. Promise me."

"Fuck, Jimin," you gasp, your body trembling. "Don't say things like that unless you mean it."

"Oh, I mean it," she says, her hips beginning to move in a final, frantic assault. She’s bouncing on your cock with a wild, desperate energy, trying to wring every last drop of pleasure from you. "I want it all. I want you to empty your balls for me. Cum for me, baby. Come on my tits now!"

"I'm going to!" you shout, the words ripped from you. "Karina, I'm going to cum!"

Without a word, she breaks the connection, sliding her body off your cock with a wet, sucking sound that echoes the hollowness you now feel. Before you can even question it, she moves with a dancer's deliberate grace, crawling to the edge of the bed and sinking to her knees on the soft rug below. She looks up at you from the floor.

You follow her lead, your mind reeling, your body acting on pure instinct. You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand before her. The world has tilted on its axis. The sight of Jimin, your childhood best friend, Karina, a global icon, the woman whose face adorns billboards and magazines, kneeling at your feet is so surreal, so intensely erotic, it feels like a fever dream. Her hair is a tangled mess around her shoulders, her face is flushed with exertion, her lips are swollen and parted, and her eyes… her eyes are fixed on your cock with a look of devotional worship.

She is waiting.

You take your cock in your hand, the skin slick with her juices and your own precum. The head is swollen, twitching with need. You start stroking yourself, a slow, steady rhythm, your gaze locked with hers. You want her to watch. You want to see her expression as you bring yourself to the edge for her.

Your hand moves on your cock, a slick, frantic motion, but it's almost unnecessary. Her gaze, her posture, her very existence in this moment is all the stimulation you need. She squeezes her breasts together, pushing them up, the pale, heavy flesh forming a perfect canvas, a perfect target. The nipples are hard, dark points in the soft mounds, practically begging to be decorated.

"Please," she whimpers. "Look at them. They're waiting for you. I want to feel your hot cum all over them. I need it. Please, baby, give it to me. Drench me." She shifts on her knees, her eyes wide and pleading. "I want to be your good, filthy whore. I want you to paint my tits."

Her words are a lit match to a barrel of gasoline. A deep, primal roar tears itself from your throat, a sound of pure, untethered release. Your hips snap forward, your eyes roll back into your head, and the world dissolves into a blinding, white-hot flash of sensation.

"Fuck! Jimin!" you scream as the first torrent of your orgasm erupts from the tip of your cock.

It's a powerful, shockingly thick shot that arcs through the air with surprising force, splattering directly in the center of her chest, in the deep valley created by her hands squeezing her breasts together. A thick, pearlescent glob lands with an audible smack against her hot skin.

She gasps, a sharp, shuddering intake of breath, her whole body jolting as if you’d touched her with a live wire. "Yes!" she cries out, her eyes fluttering shut. "Oh god, it's so hot... so warm..."

But you're just getting started. Your body is a machine now, completely outside of your conscious control. You grip your cock, your knuckles white, and with another guttural groan, a second, then a third powerful spurt are unleashed. These ones are ropes, thick and heavy, that land higher, one splattering across her right breast, covering the dark, puckered areola completely, the other hitting her delicate collarbone and starting to drip slowly down her neck.

"More!" she pants, her eyes still closed, lost in the sensation of being covered by you. "Give me all of it! Don't hold back!"

You obey her command, your hips continuing their involuntary bucking motion. Spurt after spurt flies from you, a relentless, massive load that you didn't even know you were holding. You paint her with your release, a chaotic, beautiful masterpiece of pure lust. A thick shot coats her left breast, another lands on her shoulder. You see a long, thick strand connect from your cock to her chin for a split second before it falls, adding to the growing mess on her chest. She is taking it all, not flinching, not shying away, only sighing and shivering as each hot, wet impact makes contact with her skin.

Even as the initial, powerful torrents begin to subside, you don't stop. You wrap your hand firmly around the base of your shaft and start to stroke, determined to give her everything. "Every last drop is for you, Jimin," you manage to gasp out. You milk your cock, forcing out the last, thickest globs of your semen, adding them to the already considerable mess. Your cum is everywhere. It’s pooled in the hollow of her throat, it’s dripping in thick, slow trails between and under her breasts, it has completely coated her chest and neck in a sticky, glistening layer.

Finally, your orgasm spends itself completely. You sway on your feet, your knees weak, your body utterly drained. You stare down at the scene, your breathing coming in ragged, harsh pants.

Karina stays kneeling for a long moment, her chest rising and falling heavily beneath the cooling, sticky evidence of your pleasure. Then, slowly, she opens her eyes. She looks down at herself, a look of pure, unadulterated awe on her face.

"Wow," she whispers. She looks up at you, her eyes shining. "Look what you did to me. You came so much."

Then, she does something that makes your already overloaded brain short-circuit again. She dips the index finger of her right hand into the thickest pool of your cum between her breasts. She lifts it, watching the thick, white strand stretch and then snap. A slow, mischievous smile spreads across her face. She uses her finger to swirl the cum around, drawing lazy circles and patterns on her own skin.

"It's so sticky," she says with a giggle, completely devoid of shame, full of nothing but a raw, playful joy. She dips the fingers of her other hand in, spreading the mess further, connecting the splatters, ensuring every inch of her chest and the full, heavy curves of her breasts are coated in a uniform, glistening layer of you. "Am I pretty like this?" she asks, looking up at you through her lashes, her face a picture of filthy innocence. "All covered in your hot cum?"

You can only nod, completely speechless.

She sees your state and her smile widens. She leans forward, takes the now-sensitive, post-orgasm head of your cock into her mouth, and gently, reverently, sucks you clean. Her tongue is soft and methodical, a soothing, incredible sensation that makes your knees threaten to buckle.

When she's done, she pulls back and looks up at you again, her own masterpiece complete. "All clean," she says softly. She gestures down at her chest. "All of it is on me now. Just like I wanted."

You finally find your voice. "You're… perfect," you say. "Absolutely fucking perfect."

You sink to your knees in front of her, your strength completely gone. You cup her face, your thumbs wiping away a stray drip of your own cum from her chin. You look at her, this incredible woman, your childhood friend, your idol, your lover, covered in your filth at her own request. And then you kiss her, a deep, soul-searing kiss that tastes of salt, and sweat, and sex.

—

You crack an eye open, the morning light filtering through a gap in Jimin’s bedroom curtains, painting stripes across the far wall. The space beside you in the massive bed is empty, though the sheets are still rumpled, still faintly radiating her warmth and her unique, intoxicating scent. You’re sprawled on your stomach, clad only in your boxer briefs. You push yourself up, wincing slightly as your muscles protest, and swing your legs over the side of the bed.

The apartment is quiet, save for the distant, comforting clatter of something in the kitchen. Coffee. The thought alone is enough to make you move. You pad out of the bedroom, your bare feet silent on the cool wooden floor, still feeling the pleasant, lingering ache in your groin, a happy souvenir from the night’s activities.

And there she is.

Jimin is standing at the kitchen counter, her back to you, humming softly to herself as she expertly works her fancy espresso machine. And she’s wearing your shirt. Your button-down from last night, the one you’d discarded so carelessly on her bedroom floor. It’s ridiculously oversized on her frame, the sleeves rolled up multiple times, the hem falling to her mid-thighs, offering tantalizing glimpses of her long, pale legs. Her hair is piled on top of her head in another one of those effortlessly perfect messy buns, a few errant strands escaping to kiss the nape of her neck.

It’s such an incredibly domestic scene, but the irony isn't lost on you: one minute she’s a K-pop idol, the next she’s your childhood crush confessing feelings, then she’s a screaming, cum-covered goddess, and now… now she’s just Jimin, making coffee in your shirt in her sun-drenched kitchen. Your head is still trying to catch up with the whiplash.

You lean against the doorframe just watching her for a moment. She moves with an easy grace, even when she’s just reaching for a mug, a quiet confidence in her posture that wasn’t there when you first reconnected. She turns then, two steaming mugs in her hands, and her own smile, soft and a little shy, blooms when she sees you.

"Oh, good morning," a slight blush creeps up her cheeks, but her eyes are warm. "I wasn’t sure when you’d surface. Or if you’d even remember where you were."

"Morning," you reply, your own speech still a little rough from sleep. You push off the doorframe and walk towards her, your gaze lingering on the way your shirt drapes over her. "And trust me, last night is pretty… unforgettable. Slept like a fucking log, though. Best sleep I’ve had in ages."

"Me too," she admits, her blush deepening slightly as she hands you one of the mugs. The rich, dark aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills your senses, a welcome antidote to the lingering haze of your hangover. "Black, two sugars, right? Or has your sophisticated palate evolved since our high school instant coffee days?"

You chuckle, taking a grateful sip. Perfect. "Still remember, huh? Impressive. And no, some things are sacred. This is… this is exactly what I needed." You take another long, appreciative gulp. "So, are you feeling the after-effects of that wine as much as I am?" you ask, gesturing vaguely to your head. "My skull feels like it's been crushed by a baseball bat."

She laughs, a light, airy sound. "Tell me about it. Definitely a two-aspirin, one-gallon-of-water kind of morning for me too." She sips her own coffee, her eyes meeting yours over the rim of the mug, a comfortable, knowing silence settling between you for a moment. "So," she begins, her gaze dropping to her mug for a second before returning to yours, a hint of that earlier vulnerability creeping back in. "Last night… that was… " She trails off, searching for the words.

"Amazing," you supply, your own words soft but firm, leaving no room for doubt. "It was fucking amazing, Jimin. All of it."

A relieved, almost dazzling smile breaks across her face. "Yeah," she breathes, her shoulders relaxing visibly. "Yeah, it really, really was." She takes another sip of coffee, then, almost as if she can’t help herself, she adds, "You… you really know how to make a girl feel good. Like, really good."

"Just returning the favor," you say, a teasing glint in your eyes. "You weren't exactly holding back yourself." The memory of her, riding you with such wild abandon, her cries echoing in the room, makes a heat rise through your body, making your cock give a responsive throb in your boxers. You discreetly shift your weight. This domestic morning-after scene is lovely, but your body clearly hasn't forgotten the main event.

A comfortable lull settles as you both sip your coffee, the shared memories of the night before a warm, unspoken presence. But then, you see a flicker of something in Jimin’s eyes, a subtle shift in her expression. She sets her mug down on the counter, her fingers tracing the rim. The tension, which had dissipated, slowly begins to creep back into the room. Here it comes. The inevitable "what now?"

"So…" she begins, her gaze fixed on her coffee cup, her words careful, almost tentative. "What… what happens now? With us?" She finally looks up at you, her eyes wide and searching. "Was last night just… you know… a one-time thing? Because of the wine, and the confessions, and… everything?"

You set your own mug down, your heart giving a familiar, uncomfortable thump.

This is it. The moment of truth.

"A one-time thing?" you repeat. You let out a short, humorless chuckle, running a hand through your already messy hair. "Jimin, after last night… after you… do you honestly think I could just… walk away from that? Pretend it didn't happen?" You meet her gaze, your own expression deadly serious now. "I really, really like you. More than like you, if I’m being completely honest. And… and I don’t think I can be the same around you anymore. Not after yesterday." You take a deep breath. "I think… fuck, I know… I need you. Like it’s oxygen. And that terrifies the absolute shit out of me, but it’s the goddamn truth."

The silence that follows is deafening. For a heart-stopping moment, you think you’ve said too much, gone too far, laid yourself too bare.

Then, slowly, miraculously, a smile begins to spread across her face. It’s not just any smile. It’s a Jimin-smile, a radiant, all-encompassing beam of pure, unadulterated happiness that lights up her entire being, that chases away every last shadow of doubt and fear in the room. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Without a word, she pushes herself off the counter, closes the small distance between you in two quick steps, and then her arms are around your neck, her body pressing against yours, and she’s kissing you. It’s a kiss that tastes of coffee, and relief. It’s a kiss that seals the deal, a kiss that says everything you both needed to hear. And as you kiss her back, your own arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer, feeling the soft warmth of her body clad only in your shirt against your bare chest, You suddenly remember that Jimin, your Jimin, is no longer just yours, is no longer just Jimin, your dork childhood friend.

You pull back slightly, your gaze searching hers. "Jimin," you begin, "this is… this is incredible. You’re incredible. Last night was… beyond anything." Her smile softens, her eyes shining with affection, but you press on. "But… what the hell do we do now? I meant what I said, about needing you, about all of it. But us… like this…" You gesture vaguely between the two of you, encompassing the intimacy, the secret now hanging palpably in the air of her sunlit kitchen. "You know what your life is like. The spotlight, the fans, the company… SM isn’t exactly known for its progressive stance on its idols having, well, this." Your irony here is bitter, a defense mechanism against the very real fear clenching your heart. "This could be… dangerous for you. For your career. I don’t want to be the one who…"

Jimin’s fingers gently press against your lips, silencing you. Her expression is soft, understanding, but there’s a new firmness there too, a resolute calm that wasn’t present during her earlier, more vulnerable moments.

"Shhh," she murmurs, her thumb brushing your lower lip. "Don't. Don't do that. Don't spiral." She leans in, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to your mouth, then another to your cheek, then your forehead. Her touch is like a balm, soothing the sharp edges of your anxiety. "I know all of that. Believe me, I live it every single day. But right now," she continues, her eyes holding yours, clear and unwavering, "right now, I don’t want to think about any of it. Not SM, not the fans, not the potential fallout. Not yet."

She pulls back just enough to look you squarely in the eyes, her hands now resting on your shoulders. "What happened last night, what’s happening right now," she says, "this is real. And it’s ours." Her lips curve into a small, almost conspiratorial smile. "No one needs to know about this. Not now, anyway. It’ll be our secret, okay? Just for us."

Her words, her confidence, the delicious, illicit thrill of a shared secret with her: it’s an intoxicating, dangerous combination.

"Our secret, huh?" you echo, an eyebrow quirking upwards. "You know, that’s… that’s actually kind of fucking sexy, Jimin. The danger of it all… it’s a little exciting, isn't it?" You can't help the way your own words deepen, the way your gaze drops to her lips.

She lets out a delighted, throaty chuckle. "See? I knew you’d get it." She leans in again, her lips brushing yours, a silent promise of more to come. "Danger is always more exciting." Her breath is warm against your skin, her proximity reigniting the embers of last night’s events.

Between feather-light kisses that dance along your jawline, your neck, she murmurs, "But, speaking of not wanting things to get… complicated… or, you know, result in tiny, K-pop-superstar-related accidents…" She pulls back slightly, her expression turning a little more practical, though the sultry glint in her eyes remains. "I think it might be a very, very good idea for you to acquire some condoms. Like, a lot of them. A truly impressive, perhaps even alarming, quantity." A playful smirk dances on her lips. "We can’t exactly keep pushing our luck like last night, as… memorable as it was."

"Duly noted. I’ll arrange for a strategic acquisition of latex-based defenses. Consider me on a mission."

"Good," she purrs, pressing a final, lingering kiss to your mouth. Then, her hand, which had been resting on your shoulder, slides down your chest, a slow, deliberate trail of fire, down, down, until it reaches the front of your boxer briefs. Her fingers close around your already-hardening cock, her touch light but possessive, sending a jolt straight through you. You gasp, your hips giving an involuntary twitch.

She looks up at you through her lashes, her smile turning wicked, utterly predatory. "Because," she whispers, her breath hot against your lips, her fingers giving you a slow, deliberate squeeze that makes your knees weak, "while we wait for those… reinforcements… there is something I can do for you right now. Something that definitely doesn't require a condom."

And with a final, devastatingly innocent flutter of her eyelashes, she slides from your embrace, her hand never leaving your groin, and slowly, gracefully, sinks to her knees on the kitchen floor in front of you. The morning, it seems, is far from over.

In fact, this is just the beginning.

[rvp32]

So, What Are We?

H1-Key Yel X Male Reader

Tags : Romance, Complex Feelings, Childhood Friends Yel, Drama, Vanilla, Sweaty, Kissing, Cogwirl, Creampies, Pussy Eating Words : 7,543 Words

The ping of a notification on my phone pulled me out of my work haze. I glanced down, expecting another email, but instead, I saw a name I hadn’t seen in months: Yel. My heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t reached out since… well, since everything happened.

I hesitated before opening the message. What could she possibly want now? The last time we’d spoken, she’d been distant, caught up in her new college life, her new boyfriend, her new everything. I’d faded into the background, like an old piece of furniture she no longer needed.

The message was simple: “Hey! It’s been a while. How have you been?”

It felt casual, but I could sense the weight behind the words. Yel wasn’t one to reach out just to chat. Not anymore.

I typed back, trying to keep it light. “Hey, Yel! I’m good. Busy with work. How about you?”

Her reply came almost instantly. “Not great, honestly. Can we meet up? I need to talk.”

I stared at the screen, my mind racing. What could’ve happened? The last I’d heard, she was still with that guy—the one who’d taken her away from me. But something in her tone felt off, like she was holding back tears even through text.

“Sure,” I replied. “Where and when?”

We met at a quiet café tucked away from the bustling city streets. I arrived first, nerves twisting in my stomach. When she walked in, my breath caught.

Yel looked… different. The usual spark in her eyes was dimmed, replaced by a hollow sadness. She spotted me and forced a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She slid into the seat across from me, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her sweater.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey,” I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral. “It’s been a while.”

She nodded, her gaze dropping to the table. “Yeah… I’m sorry I haven’t reached out sooner. Things have been… complicated.”

I leaned back in my chair, studying her. “What’s going on, Yel?”

She took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly. “You’ve probably heard about… the pictures.”

I froze. The pictures. The ones that had been leaked online, spreading like wildfire. I’d seen them, of course—how could I not? But I’d avoided thinking about them, avoided thinking about her.

“I did,” I admitted, my voice gentle. “I’m sorry, Yel.”

Her eyes welled with tears, and she quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand. “It’s been… awful. Everyone turned on me. My friends, my classmates… even him.”

Her voice broke on the last word, and I felt a pang of anger. Her boyfriend. The guy who’d been supposed to protect her, to stand by her side. Instead, he’d thrown her to the wolves.

“He’s an asshole,” I said firmly. “You didn’t deserve any of this.”

She looked up at me, her eyes searching mine. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” I replied without hesitation.

For a moment, she just stared at me, as if she couldn’t believe someone was actually on her side. Then, to my surprise, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug.

I froze, unsure of how to react. Her body was warm against mine, her chest pressing into me with a softness that made my heart race. Yel. The girl I’d had a crush on for as long as I could remember. The girl I’d thought I’d lost forever.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’ve been so alone… but you’re here.”

I hesitated for a moment before wrapping my arms around her, holding her close. “I’m here,” I said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She pulled back slightly, her eyes glistening with tears. “Promise?”

“Promise,” I said, my voice steady.

She smiled—a real, genuine smile this time—and iIt felt like the sun breaking through the clouds. But beneath the warmth, there was something else—a tension, a pull between us that I couldn’t ignore.

“I missed you,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “You were always so kind to me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

“You always deserved it,” I said, my voice firm.

Her gaze softened, and for a moment, it felt like we were kids again—inseparable, carefree. But then she pulled back, breaking the moment, and I felt a pang of disappointment.

“We should hang out more,” she said, her tone lighter now. “Like we used to.”

“I’d like that,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.

She smiled again, and this time, there was a glint of something in her eyes—something that made my heart race.

“Good,” she said, her voice teasing. “Because I’m not letting you go again.”

I felt a flush creep up my neck, and I quickly looked away, trying to hide my reaction.

“So,” she continued, her tone playful now, “what have you been up to since I’ve been gone?”

I hesitated, unsure of how much to share. But then I looked at her—the girl who’d always been my biggest weakness—and I knew I couldn’t lie.

“Not much,” I admitted. “Just… waiting for you to come back.”

Her smile faltered for a moment, and I thought I saw a flicker of guilt in her eyes. But then it was gone, replaced by that teasing glint.

“Well, I’m here now,” she said, her voice soft. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

We lapsed into silence, the tension between us thickening with each passing second. But before I could say anything, she stood up, her movements graceful.

“I should go,” she said, her tone regretful. “But… we’ll talk soon?”

“Definitely,” I replied, standing as well.

She hesitated for a moment before stepping closer, her body inches from mine. I could feel the warmth radiating off her, could smell the faint scent of her perfume. It was intoxicating.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her eyes meeting mine. “For everything.”

And then, before I could react, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to my cheek. It was quick, almost chaste, but it sent a jolt of electricity through me.

She pulled back, her cheeks flushed, and I saw something in her eyes—something that made my heart race.

“See you soon,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

And then she was gone, leaving me standing there, my heart pounding in my chest.

This… this changes everything.

The café was dimly lit, the kind of place where the soft hum of conversations and the clinking of cups created a cocoon of intimacy. Yel was already there when I arrived, sitting in a corner booth with a cup of coffee cupped between her hands. Her hair was draped over one shoulder, and she looked up as I approached, a tentative smile playing on her lips.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice carrying a warmth that made my chest tighten.

“Hey,” I replied, sliding into the seat across from her. The air between us felt charged, like the quiet before a storm. “How are you holding up?”

She sighed, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. “Better, I think. Thanks for asking. It’s… nice to have someone to talk to.”

I nodded, letting the silence hang for a moment before I spoke again. “You said you wanted to talk about our shared past. What’s on your mind?”

Yel hesitated, her gaze dropping to the table. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us. About how close we used to be. How different things were back then.”

Her words tugged at something deep inside me, a memory of childhood summers and stolen glances. “Yeah,” I murmured. “We were inseparable.”

She looked up, her eyes searching mine. “Do you ever wonder what happened? To us, I mean?”

I leaned back, considering her question. “I think life just… got in the way. We grew up, went to different schools, met new people.”

Yel’s expression softened, but there was a flicker of sadness in her eyes. “I guess. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? I feel like… I let something slip away. Something I didn’t realize I had until it was gone.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I stayed quiet, letting her fill the silence.

“Do you remember that time we went to the beach?” she asked suddenly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “When we were, what, twelve?”

I chuckled, the memory instantly flooding back. “How could I forget? You dared me to jump off that cliff, and I ended up scraping my knee on the rocks.”

Her laugh was soft, almost nostalgic. “You were so brave back then. Always doing whatever I asked, no matter how crazy.”

I shrugged, feeling a warmth spread through me at her words. “Anything for you, Yel.”

Her smile wavered, and she looked away, her fingers tightening around her cup. “I miss that,” she whispered. “I miss you.”

The air between us grew heavier, and I felt a pang of something I couldn’t quite name. “I’m still here,” I said quietly. “I’ve always been here.”

She met my gaze again, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I know. And that’s why I’m so grateful. You’re the only one who’s stuck by me through all of this.”

I reached across the table, gently placing my hand over hers. “You don’t have to thank me, Yel. That’s what friends are for.”

She studied our hands, her thumb brushing against mine in a way that sent a jolt through my veins. “But what if… what if I want more than that?”

My breath caught, and I felt my pulse quicken. “Yel—”

She cut me off, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I just… I feel like I don’t even know you anymore. The real you. And it scares me.”

I tightened my grip on her hand, my mind racing. “You do know me. Better than anyone else.”

She shook her head, her tears spilling over. “I don’t. Not really. I was so caught up in my own world, in him, that I didn’t even notice what I was losing. And now… now I’m afraid it’s too late.”

“It’s not,” I said firmly, my voice low and steady. “It’s never too late, Yel.”

She looked up at me, her eyes wide and searching. “Then tell me,” she whispered. “Tell me who you are. Really.”

I hesitated, feeling the weight of her words settle over me. “I’m the same person I’ve always been,” I said finally. “The one who’d do anything for you.”

Her lips parted, and I could see the conflict in her eyes—the fear, the hope, the longing. “Even now?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“Especially now.”

She stared at me for a long moment, her breath shallow, and then she pulled her hand away, wiping at her tears. “I don’t deserve you,” she murmured, her voice breaking.

“Don’t say that,” I said firmly, leaning forward. “You deserve everything, Yel. And if I can be a part of that, then I’m here. No matter what.”

She looked at me, her eyes filled with a vulnerability that made my chest ache. “What if I mess it up again? What if I lose you?”

“You won’t,” I promised, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside me. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She bit her lip, her gaze dropping to the table again. “I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted. “How to… be close to someone without ruining it.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I said softly. “Together.”

Her eyes met mine, and for the first time that evening, I saw a glimmer of hope. “Together,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

We sat there in silence for a while, the weight of our conversation hanging in the air. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence—it was the kind that felt like the first step toward something new, something fragile and beautiful.

Eventually, Yel spoke again, her voice soft but steady. “Can I tell you something? About… him?”

I nodded, feeling a pang of unease but pushing it aside. “Of course.”

She took a deep breath, her fingers tracing patterns on the table. “He was… charming, at first. Funny, confident, the kind of guy who made you feel like you were the only person in the room. But after a while, I started to notice things. Little things, at first. The way he’d get jealous if I talked to other guys. The way he’d make me feel guilty for spending time with my friends.”

Her voice was calm, but I could see the pain in her eyes, and it made my chest tighten.

“And then, it got worse,” she continued, her voice trembling. “He started to control everything—what I wore, who I talked to, where I went. And when I tried to stand up to him, he’d just… twist it around, make it seem like it was my fault.”

I clenched my fists under the table, but I kept my voice steady. “He was an asshole, Yel. You didn’t deserve that.”

She nodded, her tears spilling over again. “I know… now. But back then, I just wanted him to love me. I thought if I could just be enough, he’d treat me the way he used to. But he never did.”

I reached across the table again, gently taking her hand in mine. “You are enough. You always have been.”

She looked up at me, her eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For saying that. For… everything.”

I squeezed her hand, feeling a surge of protectiveness. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad you’re here. With me.”

Her lips curved into a small smile, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. “Me too,” she murmured.

The tension between us was palpable, a quiet hum of something waiting to be acknowledged. But neither of us spoke, neither of us moved. We just sat there, our hands intertwined, our breaths syncing in the quiet stillness of the café.

And then, slowly, tentatively, Yel leaned forward, her eyes searching mine. “Do you think…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think we could ever…?”

Her words trailed off, but I knew what she was asking. And the answer was there, in the way my heart raced, in the way my gaze lingered on her lips.

But before I could respond, before I could even think, she pulled back slightly, her cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “I shouldn’t have—”

I cut her off, my hand tightening around hers. “Don’t apologize, Yel,” I said softly. “Not for this.”

She looked at me, her eyes wide and uncertain, and I felt a surge of something I couldn’t quite name—something that made me want to close the distance between us, to erase the pain in her eyes.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I leaned back, giving her the space she needed, even as my heart screamed for more.

And in that moment, I knew one thing for certain: this wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning.

The café was quiet, the soft hum of a distant espresso machine the only sound that broke the silence between us. Yel’s fingers traced the edge of her coffee cup, her eyes downcast, but there was something in the way she looked at me—something that made my heart skip a beat. The air between us felt charged, electric, as though we were on the brink of something neither of us had the courage to name.

“You’re the only one who’s stayed,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Everyone else just… left.” Her eyes met mine, and I could see the vulnerability there, the raw need for connection that she’d buried so deep for so long.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said firmly, reaching across the table to take her hand in mine. Her fingers were warm, and she didn’t pull away. Instead, she intertwined them with mine, her grip tight, as though she was afraid I might disappear if she let go.

“You always were too good to me,” she said softly, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

“You’ve always deserved it,” I replied, my voice steady even as my heart raced. “You just… forgot that for a while.”

She looked at me then, her gaze searching, as though she was trying to see past the words, past the surface, to the truth beneath. I felt exposed, vulnerable, but I didn’t look away. I couldn’t. Not when she was looking at me like that.

“What if…” she started, then hesitated, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “What if I want more than just friendship?”

The question hung in the air between us, heavy, loaded. My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. I could only stare at her, at the way her cheeks flushed pink, at the way her eyes darted away, then back to mine, searching for an answer I wasn’t sure I could give.

“More?” I finally managed, my voice barely a whisper.

She nodded, her hand tightening around mine. “I don’t want to lose you again. Not like before. Not… not like everyone else.”

I could feel the heat of her gaze, the intensity of her words, and it was all I could do to keep my composure. But there was something else, too—something that made my stomach twist, my chest tighten. Something that made me want to pull her close, to kiss her until she forgot all the pain, all the heartache.

But I didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, I leaned forward, our faces inches apart, the warmth of her breath ghosting over my skin. “You’re not going to lose me,” I said, my voice low, steady. “Not now. Not ever.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, I thought she might pull away. But then she leaned in, her lips brushing against mine, soft, tentative, as though she was testing the waters. It was a kiss, but it wasn’t just a kiss. It was a question, a promise, a plea all rolled into one.

And then she deepened it.

Her hands slid up to my neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck as she pulled me closer. Her lips moved against mine with a hunger that sent a shiver down my spine, her tongue teasing, coaxing, begging for more. I could feel the heat of her body pressed against mine, the curve of her breasts brushing against my chest, and it took every ounce of self-control I had not to give in, not to let myself get lost in the moment.

But I couldn’t. Not here. Not like this.

Reluctantly, I pulled back, my breath ragged, my heart pounding in my chest. Yel’s eyes were dark, her lips swollen, and I could see the confusion, the hurt, in her gaze.

“I—” she started, but I cut her off, my voice soft but firm.

“Not here,” I said, my hand reaching up to cup her cheek. “Not like this.”

She stared at me for a moment, her brows furrowed, and then she nodded, her shoulders slumping in resignation. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I just… I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” I repeated, my thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. “But this… this isn’t just about us. It’s about you. About what you need. What you’re ready for.”

She looked at me then, her eyes searching, and I could see the vulnerability, the fear, the hope, all swirling together in her gaze. “And what if I’m ready?” she asked, her voice trembling. “What if I’m ready for more?”

I hesitated, my mind racing, my heart pounding. Because the truth was, I didn’t know. I didn’t know if she was ready, if I was ready, if this was the right thing to do. But I knew one thing for certain: I couldn’t hurt her. Not again. Not like before.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” I said finally, my voice steady even as my heart raced. “Together.”

She nodded, her eyes never leaving mine, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I saw a flicker of hope, of happiness, in her gaze. And in that moment, I knew one thing for certain: this wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning.

The air between us was electric as we stood in the dimly lit hallway of my apartment. Yel’s back was pressed against the wall, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Her eyes, wide and vulnerable, locked onto mine, searching for something—reassurance, permission, desire? I wasn’t entirely sure. But the tension was unbearable, and the way she looked at me—soft lips parted, cheeks flushed—made it impossible to think clearly.

My hand found its way to her waist, fingers grazing the curve of her hip as I stepped closer. Her breath hitched, a small, almost imperceptible sound that sent a shiver down my spine. I could feel the heat radiating from her body, the way she trembled slightly under my touch. My other hand lifted to her face, cupping her cheek gently. Her skin was warm, and she leaned into my palm, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment before opening again.

“Yel,” I murmured, my voice low and rough, “are you sure about this?”

She hesitated, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Then, slowly, she nodded. “I need this,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I need you.”

That was all the confirmation I needed. My hand slid from her waist to the back of her thigh, lifting her leg gently as I pressed myself against her. Her breath escaped in a soft gasp, fingers gripping the fabric of my shirt as if anchoring herself to the moment. My lips brushed against hers, tentative at first, testing the waters. Her response was immediate—she kissed me back with a hunger that took my breath away, her hands tangling in my hair as she pulled me closer.

The kiss deepened, our lips moving together in a rhythm that felt both familiar and entirely new. Her body molded against mine, and I could feel the heat building between us, the way her heart raced in time with mine. My hand traveled higher up her thigh, fingers teasing the hem of her skirt before dipping beneath it. Her breath caught again, and she broke the kiss, her eyes wide and searching.

“Wait,” she breathed, her voice barely audible. “I… I want to show you something.”

I pulled back slightly, giving her space, even though every fiber of my being ached to close the distance again. “Whatever you need,” I said softly, my hand still resting on her thigh.

Yel looked down, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. With trembling fingers, she reached for the hem of her sweater and began to pull it up. My breath caught as she revealed her soft, pale skin inch by inch, until the sweater was completely off, discarded on the floor beside us. She stood before me in nothing but her bra and skirt, her hands instinctively moving to cover herself as she looked up at me, unsure.

“You’re gorgeous,” I whispered, my voice filled with awe. I couldn’t take my eyes off her—the curve of her waist, the soft swell of her breasts, the way her skin seemed to glow in the dim light. She blushed furiously at my words, her hands still shielding herself, but I could see the small, shy smile tugging at her lips.

“You really think so?” she asked, her voice small and unsure.

“I know so,” I replied, stepping closer. My hands gently reached for hers, pulling them away from her chest. “Don’t hide from me, Yel. You’re beautiful.”

Her breath hitched as my hands brushed against her skin, and she slowly let her arms fall to her sides, revealing herself completely. I couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped my lips as I took in the sight of her. Her bra clung to her curves, accentuating her full breasts, and my fingers itched to touch her, to feel her skin beneath my hands.

“You’re so stunning,” I murmured, my voice thick with desire. My hands moved to her hips, pulling her closer as my lips found hers again. This kiss was deeper, more urgent, our bodies pressing together as if trying to erase any space between us. Her hands slid up my chest, fingers fumbling with the buttons of my shirt until it was open and discarded beside her sweater.

The heat between us was almost unbearable, every touch sending sparks through my body. My hands roamed her back, tracing the curve of her spine before stopping at the clasp of her bra. I hesitated, pulling back slightly to look into her eyes. “Can I?” I asked, my voice husky.

She nodded, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

With trembling fingers, I undid the clasp, letting the fabric fall away. Her breasts were even more beautiful than I had imagined—full and soft, her nipples hard and pebbled under the cool air of the room. I couldn’t resist the urge to touch her, my hands cupping her breasts gently, my thumbs brushing over her nipples. She let out a soft moan, her eyes fluttering shut as she leaned into my touch.

“You’re so perfect,” I murmured, my lips trailing down her neck, across her collarbone, until they found the softness of her breast. She gasped, her hands tangling in my hair as I kissed and teased her sensitive skin, her moans growing louder with each touch.

“I… I’ve never felt like this before,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It’s like… I can’t think, I just… I need more.”

My lips returned to hers, silencing her words with a kiss that was both tender and desperate. Her hands roamed my chest, exploring every inch of my skin as if trying to memorize the feel of me. Our bodies pressed together, the heat between us growing with every touch, every breath.

“Tell me what you want,” I murmured against her lips, my hands trailing down her sides to the waistband of her skirt. “Tell me, Yel.”

Her eyes met mine, dark with desire and something else—something deeper. “I want you,” she breathed, her voice filled with need. “All of you.”

Her voice lingered in the air, trembling with a raw vulnerability that made my chest ache. “I want you,” she had said, and those three words echoed in my mind like a mantra. I knelt before her, my hands resting on her hips as I looked up at her. Her eyes were wide, filled with a mix of anticipation and nervousness, and I could see the way her chest rose and fell with each breath.

“Are you sure?” I asked, my voice low, my hands sliding down to the hem of her skirt.

She nodded, her lips parting slightly as she whispered, “Yes.”

Slowly, I hooked my fingers under the fabric of her skirt, pulling it down her legs. The sound of the fabric brushing against her skin was soft, almost muffled by the pounding of my heart in my ears. Her thighs were warm beneath my palms, and I could feel the faint tremor in them as I leaned in closer, my breath hot against her skin.

Yel let out a small gasp as I pressed my lips to her inner thigh, my hands squeezing gently. “Oh God,” she breathed, her fingers tangling in my hair.

I moved slowly, savoring the taste of her skin, the way her body responded to every touch. My lips trailed higher, and I could feel the heat radiating from her, the way her legs trembled as I got closer. When I finally reached the delicate lace of her panties, I paused, looking up at her.

Her face was flushed, her lips slightly parted, and her eyes were half-lidded with desire. “Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I didn’t need any more encouragement. I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her panties, pulling them down her legs. The air between us was electric, and I could feel the tension building as I leaned in closer, my breath hot against her.

The first touch of my tongue against her made her gasp, her fingers tightening in my hair. “Yes,” she moaned, her hips arching slightly towards me.

I took my time, exploring her with my tongue, savoring the taste of her. Her moans grew louder, more insistent, and I could feel the way her thighs trembled against my shoulders. Her hands pressed down on my head, urging me closer, and I obliged, deepening my strokes.

“Oh God,” she cried, her voice trembling. “Just like that.”

Her breathing grew ragged, her moans more desperate, and I could feel the tension building in her body. She was close, so close, and I wanted to push her over the edge. I wrapped my arms around her thighs, holding her steady as I continued to stroke her with my tongue.

“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Don’t stop.”

I didn’t. I kept going, my tongue moving faster, more insistently, until I felt her body tense, her thighs tightening around me. She let out a loud, desperate moan, her nails digging into my scalp as she came undone.

For a moment, she was still, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. Then she looked down at me, her eyes dark with desire. “Come here,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

I stood, my body pressed against hers, and she reached up, pulling me into a deep, passionate kiss. Her lips were soft, her tongue hot against mine, and I could taste the remnants of her on my lips. Her hands roamed my body, desperate and needy, and I could feel the way she pressed herself against me, her body still humming with the aftershocks of her release.

“I need you,” she breathed against my lips, her hands fumbling with the buttons on my shirt. “All of you.”

I didn’t stop her as she pushed my shirt off my shoulders, her hands immediately going to my chest. Her touch was electric, sending shivers down my spine, and I could feel the way she trembled as she kissed me, her body pressed tightly against mine.

Her hands slid down to the waistband of my pants, and I could feel the way she hesitated, her fingers trembling slightly. “Is this okay?” she asked, her voice soft, uncertain.

I nodded, my hands resting on her hips. “Yes,” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

She slid her hands under the fabric, her fingers brushing against the hard length of me, and I let out a low groan. Her touch was tentative, almost shy, but it was enough to send a jolt of pleasure through me.

“You’re so hard,” she whispered, her fingers wrapping around me.

I let out a low groan, my head falling back as she stroked me. Her touch was light, almost teasing, but it was enough to make my knees weak.

“Yel,” I groaned, my hands tightening on her hips.

She looked up at me, her eyes dark with desire. “Tell me what you want,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

I didn’t know how to answer her. I wanted so much, more than I could put into words. But I also knew that we had already crossed a line, that this moment was fragile, delicate.

Before I could respond, she leaned in, pressing her lips to mine in a deep, desperate kiss. Her body pressed against mine, her hands still wrapped around me, and I could feel the way she trembled with need.

“I want you,” she whispered against my lips, her voice breaking. “All of you.”

Her lips were still pressed to mine, her breath hot and ragged, when she suddenly broke the kiss, her eyes locking onto mine with a wild, almost feral intensity. Before I could even process what was happening, Yel’s hands were on my shoulders, and with a surprising strength, she pushed me backward. I stumbled slightly, my legs hitting the edge of the bed, and then I was falling, the soft mattress catching me as she followed, her body landing on top of mine in a tangle of limbs.

Her hair was a mess, strands sticking to her flushed cheeks, and her skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling as she straddled me, her warmth pressing into me in a way that made my head spin. My hands instinctively found her hips, anchoring myself to her as she began to move, grinding against me with a urgency that sent sparks racing through my body.

“Fuck,” I muttered, the word escaping my lips in a breathless gasp. Her name followed, “Yel….”_

She didn’t respond with words, only a low, throaty moan that vibrated through her chest and into mine. Her hands moved from my shoulders to my chest, her fingers splaying as if she wanted to feel every inch of me. Her eyes were half-lidded, dark with desire, and her lips were parted, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts. She was completely lost in the moment, and I was right there with her.

Her hips moved again, slower this time, but with a deliberate rhythm that had me gripping her tighter, my fingers digging into her soft skin. She bit her lip, her gaze dropping to where our bodies were pressed together, and then her hands were on mine, guiding them upward.

“Touch me,” she whispered, her voice husky and raw. “Please.”_

Her hands brought mine to her breasts, and I didn’t hesitate. My palms cupped them, the weight of them filling my hands, and I could feel the way her heartbeat quickened under my touch. She let out a shuddering sigh, her head tipping back slightly as I began to knead them gently, her skin warm and impossibly soft beneath my fingers.

“More,” she breathed, her hips still moving against me, the friction maddening. “Don’t stop.”_

I didn’t. I couldn’t. My hands roamed over her, exploring every curve, every dip, every inch of her that I could reach. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, and her movements became less controlled, more frantic. She was everywhere—her scent, her warmth, her sounds—and I was drowning in her, completely consumed.

Her lips found mine again, the kiss deep and hungry, her tongue sliding against mine in a way that had me groaning into her mouth. Her hands tangled in my hair, pulling slightly, and I could feel the way her body trembled above mine. She was so close, teetering on the edge, and I wanted her to fall.

“Yel…” I managed to whisper against her lips, my voice strained with the effort of speaking through the haze of desire. “You’re so beautiful…”_

She pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting mine, and for a moment, she just stared at me, her chest heaving. Then she smiled, a small, almost shy smile that was so unlike anything I’d seen from her before. It was pure, unguarded, and it took my breath away.

“I need you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need all of you.”_

Her words sent a jolt through me, and my hands tightened on her hips, pulling her closer still. She gasped, her body arching into mine, and I could feel the way she was unraveling, her control slipping away. Her nails dug into my shoulders, and her lips found my neck, biting down gently as she moaned against my skin.

“Don’t stop,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Please… don’t stop.”_

I didn’t. I couldn’t. My hands moved to her thighs, squeezing gently as I urged her to keep moving, to keep grinding against me. Her moans grew louder, more urgent, and her breaths came in short, shallow gasps. She was so close, so close, and I could feel the way her body was tensing, the way she was holding herself back.

“Yel…” I whispered again, my voice rough with need. “Come for me…”_

Her hips stuttered, and then she was falling, her body going rigid as a loud, desperate cry tore from her lips. Her hands gripped me tightly, her nails leaving crescent-shaped marks on my skin, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was her, about the way she was coming undone in my arms, about the way her body trembled and shook with the force of her release.

Her breathing was ragged, her chest heaving as she collapsed against me, her forehead resting on my shoulder. Her body was still trembling, her skin slick with sweat, and I could feel the way her heart was racing against mine. She didn’t speak, didn’t move, just stayed there, pressed against me, her breath warm against my skin.

I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to even begin to process what had just happened. But I didn’t need words. Not right now. All I needed was her, and the way she was holding onto me, like I was the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Yel…” I started, my voice soft, tentative.

She lifted her head slightly, her eyes meeting mine, and there was something in her gaze—something raw, something vulnerable—that made my chest ache. She didn’t say anything, just reached up, her fingers brushing against my cheek, her touch so gentle it almost hurt.

“Don’t let go,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Please… don’t let go.”_

I didn’t. I couldn’t. My arms tightened around her, pulling her closer, and I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She sighed, her body relaxing against mine, and for a moment, everything was still, quiet. It was just us, just this moment, and I never wanted it to end.

But then she shifted slightly against me, her body moving in a way that sent a fresh wave of heat through me. She looked up at me again, her eyes dark, her lips parted, and I could see the desire still burning in her gaze, even now, even after everything.

“More…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I need more.”

Her breath hitched as she whispered, “More…” and her voice trembled with a need that mirrored my own. I could feel her body trembling against mine, her warmth pressing into me, begging for something neither of us could deny anymore. My hands slid down her back, fingers tracing the curve of her spine, and she let out a soft gasp as I pulled her closer. Her lips found mine again, hot and desperate, and I kissed her with a hunger that surprised even me.

Her hands moved to my chest, pushing me back gently until I was lying flat on the bed. She straddled me, her thighs pressing against my sides, and I could feel the heat of her core against my stomach. She leaned down, her lips trailing kisses along my jawline, down my neck, and across my chest. Her tongue flicked over my nipple, teasing it until it hardened under her touch, and I groaned, my hands gripping her hips tightly.

“Yel,” I breathed, my voice rough with desire. She looked up at me, her eyes dark and filled with a need that sent a shiver down my spine. She smiled, a wicked, knowing smile, and then her lips continued their descent. She kissed her way down my stomach, her hands sliding over my hips as she moved lower. My heart raced as I realized where she was going, and I could feel the anticipation building inside me like a wildfire.

Her lips brushed against the inside of my thigh, and I tensed, my breath catching in my throat. She looked up at me, her eyes locking onto mine, and then her tongue darted out, teasing me, tasting me. I moaned, my hips lifting off the bed as her tongue circled my aching core, slow and deliberate. She took her time, exploring every inch of me, her hands gripping my thighs to keep me from squirming away.

But I didn’t want to move. I wanted to stay right here, lost in the pleasure she was giving me. Her tongue flicked over my sensitive bud, and I cried out, my hands tangling in her hair. She moaned against me, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure through my body, and I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge.

“Please,” I begged, my voice shaking. “Yel, please…”

She didn’t respond, at least not with words. Instead, she intensified her movements, her tongue circling me faster, harder. Her fingers joined in, sliding inside me with ease, and I gasped, my back arching off the bed. She curled her fingers, hitting that spot inside me that made me see stars, and I screamed her name as I came undone, my body trembling with the force of my release.

She didn’t stop, though. She kept going, her tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to drag another orgasm out of me. I was panting, my body shaking, but she didn’t slow down. It was too much, and yet I didn’t want her to stop. My hands fisted the sheets, and I clawed at the mattress as she brought me to the brink again and again.

Finally, she pulled away, her lips glistening, and she looked up at me with a look of pure satisfaction. I was boneless, my body still trembling, and she crawled up my body, her breasts brushing against my skin as she moved. She kissed me, her lips soft against mine, and I could taste myself on her tongue. It was intoxicating.

She pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. “Your turn,” she whispered, her voice husky with desire.

I didn’t need to be told twice. I flipped her over onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. She gasped, her eyes widening, and I smiled, lowering myself to kiss her deeply. My free hand slid down her body, teasing her breasts, her stomach, and finally finding her core. I slipped two fingers inside her, and she moaned, her hips lifting off the bed to meet my hand.

I moved my fingers inside her, curling them just the way I knew she liked, and she cried out, her nails digging into my arm. Her body jerked with pleasure, and I watched her face as she came undone, her mouth opened in a silent scream.

I didn’t stop there. I wanted to push her further, to make her feel as good as she had made me feel. I pulled my fingers out of her and positioned myself between her legs, my hardness pressing against her entrance. She looked up at me, her eyes pleading, and I thrust into her, burying myself to the hilt in one smooth motion.

She gasped, her legs wrapping around my waist, and I began to move, slow and steady at first, but quickly building into a frantic pace. Her nails raked down my back, and I groaned, the pleasure-pain only driving me on. Her moans filled the room, growing louder and more desperate with every thrust, and I could feel her walls tightening around me as she got closer to the edge.

I reached between us, my thumb circling her clit, and she cried out, her body jerking with pleasure as she came. Her walls clenched around me, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. I buried myself deep inside her, my own release washing over me in waves as I filled her.

We collapsed together, our bodies tangled and sweaty, and for a moment, there was nothing but the sound of our breathing filling the room. Then she turned to me, her eyes soft and filled with something I couldn’t quite name.

“Again,” she whispered, her voice a plea, and I knew I couldn’t say no.

I rolled her onto her stomach, her hips lifting instinctively, and I entered her from behind, my hands gripping her waist tightly. She moaned, her back arching, and I set a punishing pace, my hips slamming into hers with enough force to make the bed creak. Her moans turned into screams, and I could feel her orgasm building again, her walls tightening around me as she came.

I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. We moved together, our bodies connected in the most intimate way possible, and I lost count of how many times we came together. All I knew was the feeling of her, the sounds she made, and the way she clung to me as if I were the only thing keeping her grounded.

Hours later, we were still tangled together, our bodies spent but our desire far from sated. She looked up at me, her eyes half-lidded and filled with a hunger that matched my own.

“So what are We"?

[rvp32]

Provocation

ITZY Shin Yuna x m!reader

15k words

“That’s not true,” Yuna argues, arms folded as if this is the most ludicrous thing she's had to explain. "Despite what everyone thinks, I don't sleep around. Maybe a few guys on the weekends, but during the week? I like to have a one-guy policy."

You don't believe her one bit—but you'll play along. "Just one guy? That's it?"

Yuna shrugs her shoulders. "Of course. One guy at a time. One guy on Monday—maybe Tuesday. And Wednesday. That's it."

"That's three, Yuna," you laugh, shifting in your seat to face her a bit more. She takes a sip of her drink, stirring it around before bringing it back up to her pouty, red lips—the ones that cause nothing but trouble.

"Exactly. A different guy each day of the week. I don't think that's a lot. If anything, Yeji gets around way more than me."

Now you know she's lying.

The way you can tell is when her lips move. That's the telltale sign. When a word slips out between them, you always know the words will be objectively false. 

Because this is Shin Yuna, the girl who flaunts every facet of her beauty like it's her job. This is the girl who wears skirts short enough to flash the entire bar a glimpse of her perfect little ass. The one who always leaves the house wearing a bra on purpose, her top always sheer enough to show the shape of her perky breasts. The same girl who would give head to a random guy just because he asked for a stick of gum.

"Yeji? Are we talking about the same girl?" you question, doubting that girl would even have a quarter the sex that Yuna has in one night. Yeji's definitely attractive, but reserved and soft spoken—nothing like the track record Yuna has.

"Hey, don't get it twisted," Yuna protests, nearly spilling some drink when she sets her glass down. "Yeji isn't some innocent church girl. She's a lot hornier than people think. Almost too much. As much as she acts all pure and sweet and innocent, she's a freak."

You'd say you believe her, except it's Yuna—so it's not probable in the slightest. "Right. She's totally a freak and you're an absolute saint."

"Glad we're on the same page." Yuna grins, stealing your drink to take a sip without even asking, leaving those red lips staining the rim of the glass. "She's more insatiable than me."

"I think you've had a little too much to drink, Yuna.” 

Yuna ignores you entirely. "I mean it—that girl is probably getting dicked down as we speak. Or if she isn't, then she's got a new vibrator that's getting the job done, watching some of the most depraved porn out there. That girl is obsessed."

"Obsessed with dick or obsessed with porn?"

"Both. You can't imagine some of the toys she has hidden."

Yuna keeps speaking, but she could say anything at this point, and you know there wouldn’t be an ounce of truth in it. She's gotten more than a couple drinks deep now. And her tight skirt rides up, each not-so-subtle movement revealing more thigh as she shifts, not even the slightest concerned who can see underneath.

"If she's a freak, what the hell does that make you, then?" you ask in all earnest, trying to change the subject, because Yuna clearly can't be trusted around alcohol. This girl and oversharing go together far too well.

"Me? Oh, I'm the best fuck of your life—the one who will choke on your cock like a goddamn whore and let you blow your load all over my pretty face." 

You don’t even look at her when you reply. "Forget I ever asked." 

"But you did ask. And now you're going to take me home so I can demonstrate exactly what I do to those poor, pathetic boys every weekend."

"Absolutely not. I don't recall making an invitation."

"Do I need one? Doesn't feel like it," Yuna asks, with a quick tilt of her head. "Doesn't daddy wanna spend all night fucking this tight little pussy?"

You nearly vomit hearing Yuna's poor attempt at seduction. "Stop it. Please, for the love of god, don't ever call me that again."

She simply laughs it off, leaning close as she rests a hand on your thigh, those nimble little fingers giving a good squeeze, when it wanders just a little too high. 

"Come on," she insists. "The second you’ve got your cock inside me, you know there won't be any pulling out. Daddy won't be able to control himself."

"I'm leaving you here. Take a cab if you have to," you warn, standing up from the barstool without even the slightest look back in her direction.

Yuna sighs. “Okay, fine,” she says as she grabs your wrist, keeping you from going very far. "I won't call you that anymore. Just take me home and fuck my brains out. Please?"

That voice, the desperation, it's hard to resist. Not to mention the pleading look, those big, round eyes staring, and when your focus falls down her shirt, barely even a shirt, the curves on this girl she dares to flaunt in your face. Yuna wants you to know that you'd be a fool to turn her down.

"What's in it for me? Aren't there plenty of guys lining up for a chance to fuck you here?" 

"This place is boring—and none of them can handle me." 

You're not even sure you can handle this girl and her attitude, but when Yuna stares like that, this longing look that begs for attention—it's difficult to say no. "Are you saying that just because you want a ride home?"

"It's a reason, yes." She can't hold back the smile, no matter how hard she tries. "You take me home, and then I'll suck your cock until your legs give out. Won't you help this poor, helpless little slut?"

Against your better judgment, there’s this temptation you can’t ignore. A devil resting on your shoulder, and on the other side, also a devil in the form of Shin Yuna herself. You can’t refuse that smile, those batting eyelashes, or those eyes without a hint of innocence in them. You’re already a lost cause. 

Yuna can’t help but smirk, seeing her prey lured in with such ease as she grabs her coat, one hand slipping in yours, and not even needing a response when the both of you know where this is heading. "No more daddy—that's a promise."

You don’t believe that for a second, but you also don't care one bit as you head out, Yuna clinging to your arm on the way to the parking lot. 

And this might be your biggest mistake yet. 

Neither of you even make it out of the parking garage to your apartment. Yuna has you backed up against the cold, concrete wall, in a dark corner that she swears doesn't have a camera—but even if it does, who fucking cares when the sight of her on her knees takes precedence, getting your cock wet between her lips as fast as possible.

And the sound of her greedy slurps echo off those same walls, somehow a thousand times louder than usual. 

"You know my apartment is right up there," you manage to say in between gasping breaths. Yuna's barely listening, staring straight into your eyes, with her cheeks hollowed to no end and every inch of your cock taken down so easily. She spits over your length a few more times, spreading it along your hard shaft before her lips swallow you whole, not breaking her gaze once for even a single breath. 

With another loud, sloppy suck with those red lips around the tip of your shaft, that's the only time she answers, a small pop filling the air when she backs off, stroking you slowly with her fist.

"That's two floors up. Why wait, when I can just suck your cock here? That elevator takes ages." she argues innocently, running her tongue underneath that most sensitive area of your shaft. "Unless you really want me to stop—"

"N-no. Fuck, no. Don't you fucking dare." 

"That's what I thought,” Yuna replies, and she has no intention to, burying her nose in your abdomen with every last inch consumed by her warm throat. And her wet mouth gets so noisy, so starved, these desperate slurps that could probably be heard all the way to the top floor of the parking garage. 

It's so completely Yuna: her lack of restraint, the enthusiasm as she bobs her head in a blur without any sign of a gag reflex. The way her lips tighten around your shaft and stay there for an eternity without pulling off even for a second, like she needs your cock down her throat for survival. It’s goddamn relentless. 

“God, Yuna, this fucking mouth—" you curse under your breath and place a hand on her head for guidance, wondering how the fuck Yuna manages to take so much at once while looking so beautiful at the same time. It's her lips wrapped around every inch, the way she stares into you, her lipstick all smeared along the base of your shaft with a fresh layer of spit glistening along the length of it. "Why the hell is your mouth so good at this?” 

It's a compliment that's only going to feed that inflated ego, as if that's even possible at this point. But you can't hold back the praise, when her lips feel this incredible, wrapped so tight with all the warm, wet suction you can handle, taking you back into the deep end of her throat like nothing. 

"I’ve told you…” Yuna starts with this smug little grin as she draws out every reaction she can out of your features with a messy kiss to your swollen cockhead. "Suck enough dick, and you have it down to a science. Nobody gives head better than me. Not Yeji, not a single person you've met."

Can’t say you find any fault with that, for once. The rare occasion when Yuna speaks the truth, with how good her mouth feels on you, slurping away to get these groans spilling that reinforces her point. How could anybody come close? 

“Don’t let it get to your head.” 

“Too late,” she says, with her playful little chuckle when you escape from the heat of her mouth. She continues to pump her fingers along every spit-soaked inch that sets you on edge, slowing down only so she can drag it out, savor the look of desperation etched across your face. Then she’s right back down, lips flush to your base in no time. 

“Shit, those fucking lips feel so good. Who knew you had any other skill other than being an obnoxious fucking brat.” 

Yuna doesn't even fight you for that one, giving your length a sloppy kiss, before sliding her mouth down to latch around your balls and suck hard. A tight fist strokes quicker than before, twisting so perfectly while her mouth is occupied, a motion that makes you completely unable to hold back the strangled noises that she gets off on. 

It all feels too good, with her full attention devoted to your aching cock that throbs in her fingers, these lewd slurps of your sensitive balls that drive you towards the edge faster when her mouth gets all hot and wet around you.

“F-fuck, fuck, Yuna—“ 

It’s so clear, the sheer enjoyment written across Yuna's features when she pops off your balls with a loud, wet pop. and then gets your cock right back in her mouth where it belongs.

There’s no stopping her this time—not when she gets a good grip on your thighs for support, so she can slobber on your cock with reckless abandon. A fucking shameless display, saliva dripping down her chin, a messy string that connects from her lip to the tip of your swollen cockhead while she takes you straight into the back of her throat, again, and again, not taking a breath unless she absolutely needs to. 

And then she’s jerking your cock right in front of her face. 

“Almost ready to cum for me, aren’t you? Don't you wanna fucking finish all over my pretty face? Don't you like how nice it looks when I'm covered in your thick load?"

Fuck, do you ever—and it doesn't help when Yuna tightens her grip and gives these rapid strokes that have your head spinning. All you can do is watch as she furiously jerks your cock straight towards her gorgeous face, tongue out so eagerly as she awaits every bit you're ready to release.

When it hits, the first explosive burst shoots across her forehead, streaking right over her hair. The rest follows, finding a place splattering all across her face. All over those open pouty lips—hot, sticky spurts that Yuna catches with her tongue as each shot paints a different spot of her features, the excess dribbling down her chin. 

Yuna laughs through it, trying not to close her eyes so she can watch you unload all over her features, a mess that has no end in sight. More hits her cheek, a nice shot across her nose as your cock pulsates in her tight fist, and the hot spurts continue to paint her in white streaks across her flawless face. A final few bursts land across her open mouth, a taste that gets her smiling so wide through a cum-stained mess.

"Fucking christ, Yuna," you exhale, out of breath as the high lingers.

Yuna lets your throbbing cock rest gently against her cheek, your orgasm slow to subside. Even when every last drop is wrung from the tip, she refuses to take her mouth off you, sucking your shaft clean with a few long slurps and flicks of her tongue that make you nearly collapse. 

"Just look at all that fucking cum. I'm covered in it, like a good little slut should be," she marvels, staring at the exhaustion plastered across your face. "Bet that felt good, huh? God, there's like a week's worth of cum here. All milked out of your thick fucking cock."

And Yuna has never looked better. 

"H-hold on, I'll get something to clean that up—"

Yuna gets to her feet, stepping in to shut down the idea before you can finish. "No need. I'll keep it on until we get to your apartment. Plus, I look the prettiest when I'm dripping with your cum."

It's insane—the words this girl will casually throw out in public, and how she wants to spend the entire elevator ride looking like that. Even if it's late enough that hardly anybody uses this elevator, there's always a chance you could run into someone who lives here. But saying no to this girl was never an option, already heading back the direction of the elevator without giving much a chance to argue, much less a chance to slip your pants back on.

Shin Yuna is quite possibly the worst influence—and yet, here you are.

Once she's all cleaned up, it's just pure unadulterated lust, from both ends as you find a spot on the couch to crash into with Yuna straddling you. Not an ounce of innocence in the kiss. Nothing but hot breath and moans, not even a second to break for air. The alcohol, the ride back here, the blowjob in the goddamn parking garage, you can't even contain yourself anymore. You let this girl get to you in the best of ways and give into this sinful temptation with an absolute desire to ruin her.

Yuna groans as you plant these rough, messy kisses along her neck—god, she tastes so good, like strawberries and sin and everything you're addicted to. She writhes under you, fingers tangled through your hair and you're not leaving your lips off her for a single second. 

"Keep doing that, please, f-fuck," Yuna pleads, and you flip her around effortlessly to do so, her tight little body flat on her back underneath you. You leave these marks all down her neck—sucking hard on that sensitive skin so easy to bruise, and sinking your teeth in at every opportunity. All these whimpers fill your ears and the louder they are, the harder you bite, the rougher your kisses grow.

This relentless assault leaves her breathless, an abrupt change from the usual confidence and arrogance that defines her. Right here, under you like this, Yuna makes it so easy to have her body entirely at your mercy—even more when you strip her shirt off and toss it aside, revealing those breasts fully to the chilly air. You barely have time to admire the sight of them before your mouth moves to devour the newly exposed flesh.

"You have no idea all the things I want to do to you, Yuna," you growl as you take a nipple between your lips, a sharp suck and a light nibble that makes her squirm even harder against the couch cushions.

"Like what? Tell me everything you want to do to me, d-daddy—"

You glare up, eyeing her intently and there's this sudden moment of silence while you refuse to get your mouth back onto her tits. 

"S-sorry, it just slipped," she says with this unabashed laughter, her apology as believable as anything else that escapes from those pretty lips. "Every guy I fuck loves hearing that. Force of habit."

"Don't make me leave you on this couch alone, Shin Yuna. Because I'll fucking do it, no hesitation."

"You'll never hear it again, I promise. Never, ever—now come on, back to what you were doing."

You raise a suspicious brow for a moment, but then it's back to your ravenous mouth focusing all over her chest, kissing up all over when you alternate between them. She loves it too—every hot and heavy kiss, every time you lick right at her most sensitive spots, latching onto her stiff nipples and sucking so hard. Yuna grips tightly at the back of your head, her fingers deep in those locks while you devour her tits and enjoy the softness of them against your face, skin flushed when you switch to the other breast.

And god, this sound that escapes her throat—when you travel down her body and kiss her abdomen, these soft little kisses that make her sigh harder and squirm more, getting lower and lower until the fabric of her skirt blocks your progression. It's this whimper from her lips when you swipe your tongue right above her belly button, a slow drag that tastes as much of her as possible.

"Skirt on or off? Your pick." You kiss at the top of her thighs, waiting eagerly for an answer as you toy around with the zipper.

"Whatever d—" she stops herself halfway. "You want. Whatever you want. On. Just fuck me with it on—can't wait, need you between my thighs already."

Can't say you're disappointed in the decision—pushing her skirt up her thighs to reveal that pretty purple lace that contrasts her pale thighs. But before you have the chance to put her out of her misery, you get a little more comfortable, stripping down to nothing but your boxers while Yuna bites her bottom lip and watches in silence. She keeps staring, wide eyes filled with anticipation as she catches the slightest glimpse of the way you're hard for her already.

"See something you like?" you ask her, Yuna shifting underneath with her skirt neatly bunched up her waist. 

"No, not a single thing," she answers, unable to hide her laughter for a second.

"Good, then I guess I can just go jerk off in my room or something," you tease, about to remove yourself from the couch until her hands lock tight around your shoulders, keeping you planted there.

"Shut the fuck up and eat me out. Can't wait a second more, ruin me with that amazing tongue of yours."

"Not even a please?"

"Absolutely not," Yuna insists, growing more impatient by the second. But it's a good thing you're generous—and more than raring to get between her thighs as much as she needs you to. 

She can hardly contain the noise when you grab the waistband of her panties and drag them down those long legs, Yuna lifting up just slightly to help guide them off. And when they slide past her feet, you don't hesitate one bit, spreading her thighs apart just to admire the sight—exposing her glistening wet cunt in all its glory.

"See something you like?" Yuna echoes your own question right back, flashing a smirk which only fades when you respond with a brief flick of your tongue. 

"Yeah, a perfect place to dump a huge load of cum," you remark back, licking a long stripe up her wet slit before ending in a gentle suck of her clit. "God, you're so fucking wet, Yuna. Dripping like crazy down here."

"Who's fucking fault is that?" 

"Not mine. You're the one who begged me to take you home because you were too scared to find a stranger in the bar to fuck."

The first few long licks do the rest of the talking for you as you bury your head deep between her spread thighs, tongue exploring her deliciously wet pussy. So sweet on your lips the more you taste, a suck of her clit every now and again, these unimpeded moans that can’t help spring free from her lips. 

"F-fuck, oh my fucking—first off, I did not beg. Second, don't pretend like you wouldn't fuck me if I found someone better," Yuna manages to get out mid-way through an absolutely filthy groan, grabbing fistfuls of your hair to push your face against her pussy.

"You're saying you could find someone better than me? In that shitty little dive bar?"

"S-shut up. Your ego's fucking broken," she argues between her desperate moans. You roll your eyes at her and get back to work—watching the way Yuna attempts to cover up her mouth with the palm of her hand. 

"Is that why you're struggling so much not to moan for me? You think any of those drunk idiots at the bar could do what I do to this pretty little pussy?" You're so determined to see her at a loss for words, lapping away at her clit, but that's all this girl brings out of you. It's difficult to play the nice guy when all her lips do is incite a response out of you like this. 

"You talk t-too much. Shut up and eat my cunt, so I can cum on your face already."

That you can do—more than happily. With a hand against her abdomen, Yuna's being pinned to the cushions as your tongue lashes away at her delicious folds to really lap up all her sweetness. It's addictive, the way you suck and lick away, from her swollen clit, right down to the bottom of her glistening wet slit, this intense groan tearing right through her as she locks eyes to watch you devour her cunt.

"Forgot how fucking good you taste—god, you taste fucking amazing.” 

“You forgot? Nobody forgets how good I taste. Not when you're addicted to eating my pussy as much as you are—"

That's a ridiculous enough statement to ignore, but you also can't bear the idea of stopping what you're doing, with your tongue exploring in slow, steady laps of every delicious morsel. Not when the sweet taste of Yuna fills your mouth and threatens to drown out everything else you feel, because she's so damn wet. It's the way your head is trapped between her thighs, keeping you right where she wants, smothering your face with her dripping cunt and forcing your tongue as deep as it can possibly reach. 

"Fucking shit—your mouth, that's so good, god. Fuck, fuck, y-you're gonna make me fucking cum! Don't stop—"

Like you could ever. Not when you have Yuna writhing against the cushions, watching the way her features contort into absolute bliss with just a harsh suck of her clit. 

Her mouth hangs open, head thrown back and the lewd, whiny little moans that you're so familiar with come right out. There's a rhythm of breathing that follows—heavy and erratic the more you try to break this girl. She struggles to even control herself when all she's reduced to is a soaking mess in front of your eyes, grinding against your face, needing to cum more than her next breath.

And that's the perfect opportunity to deny her what she wants so desperately. A split-second pause, watching the lust transform into absolute desperation. 

"N-no, please," she protests, urgency in her voice the second she feels your tongue stop. 

"Something wrong?"

"You ass—don't fucking stop. I said not to stop!" 

That's enough incentive to get back to it, fingers plunging right inside that wet heat to give your mouth a much-needed rest. Which only gives you these drawn-out moans, and fuck—there's not a single thing tighter than Yuna. Two fingers sink in with such ease, so wet, so warm, just taking whatever you'll give her at this rate. Nice and slow at first, so you can admire her reaction as you curl them inside, reaching spots that make her back arch right off the couch. 

"P-please, I'm so fucking close, fuck—"

Now she's begging, needing release at a level that's quite rare to see from Yuna. You pick up the pace, plunging those digits deep inside her sopping wet walls, hitting that same spot that makes her hips jolt so violently. 

"Is this what you needed? Come on, I know you're right fucking there. Fucking cum, Yuna. Cum like the needy little slut you are." 

You're not sure if it's the words that do her in, or the merciless assault of your fingers—both together is what gets the job done, the constant wet squelch that echoes with every furious plunge deep into her slick warmth. It's unmistakable when her cunt gushes around your thrusting fingers—spraying all over your hand, the couch, and god knows what else is just destroyed at this point. 

Yuna turns into a relentless, gushing mess, until she grabs your wrist to keep those fingers moving, filling the air with an even more delicious series of sobs.

Beautiful doesn’t begin to describe it when her body spasms the more you pump into this sensitive little cunt. Your fingers are so drenched, with the juices that spill like a fountain, these choked moans that escape with every thrust. And when that begging for more turns into pleading to stop, you're not interested in withdrawal, not until you wring a second orgasm out, a third, however many it takes for her to finally tap out. 

"S-stop, you're gonna fucking kill me, stop—god, it's just too much," she cries out, every ounce of strength left in her failing. Only do you pull out when Yuna forces your arm away, thighs still quivering in the aftermath as you get a good look of the damage done. Flat on her back, she can hardly move on her own. A mess all along her creamy thighs, along the couch, and who knows where else. 

"My poor couch."

"Your poor couch? What about my poor fucking pussy? Look at what you fucking did, I came like five fucking times—"

Even in the aftermath of an intense, messy climax, Yuna can’t help being Yuna.

"I didn't hear any complaints when you were squirting all over me,” you say, and bring your wet fingers to your lips to suck the delicious taste off. 

"Because your fucking fingers felt so fucking good, you asshole—" Yuna's so worn out, completely unable to do anything but just revel in the mess she's made.  

"You're welcome."

"That wasn't a thank you—oh my fucking god, look at my skirt, you fuck," Yuna groans, eyes shifting to the state bunched up above her waist. 

"This is your fault, don't even start."

"Because you fucking made me ruin it, this is like a $300 skirt!"

"My condolences," you say, without a hint of guilt, the damage to her skirt not even the least of your concerns. Especially when you unzip it to slide it right down her slim figure—revealing every inch of her gorgeous body naked for you to drink in. "Excuse me, princess. However can I make it up to you?"

"Don't fucking call me that," she snaps, and even in her weakened state she's not any easier to deal with. "I'm too tired to ride you right now, so you're just going to have to fuck me until my legs don't work." 

"Still not hearing a please," you remind her, slipping out of your boxers at last, your stiff cock finally freed after seeing Yuna's naked frame laid out so perfectly.

"You can take your please and shove it right up your fucking ass. I'm not saying it."

"Fucking brat," you curse, grabbing her waist to position Yuna right where you want her. "I'll do all the damn work then—you're not going anywhere but into this couch."

"Good, about fucking time."

When she's finally done complaining, her gaze falls back to your rock hard cock aimed at her soaking entrance. You shift forward, a hand on her slender waist for support, the head of your shaft nudging her wet cunt.

"Come on then, I haven't got all night—are you gonna fuck me, or just stare?"

"Yes you do. What the fuck else are you gonna do? Go fuck somebody else you won't even remember the next morning?" Angling yourself just right, you don’t waste a second longer to slide inside, right up to the hilt—feeling that tight, heavenly cunt consume every inch.

"My fucking god, Yuna—"

She's never felt more incredible, or so goddamn tight, impossibly wet, warm—every sensation just overwhelming, getting used to it all over like it's the first time inside her. A feeling that doesn't disappear, even before you move one bit, with these beautiful legs spread wide apart as they'll go.

"Forgot how tight my little pussy was, huh?" she taunts, loving the groans that it pulls from your mouth. "You haven't changed at all. Still have that same cute little face you get when you've got your cock inside me. My pussy just ruins every other girl for you, doesn't it?"

"Too tight, god—why are you so fucking tight? Greedy slut gets pounded by twelve guys a week and still this tight? Fuck—"

"Less talking and more fucking. Move your hips—fuck me like the filthy little whore I am, come on."

Your only response is to get your hands right on both sides of Yuna's tiny waist, sliding outside with just the tip of your cock remaining, before slamming your entire shaft to fill her again. The first thrusts alone have her clutching the couch cushions to brace for more, each one a little rougher, a little deeper, the walls of her cunt clenching so hard the more of your throbbing shaft fills her. 

"Don’t hold back. I wanna feel every inch of that thick fucking cock in my wet little cunt," Yuna breathes out with this demand in her voice. "Come on, harder—ruin my poor little pussy, f-fuck."

"That's the fucking plan." All this tension you've built up between each other has reached its boiling point, the frustration, the annoyance, all coming out here and now. Because once Yuna is under you like this, everything changes, your hips pulling back only to shove in again, a relentless rhythm on repeat. 

"Better be. Why do you even need other girls when my perfect little pussy is always here waiting for your cock? You already have a pretty fucktoy to use, don't you—"

"Yuna, stop fucking talking already," you groan with no patience for anymore of her rambling. "Your schedule is a little booked up right now, in case you haven't noticed."

That's when your thrusts hit without holding back, hard enough to get a reprieve from that bratty attitude—watching her pretty features contort as you keep drilling inside that intoxicating heat. Not letting up once, the sound of her slick pussy soaking every inch of your shaft with every slam fills the room, barely audible over the sound of her loud moans. And that tightness, god—it’s unfathomable, unforgettable, each delicious clench driving your hips so you’ll feel more of it. 

"Then I'll fucking clear my schedule. As long as you promise to fuck me like this—I'll put you in my calendar every fucking day."

That's not exactly the solution, and you can't imagine being with Yuna day in and day out, even if that comes with the prospect of having access to this pretty, warm little wet hole whenever you feel like. No, not worth the hassle—maybe for a weekend, but beyond that you'd go insane.

"Once a week is enough. Maybe twice if you can keep your fucking attitude in check."

"You love my attitude. Just like the rest of this body that you can't keep your hands off."

She has a point—a painfully accurate one, but not one that you're willing to admit when you keep trying to silence Yuna with these violent slams that have your balls ready to unload sooner rather than later. Her tight cunt drives you absolutely wild, almost distracting enough from that infuriating mouth of hers.

But even more distracting is the look in her face while you fuck her, and you can't resist staring with every thrust as she continues to keep those legs parted just for you. That's until they wrap tightly around your waist, the heels of her bare feet digging into your lower back, forcing you deeper into this perfect tight body.

"What the fuck are you—"

Yuna's light giggle interrupts your question, the look in her eyes almost enough of an answer on its own. "Just making sure you're not thinking about pulling out. Want every drop you have. Fucking dump it in me."

"God, will you shut up," you groan, face burying into the crook of Yuna's neck, unable to take another second of her mouth running while your hips keep up this unforgiving pace. This tightness, this wetness, it's more than you can handle, using her cunt to fuck every bit of annoyance building inside from what feels like forever. 

"I'll shut up when you cum inside me. It's been way too fucking long since you finished inside me, since I've heard you moan when your balls empty. Does every girl you fuck let you finish like this? Bet none of them do."

You're not even interested in playing this game with her, not when she has you so close already, your pistoning hips driven by such immense desire to flood Yuna's dripping cunt. She's even clenching harder than usual with those slim legs locked so tight, a grip you can't possibly slip from no matter how much you tried. Not that you even would. 

Thrust after merciless thrust, you keep your lips sealed to her neck, sucking so hard like it's the only thing to keep you anchored. All you can do is keep moaning in her ear, keep hammering her greedy little cunt, faster and faster—

"I'm about to fucking cum, Y-Yuna—"

The words leave your mouth right before you've reached your limit. Your mind's elsewhere, not even in control, as your balls tighten and every muscle in your body tenses. Not even a word on her end, like Yuna was waiting for this moment the entire night. There's just hot breath on her neck, your cock pounding so hard into this soaked pussy, every pump taking you further past the point of no return—until that first surge shoots deep inside her wet walls.

A hot, sticky load floods right into her pussy in a violent throb of bursts, pumping one spurt after the other deep as possible. Yuna wraps her legs tighter with each, keeping you buried completely while everything unloads inside her. Everything goes blank, losing track of how many shots fill her tight cunt, a complete blur while your hips move on repeat, fucking it all deeper into her slick warmth. 

"F-fuck, there's so much," Yuna groans, struggling to find the words, feeling every ounce of your hot load spill inside, threatening to overflow before you even finish.

You just continue to drive into her without mercy, until your body begins to give out, sweat dripping all along her pale frame underneath. By the time you're done, you’ve collapsed into the comfort of Yuna's neck, planting gentle kisses along the marks you've left behind while you ride out the high. She stays quiet for a moment—no taunting, no attitude, letting your still throbbing cock rest inside her with your thick load slowly seeping out.

It's the most deserved orgasm you've had in a while, you think. Putting up with Yuna—just to unload everything you have inside, where it belongs. All her annoying remarks, that shameless, filthy fucking mouth all seem to fade into obscurity after everything. For a few seconds, there's bliss. A quiet bliss. 

Bliss that doesn't last very long at all. 

"Did that feel good? Emptying your big, heavy balls inside me?" Yuna asks you, resting her long arms around your body. It's almost calming, the light scratches down your back that lull you into a state of relaxation. Something you didn't think was possible with this girl.

"Y-yeah," you breathe out against her neck, struggling to catch your breath as you linger in the warmth of her tight pussy that can’t stop clenching for more. "I came inside you, now get off me—"

"Never, you're still fucking hard. My legs still work, and I haven't even gotten to ride you yet," she reminds you, staring straight into your eyes with her legs staying perfectly in place. "That load was just an appetizer—daddy." 

You groan—louder than ever before, but not in pleasure.

"What the fuck did I tell you about calling me that?"

Yuna shifts beneath, legs relaxing enough to release the hold—allowing you to slide your cock free from the overwhelming heat.

"What's the matter, a nice, thick creampie in my tight cunt isn't enough for me to call you whatever I please?"

You're ignoring her, in as many ways as you can when you move your gaze between her thighs to admire the sight—the beautiful mess that's dripping from her pussy, so full of your hot cum. "Go home, Yuna. If that's what's you're going to keep doing, then we're fucking done here." 

"You're no fun. It's after midnight, you're not going to send a little innocent girl like me out alone like this, are you?"

Again, you ignore her, standing up from the couch in complete disarray and making a path to the bathroom instead. "I need a shower, but you can sleep on this couch you've defiled for all I care. Please be gone in the morning."

It's a bit heartless, you know, but Yuna brings out this part in you that rarely sees the light of day, when she refuses to listen. Even more so when her footsteps follow closely behind, her petite naked frame and that mess between her legs still dripping without any ounce of shame.

"God, you're such a mood killer," Yuna sighs, grabbing your wrist to pull your attention her way. "I'll stop fucking teasing you. I'll stop calling you daddy, you big fucking baby. Just let me shower with you. Please? I won't even talk. I promise."

That's a hard one to trust, given her track record. But she sounds far too exhausted to even try any tricks, pleading so hard to convince you to let her share your bed tonight. And it's hard to turn down that pout, those bright, widened eyes that stare you into submission.

"Fine. Not a single word in the shower. And if you call me that even once, Yuna, I'm never shoving my cock in you ever again. Do you understand?"

"Of course. Swear it on my life. Promise. Never ever ever—that's it."

And just like that, this look in her eyes when she steps inside the shower after you suggests she'll live up to that word. You'll see. If anything, seeing her naked under the hot steam is enough to commit to whatever terms you've created. A selfish, yet regrettable decision.

A nice, relaxing shower where this brat doesn't utter a single sound, not a single dirty comment—that's better than anything in your wildest dreams.

Things move to the bedroom, as they usually do with Yuna. The two of you are completely devoid of any clothing, because modesty with her around simply doesn't exist. She slides into the spot beside you, resting her head on your chest, delicate fingers in a relaxed grip around the length of your shaft. And you’re happy to do nothing but watch the smile on her face while she gives these magical strokes, not nearly enough pleasure to take things any further. 

"Whenever you're ready to put this big thing back inside me, let me know," Yuna says as casually as possible—as casual as someone can get while palming their hand around your cock.

But you're hesitant to leave this moment—her body curled so perfectly against yours, to the point where you can almost tolerate her. Almost. That being the important thing in all this.

"I already filled you twice today. Not enough for one night?"

"Never enough," she insists, giving a firm squeeze that makes you reluctantly agree. "Plus, you haven't filled my ass, and we both know what a huge fan I am of that.” 

"Obsessed is more the right word. You might be more into me fucking your ass than I am, and that's saying something. Like, I could live inside there."

She giggles, her delicate little fingers tracing down your shaft while she keeps stroking. "Can you blame me when I have an ass like this? You should be the one begging me instead of the other way around." 

"I'd never beg you for anything, Yuna. You're a pretty girl with a nice ass who spreads their legs on command, I don't need much more than that from you."

Yuna responds with a tug at your balls, almost painful in nature to get a point across. "Tell me that again when you want to bury your face in my ass. See if that's true then. Let's see how long you last without getting to eat my ass."

"Okay, okay—point taken."

"Not everybody gets to tongue my ass. It's a privilege."

"So lucky, my life is complete now that Shin Yuna allows me the honor of worshiping her ass." 

That makes her squeeze your cock all too hard in this agonizingly slow stroke. "My ass is fucking amazing. The only word for it, and it deserves some appreciation. I don't even let anyone else but you fuck me there."

"Why do I not believe that?"

Yuna drops a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your chest. "You don't have to believe it. I'll let half a dozen guys all have turns fucking me at once—until they cum inside me or on my face. Nobody but you gets the luxury of pounding my ass though."

“I’m touched.” 

"You should be. Every guy I fuck should be on their knees, begging me for the slightest chance to worship my body, especially my ass." 

Nobody has confidence like Yuna does, even if it's wildly inflated. As much as her very presence annoys you, it’s hard to say you could survive long without that tight ass. Whether it’s bouncing on your cock, your face, or just existing in front of your hips to have a handprint against it. That doesn't mean you'd ever drop to your knees and grovel for her, but there's no denying how much power that ass has.

"Nobody has a better ass than you, Yuna. Not even Yeji. There. Is that what you wanted to hear?" She laughs—this sinister laugh, while squeezing your cock in her tight little hand, nodding all excitedly in agreement. You know it's going to go to her head, but the alternative is much worse. "Good, now can you just jerk me off in peace?"

“Fine,” she says, with a defeated sigh. “If that's what you want. I won't make another sound. You can just relax. Pretend I'm not here. I'll just keep jerking off this nice, thick cock until you cum again." 

"Now you're getting it."

You close your eyes and appreciate the silence, knowing this might be the only time when Yuna doesn't find some excuse to run her mouth. Her hands keep busy, and god, are her hands just heaven when she's so slow and focused. The one time she doesn't say a fucking word, just pumping your cock until you're ready to explode all over her.

You don't even remember falling asleep. The last thing you remember is Yuna straddling you, riding with all the energy in the world despite her earlier exhaustion. Hair draped over her face as she bounced up and down, hips so frantic and needy, groaning while you slipped a finger to toy with her ass. And then it's all a blur. Sweet, uninterrupted slumber, and that's how you ended up like this.

But now, Yuna isn't anywhere to be seen. And you're not sure if that's a good thing or not. So, rather reluctantly, you rise from the comfort of your bed, grab a fresh pair of boxers, a clean shirt, and stumble right into the kitchen for some semblance of routine. 

The smell of coffee lingers in the air, a normally welcome start to the day. This time it's different—it's burnt. Far from the rich aroma of a good cup, the one you've brewed on your expensive coffee machine you imported just months ago. Something's amiss.

There's the culprit. Yuna is standing there, fiddling around with the machine like the controls are in a different language. She's dressed at least, kind of, barefoot in what appears to be your shirt, white and loose fitting, barely covering her delicious bare ass when she's bent over trying to figure out the buttons.

"Morning," Yuna says over her shoulder, as if completely oblivious to the damage she's caused. "Think your coffee machine is broken."

"Did you break it?"

She takes a good hard look at the machine, as if in disbelief, before turning back around. "No, not a chance. It was like this when I got here."

"Yuna, did you break my fucking coffee machine?" you ask again, in dire need of the very thing she's about to deprive you of. 

"What did I just say? It's not broken. Look, if you press this button it comes out with this weird looking water and if you do this—fuck."

This is unbelievable. As if you needed another reason to kick her out the second you're awake, because you know first hand that Yuna should never be allowed in a kitchen. Any kitchen. Not after the burnt chocolate incident. 

"Let me handle this. Before you destroy my kitchen too."

"Hey, rude—I was just trying to be helpful. But you have some weird fucking coffee maker that you need a PhD in three different languages to understand."

She takes a step back, sighing in defeat as you take over and deal with the chaos left behind. "This is why I don't have company in the morning. A pretty girl comes over and immediately tries to burn my entire place to the ground."

There's this surprised gasp that escapes from her lips as you start everything over from scratch, dumping out whatever awful concoction that was brewing earlier.

"Wait, pretty? You think I'm pretty?"

"That's what you're focusing on right now? You really are insufferable," you mutter, with Yuna's eyes fixating on you while she just beams at the compliment. A few adjustments here and there, a fresh pour of water, and the aroma of fresh coffee starts to linger, slowly clearing up the disaster zone Yuna has left behind.

"You didn't answer my question." 

You have nothing in you but an eye roll.

"Yes. You're very pretty," you finally relent, pulling down two mugs from the cabinet above. "I could do worse than waking up to that in my bed. With my ruined coffee machine."

"Hey, it's not ruined, you jerk. It's working now, isn't it?" 

For now. Not the point you want to argue about right now, because you need caffeine in your system more than you ever have. At least you can enjoy a proper cup on the balcony with Yuna, even if that means putting up with her presence. Which maybe isn't as bad as you once thought, given the eye candy alone makes it slightly tolerable. 

Days pass. Uneventful, mostly, without anything much but the occasional lewd text from Yuna at random points throughout the day. Which you'll admit, is preferable to her showing up at your place unannounced, because you think getting off to the nudes she sends without having to hear her whining in person is a much better alternative. 

It's the weekend, and you don't have anything planned that doesn't involve sleeping it all away. An hour at the gym, maybe. Catching up on laundry, cooking yourself a nice dinner—trying that new bottle of wine that's been sitting in your cabinet untouched for months.

But you’ll never get to any of that. 

"Guess who?" 

That’s all Yuna says before forcing her way into the apartment, like she's already expecting to be let in without a second thought. This bright, happy smile on her lips, strutting into the living room in a small little crop top, and these ridiculous white shorts that are tighter than they have any right to be. "I know you missed me. So I'm here to return your shirt. I washed it. Or the dry cleaning people washed it. Doesn't matter."

"Thanks. Just leave it on the counter, and then you can leave."

Yuna frowns, far more offended by this suggestion than any other you've laid out for her. "But you missed me, haven't you? So I'm going to stay for a couple of days, and you're just going to have to suck it up."

So much for peace and quiet. 

“Absolutely the hell not. Don't you have your own apartment to wreck? You're not staying here."

"Why not?" she asks, tossing your shirt on the counter, just like you said. But just as quickly, she takes a seat on the couch and makes herself entirely too comfortable. "My place is a fucking mess, and I'd rather have some company. Plus, you have that really nice bed that's a thousand times more comfortable than anything I own." 

"You're not staying," you reiterate. "Why are you even here? Did you just get done with a dick appointment, so you're coming here now? This isn't a hotel."

Yuna stretches out on the couch, not bothered in the slightest. "No. I haven't been fucked in three days. How crazy is that? We need to catch up, so I figured I would stay with you—"

"We? Try again. I'm sure there's a gangbang going down somewhere, or an orgy you can crash. I am not letting you stay."

"What, is having me in your life such a terrible fate that you'll die if you don't have a moment's peace? A hot girl on your couch and the first thing you think of is getting rid of her?"

"That's exactly right. I have things to do today. important things. Things that don't involve babysitting you."

Yuna cocks her head at you, wide-eyed. "What could you possibly have to do today that's more important than this ass? Huh? Name one thing."

This girl is the definition of exhausting. Trying to tear your attention away from her brazen attitude is harder than it should be, with her figure slumped against the back of the sofa—arms spread wide and long legs extended so invitingly. That top riding higher and higher each time she so much as breathes, offering a full view of her toned abdomen. You can't find the strength or motivation to fight this, when Yuna looks the way she does. And you're certainly no stranger to sleeping with her.

"I don't have to explain myself to you. There are a thousand things more important than giving you attention. Now get off my couch and go find someone else to annoy."

The demand only earns a childish scoff, Yuna folding her arms across her chest. "Oh come on—look, I'll be good. I'll sleep on the couch, I'll cook you breakfast and dinner and clean whatever the hell I mess up. I won't bother you. Promise."

"You're not stepping foot in my kitchen after you almost broke my coffee maker."

"Almost. Keyword, almost," Yuna adds, barely getting to the end of her sentence before standing up and making her way across the living room to your side. "If I can't cook or clean or do anything, how do you suggest I pay you back for letting me stay here, hmm?"

You clench your fists so hard while exhaling, staring daggers into this psuedo-innocent expression that doesn't have any weight behind it. Knowing damn well what those gears turning in her head have planned. 

"Don’t worry, you're not staying here. So there's no need to pay me back." A simple rejection doesn't seem to deter her. It never does. 

She’s no stranger to the word no, but it doesn’t stop her from taking another step forward. And another one, closing the distance between, almost as a test to see how far she can go before the resistance starts. Then she steps back. Only to spin around, those tempting hips and ass pressing right into the crotch of your sweatpants, using the armchair nearby like support to push a little harder. 

And when she's looking like that, the way Yuna throws that devilish look over her bare shoulder while wiggling her ass is such an easy sell, a perfect visual that causes blood to rush down towards your cock. "If you prefer, I could just pull them right off…"

Somewhere deep inside, you want this—to give up this charade and indulge yourself in every inch of her. In that ass you have memorized to every detail, in that perfect fucking cunt that's yours to taste anytime you please. But the second you give in, there's no turning back.

Because you can't keep pretending that you can control yourself around this girl. Every shred of composure you try to have is fleeting when Yuna's there offering herself up on a platter.

"Do you know how long it's been since I've had someone spank my ass? Two weeks? Maybe even three. Nobody hits harder than those big, strong hands. Nobody can put me in my place like you do. And I've been such a bad, bad girl.” 

Staring at the view presented before you, your knees feel a little weak. The things you want to do to this bratty little tease are practically limitless, sending your imagination racing when you follow the curve of her hips. Because maybe it’s about time she got what she deserves. All those handprints, her sensitive flesh just bruised by your palm, the sight of her bent over and spanked relentlessly—maybe her punishment is your reward. 

It's inevitable at this point. And the worst part is, Yuna knows this all too well.

"What are you waiting for? Spank my ass, make it yours. Make it hurt so good. Please."

That please is what does you in. Because you can picture it now, feeling the supple skin of her ass bounce under every smack of your hand, and that high pitched yelp tearing through her throat the second you really put power behind each strike.

It doesn't help those goddamn skintight shorts that hug her ass, a perfect invitation to have your way. 

You sigh under your breath. Because you’ll fold like always, giving in to those desperate pleas. If only to satisfy the lust that builds for Yuna’s tight body. The way your cock will feel buried inside her ass, while you get so rough fucking her. Until she can barely stand on her own two feet anymore.

Fuck. She knows she's already won.

"Fine. You fucking brat. But not here, not on the couch. I'll need a drink for this."

With a final look at her—looking like sin and sex on two legs, you drag her towards the kitchen to look for the strongest thing you have, looking past the bottle of wine that will have to wait. Yuna waits silently by the counter, with that same knowing look in her eye. A look that has no chance to fade even once you pop open a bottle of something to help wash the regret down.

"God, you're going to regret wearing those shorts," you tell her, not bothering with a glass and taking a huge swig straight from the bottle. And then another. 

"I don’t regret a single thing in my life. Now where's mine?" Yuna asks, pout on her lips as she ignores the fact that those shorts are coming off the first chance you get. 

"You're annoying enough sober—you don't get shit until I've had enough to tolerate you." 

She giggles. Which at this point is more infuriating than cute. "So never?" 

Yuna watches the bottle return to your lips for another long sip. You don't even deny that—instead, your eyes are glued to her shapely figure while you wait for the alcohol to kick in. 

"Give me your belt.” 

You slam the bottle down and stare straight ahead at the puzzled look on Yuna's face—but there's no objection. Instead, she complies and unfastens the clasp before sliding the white leather strip right out and handing it over without asking a thing. 

And that's when you do the honors. Unfastening the front button of those ridiculous shorts and tugging the zipper down. Her shorts are so impossibly tight that even after all that, they still take a little extra strength to tug down past the full curve of her ass. But you do manage to peel them down, staring at the tiny scrap of blue cotton and lace that hardly covers a damn thing—what those shorts are concealing beneath, this small string nestled just between her smooth, bare asscheeks. 

“Surprised you even wore panties at all today.” 

“I wore them so you’d rip them off me. It’s no fun if I don’t make you earn it first.”

That cocky little smirk doesn’t falter—not until you grab her ass like it belongs to you, fingers digging in deep, rough enough to make her squirm. Yuna wants to be manhandled, you know that already, so you squeeze harder, spread her wide and knead every inch, marveling at how much of her there is to take.

Her thong barely counts as anything, just a bright blue string that disappears between her cheeks. It's the only thing standing between you and burying deep inside.

"Fuck, I can't wait to feel your hands hurting this ass so fucking hard," Yuna groans, rolling her hips back into your grip. 

You don't respond—because now you've got your teeth hooked into the flimsy fabric of her thong. One swift tug downward snaps the thin fabric and tears right through so you can get right to that incredible ass of hers. No sooner have the scraps of her panties fallen to the kitchen floor before you've got a solid grip on each bare cheek, sinking your teeth in just enough to mark her pale flesh.

Laughing under your breath as you run fingertips across those creamy cheeks, you shake your head in disbelief. "You think I'm going to be using my hands?" you ask while picking up her discarded belt, an almost forgotten strip of leather until this exact moment.

Yuna looks back over her shoulder with the biggest grin.

"We're doing this my way.” 

Dropping your sweatpants right around your ankles for some relief, she can't help but stare at your bulge. And a smile perks up on her lips the instant she catches sight of the leather belt in your tight fist. Surprisingly, Yuna stays silent, even as you test the belt out between the palm of your hand, the crack of leather echoing around the kitchen. "You wanna get spanked? Then you're gonna get spanked. Bad girls don't get a say in this."

"Can't wait," she responds, not obedient, but almost daring as her hands clutch tight to the kitchen counter to brace for the first impact. Neither can you. 

"Eyes forward then, slut," you demand, running the leather down her skin, tracing along every curve until she has no choice but to face away. Before any warning, the satisfying crack of leather connects right against her bare ass, ripping a startled yelp from those bratty lips. A strike so forceful it jolts her body forward and leaves a light imprint on her delicate flesh. 

It puts a smile on your face when you get the same reaction. Another sharp crack cuts through the silence, right against the flesh of her ass with even much force. Another welt, another moan, as this bright red mark begins to form as the color spreads across her flesh. "M-more, please—that stings so fucking good. F-fuck, more."

The next smack sends her hips slamming back into the counter, another strangled noise coming from her mouth right as you hit her harder without thinking. “If it's too much, speak up." 

But the noise she makes is barely coherent. All you can see is the look of excitement on her face as you deliver more stinging slaps to her same cheek, over and over until you've had enough—only switching to the other for an identical treatment and marking the unblemished skin just the same.

"N-never. I love the pain, love the feeling of this belt on my ass—please keep going." Even with the crack in her voice, the smack of leather against bare skin overshadows her cries while you up the ante and show no mercy. 

Over and over with these slaps all over her cheeks, fueled by frustration with Yuna yelping each time you send the belt flying into that sore, marked skin. But she still grinds her hips back at you for more, eager for any ounce of pleasure, and every ounce of pain that comes alongside.

The entire time Yuna stays bent over, loud gasps and pathetic whines for another while these harsh spanks rain down so she can feel the sting that lingers right after. Hard enough to leave her speechless and biting back to not beg you for even worse. She grips the countertop like she'll simply fall over if she doesn't. And after a well-timed hit, you force a break that she doesn't ask for—a moment to collect herself and catch her bearings. A moment to admire the redness that's not going away anytime soon.

"Still want more?" you ask her with a tug at her hair, the belt grazing her tender skin. 

"M-more. Give me everything you fucking have," she can barely breathe out between whimpers, gripping even tighter onto the kitchen counter, so that your next hit to that reddened ass leaves behind an unmistakable imprint on those plump cheeks. "Fucking make it hurt, don't treat me like I can't take it. Harder."

You can certainly oblige her. Harder is exactly what you'll do—each vicious snap of the belt a little more relentless, no pauses between several loud cracks against that aching flesh, causing the most delectable noise as Yuna gasps every single time. Even as you step back, inspecting the artwork you've left on her backside, Yuna is far from satisfied. "I said to fucking make it hurt. But you're holding back on me, stop doing that."

Oh, let her fucking complain. Even with a burning sting on her ass, Yuna can't help but provoke you a bit further, with your grip in her hair tightening. But those slaps only come faster—each vicious hit with the leather cracks over her raw ass, moans muffled as her cheek gets pressed right up against the cold countertop. 

The belt swings wide again, hitting both cheeks at once and making them jiggle, the redness across Yuna's round little ass making a stark contrast against the pure, porcelain skin. And she hears it first before feeling it. 

Another cry of ecstasy that escapes her throat right as the belt brings about more stinging slaps, until you let the folded length of her own belt linger in the air, so she doesn't even know when the next swing will happen. You love nothing more than watching her body tense up—every single nerve on edge knowing another hard smack will come her way the second she even breathes, her reddened ass ready to receive whatever you have left in store for it.

"Like doesn't begin to describe it. I'm fucking crazy for it," she gasps out, when the belt stays far enough away that you give her some sense of relief—until it brushes over the sore, sensitive skin, making the softest touch seem worse than an outright strike. Then it cracks over her cheeks in succession, her thighs clenching together as she takes it. 

"My god, nobody has an ass like this, Shin Yuna. Nobody. Especially now with all these pretty little marks, and those noises you make when I spank you, I could listen to those all fucking day."

You put the belt down and stroke over the red welts from where you may have gone just a little too far, not that Yuna would ever object. She glances back over her shoulder with the biggest smile, even through the tears staining her cheeks.

"That’s as much as you deserve, you desperate little slut.” 

Up her body you wander, pulling her upright and stripping her of that small crop top so your hands have better access. Then straight into the clasp of her bra, cupping her tits once you’ve freed them, kneading with a little force the way you know Yuna loves. 

"I can handle so much more than this, I swear. I could take so much more," Yuna insists with another cute sniffle. The problem is, you know she can. All you have to do is glance between her thighs, and the mess on the tiles tells you enough. 

"I know you can," you breathe in her ear, hand trailing up around her throat until your fingers close tightly around it. Yuna lets out this short and sweet moan in your grasp when you apply more pressure. “But you got what you want. Now it’s my fucking turn.” 

Yuna drips at the thought. There's no sense in resisting her, no point in pretending this wasn't inevitable from the moment she had herself bent over with those tight fucking shorts. You'll give into everything she wants despite pretending to do the opposite. 

"What's that fucking word you keep calling me?" you ask her, the grip around her neck making her thighs clench even harder this time. "Go on."

"D-daddy. That's it. But you said never to—"

"Doesn't apply here. One time, this one time, use it. Use it while I'm shoving my cock in your needy little asshole, understand?"

"Yes—I fucking understand. Y-yes, daddy. Just this once."

A quick release of her throat so Yuna can turn her body in your direction, the tears in those alluring eyes yet to dry up. Your free hand palms over her ass once again, getting a nice, possessive squeeze as a reward for everything she's endured already.

"My ass fucking hurts," she says, laughing it off between shaky breaths and the occasional sniffle. "G-god, this belt fucking hurt more than your hand ever could."

"Are you complaining or bragging?" you ask as your lips meet, hot breath against one another as her slender fingers grasp against the hem of your shirt, up and off within seconds so she can slide her fingers up and down your bare chest. 

"What do you think?" 

Your boxers come off last, not even hitting the ground before Yuna is stroking your stiff cock with this playful expression on her features. Then it's in her grip the entire time you walk her down the hallway and into the bedroom. As expected, she can't keep her hands off of you for more than a second, right up to when the bed frame hits the back of her knees and the only option is falling back onto the mattress.

"God, Yuna, the things I'm going to do to you—the ways I'll ruin you." With her legs spread wide, and thighs glistening with arousal, you get to indulge in the view while Yuna plays with her clit in lazy, drawn-out circles.

“Need you in my ass, daddy—need it now. Isn't that clear?" Oh, how unexpected that she’s going to abuse the permission of that one single word. 

"I can assure you the feeling is mutual," you insist, and join her on the edge of the mattress, taking her hips and flipping her over until she's lying right on her stomach with that sore, marked ass up on display, raised up off the mattress.

She props herself up on her elbows so she’s in position, right in the center of the bed. The sight is perfection—this shameless, insatiable fucktoy, sprawled across your bed with her legs parted, knees sunk into the bed, ready and waiting for you. 

Just as she opens her mouth to say something, you bury your face into those pillowy cheeks, the tip of your tongue swirling against her tight fucking asshole.

"F-fuuuck, it's been so long since I've had your tongue in my ass, daddy," Yuna moans, your spit lubricating her puckered hole all over, the softness of her cheeks pressing deep against your face as she tries to grind back. You shove your tongue deeper, tasting, savoring everything—eating her ass like it's the only reason you let her stay here tonight. The reason why you even opened the front door.

There's nothing better than the unfiltered moans while you plunge your tongue deep into the depths of her asshole, face first against it and greedy, spreading her wide apart while you slip in, those cries of pleasure getting higher. 

You taste—no, you devour her, tongue exploring, thrusting in and out of that tight little ring that clenches around each swipe. This delicious tongue-fuck that gets better the more desperate Yuna sounds, writhing around your sheets and pushing back, all in hopes to keep your mouth where it belongs. 

"This ass belongs to me," you remind her, a harsh slap on the still reddened flesh to make the pleasure even better. 

Yuna spreads her cheeks wider so you can plunge as deep as possible, so you can hear her delicious moans as your spit covers her glistening hole. One long, sloppy lick in and out, tongue so deep in her asshole that all she can do is whimper helplessly for more. 

"D-don't act like you didn't miss this," she says, still as cocky as ever through a breathless groan of satisfaction. Your tongue teases one last time, a thumb replacing it to press into the ring of muscle that's already relaxed, seeing how easy it is to sink into.

She’s more than ready, but you need one more taste before grabbing the lube so you can slide a wet digit right inside the puckered hole of Yuna's ass—fingering her the same way you've done countless times already. 

She's tight, of course, that’s a given, but even as a finger curls inside, this grip around your finger won’t begin to compare once your cock is in the same place. Two fingers is the limit, plunging them deep enough to stretch Yuna just enough so your cock will slide right in. "Only I get to fucking pound your asshole, yeah?"

"O-oh fuck, it's only you, daddy. Nobody else, nobody but you, I promise—your cock in my ass, right where it belongs. J-just you." 

Your fingers finally pop out, and instead the slick, swollen head of your cock is pushing into the tightest, most inviting hole—one long, deep thrust right up until the base, so her asshole can swallow every last inch in a single motion. 

Yuna clutches the sheets so tight, arching her back to push that ass up into the air. She's so tight that you can't even fathom it, this delicious clench around everything stuffed to the hilt—and there's nothing like this. Nobody gets this privilege, you believe. Nobody gets to indulge in the luxury of fucking Yuna's perfect, tight little asshole. Not a single person but you gets to make her moan quite this way. 

"Stop wasting time and fuck my ass. Pound me, p-please. Don't make me fucking beg." 

So much for savoring any of it. You sink your fingers right into her ridiculous hips, gripping her harder than usual to drag her backwards onto your cock. Hard enough to force this groan out of her—so needy and pathetic in the midst when your hips meet her bare ass. A brief moment to take it all in, before sliding almost entirely back and rocking forward with full force. 

"Oh my fucking god—my ass feels so full, shit—"

She's barely breathing between words, and you don't intend on helping her out in that regard at all when you're too busy staring at her red, tender cheeks, loving how they jiggle with every rock of your hips.

“Did you expect anything else?" you ask while giving her a good, harsh slap to that same spot where red is still clear as can be. With such a good view, it's impossible to do anything other than drive deep and begin pounding her mercilessly. "A pathetic fucking slut like you deserves nothing but a rough fuck. And that's what you're gonna get." 

Yuna does little but spew moans and throw her head back when your cock buries deep in her ass. This tightness never gets old, your hips on a mission to bury in her and hit all the places Yuna loves, enough to get her drooling all over your pillows. But her asshole—as snug, warm, and irresistible as it is, you can’t fathom how hard she squeezes every time you drill forward, showing no signs of restraint.

"S-so good," she lets out through short gasps, her face buried in the pillows and her teeth biting your sheets hard. “Love when you treat me like a fucking toy, daddy—"

"Yuna, that's exactly what you are," you tell her while you're so deep in her ass it's almost overwhelming. "So tight, I'll never stop pounding you, fuck. Tightest little hole I've ever fucked."

Yuna glances over her shoulder, while you get a good, tight grip on her hair and tug so she clenches harder, with every stroke balls fucking deep—as rough as you think she needs it. Even as the sound of your cock reaming her ass echoes throughout the entire room, nothing could possibly be enough. 

Your unrelenting, deep thrusts into Yuna's asshole cause the whole damn bed to creak from the violent force of your strokes, pulling her hair harder for that extra roughness she loves. 

No break, not the slightest pause until you absolutely have to—because you could do this all day and not grow tired of the way Yuna moans or how her cheeks bounce when you slam into them. Those cheeks that you get a tight handful of—palms full, and dig your fingers in for some leverage while your thrusts turn animalistic, barely in control at this point. 

But Yuna can take it, you can see it in that fucked out expression. The pleasure written all over her features while her mouth falls open as you show her no mercy—spreading her ass just so you can marvel at your cock hammering in and out, stretched out so wide around you.

"So good, g-god, so deep, love how deep your cock goes," Yuna can barely get out, like it takes all the energy out of her. You know you're not anywhere near wearing her out, not while watching your dick destroy her asshole.

"Not enough?" 

“N-not even fucking close. Give me all you've got, come on," she pleads for in this broken, muffled whine with her face shoved so far against your sheets she can barely breathe. 

Another deep thrust, enough force behind that slams the bed against the wall, loud enough to compete with the sound of her ass slapping against your hips. And when you draw back again, you grab her delicate little wrists, pulling her arms behind her back and using them as leverage—so Yuna can't do anything at all but let her asshole get wrecked.

"More, more—keep fucking pounding my tight ass, come on. D-don't stop, daddy. You know I'm fucking addicted to this fat cock," Yuna pleads so pathetically, immobile and helpless, taking whatever comes next with her arms hostage and your cock impaling her to the hilt.

Your hips do exactly that. Fucking her ass in quick strokes until all she does is cry out for you to destroy her, and then some. Yuna takes everything, the groans and yelps when you give no chance for recovery, the thrusts so deep and noises more depraved by the second. Her wrists pinned by the small of her back so she doesn't even have the chance of touching her swollen clit.

"That cock in my ass feels so fucking amazing. Oh my fucking god, fuck me, fuck my asshole as deep as possible."

When you yank her body back, your hands stay locked around her wrists with enough force for her to gasp. But you’re too busy pummeling her ass to even get a word out—too focused on that impossible tightness wrapped around your cock, the  perfect grip around every inch like it's trying to force you to cum.

"Better get used to this, slut. My cock is going to keep wrecking your tight little ass over and over again for the next two days. And maybe even longer if you really deserve it."

Her wrists go free, only for your hands to find her delicious hips again, slamming back in and using all the momentum to crash into Yuna as hard as your body can muster—until she's pinned flat onto your mattress, trapped right under you without a single break between the thrusts that hit at a different angle. 

With your legs spread on either side of her, your torso stays flat against her naked back, keeping your weight right down over her small frame. The bed shakes each time you enter the deepest parts of her ass, every single stroke her greedy hole swallows up and demands even more than you can possibly offer. 

"That's it, j-just like that. Just keep fucking my ass, love the way that you ruin it—"

"Yuna—" You bring a harsh smack down across her reddened, sore cheek to really punctuate each thrust. "You think I wouldn’t when your ass is squeezing my cock so fucking good?"

Every bit of movement between the two of you happens right where your skin is pressed against hers—sweat on her body indistinguishable from the sweat on yours. Hands around her hips so you can keep a nice, possessive grip while you relentlessly drive forward to pound her body into your mattress, no chance of lasting much longer now. Not with the way you're drilling her, no chance at all.

And yet, you can't tear your eyes away from how her ass looks getting pounded, bouncing every time your hips make contact with the reddened cheeks of her ass.

"If you fuck me any harder, you might actually break this bed," Yuna gasps out, laughter still coming to her lips despite how ruined and breathless she is. That sounds like a good option, if you can’t help it, no matter how rough you need to be with her. Yuna is beyond that—insatiable and incapable of getting satisfied for very long at all, the way most people would. 

But that doesn't mean you won't give your all for this performance. So you get back on your knees, getting each hand full of Yuna's plump ass, sinking your fingertips as much as humanly possible to watch your cock destroy this perfect girl. 

"Then I'll keep going, until we've destroyed my entire goddamn bedroom. That's how much I love pounding your ass."

She just giggles until a moan replaces it, lost in all these noises. You won't stop, not if your legs give out from exhaustion. Every hard and deep thrust has your eyes fixed upon where your hips meet those decadent cheeks. With Yuna face down on her stomach, there’s no better view to watch how well your cock stretches her hole open. 

"You're getting there, I can feel it," she taunts. You hate that you can’t even see her face, but you know she’s grinning. Smug little brat. "Go ahead, fill this tight, little asshole. Use it until you cum."

And she just gets you so riled up, that it's inevitable, as soon as those words leave Yuna's mouth. "I cannot believe I went this long without my cock inside you. When you say it out loud, it just sounds—"

"Crazy? Come on. I know it drove you crazy. The only time you're actually fucking happy is when this big dick is buried in my ass. Not just inside some random girl who's not me, or a warm mouth who's not mine."

God, do you hate when she's right. Hate it with every fiber of your being, but you don't even have time to think about anything else, because these soft cheeks you're palming so hard is the thing that's about to break you first. That same voice that you can't stand on most days, is what helps you unravel—what brings you to that delirious edge and drives your hips with full force for these last few deep thrusts that rattle the bed. 

You start to lose full control, snapping your hips a little too fast, once, twice—before finally bottoming out with her name on your lips and erupting deep inside her ass. It's unstoppable, filling her with your thick, messy release in each deep throb when your cock pumps Yuna full, her asshole accepting it with each final burst of tightness.

"There you go, fucking cum in my ass," Yuna moans out as those harsh clenches milk everything out of you. You ride that high for as long as possible, each furious thrust pumping your seed deep inside, each hammering her body into the mattress—again and again until your balls have nothing left. 

Even after then, your hips don’t cease, fucking the rest of your load deeper inside her tight, filled hole. You can already see your release trickling out, her ass stuffed too full and overflowing with your cum already. "F-fuck, there's so fucking much, it's so thick—oh my god, daddy came so much…” 

Yuna sighs out into the silence, while you're left holding those sore cheeks to catch your breath. Both of you struggling to recover. 

"That's like, several days worth of cum in your ass," you say, dragging your spent cock out of her to get a good look, holding her cheeks spread apart as it flows in a thick mess between her thighs. Your fingers slide right into that gaping, ruined asshole, pushing back whatever cum threatens to drip out.

"Jesus, Yuna. Look at how much is spilling out. Was worried I actually broke you there for a moment when you're this tight."

"Nope. Still perfect. And it's still not enough," Yuna says, insatiable as ever. Only then do you start to peel yourself off of her, her worn-out body a complete sweat-covered mess.

“Too bad. You fucking drained me dry, you greedy slut."

Yuna laughs, and when she rolls over on her back to face you, she's the image of perfection: hair matted all against her forehead with sweat, makeup a bit smeared, her lips and cheeks redder than usual—ruined but still absolutely stunning.

“Like you could ever run out. Not when I'm around…” 

Yuna shifts right in front of you until she's directly in front of your gaze and kneeling between your legs. She smiles up at you and her mouth gets right back on your throbbing, sensitive cockhead. Each obscene slurp makes it a little harder to convince yourself that she shouldn't be staying for the weekend, because you might not ever let her leave. While not a day goes by without you hating her guts, not a day goes by without wanting to pin her up against a wall and fuck her senseless.

Her mouth slides deep, cleaning off everything, and her lips, her tongue running against the slit, and the cute expression the whole time, god—this girl is going to be the death of you.

She drags her tongue in slow, gentle swipes around the head, sucking every single drop clean and looking for more. There's not a single bit of reluctance—her wet mouth eagerly cleaning up your shaft in long strokes. Then she slides both hands around your hips and shoves you back, knocking you off balance until you hit the mattress. Yuna doesn’t give you a second to recover, already between your legs again. 

Now you're the helpless one, that hot little mouth working to fit the entire thick length down her throat. You don't even care about the overstimulation, not with this view of Yuna bobbing her head, those lips sealed tight. 

"Fuck, you’re crazy—“ you let out, running fingers through her messy hair, while Yuna ignores you and devours your spent cock, balls deep down her throat until she gags the slightest bit.

"You love it, though. Because it means you’re gonna fuck me harder now.” 

Maybe you do regret ever opening the door for her and letting her inside your apartment to ruin her. Or maybe you're the one ruined instead. You're not entirely sure at this point. 

"You're gonna have to wait, not everything is at full capacity yet." Yuna cocks her head to the side, stopping her full strokes so she can crawl up and get comfortable on top of you, until you're face to face, inches apart. 

"Daddy got too worn out pounding my ass? Is that my fault?"

All you have the energy for is to brush away strands of her disheveled hair out of the way, so you can stare at her gorgeous face. "Yes. And you can stop calling me that. One time thing, remember?"

Yuna giggles. "No—one time won't be enough. You know I like saying it."

You can’t even hide the sigh that escapes. But you should have known better, you suppose, for letting the floodgates open and allowing her that one time. Now you'll never hear the end of it, and it's going to be rolling off her lips the next time she begs you to fuck her again.

"You'll never listen to anything I say ever, will you?"

You already know the answer to that. But you’ll still indulge in her lips, this unexpected soft kiss after all the roughness. After all the debauchery of tonight, it’s what you both need. 

"Definitely not," Yuna replies, eyes wide and bright. “You’re just gonna have to find a way to shut me up—daddy."

You hate that word with a passion, you'd hate it if you were to hear anyone else say it to you—but for some reason, hearing that coming from those pouty lips, you hate even more that you might grow to love it the same amount. "You get to stay the weekend, and not a minute longer. Got it?"

There's this knowing glint in her eyes, all too confident that you'll break and think otherwise. "Don't be so sure about that. After one more night, you'll be begging me to stay an entire month. Begging me."

A roll of your eyes, and a laugh that’s far too loud escapes, because in truth, she's most certainly right. It's this push and pull between wanting her far away and wanting her around more than ever.

"Yuna, don't push your fucking luck," you warn, the last remnants of trying to distract from the truth.

"It's a little late for that, don't you think? I've pushed far past my limit. Might as well just start moving my things here."

That's a step too far. You'll fuck her brains out as many times as she needs, you'll even allow her to sleep in your bed for as many nights as she wants. This is already too domestic for your liking, but the thought of her staying here without giving you a moment's break? You'd rather perish.

"Absolutely fucking not. Don't even joke about that, Yuna."

"I was kidding," she insists, playing with the locks of your hair, not bothered at all by the agony on your face. "I'm here to get dicked down, that's it. I don't need to take over your whole apartment just to make sure my asshole is stretched." 

"Jesus, Yuna. Why the fuck are you so—"

"Insatiable? Hot? Good at deepthroating you until you explode down my throat? Because it's fun to see you get so flustered, daddy." 

Another one slips past her lips. You're just going to have to live with it at this point, she's so obsessed getting a reaction out of you, and you make it so easy for her. "Fuck off, I do not get flustered. And you need to stop saying that."

"No fucking chance. I'm going to call you that every single time you pound me. I'm going to scream it while you shove my face into your pillows and fuck the shit out of me, while you fold me up and choke me, get me on my knees and gag me until I'm drooling—"

"Yuna, I am not fucking you for at least another hour. Maybe even two."

"That's fine. We don't have to fuck at all, because my ass still fucking hurts,” she says, letting out a noise somewhere near a giggle and a sigh all at once. “I'm going to feel those welts you left on me forever, that belt made my ass so fucking sore that I'm surprised I can even walk. Just thinking about it makes me fucking drip—“

"Could you be any bigger of a slut than you already are?" 

Yuna shakes her head, this soft smile as if your insults only spur her on, as they seem to do. "Never. Not even if I tried." 

[rvp32]

Sovereign Desires

Wonyoung x Karina x Yuna x Sullyoon x male reader

word count: 15K

commissioned fic

Boredom doesn't seem to go away in the office. You think that one day you will get used to it, that day never comes. Slumped in your ergonomic chair, pretending to analyze quarterly reports while actually doomscrolling through an endless feed, you would give anything to shake things up in your life right now. Another Tuesday, another slow march towards the sweet release of 5 PM. Then your phone, lying screen-down on the desk amidst coffee rings and scattered pens, buzzes.

You barely register it. Probably just another Slack notification from accounting about the missing TPS reports, or a group chat exploding with irrelevant memes. You sigh, ready to silence it without looking.

But when you flip it over, it's not from accounting.

It's a DM.

There's a name.

And holy shit, not just any name. It's Karina. Yeah, the Karina. From Aespa. Except the contact isn't her stage name. It's the one you punched in years ago, still stubbornly saved under her actual name: Jimin. That old, familiar ache, that weird nostalgic flutter, tightens in your chest. Suddenly, you're not staring at sales projections; you're seventeen again, a sweaty, nervous wreck on some sun-baked summer sidewalk, every fiber of your being screaming just kiss her, you idiot, just do it, while you probably mumble something about the weather.

You blink, hard, because this makes zero sense. You haven't spoken to her for years. And the way it ended… a full-on, no-explanation ghosting after that spectacularly cursed attempt at a hookup. What a fucked day.

It wasn't even like you actually did anything. You didn't even get that far. You’d just managed to get her clothes off, lips still slick from making out, hands trembling as you lifted her onto your lap on that beat-up couch. The second your dick came out, she just… panicked. Froze up like she’d just seen a goddamn monster crawl out of your jeans. She let out this shaky, nervous laugh, mumbled something about a curfew she’d totally forgotten. But you know. Oh, you know exactly what it is. The sheer, improbable size of it. That sick, familiar twist in your gut as you realize it has happened again. You weren't even fully hard yet. Doesn’t matter.

She ran. Bolts like the place is on fire.

You can’t even really blame her (okay, maybe a little). You're always the weird, skinny dude, the one people probably figure is packing an innie until proven otherwise. And Karina (Jimin, back then), she has this effortless cool-girl vibe that just makes your brain short-circuit whenever she so much as glances your way for too longl. You try, so fucking hard, not to fall for her. Fail. Spectacularly. And then that one chance, your one shot to escape the friendzone, gets instantly demoted to a horror story she probably now dishes to her bandmates between grueling dance practices and sold-out stadium shows.

Except… she's actually messaging you. Right now.

hey

it’s been a while huh?

You jolt upright in your chair so fast your colleague in the next cubicle peers over the divider with a raised eyebrow. Her profile pic is pure idol perfection: full glam, hair in those impossibly soft, expensive-looking waves, eyes that are somehow both icy and flirty. This isn't Jimin anymore. This is Karina of Aespa, a literal K-pop goddess. The kind of woman entire nations fantasize about from behind their phone screens, and she’s DMing you, a random office drone, like you’d just casually bumped into her at a 7/11.

i was thinking about you the other day

kinda random but i’d like to catch up

you free this weekend?

No emojis. No awkward apologies or explanations. Just straight to it, like those six years of absolute silence haven't even happened.

Your chest feels tight, but not in a bad way. More like a champagne bottle about to pop. A million questions scream in your head, why now? what the hell is this about? but your thumbs are already a blur across the screen:

yeah

just tell me when and where

The typing bubble appears, blinks, disappears, then reappears. Teasing you. You wonder if she remembers. That night. That… thing about you. She has to. No way she’s forgotten something like that. Maybe she thinks you’ve… grown into it? Learned to manage it better? Maybe she's curious to see.

Then:

okay :)

I’ll send the details soon

looking forward to it

You stare at your phone screen long after her name vanishes, the glow of the monitor reflecting in your wide eyes. The phantom sensation of her weight, her presence, still echoes in your lap like a deeply ingrained muscle memory. The way she has of making any room, any space, subtly bend around her. The way you used to bend around her, orbiting like a damn fool, just waiting for her to look your way and actually mean it.

And now, impossibly, she's looking again.

—

The address pops up just after noon, no preamble. Just a pin-drop in Gangnam with a bar name you don’t recognize (some sleek little English mashup that screams exclusivity), the kind of place influencers pretend to discover and rich people keep quiet about. You Google it anyway. The front’s barely labeled, no neon sign, just this faint etched logo over heavy black glass doors, like you’re supposed to already know where it is. One of those underground cocktail lounges, dim and expensive and deliberately vague.

Of course she’d pick somewhere like this.

You get there ten minutes early, which feels both desperate and practical. The room’s all moody lighting and brass. Like stepping into a perfume ad: everything smells expensive. Candles flicker in tiny glass jars at each low table, and there’s jazz playing, soft but rhythmic. You start scanning the booths, heart ticking like a countdown, nervous in a way that feels kind of humiliating. You're not in high school anymore.

But then you see her.

She's in a corner booth, half-shadowed by one of those gold-bar dividers. Hair down, silky black and parted to the side, soft curls kissing her collarbones. She's dressed like she knew exactly how this would go: long-legged, crossed at the knee, thighs poured into a leather mini-skirt that barely creases when she moves. A sheer black blouse with little sparkly threadwork running through it like constellations, the fabric so thin it flirts with the curves of her bra underneath. Not scandalous. Not vulgar. Just perfectly engineered to hold your gaze. One hand’s around her drink, some golden thing in a faceted crystal glass, and the other’s thumbing her phone like she’s half-focused, tapping fast. She looks up just once—sees you.

Smiles.

“Wow,” she says as you approach, rising halfway, fingers brushing your wrist as she gestures for you to sit across from her. “You really came.”

“Of course I did,” you say, but your voice is almost inaudible. You clear your throat and try again. “Jimin.”

Her eyes widen just slightly. The smile twitches. Not fake, just surprised. “Haven’t heard that in a while.”

“Still your name, right?”

“It is,” she says, sitting back down, crossing her legs the other way, and you catch the flash of glossy black boots under the table, knee-high, sharp-heeled, definitely not made for walking. “Only a few people still get to use it though.”

You slide into the seat across from her, still trying not to stare, but fuck it’s hard. She’s… glowy. Confident in a way that makes you feel like you’re dressed wrong even though you picked this outfit twice and stood in the mirror trying poses before heading out. She doesn’t need to try, doesn’t need to check the mirror; she knows what she’s doing. Every part of her outfit, her body language, the tone of her laughter, it’s all loaded like performance, but smoother. Natural. She's grown into it. Into this idol thing.

You’re still staring when she lifts her glass toward you.

“Drink?” she offers. “First one’s on me.”

“You paying?” you ask, raising a brow.

“For sure,” she says, grinning. “This idol thing pays well.”

A waiter materializes like magic. She orders another of whatever she’s having, something citrusy with gin, you catch the word yuzu, and you mutter your preference like it matters. It’s one of those bars where they probably judge you for ordering a beer.

“Damn,” you say after a beat, glancing at her with a crooked smile. “So this is your idea of casual now?”

She shrugs, sips. “This is how I dress when I want someone to look at me.”

You swallow hard. “It’s working.”

There’s a beat. A silence that stretches long enough for your drink to arrive. Her eyes never leave yours.

“You’re still such a flirt,” she says, amused. “But you’ve mellowed out. You used to be way more nervous.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely panicking inside,” you admit, taking a sip that burns and soothes at the same time. “I just got better at hiding it.”

She laughs, and the sound is all warm honey. It hits some buried part of you, it fucks with you.

“So how’ve you been?” she asks, smoothing a hand over her thigh. “Besides taller, obviously.”

You snort. “You’re still taller than me.”

“By this much,” she says, holding two fingers apart. “And the boots.”

“Even without the boots.”

“Some things don’t change.”

You both sip. And then the reminiscing begins. You start talking about school, about mutual friends, about the time you both got high and watched bad dramas all night, quoting lines and making each other laugh so hard she snorted kimchi soup out of her nose. She acts scandalized when you bring that up.

“I told you never to mention that again,” she groans, burying her face in her hand.

“And yet here we are.”

“Blackmail. That’s what this is.”

The drinks keep coming. You’re halfway through your third when you notice she keeps checking her phone. Quick glances. A tap here and there. She’s not scrolling for fun, no, it’s deliberate. Controlled. You figure it must be work. Maybe her manager checking in. Maybe something about her schedule. It doesn’t seem suspicious at first. You’re too busy watching the way her lips wrap around her straw, how her hand drapes over the rim of her glass, fingers tapping idly. You wonder how many guys have sat across from her like this, thinking maybe this time I get to take her home.

You’re not even sure what this is. Is it a catch-up? A date? Just nostalgia? But she invited you. She dressed like this. She's been holding eye contact like it’s a game. You’re buzzed now, not sloppy, just loose enough to lean in, resting your chin on your hand.

“You remember,” you say softly, “That time you were at my house and we kissed?”

Jimin looks up. Caught off guard. But not embarrassed. Her smile is smaller this time. Realer.

“Of course I do,” she murmurs. “You tasted like lemon soda.”

“You ran. You ran before we could... You know.”

“I had a panic attack,” she says, surprisingly blunt. “Didn’t even realize it until I was halfway down the street. I thought it was… I don’t know. Too much.”

“Was it because of me?”

She’s quiet. Her eyes dip to her drink. Then her phone buzzes again. She glances at it. This time her face changes (just a flicker). A subtle switch behind her eyes. Something has clicked.

“No,” she says finally, meeting your gaze again. “It wasn’t you. Not really. And I really, really want to redeem myself with you.”

But she doesn’t explain. Just downs the rest of her drink in one go and flags the waiter for another.

You mean to press more. To ask what that meant. But before you can, her phone buzzes one more time. She doesn’t check it. Just flips it over, screen-down. And leans forward with a little smile, as if she’s about to say something intimate, something she’s been holding in for a while. Her fingers trail along the rim of your glass, close but not quite touching yours.

Then she says: “Hey. You trust me, right?”

You say it without hesitation. Maybe it's the alcohol humming in your bloodstream or the way she's looking at you; clear, serious, a softness in her expression that strips away the glamor and shows just a little of the girl you remember. “Yeah,” you murmur, letting the word settle in your throat, simple and solid. “I trust you.”

That’s all she needs. Her eyes flicker like she’s confirming something to herself, then her fingers swipe across her phone, firing off a text with no explanation. You catch the little smirk at the corner of her lips, not playful, not cruel… something more satisfied. Purposeful. She slides her phone back into her clutch and stands, straightening the hem of her skirt. Her legs look even longer when she moves. The heel of her boot clicks once on the floor.

“Come on,” she says, brushing a hand lightly over your shoulder as she walks past you. “There’s a car waiting.”

You follow, blinking through the slow haze of three drinks and a thousand unspoken thoughts. Outside, it’s colder than you expect, the air sharp against your cheeks, but the car is there, sleek and black, window-tinted with the kind of purr you associate with rich people and K-drama antagonists. The driver doesn’t ask your name. Just opens the door.

You slide in after her, trying not to let your thigh brush hers too hard even though she’s made no effort to keep distance. Inside the car, the seats smell like leather and faint perfume. Karina settles in beside you, adjusting the strap of her bag, checking her lipstick in the reflection of her phone screen. She catches you looking.

“What?” she asks, amusement in her tone, head tilting.

“Where are we going?”

She leans back, one knee brushing yours, fingers sliding into her hair like she’s trying to undo the tension at her scalp. “To an apartment. Somewhere we can actually talk without everyone staring. Somewhere more comfortable.”

“Is it yours?”

She shrugs, teasing. “Partially.”

“Must be nice.”

“You’ve got no idea,” she grins, and then something flickers behind her eyes again, calmer now, more vulnerable. “I meant what I said back there. About redeeming myself.”

You glance at her. Her knees are still crossed, hands folded loosely in her lap. She’s not fidgeting. She looks totally in control. But her voice is quieter now, measured.

“I really fucked up back then,” she says. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. But I know I did. You probably felt… rejected.”

You hesitate. Then nod. “Yeah. I did.”

She turns slightly toward you, just enough to face you head-on. “And I get it now. It wasn’t just me walking out—it was me making you feel like something was wrong with you. Like you were some freak.”

You don’t say anything. The car’s too quiet. The engine hums beneath you, smooth, and the city lights flicker through tinted windows. You focus on her words, the precision of them, the way she’s not sugarcoating any of it.

“I used to think everything had to be this perfect fantasy,” she continues. “And I wasn’t ready for something real. I wasn’t ready for… you.”

You exhale slowly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Okay,” she says, "but I still want to make it right.”

The rest of the ride passes in that charged silence, the kind that isn't awkward but thick with implication, like something's about to tip. You’re not entirely sure what you expected when she messaged you, but this? This is surreal. You're tipsy and hot under your collar, knees bouncing slightly, wondering if you should be nervous, or excited, or both.

You settle on both.

The car slows in front of a tall, anonymous building with glass that reflects too cleanly to be anything short of expensive. A valet greets her with a nod. You follow her inside, past a lobby that smells like orchids and designer soap. The elevator is silent, smooth, rising so fast it barely registers.

When the doors open, she leads you into an apartment that looks more like a photoshoot set than somewhere someone actually lives. Polished hardwood floors, ambient recessed lighting, modern furniture in sharp angles and plush velvet textures. There’s a huge floor-to-ceiling window spilling moonlight across the living room, and a minibar tucked beside a long black couch. She moves through it like she’s done this a hundred times before.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she says, stepping behind the bar and reaching for bottles you can’t even pronounce. “Shoes off, if you want. The floor’s heated.”

You toe your sneakers off and sink into the couch, running your hand over the fabric absently. Your head's spinning a little now, and it’s not just the alcohol. It’s her. It’s the fact that she brought you here, into this private space, dressed like a fantasy and saying everything anyone would like to hear. The lines are blurred and blurring further.

She turns back with one glass, something crystalline and amber glowing under the lights. She hands one to you with a smile.

“What is it?” you ask, sniffing it. It smells like honey and something herbal.

“Something special,” she says, settling beside you on the couch. “It’s got a little kick. But it’ll help you… relax. Feel good. Get in the mood.”

You blink. “Get in the mood?”

Her smile doesn’t falter. “For tonight. For me. Just drink.”

You hesitate, but only for a second. You're already floating. Her thigh is pressed to yours now, warm through the thin fabric of your pants. You take a sip. It's smoother than expected, sweet at first, then biting, like cinnamon chased with a punch of something foreign. Your body responds immediately, heat blooming in your chest, your arms, your thighs.

“Strong,” you say, wincing as you go for a second sip.

“Mmhm,” she hums. “But you’ll feel amazing.”

Your skin starts to prickle, not uncomfortably. Just... heightened. Like everything is vibrating a little faster than it should. Your fingers twitch. You glance at her. Her pupils are wide, lips parted just slightly as she watches you drink.

You set the glass down, heart beating a little too fast now. “What’s in it?”

“Something that’s gonna make tonight unforgettable,” she murmurs, leaning in to brush her lips just below your jaw. Not a kiss, just a graze. “And I’ve got a surprise.”

Your pulse thumps. “Another one?”

She stands again, smooth and sudden, stepping across the room and pulling her phone from her clutch. She types something. A long message. Sends it.

Then she turns to face you again, hair tumbling over her shoulder, eyes dark and gleaming.

“They’re almost here,” she says.

You blink. “They?”

Karina approaches you again and sits on your lap, settling her weight fully onto your thighs. It's instant fire. Her warmth seeps through your pants, directly against the hardness already straining there, a painful, thrilling pressure. Her hands find your shoulders, fingers digging in just slightly, claiming the space.

"So," she starts, leaning closer, her breath ghosting over your ear. "About... that night. My little freakout."

You swallow, eyes locked on the curve of her neck, the faint pulse beating there.

"You're not the only one who knows about... well. Your impressive little toy downstairs."

A blush creeps up your neck. Toy? Little? It feels anything but little right now, jammed against her ass.

"W-what? Who else—"

"Shhh," she cuts you off, a finger tapping your lips. "No need to be ashamed. Not anymore. In fact..." Her lips curve into that slow, knowing smile you saw downstairs, the one that felt like she held all the cards. "It kinda got... rushed straight into my friend group."

Heat flares through you, hotter than the alcohol buzz. The drink, whatever it is, makes everything feel ten times more intense. Your cock gives a hard throb against her, impossible to hide.

"I... I don't think I get it, Jimin," you stammer out, feeling small under her gaze, even though she's the one practically draped over you.

"You will," she murmurs. "Soon. Very soon."

Right on cue, a crisp ding-dong echoes through the apartment. The doorbell.

Karina lifts herself off your lap with infuriating grace, smoothing down her skirt. The sudden absence of her weight makes your erection ache. She glances towards the door, then back at you, a quick, almost apologetic flicker in her eyes before it's replaced by resolve.

"Showtime," she mouths, then turns and strides towards the entrance.

The lock clicks. The heavy door swings inward. And suddenly, the spacious living room feels crowded. Three figures step inside, bringing a wave of expensive perfume and overwhelming presence. Towering over Karina, towering over you.

Wonyoung is first, draped in a long, dramatic beige trench coat that swamps her frame but somehow still looks regal. Her expression is pure, unfiltered impatience, lips pursed into a perfect pout. Beside her, Yuna practically spills out of a tiny black leather tube top and matching micro-skirt, fishnets snaking up her long legs, a predatory grin already fixed on you. And then there's Sullyoon, looking almost angelic in a white lace corset top and ridiculously short pleated skirt, but her wide, curious eyes dart nervously between you, Karina, and Wonyoung, clutching a small designer handbag. They’re all impossibly beautiful. And impossibly tall.

You just swallow, hard, sinking back into the plush velvet of the couch. Your brain short-circuits. Four K-pop goddesses. In the same room. Looking at you.

"Finally," Wonyoung mutters, tapping an expensively manicured finger against her arm, not even bothering to hide her irritation. "Took long enough."

Karina closes the door, turning back to the group, her hostess smile firmly in place, though you see the slight tension in her shoulders. "Girls, this is the guy I was talking about. You... probably already know who they are, right?" she directs the last part at you, a weak attempt at normalcy.

You nod dumbly, unable to form words.

Wonyoung's sharp eyes rake over you, from your hair down to your feet. A dismissive little sniff escapes her.

"Huh. You're even smaller in person," she remarks, sounding unimpressed. She glances sharply at Karina. "Are you sure about this, Jimin?"

Karina nods quickly. "Yes. Positive."

Wonyoung just hums, unconvinced. Then, with fluid nonchalance, she reaches up and undoes the belt of her trench coat. The fabric falls open. Underneath, she's wearing nothing but a scandalous black lace lingerie set; push-up bra showcasing perfect cleavage, matching high-waisted panties emphasizing her tiny waist and long legs, held up by intricate garter straps. She absolutely came prepared. Your mouth goes dry.

Karina turns back to you, offering a hand. "Come on, stand up."

Your legs feel shaky. The bulge in your pants is painfully obvious now, throbbing in time with the frantic beat in your chest. You take her hand, letting her pull you to your feet. You feel like a child standing among them.

Wonyoung's gaze flicks down to your crotch, then back up, a flicker of something – interest? Disdain? – in her eyes. "Did he already drink?” she asks Karina, nodding towards the empty glass on the coffee table.

"Yep. All of it," Karina confirms.

Your head snaps towards Karina, sudden alarm cutting through the horny haze. "Drink what? What are you talking about?"

Karina laughs nervously, waving a dismissive hand. "Oh, it's nothing serious! Just a little something... to help you keep up. You know." She gestures vaguely at the three other women staring at you. "Four girls is no joke, right? Need stamina!"

"You... you literally drugged me?"

“Drugging is a very strong word!” she retorts, laughing nervously. “Look at you, conscious and healthy! What you drank was just an aphrodisiac, totally harmless.. and natural too.”

Yuna lets out a delighted giggle, covering her mouth with perfectly painted nails. "Aw, look at him. He's finally catching on!"

"Is... is what I think is going to happen... actually going to happen?" you ask Karina.

Wonyoung steps forward, silencing Karina before she can answer. She stops right in front of you, close enough you can smell the sweet, powdery scent of her skin beneath the perfume.

"If what you're thinking," Wonyoung states, her tone flat and bored, "is that you're about to get used like a personal dildo by four incredibly hot girls who are way out of your league... then yes. You are absolutely right."

Your breath hitches. Before you can process, Wonyoung gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Immediately, Yuna and Sullyoon are flanking you. Strong hands grip your arms, surprisingly firm. Yuna's touch is confident, almost playful; Sullyoon's is hesitant but locks on tight. You flinch, trying instinctively to pull away, a pathetic little struggle.

"Hey, relax," Karina says quickly, stepping closer, her expression pleading. "Just... go with it. It'll be fun."

Fun? Your head is spinning, your body is on fire, and four idols are manhandling you after drugging you. But fuck, the dominant way Wonyoung is looking at you, the hungry glint in Yuna's eyes, even Sullyoon's wide-eyed curiosity... it's terrifyingly hot.

Wonyoung reaches out, her long fingers landing on the button of your jeans. Her touch is cool, deliberate.

"Alright," she announces, her gaze fixed on your crotch. "Let's see if Jimin was telling the truth, or if she just has a really weird memory of high school dick."

Her fingers work quickly, expertly. The button pops. The zipper slides down. Before you can even react, she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of your jeans and boxers together and yanks them down past your hips, down your thighs, letting them pool around your ankles.

Your cock springs free, fully, violently hard. It bounces heavily against your lower belly, thick and veiny and flushed a deep, angry red from the drug and the sheer, overwhelming arousal. Ten and a half inches of raw, improbable meat jutting out from your otherwise skinny frame.

Yuna gasps, her eyes widening comically. Sullyoon makes a tiny choking sound, her grip tightening on your arm as her gaze locks onto it, mesmerized. Even Karina lets out a soft, breathy sound, her eyes glued to your erection.

"Wow," Karina whispers, sounding genuinely awed. "Okay... maybe it is even bigger than I remembered."

Only Wonyoung remains utterly impassive. Her face is a mask of cool appraisal, like she's judging a piece of art. Or livestock. She studies it for a long moment, then, without warning, her hand closes around the base. Her grip is strong, cool. She gives it a few slow, deliberate strokes, thumb pressing firmly against the thick vein running down the shaft.

A strangled moan escapes your lips before you can stop it. Your hips buck involuntarily.

"Is this it?" Wonyoung asks coolly, still stroking, her eyes meeting yours. "Is this fully hard? Or does it get bigger?"

"Y-yes," you gasp out, eyes squeezed shut. "That's... that's it."

Wonyoung stops stroking. She clicks her tongue. "Hm. Well then." She looks directly at Karina, her expression hardening. "We have a problem."

She bends slightly, reaching into an inner pocket of her fallen trench coat. You tense, wondering what the hell she's doing now. She straightens up holding... a sleek, metallic ruler.

"Wait, Wonyoung, are you seriously—" Karina starts, aghast.

"Of course I am," Wonyoung snaps, cutting her off. She kneels slightly, holding the ruler flat against the top side of your shaft, pressing the end firmly against your pubic bone. Her fingers are cold against your heated skin. You flinch, utterly humiliated, but Yuna and Sullyoon hold you fast. Wonyoung squints at the measurement.

"Ten... point five," she announces. She stands up straight, glaring daggers at Karina. "Ten and a half inches. You liar."

Karina shrinks back slightly. "What?"

"You told me," Wonyoung accuses, poking a finger towards Karina, "that it was bigger than my bodyguard's. You specifically said bigger than the bodyguard. He's twelve inches, Jimin! Twelve! This isn't even close!"

"I... I haven't seen it in years!" Karina defends herself frantically, blushing furiously. "It was dark, and it happened so fast! I was scared! It looked bigger back then, I swear! I thought it was enormous!"

Wonyoung rolls her eyes dramatically. "Disappointing. Utterly disappointing."

"Oh my god, Wonyoung, stop being so dramatic!" Yuna cuts in, finally letting go of your arm to reach down and cup your heavy balls possessively. Sullyoon mirrors her, her hesitant hand closing around the thick shaft just below Wonyoung's earlier grip. Their combined touch sends sparks through your system. "Who cares if it's not twelve inches? Look at this thing!" Yuna gives your balls a gentle squeeze. "It's still incredibly big. And so thick! We can have plenty of fun with this." Her eyes meet yours, hot and challenging. "Right? I'm already getting wet just holding him."

Sullyoon nods eagerly, running a tentative finger over the smooth head, her eyes wide with fascination. "Yeah, Wonyoung. It's... it's really amazing."

Wonyoung sighs, a long-suffering sound, but her eyes linger on the sheer girth of your cock, now being eagerly handled by the other two. "Fine," she concedes grudgingly. "It is impressively thick, I'll give you that. It might be good for something after all." She pauses, then pins Karina with a sharp look. "But you still lied. And liars need to be punished."

Karina swallows hard, nervousness flashing across her features again. "Punished? How?"

"You'll see," Wonyoung says cryptically. She turns her attention back to you, dismissing Karina entirely. "You. Finish taking off your clothes. Now. And get in the bedroom." She gestures vaguely towards a door down the hall. "I don't have all night."

Without waiting for a response, Wonyoung turns on her heel, her lingerie-clad form disappearing towards the indicated room, the trench coat abandoned on the floor.

Yuna leans in close, her hot breath fanning your ear. "You heard the princess. Hurry up," she whispers, then plants a quick, wet kiss on your cheek before releasing your balls and following Wonyoung.

Sullyoon gives your aching cock one last, surprisingly firm squeeze, her eyes flicking up to meet yours with a mixture of shyness and burgeoning excitement. Then she too lets go and scurries after the others, leaving you standing there alone in the middle of the luxurious living room.

Your pants are around your ankles, your shirt is still on, your monster erection is throbbing painfully in the open air, slick with pre-cum and the lingering touch of three different idols. Your head spins from the drug, the humiliation, the sheer terror, and the undeniable, overwhelming wave of horniness flooding your system. What the fuck just happened? And what the fuck happens next? You stand frozen, caught somewhere between wanting to run and wanting to crawl into that bedroom immediately. Obviously, driven by a total lack of shame and an unbearable horniness, combined with no sense of self-preservation, you choose the second option.

Fuck it. You kick off your fallen pants and boxers fully, leaving them in a pathetic heap on the expensive floor, and start walking towards the bedroom door Wonyoung vanished through. Your bare feet pad silently on the cool hardwood.

Karina falls into step beside you, her bare shoulder brushing your arm. You glance sideways at her, the mix of betrayal and horniness churning in your gut.

"You lied to me," you state. "The whole time. Downstairs. In the car."

She flinches slightly but keeps walking, her gaze fixed on the bedroom door ahead. "Okay, technically... maybe a little bit by omission?"

"A little bit?" you scoff, feeling a hysterical laugh bubble up. "You drugged me, Jimin! You set me up to be... to be some kind of human dildo for your idol friends!"

"Hey!" she protests, stopping for a second. "I did want to see you again. Honestly. That part wasn't a lie." She searches your face, her expression earnest, though it's hard to trust anything she says right now. "Things just got... complicated. And Wonyoung kinda insisted after I... might have mentioned you."

"Mentioned me? Or mentioned this?" you gesture vaguely downwards at your still stubbornly rigid cock.

"Both?" she offers weakly.

You shake your head, feeling dizzy again. "It's kinda hard to believe anything you say right now."

You reach the bedroom doorway and hesitate, peering inside. The room is huge, dominated by a massive bed with a dark grey headboard and way too many pillows. Soft light glows from hidden fixtures. Yuna and Sullyoon are near the foot of the bed, casually shedding their clothes. Yuna unhooks her leather top with a flourish, letting it drop to reveal a simple, strappy black bra that barely contains her curves. Sullyoon is more methodical, carefully folding her pleated skirt before unzipping the back of her lace corset, revealing matching white lace panties and a push-up bra that gives her an impressive silhouette. They’re both practically glowing with confidence, completely unbothered by your presence.

Karina gently pushes you forward, over the threshold. She reaches up and pulls her sheer blouse over her head in one smooth motion, tossing it onto a nearby armchair. Her bra is pale pink lace, elegant but functional, doing its best to support her surprisingly full, pale breasts. They swell invitingly over the delicate fabric, nipples visibly hard beneath the lace. You can't help but stare for a beat, remembering the feel of them pressed against your chest years ago.

She catches you looking and gives a small, self-conscious smile before starting to unzip her skirt. It slides down her legs, pooling around her knee-high boots before she finally takes them off. Underneath, she wears matching pink lace panties. "Your turn," she prompts, nodding towards your shirt. "Unless you want Wonyoung to rip it off you."

The thought is strangely appealing, but you comply, pulling your t-shirt over your head and tossing it vaguely towards hers. Now you're standing there in just your socks, utterly exposed.

"So..." you begin, looking between the four women, feeling incredibly out of place and ridiculously turned on. "What... uh... what happens now?"

"Now?" Wonyoung's drawl comes from the bed. You see her lounging against the pillows, still in her black lingerie, legs crossed, watching you with predatory amusement. "Now the fun begins, tiny."

Wonyoung slides off the bed with feline grace. Yuna and Sullyoon turn from their discarded clothes, their eyes immediately locking onto your cock again. Together, the three of them approach, moving with unnerving synchronicity. They stop a few feet away, then slowly, deliberately, sink to their knees in front of you. Three pairs of stunning eyes staring intently at your dick. It’s like some weird, terrifyingly hot religious ceremony.

Karina takes a step forward, starting to kneel beside them, but Wonyoung shoots her a look sharp enough to cut glass.

"Ah-ah," Wonyoung chides, clicking her tongue. "Not you. Not yet."

Karina freezes, her cheeks flushing slightly. She straightens up quickly, looking uncertain. After a moment's hesitation, she steps beside you instead, looping an arm comfortingly around your shoulders, pulling you slightly against her side. Her skin is warm. She leans in and presses a soft, quick kiss to your temple.

"Just breathe," she whispers, her lips brushing your ear. "Try to enjoy it?"

Enjoy it? Your heart is trying to beat its way out of your chest, but as Wonyoung reaches out, followed immediately by Yuna and Sullyoon, their hands hovering just inches from your shaft, a low groan rumbles in your chest.

Wonyoung's fingers, cool and clinical, land first. She wraps them around the base again, testing the weight, her thumb tracing the thick vein. Yuna goes straight for the head, her touch surprisingly bold as she wets a fingertip with her tongue and circles the sensitive tip, making you gasp. Sullyoon hesitates for only a second before tentatively cupping your heavy balls, her touch feather-light at first, then growing firmer as she seems to gain confidence.

"Holy shit," Yuna breathes out, her eyes wide as she keeps teasing the head of your cock. "It's like... holding a fucking baseball bat. But, like, a really nice, warm baseball bat."

Sullyoon giggles nervously, her fingers exploring the taut skin of your scrotum. "It doesn't even look real up close. How does this even fit on someone?"

Wonyoung ignores them, focusing her attention on the shaft, running her other hand slowly up and down its length, mapping the texture, the heat. "Forget the length," she murmurs, almost to herself. "The girth on this thing... Now this is interesting." She squeezes slightly, eliciting another strangled sound from you. "Definitely something to work with."

Karina's arm tightens around your shoulders, a silent signal of... support? Apology? Shared anticipation? You can barely think straight, trapped between her comforting presence and the overwhelming sensation of three gorgeous idols worshipping your freakishly large dick like it's the eighth wonder of the world. Your knees feel weak, the room spins gently, and all you can focus on is the heat building low in your belly, spiraling outwards from their exploring hands.

Wonyoung maintains her grip on the base, anchoring you, while her tongue makes slow, deliberate laps around the thickest part of the shaft, pressing hard. It's methodical, almost analytical, but feels incredible. Yuna, giggling, dives lower, taking one of your heavy balls fully into her mouth, sucking strongly while her other hand playfully squeezes its twin. You cry out, hips jerking, hands clenching into fists at your sides. Sullyoon, seeming to take her cue from Yuna, mimics the action on your other ball, her technique less practiced but no less enthusiastic, her cheeks hollowing with the effort.

"Mmmph," Yuna hums around your ball, her eyes sparkling up at you. "So salty. You taste good."

Sullyoon nods vigorously, her mouth still full.

Karina's arm tightens around your shoulders. You can feel the slight tremor running through her. "God," she breathes out, her gaze fixed on the scene below. "Look at them..."

Wonyoung lifts her head slightly, her lips glistening. "Alright, girls, new plan." Her tone is all business, but there's a dark spark in her eyes. "I need him really wet. Like, dripping. Slobber him up properly. I have plans for all that lube later."

Yuna pulls off your ball with a wet pop. "Ooh, bossy Wonyoung! My favorite!" She winks, then immediately latches onto the mid-shaft, sucking hard and deep, making deliberately sloppy noises. "You want drool? You got drool, princess!"

Sullyoon, blushing furiously but clearly eager to please, releases your other ball and joins Yuna on the shaft, her mouth smaller but working just as diligently, their tongues occasionally bumping. It's a hot, messy tangle of lips and saliva coating your straining cock.

Wonyoung watches them for a second, a critical glint in her eyes, before lowering her head again, her tongue darting out to flick teasingly at the sensitive underside, right where the shaft meets your balls. You groan, head tipping back against Karina's shoulder.

"Oh my god," Karina whispers, her own breathing quickening. She leans her cheek against your hair. "Are you... are you okay? Are you enjoying this?"

Is she serious? Your brain is soup, your body is humming like a live wire, and three of the most beautiful women on the planet are tag-teaming your dick like it owes them money.

"F-fuck," you manage to gasp out, legs trembling. "Y-yes? Maybe? God, Jimin, it's..." You can't finish. Another wave of pleasure crashes over you as Yuna somehow manages to take even more of you into her throat, her hand pumping the base in time with her sucking. Pre-cum beads thickly at the tip, immediately licked away by Sullyoon's inquisitive tongue.

"He likes it!" Sullyoon announces proudly through a mouthful of spit and dick.

"Course he likes it, dummy," Yuna retorts, pulling back just enough to talk. "Look at him! Leaking like a faucet already. We're doing a great job making him nice and slippery for Wonyoung's mysterious plans." She gives Wonyoung a suggestive look.

Wonyoung just smirks, her tongue still tracing lazy circles near your balls. "Focus, Yuna. More spit. Less talk."

"Yes, ma'am!" Yuna salutes mockingly, then dives back in, somehow managing to sound even wetter this time. Sullyoon follows suit, their combined efforts painting your cock in thick, glistening ropes of saliva. The wet sucking sounds fill the room, punctuated by your helpless moans and the occasional giggle from Yuna or encouragement from Karina.

"Damn," Karina murmurs again, her fingers tightening on your shoulder. "You really are... something else." She sounds genuinely impressed, and maybe a little turned on herself. You feel a bead of sweat trickle down your temple, the heat in the room, or maybe just in your own body, becoming almost unbearable. This is insane. It's degrading. It's terrifying.

And fuck, you hope they don't stop anytime soon.

"More," Wonyoung demands, her own mouth leaving your balls for a moment to issue the order. "I want him practically drowning in it. Yuna, Sullyoon, don't be shy with the spit."

Yuna grins wickedly around your shaft. "You hear that, Sullyoonie? Permission to be absolutely disgusting!" She pulls back slightly, gathers saliva in her mouth (you can literally hear it) and then leans in, letting a thick, clear stream drizzle directly onto the head of your cock. It mixes with the pre-cum already leaking there, creating a pearly mess. "How's that, boss?"

"Better," Wonyoung approves, nodding slightly. She then looks pointedly at Sullyoon. "Your turn."

Sullyoon hesitates for only a split second, blushing scarlet, before copying Yuna. Her spit is maybe a little less voluminous, but she makes up for it with enthusiasm, adding another layer of wetness. You groan loudly, bucking against their mouths as the warm liquid coats you. It feels unbelievably degrading and yet insanely hot.

"Oh my god, they're actually spitting on it," Karina whispers beside you, sounding both horrified and utterly captivated. "Is that... does that feel okay?"

"F-Feels..." you gasp, trying to catch your breath. "Feels fucking weird! Good weird! Fuck!"

"Language," Wonyoung chides absently, though she doesn't sound genuinely annoyed. She seems focused on the task at hand. She uses her fingers to smear the combined spit and pre-cum all over the shaft, ensuring every inch is glistening under the soft bedroom lights. "See? Nice and slick. Almost ready."

"Ready for what?" Yuna asks playfully, her tongue now lapping up the excess spit near the base, her cheeks puffed out. "You gonna use him as a slip-n-slide?"

Wonyoung ignores her. "Tip duty. Both of you," she commands Yuna and Sullyoon.

They obey instantly. Sullyoon’s smaller tongue darts out, carefully tracing the ridge of the corona, while Yuna goes straight for the slit, flicking her tongue rapidly over the hypersensitive opening, drawing out even more pre-cum. Their tongues brush, slide over each other, working in tandem to worship the very head of your cock. It’s an agonizingly precise torture.

"Mmm, look how much pre-cum he's making," Sullyoon murmurs, her eyes wide with fascination. "It tastes good."

"Told ya," Yuna slurps, managing to get her lips around the entire glans for a moment, sucking hard before releasing it with another wet pop. "He's like a leaky faucet of man-juice. Keep licking, Sullyoon, let's make it nice and shiny."

They continue their ministrations, tongues swirling, lapping, occasionally flicking out to catch stray drips running down the shaft. Wonyoung watches critically, occasionally adding a guiding touch with her finger or a low hum of approval. Karina is practically vibrating beside you now, her hand gripping your shoulder tightly, her knuckles white. You can feel her shallow, rapid breaths against your neck.

The combined stimulation is relentless. Your toes curl, your back arches off the floor slightly, supported only by Karina's arm. A high-pitched whine escapes your throat. You feel dangerously close, the pressure building low and deep, coiling tight in your balls.

Just as you think you might actually lose it, Wonyoung gives a sharp nod. "Okay. Enough."

Yuna and Sullyoon pull back simultaneously, leaving your cock absolutely drenched, glistening obscenely, thick ropes of saliva and pre-cum dripping onto the floor. It stands there, twitching slightly, impossibly hard and looking utterly debauched.

Wonyoung leans back on her heels, surveying their handiwork with a critical eye. A small, satisfied smirk touches her lips. "Acceptable," she declares finally. Then, her gaze shifts, sharp and imperious, landing squarely on Karina, who is still holding you up, looking flushed and breathless from watching.

"Karina," Wonyoung commands, her tone leaving no room for argument. "On your knees. Now.”

Karina practically beams, relief washing over her face as she drops eagerly to her knees before you, eyes fixed on your glistening, spit-slicked cock. She clearly thinks it’s finally her turn, leaning forward slightly, lips parting in anticipation. Oh, how wrong she is.

Wonyoung watches her kneel with a predatory stillness, letting the hope bloom on Karina’s face for a torturous second before shattering it.

"What do you think you're doing?" Wonyoung asks, her tone deceptively soft.

Karina blinks, confused. "I'm... you told me to kneel?" Her gaze flickers towards your cock, then back to Wonyoung, clearly expecting the order to suck.

"Yes. Kneel for your punishment," Wonyoung corrects coolly. "For lying to me about the merchandise." She gestures towards your erection with a flick of her wrist. "You don't get to taste it yet. First, you pay the price for exaggerating."

Karina's hopeful expression evaporates, replaced by wide-eyed confusion, then dawning fear. "Punishment? Wait, what—"

Beside her, Yuna claps a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Sullyoon tries to stifle a giggle behind her hand, her eyes sparkling with mischievous delight. They clearly knew this was coming.

"H-how... how are you going to punish me?" Karina stammers, looking genuinely scared now.

Wonyoung's lips curl into a cruel, slow smile. "With this," she declares, and before Karina can react, Wonyoung reaches out, her hand closing firmly around the base of your thick, dripping cock. She lifts it slightly, like she’s hefting a weapon. Then, with a swift, deliberate motion, she swings it sideways, slapping the wet, heavy shaft right across Karina’s cheek.

The sound is shockingly loud, wet and fleshy. Karina cries out, head snapping to the side from the impact, a bright red mark instantly blooming on her pale skin, smeared with your spit and pre-cum.

Yuna and Sullyoon absolutely lose it, bursting into loud laughter, clutching each other for support.

"Oh my god! She actually did it!" Yuna howls between giggles.

Wonyoung ignores them, her focus entirely on Karina’s stunned, reddening face. "Rule number one, Jimin: Don't bullshit me about dick size," she states calmly. "Since you were off by almost two inches, but we'll round down... let's make it ten hits. One for every lovely, thick inch he actually has." She adjusts her grip on your shaft, preparing for the next swing.

The sensation is… bizarre. Jarring at first, then this strange, intense vibration travels up the shaft with each impact, making your cock throb pleasurably. You stand there, rooted to the spot, watching Wonyoung use your own dick to punish Karina.

SMACK! "One," Wonyoung counts, hitting the other cheek this time. Karina whimpers, squeezing her eyes shut but holding her position.

SMACK! "Two." Another wet impact, leaving another glistening smear.

SMACK! "Three." Karina lets out a low moan this time, a sound that’s halfway between pain and something else. Her hands clench into fists on her thighs.

SMACK! "Four." Your cock feels incredibly sensitive, the repeated slapping friction oddly satisfying against the wetness. It feels… good. Way better than it should.

"Look at her face!" Sullyoon squeals, pointing. "It's all red and shiny!"

SMACK! "Five." Wonyoung delivers this one harder, snapping Karina’s head back slightly. A tear escapes the corner of Karina's eye, but the soft sigh that follows it sounds suspiciously like pleasure.

Fuck, is she actually getting off on this?

"Damn, Wonyoung, you're really going for it," Yuna comments, still chuckling. "Can we have a turn? Please? It looks fun! Like that baseball bat I mentioned!"

Wonyoung pauses after the fifth hit, considering Yuna's request while keeping a firm grip on your throbbing shaft. Karina uses the moment to take a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes still closed, face flushed and marked.

"Fine," Wonyoung concedes with a shrug. "But don't mess up the count. Five more hits."

Yuna squeals with delight and practically lunges forward, grabbing your cock just below Wonyoung's hand. Sullyoon eagerly joins in, her smaller hands closing around the shaft as well. They wield it together, a combined grip that feels incredibly tight and encompassing.

"Our turn, Jimin!" Yuna chirps happily. "Ready for the big leagues?"

Karina nods mutely, bracing herself.

SMACK! Yuna and Sullyoon swing together, their combined force making the impact even heavier. "Six!" Yuna yells gleefully.

SMACK! "Seven!" Sullyoon shouts, getting into the spirit. The wet slap echoes in the room. Karina moans louder this time, a definite note of arousal in the sound now, her hips shifting slightly on the floor.

SMACK! "Eight!" They're literally using your dick like a club, and the friction, the impact, the sheer humiliation of the scene it's pushing you closer to the edge again. Your cock feels impossibly hard, straining against their tight grips between hits.

SMACK! "Nine!" Karina's breathing is harsh now, her lips parted, another tear tracking through the smear of spit on her cheek, but her eyes, when they flutter open for a second, look hazy and aroused.

"Last one!" Yuna announces. They swing back for momentum—

SMACK! "Ten!" The final hit lands solidly, leaving Karina panting, her face a mess of red marks and glistening wetness, looking utterly wrecked and undeniably horny.

Yuna and Sullyoon release you abruptly, stepping back and admiring their handiwork, giggling like schoolgirls. Your cock springs free, still dripping, throbbing from the repeated impacts, feeling incredibly sensitive and somehow even harder than before.

Karina stays kneeling on the expensive rug, her face still flushed, marked with the fading red impressions from your own dick. Her eyes, though, they aren't filled with pain or anger anymore. They're locked onto your cock, still dripping thick ropes of spit and pre-cum onto the floor, throbbing from the abuse it just dished out.

"Wony... please," Karina asks, her eyes flickering up to the dominant girl who stands observing like a bored queen. "Can I... Can I clean him up? Please? Just let me taste it."

Wonyoung taps a long, perfectly manicured finger against her chin, pretending to mull it over. The silence stretches, Yuna and Sullyoon watch with barely concealed amusement, clearly enjoying Karina's predicament.

"Hmmmm," Wonyoung hums, drawing out the moment. "Let me think..." She pauses dramatically. "No."

The single word hits Karina like another slap. Her face falls, hope instantly extinguished, replaced by stinging disappointment. She looks down, biting her lip hard.

"Maybe later," Wonyoung adds dismissively, like tossing a scrap to a dog. "If you're a good girl. But first, I need to see if this... thing... is actually any good. Can't have substandard equipment tarnishing my reputation, can we?" She turns that cool, appraising gaze back to you, dismissing Karina entirely. "If I don't like it, Jimin," she says, deliberately using Karina's real name, "then you are royally screwed. Understand?"

Karina just nods mutely, looking utterly dejected.

"You," Wonyoung commands, pointing a sharp finger at you. "Bed. Now."

Your body feels disconnected from your brain. Part of you wants to bolt, to run screaming from this luxurious nightmare penthouse. But the aphrodisiac humming in your veins, combined with the overwhelming presence of these four women and the undeniable, terrifying arousal Wonyoung sparks in you, roots you to the spot. You hesitate, muscles locking up.

Before you can make a conscious decision, Yuna and Sullyoon are grabbing your arms again. Their initial playful exploration is gone, replaced by a firm, almost rough grip. They practically drag you across the room, your bare feet stumbling slightly on the plush carpet. They don't exactly throw you, but they guide you firmly onto the enormous bed, pushing you down until you're lying flat on your back amidst the sea of expensive pillows and crisp grey duvet. The mattress sinks slightly under your weight.

You lie there, utterly exposed, your erection jutting towards the ceiling like some obscene monument. The humiliation burns, but fuck, so does the heat pooling in your gut. The three of them (Wonyoung, Yuna, Sullyoon) climb onto the bed with predatory grace, surrounding you. Karina lingers near the foot of the bed, looking lost and unsure, still just in her pink lace bra and panties, hugging herself slightly.

Wonyoung positions herself directly between your legs, kneeling over you. She reaches down, grabbing your ankles and pulling your legs further apart, forcing you into an even more vulnerable position. Her eyes rake over your cock with that same critical appraisal, as if deciding where to start.

"Alright, let's see," she murmurs, almost to herself. Wonyoung puts her panties aside, then she reaches out, her fingers wrapping around the base, cool and clinical. Then, slowly, deliberately, she guides the thick, slick head towards her own entrance. You watch, breathless, as she tries to position herself, biting her lip slightly in concentration. Her pussy looks impossibly tight, incredibly intimidating compared to the sheer girth she's trying to take.

She lowers herself slowly, carefully. There's a sharp intake of breath, her eyes squeezing shut for a second as the head breaches her entrance. A low hiss escapes her lips.

"Fuck," Wonyoung grits out. "Okay. Wow. The thickness is really something else."

She stops, only the head and maybe an inch or two inside her. She breathes deeply, trying to relax, her hands braced on your chest. You can feel the muscles inside her clenching tightly around you, resisting the invasion.

"Just... give me a second," she mutters, more to herself than to you. She takes another slow breath and pushes down again, harder this time. A strangled gasp tears from her throat, her back arching slightly. She manages another inch, maybe two. The friction is intense, almost unbearable for both of you. You can feel every ridge, every vein of your cock scraping against her impossibly tight walls.

"See?" she pants, forcing a strained smile as she looks up at you. "Told you... I could handle it."

She starts to move then, tentative at first. Tiny, almost imperceptible shifts of her hips, trying to ease herself further down onto your length. Each small movement sends jolts of raw pleasure through you, but it's mixed with the undeniable sight of her pain. Her face is screwed up in concentration, sweat beading on her forehead.

"God, it... it kinda hurts," she admits through clenched teeth, pausing her movements. "But..." A different kind of noise escapes her then, a low moan that's equal parts pain and dawning pleasure. "...But it also feels... fuck, it feels kinda good, too. Stretching me out like this."

She starts moving again, a little bolder now, lifting herself slightly before sinking back down, taking a fraction more of you each time. The initial pain seems to be giving way, replaced by the friction, the sheer fullness. You can see the shift in her expression, the tight lines of discomfort slowly melting into something hotter, needier. She's managed to take maybe five, six inches now; just over half your length, but already filling her completely.

"Okay," Wonyoung breathes out, her rhythm becoming more confident, a slow, steady grind. "Okay, I see the appeal." Her eyes flick towards Yuna and Sullyoon, who are watching the scene with rapt attention. "This girth... it hits different."

Then, her gaze drops back to you, and the cruelty returns, sharp and sudden. "Look at you," she sneers as she continues her slow, torturous ride. "Just lying there. Taking it. Like a good little freak."

"Letting me just... use you," she continues, picking up the pace slightly, her moans starting to mingle with her insults. "Because that's all you're good for, isn't it? With a dick like that on a body like yours? You're just a fucking toy. A novelty. Something to be passed around and used up when we're bored." She leans down, her face close to yours, her eyes cold. "You have no dignity, do you? Just a pathetic little fucktoy waiting for orders."

You flinch, turning your head away, shame warring with the undeniable arousal her words, her movements, are stirring in you. A low sound escapes your throat, a mix between a whimper and a groan.

Wonyoung laughs, a harsh, satisfied sound. "Oh, you like that? Being put in your place?"

Beside the bed, Yuna and Sullyoon are practically vibrating with excitement. The sight of Wonyoung dominating you, humiliating you, is clearly turning them on immensely. Yuna reaches out, her fingers fumbling with the clasp of Sullyoon's white lace bra. Sullyoon gasps softly but doesn't stop her, instead leaning in to press a kiss to Yuna's shoulder as the bra falls away, revealing her surprisingly full, pale breasts, nipples already hard. Yuna moans, her hands immediately cupping Sullyoon's chest, thumbs circling the stiff peaks. Sullyoon arches her back, pushing into Yuna's touch, her eyes fluttering shut as Yuna leans down to suckle one nipple greedily. They start touching each other, slow, sensual caresses, lost in their own world but clearly fueled by the scene playing out on the bed.

You can't help it, your hands start to move, wanting to grip Wonyoung's hips, wanting some semblance of control, some way to push back against the humiliation, to match the intensity of her ride. But the second your fingers brush her skin, her hand flashes out, slapping you hard across the face.

It hurts. A lot.

The force of it snaps your head to the side, your cheek stinging instantly. Stars explode behind your eyes.

"Don't touch me unless I tell you to!" Wonyoung orders sharply. "Just lie there and do what you're told, toy. Be useful."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, from the slap, the humiliation, the sheer overwhelming nature of it all. You nod mutely, letting your hands fall limply to your sides. You obey. Because what else can you do?

Karina, who has been watching all this unfold from the foot of the bed, her face a mixture of arousal, pity, and fear, finally speaks up. Her voice is small, hesitant. "Wony... maybe... maybe take it easy on him? He's..."

Wonyoung cuts her off with a venomous glare, pausing her rhythmic grinding on your cock just long enough to snap, "Shut the fuck up, Jimin." Her voice is ice. "Did I say you could talk? No. You're lucky you're even in this room after lying to me." She gestures dismissively towards Karina's chest. "Now take off that fucking bra, whore. I want those big pale tits of yours out. Now."

Karina flinches as if struck, but the order, the sudden harsh attention, also seems to ignite something in her. A flicker of desperation, a need to please, to get back in Wonyoung's good graces (or maybe just to feel something other than sidelined). Without another word, her hands move to her back, fumbling slightly with the clasp. The pink lace falls away, revealing her own full, pale breasts, nipples tight and dark against her skin. She keeps her eyes down, looking utterly miserable yet strangely defiant.

Wonyoung gives a grunt of approval, then immediately resumes riding you, harder now, her moans mixing with yours. Your own moan escapes, louder this time, raw with the conflicting mess of pain, humiliation, and overwhelming pleasure. You can't help it; despite everything, despite the slap still stinging your cheek, the sight of Wonyoung grinding down on you, her perfect body moving above yours, is undeniably beautiful.

"Damn, you’re so fucking hot," you groan out, the words ripped from you involuntarily.

Wonyoung pauses for a beat, tilting her head slightly as if she just registered your words through the haze of her own pleasure. A slow, incredibly smug smile spreads across her face.

"I know," she says simply.

Across the room, Yuna lifts her head from Sullyoon's breast, her lips wet. Sullyoon moans softly as Yuna's hand slides between her legs. Yuna's eyes flick between you and Wonyoung, a knowing smirk blooming on her face.

"Oh?" Yuna says, her voice sly. "Looks like our little toy likes being used after all. Likes being treated rough."

Sullyoon giggles breathlessly, nodding in agreement, her eyes also fixed on your reaction. "He really does…”

Wonyoung is definitely having fun now. The initial tightness and discomfort have melted away, replaced by pure, unadulterated pleasure radiating from her face. Her movements are stronger, more demanding, her hips rocking against yours with a practiced rhythm that steals your breath. She throws her head back, dark hair cascading over her shoulders, a genuine, guttural moan ripping from her throat as she grinds down hard, milking another wave of intense friction from your thick shaft.

"Oh, fuck," Wonyoung gasps out, her eyes half-lidded, glazed with pleasure. "Okay, okay... this is... goddamn... the thickness is insane. It feels... holy shit." She grips your hips tighter, digging her perfectly manicured nails into your skin, leveraging herself for deeper strokes. "Forget the length, this girth..." she groans again, riding you with renewed vigor. "It fills me up completely. Hits everything."

Karina, still standing nearby with her bra discarded, sees her opening. Her eyes light up with a desperate need for validation, latching onto Wonyoung's praise like a lifeline.

"See?" Karina blurts out, stepping closer to the bed, her voice hopeful. "See, Wony? I told you! I told you it was amazing! I knew you'd like it!"

Wonyoung's eyes snap open. She glares daggers at Karina, her rhythm faltering slightly.

"Shut up, Jimin," Wonyoung snaps. "Don't interrupt me when I'm busy. And don't think a lucky guess about the thickness makes up for you lying about the size. You said twelve inches. You lied."

Karina shrinks back, wilting under the glare. "I didn't lie!" she protests weakly, twisting her hands together. "I just... I remembered it wrong! It was years ago! I made a mistake!"

"A convenient mistake," Wonyoung scoffs, but her attention is already shifting. A wicked glint enters her eyes as she looks Karina up and down, lingering on her bare chest. "Fine. You want to be useful? Bring those big tits over here. Right now."

Karina hesitates for only a fraction of a second, glancing nervously at you, then back at Wonyoung. The desperation to please, to be included, wins out. She quickly climbs onto the bed, kneeling beside Wonyoung, carefully avoiding touching you. She leans forward tentatively, offering her chest.

Wonyoung doesn't waste a second. She leans over, still impaling you, and captures one of Karina's large, pale nipples between her teeth, sucking hard. Karina cries out, a sharp gasp that's equal parts surprise and pleasure, her back arching instinctively. Wonyoung uses her free hand to mercilessly squeeze Karina's other breast, kneading the soft flesh, pinching the already hard nipple between her thumb and forefinger.

"Mmmph," Wonyoung hums around Karina's nipple, her eyes fluttering shut again as she focuses on the dual sensations: your thick cock stretching her tight cunt, Karina's soft breast filling her mouth. "Okay... gotta admit, Jimin... these are pretty fucking amazing too." She releases the nipple with a wet pop, leaving it glistening and dark red, before latching onto the other one. "So full... so soft..." she murmurs, squeezing the first breast possessively.

Karina is panting now, her face flushed, eyes hazy. She looks utterly wrecked, caught between the intense stimulation and the relief of finally having Wonyoung's attention, even like this.

Yuna, who has paused her ministrations on Sullyoon to watch, lets out a theatrical sigh. Sullyoon is leaning against her, completely bare now, her small breasts flushed, nipples pebbled hard as she watches Wonyoung and Karina with wide, fascinated eyes.

"Ugh, not fair," Yuna whines playfully, cupping her own smaller chest for comparison. "I wish mine were big and squishy like Karina's. Lucky bitch."

Sullyoon nods in agreement, her gaze still fixed on Karina's chest being manhandled by Wonyoung.

Now, the sight is fucking unreal: Wonyoung riding you, her tight pussy gripping your thick cock with every downward thrust, while simultaneously devouring Karina's breast like it's the finest dessert. The combined visual is overwhelmingly hot, your breath hitches, catches, turns into ragged pants that fill the otherwise quiet room (save for Wonyoung's increasingly loud moans and Karina's breathy gasps). You can't help the sounds escaping you, raw groans torn from your throat with every powerful stroke Wonyoung delivers.

"Ah... Fuck... W-Wonyoung... Oh god..."

Wonyoung seems to reach a new peak, her movements becoming frantic, her grip on Karina's breast tightening almost painfully. Karina cries out again, but Wonyoung doesn't seem to notice, lost in her own pleasure. Then, abruptly, the intensity breaks. Wonyoung slows her pace, breathing heavily, sweat glistening on her skin. The sudden change makes your own ragged breathing sound even louder in the relative quiet.

Wonyoung glares down at you, annoyance flashing across her sweat-slicked face. "Ugh, can you stop making so much noise?" she complains, sounding like the spoiled princess she is. "It's distracting. Seriously, shut up." She glances over at the other two girls, who are now just watching, hands idle. "One of you, deal with this. Shut him up. Sit on his face or something. I don't care, just make him quiet."

Yuna and Sullyoon exchange excited glances. Sullyoon looks slightly hesitant, but Yuna grins wickedly.

"Ooh, face-sitting duty? Dibs!" Yuna declares immediately.

"Hey! No fair! I wanna do it too!" Sullyoon protests, pouting slightly.

Yuna rolls her eyes. "Okay, fine, drama queen. Rock paper scissors for it? Winner gets to smother him."

Sullyoon nods eagerly. They both hold out their fists.

"Rock! Paper! Scissors! SHOOT!"

Yuna throws paper. Sullyoon throws rock.

"Ha! Yes!" Yuna cheers triumphantly, pumping her fist. "Paper covers rock! Face is mine!"

Sullyoon groans dramatically but doesn't argue further, instead settling back to watch with keen interest. Yuna crawls purposefully towards your head, her movements fluid and confident. She's completely naked now, her lithe body gleaming slightly under the soft lights, her earlier play with Sullyoon having clearly left her thoroughly aroused. She positions herself directly over your face, straddling your neck, her bare pussy hovering just inches above your mouth. You can smell her arousal; musky, salty, intoxicating. She's definitely wet.

Yuna leans down slightly, her dark hair falling around her face, brushing against your cheeks.

"Alright, noise machine," Yuna purrs, lowering herself just enough that her wet folds brush against your lips. "Princess Wonyoung wants you quiet. So you're gonna focus on me now." She shifts her hips, grinding her clit lightly against your mouth. "Open up and eat. And don't stop until I tell you to."

She settles her weight down fully then, pressing her wetness firmly against your mouth and nose. The sensation is overwhelming; the soft pressure, the intimate scent, the taste of her arousal instantly flooding your senses. Wonyoung is still moving on your cock below, a steady, demanding rhythm, her moans starting up again, quieter now. Karina is still kneeling beside her, breasts bare, watching Yuna with wide eyes. Sullyoon is watching everything, touching herself lightly. And Yuna... Yuna is grinding onto your face, demanding your tongue, muffling any sound you might make besides muffled gasps into her flesh.

"That's it," Yuna murmurs. "Lick me, freak. Use that tongue. Make me feel good while Wonyoung breaks you." She moans as your tongue finally finds her clit, flicking against the sensitive nub. "Oh fuck... yeah, right there... Don't stop!”

Across the bed, Sullyoon is completely naked now, lying on her side, propped up on one elbow. Her eyes are wide, dark, fixed on the tangled mess of limbs. Her free hand is working furiously between her own long legs, fingers slick and glistening as she rubs herself, her breath coming in short, sharp pants.

"Oh my god," Sullyoon gasps out, watching Wonyoung slam down onto your cock. "Look how deep she's taking him... Fuck, Karina, she's murdering your tits too..." Her fingers move faster, her knuckles white. "Girls, this is... this is so hot..."

Wonyoung lets out another high, keening moan, throwing her head back again. Her grip on Karina's breast tightens, eliciting a sharp cry from her. Wonyoung doesn't seem to notice, her focus entirely internal now, chasing her own climax.

"Nnngh... Fuck... Almost... almost there..." Wonyoung pants, her words broken. Her hips slam down onto you with punishing force, again and again, driving you deeper into the mattress. The sheer thickness of your cock seems to be exactly what she needs, stretching her, filling her, pushing her closer to the edge. "Fuck... yes..." Wonyoung pants. "God, this girth... it's perfect. Hits me just... ah... right."

Meanwhile, Yuna is making your life a living hell in the best/worst possible way. Her slick cunt grinds relentlessly against your mouth, demanding attention. Your tongue is working frantically, trying to keep up, licking and sucking at her clit as she rides your face like she was born for it. The musky taste of her fills your senses, making your head spin even more than the aphrodisiac already is. Her hands grip the sides of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, holding you firmly in place.

"Lick faster, toy," Yuna commands. "Don't you dare slack off. Make me feel good."

You try to comply, your tongue moving in frantic circles, lapping at the wetness she’s providing. Suddenly, she shifts her weight awkwardly, wobbling slightly. Your hands instinctively shoot up, grabbing her hips to steady her before she can completely fall off balance.

"Nnngh-!" Yuna gasps, surprised by your quick reaction, but she settles back down immediately, grinding even harder against your mouth now that she has your hands supporting her. "Yes! Hold me right there, fucker! That's it! Hold me steady while I ride your face off! Fuck, use that tongue, bitch!"

Watching this chaotic scene, Sullyoon is practically vibrating on the spot. Her hand is a blur between her legs, fingers working her clit with frantic speed. Her face is flushed crimson, eyes wide and glazed, fixed on the tangle of bodies. A thin sheen of sweat covers her skin, and it is possible to see the creamy wetness starting to seep from between her own folds, slicking her fingers.

"Oh my god... oh fuck..." Sullyoon moans. "Wony... Yuna... you guys are so... fuck..."

Even Karina can't resist. Her free hand, the one not being crushed by Wonyoung, creeps down hesitantly at first, fingers brushing against her own damp panties. Seeing Yuna and Sullyoon so lost in pleasure, feeling Wonyoung's mouth still working her nipple, watching you get absolutely used... it's too much. Her fingers slip underneath the lace, finding her own clit, and she starts rubbing herself with small, desperate movements, her breath hitching.

Wonyoung throws her head back again, a loud, piercing moan tearing from her throat as she slams down onto your cock particularly hard, her tight walls milking you intensely.

"Fuck! Yes! Right there! Oh god, I'm... I'm getting close!" she screams. "Fuck, this dick is... magic!"

Yuna hears her and lets out an ecstatic shriek muffled against your lips. "Yes! Wony, yes! Me too! Let's cum together! Fuck!" She picks up her pace, grinding her clit against your tongue so hard it's almost painful, her whole body trembling.

"No! Wait!" Sullyoon cries out from the side, her fingers flying even faster. Her knuckles are white, her breathing ragged. "Wait for me! I'm almost there too! Fuck, please wait!"

Wonyoung laughs, a wild, breathless sound. "Hurry up then, Sullyoonie! Can't hold back much longer!" She leans further onto Karina, her weight pressing down as she continues her relentless ride, her pussy squeezing your cock with punishing intensity. She continues to squeeze Karina’s breast like it’s putty in her hand, twisting the nipple until Karina gasps sharply. "Feel that, Jimin?" Wonyoung taunts breathlessly between moans. "Feel how good he is? Feel what you missed out on because you were too scared?"

Karina just whimpers, her own fingers moving faster between her legs now, chasing her own release despite the humiliation.

"Almost... almost..." Wonyoung pants.

"Fuck... me too... gonna... cum!" Yuna gasps against your mouth.

Then, something shifts. Wonyoung reaches out, her hand finding Yuna's. Their fingers lace together tightly, a strange moment of connection amidst the chaos. They look at each other, eyes locked, faces flushed and identical masks of impending ecstasy.

"Now?" Yuna mouths silently.

Wonyoung nods curtly, then her eyes flick down to you, still filled with that cruel amusement even as she's about to lose control. "Look at you," she spits out between pants. "Just a fucking pole for us to ride. A mouth for us to use. Pathetic little freak, letting us do whatever we want to you." Her hips slam down one last time. "Good boy!"

"WAIT!" Sullyoon screams.

But it's too late.

Wonyoung throws her head back, a raw, guttural scream tearing from her throat as her orgasm crashes over her. Her inner walls clamp down on your cock hard, pulsing violently, milking you intensely. Simultaneously, Yuna lets out a high-pitched wail against your mouth, her hips spasming uncontrollably as she comes hard, her juices flooding your tongue, your throat, spilling down your chin. Sullyoon shrieks in frustration and pleasure as she finally tips over the edge milliseconds later, her body convulsing, fingers still buried inside herself.

Only Karina is silent, her hand stilled between her legs, watching the other three completely fall apart with wide, almost fearful eyes.

It takes a long moment for the intensity to subside. Wonyoung slowly, shakily, lifts herself off your still-throbbing cock. Her legs are trembling, her breath coming in harsh gasps. She looks utterly wrecked, but supremely satisfied. Yuna collapses forward onto your chest, panting, leaving your face completely soaked in her slick, sticky arousal, her scent clinging to you. Sullyoon curls into a ball on the bed, whimpering softly, spent.

Wonyoung recovers first, of course. She pushes her sweat-soaked hair back from her face and glares down at you, her usual imperious expression returning, though her flushed cheeks and slightly trembling hands betray the intensity of her orgasm.

"Well," she says, voice still a little shaky but regaining its commanding tone. She kicks your thigh lightly, not hard, just a dismissive nudge. "You were... adequate. As a piece of equipment." She looks you up and down. "You should thank us, you know. For even bothering to use you. Giving a little freak like you this kind of attention."

Your head is spinning. Your face is covered in Yuna’s juices. Your cock aches. Humiliation and arousal are waging a war inside you. But faced with Wonyoung’s unwavering command, the ingrained response kicks in.

"T-thank you," you stammer out. "Thank you... for using me."

Wonyoung gives a curt nod of satisfaction. Sullyoon, seemingly recovered, stirs beside you. She sits up slowly, her eyes landing on your face, still glistening wet. A slow, slightly dazed smile spreads across her lips.

"Hey, you're all messy," Sullyoon says softly. She crawls closer, leaning down towards your face. "Don't worry. I'll clean you up."

Before you can react, her tongue flicks out, tentatively licking at the sticky wetness on your cheek; Yuna's juices. She hums softly, seeming to enjoy the taste.

Yuna sees what Sullyoon is doing, and bursts into delighted giggles. "Yah! Sullyoon-ah!" she exclaims, reaching over and giving Sullyoon's bare ass a sharp, playful slap. "You little slut! Cleaning up after me already? So eager."

Sullyoon jumps at the slap, blushing furiously but giggling too as she continues to lick your face clean, her tongue surprisingly thorough.

Wonyoung’s chest rises and falls slow but heavy as she catches her breath, cheeks still flushed. She waves a hand lazily and snaps:

“Yuna. Water.”

Yuna’s already halfway up like she was waiting for the command, a little dazed but obedient, disappearing toward the suite’s kitchenette. You’re still on your back, cock slick and half-hard, twitching like it knows more’s coming.

Behind you, Karina’s voice pipes up, almost sheepish.

“Is it my turn now?”

Wonyoung tilts her head, pouting, turning with faux sweetness dripping from every syllable.

“Aww… Is our little Karina super horny right now?” She steps toward her slowly, arms crossed under her chest, tilting her head.

Karina nods, almost embarrassed. “Yeah.”

“You must be fucking insane,” Wonyoung purrs, biting her bottom lip, “to wanna feel that thing inside your pretty little pussy.” Her hand gestures lazily at your cock, still shiny with Wonyoung's Juices. “That thing you ran away from, remember? Screaming, even.”

Karina swallows hard and nods again. “I know… I was dumb…”

Wonyoung chuckles, low and wicked. “C’mere.”

Karina obeys instantly, stepping forward like she’s being summoned by a queen (which, yeah, she is). Wonyoung grabs her by the waist and pulls her in, lips crashing into hers. There’s hunger in it. Desperation. Karina clings to her, arms wrapping around her back as their tongues tangle and slide together.

Wonyoung’s hands move with zero shame, cupping Karina’s tits, squeezing hard, like she can’t help herself. The moan Karina lets out is real, shaky, needy.

“Mmm,” Wonyoung hums against her mouth. “Your mouth’s a lot more useful when it’s busy kissing than when it’s lying to me.”

Karina pulls back, blinking. “It wasn’t a—”

But Wonyoung shuts her up with a single finger pressed to her lips, eyes narrow.

“Shhh.”

Then kisses her again, harder this time. Rough. Like she’s marking her.

Yuna comes back into the room holding the glass of water like a dutiful maid, handing it over. Wonyoung grabs it, downs it in a few gulps, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Okay. I’m good now.”

She turns back to Karina, tossing the empty glass somewhere on the carpet without looking. Her smile sharpens.

“Take off your panties.”

Karina's hands are already on the hem of her panties before Wonyoung even finishes the sentence. She kicks them off, a little clumsy, cheeks red but thighs pressed together, as if she’s trying to hide how wet she already is.

Wonyoung doesn’t even look at her for long. She turns her gaze to you and Sullyoon, still tangled together.

“Well, looks like you two are having fun.”

Sullyoon giggles, brushing hair behind her ear, resting her hand on your chest.

“He’s cute.”

Wonyoung’s face shifts immediately, stern.

“Don’t fucking treat it like a person,” she says, voice cold. “It’s a toy. Just a fucktoy. You don’t call your vibrator cute, do you?”

Sullyoon straightens up a little, nodding quickly.

“No. Right.”

Wonyoung smirks and walks over to the edge of the bed.

“Since you two already warmed it up, now it’s your turn to ride it, babe.”

Sullyoon doesn’t hesitate. She stretches out on her back right beside you, her eyes locked on yours. You look down at her and, fuck, she’s a masterpiece.

Long, flawless legs, skin pale and creamy, like she’s carved from glass and silk. Her legs are spread for you already, thick thighs leading up to plush hips that move slightly like she’s getting comfortable, preparing herself. There’s a little sheen between them, already wet, already throbbing.

Her torso is slim, but her curves are unreal, that perfect hourglass drawn to scale, with soft perky tits rising and falling with her breath, nipples stiff from arousal. Her eyes look up at you like she knows exactly what you are: just something to make her cum; and it makes your cock pulse hard all over again.

You’re climbing over her, lining up, and—

“Wait!” Karina whines from the side, still bottomless, fists clenched at her sides. “I thought it was my turn…”

Wonyoung doesn’t even look at her at first. Then she steps up, grabs Karina by the cheeks and squishes her face like a child being scolded.

“Aww, poor baby,” she mocks. “Thinking she gets what she wants.”

Karina huffs, pouting against Wonyoung’s grip. “I—”

“You don’t get to talk right now,” Wonyoung cuts in sharply, still holding her by the face. Then her expression softens slightly, eyes flicking toward Yuna, who’s just watching silently, smiling.

“Go open the drawer.”

Yuna nods and turns immediately, heading toward the bedside cabinet with a knowing look.

Wonyoung lets go of Karina’s face and turns back to the bed.

“Go on. Fuck her.”

Your hands plant on the bed on either side of Sullyoon’s head. She’s already got her knees up, heels digging into the mattress, guiding your hips toward her with her legs. You feel her hand grip your cock and guide it down between her legs, slick heat greeting the tip. She rubs you along her folds once, then twice, then lines you up. You push.

She lets out a low moan, head tilting back.

“God, you’re fucking big…”

You keep pressing in. Her pussy stretches around you, velvet heat swallowing you inch by inch, and she takes it all without even flinching, like she’s built for this. Her back arches slightly, tits rising toward your chest, and her mouth opens, breath catching.

“Fuck yes…”

From the corner of your eye, Wonyoung is still standing over Karina, whispering something into her ear while her fingers toy with one of her nipples. But you don’t get to look for long because Sullyoon pulls you down by the neck, her thighs trembling a little around your waist, and whispers against your lips:

“Go easy, okay?”

You nod, leaning down, brushing your lips over her cheek. “I promise.”

That makes her smile, and she reaches for your hands, guiding them down to her hips. You shift your weight, angle your hips, the head of your cock dragging along her wet folds. She’s soaked, pussy creamy from being teased and fingered, and when you start to push in slow—god—she tightens around you immediately.

“Oh my god… you’re thick… this cock is a fucking weapon.”

Her fingers dig into your arms, breathing fast now. “It’s the biggest I’ve ever… fuuuck, go slow, please, go slow…”

You don’t even need the reminder. She’s gripping you like a fist, squeezing you inch by inch as you sink deeper, her walls fluttering like she’s already close from just the stretch alone. You pause halfway in, hips twitching with restraint, watching her face melt into something caught between pain and pure fucking pleasure.

“I got you,” you murmur, stroking her side, kissing her collarbone. "If you want me to stop, just say so.”

Meanwhile, behind you, Yuna walks back in, holding a thick black anal plug in one hand and a shiny silver tube of lube in the other. Her smile is too wide, too excited. Karina sees her and visibly tenses, backing half a step toward the couch.

“Wait… what’s that for?” Karina’s voice is shaky, eyes locked on the plug like it’s going to jump at her.

Wonyoung grins like a devil in a model's body. “If you wanna feel cock today, you’re gonna need to offer up that cute little ass.”

Karina stammers, blinking. “I’ve… I’ve never done that…”

“I know,” Wonyoung says calmly, stepping forward. “Now get on all fours.”

Karina’s mouth opens like she’s about to argue, but she hesitates too long.

“Right now,” Wonyoung snaps. “Or get the fuck out.”

Silence. Then Karina slowly turns, face red, and lowers herself to her knees. She looks humiliated, turned on, afraid (everything Wonyoung seems to love). Her thick thighs ripple as she gets into position, ass high, cheeks clenched, legs trembling slightly.

Yuna kneels behind her and pats her ass once, affectionate. “You’re gonna love it,” she says softly. “It’s like… my favorite.”

Wonyoung flicks her wrist. “Prep her.”

Yuna grins. “Can I lick it first?”

Wonyoung rolls her eyes. “Yes. Obviously.”

Yuna wastes zero time. She spreads Karina’s cheeks, leans in, and starts to lick, slow broad strokes at first, then narrowing in, teasing her little hole with the tip of her tongue. Karina whimpers, cheeks burning red as she hides her face in her arms.

Meanwhile, Wonyoung strolls back to you and Sullyoon, casually watching as you slowly roll your hips forward again, burying a little more of yourself inside her. Sullyoon’s thighs shake, her hands fisting in the sheets now, every breath a moan.

Wonyoung stands beside the bed, arms crossed, smirking.

“Is she enjoying it?” she asks.

Sullyoon moans louder. “Yes… oh fuck yes, Wony… it’s fantastic…”

Wonyoung tsks. “Too slow.”

Before you can react, she slaps your ass, sharp and loud, fingers leaving a sting that burns hot through your skin.

“Faster,” she commands.

You grunt, your body reacting without hesitation. You grip Sullyoon tighter and start thrusting harder, deeper, the slow roll of your hips turning into something more brutal, more rhythmic. She cries out, legs locking tighter around you.

“Aaah—fuck-fuck, I can't, it's too big!”

Wonyoung laughs like she’s at a party, delighted, stepping back to watch your hips hammer into Sullyoon, her body bouncing under you, moans pouring out of her with every thrust. She grabs one of Sullyoon’s tits, squeezing it roughly, pinching the nipple until Sullyoon arches off the bed.

“Much better,” Wonyoung says, grinning. “Now that’s how you use a toy.”

Behind you, Karina’s moaning too. Muffled and high-pitched. Yuna’s fingers are buried between her cheeks, tongue still teasing. The plug rests beside them on the bed, gleaming, waiting for its turn. Karina’s legs are trembling harder now, her ass slick, her breathing short and fast. But Wonyoung’s eyes are on you. On your cock driving into Sullyoon like you’re trying to fuck the shape of her pussy into your hips, her moans turning ragged and desperate, tears starting to gather in the corners of her eyes as the pleasure crashes through her.

Karina’s face is buried in her forearms, but her back is arched high, thighs pressed together as tightly as they can be with Yuna nestled between them. She keeps letting out these soft, confused little gasps, tiny moans like she doesn’t know what her body is doing or why it’s starting to like it. Her ass cheeks twitch every time Yuna’s tongue flattens out and drags upward, slow and wet, lingering at her tight rim before she flicks the tip of her tongue over it again. Yuna hums like she’s savoring something sweet, both hands spreading Karina’s cheeks apart like she’s exposing a gift, holding her wide while she works her mouth.

“Mmh, you taste so good…” Yuna breathes, kissing the spot softly before swirling her tongue around again. “God, your little asshole’s clenching like it’s trying to kiss me.”

Karina’s breath hitches. “It—it feels weird…”

Yuna giggles into her skin. “Weird’s just code for new. Sensitive, huh?”

Karina nods fast, her voice muffled. “Yeah—yes, I—it’s really sensitive, I d-don’t know if I—”

“Shhh,” Yuna whispers against her. “Let it happen. You’ll like it. I promise.”

She presses her tongue flat again, dragging it in a circle this time, slow and teasing. Karina jolts, her hips shaking, one of her hands clutching at the sheets.

“I-it tickles—oh my god…”

From the bed, your eyes flicker toward them, and the image hits like a shot of lust straight to your chest: Yuna's pretty face buried between Karina’s shaking thighs, her mouth wet, eyes half-lidded with focus while she laps at her like she’s starving. Karina’s whole body shudders again, her back arching deeper. Her hole’s glistening now, twitching and helpless while Yuna traces it with delicate, skilled strokes.

And still, you’re balls-deep in Sullyoon.

She’s so tight you swear you’re being milked. Every thrust in makes her body tremble under yours, her fingers tangled in the sheets, jaw slack from the pleasure stretching her open. You go back to fucking her slowly, just like she asked, deep, controlled strokes, feeling her clench every time you bottom out, It's the only way for you not to cum because her pussy is impossible good, but the moans that keep spilling from her lips are fucking addictive, and you have to resist the urge to sink your entire cock into her pussy. Her moana are soft at first, then louder, sharper, her voice cracking as she starts pushing her hips up to meet yours, wanting more. Your hands tighten on her waist, and you pull back before thrusting in again, the sound of it wet and obscene, skin on skin. Her eyes are rolling back, and you’re getting lost in it. The heat, the pressure, the way her pussy grips you like it’s desperate to keep you inside.

From beside the bed, Wonyoung watches everything.

She’s seated now, legs crossed elegantly, but her eyes are burning with attention. Her lips curl into a smirk when she sees how hard you’re holding back, how tight your jaw is as you fight the urge to rail Sullyoon into the mattress.

“You’re being too gentle again,” she says, voice calm, but there’s that edge again, that dominance that makes your cock twitch even deeper inside Sullyoon.

You look at her, sweat starting to bead at your forehead. “She asked me to—”

“I didn’t ask what she said,” Wonyoung cuts you off. She leans forward, her gaze sharp. “Put your hand on her throat.”

Your heart skips. Sullyoon hears it too, she shivers under you, her pussy tightening, her voice going breathless.

“D-Do it,” she whispers.

You reach out, slow, sliding your hand up from her chest to her neck. She tilts her head back, offering herself up, your fingers curl around her throat, gentle but firm, and the way her whole body reacts, hips lifting to press you deeper, a high moan escaping her lips, is fucking unreal. Wonyoung smiles like a queen watching a jester perform on command.

“Better.”

You start moving again, your thrusts picking up pace, dragging your cock deep into Sullyoon while your hand tightens slightly around her throat. She whines, her fingers scrabbling at your arms, her eyes fluttering half-shut as her breathing turns into high, broken gasps. Her back arches, tits brushing against your chest, nipples stiff and flushed from the friction.

“I—ah—fuck, I can feel it in my stomach…”

“You love it,” Wonyoung says, watching her with hungry eyes. “Say it.”

“I l-love it—fuck, I love it—it’s s-so fucking thick, it’s splitting me—”

You groan, head dipping to kiss her neck, tongue tracing her pulse, your hips slamming into hers with more weight now, every thrust deep enough to make the bed creak.

Behind you, Yuna’s still at it. She’s licking deeper now, more focused, her thumbs spreading Karina’s cheeks wider so her tongue can press closer, firmer. Karina’s hips keep jerking away on instinct, but Yuna doesn’t let her go anywhere.

“Stop running,” Yuna murmurs. “Just let me make you feel good…”

Karina whimpers. “Y-Yuna—fuck—it’s—it’s so much, I—I don’t know if—”

“Just wait till I lube you up, baby,” Yuna says sweetly, biting down gently on the soft flesh of her ass. “Then we’ll really see how much you can take.”

She picks up the bottle finally, uncapping it with a pop, and squeezes some of the cold gel onto her fingers. But she doesn’t rush it. She dips one finger between Karina’s cheeks, rubbing slow, spreading the lube around the tight entrance while Karina trembles and gasps with every little push and tease.

Wonyoung turns to glance over her shoulder, watching Karina squirm.

“She better be ready soon,” she says lazily. “Or I’m plugging her dry.”

Karina moans out loud at that, almost in panic. “N-no, wait, I—I’ll try, I’m trying—”

“Then fucking stay still, slut!” Wonyoung snaps.

Yuna grins and adds a second finger, the lube making slick noises as she circles the rim, pushing gently but insistently.

“She’s gonna be ready,” Yuna promises. “This hole’s too cute to go to waste.”

Wonyoung turns back to you, eyes raking down your body, then landing on where your cock disappears into Sullyoon again and again.

“Keep that pace. Don’t let her cum yet. She doesn’t get to finish until I say so.”

You nod, not trusting your voice, focused on Sullyoon’s flushed face, the way she looks up at you like she’s drowning in every inch you give her. She bites her lip hard, her thighs twitching around your waist.

“Don’t stop,” she breathes. “Please don’t fucking stop…”

Yuna’s fingers glisten with lube as she finally stops teasing and starts pushing one inside Karina. Karina jolts forward with a gasp, her ass still high, thighs shaking. She wasn’t ready for how it’d feel (wet and slick, yes, but so deliberate). Yuna’s finger presses slow but firm, the lube squelching audibly as it disappears past the tight rim. Karina clenches around it, hips trying to buck away, but Yuna just holds her there, one hand gripping her waist.

“Holy shit,” Karina breathes. “It’s… f-fuck, it’s going in…”

Yuna smiles against her back. “Of course it is, babe. That hole’s got potential.”

Karina groans through her teeth, forehead pressed to her forearms again. “It’s so fucking weird, I—ah—shit, it’s burning a little—”

“That’s just the stretch. You’ll love it once it’s open,” Yuna coos, sliding her finger deeper until she’s knuckle-deep. “Tight as hell, though… God. Your ass is starving.”

Karina lets out a choked noise, somewhere between a moan and a whimper, and her legs twitch like she’s trying to stay still, even as her body reacts instinctively to the invasion.

“Stop clenching so much,” Yuna murmurs, moving her finger in shallow thrusts. “Let me in, Karina.”

Wonyoung, lounging beside the bed with her legs crossed and a slight sheen of sweat on her collarbones, doesn’t even look back at them.

“She’ll stop fighting it once the second finger goes in,” she mutters, eyes locked on you.

She points at Sullyoon’s trembling body beneath you, voice smooth but sharp:

“Bury it. All the way in. Now.”

You lock eyes with Sullyoon, her face flushed, eyes glassy, breath trembling, and she nods once, barely able to speak.

“Do it,” she whispers.

You shift your weight, grab her hips tighter, and push forward until your pelvis slams flush against her ass. Every thick, veiny inch of you is buried inside, and Sullyoon’s mouth drops open in a silent scream. Her eyes roll back immediately.

“OH MY FUHH—FUCK!!” she moans, her nails digging into your arms hard enough to draw blood. “It’s… all of it—fuck, I can feel it in my stomach, oh my god!”

Wonyoung lets out a quiet little laugh.

“She’s better like this,” she says, tilting her head. “More obedient. Tighter too, probably. Grip her neck again—tighter this time. Make my cute little slut cum.

You don’t hesitate. Your hand slides right back up, closing around Sullyoon’s throat, fingers pressing firmer now. Not choking her, but enough that she gasps and looks up at you with that fucked-out, submissive stare that sends blood rushing to your cock again.

Her voice comes out hoarse. “Harder, babe… please…”

You hold her there and start fucking her deep, slow, brutal strokes that make her tits bounce and her pussy gush around you. Every thrust hits her cervix like a drumbeat, and the little choking moans spilling out of her just egg you on. And behind you, Karina’s breathing has gone rapid and high-pitched. Yuna has two fingers in her now, both slick with lube, working them in and out in slow, deliberate pumps that have Karina rocking back against her without even realizing it.

“F-fuck, Yuna—stop, I-I’m gonna—gonna cum if you keep—fuck!” Karina moans, biting her own hand.

Yuna leans in, lips brushing Karina’s ear, breath hot. “Cum from a finger in your ass? That’s so fucking cute.” Karina’s whole body clenches, her ass twitching as Yuna scissors her fingers, stretching her open more with each motion. “You’re doing good, baby,” Yuna hums. “Almost ready…”

Wonyoung glances back now, amused. “Is the brat loosened up yet?”

Yuna smirks. “See for yourself.”

She pulls her fingers out slowly, the sound wet and filthy, then holds them up for Wonyoung to see: slick with lube and cream, glistening in the light. Karina’s still trembling on all fours, face buried, ass wet and twitching, her hole flexing involuntarily, stretched and needy. Wonyoung stands up, stretches, walks over like she owns the whole damn room (and she kind of does). She picks up the plug from the bed, weighing it in her hand, then crouches behind Karina.

Karina looks back, wide-eyed.

“Wait—wait, it’s big—fuck, I don’t know if I—”

Wonyoung slaps her ass hard enough to make her jolt. “You’re ready,” she says coldly. “Now stay still while I make you better.”

Yuna licks her fingers clean with a soft moan, then crouches back behind Karina like she’s settling into her favorite seat at a show. She plants her palms on Karina’s ass, spreading her cheeks wide, holding them apart so her tight, glistening little hole is fully exposed, twitching, raw and shining with lube and slick from her own juices. Karina’s breath stutters as she feels the air hit her, and her thighs shake like she might collapse, but Yuna keeps her wide, grinning like she’s already proud of the work they’ve done.

“Hold still, baby,” Yuna murmurs, her nails dimpling into Karina’s pale skin. “Let her give you your present.”

Wonyoung crouches low, plug in one hand, the lube-slicked tip already glistening under the soft lighting. She presses it right up against Karina’s hole, testing it. Karina gasps loud, her head lifting suddenly as her eyes fly open.

“Wait, wait, wait—f-fuck, Wonyoung, it’s big, I-I’m not ready, I—!”

Wonyoung doesn’t respond with words. She just applies pressure. The rounded head pushes inward, and Karina screams.

Her voice cracks like a sob, body lurching forward instinctively, but Yuna holds her in place with a grunt, gripping her hips like handlebars. Karina babbles through the pain, a slurry of panicked syllables and ragged breaths.

“Ah—ah—shit, oh my god, it’s too big, it’s too big—it burns—it fuckin’ burns!!”

“Then you shouldn’t have lied to me,” Wonyoung mutters, cool and detached, her hand steady as the thick plug stretches Karina wider with every slow, brutal inch. “You want cock, you get the punishment that comes first.”

Karina’s whole body trembles, ass clenched tight around the intruding plug, every inch sending more shockwaves of pain and humiliation through her. Her face is soaked with sweat already, lips parted in disbelief at how deep it’s going. Behind her, Yuna’s breath is hot, tongue flicking the edge of Karina’s ear as she leans over her back. “You sound so fucking hot like this,” she whispers. “You’re gonna be perfect once it’s all the way in. Such a good little plug slut.”

The scream Karina lets out next is sharp and raw, almost broken. You hear it, feel the vibration of it behind you like the air’s alive, and you’re still buried to the hilt in Sullyoon. Her legs are shaking around your hips, your hand’s still on her throat, and her pussy is pulsing, squeezing your cock like it’s trying to memorize it. The way Karina’s moaning next to her, screaming as she gets her ass opened, is fuel for Sullyoon. Her eyes roll back and her mouth drops open, chest rising and falling like she’s being devoured by the pleasure.

“I—I can’t—I can’t hold it!” she pants. “I’m gonna fucking cum—I swear—I can’t—oh my god kiss me, please, please kiss me, I wanna cum while you’re kissing me, I wanna feel your mouth when it hits—pleaseee!"

You don’t even hesitate. You lean down fast, your hand tightening on her throat just a little more as your mouth crashes into hers. Her lips are soft, wet, desperate. Her tongue meets yours immediately, greedy and wild, kissing you like she needs it more than air. The second your lips connect, she snaps. Her entire body tenses, heels digging into the bed, thighs clamping tight around your waist, and her pussy clamps down hard; a perfect vice, spasming and pulsing around your cock like she’s trying to pull you in even deeper. She lets out a high, shaking moan straight into your mouth, hands flying up to grab your face, kissing you harder, sloppier, while she cums in waves all over you. Your cock’s completely drenched now, soaked in her release, her body rocking beneath yours as the orgasm shakes through her like a storm, long and loud and so fucking hot you’re fighting every instinct not to unload inside her right there.

Wonyoung glances back, smirking, still pushing the plug deeper into Karina’s stretched hole with cruel precision. It’s almost fully in now, the thickest part parting Karina’s trembling rim, her voice hoarse from moaning and crying through the stretch.

“Look at that,” Wonyoung says, eyes on Karina but voice raised just enough to carry. “While you’re getting your tight little asshole split by a plug, Sullyoon’s over here creaming herself on cock like it’s the best day of her life.”

Karina sobs out a moan, too far gone to respond, just breathing raggedly while the final inch of the plug sinks in, slow and merciless.

“You jealous yet?” Wonyoung whispers near her ear. “You wanted this. You chose this. And now you get to be plugged up like a good little toy while someone else gets her guts rearranged.”

Yuna’s still holding Karina open, watching the plug disappear inside her with awe and glee.

“Almost there,” she says, licking her lips. “You’re taking it so well…”

Karina’s still panting into the mattress, arms trembling, her ass raised with the thick plug now buried deep inside, barely visible except for the slick base nestled between her swollen cheeks. Her eyes are glassy, cheeks streaked with a flush of sweat and tears, and her thighs are twitching from the slow, rhythmic throbbing inside her. She lifts her head slightly, voice weak but hopeful.

“S-So… what happens now?” Her words come out breathy, unsure. “Is it… is it my turn?”

Wonyoung doesn’t answer right away. She stands upright with a smug little stretch, licking the edge of her finger clean from guiding the plug in, her expression sharp with amusement. Then she lets out a dry, condescending chuckle.

“Not yet.” Karina blinks at her, blinking fast like she misheard. Wonyoung tilts her head, smiling cruelly. “Yuna hasn’t had a turn with that cock yet.”

Karina’s shoulders sag, and her face collapses into a tired, frustrated sigh. She lets her head fall back down onto her arms with a faint groan, too wrecked to protest more than that.

Yuna laughs, light, teasing, and smacks Karina’s ass again, right on the plug, making her yelp and jerk forward with a strangled moan.

“Be patient, princess,” Yuna grins. “You’ve already got a little friend stuffed in there to keep you busy. Don’t be greedy.”

Wonyoung shoots her a quick glance, neither amused nor annoyed, just sharp. Always sharp.

“Yuna,” she says flatly, “he’s ready.”

Yuna turns her head to you and waves a finger, grinning wide like a cat with cream on its tongue. “Come here, toy. Sit down. Edge of the bed.”

You obey immediately, there’s no part of your brain even pretending to fight it anymore. You climb off Sullyoon, who’s still panting and glowing from her orgasm, and move to the edge of the bed. Your thighs ache. Your cock is glistening with her slick, flushed dark, veiny, painfully hard. You sit down, muscles twitching from exertion, and look up as Yuna struts toward you. She turns around and backs herself up, settling her toned legs against yours, ass grazing your thigh, there’s a golden sheen of sweat clinging to her lower back and the curve of her ass cheeks glistening as she lowers herself onto you.

“You can touch me,” she says, glancing over her shoulder with a wink. “I’m not Wonyoung.”

Your hands rise instinctively, gripping her slim waist. She’s warm under your fingers, tight and toned. Yuna’s body is fucking unreal; lean but thick where it counts. Her waist is slim, but her hips flare out wide, ass plump and round with the kind of bounce that makes it impossible not to stare. Her thighs are powerful, soft over muscle, her skin is smooth, flawless, with that slight golden glow under the lights.

You squeeze her hips a little, breath catching in your throat.

“Fuck, you’re… perfect,” you mutter. “You’re fucking hot.”

Yuna giggles, rolling her hips back just enough to brush your cock against her folds.

“You know how to sweet talk a girl,” she purrs.

But Wonyoung’s voice slices in before you can say anything more.

“Stop talking to him like he matters.”

Yuna turns slightly, side-eyeing her with a sigh.

“Wonyoung…”

Wonyoung crosses her arms, eyes narrowing.

“He’s not your boyfriend. He’s not your friend. He’s a cock. A cumdump. A toy we’re borrowing for a good time, then tossing out.”

Yuna rolls her eyes, positioning your thick head right at her entrance, her slick folds gliding over it as she angles her hips.

“You’re so fucking cruel sometimes,” she mutters under her breath. “Let a bitch have one moment.”

And then she sinks down.

Your breath punches out of you like you’ve been hit. Her pussy is molten hot, wet, gripping the crown of your cock so tight you’re not even sure you’re going to get more than an inch in. She moans, sharp and rough, her hands bracing on your thighs.

“Jesus fucking fuck, it’s… it’s so big, holy shit—”

She pauses, knees shaking, muscles tense as she eases herself lower. Behind you, the mattress dips again as Sullyoon crawls back up, her skin flushed pink, hair a little messy, that dreamy post-orgasm look still painted across her face. But her eyes are focused on Karina now.

Karina hasn’t moved, still on all fours, ass stuffed, hair sticking to her cheeks, panting. Sullyoon leans in, wraps her arms around her waist gently from behind, pressing their bodies close.

“Hey,” Sullyoon whispers, brushing Karina’s sweaty hair off her cheek. “You okay?”

Karina nods slowly, leaning back into her friend’s touch.

“It hurts,” she says quietly, breath shivering. “But… not in a bad way.”

Sullyoon presses a soft kiss to her shoulder, then another to her neck.

“I’ll take care of you,” she promises, pulling Karina closer. Her arms wrap tighter, soothing. “You were so brave.”

Karina’s lips part to answer, but Sullyoon’s already leaning in again, this time pressing her mouth to Karina’s. Their kiss is gentle, slow, nothing like the desperation you’ve been drowning in all night. Their tongues meet, slow and lazy, tasting each other with softness that's somehow kind of hot. But Sullyoon’s hand starts to slide down Karina’s belly, grazing over her trembling thighs, fingertips dancing toward her pussy.

“Let me help you feel good,” she murmurs, her fingers slide between Karina’s legs, just brushing her slick folds—

“Stop right there.”

Wonyoung’s voice is sharp, cold steel. Both girls freeze. She strides over, her eyes locked on Sullyoon like a schoolteacher catching someone cheating. “She doesn’t get help,” Wonyoung says, grabbing Sullyoon’s wrist and pulling her hand away. “She didn’t earn it. Let her sit with the plug for a while.”

Sullyoon swallows, pulling her hands back respectfully, returning to holding Karina with just arms and lips now, keeping her warm but not touching further. Karina sighs into her mouth, kissing her again slowly, eyes fluttering closed. Meanwhile, Yuna’s moaning as she forces another inch of you inside her. Her pussy is soaking, clenching like crazy, her breath stuttering as she lowers herself little by little, adjusting with every thick ridge you press past her walls.

“Goddamn,” she gasps, laughing breathlessly. “It’s like—I don’t even—fuck, how do you carry this around without passing out?”

You grip her waist tighter, watching her ass ripple as she eases further down. Her thighs flex with every movement, sweat rolling down her spine as she moans louder.

“You’re so tight,” you groan, digging your fingers into her hips.

“Yeah?” she pants, twisting her hips to get the angle right. “Well, this pussy doesn’t play, baby.” Then she gasps sharp, eyes wide. “Shit! There we go—fuck—there it is—!”

She finally bottoms out, her ass slapping against your lap, every inch of your cock buried in her slick, clenching heat. She leans forward, chest heaving, moaning low in her throat like she’s drunk on it.

“Oh my god,” she laughs, trembling. “It’s inside. It’s fucking in.”

And from across the room, Wonyoung watches with a satisfied little smile, voice cutting clean through the soft gasps and stifled kisses. “Good. Now ride him.” Then, to Karina, still squirming in Sullyoon’s arms: “Take notes. You’re next.”

Yuna starts to move with that kind of self-aware sensuality that makes your brain turn to soup. Her hips roll in slow, hypnotic circles as she grinds her soaked pussy down on your cock, using her entire body like she’s showing it off just for you, every shift, every drag of her slick walls over your length is deliberate. She knows how tight she is, how good she feels, and she’s savoring every reaction you can’t hide. You’re still seated at the edge of the bed, thighs flexed, hands gripping her waist like your life depends on it, and she just rides, slow and deep, her ass clapping lightly against your lap with each bounce, like a steady rhythm meant to tease.

She leans back against you, pressing her spine to your chest, arms raised, looping her hands around your neck while her breath rolls out in these soft little gasps. “Mmm… you like that?” she purrs, grinding down hard and slow again, making your cock throb inside her. “So deep… so fucking thick…”

Your fingers twitch on her hips. You’re trying so hard not to snap, not to grab her and slam her down on you until she screams, not to break that rhythm, even though your cock is pulsing with the need to unload.

Sullyoon watches from the bed, her head tilted as she strokes Karina’s hair gently, the other girl now slumped in her lap, the plug still buried deep in her ass, legs slightly parted. Karina’s out of breath, still flushed and shivering, lips swollen from their kissing. Sullyoon’s gaze flicks from Yuna’s bouncing hips back to you, a grin tugging at her mouth.

“You know,” she says, softly but loud enough for all to hear, “he deserves some fucking credit for not blowing already.”

Wonyoung raises an eyebrow, arms crossed. She doesn’t interrupt, just watches. Yuna chuckles breathlessly as she grinds her hips again, this time harder, clenching on your cock as she lifts and sinks, her thighs flexing with every controlled motion. “Mmm, right? He’s being such a good boy,” she coos, rolling her hips, her voice dipping to a low murmur. “Holding back like that, keeping it in. Such good control…”

She pauses, sitting all the way down on you again, then leans forward with a grin, twisting to look at your face. Her hand slides down, past your stomach, and cups your balls through the base of her pussy. The squeeze is careful but firm, her fingers exploring the weight of them as her grin widens.

“Shit,” she says under her breath. “These are so full. They feel heavy as fuck.” She lifts her hips a little, stroking your length from the inside with her muscles, then settles back down with a wet slap, her ass jiggling from the impact. “There’s probably a lot in there by now,” she teases. “You’ve been holding it in through Sullyoon riding you, Karina moaning with a plug stuffed in her ass, me grinding your cock like it’s my job… damn, when you finally blow, it’s gonna be fucking insane, isn’t it?”

You grunt, tightening your grip on her waist, your abs flexing from the effort it takes not to cum right then and there. Every time she lifts off you, your cock throbs in the air, aching for release. When she slides back down, slow and snug, your balls tighten under her hand. She keeps touching them, rolling them in her palm as she rocks her hips in slow figure-eights, her walls clenching rhythmically around your shaft. You can barely breathe. Every second she draws it out is another second closer to your breaking point.

Behind her, Karina moans faintly, still flushed, her voice muffled against Sullyoon’s shoulder. Sullyoon’s fingers stroke her back now, soothing, her eyes watching Yuna like she’s impressed. She laughs lightly.

“I think he’s gonna pass out if you keep doing that,” she says.

Yuna grins and kisses your neck, her lips soft and teasing. “Not yet,” she whispers. “He hasn’t earned it yet.”

Yuna’s movements shift from teasing to needy, the playfulness in her hips giving way to urgency. She's been riding you for minutes that feel like hours, slow and deep, drawing out every drop of pleasure like it’s foreplay for herself. But it’s not. Her rhythm’s breaking. Her thighs start trembling every time she lifts herself off your cock, her breath catching in her throat with these sharp little gasps, lips parted and swollen, chest heaving against her bra. You feel her pussy start to pulse around you; tightening and fluttering with every downward drop, every slap of her ass against your thighs… her body chasing something she’s trying to hold off, but it’s not working anymore.

She lets out a louder moan, sharp and cracking.

“F-fuck… I’m close… fuck, I’m so close…”

She doesn’t stop riding you, if anything, she moves faster, grinding her clit against your pelvis with every bounce, her hands grabbing onto your shoulders now, nails biting into your skin for leverage. Her voice trembles when she speaks again, a whisper at first, then louder, breathless and wild.

“Don’t hold back, don’t fucking hold back—fuck me—fuck me hard—make me cum!”

Fuck, that's all you wanted to hear.

Your fingers clamp down on her waist, and you slam her down onto your cock, hard, your hips jerking upward at the same time, bottoming out deep inside her with a wet, brutal smack. She screams (a real one) choked and high, head snapping back as her pussy clamps down on you like a vice. You don’t give her time to breathe. You start fucking her like your brain’s gone, your hands guiding her body up and down on your cock, her thighs clapping against your hips, the bed frame groaning from the weight of your thrusts. It’s all messy now, no rhythm, just raw need, your cock punching into her soaked, fluttering cunt again and again, harder each time. Yuna’s moans are desperate now. Loud, cracked, real. She slams her palm between her legs, fingers going straight to her clit, rubbing fast and sloppy, hips bucking into her own hand, mouth falling open with every spasm of pleasure that racks her body.

“Oh god—oh my fucking god—yes—right there—right there—don’t stop, don’t fucking stop!!!”

She’s babbling, voice broken, almost sobbing from how deep you’re buried inside her. Her whole body is tight, coiled like a spring, legs twitching, her stomach tensing with every thrust, her clit swollen and soaked from how hard she’s been rubbing. Wonyoung steps forward slowly, eyes locked on the scene, and her voice is like a whip crack.

“Make her cum. Now.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You slam her down again, burying every thick inch into her, your grip bruising tight as your cock throbs inside her fluttering heat. Yuna’s hand is a blur between her legs, her voice pitching into a scream.

“I’m cumming—I’m fucking cumming—fuck, it’s too much—”

Her entire body goes stiff in your lap. Then it hits.

She explodes with a scream, shaking violently as the orgasm overtakes her, every muscle locking up. Her pussy grips you like it’s trying to crush you, pulsing and spasming around your cock as waves of heat roll through her core. Her legs kick out, her back arches, and she clings to your shoulders like she’s drowning. Her thighs spasm against your hips, her fingers digging into your chest now, nails scraping down your skin.

You hold her there, not moving anymore, just feeling her ride the wave, her cunt milking you in hard, rhythmic squeezes. She keeps twitching, little cries spilling from her lips as she rides every aftershock, her pussy making these messy, obscene noises with every throb, her clit still pulsing from the overload.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuck—” she gasps, collapsing forward against you, face buried in your neck, breath ragged, sweat pouring down her back. You wrap your arms around her, holding her close while she trembles and whimpers against your skin. It takes a full minute for her to calm down, her thighs still twitching, her chest rising and falling like she just ran a marathon.

Then Wonyoung clears her throat.

“That’s enough,” she says flatly.

Yuna groans in protest but slowly lifts herself off your cock, her legs shaking under her weight, your cock sliding free with a wet, messy squelch, still rock-hard and soaked in her cum. She stumbles over to the bed, collapsing onto it face-down with a heavy exhale, ass still wobbling from the force of the ride.

Sullyoon leans over with a little grin, raises her hand, and smacks her ass hard, right over the reddened skin. Revenge. The sound echoes, and Yuna yelps, jolting slightly.

“Damn, Yuna,” Sullyoon giggles. “You rode him like a fucking demon.”

Yuna mumbles something into the mattress, breathless and ruined, one hand reaching back to rub her sore cheek.

“Shut up and gimme five minutes…”

Wonyoung just smirks and turns to Karina.

“Now. Your turn. Get back on all fours.”

Karina obeys without speaking. Her knees sink into the mattress, palms bracing in front of her as she positions herself, ass high, head down, breathing slow and shaky. She doesn’t look back. Wonyoung steps forward without a word, crouching behind her, and places her hand on the base of the plug. Karina whines at the touch alone, thighs twitching inward.

“Be still.”

Karina nods and braces.

Wonyoung slides the plug out in one smooth, slow pull. Karina gasps, her back arches, a broken moan ripping from her throat as her rim stretches wide then closes again, twitching, raw and gaping. Slick lube coats the plug’s shaft, creamy and glistening, and Wonyoung sets it down with a little smirk, running her fingers lightly along Karina’s ass just to watch her shiver.

“You were obedient,” Wonyoung says, almost fond. “You stayed plugged like a good girl. You followed every fucking order.”

Karina’s breath catches, hope flickering in her voice. “So I can… finally…?”

Wonyoung smiles. “Yes.” She turns her head toward you and snaps her fingers. “Come here, freak. She’s earned her reward.”

You’re already moving before she finishes the sentence. You’re still hard, aching, throbbing, and you can barely think through it, but the tension in the room makes you slow your steps.

“But,” Wonyoung says, raising her voice just enough to stop you in your tracks, “it’s going in her ass.”

Karina’s entire body stiffens. Her head whips around, wide-eyed, lips parting in stunned disbelief. “W-what…?”

Wonyoung steps to the side, folding her arms again. “If you want to cum tonight, it’s going to be on his cock—in your ass.”

Karina’s voice cracks. “But—it’ll hurt—fuck, I’ve never—Wonyoung, please, that’s—”

“I didn’t ask,” Wonyoung cuts her off coldly. “You can take it. You want your orgasm? Then shut the fuck up and take what you’re given.”

Yuna lets out a delighted little gasp, grinning like Christmas came early. “Oh my god, this is gonna be so good…”

Sullyoon, already on the bed beside her, frowns faintly, brushing a hand over Karina’s shoulder. “You don’t have to if—”

“She’s doing it,” Wonyoung says, turning her glare on Sullyoon, who backs off immediately, hands up in surrender. Karina swallows hard, her face still red, eyes darting between the three of you, and then, finally, she nods. Hesitant. Reluctant. But nodding.

“I’ll do it…” she says quietly, glancing at you. “But please—go slow…”

You step closer, gently resting your hand on her back, fingers brushing up her spine.

“I will,” you whisper. “I promise.”

Wonyoung clicks her tongue.

“He doesn’t make the rules,” she mutters. “But yes—slow, obviously. Now do your fucking job.”

You nod once and slide your hand down Karina’s lower back, palm splayed over the dip just above her ass. Her body tenses, breath hitching at your touch, but she doesn’t pull away. She’s trembling, terrified and aroused all at once, and your stomach knots in that strange way again, torn between lust and something dangerously close to care.

Yuna’s suddenly right beside you, grinning, holding the bottle of lube in one hand.

“Here,” she says cheerfully, popping the cap and squeezing a generous line along your cock. It’s cold, shocking against your skin, but you grunt as she smears it in with her hand, slow and thorough. “We’ll make sure she’s nice and slick.”

Then she moves behind Karina, spreading her cheeks again with one hand, and pours more lube directly onto her twitching hole.

Karina whimpers.

“Gotta help her too,” Yuna says, rubbing it in with two fingers, slow circles that make Karina gasp and moan. “Poor baby’s so tight…”

Once everything’s coated, Yuna pats your cock and steps back, clapping her hands. “Alright, stud. She’s ready.”

You grip your shaft, position yourself, and slide forward, just the tip pressing against her entrance. The resistance is immediate. Hot and tight and trembling. Karina sucks in a breath through clenched teeth. You pause, lean down, whisper against her ear.

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

She nods without looking up. “Just… slow. Please…”

You push forward a little. Even just the head feels like a violation. Her body shudders, a loud moan breaking from her lips, half pain, half disbelief.

“Oh—oh fuck! it’s huge!”

You stop again, one hand on her hip, the other stroking her back. You wait for her to breathe, to settle. Then you start again. Millimeter by millimeter, your cock stretches her open, and Karina whines through her teeth, fists clenching the sheets, toes curling. Her thighs are soaked, slick drips down the insides of her legs, proof that pain and arousal have long since blurred. Every few seconds, you stop, just long enough for her to catch her breath, before you push a little deeper.

“God,” Sullyoon whispers from behind, hugging a pillow to her chest, eyes wide. “He’s really doing it…”

Yuna sits beside her, fascinated. “Look at her hole,” she says gleefully. “It’s fucking swallowing him.”

Karina cries out again as another inch slips in.

“F-fuck, it’s—too big—please—”

“You’re doing amazing,” you murmur, and you mean it. “Just a little more…”

Her body clamps down, squeezing you like it’s trying to push you out and pull you in at the same time. You slow down again, your cock slick and throbbing, the pressure unbelievable, her body wrapping around you tighter than anything you’ve ever felt.

Wonyoung watches it all from the corner of the bed, arms crossed, lips curled into a quiet, satisfied smile.

“That’s it,” she purrs. “Stretch her out. She’ll never forget it.”

Karina’s moans rise in pitch, her body soaked with sweat now, ass flushed and stretched, you're still halfway in, cock glistening with lube and Karina’s juices, your hands gripping her hips like she’ll drift away if you let go. Her body is trembling under you: legs shaking, back arched, her forehead pressed to the sheets. Her moans come in shaky bursts, broken syllables spilling from her lips between gasps. You’re going slow (agonizingly slow) but even that feels like too much for her. The pressure is overwhelming. The stretch makes her wince with every inch, but she hasn’t told you to stop yet, and her soaked thighs betray the truth: she’s aching for it, terrified of it, and turned on beyond words.

You keep your pace steady, pushing in another inch. She cries out, voice cracking, one hand flying back to grip your wrist.

“S-stop—please—I can’t—it’s too much—!”

You freeze immediately, body tense, chest heaving as you struggle to not blow from the way she squeezes around you, like a velvet vice locked in desperation. Sweat drips from your forehead onto her lower back as you hold yourself there, just breathing, feeling her twitch and clench around the thick girth pulsing inside her. Your cock’s only a little more than halfway in, but the look on her face says she’s already overwhelmed.

Her face is buried in the sheets, bright red and dripping with sweat. Her eyes are shut tight, lips parted in a silent moan. And between her legs, her pussy is dripping, messy and obscene, leaving trails down her thighs. She’s shaking from the stretch, but she’s dripping from the want. It’s chaos, and her body is split right down the middle. Wonyoung shifts on the bed beside her, standing now, arms folded across her chest. Her gaze drops to where you’re still inside Karina’s ass, her head tilting slightly. Cool and calculated.

“How much?” she asks you. Her voice is flat, but curious.

You glance down your shaft. “Little more than half.”

She kneels beside Karina, brushing strands of hair from her face, then leans in close. Karina’s still gasping, unable to speak. Wonyoung looks back up at you.

“That’s enough.”

You pause, nodding, your cock twitching from the pressure building between restraint and raw, near-painful pleasure.

“Start moving,” Wonyoung commands. “Let her feel what she earned.”

You shift your grip on Karina’s hips, sliding your hands up her waist as your thighs tense. She lets out a shaky, helpless sound when you pull back just a couple inches, her body clenching again, like she doesn’t want to let you go, and then you push forward again, slow and deep, not adding more depth but grinding within what she can take.

Karina groans—long and broken.

“Fffuuckk…” she moans into the mattress, hips quaking. “It’s so big, so thick, I can’t believe you’re in my ass… fuck—it’s too much—it’s so full…”

You move again, withdrawing slightly and thrusting slowly back in. Her body jerks with each motion, every slow grind making her rim flutter, her ass stretched and twitching. The sensation has your spine tingling, a tight, searing heat wrapping around your cock like wet silk squeezed over bone. Yuna leans over the edge of the bed, eyes wide with awe, a dirty grin painted across her face.

“She’s taking it like a champ,” she says, grinning. “Look at her—look at that grip. Holy shit.”

Sullyoon’s perched at the headboard, arms hugging her knees, watching with this mix of sympathy and raw curiosity. Her cheeks are pink, eyes wide, lips parted.

“She’s doing so good…” she whispers. “I don’t think I could…”

Wonyoung leans in and cups Karina’s cheek gently, tilting her face so she can see her expression. Karina’s eyes flutter open; glassy, unfocused, filled with overwhelmed heat.

“You’re not gonna forget this,” Wonyoung murmurs, a little smile touching her lips. “No one ever forgets their first real stretch.”

Karina whines, biting her lip, trying to stay still as your hips begin to find a rhythm. You rock into her gently, each thrust short and slow, giving her body time to adjust while her moans grow louder, more broken. Her thighs glisten with arousal, and her hands fist the sheets so tight her knuckles go white.

“I-it’s too good,” she sobs out. “I didn’t know it would feel like this—why does it feel so fucking good?”

You thrust a little deeper, not by much, just enough to push the limits she’s already enduring. Her moan cuts off into a gasp, her body twitching under yours, and you swear you feel her pussy throb at the same time; her cunt untouched, but soaking like it’s getting fucked just from how your cock is stretching her ass.

Your hand slides to her lower back, stroking it gently, whispering low.

“You’re doing perfect, Karina. So fucking good…”

Her answer’s a raw moan, her ass arching slightly, offering you better access without even thinking. You start grinding deeper into her with more confidence, your cock gliding through her slickened hole in a slow, punishing rhythm that has her gasping every time your hips press against her. Yuna slides closer, one hand slipping between Karina’s thighs, hovering just above her glistening folds but not touching.

“You’re dripping all over the bed,” she says. “You love this, huh? Getting your ass fucked by the cock you ran from?”

Karina sobs into the sheets, too fucked out to answer.

Wonyoung circles behind you like a queen inspecting her soldiers, her gaze drops to the slick, stretched spot where your cock disappears into Karina’s ass, the loud, wet rhythm of your thrusts filling the room in obscene contrast to Karina’s trembling moans. Your grip is still tight on her hips, your pace steady, giving her the depth she can handle, but not much more than that.

Wonyoung exhales sharply, almost bored. “Pick up the fucking pace.” Her voice snaps through the air like a whip. “Make her scream, freak."

Before you even register the shift, her hand cuts down hard against Karina’s ass, a brutal, open-palmed slap that sends a jolt through her entire body. Karina cries out, her head lifting from the mattress, her back arching, eyes wide as her moan turns into something raw and sharp. You grit your teeth and follow the order. Your hips slam forward, the new rhythm vicious and unrelenting. Every stroke now punches into Karina’s stretched ass with a thick, wet slap, your cock sliding deeper with each thrust, balls slapping against her soaked thighs. The change is instant. She screams, loud, guttural, her hands scrabbling at the sheets, her voice cutting through the air with no filter, no shame.

“Ah—ahhh fuck—it’s too much—too much!”

You don’t slow down. You can’t. Not when Wonyoung’s standing behind you with that look in her eyes. Not when Karina’s body keeps pushing back against you like it wants every inch. Her tits bounce violently with every impact, full and heavy, swinging under her with each slam of your hips, her nipples dragging against the sheets.

Wonyoung steps forward and grabs a fistful of Karina’s hair, yanking her head up so her moaning face is fully exposed.

“This what you wanted, Karina?” she snarls, leaning down near her ear. “You begged for this cock. You begged to cum tonight. You begged for your fucking ass to be split open, and now you’re fucking screaming. Is this what you wanted?”

Karina sobs and nods through it, eyes wild, drool slipping from the corner of her mouth as she cries out, “Yes! Oh my god yes, yes, yes—please—fuck, don’t stop!”

“Pathetic,” Wonyoung mutters, releasing her hair with a shove that makes Karina collapse forward again, her ass thrust up perfectly for more abuse. Then she looks at you, her expression hard. “And you,” she snaps. “Look at you. Huffing and panting like a fucking dog. You two deserve each other. Ruin this lying slut!”

You grab Karina’s hips tighter, your pace going savage now, hammering her with everything you’ve got. Her voice breaks into a string of high-pitched moans and screams, every thrust punching into her ass with punishing force, her body bouncing forward from the impact. The clap of flesh on flesh echoes through the room, her sweat-slick thighs shaking as she takes it, her pussy dripping onto the sheets like a faucet, untouched and soaked. Wonyoung watches the chaos she’s orchestrated, arms crossed again, a twisted smile forming at the corners of her lips.

“Fuck her until she forgets her name.”

Your hands stay locked on Karina’s hips, holding her firm, thumbs digging into the curves just above her ass as your cock pistons in and out of her stretched, twitching hole. She’s beyond trying to speak in full thoughts now; just babbling, moaning, her mouth open and drooling against the sheets, words falling from her like she’s half-delirious. Her spine arches deeper with each thrust, every part of her trembling as you slam into her again and again, the obscene slap of your hips meeting her ass echoing through the room, wet and brutal.

Her voice jumps pitches without warning, cracking with raw pleasure. There’s no control left in her body. Her thighs are shaking, her arms weak, her pussy glistening untouched beneath her as it drips onto the bed from the pressure alone. You watch the muscles in her ass flex and quiver with every movement of your cock, your shaft stretching her open wider than she’s ever taken, buried inside her like you’re trying to reach her fucking soul.

Yuna leans in from the edge of the bed, laughing in this low, teasing purr that’s half arousal and half mocking delight.

“Holy shit. Look at her. She’s gonna cum just from taking it in the ass like a fucking whore.”

Karina whimpers something into the sheets, something like no or yes or both at once, but her eyes are rolled back, jaw slack, her moans breaking apart like she doesn’t even understand her own body anymore. You keep going. Your thrusts stay relentless. The heat of her body, the grip of her ass around your cock, the way her hips bounce and jerk under you with every impact: it’s pure addiction. You feel her starting to tighten even more, impossibly tight, her whole body locking up like she’s about to snap in half, and her moans spiral into a high, broken whine.

“F-fuck—oh my god, it’s too—ahhh—it’s too much, I’m gonna—I can’t!”

She’s drooling onto the sheets, arms weak, knuckles white from gripping the bedding like it’s all that’s keeping her grounded. Her back arches deeper, like her body’s trying to get away and get more at the same time. Her ass swallows your cock with this obscene wet sound, slick with lube and her own mess, but so fucking tight you can feel every spasm as her rim flutters around your shaft. You glance at Karina’s face; she’s a fucking wreck. Eyes rolled back, mouth open, sweat dripping down her neck. She’s not looking at anyone, just moaning, gasping, shaking. Her pussy’s untouched, but it looks already mid-orgasm, creamy and glistening between her thighs. You slam your cock into her again, and she jolts, sobbing out a half-word, half-wail.

“I’m close,” she gasps out suddenly, louder this time. “I’m—fuck—I’m gonna cum!”

Wonyoung steps forward slowly, arms folded, eyes locked on Karina like she’s waiting to pull the trigger. “Then cum.” Karina’s whole body jerks at the sound of her voice. “Cum now,” Wonyoung growls. “I want to watch you lose it.”

You slam into her again, deeper, faster—and that’s it. That’s all it takes.

Karina screams.

She screams like her body’s being ripped open and baptized at the same time, her voice breaking as her ass clamps down around your cock like a vice, spasming, pulsing, gripping you like she’s trying to suck every drop of cum out of you without you even releasing yet. Her thighs twitch violently, knees buckling beneath her, and she collapses onto the bed fully, her face buried in the mattress, her whole body convulsing as she cums hard from her ass alone.

“Fuuuuck—oh fuck I’M CUMMING! Oh my god—fuck-fuck-fuck!!”

Her pussy gushes under her, untouched and throbbing, slick running down her thighs like her whole body’s melting. Her back arches once, twice, then drops, but she keeps shaking, every nerve lit up like she’s been plugged into a live wire. Her fists are tight in the sheets, her mouth open, drool and moans pouring out without rhythm.

She’s sobbing now, babbling through the aftershocks.

“I—oh god, I didn’t know—I can’t stop, I’m still cumming, I can’t stop, It's so good, it's so fucking good…”

You’re still inside her, cock twitching with every clench of her hole, but you don’t move, just hold her there, one hand still locked on her waist, the other stroking her back like you’re trying to keep her from slipping through the mattress.

Yuna’s staring in disbelief, biting her lip, cheeks flushed.

“She just fucking came… from her ass,” she breathes. “That was the hottest shit I’ve ever seen.”

Sullyoon crawls closer, eyes wide and sparkling with awe, her hand hovering near Karina’s trembling shoulder. “Is she okay?” she whispers.

“She’s perfect,” Wonyoung says flatly, stepping beside her and crouching. She brushes Karina’s hair off her face. “She came like a filthy little anal slut. And she needed that.” There’s a moment of silence, then Wonyoung looks at you. “Your turn,” she says flatly. “You’ve been edging like a good little bitch all night. Now you give us your cum.”

You’re still buried in Karina’s ass, but the moment she hears Wonyoung’s voice shift like that, she groans softly and starts to lift herself. Her whole body shivers as she slowly slides off your cock, her asshole fluttering open before clenching tight, empty, twitching from the stretch. Your entire length is gleaming with slick, twitching hard as it’s exposed to the air again. You reach up, help steady Karina. She’s weak, legs barely holding her. Her skin’s flushed deep pink, her eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, sweat dripping down her chest. She stumbles a bit, and you help ease her down. She kneels, then braces herself upright, arms shaking, tits rising and falling with each breath. Her mouth is still parted, cheeks red, eyes dazed, but she’s looking up at you, obedient, waiting.

Wonyoung watches with one eyebrow raised.

“You made it this far,” she mutters. “Color me shocked. Most guys would’ve been pumping their load into a tissue in the first ten minutes.”

Yuna giggles, kneeling in front of you, her eyes still sparkling with a manic energy. “That’s because you scare the cum out of most guys just by walking into the room, Wony. They probably blow their load just thinking about disappointing you.”

“It’s a talent,” Wonyoung shrugs, a picture of regal indifference, though her eyes are fixed on your straining cock with an unnerving focus. She runs the tip of her tongue over her plump lower lip. “But you,” she says, “you don’t have to hold back anymore. You’ve been a good little freak, edging for us all night. Now it’s time for your reward… or perhaps, our reward from you.”

Sullyoon moves next, a quiet, graceful wraith in the dimly lit room. She slides up beside Karina and brushes a stray strand of hair behind Karina’s ear, then leans in to press a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek. Karina leans into the touch, a soft whimper escaping her lips, her body trembling almost imperceptibly. Sullyoon rests a comforting hand on Karina’s thigh, her thumb stroking gently, before turning her full attention to you. Her eyes, usually wide with an innocent curiosity, are now dark, dilated, and utterly captivated by the sight of your huge cock.

You’re standing now, swaying slightly, your body a live wire of overstimulated nerves. Your cock is a flushed, angry purple, pulsing with a life of its own, veins snaking across its thick shaft like swollen rivers. It’s utterly drenched, glistening from base to tip with a disgusting, beautiful cocktail of the slick lube Yuna had applied earlier, and the clear, sticky juices that seeped from Karina’s ass as you stretched her. It’s still leaking pre-cum—one fat, pearly droplet hanging precariously from the swollen head, threatening to fall. The ache in your balls is a relentless, throbbing agony, a heavy, full sensation that promises an explosive release. Every inch of your skin is buzzing, screaming with a desperate, almost painful need.

Yuna, never one for patience, has already wrapped her surprisingly strong fingers around the base of your shaft, her touch possessive and demanding.

“Fuck, you’re so hard,” she whispers, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and greedy anticipation. She gives you a preliminary squeeze, making you grunt. “He’s still this fucking hard? After being inside four of us? You didn’t cum once?” Her voice is incredulous, a hint of challenge in it.

“Not yet,” Sullyoon breathes. She licks her lips slowly, her gaze unwavering from your cock. “But he’s close. I can feel it. He’s about to burst.”

“Let’s fix that,” Wonyoung declares. She glides forward and kneels before you, a queen preparing to receive tribute. The way she settles at your feet, eyes already devouring your erection, doesn't feel like submission; it feels like she’s about to break you open and claim what’s hers.

Then, it truly begins.

Wonyoung’s grip on your shaft is like iron, cool and clinical, yet sending shivers of heat through you. Her other hand instantly dives down, fingers deftly finding and cupping your aching, heavy balls. They feel like overripe fruit, swollen and tender. "Fuck, these are absolutely full," she grunts. She gives them a calculated squeeze, just enough to make you let out a strangled moan, your hips twitching. Meanwhile, Karina, seemingly over her initial trepidation, has crawled forward, her eyes glazed with a new kind of desperate hunger. She takes the very tip of your cock into her warm, wet mouth, her tongue flicking nervously against the sensitive slit. "You've been saving it all up for us, haven't you, my little freak?" Wonyoung continues. "Such a good little cum-toy, filled to the brim, just waiting for your goddesses to drain you."

"He's gonna paint us! He’s going to fucking drench us!" Yuna shrieks with manic delight, her own hand a blur at the base of your cock, stroking furiously. The friction is intense, slick with spit and your own copious pre-cum. Her tongue becomes a relentless tease around the thick crown, darting, licking, swirling. "Give it to me, toy! I want every last drop!"

Sullyoon is pressing kisses up your thigh, her breath hot against your skin, her hands gripping your other leg for balance. Her voice, usually so gentle, is surprisingly demanding, raw with need. "Please... oh god, please just let it go... I need to see it… I need to taste you… Don’t make us wait anymore, you bad boy!"

Karina, trembling visibly, lifts her head, her eyes wide and unfocused, a thick string of saliva connecting her lips to the glistening tip of your cock. Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing ragged. "You can do it... cum for us... please, after everything... just let us have it," she begs. "Fill me up too..."

Wonyoung meets your eyes, that cruel, beautiful smirk is back. "That's right, toy. You heard them. They’re begging for your filth. Sullyoon wants to taste it. Karina wants you to fill her pathetic mouth. Yuna wants you to drown her. They’re all desperate for it. But I demand it." Her voice drops to a menacing growl. "You’re going to fucking erupt. You’re going to cover every last inch of us in that disgusting, potent seed you’ve been brewing inside that freakish cock of yours. Do you understand? This isn't about your pleasure. This is about ours. This is your sole purpose." Her fingers tighten on your balls, her thumb pressing hard and deep into the sensitive perineum, making you cry out. "Now. Explode for your queen, you worthless piece of meat!"

Her hand on your shaft speeds up to match Yuna's frenetic pace. Both of them are now a dizzying blur of motion, tugging, stroking, squeezing, their combined efforts an exquisite torture. Karina latches her mouth onto the entire head of your cock, sucking with a primal, vacuum-like force that steals your breath, her tongue a rough, insistent pressure coiling around the shaft. Yuna’s ecstatic giggles turn into sharp, needy moans as she feels the tell-tale, unstoppable convulsions starting deep within your groin, traveling up the base of your cock. Sullyoon and Karina press closer, a tangle of limbs and desperate hands, their touch now almost frantic, greedy, fingers grabbing at your thighs, your stomach, your hips, anywhere they can make contact, as if trying to absorb your impending orgasm through sheer proximity.

"He's doing it! He's really gonna blow! Oh my god, look at him shake!" Yuna screams.

"Fucking finally!" Wonyoung growls stroking your cock. "Give it to your queen, you pathetic mutt! Give me every last fucking drop!"

And then it happens. Your vision whites out completely. A guttural, inhuman roar tears from your throat, a sound you don’t even recognize as your own, echoing off the walls of the luxurious apartment. Your hips buck uncontrollably, a violent, spastic jerk that nearly throws the girls off you.

The first jet of your cum shoots out with impossible, almost painful force, thick as cream and blindingly white. It splatters directly onto Wonyoung’s perfectly sculpted face. She barely flinches, just lets out a choked gasp, her eyes widening for a split second in surprise at the sheer power before they narrow again in dark triumph. Your hot seed is already dripping from her chin, smeared across her cheek, mixed with her saliva, a victorious smirk plastered on her semen-streaked face. "Yes! That's it, you filthy animal! Fucking drown me!"

Another jet follows, then another, and another, each one seemingly hotter, thicker, more voluminous than the last. You're a fucking firehose, completely and utterly out of control, your body just a vessel for this unstoppable eruption.

"My turn! My turn! Hit me with that fucking load!!" Sullyoon screams, scrambling forward with surprising agility, her usually angelic face now contorted into a mask of fierce, desperate need. She positions herself right in the line of fire, her small hands cupping her equally small breasts, her mouth wide open like a baby bird. A thick rope of your cum arcs through the air and lands squarely on her chest, another jet splattering across her cheek and directly into her parted lips. She gasps, a delighted, messy sound, already licking it up with greedy swipes of her tongue. "Oh my god... it's so much... so warm... and it tastes… amazing!"

"Don't you dare forget me!" Karina cries out. She’s pushing past Sullyoon, her eyes fixed on your still-spewing cock like it’s the only thing in the world. "Please! I need it! I earned this!" A fresh torrent of your seed catches her full in the face, soaking her hair, plastering it to her forehead, coating her eyelashes, and dripping in thick streams into her open, gasping mouth. She moans, a long, shuddering, broken sound, tears welling in her eyes (whether from the impact or sheer overwhelming emotion, you can’t tell) as she swallows convulsively, then licks her lips with a dazed, almost worshipful expression on her cum-painted face.

Yuna is practically vibrating beside you, her hands still gripping your shaft, trying to aim the spray, though it’s bucking too wildly for any real control. "Fuck yes! Me next! Fucking drown me in it, you goddamn animal!" she yells, practically shoving Karina aside to get closer. You oblige without conscious thought, another powerful surge coating her face, her neck, her small, perky tits that are now glistening under a thick layer of your seed. She throws her head back and laughs, a wild, uninhibited, joyous sound, as your cum drips down her body like a perverse baptism. "It’s like a fucking geyser! I've never seen anything like this! He's a cum machine!"

Jet after jet after jet, it just keeps coming, an unending, impossible flood. You’re emptying yourself completely, your balls cinching tight, contracting painfully with each pulse, a hollow, almost unbearable ache spreading through your loins and up into your stomach. The girls are an absolute mess, drenched, glistening, their perfect idol skin smeared and utterly coated with your thick, white seed. They’re not even trying to be neat or dignified anymore; they’re reveling in it, laughing, moaning, smearing it on each other.

"Holy shit," Wonyoung says, breathless for once, a genuine note of awe in it. She looks down at her own cum-splattered chest and hands. "He really was full. Fucking packed to the rafters." A small, almost proud smile touches her lips. "Good boy." She slowly wipes a thick smear of cum from her perfect lips with a thumb and licks it clean with deliberate, sensual slowness.

Finally, with one last, shuddering, weaker pulse, you’re empty. Utterly spent. Your cock twitches pathetically, still painfully hard but no longer gushing, merely slick and dripping with their combined spit and your own rapidly cooling load. You sag forward, gasping for breath, your entire body trembling from the sheer intensity of the release, black spots dancing in front of your eyes. The room slowly comes back into focus, filled with the sounds of their ragged panting, their wet, satisfied laughter, and the overwhelmingly pungent, salty-sweet smell of your spilled seed..

"Fuck," Yuna breathes, looking down at your dick, which is still defiantly, impressively erect despite the massive load you just shot. "Is it... is it still hard? After all that?" She reaches out a tentative, cum-slicked finger and pokes the head. Your cock gives a noticeable throb in response. Yuna’s eyes widen. "Oh my god. It is still hard." She looks up, her eyes meeting Wonyoung’s, then Sullyoon’s, then Karina’s. "Girls... I think our toy isn't done playing yet."

Sullyoon crawls closer. "No way... really? Can he go again?"

Karina, looking utterly debauched and surprisingly radiant under her coating of your cum, nods enthusiastically. "He has to! That was... that was incredible. I want more."

They all start to speak at once, their voices a chorus of greedy demands.

"More, toy!"

"Don't tell me you're finished!"

"You’ve got more in there for us, don't you?"

"Come on, freak, give us another load!"

Wonyoung silences them with a raised hand. She leans close to you again, that imperious glint back in her eyes, her gaze dropping to your still-throbbing erection. Her hand reaches out, fingers wrapping around your slick shaft. "You heard them," she says. "They're not satisfied. And frankly," she gives your cock a slow, deliberate stroke, "neither am I."

Her other hand comes up, and with a speed that surprises you, she delivers a sharp, stinging slap right across the head of your dick. A choked gasp tears from your lips, your hips instinctively jerking. The pain is shocking, but it’s instantly followed by a wave of intense, almost unbearable pleasure. Your cock pulses violently in her grip.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" Wonyoung sneers. "Like being roughed up a little? Like being reminded you’re just our fuck-meat?" Another slap, harder this time, landing on the already hypersensitive tip. You cry out, a raw, helpless sound.

"Answer me, slut!" she barks.

"Y-yes," you gasp out, shame and arousal warring within you. "Yes, I like it..."

"Pathetic," she spits, but her lips are curved into a satisfied smile. She continues to stroke you with one hand, her rhythm firm and steady, while the other delivers a relentless series of slaps. Each impact sends jolts of pure, agonizing pleasure through your system. Your balls are tightening again, an impossible ache building deep inside. The girls are watching, breathless, their faces a mixture of shock and intense arousal. Yuna is openly touching herself, her fingers disappearing between her cum-smeared thighs. Sullyoon is biting her lip so hard it’s a wonder it’s not bleeding. Karina is just staring, her mouth slightly agape.

"Beg for it," Wonyoung commands, her strokes becoming faster, her slaps more precise, each one aimed at the most sensitive parts of your cock. "Beg me to let you cum again, you disgusting freak."

"Please," you groan, "Please, Wonyoung... let me cum... I need to..."

SMACK! This one is directly on the slit, a brutal, stinging impact.

Your vision explodes in white light. You can’t hold it back any longer.

With a strangled scream, you erupt again. It’s not the voluminous flood from before, but it’s thick, ropy, and impossibly potent, shooting out in desperate, pulsing spurts.

Wonyoung doesn’t flinch, doesn't stop stroking, doesn’t stop slapping. She just watches, a terrifyingly beautiful goddess of pleasure and pain, as your second load sprays across her hand, her arm, adding to the sticky mess already coating her.

The other girls cry out in unison, scrambling closer, mouths open, hands outstretched, desperate to catch any stray drops. Yuna manages to get her mouth under the stream for a moment, swallowing greedily, while Sullyoon and Karina try to catch the ropes of semen on their tongues, their faces eager and flushed.

It goes on and on, your body wracked with spasms, your mind completely gone, lost in a whirlwind of humiliation and ecstasy. More slaps, more strokes, more cum, until you’re utterly, completely drained, gasping for air, your vision blurry.

They’re all around you, closer now, their bodies slick and gleaming, their faces alight with a primal satisfaction. Wonyoung finally lets go of your now semi-flaccid, thoroughly abused cock, a triumphant smirk on her lips.

"Good boy," she purrs, wiping a fresh glob of your cum from her cheek and licking it from her fingers. "You finally learned how to be useful."

Instead of rushing to clean up properly, they start playing. Yuna, giggling like a maniac, licks a thick glob of your cum from Sullyoon’s small, firm breast. "Mmm, salty," she declares, then dives in to suckle the nipple, her tongue swirling. Sullyoon moans, arching into it, her hands coming up to smear more of your sticky seed from her stomach onto Yuna’s cheek.

"You’re such a nasty whore, Yuna." Sullyoon laughs.

Karina, looking dazed but with a soft smile playing on her lips, tentatively licks a streak of cum from her own arm. Wonyoung watches them for a moment, a rare, almost fond smirk on her face, before she grabs Karina’s wrist. "Don't waste it, idiot," she says, then pulls Karina’s hand to her own mouth, licking the cum from Karina's skin with slow, deliberate strokes of her tongue, her eyes daring Karina to react. Karina just shivers, her cheeks flushing a deeper red.

It’s an insane, beautiful, disgusting sight. Four of the most lusted-after women on the planet, acting like depraved sluts, covered head-to-toe in your fucking seed.

Your legs finally give out. You collapse onto the massive bed, your body a dead weight, every muscle screaming in protest. Exhaustion hits hard a deep, boneless fatigue that makes even breathing feel like an effort.

One by one, the girls, still sticky and laughing, crawl onto the bed around you, their combined weight making the mattress sag. They’re not careful, their cum-smeared bodies pressing against you, against the pristine grey duvet, leaving wet, pearly patches everywhere. Yuna flops down beside you, throwing a sticky arm over your chest. Sullyoon curls up on your other side, resting her head on your shoulder, her hair damp with sweat and semen. Karina hesitates, then slowly settles at the foot of the bed, leaning against your legs. Wonyoung, of course, perches at the head, looking down at all of you like a queen surveying her messy, sated kingdom.

"I... I can't believe this actually happened," you manage to croak out.

Karina looks at you, her eyes soft, a genuine concern in them. "Are you... are you good? You look wrecked."

"Yeah," you sigh, your head lolling to the side. "Just... exhausted. Completely fucking drained."

"Aren't we all," Yuna groans, nuzzling her face into your chest. "But holy shit, that was... incredible. Best night of my life, no joke."

Sullyoon nods against your shoulder. "Definitely the most... memorable."

"I think... I think it was worth it after all, having been deceived by Karina just to be used by you, girls," you admit, a tired smile touching your lips as you look at Karina.

Karina’s expression flickers. "You’re... you’re not mad? That I tricked you? Lied to you?"

Before you can answer, Wonyoung cuts in. "Mad? He should be on his fucking knees thanking us. Grateful that he had the privilege of spending a night with us, serving a purpose. Most losers only dream of this, and he got to live it. He got to empty his pathetic balls into K-pop royalty."

Yuna and Sullyoon murmur their agreement. "She's right, you know," Yuna says, patting your cheek with a sticky hand. "You hit the jackpot, toy."

"So, how's that pretty little ass of yours feeling, Jimin?" Wonyoung asks, her gaze shifting to Karina, a cruel amusement dancing in her eyes.

Karina shifts uncomfortably, wincing. "It’s... burning. A lot. Like, really a lot."

"Good," Wonyoung says, utterly unsympathetic. "It'll hurt even more tomorrow. And the day after that. Maybe then you'll learn your lesson about exaggerating dick sizes to me. Or lying in general."

Karina sighs, a weary sound that’s tinged with exasperation. "You’re a fucking maniac, Wonyoung. You know that, right?"

Wonyoung’s smile is pure, unadulterated wickedness. "Yes, I do," she purrs. "A total, unrepentant maniac. But," she spreads her arms, gesturing to the cum-soaked bed, the exhausted bodies, the lingering scent of raw sex, "I also organize the best group sex you’ll ever have. And all you bitches fucking love it."

Yuna pushes herself up on her elbows. "Fuck yes, we do, Queen Wony!" she practically screams. "Holy shit, this was… this was next level. I thought I knew what good dick was, but this," she gestures vaguely towards your groin with a cum-stained hand, "this little freak that Karina brought us? And everything you made us do to him? And what you made him do to us?" She shivers, a full-body tremor. "My cunt is still twitching just thinking about it. My face is a glazed fucking donut of his spunk, and I've never felt hotter. You're a goddamn visionary, Wonyoung. A cruel, twisted, dick-obsessed visionary, and I fucking worship you for it!" She collapses back onto you with a happy sigh, nuzzling her sticky face into your neck.

Sullyoon, curled beside you, nods slowly. "She's right, Wony.” Her fingers, still tracing absentminded patterns on your cum-smeared arm, tighten slightly. "I… I’ve never experienced anything like tonight. Ever." A shy, almost guilty smile touches her lips. "When you… when you made him put his hand on my throat while he was… inside me… and then when Karina was screaming while you plugged her…" She shudders, a different kind of tremor, one of pure, overwhelmed ecstasy. "It was terrifying. And so, so fucking hot. I came so hard I thought I was going to pass out. And watching him… watching him just explode all over us…" Her eyes flick down to your crotch, then back to Wonyoung, wide and adoring. "You… you really do know how to throw a party, Wony. The best, nastiest, most unforgettable party."

"She's… she’s not wrong," Karina admits. "I thought… when you first told me your plan… I thought you were insane. Actually insane." A small, shaky laugh escapes her. "And when you made me… when he was in my ass… I thought I was going to die. It hurt so much." Her hand instinctively goes to her still-tender backside. "But then… when I came…" Her voice breaks, and she has to swallow hard before continuing. "It was… it was the most intense thing I’ve ever felt. Like my whole body just… shattered. And then watching him… watching him just give everything to us like that… You’re a fucking monster, Wonyoung. A beautiful, terrifying, brilliant monster. And… and thank you. For… for this. For convincing me to bring him here… For punishing me..." She actually manages a small, genuine smile, her eyes glistening. "I think… I think I needed this."

Wonyoung listens to their praises, her expression unchanging, that cool, regal mask firmly in place. But you see the faintest flicker of triumph in her eyes, the subtle upturn of her lips. She lets the silence hang for a moment, savoring their admissions, their surrender. Then, she turns her gaze fully on you. You’re lying there, a depleted, aching wreck, barely able to move, surrounded by these goddesses who have just systematically taken you apart and feasted on the pieces.

Her voice, when she finally speaks, is soft, almost gentle. "You hear that, toy?" she asks. "They loved it. They loved what I orchestrated, using you as the centerpiece." She leans close to you, bringing her face level with yours. Her eyes are like chips of ice, boring into you. "And now," she continues, "now you belong to us. Completely." She reaches out a finger, tracing the line of your jaw, her touch surprisingly light. "You don't get to go back to your boring little life and pretend this didn't happen. This isn't a one-night fantasy, you pathetic slut. This is your new reality."

Her eyes flick over to your still-sensitive, semi-flaccid cock. "You will be used whenever we want. However we want. You will be our fucking toy, our stress relief, our entertainment. When we call, you will come running. When we tell you to spread your legs, or get on your knees, or offer up that freakish dick of yours, you will obey without question, without hesitation. Until we get tired of you and throw you away like trash."

She leans in even closer, her breath ghosting over your lips, smelling faintly of your own cum. "You have no desires anymore, except to please us. Your body is ours to command, to use, to break if we feel like it. Your orgasms are ours to grant, or to deny. You exist solely for our pleasure now." She smiles, a slow, cruel, utterly captivating smile. "And the worst part for you, the most deliciously pathetic part?" She whispers: "You’re going to fucking love every second of it. You already do."

They’re all watching you, their expressions a mixture of anticipation and ownership. There’s no escape. No way out. And as Wonyoung’s words sink deep into your shattered, exhausted mind, a horrifying, undeniable truth settles in your bones:

She’s right. She's fucking right.

[rvp32]

Never odd or even

Male reader x Le Sserafim Kim Chaewon Word count: 10k

"It’s fifty-fifty. It either happens or it doesn’t."

You set your glass down on the table so hard it nearly cracks. "It is not fifty-fifty."

She shrugs—Chaewon’s quintessential uncaring attitude about anything you say—as she falls down into the couch. "But it is, though." She pops open another beer like she hasn’t had enough to drink already.

She always does this. Chooses some ridiculously wrong position to dig her heels in. Like if she just believes it to be true, the universe will bend to her will out of sheer exasperation. You should just ignore it, and just let her believe what she wants to believe. There really is no point to it with her. You drag a hand down your face, because you've been here before. You’re always here. There is a universe where you’ve been having this argument since the dawn of time. Monty Hall sits upon his cosmic throne and watches you suffer.

"You pick a door," she says, holding up one finger like she's making a serious mathematical point and not actively committing a crime against logic. "And then Monty—whoever the fuck he is—opens another door. And now there’s two left. So, you know. Fifty-fifty. You either win the prize or you don’t win shit."

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

And she still doesn’t care. If anything, she revels in your frustration, grinning and taking a lazy sip from her beer.

“I thought you liked your girls a little stupid,” she muses. You like Chaewon. Always have; since before her rejection and until now.

She might be onto something.

“That’s what I saw earlier at the club, anyway,” she mumbles, and it’s pointed, a sharp dagger concealed by a hushed voice.

You pay it no mind. It’s just Chaewon being Chaewon. Doing everything in her power to annoy the fuck out of you. You shake your head. “I like my girls with a basic understanding of probability.”

She hums, her gaze dragging over you, and it lingers. Long. Too long. So long it’s causing the alcohol induced haze to retreat from your brain. Then she just smiles again, takes another sip, and the buzz is back.

Chaewon stretches, arms flexed into a peak above her head, sliding against the backrest of the couch, her head landing against the armrest of the couch opposite of where you're sitting. Her legs stretch out off of the floor, her dress riding up, clinging to and stretching on her hips.

It’s a performance, designed to squeeze out resistance from any sap that would dare defy her. It’s impossible to tell if this is just Chaewon’s purest form, her instincts kicking in to naturally make any man submit, or if it’s a carefully crafted weapon, deliberately utilised and aimed with immaculate precision. Either way, it’s fucking lethal. Lace-trimmed thigh-high covered feet land in your lap, crossed. You glance down at them. Stifle a thought of fucking the exposed part of skin right below her dress and above her socks. Breathe out through your nose, annoyed.

She sees. She was waiting for you to see, to be more exact.

“What?” she asks, but she knows the answer. Feigning innocence, but the chances of it convincing you are slim. “Is the view not to your liking?”

You flick your eyes up to meet hers. Flat. Unamused. Stern. “Jesus, Chaewon.”

She cocks a half smile, hands up in the air like she’s being put under arrest but confident she can flirt her way out of it. “Relax. It’s just a joke.‘

Right. Just a joke. One she’s been playing at for far too long now. One you’re absolutely not in the mood for tonight. One that is quintessentially Chaewon. Mean. Sloppy. Reckless.

That’s what alcohol does to her. She gets all handsy and touchy and feely, disregarding any feelings or reservations you’d have about being touched meaninglessly by the girl that didn’t want you.

And the joke is not exclusive to you either. You’ve seen her like this before, with other guys. Hands on their shoulders and theirs on her hips, leaning in too close, laughing too loud. It’s just her usual mess. It doesn’t mean anything.

She’s warm, just warm enough that you can feel her through your clothes. But warm enough to make you fear the sparks could ignite something that shouldn’t be. Before you can have any more prohibited thoughts, you shift, trying to nudge her legs off of you.

She doesn’t budge. Deliberately. Straight up refuses to even acknowledge the attempt.

You sigh. “Get your legs off of me.”

Chaewon blinks at you, lashes fluttering faster than your heart can beat, her lips pouting— a poor substitute for saying she can’t believe you’d say that to someone this cute. She chuckles, transforms it into a smirk, and tilts her head.

“Make me.”

She presses the arch of her foot against your crotch. It’s right on target. Light. Testing. Provocating.

It’s impossible not to react. You could sit here, not do anything, let her rub your hardening cock through your pants a bit, enjoy the feeling of her getting you worked up. But that’s not what this is about. You know this pattern. As soon as you acknowledge it, it stops, and even if it didn’t, it would all be meaningless.

So you react. You grab her ankle, and shove her legs off of you.

She lets out a soft “oh,” before laughing, low and amused. She works herself back up right, shifting her legs underneath her, but she doesn’t look the slightest bit deterred. 

“Wow,” she mocks. “Sensitive.”

You roll your eyes, reaching for your drink. It’s water. Unlike Chaewon, you know when to quit, much to her annoyance. “Stop being weird and focus.”

“I am focused!” she retorts, all tension and energy. “Are you focused?” she says finally, slow, saccharine, like honey that's taking its sweet time to drip from a spoon into your mouth. “Not too distracted by how fuckable I look in this dress?”

You don’t acknowledge it. Again, no point. You set your glass down with a deliberate clink— any noise to replace what she just asked—then reach for three random objects on the coffee table; her phone, a book, and a coaster.

“We’re settling this tonight.”

She puts her beer back on the table, folds her hands in her lap, and sits with her whole body pointed at you. She shakes her body loose with slight movements. Then, slowly, she smiles.

“Please,” she says, voice sultry and teasing. “Teach me a lesson, professor.”

You’ve probably explained the theory to Chaewon more times than there are episodes of the show that inspired the discussion. It’s time for a practical run-through. You grab the three nearest things you can find and leave standing upright to function as make-shift doors—your phone, your glass of water, and a book Chaewon has been quipping from for the past month, How to Date Men When You Hate Men—and you form a neat row of three. “Let’s drill it into your skull. Three doors. One has a prize. Pick one.”

And for all the effort you put in, she barely looks. Eyes on you, finger pointing in a different direction. “The book.”

“Right, and that was a random choice out of three, meaning—”

“That I was either right or I was wrong. Fifty-fifty.” She shrugs, and shuts the door on this method of having her understand.

She’s perfectly frustrating. “it’s not fifty-fifty—”

She shifts the opposite way from her previous slide, her head landing in your lap. Her cheek rests against your thigh, and her provocation pokes at your heart. She gazes up at you, lashes fluttering a hypnotic rhythm. “This is more comfortable. Keep going.”

How could you?

“Chaewon.”

She hums, but she doesn’t acknowledge your protest. “What? Does having a cute girl’s face this close to your dick make you nervous?”

Ignore it. If you acknowledge it, it only gets worse. You push it down, she’ll eventually grow bored, and as long as the boulder doesn’t slip from your hands, you’ll be done with this forever. “Okay, so now, Monty—”

“You’re looking a little serious,” she muses, herself looking anything but. “Would you look like that while getting head? All furrowed brows, all focused?” Her lips curve deviously like the curveballs she’s throwing you. “Or would you be more relaxed? I can go deep, you know. No need to worry about me.”

Every cell in your body is telling you to push back, take her up on what she’s offering, and let her ruin this night. But you know. You’d get your hopes up, but she’d just call it a silly joke. Keep ignoring it. She’ll get bored.

You take a slow breath. Slow down your rhythm. “Are you done? Monty opens a door that isn’t the prize. That leaves two doors with potential. Your first pick was only right one-third of the time, so if you switch—”

“Aaaah.” Her mouth opens, tongue peeking out like a landing strip, eyes fluttering shut like she’s waiting for you to shove your cock inside.

That’s it.

You shove her off, not rough, but firm, standing up from the couch you might have sunk in immediately. “Can you cut it the fuck out?”

She’s back upright, giggling, back landing against the couch, legs curled beneath her. “What’s wrong? Blood rushing away from your head?”

“Do you ever stop?”

Her arms stretch over her head again, and you’re starting to see a pattern with the way her dress is stretching against her hips. “Not when I’m having fun.”

It’s maddening. Talking with Chaewon is selecting a door, continuing to talk with her is being shown the wrong door and choosing to take it willingly. “You really don’t care how frustrating you make the Monty Hall problem, do you?”

She smirks. She must think she has it all figured out. “I already told you. Either something happens, or it doesn’t. Fifty-fifty, dude.”

“That’s really not how probability works.”

“That’s how life works.”

You shake your head, and accompany it with an equally disappointed sigh. “You just don’t want to admit when you’ve made the wrong choice.”

She stills, and it’s eerie. It shouldn’t have happened. Then, like a mask slipping back, she recovers with a sly grin. “Or maybe I just like my way better.”

Before you can argue, she makes her move, getting up, pressing against your arm, chest squishy, warm and deliberate against you. “But you can explain it to me as many times as you want.”

She’s impossible. “Chaewon—”

And she leaves no room for response. “Go on,” she purrs, pushing her tits smush against your bicep, molding around the way your muscles tense. “Teach me.”

Your patience and her dress have one thing in common. They’re both razor-thin. “I mean it.”

She hums, and she smiles, and she’s convinced you’re going to give in any second now. “Not a fan anymore of me touching you?” Her voice drops, all warmth and provocation. “Would you rather reverse the roles, have you touch me? Be careful. I’m sensitive.”

Your fingers wrap around her wrist, pulling it high with a firm and stern motion. “Cut it out.”

She clicks her tongue, and scowls in return. The joke is over, and you ruined her fun. “You liked it plenty when that slut at the club was all over you.”

“That’s different,” you say, your jaw tightening up. She knows it is, and it’s not fair. Does she think she can get away with it just because you’ve got a thing for her? Or, used to have, you try to convince yourself.

She’s so clearly unimpressed it’s almost hurtful. It wasn’t a lie though. It was different, that girl at the club never tore your heart out. But none of that matters when Chaewon wants to have her fun. She scoffs. “Must’ve been nice. You didn’t even flinch when she touched you. Just leaned into her, didn’t push her away like you do with me.”

You don’t answer. You let go of her wrist, sit back down, unsure what to make if anything yourself. You could have gone home with ‘that slut’. Had a great evening. Instead, you’re here, keeping your promise to Chaewon that you’d make sure she got home safe, wasting another night on a girl that should have long been in your past already.

That same girl plants both her knees next to yours on the couch, dress creeping above her hips, exposing the slightest hint of black and lace panties straddling your lap, settling against you.

You hate how right she feels here.

She rocks her hips down, just slightly, just testing the waters. And like an experienced professional, the joke’s back on. “You sure you don’t want to have a little fun?”

Your hands clamp around her waist—not pulling her closer. Pushing her off.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t resist. Just concedes as the distance grows.

“Come on,” she murmurs, trying to make sense of it all. “You used to love looking at me.”

Your arm extends fully, pushing her as far as your body allows. “That was a long time ago.”

She lets out a small scoff, more hurt than the lost one, finally relenting and shifting off your lap. The joke is no longer fun for anyone in this room.

You just have to bite the bullet. Separate her from yourself, let the alcohol fade from her system and figure out what to do after that. “Go to bed,” you exhale sharply, a forced sense of finality in your voice. “I’ll sleep here, and be gone before you wake up.”

Chaewon stares at you like you just suggested the unthinkable. Her eye twitches, a habit you’ve long learned to associate with her being so upset that something is going to break. Then, she exhales sharper than you did, standing up. “Fine. Whatever.”

She turns, stomping toward her bedroom, her pumps exploding with sound every step of the way. “It’s still fucking fifty-fifty, by the way!” she yells, right before she slams the door.

It’s suddenly silent. Silent enough to hear your heartbeat going crazy.

She’ll calm down soon enough. Hopefully.

The heat of her body still burns against you, scorching where she was pressed against you. But if you ran after her now, you’d get burned alive. You rub your hands down your face, sinking into the couch, staring into the ceiling as you mentally prepare for what’s bound to be a sleepless night. There’s no escaping those as long as Chaewon is a part of your life.

-

Sleep doesn’t come.

You want to blame it on the horrible way this couch is digging into your back. Or the sounds of the city being ever present. Or the dim glow of some street lights seeping into the living room through Chaewon’s curtains that never managed to fully close. But comfort isn’t the issue.

It’s your damn mind, that can’t shut the fuck up.

Too many thoughts, all tangled together like a string of memories that wrapped around itself far too many times. Her hands, her voice, her weight in your lap. Her unusually prickly temper, and her enhanced sloppiness.

It all feels too fucking familiar, and the moment you admit that, there’s no holding it back.

It started as a night much like this one. You and Chaewon, at her place, sitting too close for friends but too far apart for lovers. Laughing at everything and nothing. Drinking just enough to make the lines blur. You had thought—maybe. Hopefully.

And for a moment, you know, you had been right. It seemed like the kind of night you’d eventually be able to tell your kids about. An edited version, to cut out the once-in-a-lifetime pounding you intended to give her, but still, magical in its own way. 

The way she let you kiss her. The way she kissed you back. The way her eyelashes fluttered to pull you into the kiss. How her left thigh rode up yours. The way her fingers locked behind the nape of your neck. The way you told her you liked her.

Then the way she pulled back. The hesitation in her eyes. The way her voice broke when she said “I don’t think we should do this.”

The way a crack formed on your heart, barely being pushed together by the rest of your more logical organs as you forced yourself to nod and agree, to act like it was fine. Like you were fine. Like you hadn’t just managed to secure the right door, only to be forced to step into the wrong one.

And the way your heart formed a second crack when you saw her again. She was still the same. Still Chaewon. Like nothing had happened.

But something did happen to you.

Your phone buzzes.

It’s not easy to ignore. Chaewon is an addiction to you, the next hit of this sweet obsession entering your veins as your screen lights up.

Chaewon: You awake??

You know you should just be failing at sleeping again. This can only lead to misery.

You: Yeah.

It’s quiet for a bit, but a new message makes its way to you all the same.

Chaewon: Cant sleep

If only she knew how she cursed you with the same fate. If not for her you’d be sound asleep in your own bed right now, or even better, in the bed of that chick you met at the club. What did she say her name was again? Kazuha? Instead, you’re here, repeating old patterns with exhausted probability.

You: That sucks.

Your answers are curt. Too perfect with punctuation for your usual back and forth. She doesn’t respond right away. She might be stubborn and annoying about things she’s convinced she’s right about, but she’s never been oblivious.

Then:

Chaewon: Are we okay?

You’re upset, but not heartless. It tugs.

You: We’re fine, Chaewon

Chaewon: Thats not a yes…

You might just scream out of frustration, your phone dropping on your chest, but obviously you can’t. She’d hear. She’s impossible. So fucking stupidly impossible. And yet, you find yourself typing anyway.

You: Do you want me to lie?

The pause is longer this time. Should you feel bad or just so tired that it doesn’t matter anymore?

Chaewon: No Chaewon: IdkChaewon: I just get nervous when ur like this

You: Like what??

Chaewon: DistantChaewon: CarefulChaewon: Upset with me

Your fingers hover over the keyboard without action. She’s not wrong. You are being careful. It’s her fault. She’d break your heart a second time in less time it took for it to beat. That’s dangerous.

You: Idk what you want me to say Chaewon

Chaewon: Idk either…Chaewon: But I miss how we used to talk

The memories flood in of the two of you just shooting the shit, countless evenings. Still…

You: We’re talking now.

Chaewon: U know thats not what i meant

And she’s right. You do know, but this is just easier. For you, for her. For the both of you.

Chaewon: Cant you just come over here and talk w me?

Chaewon: I miss you…

And before you can even overthink it—

You move.

-

There is a thought that creeps into your mind as the door creaks open and you step into her room. Something about a lion’s den, and then another one following it up about it actually being the lionesses that do the hunting. There’s no point to it. They all fade in an instant. She’s no huntress right now. She’s vulnerable, like prey, enticing you to be the hunter, looking so ready to be pounced on; curled up beneath her blankets, only the soft shape of her against the sheets to lure you in.

“Hey.” It’s a solid way to start a conversation, but you can’t help but expect more from her after calling you in.

You nod, eyes fleeing from hers, shifting awkwardly by the door. “Hey.”

It takes a while before you move. The same goes for her. She’s squinting, her eyes getting used to the darkness. She’s always been stubborn about letting you help her get a blue light filter on her phone.

She finally stops, and for a moment, your eyes meet hers. She carries a soft smile, the kind that made you fall for her in the first place. But there’s a difference in it; barely perceptible; most definitely flown under the radar by people not so obsessed with her face. There’s precaution sewn into it. The sides of her smile are constantly shifting and trembling, like she doesn’t know whether to keep it there or to switch to a more neutral expression. Then, she shifts, her left arm pulling out from under the cover and tapping the sheets next to her, an unspoken invitation.

You sit down with a sigh, back turned towards her. You’re not far, but you’re not close either. A safe distance, you think to yourself. The mood isn’t tense, but also not comfortable. Just… unsure.

You can hear her laps part, exhale, almost say something, and then close again a couple of times. It’s not until you finally turn to face her that she speaks.

“Do you remember that summer at the beach?”

Your eyebrows raise on instinct, disbelief unmistakably painted across your face, impossible not to notice, not even in this darkness. “How could I forget?”

The muscles on her face relax as her eyes drift away from your eyes, seemingly getting lost into her pillow, which she clutches tight. “You remember how you were so worried about me you gave me a piggyback ride back to the house?”

“No,” you scoff, “I remember you guilt tripping me into carrying your soaking wet ass across the sand.” Your face turns away from her again, hands clutching the side of the bed as your eyes veer off into the distance past the window; letting the glass serve as a canvas to project your memories onto.

You hear the sheets rustle behind you as she works herself upright, before reminding you exactly why you helped her back then in the first place. “You weren’t complaining back then! You were way too busy copping a feel of my ass.”

“Okay, now that’s not fair,” you snap back much too fast, much too flustered. “I wasn’t copping a feel, I was keeping you from falling. And besides, you weren’t helping either! Just hanging there all limp, mumbling you’d never be able to walk again.”

“I mean, it just hurt so bad. That jellyfish really fucked me up,” she chuckles back, and you can feel the pressure of her back leaning against yours.

There’s a soft silence, the one drenched in feelings you’d much rather stay in, instead of moving on to an uncomfortable reality. So you keep painting, hoping the window holds your memory-scape just a little longer.

“Do you remember what we kept talking about? To keep your mind off of the pain?”

You can tell she knows in the way she responds with an “Oh my god.”

Both of you say it at the same time.

“The fucking Monty Hall problem!”

There’s a beat of silence. First it’s a chuckle. It turns into laughter, and it quickly grows uncontrolled, unstoppable. The kind that makes the memories seem brighter, makes your body feel lighter, the kind that makes you throw your head back as she does hers. You both open your eyes staring at the roof, now sharing the same canvas to display footage of past days.

“God,” you breathe, your head locked in place but your eyes drifting over towards her face. “I miss those days.”

She giggles, nose scrunching. “I don’t miss what that jellyfish did to me.”

The laughter fades, and you think that maybe, just maybe you could forget about earlier and go to bed without feeling like shit. You shift, and she does too, turning towards her as she moves back to her original spot, leaning against the headrest, crawling underneath the blankets with her legs.

Your breath catches as you look at her. Your stomach turns. “Chaewon.”

She blinks, glancing up at you. “Hmm?”

“Did you—” You inhale sharply, but you can’t afford to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Did you seriously invite me in here just to talk un-dressed like that?”

Her brows furrow. Then she follows your gaze, shifting slightly, and—

Fuck.

Black lace, delicate, thin. Your favorite.

She freezes. "Oh."

Oh? Fucking oh?

“Why the fuck are you like this?” you explode.

Her eyes widen. "No! I—" She scrambles, tugging the blanket back up over herself. “I wasn’t—” “You said you wanted to talk, Chaewon.”

“I do!” Her voice pitches up. She’s pulling the sheets up hurriedly, using them as a shield from you, all you can see is her cheeks changing color ever so slightly. This time because of the embarrassment instead of the alcohol. “I promise… I do…”

It’s hard to believe that. It’s all so familiar, and all so fucking frustrating. “You know, this is just like you to do,” you ramble, and it’s hard to stop once you get going. “Always so fucking obsessed with getting a reaction out of me, never stopping to think for a second about how I feel!”

Her face softens, and the way she looks at you makes you sick. Like she thinks you’re right. “That’s not—”

“Isn’t it?”

“I swear!” She shouts, looking panicked and it’s enough to finally get you to shut up. “I was still out of it all, too mad and too drunk when I got back here. I just wanted to sleep. I didn’t—” and a big, shallow breath interrupts her, the kind that just appears and leaves you with less air than before. “I wasn’t thinking, okay?” You want to believe her. But tonight has been too much. Too many provocations, too many lines blurring that she would turn back from, and in turn, you would let form scars.

Then you sigh, sitting back down. “Okay.”

“Are you…” her voice trembles as she tries to figure out the specifics of your answer. “You’re shaking. Are you mad?”

Your mind is still trying to slow down, and answering gets forgotten. She takes that as an answer, obviously. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not so mad that I’d be shaking, you idiot.” Your voice is quiet. “It’s just way too fucking cold in here. And I was thinking.”

There’s no hesitation, because that’s just how Chaewon is as she shifts, making room. “Get under the covers.”

“Chaewon, please—” you start, but she’s not having it.

“I won’t try anything, okay? I promise,” she interrupts you, sounding calmer already. There’s a touch of pleading in it, but not the whiny kind she uses to get you worked up. It’s more desperate, more real. “Just give me a chance to prove I’m being serious.”

You don’t move at first. Stubbornness is inherent to both of you, after all. She tugs on the sheets impatiently. You sigh, but it’s obviously performative, a last jab at her to let her know you’re only doing this just because you’re cold. And she wasn’t lying. She properly keeps her distance, just sharing the warmth of the bed. It’s immediate and comforting, but you don’t allow yourself to sink into it.

“See?” she murmurs. “Not a trap.”

Not yet. You don’t dare say it, but you don’t have to. She sees the thoughts in your eyes. So she shuffles, turning away from you.

The silence stretches so long you start focusing on the noises it can’t beat into submission. Your breathing. Her breathing. The creaking and crumpling sound of the bed and the sheets as you move.

“I wanted to talk, and we talked so… that’s—that’s good. I guess,” she whispers. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind talking some more.” She lets a little space in between for you to insert yourself into. You never do. “But if you’d rather pretend like I’m not here, I get that too. I’ll shut up.”

It’s endearing, and your response is a little mean, letting her wait in silence for just a little longer before replying. “I’m not pretending. I need somebody to blame the lack of space I have in this bed.”

She smiles, soft. You can’t see it, obviously, but you feel it. Somehow. She shifts under the blanket, closer but not touching. She’s apprehensive. And she meant what she said.

“Is this the first time we’ve slept in the same bed?” she asks, but she masks her tone enough that she could play it off as talking to herself if you decided to not respond.

“Nope,” you correct her. “There was that one time in sophomore year. You showed up at my door at, like, three in the morning. Absolutely shitfaced, mind you.”

She lets out a small, embarrassed groan, and you know you’re on the right track.

“I remember that,” she mumbles. “Barely.”

“You couldn’t figure out how to get to your dorm. Said not even Monty Hall could help you find the right door.”

“How do you remember all that?” Chaewon questions, like you had no right to have that memory.

“Are you kidding me? How could I forget? I told you to take my bed, and that I was gonna crash on the couch,” you continue explaining, your lips curling upwards.

“But I didn’t let you?”

“Nope. You didn’t trust my roommate worth shit. Which, fair.”

She doesn’t say anything. You keep going though, less for her alone or you alone, both for you both.

“You grabbed my wrist when I tried to walk away. Looked me dead in the eye and said, and I quote, ‘Don’t leave me alone with that guy here, he smells like crusty socks and assault.’”

Chaewon lets out a strangled sound that’s half mortified laugh, half groan. “Oh my God.”

“So I gave in. Got in bed next to you. Fully clothed. On top of the covers. Like a gentleman.”

“You didn’t sleep for a second that night, did you?”

“Of course not. You starfished. One arm across my chest, one leg thrown over me like a fucking seatbelt. You had me trapped, dead to rights. Didn’t help you made me paranoid that my roommate was actually going to do something.”

She laughs—really laughs. Warm, unguarded. Then she rolls onto her side, facing you again. Her eyes search yours. "It was easier, wasn’t it? Back then. In college. At the beach. You carrying me like an idiot, me acting like I couldn’t walk, and you trying to turn probability into a personality trait."

You laugh, but it’s not really a laugh. More like one of those nose breaths that accompanies an abbreviated text. “Because it was.”

Her smile fades. “You never needed me to ask. You always just… stayed.”

You shift slightly, your fingers brushing the edge of the blanket. Her eyes drop there, then rise again.

“I think I’m a leaver,” she says. No warning. No lead-in. Like she had to say it fast before she lost the nerve.

“What?” It leaves your mouth before you can even blink.

But Chaewon swallows, her eyes retreating downwards. “I think that’s just who I am. Some people stay, and some people leave. You’re the kind of person that stays, and I’m a person that leaves. Because if I go first, I don’t have to wait until you become a leaver just like me.”

She looks at you like she’s afraid you’ll flinch. Like she’s already bracing for the recoil.

“I know it’s selfish,” she adds quickly. “But that night… when you kissed me, and then said you really liked me—I panicked. I did what I always do. You were giving me a choice, and that scared the hell out of me. So I picked the choice I always make.”

She breathes in. Exhales slow. Really takes her time, her eyes drifting slightly upwards now.

“And for a while, I told myself it was just another fifty-fifty. You know? Just a game of chance I lost. You either leave or get left. You either lose something or end up lost. And I thought—" she breaks off, swallowing again, part of her voice getting swallowed with it, "—that it would go away like the rest. That I’d forget. That it’d stop mattering."

You stay quiet.

“But it didn’t. It stuck. You stuck.”

She shifts again, knee brushing against yours beneath the blanket. Her voice cracks a little.

“And I started noticing things,” she says. "Little things. Like the first time you didn’t wait for me to text goodnight. Or when you were with someone else and you had that smile that I thought was reserved for me. Or when you stopped arguing with me about dumb shit just to keep talking."

Her voice wavers.

“And then I realized I didn’t just pick wrong. I watched the right door shut. And then I heard it lock. And that’s why I know your stupid fucking Monty Hall problem is wrong. I should’ve had another shot. Another choice. But life didn’t open a wrong door—it just took the right one away. And that’s why I know it’s just fifty-fifty. And I lost my coin toss at happiness.”

There’s a second of silence where your brain short circuits.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you mutter.

She blinks, but it helps her to finally look at you. “Ouch?”

You sit up, tossing the blanket off like it offended you. “No, I’m serious. You think my door shut? You fucking locked it.”

She opens her mouth, but you cut her off, your pace quickening. “The fact that I stayed around all this time is proof enough that my door is still unlocked. It wasn’t up to me to reopen that door.” “I—” “But you had to try.” Chaewon’s eyes flicker—not away, but deeper. Her breath hitches, and you swear it’s the first real sound she’s made in a while that didn’t have a smirk behind it. She shifts forward just slightly, only enough that her leg brushes against yours again, like she’s testing if the signal’s still green.

“You’re saying… it’s still open?”

You drag a hand through your hair, eyes rolling ceilingward before locking onto her again. “It was never fucking closed.”

Her lips part. They’re trembling now. She’s not teasing this time. “Then why—why didn’t you ever—”

“Because I’m not gonna beg,” you cut in, sharper than intended. “I’m not gonna crawl through the fucking keyhole when you slammed the door in my face.”

She flinches. Just barely. But enough.

“I didn’t need you to beg, just…” she says, softer, like she’s going over the math again in her head. “I don’t know… I—” Her voice dips, trails, then steadies. “I’m here now. I’m trying.”

You look at her. Clear as day in the middle of the night. She's curled up next to you, defensive and ashamed and stubborn all at once. Her eyes are too glossy, her hands fidgeting with the edge of the comforter like they’re looking for somewhere to hide.

And then she breathes, and her voice breaks.

“I just wanted you to want me still.”

And that? That fucking cracks something open.

You reach for her—no grand gestures, no cinematic swoop—just firm, necessary motion. You cradle her jaw, fingers sweeping her hair back, and when you speak, it’s low and final and absolutely everything you’ve been holding back.

“I never fucking stopped.”

There’s no pause this time.

No “but what if—”

No “are you sure—”

No more fucking Monty Hall.

Just her lips crashing into yours, messily, hungrily, like the apology she couldn’t say and the forgiveness you weren’t ready to offer have decided to cancel each other out with tongue.

It’s not careful. It’s not gentle.

It’s honest.

She’s on your lap again, only this time it’s not a joke. Her knees bracket your thighs and she grinds down with purpose, gasping when she feels you through your boxers. Her hands slide beneath your shirt, nails catching skin, and you curse under your breath as heat swells in your gut, undeniable and urgent.

You break the kiss, forehead against hers. “Still cold?”

Her laugh is shallow, much too distracted with making sure she can properly share in your body heat. “Yeah. Make me warm.”

“And here I was thinking you were hot enough as is.”

She smirks, and it’s real this time. Like the one you saw when you barely knew her, but knew enough already. Not a mask. Not a trap. Just her.

And she whispers, “Don’t stop this time.”

Like you could. Besides, you’re not even sure it’s only meant for you. With the way she’s tugging and removing your clothes, kissing your shoulders and pulling you tighter, it’s like she’s making up for lost time. For every second spent being careful. Your hands trace her body, taking your time to really make sure every curve and beauty mark is stuck in your mind forever.

“God,” you mumble under your breath, pressing your lips to her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, working your way down until you’re kissing the edge of a black lace bra that was almost the reason you stormed off earlier. “I can’t believe how beautiful you really are.”

Her breath hitches. “I know.”

And you’ve missed that, too. Her confidence. The way she can say things like that without irony, because she knows exactly what she’s worth—she just never thought she’d be worth it to you once more.

You kiss her through the black lace, and she shivers when you nip at the edge of her bra, as close to her nipple as you can get. She doesn’t waste any time herself flicking open the button of your jeans. You’ve always thought she needed a helping hand, both of yours pushing your pants further down. They’re not even off properly when she pauses, eyes blown wide, honing in on the tent in your boxers leaving little to imagination.

“Wow,” she says, and it’s almost weird to hear her say it without sarcasm.

“Wow?” your voice is rough, coming out in a single breath.

She nods, and her lips part as she yanks your boxers down, eyes almost dazed as she takes you in. “Wow.”

It’s a reverent look. It’s a look that suits her as long as it’s directed towards you, you think. Her fingers reach out like she’s about to wrap them around you, but she stops right before she makes contact, and the look in her eyes changes. Smug now. Knowing.

“I need a moment,” she says, and you know she’s up to no good. “You can’t just swing that in a girl's face and expect me to make it easy for you.”

A throb shoots through your cock, hips twitching without your consent. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

But she just smirks.

“Chaewon.”

“Shhh,” she says as she shuts down any and all protest, and her voice is the perfect combination of exasperating and enticing. “I’ve got my own Monty Hall problem lined up for you.”

You groan, but it’s more of a plea for mercy than a protest. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m serious,” she purrs, fingers grazing the base of your cock before pulling back again, making you hiss.

“Three doors,” she says, and the way she looks at you is obscene. “My front door, my back door, and my... ehm... mouth door?”

You’re gone. You’re fucking gone. “You are so lucky you're fucking hot.”

She keeps going, relentless. Her grin is pure mischief. “Which one have I imagined you fucking me with the most?” She rolls her hips, testing you. “Pick right, and you get to fuck it.”

“And if I guess wrong?” Your voice is rough, needy, everything you never let her hear before tonight.

Her eyes burn. “Then you eat me out first.”

It’s a rigged game and you both know it, but you play along anyway, letting her set the rules and stack the deck and deal each card. You lean forward, drag your lips up the line of her jaw. “That’s an impossible choice. You want all of them.”

She moans, a hiccup of laughter and want, and the weight of her shifts in your lap, urgent. “You wish. You only get one.”

But her hips are grinding now, a rolling, deliberate pressure that tells you exactly what her body needs. The answer is and always has been: every option, at once, and all of them leading back to you.

You palm her ass, fingers splaying underneath the lace edge, and the way she shivers tells you she wasn’t expecting you to touch her with that kind of certainty. For all her bravado and gamesmanship, this is how you win: you move first, and you don’t hesitate.

“Let’s see,” you murmur, mouth against the shell of her ear, making her gasp. “Back door—” a squeeze, a knead that pulls a little yelp from her, “—doesn’t seem like your style. At least not as a first move.”

“Don’t count me out,” she breathes, and you hear the competitive edge in her voice, the same edge that made her stay up all night just to prove you wrong about some irrelevant, beautiful, dumb thing.

You laugh, slow and low, and she shakes against you. “Mouth door,” you say, and you can’t help but grin at the way she’s already licking her lips, hungry, needing to prove something. “Obvious contender. But I think you want it right here.” Your hand finds the heat between her legs, cups her through those ridiculous panties, and her eyes go wide, her breath gone.

You wait a beat. She’s never been great at waiting, but she’s trembling now, lips parted, waiting for your verdict.

“And if I told you it’s definitely not the back door? Does your answer change?” she pants.

You consider your odds. “I think—” you start, but she interrupts.

“Actually,” she says, and the way her voice drips with satisfaction is almost enough to make you lose. “I don’t give a fuck. I want your cock. Right here.”

She grinds against you, and you can’t help but think you’re never spending another day without that feeling.

“Fuck,” you groan, because she won this round, and she knows it. “You don’t play fair.”

She bites her lip, smiling, then reaches between you, fingers wrapping around you with a perfect, firm pressure. “And that’s why you love me.”

She’s right. She’s wrong about so many fucking things, but she’s right about this.

You thrust up into her hand, and she moans, her body arching, her hair falling down her back. You reach for her hips, hooking your thumbs under the lace, and she lifts herself up, letting you pull it down, off, away. She doesn’t care where it lands; she’s already lowering herself back onto you, and you’re closing the distance, guiding your cock to her needy cunt.

“Fuck you,” you breathe, so close to her you can taste it, the subtext of admission against her skin. “I’m not saying it first. I’ll force you to.”

She rocks her hips, taking you deeper, her breath catching with a shudder. “Yeah? You think you can make me?”

You grit your teeth, the friction of her tight around you making it almost impossible to think. “I know I can.”

“Big words,” she gasps, riding you faster, harder. “Think you can back them up?”

You reach between you, your thumb finding her clit, and she cries out, her whole body shaking, her walls clenching around you. “You first,” you growl, and you can tell she’s sensitive. “Say it.”

Her eyes roll back, her lower lip caught between her teeth. You know it, you have her dead to rights, this is your win, and then—”Nuh-uh.”

You thrust up into her, relentless, and the pressure builds, mounting, and she’s so fucking tight around you, and you want her to say it, need her to say it.

She grinds down harder, her nails dragging your shoulder blades, and it’s too much. Too good. Too fucking hot. “You’re gonna say it,” you gasp, your thumb circling her clit faster. “I know you.”

“And I know you,” she pants, her head falling back as she rides you with abandon, her whole body trembling, her breath hitching with every thrust. “I know—oh fuck—you.”

You watch her face as she rocks against you, her lips parting, her eyes wide and desperate and defiant. She’s so close. So close you can feel it, the way she’s fighting it, wanting to hold out, wanting to win.

“Say it,” you growl, thrusting up into her again, harder, not easing up on her clit.

She gasps, and this has to be it. She’s trembling, tightening, drowning in ecstasy and she’s— “I’m—Fuck, I’m cumming, you fucker,” she manages to choke out, and she cums hard. Her head drops forward, no further admission, still no winner as her whole body shudders, her walls clenching around you like she’s weaponizing her orgasm against you, trying to pull the words from you.

You swear, a rough sound that’s almost a surrender, and she laughs, breathless, smug, still shaking in your lap. “You first.”

Your grip tightens on her hips, and you’re so fucking close, but you hold on, hold out, your breath ragged. “I’m not going to give up,” you groan, thrusting up into her in a wild frenzy, loud clapping of flesh colliding now strangling the room. She lets out a strangled sound, and her eyes go wide letting you know she didn’t expect this.

Didn’t expect you to only go harder, to keep fucking her through her orgasm, keep pushing her over the edge again and again and again until she might pass out.You thrust harder, deeper, and her voice breaks, her body wild against yours.

You hold on, and she holds on longer. She’s so tight, so wet, and the heat is building, and you feel her clench around you, feel her mold to your shape. Her mouth opens, and you can’t tell if she’s about to say it or if she’s too far gone, and then—

She pulls off of you. You watch, stunned, as she drops to her knees and wraps her mouth around your cock, and the sight alone is enough to make you lose it. You groan, a deep, ragged sound, and she moans around you, the vibration pushing you over the edge. Your hands tangle in her hair as you come, hot and hard, spilling ropes of cum into her mouth.

“Fuck, Chaewon,” you choke out, the last of your breath leaving your body as every drop of cum you had does the same, her lips still tight around you.

Then she pulls back, and her eyes are on you, wide and bright and triumphant. She cups a hand beneath her chin, opens her mouth, and—

“I love you,” she says, letting your cum spill out over her lips, and there’s a laugh behind it, a tremor of amusement, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Like she knows she just won all over again. She wipes her mouth, cum streaking her chin, her neck, her chest, and she looks so absurdly beautiful you can’t even be mad.

“Chaewon,” you breathe. It’s exasperation and wonder, the way you’ve said her name so many times before. “You’re fucking impossible.”

“Really?” She bats her lashes with a coy look, licking her lips like she’s savoring every last drop of the chaos she’s caused. “Aren’t you supposed to say it back?”

You grab her by the waist, pulling her back up to straddle you past your softened cock, and she giggles, squirming in your lap. “You’re such a fucking brat.”

“And you can’t get enough of it,” she teases, her smile widening,

You stare at her, chest heaving, the words settling into the spaces that were empty for so long. Then you let out a breathless, helpless laugh, pulling her face up to yours, kissing her despite all the filth she let drip out to cover her sweetness.

“Fuck you,” you say between kisses, but there’s no heat behind it, just the weight of relief and joy and everything else you’ve been holding back. “How do you win even when you lose?”

She smiles against your mouth, and you feel it in every part of you. “I guess I’m just smarter than you.”

You do. You say it like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like you’ve spent the last year waiting for your chance.

“I love you, you idiot.”

She makes a soft sound, and for a second you think she might cry, but it’s just a laugh, bright and giddy and so fucking happy. “I’m glad you do.”

“You’re a fucking nightmare,” you say as you shake your head, trying to hide the cartoonishly large smile she forced upon your face. “And you’re stuck with me,” she says, kissing you again, her body melting into yours, all softness and satisfaction. Her voice dips, teasing, warm. “Or did you forget?”

“Never,” you murmur, and you mean it. Hell, you’d bet on it.

Her body shifts in response, her being melting into you, her skin sticky but hot against yours. “So,” she says, and it’s light and breezy like that summer day still stuck in your memory, like you’re somehow back in a familiar rhythm, but new nonetheless. “You really think you can handle me?”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around her. “I’ve been handling you for years without the benefit of getting to fuck you.”

She pinches your side, but it’s playful, and you can tell she’s trying not to smile. “Asshole.”

“Yeah,” you say, kissing her forehead. “But I’m your asshole, now.”

She nods, and that alone was worth all the suffering. Because it’s honest.

“Shit,” Chaewon breathes, your skin stuck together with dried cum, pulling loose from you. “We’re a fucking mess.”

“Yeah, well, it’s your fault for trying to be funny,” you say like you’re not covered in it too.

She shakes her head, and it’s like she’s saying it’s your fault for not being the first to say you love her. “We can’t go to bed like this,” she proclaims, trying her best not to get too much filth on her sheets. “C’mon. Shower.”

“Together?” you ask, and she just rolls her eyes like that was the stupidest fucking question you’ve ever asked.

You follow her to the bathroom, the air chilly and the tile cool underfoot. She turns on the water of her shower, letting it heat up as she looks back over at you, one eyebrow lifting like she’s pondering if she should just keep it to showering or not.

“Get in,” she says, pushing you towards the shower. “I’m not letting you sleep until you’re clean.”

She’s already stepping toward the shower when she realizes you’re still standing there. Her eyes narrow, but her lips curve. “What? You’re dawdling now?”

You shrug, and she laughs. It’s not the sound she makes when she’s trying to get under your skin, but the one you’d almost forgotten she could make. Uncomplicated. Real.

She starts taking off the only thing she still has on—her thigh high socks that were the main culprit in why you failed to pick up a girl earlier tonight. You were way too busy admiring how good Chaewon looked, and it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Don’t tell me you’re expecting me to do it for—”

You catch her hand, stop her from peeling them off. She freezes, looks at you like a deer caught in headlights.

“Let’s pretend I lost your three doors challenge,” you murmur, and you hear her breath catch. “It’d be a shame not to eat you out with how good you look in those.”

“So you were staring! I fucking knew it,” she shouts gleefully.

You don’t give it a response. You just hoist her up, and she wraps her legs around you like it’s instinct, gasping, more eager than surprised, as you let her ass meet the bathroom counter. You spread her thighs open to admire, sink to your knees in between them, and look up, getting lost in the way she looks down.

“Oh my god,” she sighs out. “Are you really—”

 You don’t let her finish. You drag your tongue up her slit, and her head falls back, the sound of the shower almost drowning out her moan. Almost, but not quite.

“Fuck,” she gasps, the first of many. “Right there. Oh, right—”

You swirl your tongue around her clit, and her hips buck, her whole body trembling. She’s close already, too close, and you know you could end this in seconds, but you don’t. Not yet.

Your hand slides up her thigh, and she shudders as you press a finger against her asshole, teasing, gentle. Her breath catches, and you feel her body tense, then relax, opening for you.

“Shit,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You don’t stop. You don’t even slow down. You work her with your tongue and your fingers and your everything, and she’s shaking.

“Holy fuck,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “You’re—shit—you’re better at this than explaining math problems.”

You groan, a low, rough sound, and the vibration makes her shudder. “Careful, I might bite.”

She laughs, knowing you’re all bark, and her fingers tangle in your hair, not quite pulling you closer, but not allowing escape either. “Don’t stop,” she begs, and she wears it so well that ideas flood your mind. “I’m so fucking close.”

feel her body tense, tight and perfect around you. “Right there. Oh—” You curl your finger, the final bit of tension she needed to release, clenching hard, her hands in your hair, her body on fire. “Oh God, oh—”

She cums hard, her body arching, her legs closing around your head as she cries out, the sound raw and desperate and so fucking good. Your finger slips out but keep your mouth on her, not letting up until she’s shuddering, breathless, her hands tensed up tugging at you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she gasps, and you feel the last tremors of her orgasm as they ripple through her. “How did you—I can’t—” She’s lost for words, and it’s ammunition for next time you fight over something stupid.

You don’t move until she tugs at you weakly, pulling you up, and the look in her eyes is almost enough to make you drop to your knees again.

You grab her hand, pulling her toward the shower, but she doesn’t budge. Instead, she drops to her knees, fingers splayed on your thighs. “I’ll admit, you’re pretty fucking good,” she says, her eyes gleaming with challenge. Everything’s a competition with this girl. “But I’m better.”

You don’t have time to respond. Her mouth is on you, hot and wet and perfect, and you groan, your head falling back. She works you with a skill you didn’t think she had, her tongue swirling, her lips tight, and all you can do is hold on. She pulls back, and the sudden loss makes you gasp. “Feel free to cum wherever you want,” she muses, and your mind floods with options. All too enticing.

Her pace is relentless, precise, and you feel her smile around you, a smug curve against your skin. She’s rapidly proving her point.

“Chaewon,” you groan, and you’re not sure if you’re leading into begging or commanding. “Fuck, that feels—”

She hums, a low, teasing sound, and the vibration makes you curse. Her fingers slide down, cupping your balls, and you feel yourself throb against her tongue.

You’re close, too close, and she knows it. You can tell by the way she pulls back again, her lips glistening, her eyes wild. “I’m not done with you,” she says, and you swear you might die.

“Fuck my face,” she says, and you tremble, your whole body going tight.

“Chaewon,” you gasp, but she’s already got you begging for more, her hands on your thighs, guiding you inside.

You thrust, and she takes it, takes you, her mouth so fucking good you can’t believe this is real. She moans and gags around you, and it’s a sound you’ll hear in your dreams for the rest of your life.

She looks up, her mouth full, and the sight is obscene, incredible. She’s not stopping, not giving you a second to catch your breath, just letting you use her, and it’s all too fucking much.

You’re so close, the heat building, your control slipping. You fuck her face, your hands tight in her hair, and she’s caught between you and the counter, letting you use her, letting you lose yourself.

“Oh God, Chaewon,” you groan, your thrusts erratic, desperate. “I’m gonna—”

She pulls back, and you gasp, her lips getting pressed against the tip of your dick. She strokes you, her lips swollen and wet, and— “Do it,” she commands, tilting her head back, presenting her face and her tits and her abs and every target you could choose, her eyes pleading to cover not one but all. “Come all over me.”

That’s it. That’s fucking it. You cum hard, your whole body tensing, and she moans as your release hits her face, her lips, her cheek, her chest.

“Fuck,” you groan, and she smiles, licking her lips, and you’re so spent you almost collapse right there.

Then she’s pulling you down, kissing you, and you taste yourself on her tongue.

“At least I was worth the wait, right?” she murmurs, and you pull back just far enough to see the way she’s grinning, the way she’s looking at you like she thinks she won. If only she saw herself right now, you’re clearly the winner.

“Think I’m ready for that shower now,” you say, and you can’t help but smile back, because you’re a mess, and she’s a mess, and you came into this room specifically to be less of a mess; and you love it. You love her.

The shower is still running, heating up the room, and you both stand up. She pulls you with her, and the water makes quick work of the art you just made. What a waste, but a waste you love to spend with her.

She notices your face change as the cum disappears from her visage, and chuckles lightly. “You’ll get plenty of other chances.”

You wash her and she washes you back, and it’s slow and easy and comfortable. Like you never thought it could be again. But better. No rush, no desperation. She works the shampoo into your hair, but you can’t stand to not annoy her for another second, pulling her under the spray and rinsing her off.

“Hey,” she protests, but she’s smiling, her eyes bright.

“Hey yourself,” you say, dragging your thumb across her cheek, her lips, her collarbone. “Think I like you like this.”

“Wet?” she asks, and she’s teasing, but there’s a softness behind it.

“That too. But no. Mine,” you say, and her expression shifts, her eyes going soft, her hands coming to rest on your chest.

“You know,” she says, her voice quiet, thoughtful, “That makes you equally mine.”

You tilt her chin up, kissing her, and she melts into it, into you. “I guess that means we both won today.”

She laughs, and it’s the best sound, the best feeling, the best everything. “Guess I can get used to it if it’s with you.”

Eventually you turn off the tap, and she shivers as you wrap her in a towel, pulling her close. “Bed?” you ask, and she nods, simple and easy.

She helps you dry off, and you help her, and you just can’t let each other be right now. She tugs at you, at your hand, constantly leading you, hair still wild and just damp enough to be okay going to bed with. She slips beneath the covers fully naked, but it’s too cold to worry about any of that, so you follow.

You pull her against you, or she pushes herself into you. It’s hard to tell who’s more desperate. Point is, her back is against your chest, and it fits perfectly. Like she was made for it.

“So,” she says, her voice a sleepy mumble, “are you gonna lose your shit if I say it’s fifty-fifty again?”

You groan, exasperated and affectionate, and she giggles, burying her face in your neck.

“Chaewon,” you say, and she turns just enough to look at you.

“Hmm?”

You wrap your arms around her, holding her, holding everything. “You’re fucking annoying. Never change.”

She smiles, soft and genuine, and you know this is the real win. Not the game, not the challenge, not the give and take of a thousand heated mathematical arguments—but this. Her. You. Together.

“Promise,” she whispers, and you feel her breath slow, feel her body relax, feel the unlikeliest odds settle in your favor.

You hold her tighter, and the silence this time is comfortable, a weightless, blissful quiet that lulls you both toward sleep. You barely hear her next words, but they seep into you, the last sweet, stubborn thing you need to know.

“I still think it's fifty-fifty.”

[rvp32]

The Convenience Store Princess

SORRY I DIDN'T EDIT THIS AT ALL THE REASON WHY, YEP YOU GUESSED IT, IT'S LATE AS I'M POSTING THIS. Sorry for any mistakes :D

Word count: 2k

All you needed was to go to the bathroom.

“Yes! More!”

Instead, you’re pounding this breathtakingly gorgeous woman against the counter of the deserted gas station convenience store.

“Yeah? You like that?”

The sound of your damp groin slamming against her juicy romp joins the thrum of the AC fighting the blazing summer heat.

“Yes! Fuck me harder!”

“What’s a beauty like you doin’ in such a place?” The woman’s face is pointed directly at a fan, her moans being distorted by it. Every thrust pushes her face closer to the fan, but with her eyes gently fluttered closed, she doesn’t notice. In the corner of your eyes, you can see how tightly she’s gripping the edge of the counter, her knuckles even more white than her already pale skin, her entire body rocking, responding to the ferocity of your thrusts.

“If I weren’t here, you wouldn’t be enjoying my pussy, would you?”

While that was certainly true, her respond didn’t give you any answers. Not that you particularly care anyway; she’s probably an employee at this location, but there’s probably no one here because it’s so far out of the way, and that is probably the very reason why she’s not wearing a work outfit. These are all things you’ve figured out in the first minute of stepping into the store, and the only thing that stopped you from quickly exiting after refreshing yourself in the bathroom is a warm smile and a friendly, “How do you do?”

So, being the polite guy you are, respond in kind. “Swimmingly.”

“Staying cool out there? Why not grab a drink?”

Her beaming smile crawled your pace to a standstill. You were in a rush, sort of … but that can wait a little, can’t it? “Wouldn’t want to fill up my bladder right after emptying it just now.”

“Is that so?” You nod, and before you can start to respond, she continues, “In a hurry, are you?”

“Goin’ home after visitin’ the parents over the long weekend.”

“Wife in the car?”

You shake your head. “No such woman to speak of.”

“I see.” There’s something magnetic about her. You can’t escape her pull, even with the remaining few hours still left in your drive home looming in the back of your mind. But this is refreshing—the hours spent by yourself, listening to the podcast you had downloaded for this specific drive was mind-numbing, so breaking it up with a pleasant conversation with an even more pleasant woman did well to break up that monotony. “Well, now that you’ve emptied your bladder in my restroom, why don’t you take the chance to empty your balls inside me?”

It takes you by surprise, so much so that you’re forced to do a double take, but the woman remains unflinching, maintaining that beaming smile at you. “Excuse me?”

“A nice, young, strong man like you, with no woman to take care of your needs, having held back from relieveing yourself for three long days due to the presense of your parents, I’m sure you’re backed up.” It’s true, but you’re frankly shocked to hear the words coming out of the otherwise pristine, proper, pure looking princess of the convenience store. “Do you want help with that?”

You let out a laugh. “Ma’am, are you asking me if I want to fuck you, right here and right now, against that—” you nod at the counter that she’s standing behind, “—counter?”

“Yes, I am.”

Bold of her to say, but you’re not one to say ‘no’ to such a delectable offering. “Well, if you’re offering, then…”

Which leads you to the current moment, with the woman’s shirt still on but her jeans and panties pooled at her feet, the chopped up sounds of her voice being filtered by the fan blowing into her face doing nothing to lessen the arousal seeping from her voice.

“You’re not supposed to be working?”

“I’m seeing to my customer’s needs, aren’t I?”

You laugh at that. “You certainly are.”

You can tell with your own eyes that the woman has a thin frame, but feeling just how small her waist is in your hands is another story. You feel like, if you really tried, you might be able to just barely encircle her entire waist with your two hands. It’s this quality of her waist that makes her ass, which normally might look small on any other woman, appear so good. It also has a springy quality to it that’s satisfying to smack against; in fact, her entire body is surprisingly sturdy for how skinny she is.

“And the cameras?”

“They don’t work. No one comes here, anyway.” She may not have much in the chest department, but she more than makes up for it in the tightness her pussy provides. You know you aren’t the biggest, but she certainly makes you feel massive; every moan she lets out deepens your arousal, and every expletive she lets out balloons your ego. “Fuck, you feel so big inside me…”

“Such a nice little pussy, shame to have it wasting away here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Why do you think they put me here?”

You don’t want to think too deeply about the revelation, so you say, “So you can whore yourself out to the first man that walks through those doors?”

“You have no idea how badly I’ve been needing this…”

The more you slam into her, the further in you are drawn into her. Her magnetic personality, how easy it is to talk to her, and now, her pussy that’s trying to keep your cock inside her as you’re pulling out and pulling you in as you shove your length back inside. And then, after a while, you realize how amazing the velvety-soft texture of her ass feels against your groin, and when you pause to grind against her, the woman lets out an even louder moan.

“Fuck, yes, just like that!”

“Have a name for me, babe?”

“Just call me IU.”

It’s a strange name, but you don’t question it. “You like it when I do that, IU?”

She nods frantically. “Yes, oh god, that feels so good!”

She’s arching her back into you, doing everything she can to grant you maximal access to her pussy, and you decide to take full advantage of that. Your hands lift her ass a little bit, leaving the only part of her feet touching the ground being the balls of her feet, and drill deeper inside her. IU lets out an even louder, higher-pitched moans, one that may very well put Ariana Grande to shame.

“Yes! Right there! Oh fuck! Yes! Please, more!”

You’re doing everything you can to obey her, but you’re feeling yourself reaching your limits.

“You love feeling my cock messing your insides up, don’t you?”

“Fuck yes, I love it so much!”

“You love it when I do this?” You thrust again, aiming for that sweet spot you just found, and the volume of her ecstatic scream tells you that you are right on the mark.

“Please! Oh god, I’m so close, I’m so close!”

You want to give IU her release, but you also feel your own coming up. In a convenience store, you’re sure you can probably find some condoms, but you weren’t so forward thinking when you were tearing your pants off to get into IU’s.

So, you instead elect to cheat.

“Fuck!” If you weren’t so incredibly close to the peak of your arousal, you might’ve found it funny, hearing such a high-pitched squeal filtered through the fan’s distortion. “I’m cumming, I’m cumming!”

True to her word, almost as soon as she finished her warning, she came. Pretty violently, too: the first stream hit you right on the stomach, and as you continued to pump into her, the more her juices splash onto you, and the harder you have to fight your own orgasm. IU is certainly making it difficult, though; with how tightly her orgasming pussy is gripping your cock, with her head now tiled backwards and her voice no longer being filtered through the fan on the counter singing her ecstasy in all its natural, beautifully musical glory, with how hard she’s matching your every thrust by backing up into your crotch at the exact right moments, focusing solely on not exploding inside her is all you can do to stop yourself from doing exactly that.

When her climax finally subsides, you, with gritted teeth, pull out.

“Turn around.”

IU, hair dissheveled, half-basking in her post-orgasm glow, obeys, and when she sees you gripping your shimmering cock, bulging and red with anger, as if by instinct, she immediately drops to her knees.

“On my face or in my mouth?”

“You told me you’d let me empty my balls inside you.”

She grins, says, “good choice,” and then opens wide.

You don’t hesitate to stick your cock inside her waiting mouth, and it barely takes a few back-and-forth bobs of her head and swirls of her tongue before you erupt inside of her hot mouth, stream after stream of your hot semen hitting the back of her throat, filling her mouth to the brim and causing her slim face to bulge with your seed. When your orgasm subsides, you pull out and watch her swallow your load in one gulp.

“Hmmm…”

You had already began to reach for your pants, but hearing the hesitation in her voice and looking up to see how she’s eyeing your softening erection, you pause. “Hm? What’s wrong?”

“I was a bit disappointed when you pulled out, but partially relieved when you chose my mouth.”

“Is that so?”

“I did say I wanted you to empty your balls inside me, didn’t I?”

“I figured you didn’t want me to be cumin’ inside, is all.”

“Well, now you know.” It’s not a question what IU is trying to imply, especially with how her fingers are reaching for the hem of her shirt. You watch in awe as she brazenly throws her top off, and without a bra anywhere to be seen, IU is left in all her naked glory. “This time, you’ll cum inside?”

It takes some time to fully recover from your refractory period, but with much help from IU’s hands, and then her beautiful lips sealed tightly around your girth and her hot, tight mouth that attempts to harden your cock by pulling it straight out via suction, IU is on the counter, her legs wrapped around your waist while your cock is back inside her, buried to the hilt.

“Hmm, fuck…”

Her hands are resting behind her and her head is thrown back. You can see that she’s enjoying this as much as you are, but it doesn’t stop you from wanting more. Seeing those taut nipples sitting atop her modest bosom, you can’t help but bring your hands to them, first teasing the areola as you’re grinding against her, and then pulling and pinching at her nipples as your fatigue has been completely replaced with the full vigor of your renewed lust.

“God, oh my god, it’s been so long since a man has done this to me…”

Now that you have a better view of it, you can confirm what you’ve been picturing inside your head the first round: even IU’s sex face is exquisite in its beauty. Even with her toussled hair, with her gently closed eyes, with her parted lips, it all makes for a visual that would awaken desires inside the purest of men.

“In that case, I oughtta come by more often and give you the proper fuckin’ you deserve, huh?”

“I’d love that.”

You don’t think about the logistics of the proposal, how many hours it’d take just for a booty call, how you’re just fucking in public and just hoping that no one comes by to ruin the fun. All you can think about is IU’s pussy and her petit tits, in your hands and now between your lips, biting and pinching and pulling at the almond pleasure buttons on her chest.

“God, oh my god, that feels so fucking good.”

You can’t help but stare at her. You thought you preferred curvier women, but maybe you actually don’t. Maybe what you actually are more than willing to compromise that for someone so insanely beautiful that, even as she’s unabashedly drowning in pleasure, having released any inhibitions, if there even were any to begin with, and letting herself feel the ecstasy coursing through her body, she stays just as stunningly beautiful. And, the more you play with her tits, the more you realize how little of a tradeoff it even is: although they can’t fill your hands, they are still as pleasing to play with as boobs of larger sizes. What’s more, seeing IU’s reactions to your hands and your lips playing with her tits adds another layer of pleasure to it. Feeling her body rocking against yours, feeling her legs gradually tightening around your waist, feel her entire body tense as her climax approaches, you can feel your own body responding in kind.

“Yes! Fuck! More! I’m so close!”

This time, your climax hits first, but just barely. The feeling of your second, albeit thinner, load spilling inside her breaks her, and IU is sent tumbling into the chasm of her own orgasm.

“You wanted it, didn’t you?”

“Yes! Fuck, let it all out! Fill me with your hot, sticky semen!”

It takes a little bit longer for IU’s orgasm to subside, and when it finally does, the loosened grip of her legs around your waist allows you to pull out of her. You can see your freshly made creampie leaking out of her red, hot, bruised and battered hole.

“See? So much better, right?”

“Well, guess I gotta go visit my parents more often.”

IU smiles, resting peacefully atop the counter she’s supposed to be standing behind, completely unbothered by her nude state and by the cum trickling out of her pussy. “We’d all benefit from that.”

[rvp32]

Obsession

LE SSERAFIM Miyawaki Sakura x m!reader

22k words

"More wine, sir?"

The waitress stands beside your table, patient as can be when you hand her your empty glass, and it’s full again before you blink. 

You’ll need every drop tonight.

Seated at some exclusive restaurant overlooking the city skyline, you’re surrounded by others—colleagues, business partners, mostly unfamiliar faces. Sakura sits beside you, elegant and adorned in black. One leg crossed neatly over the other, her wine glass untouched. She hasn't said much to you in the last fifteen minutes, but her hand rests possessively on your thigh beneath the table, reminding you she's here. Despite it being an almost weekly occurrence, you've never been able to get used to these sorts of situations.

And when the waitress leaves the table, that hand squeezes a little firmer, demanding your attention. Sakura turns, and you glance her way.

"Enjoying yourself?" she asks, but it's not really a question. The grip on your thigh is all too telling, and it doesn't waver when you try to shift the slightest bit under the table.

"No, not really."

It's the truth, and Sakura would know better if you tried to play this off. Her lips curl into the smallest of smiles, eyes narrowing as her thumb rubs idly along your inner thigh. She's dressed to kill tonight. A tight, figure-flattering dress, clingy in all the best ways, but showing just a hint of cleavage. Narrow straps resting over her bare shoulders, long, silky, dark hair drapes loose behind her neck, with that sheen on her lips that makes them look even fuller than normal.

Gorgeous doesn't even begin to describe it. 

"I know these events aren't particularly enjoyable for you," Sakura replies, sighing with something akin to annoyance. Her wine glass lifts to her painted lips, just the smallest sip, crimson as the lipstick smeared onto the rim. "But I appreciate you coming with me anyways. It's only another hour."

Only an hour. The wine glass still feels pretty heavy in your hand, and the thought of spending another minute like this sounds like torture. You give a resigned nod regardless. Sakura turns her gaze elsewhere—someone trying to catch her attention across the table.

Sipping your wine is about the only thing you have any interest in. 

You rest a hand atop Sakura's, as if it's the only thing keeping you sane right now. A small glance to smile again, like she's silently rewarding your bravery, then back to those conversations that you can't begin to contribute to. 

Somehow, you manage to get through it all—if only for dessert you hear being ordered for the entire table. By the time it arrives, you've finished a second glass of wine, and Sakura's is still almost full, lingering idly between those delicate fingers, like it's all for show. Nothing else to do but indulge, at least. Especially when she feeds you the first bite.

It's the sweetest of bliss when she excuses the two of you an hour and ten minutes later, ignoring the comments of surprise and pleas for her to stick around. She doesn't have time for that, and neither do you. 

"Benefits of being the boss. People don't ask too many questions."

There's not much you can do but agree. When those glossy lips crash against your own, it has you a bit lost, distracted in the moment. But before you can really fall deeper into the heat of her kiss, she's pulling away—the slightest hint of that lip gloss transferred onto you.

"You're quiet tonight."

"Am I?"

There's a pause. Sakura looks into your eyes, like she's trying to stare inside your soul. But she can't seem to find anything, turning on her heels to lead the way once the elevator opens.

"You were. Come."

Sakura's heels clack at a quick, almost impatient pace across the smooth, marble floor. You follow close behind, gaze inevitably drifting along those tantalizing hips and that dangerously short dress. You're not quite sure you'll ever get over her legs—silk stockings barely hiding that flawless skin, enough of a distraction that it takes you a moment to notice that she's waiting by the valet booth.

It doesn't take long for a sleek, black convertible to pull up, and you wait with her at the curb until the keys are handed over. She stops you at the door, holding her hand out expectantly with a silent stare. 

"I'm driving. You've had too much to drink," Sakura chides, the slightest touch of disapproval in her eyes. Yet, she’s not wrong, given she barely finished half a glass while you can feel the lingering effects much more. Still, the way she says it still feels a bit condescending, like you've failed some test you didn't even know existed.

So you keep quiet and simply obey, passing her the keys as you saunter over to the passenger side, easing yourself into the plush leather of the seat. She waits until the two of you are both settled in, car purring to life and seatbelts secured.

"Good boy."

The apartment door barely shuts behind you, and then her mouth's on your neck again. Sakura can't seem to keep her hands off you once you're alone, but her kisses are possessive, teeth scraping, nails digging into your scalp as she drags her fingers through your hair. You can't deny the enjoyment of her pinning your body against the closed door, trapped by the weight of her lithe figure against the wooden surface. 

Just like that, she pulls away as fast as she started. Sakura stares hard at you, lip gloss smudged across her lips while you wait in the deafening quiet.

“So—" Sakura starts as she holds on to the kitchen counter and steps out of her heels. “You were enjoying yourself tonight, weren't you?"The question lingers more than it should, and the answer is anything but yes—but the hesitation sparks suspicion in her eyes. 

"No, not—" 

Sakura doesn’t give you a chance to finish. What’s next is a rough slap across your face that snaps you out of any protest that might be forming—a complete 180 from a second ago. The sting doesn't even register as much as her words do.

“You let her touch you.”

Her? You freeze. With how many people had been around tonight, that could’ve been anyone. Not to mention you’re not exactly in the business of letting anyone other than Sakura lay a finger on you. 

"Who are you even talking about?” 

There's another sharp slap that shuts you right up. Once again, you can’t even begin to process her words, because there’s only one person you’re interested in, and that’s Sakura. But you scatter to form a checklist in your mind: the waitress, one of Sakura’s colleagues, maybe someone in passing—you don't have a clue. The last hour of that whole event was such a blur that you’ve pushed out any thoughts that don’t involve that delicious slice of cake or Sakura. 

"Don't act clueless. The blonde across the table? With her fake fucking tits falling out of her dress who kept trying to undress you with her eyes? Ring a bell, yet?" Sakura's words are cold and accusatory, and it's like she's telling an entirely different story than what happened tonight.

"That blonde? She was drunk," you insist, wondering why Sakura is so concerned with something so preposterous . "I didn't—"

A third slap. This one connects hard enough to make you stumble back. You've gotten your fair share of jealousy in the past from Sakura. Hell, you've even seen her practically ready to pounce at another girl just for breathing the same air as you do. And now? The venomous way she looks at you, and talks to you. It's unnerving.

“What, are her tits better than mine?” 

“No, of course not. Your tits are fine—“

If you could choose the moment your world stopped, it would have been half a second after those words fell out. Unfortunately, that’s all Sakura needs to really lose it.

"Fine? Fine!?" The sound of her voice cracking breaks the deafening silence, and if you hadn't done anything before—well, you certainly have now. There's no return from this. "No, my tits are fucking perfect. If they were just fine, she wouldn't have had you so worked up in front of a table full of my subordinates. She's married, you know. But I guess you were too busy staring at her plastic fucking tits to even notice the ring that whore pretends to care about. "

"Sakura, I—"

"Don't fucking lie to me," Sakura hisses through clenched teeth. "That's my secretary. She's the type that can't take no for an answer, and I won't have her thinking you're fair game. You let her touch you. And worse, you smiled.”

Each word that comes out her mouth just gets more heated, like the accusation is more and more real each time one gets added. Her hands ball into fists, trying to stop herself from giving you another hard slap. “I don’t care what excuse you think you have. You belong to me.”

You can't even get another word out before Sakura pulls you away from the front door and drags you down the hall toward the bedroom. She practically throws you inside. Her manicured fingernails slide up under your chin, scratching along the edge of your cheek as she tilts your face upwards, until you're staring at her dead in the eye.

“Strip.”

You freeze, just for a second—long enough for her to slap you again.

“I said strip. Now." 

There's no room for argument. Not that you'd dare say another word. Your clothes hit the floor one piece at a time, and Sakura watches each layer that leaves you more exposed. Once you're left in nothing but your underwear, she grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks, snapping your head back without warning.

“I think you need a reminder of who you belong to.”

Another icy glare, and then you're shoved down onto your knees on the carpeted floor. Sakura towers over you, immediately lifting a foot and resting it square on your chest until she presses hard enough for you to collapse back onto the floor. And then the weight of her stocking-clad foot rests right on your face, until there's nothing you can really do—except breathe her in.

Not even a second to react as Sakura glares daggers at you from above and grinds her foot roughly across your lips. Her painted toes, all wrapped in silk, press harder, prying into your mouth to silence any potential response. You try to gasp for a breath, barely managing to once the scent of her foot starts filling your senses.

Shoving her foot deeper against your face, she’s waiting for an answer you can't give. Your vision soon gets consumed by dark fabric, and even though it's suffocating, the warm weight of her silky sole still has the capacity to arouse you. A moment later, she yanks her foot back from your mouth, finally granting you a brief chance to catch a few desperate gasps of air. 

"Open your mouth. Wide," Sakura orders. You do as instructed, and as soon as your lips part, she leans in close. She spits right into your mouth—once, then again, the third landing on your cheek. “Swallow." 

Without even thinking, you do as she asks. Because you always do. 

“Good boy. Now tell me—who do you belong to?"

“Y-you, fuck, I belong to you." 

"Wrong fucking answer," Sakura spits out, and her foot shoves right back onto your face, toes digging in harder. "Try again. Who. Do. You. Belong. To?"

Your lips fumble against the ball of her foot, desperate to spit out the right words when the weight leaves for another fleeting moment. “M-mommy owns me,” you stumble out, louder this time. “I belong to mommy. Only mommy, no one else."

There it is. The one word that makes Sakura's glare lighten up the tiniest bit. Her lips curl up into something resembling a small smirk, only for the pressure to come back tenfold, leaving you in this twisted combination of arousal and fear. The weight of her foot lingers with your nose practically buried into her arch. "Not a very good boy today if I have to fucking remind you, are you?"

But instead of easing her foot away to allow a response, Sakura only brings her toes back into your lips, hoping you'll get the message. Which you do—of course, because anything else would be a foolish mistake. So instead, you part your lips for the thin nylon covering the pretty pink polish, sucking as best you can in your position. 

It's sloppy and desperate, and only lasts a moment longer before the taste disappears from your mouth as she yanks her foot away. "That's all you get. My little foot worshiping slut can suck my pretty toes later. I know how much this turns you on, so that's why we're stopping here.” 

Sakura ignores your disappointed groan, sliding her foot down to your chest and shifting her weight to press harder. "Stay right there. Don't move. If you even think about touching yourself, you'll have a lot more problems than you started with."

All you can do is watch as she slides one strap of her dress off her bare shoulder, then the other, the entire thing crumpling to the floor in a matter of seconds. Underneath the fallen fabric, you get a view of a nearly naked Sakura, pink satin holding her shapely breasts up, a flimsy matching thong clinging to the curve of her hips, with pretty pink flowers along the lace. 

It's pretty—as expected, because anything Sakura wears is. It’s hard to resist staring, but you know that’s the whole point. She wants you to fall for the sight and beg. 

"You're not allowed to leave this spot without my permission. Are we clear?"

"Y-yes."

"Yes, what?" Sakura demands, kicking the dress to the side so she can straddle your waist, just a little tease to let you feel the wetness between her legs. 

"Yes, mommy. Crystal clear."

"Was that so hard? So you can be a good boy when you want.” 

Easing up her weight, she lifts off to slide her panties down her creamy legs, all while watching your flustered features. 

Sakura positions into a squat—right above your face. Her immaculate thighs straddle your head as she inches her ass down inch by slow inch, and soon you're met with the delicious sight of her wet cunt barely grazing your lips. "Keep your tongue out. Maybe if you do a good job making me cum—you'll get to do the same."

No time for an answer when the rest of her weight follows, filling the room with the sinfully sweet sounds of her moans. 

Your mouth has never gotten such a workout as Sakura grinds her slick cunt along the surface of your tongue, wrapping her hands around the sides of your head to lock you in place. She tastes like heaven, and god, your cock is aching and begging to slide into that wet heat, for more than just this lingering taste on your lips.

But she's careful to not let you get more than you deserve. Even as you're suffocated with this intoxicating scent and her nails dig deep into your scalp, you don't try to get selfish. Just small laps along the soft, dripping flesh of her cunt, listening to her every instruction, to every pleasure-filled sigh. 

"Fuck, such a good boy,” Sakura moans, squeezing your head tight between her warm thighs. "Need to make it up to mommy after what you did, hm? Hope you haven't forgotten I get to use you however I want. Whenever I want. No matter where we are, or whatever you're doing. You’re my obedient little toy to have my way with.” 

How could you ever forget your place, your purpose? 

Always in the back of your mind—a reminder in the form of a collar or rope burning into your skin, or when she slips a hand in your pants without warning, sliding them off so she can ride you. Even if that's during a bus ride or when a taxi is dropping her home. A little extra tip to keep the cabbie quiet, or even at a bookstore—where she demands your fingers in the manga section until she cums hard.

That applies more now than it ever has, using your face to get herself off. 

Words hardly matter once her pleasure really starts building. All that matters is her wetness smearing along every bit of your features, lips open and tongue lapping anything and everything it can, the scent enough to drive you mad. Sakura just uses you like her own personal toy, grinding and rolling her hips onto the length of your tongue with no rhythm in the slightest. And the harder you're pinned against the carpet, the harder your cock throbs without any touch.

"Ah, fuck—that's it. Good boy. Making mommy feel so good, aren't you? Keep sucking my clit just like that, god," she sighs, riding your face faster until her moans get just a little more out of control, nearly drowning you with the warm, dripping arousal spilling from her cunt.

Nothing you can do but listen and keep your tongue out. That’s your purpose, what a toy exists for, to be used at Sakura’s whims, to keep her thighs locked around your head to ride your face with no relent.

"Can't even breathe right now, can you? Maybe that's how you should stay. Mommy's dumb little fucktoy, on your back where you belong, worshiping me like the goddess I deserve to be treated like. And If you're really lucky, might bend you over and get my strap in that tight ass."

That all sounds perfect. But you know she'll make you work for that. That's no issue—because the longer she's satisfied, the bigger your reward will be. Even if she doesn't grant that, you don't care. Her pleasure is the only thing you can think about, and all you can do is lick and slurp, fueled by this delectable taste that makes you insatiable for more.

And when Sakura's hips roll with that same ferocious pace, you know she's starting to give you her all. "Right there, fuck. Gonna cum, you're gonna make mommy cum on your pathetic fucking face. Don't you dare stop. Don't stop, don't stop, yes, fuck—"

A last loud, pleased sigh is all that it takes for her thighs to clamp tight enough to steal your breath away. Sakura lets out a moan that fills the entire room—toes curling against the carpet as she rocks herself through the shudders and moans. Nothing quite like the feeling of her convulsing on your tongue, that beautiful face contorting in bliss, nails digging into your skull when you're locked between her thighs with the drenching spill of her slick across your tongue.

You've never been more happy to be covered in her, in the sweet essence that doesn't seem to have any end in sight. If anything, her thighs grip tighter as you drink down each and every drop with long, devoted laps like you'll simply die without it. Sakura lingers in that moment, letting the high take over as her eyes drift over your messy face.

"Good boy," she mutters under her ragged breaths, tangling her fingers through your hair. A moment to gather herself, and then she's lifting herself away with an unsteady movement in her legs. "Got a little messy for me, didn't you?" 

You nod, almost disappointed that you can’t breathe her in again. "F-fuck, you taste so good, mommy, W-want more—"

Sakura ignores such a request. Her thumb slips between your lips, forcing you to be quiet as she gazes at the mess all along your lips and chin. "That's too bad. I'm already done, and we can't have you being greedy now. Mommy is tired and needs to shower after a long night out, so you'll just have to take care of yourself. Feel free to jerk off on my panties or whatever you need to do. That's all the reward you get."

It takes everything not to whine in protest, trying to hold in the frustration as Sakura gets back on her feet. She picks up her discarded dress, turning to the door. "Well? What do you say to that? Aren't I being more than generous here to let you use my panties as a cumrag?"

"Yes, thank you." A sigh escapes under your breath as you pick the small, lacy fabric up off the floor, not even hiding the pitiable expression on your face. "Th-thank you, mommy, thank you. Please have a good shower."

Sakura doesn't leave until she sees you slowly tug down your underwear, giving her a view of that poor, hard cock of yours straining and begging for a bit of attention. You can't even help yourself, desperately starting to stroke when she makes her exit, with her panties bunched up in one hand while the other wraps tightly around the head of your cock. It doesn't take you too long—to reach the edge as your thoughts linger back to the image of Sakura with your cock slamming inside her tight, wet little cunt that feels way better than your own pathetic hand.

The fabric is soon stained with your thick, sticky release, letting out a disappointed sigh as you spill more than the silk can soak up. It doesn't satisfy one bit, cock still needy and throbbing. But you'll take what you can get, you suppose, gazing at the bathroom door, hoping she'll come back any moment and let you bury that neglected cock deep inside of her.

Another minute of stroking yourself idly, long after the arousal has faded—and no Sakura in sight. So you slip your boxers back up, lying there defeated on the floor without even trying to clean yourself or her soaked panties, and crawl into her bed to wait for her there.

"Won't be home until late. Don't worry about me if you want to order in," Sakura says in the bathroom mirror as you finish up brushing your teeth.

More disappointment washes over you. You can't help but wonder how late Sakura really means. Usually her definition of late isn't until midnight or maybe later, sometimes even showing up when you've already fallen asleep. 

"That's three days this week," you complain, not caring about how whiny and petulant you sound. But she doesn't seem too affected as she leans down towards the mirror, finishing up her makeup. 

"I know, I'm sorry. Just how it has to be when we have big project deadlines," Sakura sighs. "This one's important, so we have to go all in. The client's an ass, and—"

"I get it, it's okay. I'll miss you."

Silence lingers, as does her hesitation, wondering how she wants to respond. Sakura sets her mascara down on the counter before offering a quick kiss on your cheek. "That's sweet of you to say."

That's all that’s uttered, leaving the sink to finish getting ready. Almost on autopilot, you spit the remnants of your toothpaste out, rinsing your toothbrush before placing it back in the holder while your thoughts wander away. The water runs for a short bit while the sound of a door shutting echoes in the apartment, and you're not sure whether you want to endure an empty shower for another time this week.

"I'll have the iced peach tea. What do you want, babe? My treat," Sakura asks you, fingers gliding across the touch screen. 

"Uh—same thing is fine. Thanks," you answer, smiling back at her.

"Sweet or buttered popcorn?"

"Whatever you want. I'm okay with anything."

Sakura ponders on the answer a little too long as the two of you stand there, in the crowded line of people waiting at the concession stand. You look at all the options—way too many options (who the hell eats dry popcorn at the movies?) before settling on one large drink with two straws, a bucket of buttered popcorn, and two boxes of gummy bears, the sour kind. She taps her credit card on the screen, and seconds later, you've got your hands full. 

"Middle seat or end seat?" 

"Whatever is—"

"No, you choose. You let me pick everything else."

There's a bitterness to her tone, like your refusal to give a simple answer is somehow offending her. It doesn't stop you from hesitating for just another second.

"Middle. Wanna sit in the middle, please." 

"Good choice," Sakura says, pleased with a little smile when you decide for once. She leads the way up the stairs, purse on her shoulder while she searches for the perfect spot, all the way to the top row of seats with not a single person in sight. "Here. We're sitting here."

Letting her pass in front, you wait for her to sit in the middle, and she tosses her purse into the empty seat next to her and claims the cupholder on the right. You slide into the seat beside her, settling in with the popcorn bucket in your lap, as Sakura kicks off her heels to prop her bare feet on the chair in front of her, crossing one ankle over the other. Not exactly the most proper etiquette, but there's not a single soul to complain. 

The lights go dim. She digs the box of gummies out from her purse, grabbing a handful to shovel into her mouth at once while the trailers start. 

You recline back into the comfortable seat, sipping your peach tea as the lights dim further, and Sakura's manicured nails graze over the armrest, over to your thigh. She doesn't do anything more than give a gentle squeeze—but the familiar touch hasn't felt all too familiar as of late, enough to tense your muscles the slightest bit in response.

"Pass me the popcorn." 

Snatching up a handful before handing the bucket over, your attention turns back to the screen—only to lose interest moments later. Sakura doesn't even bother to grab any before she's setting it on the floor below and standing up out of her chair. You glance at her, more than a little confused, but it all gets cleared up once she tugs her sundress up her waist—and slowly, begins to tug her panties down her legs.

"What are you…" you start to ask, not able to finish once the tiny pair is draped around her ankles. Sakura kicks the blue lace away and sits back on the seat behind her, legs spread open enough that you're given an enticing view of that pretty little cunt. 

Your jaw drops. 

"Take your pants off. Now. Get that cock out and start stroking."

"W-what—"

"Your pants. Off. I'm fucking you, in case you were wondering. Or do you plan to keep me waiting?" 

"Wait, s-someone will—"

Sakura turns her head, looking behind before returning her gaze with a glare, daring you to keep arguing. "Who? Not a single fucking person in here. Why do you think I picked the worst movie possible to go and see? At this hour? Because I planned on doing exactly this." 

You're not exactly in a position to argue—especially with the way she's teasing a hand between her legs. So you unfasten the button on your pants and tug the zipper down as fast as possible, immediately feeling a rush of relief the second the fabric isn't constricting you anymore. 

Haste in every action as you reach to stroke yourself—but not sure you have the guts to do it yet. She gives you that one look—that threatening, commanding glare that tells you she's not fucking around, and you don't want to risk being disobedient.

So your hand closes around your cock, letting out a small groan when Sakura rewards you with that sweet smile of hers. 

"Doesn't that feel good? Trust me, we're not going to get caught. It's completely empty, no one can see us up here, and I know you want that big thing inside me. I've been neglecting you lately—this is my way of making up for it."

Even as you stare right in between her legs, at how wet she looks in the dim lighting, you still can't believe you're doing this.

"Just keep jerking off for me. Touch yourself for mommy. That's what a good boy would do."

Your grip tightens, stroking yourself while Sakura stares with that devilish gleam in her eye. She knows how weak this leaves you, how quickly your control will be given up while you take your time soaking up the view. 

And if that’s not enough to deal with, Sakura bites her lip, closing her eyes briefly as she focuses on her pussy, two fingers spreading those soaked folds to show off where exactly she wants you. 

"There you go. Keep pumping that hard cock for me. Nice and slow," she tells you, one finger starting to swirl in slow circles around her clit, sending a jolt through her whole body. "You can see how wet mommy is. I know you can’t wait for how good it'll feel to have that thick, throbbing cock buried inside my tight cunt. Tell me."

"Fucking—n-need it. Your pussy looks so soaked, god, I just wanna—"

"Tell mommy where you want it."

"Inside, I—wanna shove my cock right into that tight pussy—can I?"

Sakura chuckles softly, brushing damp hair away from her forehead as she teases her fingers at that dripping entrance of hers, dipping into it so you can see just how ready for it she is. "No. Because good boys don't ask—they beg."

"God, please. I wanna fuck you so bad. Need your tight, perfect cunt wrapped around my cock, need to see those tits bounce in my face—need to make you moan." 

"Getting there, but I need more convincing. Not sure you really want this pussy…” 

You can barely handle the anticipation as you fist that sensitive cock and pump furiously while Sakura slides those same digits deeper, in and out without care. Her wetness is audible, every messy, breathless whimper more broken than the last. "Want mommy to ride you like a toy? Use you and fuck myself however I want, since that's the only way you can please me right?"

"Fuck yes—please, fuck, anything, god—please, please let me inside you—"

"Anything?" Sakura repeats under her breath, moaning softly to herself before glancing down at how pathetic you've gotten. And you don't even hide it—you look as desperate as you can with this painfully hard cock straining in your grasp, needing it anywhere but your palm. 

"Anything, f-fuck—"

"Well then... we'll worry about that later. For now, shut up, sit still, and keep doing exactly what you're told until I say otherwise."

"Y-yes, mommy."

Nothing quite like the rush that shoots up your spine as Sakura hops off her seat, not even a second wasted as she climbs into your lap to straddle you while you look up with nothing but desire—and a mix of disbelief. "Bonus points if you can make me cum before the movie starts." 

You’ve got her cold hand palming over your length, getting as tight of a grip as she can—but instead of sinking down, Sakura inches her soaked cunt along the length, drenching you in the slippery evidence of her arousal as you take in the feeling. God, even this painful tease feels incredible against you, dripping straight onto your lap. And then she lifts up enough for the head of your cock to push between those drenched folds, sinking down on the first half—and pausing just for a few seconds as she lets out this satisfied sigh.

"Fuck," is all you manage before you realize your mistake.

Sakura scowls immediately, and she leans in close to cup your cheeks, ignoring the whimper that you let out. "None of that. What did I say about staying quiet? I'll give you one more chance—no more warnings." 

An obedient nod is all that you give. Sakura continues her descent down the rest of your length, nothing short of orgasmic the warmth you've been yearning for—slick walls clenching around while she shudders atop you. "Good boy. Didn't mean to make you feel ignored this week. But you get it, don't you? Mommy has a lot of important things to deal with..."

Words aren't really an option as Sakura gazes into your eyes and you can barely return the look. All you can do is focus on the vice grip squeezing your cock, and the slick mess spilling from her cunt as she rides without the slightest effort—all to the backdrop of the loud music playing on the movie screen.

"Mm, that's it. Splitting me open," she breathes out, digging her nails into the side of your skull as she finds a rhythm she likes. Every stroke, your sensitive cockhead kisses her deepest parts, stretching out her cunt in all the right ways. The lack of attention has turned you into the mess she loves seeing you in, and you grit your teeth in a poor attempt to muffle any noises while her hips move faster than you can handle. 

But god, does her cunt feel fucking good. Better than heaven. Nothing could ruin the way she sinks down on you, only to slowly slide back up, and then drop all her weight onto your lap. Not even the lingering worries that someone might still catch you.

Sakura works her hips a little faster, lips finding yours in an attempt to silence any noises. She bites that bottom lip of yours—tugs harshly for a few moments until she breaks away to lick at your earlobe, breath heavy on your skin as her strokes get harder to deal with, the wetness between her legs coating every inch. 

"You wanna make a noise, don't you? But you're being so good instead—you'll hold it all back until I'm done with you. Just in case though, I've got an idea on how to keep you quiet—"

A few more rough bounces and she's slipping the straps of her dress down her arms, enough to let her delicious breasts spring free. With no further instructions, you're on them in a flash, sucking a pretty pink nipple between your lips without a second thought.

"Ah, that's my good boy. Keeping that needy mouth busy for mommy." 

Sakura tugs at your hair as she sighs deeper, picking up the pace while the hunger inside you consumes. Messy saliva drips from your mouth while you alternate attention between nipples, licking and sucking whichever one you can reach at the moment, not getting distracted while her ass crashes down hard onto your lap.

"Listen to you, struggling to keep quiet—hard to do when you love mommy's tits so much, isn't it?" Sakura knows she's not getting a coherent answer. You just suckle at those delicious, hardened buds like you’re starved, nibbling enough to add a little extra to her pleasure that gets her to clench down a little harder. Even at this stage, you can hardly concentrate—lost in lust, and the last thing you’re worrying about is getting caught. Let someone. 

You're way past being giving a damn.

“My poor, greedy boy is so hungry for these… not that I blame you.” Her fingers tug through your hair, and the only response she gets is your groan, muffled around her nipple—but there's no punishment for it. Not when she's matching every sound, using them to fuel her hips.  

Just knowing your cock is exactly where it should be, that’s everything you need, having Sakura using your body is almost too much to handle. Even more now when she grabs the back of your head to shove your face deep into her cleavage, gasping as she bounces faster.

"Don't stop sucking them, god, that feels so fucking good. You know they get so fucking sensitive—“ And the moans can’t hide the harsh slapping sounds with how hard she’s riding. Harder and harder, impaling herself on your poor neglected cock. You just have to hold on and follow directions, looking so depraved as you suck and slurp these tits to your heart's desire.

"Shit, mommy is gonna cum, make a mess all over that fucking cock—just keep being a good boy. Keep making mommy feel so good,“ she demands with these loud cries, that it seems impossible no one can hear her. But the theater is nothing but dark and empty, with not a single thing to get in her way. 

One deep slurp and she’s taking what she wants. Her eyes flutter while those messy bounces lose rhythm, cunt squeezing tighter, using you to get off. 

All that demand fades into breathless moans as she slams down your entire length, buried deep and stays there, convulsing on your cock, thighs trembling with her arms wrapped around your neck— every single moment she continues to roll her hips until it's finally too much. 

But that doesn't mean those hips are going to stop working just yet. Because as much as she’s in desperate need of a breather after her own mess dripping down your shaft, she knows that you're hanging on by a thread—and she’s not in the habit of being selfish. 

"What do you say, my pretty little toy? About ready to blow that load inside mommy?" Your answer is muffled around the wet nipple you're sucking, only parting for a brief moment to nod. 

"Use your words now, baby boy. Tell mommy how badly you need to cum, need to empty those heavy balls. How you'd do anything to be good for me and spray all your hot, sticky seed inside."

She's got it mostly covered, but you groan out those same pleas between frantic little breaths, desperate to spill in that tight constricting heat. "You feel so good mommy, fuck—I need to cum, I-I wanna be a good boy and cum inside… can't hold it anymore—fuck. Please, mommy, please, let me—'

“You have my permission. Be my good boy and give mommy a nice, big load. Empty it all until that perfect cock has nothing left. Shoot it all, fill up mommy good.” 

Just a few more frenzied bounces, and you can't hold off. It's inevitable as she fucks the last bit of energy out of you until that point of no return is met, while she guides your hands back to those delicious tits of hers. And in a matter of moments, the explosion hits, releasing in several, aching spurts that have you pumping out. Even in the darkness, the bliss across your face is obvious as you unload that white mess deep inside her hot cunt.

"M-mommy—" you groan while those bounces refuse to relent. Not even for a moment, milking everything you have left, until your shaft can’t stop twitching with every inviting clench.

Sakura just laughs quietly at the exhaustion on your face, brushing fingers along your cheek before giving a loving kiss on the lips. "My pretty toy is so good—mommy is so proud of you. Filled me up so much.“

“Th-thank you, mommy. Needed to cum s-so bad…” 

“ I know you did, baby boy. Love when you unload that hot, thick load for me. Feels so good inside,” Sakura praises, letting your lips latch onto her swollen, sensitive nipples for one last fleeting moment. She pulls the straps of her dress back into place, lifting herself off your still throbbing, soaked shaft. And even in the faint light, the sight is beautiful—a thick, heavy mess that leaks from her slick folds and drips down her thighs, trailing its way down to the theatre floor. 

“Good boy…” Sakura says again before closing her eyes as she begins to slide a finger through the heavy load coating her slit, up and down until it's a sticky, shimmering mess. Then she brings that coated finger back up to your mouth, swirling it over the edge of your lip, dragging the pad over your tongue until you clean everything off with an eager little suck. "So hungry for mommy's taste, aren't you?"

You're not answering anytime soon, too busy with a finger between your lips. Another one enters, those same fingers that push further into your mouth, until you're forced to gag around them. 

"What do you say when mommy gives you a treat?” 

"Thank you, mommy."

Leaving her panties behind like a trophy for whoever stumbles across them, Sakura withdraws her slick finger and smears your own drool across your cheek. And you barely have enough energy to finish zipping up your pants, still spent and dazed, struggling to get yourself back together. You can barely stand. 

"Shame about the popcorn. Still hungry.” Sakura giggles, the bucket toppled over, kernels spilled along the floor. Maybe they were fine before she was bouncing up and down on you—but that doesn't matter much as you leave the empty theater row, anxious to make your escape. She finishes up the last drink from your shared cup, straw slurping dramatically before shoving her feet back in her heels, offering up her hand.

"Who needs popcorn when I had mommy's tits in my face?" 

Sakura can't even stop herself from giggling. "Keep being sweet and see where that gets you later, baby boy.” 

Now you can feel the urge to leave, because as lucky as you’ve been, you were both pretty loud, and you can bet anything, someone is going to find out what happened if you don't get out of here.

So she leads, a purpose in those quick steps as the two of you make your way through the row of seats and down the long staircase leading to the exit. Even on the other side of the theater, you can swear you hear something; maybe someone is about to start looking for the cause of your transgressions. 

But that's not a problem for you to worry about anymore. 

"Can't believe we got away with that.” 

“Have some faith in me. Told you that movie was awful," she says, almost irritated you didn’t believe her. 

"There was a movie?"

Sakura doesn't make a sound that isn't a giggle. Once you follow through the apartment door, she’s already stepping out of her heels. All you see after is that pretty dress falling from her shoulders, crumpled on the floor, bra still on but undone. That’s gone a moment later, her bare ass rippling with every step, hips swaying in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. When she’s fully naked, she glances over her shoulder, beckoning with just the flick of a finger. 

And you follow her to the couch like an obedient puppy, unable to look away at the flawless skin she's so proudly displaying. 

She looks like an absolute feast, spreading her legs wide to entice you even further. Practically drooling at the sight, all it takes is her piercing gaze for you to kneel between her thighs, her pussy presented right in your face, still slick as could be. 

"That's my good boy—didn't have to waste my time telling you what to do." 

Sakura’s hand slides to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as she guides your eager tongue exactly where she wants it. Her creamy thighs keep you pinned in place, wrapping around your head as you eat her out without any reservations. 

"Poor thing must be so hungry still," Sakura purrs, fingers tightening in your hair as your tongue works her over. "The more you eat me, the messier I get—but that’s what good toys do, use their tongue just the way mommy likes. Feels so fucking good...” 

The praise goes straight to your head. You’re eating her pussy with such fervor, desperate to lap up all this taste forever, tongue through her dripping slit while her thighs get tighter around your head. She looks gorgeous like this, moments away from another trembling orgasm with fingers digging into your skull, and there’s no other place you’d rather be. 

With how starved you are, it takes little time before she’s gushing in your mouth, tugging hard at your hair, and almost suffocating you with her thighs as she hits that sweet release. It’s beautiful. It all flows from her dripping pussy without restraint, toes curling, body squirming underneath as that satisfaction hits deep. In the comfort of the couch, there’s no need to control what sounds spill free, loud moans and breathy gasps flow out like the juices spilling between your lips, every last drop of yours to devour. 

Long past the point when Sakura has had enough, she eases off and collapses back, savoring the delicious high while you try and chase her cunt, until she pushes you away with a foot. "N-no more, shit. Not now. Mommy’s too fucking sensitive."

You’ll have to resist the chance to greed for more, but that doesn't mean you’re going to keep your mouth empty—focusing on a part of Sakura that isn’t as sensitive. Which doesn’t take long to find, kissing down her legs until you reach her petite little feet. Not a moment to think this over, sucking on her white painted toes, saliva coating them within seconds. 

"What do you think you're doing now?" Sakura asks, but not even close to a stern objection in her tone. So you're not going to stop as long as she lets you, sucking hard on each toe that slips between your lips.

"Mommy tastes so good. Can't help it."

"Well, keep sucking then," she says, lying back down to relax on the sofa, leg lifted enough with her toes flexing in your mouth. Nothing but satisfaction on her pretty face, a signal of how good it all feels. "Anything that gets you this desperate… I'll never get tired of seeing."

As if you needed more convincing, your tongue drags slowly up the sole of her foot before returning to those irresistible toes. Sakura just watches, eyes fluttering shut on occasion with a moan slipping out. One by one, you kiss each toe before it enters your mouth, giving everyone the affection it deserves. Each leaves with a wet, glistening sheen—and a satisfying, messy pop.

It doesn't end once you've taken care of both feet. Kisses get planted everywhere and anywhere, nothing to stop you as your mouth explores her soles, licking the sensitive area in between with slow drags, and every bit of her heels. The ball of each foot gets showered in love too, worshiping every inch and soaking them both up with adoration.

"Look at you—such a needy thing. Mommy's pretty feet are driving you this crazy," Sakura taunts, and each brush of her feet across your chin has you begging for more. 

More than happy to oblige, she forces her toes deep inside, where you're eager to accept them with another satisfied slurp. Sucking them straight back into your mouth and licking up all over, she’s giggling all over at your efforts, at every sloppy noise and greedy slurp that comes from you. "You'd never stop sucking my toes if I asked, would you?"

You give a loud suckle in response on her big toe, holding it between your lips. “Never. Hours. Days, however long mommy wants. Need your pretty toes in my mouth forever."

"You greedy little slut,” Sakura chuckles, and presses that silky soft sole against your face, dragging back and forth, and god you can hardly stand it. Sliding her other foot right towards your crotch to find the growing bulge, you grunt at the feeling of pressure against your covered cock.

"Maybe I really have been neglecting you lately. Always busy—don't even know how many loads you'd have blasting all over these by now,” Sakura muses, flexing her toes in your mouth, always knowing just how to rile you up. "But mommy thinks you deserve a nice reward. Wouldn’t you like that, my good boy?"

That's the question Sakura poses—while her toes begin pressing down in both locations, letting you enjoy the intense pressure from either side. You don’t even know which is more difficult to stand anymore, one foot rubbing along your shaft through those pants, or those cute toes stuffing your mouth. 

"Y-yes, mommy. Please," is all you can manage, and this might just be your most desperate, pitiful state yet.

"Good. Then get yourself out of those clothes by the time I come back."

When she vanishes down the hall, you scramble to strip down completely and wait, hands resting in your lap with all the anticipation in the world. 

Only a few moments later Sakura returns, but she's not empty-handed—nor is she wearing that dress any more. Because now she's all clad in black—long gloves, a leather top that barely contains the swell of her breasts, and a matching thong that hugs her hips and accentuates that tight ass just perfectly. But that's not what catches your attention the most—

That being the harness around her waist and two different dildo options held in her hand. Your eyes can't help but glance between them; a thick one and, well, a considerably thicker one, both in different shades of purple. 

"Which do you want?" Sakura asks, just the hint of a smirk on her face, watching every expression flash on your face as you contemplate a choice. 

Both of them are considerably intimidating—even the smallest, the first one that catches your eye is impressive in its own right. The other makes you pause; bigger and thicker than anything you've seen between Sakura's legs before. Which is why it's calling you—this craving to have it ruin you beyond what you think you can take. It's pretty and textured with bumps and ridges along every curve and slope, a little something extra for whoever takes that thing inside. Which is going to be you.

"That one. The big one, please," you answer without hesitation, watching Sakura discard the smaller dildo onto a nearby table. Her heels click across the wood floors as she steps closer, running a single finger down the shaft.

"That's my good boy. Always wanting a real challenge. You must feel a little deprived with mommy's busy schedule. But it's my job to make it up to you, isn't it? To make you feel so good, stretched nice and wide like only I can?"

You nod, watching closely as Sakura fastens the harness tighter around her waist, sliding the silicone shaft into place in one smooth motion. An easy routine for her as she makes it feel as part of her, hands on her hips so you can get a perfect view of what's about to split you in half.

And before she even gives the slightest prompt, you're bending over the edge of the armrest. Both hands planted firmly down, exposing your naked self from behind. Nothing Sakura hasn't seen hundreds of times already—but every part of it just reinforces how badly you want this.

"So that's how you want mommy to ruin you, is it? So cute how eager you are. Keep that tight ass of yours high for me."

The next step is her gloved hands spreading your cheeks, and you know all too well what comes next. But before the cap can even flick open, you feel something else—the tease of something wet pressing right against your asshole, Sakura's tongue working in slow, gentle circles. 

You can't help the gasps that follow from your parted lips, especially when the tip of her tongue slides just a bit deeper. Back and forth, prodding at your entrance, to give a little sample of what you're really getting ready for. Just the way Sakura knows you crave it, her tongue plunging in deeper and fucking your ass for a few brief moments before drawing it out again.

"Just getting you nice and warmed up," she assures, but her wet, sloppy efforts seem to be over way too soon. You know exactly what comes next: a slicked-up fingertip, pressing against the tight ring of muscle and pushing its way inside. "Relax for me."

You give an obedient nod, sucking in a deep breath as you work to ease the tightness that tries to keep her out. The very finger you know how to take, starting with one before sinking in the second one beside it a few moments later. Both massage inside, slowly opening you up in a process she knows all too well, two fingers slowly pumping in and out until there's no more resistance.

"Ready to take mommy's cock? Get all nice and stuffed full?" she asks, but even as the question leaves her lips, those two fingers are pulling out, replaced by the sound of lube being squeezed all over the length of that silicone nudging at your entrance. 

"So fucking ready. Want mommy inside me, please—need it."

"You're too cute. Hold tight, baby. Relax. Breathe, and tell me if it's too much." 

"Y-yes, mommy.” 

Her hips rock forward, slow, but not hesitant. The lubed head of the dildo slides with ease, pushing far enough to sink inside you just a fraction—already leaving you groaning. It's not exactly an unfamiliar feeling, but so much different from the toys that Sakura's fucked you with before, each ridge and bump bringing along its own sensations all along your ass as the thick shaft inches deeper inside.

But still, your body gives little resistance, the slightest progress is enough of a rush of bliss to make you crave more, trying hard to welcome that delicious intrusion.

"Look at that, it's going in so nice and easy. Taking everything like a good boy for mommy," Sakura coos, grabbing your hips to support herself, sliding the shaft even deeper, slow and steady. "Need more, baby? How does it feel?" 

"It feels good, mommy feels so fucking good inside me. I-I need it. I want it all in me. Mommy—please."

There's a slight laugh from her pretty lips, easing that purple dildo in deeper, every bump and ridge hitting just right and stretching you wider the more she sinks in. Sakura caresses your lower back, until almost every inch can comfortably slip inside to the hilt. "Good boy. You're doing so good—making mommy proud. Does my baby boy like it this deep?"

A weak nod and nothing more than a pathetic groan is all you can manage while that thick length remains motionless inside you, letting you adjust to every overwhelming sensation. 

"Gonna move now, okay?" Sakura warns, stroking a gloved hand down your spine and giving your ass a playful slap. "Make my pretty boy feel real good."

When her strap withdraws to leave just the tip inside—that's the exact moment all the sensations hit at once. When Sakura drives back in, burying in all at once and starts to really fuck you. She eases into a rhythm, her grip tightening as she plunges it in over and over, giving your prostate just what it needs. "Look at you take this, bent over for mommy like a desperate little slut. It's all in now, how does that feel, baby boy?"

And while it's difficult to answer, you know better than to ignore her, even as Sakura sinks inch after inch of her thick, purple cock deeper into your needy asshole. "Feels fucking good, mommy, p-please. Want more. Love how mommy fills me."

There's nothing that would deny Sakura from doing just that—hearing every needy plea and whine coming from your mouth. Each word encourages her as the strap drills harder, forcing you to hold onto the armrest for dear life, unable to hold back from how good that silicone cock makes you feel. "God—you love mommy fucking your ass, don't you? Took that whole thing like it was nothing. Think I can go even harder?"

Sakura doesn't give you time for an answer, ramming in every inch at once while your ass squeezes around the thickness inside you. Harder thrusts fill you deeper with each rougher slam of her hips, giving a slap across your ass with every few strokes.

"I asked you a fucking question. Does my sweet boy want me to be rough? Use your words."

"Y-yes. Mommy can be as rough as she wants. Please. It—it feels so good, please, mommy—need it harder—r-ruin me."

That's all the answer she needs, forcing the rest of her strap inside, making you feel it so deep that there's never been this kind of relief. Making you take every slam of that thick cock all the way to the hilt while she fucks into you over and over. Not an ounce of mercy left—fucking your ass like she thinks you deserve, like she loves to see. It doesn't even matter how desperate you sound, each slap on your ass so perfectly timed, making your cock leak and twitch between your legs.

"You fucking love this, don't you? My little slut is so good—taking me so well. Tell mommy how much you need this cock inside you, pretty boy. Say it."

She thrusts, so relentless in each one, and a smack on your ass comes with the next one, all on relentless repeat. And yet you still need more. "Love the way you fuck me, mommy. Feel so full, so good, p-please, need my asshole pounded, g-god, please."

There's the softest giggle from her lips, Sakura finding new found joy in seeing how well you beg—just letting all those filthy, desperate thoughts flow right out. 

That's when her fingers close in on your neglected cock, gripping just tight enough and slowly stroking down the entire length. As if you needed anything else making you more of a pathetic mess, throbbing and shaking from each slam deep into your prostate. 

"Your poor cock feels so swollen and ready to erupt. Bet a few little strokes could get you there while mommy is so deep in your ass." 

You'd be lucky if you even last that long, struggling to stay coherent as that dildo picks up an even rougher pace as Sakura keeps slamming away, fingers steadily jerking you off. Every time the silicone brushes up against a particular sensitive spot and pushes all the way inside, that's what almost tips you over. The delicate strokes on your cock don't make things any easier, or the filthy things that get whispered right in your ear.

"Can't wait until you cum. Wanna hear all those noises you'll make with mommy's strap deep in your asshole—exploding all over this fucking couch." 

Sakura is ruthless, both in the way she fucks you and the words she whispers, keeping that strap driving in so deep until you can barely speak a coherent sentence. It's getting closer and closer to that edge, her hand pumping your shaft while she slams her hips with the same intensity, each one that threatens to have you spurting everywhere.

"M-mommy—"

"Yeah? Say it, tell me you're about to cum, tell mommy all about how her strap is getting you ready to make a mess."

"I-I'm close, so fucking close, gonna—mommy's gonna make me—"

A light squeeze, one that comes at the right time, and that's all you need to lose yourself completely. Your legs shake with the pleasure hitting an instant peak, one more slam, one more stroke has you groaning like never before as your climax hits hard. Thick streaks of cum burst all over her fingers, shooting onto the sofa and cushions below. The friction doesn’t cease with Sakura’s strap pounding away, squeezing tight around your swollen head to milk out every violent spurt, until you’re trembling, reduced to a helpless mess. 

"There we go. Good boy, let it all out. Give me every drop you've got, come on, baby boy."

The thick, warm streaks continue without relent. Until Sakura has her gloved fingers coated and grip tight as you ride out the high, continuing to fuck you while you spill a load bigger than any she's taken from you before. When the spasms die down—when you're a sensitive, twitching mess on the couch, only then does she finally slow to a stop, keeping herself buried deep while you recover. 

There's a weakness you've not felt before, your cock so sensitive, your ass so empty once she pulls back—until those hips withdraw the strap inch by inch, your entire body shuddering when she does.

"Good boy. That's my good boy. Just relax for a moment, mommy's got you."

As you fall limp, you let out a tired, breathless sigh with Sakura leaning over your back and placing little kisses down your body until you finally find some stability again. Only after you collapse to the side to rest, watching as she leans back with a satisfied grin, bringing her fingers coated in your cum right up to her lips. She doesn't hesitate even once, sucking every drop off them. 

"You did such a good job, took me so well. Let's get you all cleaned up."

Your body feels wrecked, aching in ways you'd never been able to imagine. Fatigue hits like a truck as soon as everything is said and done. Only while the water runs hot can you regain the use of your legs, recovering little by little, especially while a naked Sakura opens the glass shower door to get inside.

Leather scatters all over the bathroom floor, and you can see the harness sitting at the side of the sink, the purple dildo hanging off to the side, washed and sanitized, ready for its next use.

"Doing a lot better, baby boy?" Sakura asks the moment she steps under the hot running water, helping soap up your body. "Mommy really did a number on you—thought I might have broken you a few times."

You almost zone out in the bliss of the steamy shower, enjoying the serenity and relaxing against her. "Better now that mommy is here."

"What are you so sweet for?" Sakura just smiles, pressing her body right up against yours. And for everything you just went through—that's all it takes to know it's all worth it. Just for that. That beautiful smile with Sakura's wet hair stuck to her face.

Even as sore as you are, those loving hands feel like they're magic, helping you through the ache, washing and cleaning every inch, never breaking away even for a second. For as rough as Sakura can get—and god knows you've never had it quite that rough—she takes the utmost care of you after. Never going too far unless she knows you're ready to handle it. "My baby boy takes a pounding so well though. Even with that brand new strap mommy bought for you, it was a lot, and yet you wanted more."

She smiles again, reaching up to cup your cheek, content to soak in the silence of the shower as if nothing else exists but the steam and hot water pouring down over both of you."

"Always want more of you, mommy. Always." 

"I know, baby. Always so needy for me, my pretty boy. Always does what mommy wants." 

The shower is nothing more than a quick respite. 

Once the water gets turned off and the towels hit the floor, the only thing on your mind is those silk sheets—and forgetting what day it is when you wake up. But you know that's not in the cards, at least not anytime soon. Sakura, of course, doesn’t bother covering up. She walks through the apartment naked, completely unbothered, heading to the kitchen. 

Swinging the fridge door open, she grabs a bowl of strawberries and hops up onto the counter with the same ease she handled you just minutes ago. 

You stand there for a moment, just taking her in.

"Enjoying the view?” Sakura asks as she pops a strawberry between her lips, swinging her legs back and forth over the side of the counter. And you have to laugh. Because it’s comical, the image of Sakura—how small she actually is compared to the space she occupies, this petite thing that manhandles you so easily, even though the difference in size is so obvious when she's not towering over you. Even in heels.

"Can’t help it. Can’t help staring, when mommy looks so good naked.” 

Sakura sucks on the strawberry, not the least bit subtle about it. She returns the favor and keeps staring at your body in return, slurping all the juices that drip over her tongue.

"Well, I do love when you stare. So keep staring and come here." And when you find yourself inching closer to her, those legs of hers wrap right around your waist, trapping you in the warmth of her body. "Open."

A simple request that has your lips parting with ease, as you bite on the strawberry she offers, taking it back and forth until it's gone. She holds her fingers stained with sweet berry juice out, and you don’t even think twice about closing your lips around them. One at a time you suck them clean, savoring every drop. 

“Tastes good. But mommy tastes sweeter.” 

That only has Sakura blushing. 

"You're so—oh my god, baby, look who's the sweet one."

And once every digit is all clean, you still keep sucking, taking two at a time and coating them with spit until she pulls away.

"My good boy is extra needy today, hm? Can't go a second without something between those lips. Sucking my toes, my fingers, my strap. That cute little mouth is insatiable, isn't it? The things it does to me..." 

Another strawberry fed into your waiting lips, this time letting you savor the sweet flavors for yourself. Sakura watches in delight the entire time as she finishes off the last bit, fingers slipping back between your eager mouth, which you suck on greedily the second her taste hits your tongue again.

"You want something else between these lips, don't you?" She reads your thoughts with ease, her gaze drifting down between your legs to find you hard all over again—like she isn't the exact reason you’re in that state to begin with. The culprit to all your fantasies, as you stare at her perfect tits, wanting to latch your lips on them for hours while she slowly strokes your cock, edging you close to the breaking point, so you’ll suck them even more. 

"Didn't hear an answer. Is there something else you want between these lips? Something that you need to stuff between them?"

"Want m-my cock in your mouth, please. So bad, want mommy's lips wrapped around me, want them swollen and dripping with cum."

"Then what do good boys do to get what they want?" Sakura asks as she jumps off the counter and strokes you at a languid pace, thumb rubbing gentle circles over your swollen, wet tip. 

You feel like you’re the one one about to be on your knees instead of her. It's more complicated than it should be, getting a simple word out. One word that'll have her on her knees, watching you and keeping those lips wrapped tight and wet. But god, do you ever fucking try your best—

"Say please, say you've been a good boy who deserves mommy's mouth."

"P-please, please, mommy," you manage, having so much difficulty getting a damn word out with Sakura squeezing the head of your throbbing shaft. "Please—" 

"Okay, okay, that's enough. Less begging, more moaning, my needy boy."

Sakura doesn't linger, not when she’s about to give you the best reward you’ve ever had. In a heartbeat, she's right where she’s needed—knees on the kitchen tile with those full lips hovering over your swollen cockhead, planting a single kiss against your slit that draws the deepest moan you can muster. And god—those pretty, sparkling eyes stay on yours the entire time. 

The way Sakura knows damn well how bad you want to fuck her throat, how much you need to use those gorgeous lips to cum—she senses everything when she stares up. When she waits for your reaction when her tongue makes contact, dragging from base to tip in the slowest way.

"No touching until mommy says you can," Sakura instructs, and that's not an order that's easy to comply with—not when she's this voracious, not when her mouth is hot and wet, running the flat of her tongue up and down over every sensitive inch. So all you can do is grip at the kitchen counter, giving a few futile squeezes before you can hardly stand upright at all, as you watch those pretty lips wrap tight around the tip of your cock.

"I—god, fuck, please," you groan out after one slow, satisfying suck, her mouth easing further down, only to pull back and stroke your spit-drenched shaft at a feverish pace. Every inch that sinks deeper into her mouth, the sweeter the bliss of all that suction that gets drawn out is.

"My needy baby. Needed mommy on this beautiful cock, didn't you?" Sakura teases, planting a few kisses down your shaft and diving back to take half your length down her throat, not a trace of struggle on her end.

"F-fuck, always—always fucking need you."

"Mwah," she parts her lips with a pop, and that tongue is just as dangerous, licking slow, leaving every inch nice and slick with drool. "I know. But you're gonna keep being a good boy and watch me while I suck this delicious cock. Get it all nice and sloppy like you love." 

With a rough slap against her tongue she takes another hard suck, pushing forward to swallow more of you until you're feeling her breath against your balls. One quick suck after another, head bobbing down your wet cock, and every lewd, noisy slurp she makes only heightens your arousal. The sounds of all that suction only has you fighting the urge to thrust into her mouth, to fist her hair and drive those lips down the rest of your throbbing length.

"Mmph, your cock tastes so damn good. You're doing so good staying still for mommy while I give your dick what it deserves. So big, and all mine," Sakura gasps out as she sucks away, lips down until they hit the base, getting a good, firm grip on your balls to fondle while you try not to explode down her throat too fast.

She's driving you fucking insane with that warm mouth of hers, especially when she pushes all the way down and just holds—keeps every inch locked away inside, nose buried into your crotch as her throat massages the length of your cock. All she has to do is stare with those eyes that drive you crazy, cupping your balls while she hums, and you swear the vibrations are enough to put you right over the edge—

"F-fuck, that feels so, your mouth feels so good, god, m-mommy—"

When it's almost too much to take, her lips release their hold and all you feel is empty again, until Sakura dives back down. She's sucking so hard on the tip you nearly burst, having to push that urge away again and again. 

It's that light, teasing stroke along the underside that sends you spiraling the most—her soft pink tongue flicking all those sensitive spots in rapid succession, her hand squeezing right where her lips aren't. "Could make you cum just like this. My tongue here, nothing else.” 

She doesn't waste time when your moans reach that breaking point, sliding right back down, lips working along until her tongue meets the base with these anything but gentle flicks.

You’re not a bit ashamed about the desperate moans that spill out either. 

The next few seconds are a blur, as Sakura guides your hands to either side of her head—letting you grab her hair, just where you want, all the power handed right over. And the only thing she does is rest her hands on your thighs, nails digging in. This silent permission to push her right down and use her throat.

She parts her lips without hesitation, letting you dictate her movements and control the pace of her bobbing head. You force her head halfway down, thrusting your hips to slam the last half in one satisfying movement. 

Then you're picking up that frantic pace, repeating it again and again as the neediness starts getting the best of you. Until her lips are a mess of drool, which only has you bucking your hips into her face, causing Sakura to let out a gargled moan with your cock plunging in deep with no reprieve. 

"F-fuck," you grunt, driving your hips as you fuck her pretty mouth, a loop of endless lust that fuels it all. The noises she makes around your throbbing shaft fuel you as you keep stuffing her throat full, none of it a challenge for her at all. But still, she does her part—staring with those big, beautiful eyes of hers while you take exactly what you need from her. "Feels so good, god, mommy. So damn—" 

Once more she grips at your thighs and closes those lips even tighter around you. Another rough thrust and your cock plunges deep, holding her there for a few seconds so she can gurgle out a deep, stifled moan, one that almost has your balls emptying down her throat. 

And then you do it again, each time forcing Sakura down all the way, as her eyes begin to water, but never breaking eye contact the entire time. Not when it feels too perfect to pull back, her fingers grasping so hard onto your thighs, never wanting you to stop until you're completely drained. 

Which won't be long, not when Sakura takes every inch like a fucking champ—doing nothing but keeping her mouth open to let you slide back and forth between those perfect lips. You don't dare think about slowing the insatiable pace, not for a second, even with the drool dribbling over her chin and down to her tits, dripping everywhere. Not when you can't hold out a moment longer, close to giving her throat the load she desires. 

"Gonna cum," you gasp out, all your senses overwhelmed, fucking into her mouth so fast, so desperate to tip right over that edge. “Oh god, mommy, gonna cum. So close, fuck—I'm s-so fucking close." 

Another tight squeeze on your thighs is the approval you need to finish the job, gripping her head tight and pistoning your hips with everything you have left. Her nails dig even harder into the flesh, a moan to encourage your imminent release. Then with one final grunt, you bury deep into her warm mouth and hold her right there, unable to withstand a moment longer—

Sakura's eyes widen, lips down to the very last inch of your throbbing shaft, right against your balls when your cock unloads. 

Every violent spurt empties inside, a thick torrent straight into her stomach, no easing up on the grip in her hair while it all flows into her throat. You've got her gaze locked, her throat contracting, guzzling down each thick spurt of cum that spills out.

Nothing feels as good as Sakura's throat milking you dry, the perfect place to dump your load. You can't remember how to even breathe, just keeping your spent cock nestled within her warm little mouth for as long as you can stand it, and even a little longer after that. 

“Jesus," you gasp, releasing that tight grip. But her lips don't stop, not for a second, holding your hips as she keeps right on sucking—harder and faster. The overstimulation never stops, not until she wants it to, drawing out moan after helpless moan as you can only try to hang on. Staying right where she is and not letting go an inch, Sakura won't dare let a single drop spill. Her mouth only moves off once she's sure nothing is left in your balls, taking her sweet time kissing the tip of your cock.

"Mommy made her toy cum really hard, didn't she? Shot your heavy load in my mouth like a good boy."

“Y-yeah—“ 

"But is that all I get?" Sakura asks and rises to her feet, seizing your cock and pumping a few times, though your sensitive state shows and you nearly recoil. "Not fair mommy swallowed all of your delicious cum and didn't have a chance to get off, is it?" 

Exhaustion on your face, you can’t even answer, slowly being backed against the door of the refrigerator with your cock still in her grasp. She’s not giving a second to recover with this predatory gleam in her eyes as her grip on you tightens.

"Mommy isn't done with you just yet. Not when this cock is still so hard and needs somewhere warm to go, doesn't it?"

You simply nod—how can you possibly do anything but nod? You're nowhere near ready to go again, but the way she looks at you slaps you full force in agreement. 

"You're gonna hold me up and fuck me. While I wrap my legs around and you bounce me on this cock like a good boy. Got it? Don’t drop me."

Whatever reluctance you think you might have as you hoist her up, isn't going to stand a chance, not when Sakura is quick to take her rightful place—legs coiled and locked around your waist. Not even a second to breathe, before she drops down and impales herself on you, every inch disappearing into that perfect heat you've barely had a chance to miss. 

This time, when the tightness hits and your cock is swallowed up by her delicious warmth, it takes everything you have not to drop her. 

You're spent—completely fucked out, and the worst part is she knows it. Knows how you can hardly take being buried inside her again. All of your sensitive cock is in the heat of her cunt, so slick and squeezing tighter than ever. And still—you move for her. Every thrust is a fight against your own overstimulation, but you can’t keep your hips from moving.

You couldn’t stop if you tried. 

"God, f-fuck—" Back pinned up against the fridge with the entirety of Sakura's petite frame in your arms, your dick throbs and twitches in ways you didn't know possible. The softness of her breasts press up against your chest as they bounce, and it's up to you to do the rest. To give everything that's demanded. 

Your overworked muscles and weakened legs barely manage, but the cries coming from Sakura are well worth it as you lift her up and slam her back down, giving all you have to fuck her. She's in no way making things easy for you, clenching so hard around your oversensitive cock, nails digging into your back and holding on just to ride out the pleasure you're giving her. 

"You can do better than that. I know you’re a good fucking toy. Fuck me, fuck me harder," she demands—and it only serves to encourage you to push past the exhaustion. When your movements slow even for a second, you don't even need to meet the glare that reminds you to think otherwise. And without saying a word, she's demanding you thrust up into her with all you've got left, regardless how much the ache in your cock wants to do the opposite. 

"Harder. Come on," Sakura orders—the one and only warning you'll get. "Fuck me harder like a good little fucktoy does." 

So you have no choice but to surrender to her words, to pump your sore shaft into that slippery heat with such rapid fire thrusts that no matter how much you need a break, you can't. Not now—not as long as you have the resolve to stay buried in her wet cunt.

Her pussy takes every inch and clenches impossibly tight, greedy to swallow you whole inside, even when your body is hanging on by a thread. Almost on auto-pilot, you keep driving into her, back pressed hard against the fridge as you desperately bounce her on your length. She squeezes like never before, knowing what it'll do to your poor, exhausted cock, with her legs clamping around your torso until you can't pull free if you try. 

"So good. Making mommy's pussy feel so fucking good," Sakura moans against your neck, nipping her teeth across the sweaty skin. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—“ 

You don't, because you can’t—fucking her so rough and hard, almost forgetting the ache as your body keeps doing its part without any say in the matter. Sakura clings onto your body, this small frame so easy to hold tight with your fingers digging into her ass, refusing to relent until she lets you. And she clenches so desperately when that sweet release gets near, until her entire body turns into a shuddering wreck. 

All it takes is her biting into your shoulder—hard, her cunt gripping down like a vice around your aching cock, and there's only the briefest warning until you feel the flood of her climax soak every inch as you keep ramming on through.

The moment Sakura's tightening walls suffocate around you, you're helpless, her legs so constricting you can't do anything but keep every inch deep inside. You're gripping her ass so tight as those legs stay wrapped tight around your waist, and you thrust into her hard—giving her everything her soaked pussy is begging for. Every moan echoes, and she’s dripping all over the kitchen tile—soaking you both, with nowhere to go except the floor beneath. 

"Good boy, such a good boy for mommy," Sakura cries out, but doesn't seem to notice how her legs are beginning to loosen their hold. "Let it out, baby. F-fucking let it all out."

Everything else is a blur when you lose control, right as the words sink in, unable to resist her clench for even another second longer. All it takes is a few pumps—

You cum. Right as she wants and you can't help it, burying inside to shoot the most sharp climax of the day. With one final, animalistic grunt, every twitch of your cock spurts sticky, white seed straight up into her walls. Deep inside that intoxicating cunt that grips you tighter by the moment, keeping your throbbing cock lodged inside while your balls empty.

Until you have nothing else. Until it's pouring right out of her wet cunt, all your strength concentrated in your hips, with your legs on the verge of buckling underneath the sheer force it takes to keep Sakura held up. 

That's how this ends. This combination of depraved moans and greedy kisses, violent throbs that don’t cease as you pump everything into Sakura—until you meet your demise, falling onto the kitchen floor in a heap with her lying on top of you. 

Her tiny body feels ten times heavier, or maybe it's the cold kitchen tiles, the exhaustion—you're not really sure. 

She stays above, the mess between her legs threatening to leak right back out as she devours your lips in all these hungry kisses, tangling her fingers in your hair like she’s praising you for a job well done.

"I said don't drop me."

"Didn't. My legs gave out," you clarify between kisses as she moves to the side of your neck, and can't help but break out into giggles. 

"Poor baby, mommy used you so much. Couldn't handle filling my tight pussy again?" 

"Not my fault mommy wore me out. So insatiable and demanding.” 

Sakura laughs, kissing down your face as the aftermath settles in, enjoying the mess between her legs.

“You wouldn't have it any other way. Don't pretend like you didn't enjoy cumming inside me twice."

She's right. Obviously. But you’re far too spent to even think about a comeback. You can't give her the satisfaction she seeks, so you'll just kiss her quietly instead. Before long, Sakura's the one failing to hide that smug little smirk that says she's not even close to being done—not when she grabs your wrists and holds them above your head, this display of dominance reminding you how you're always at her mercy.

"You like when mommy uses you whenever, however I need to—you'll do anything I say, no matter what it is. Isn't that right?"

There is absolutely no use fighting it. All you can do is give out a nod.

"Use your words. Good boys use their words."

"I love when mommy uses me,” you say, louder than before. “What mommy needs, she gets. No matter what. No matter when.” 

“Mhm. There's my good little fucktoy." 

Even in this worn out state, Sakura leans in, lips finding your neck as she sucks hard, determined to leave her mark—teeth sinking in without the slightest hesitation. The pain is so very welcome, proof that she really does own you. Her teeth leave that sweet spot, trailing fleeting kisses down your chest, until she teases a nipple with the lightest graze of her tongue. 

The sensitivity is nowhere gone yet, so you can't help but whine out, even more when her fingers tease the other. Slow twists and rolls, a pinch here and there, it all does the job, adding the most minimal stimulation that feels so overwhelming. "If mommy wanted to ride you again right now, you'd let me, wouldn't you? No matter how sensitive and worn out that cock is?" 

A question of pure torment. A question she already knows the answer to. 

"Always. Wouldn't say no. Mommy can have this cock whenever and however she wants it."

"Good answer. Don't ever forget that. Mine to use and fill me as many times as I need.” 

Sakura is slow when she rolls off you, lifting up just so you can see exactly what you've left between her thighs—a creamy mess that floods out, the results of what she can empty out of you.

"Those poor balls still had all this left to give me, made such a huge, dripping mess, hm?” It just leaks everywhere, with her fingers playing with the mess inside, trying to drag even more out. "Think you've earned a break, baby boy. Let's get you something to eat that isn't my pussy."

With that, Sakura helps you to your feet with the last shreds of energy she has left. The walk to the bathroom is slow, for both of you.

Hot water fills the bath, a healthy dose of bubble bath pouring in while the tub fills. it's exactly what your body needs, along with Sakura sitting behind you. When you relax against her, she tilts your head back, wrapping an arm tight around you, trailing light kisses along your shoulder and neck as your eyes close to relish the affection. 

"You okay, baby boy?" Sakura asks with that sweetness in her voice that always catches you by surprise. You couldn't be better. No matter the exhaustion that makes it hard to move, her hands gently caressing all over is the best reward. 

"More than ever." Your eyes feel heavier than ever, the kind of exhaustion where you could fall asleep in an instant. Though it's tempting, you don't want to miss a moment of her attention.

"Not yet. Stay awake for me, okay? So I can clean you up and make sure you're taken care of. My good boy deserves being spoiled."

That's enough motivation to do exactly that. 

Sunday morning, and it's a rare day off for Sakura—something that comes along only once or twice a month. Weekends are just as busy for any real relaxation, which means this lazy day will be appreciated more than ever. 

And because Sakura is free today, that also means you're by her side like a shadow. 

This time, it’s the couch, legs half-tucked under her with the glow of a screen shining on her face. All Sakura has on is these tiny black gym shorts and a snug white top, thin enough you can practically make out the outline of her breasts. With every shift, the fabric rides up, exposing her flat stomach, that enticing bit of skin that you can't help wanting to drag your tongue against.

You're finding it hard to resist doing just that.

And then there are her tits—they're perfect and delicious, and even hidden behind fabric, you desperately want them in your mouth. Her body is a goddamn work of art, legs all creamy and silky smooth, that ridiculously tiny waist and the curve of her ass peeking out the bottom of her shorts. It's enough to drive you to absolute insanity.

Perfection. You're right here sitting next to her, not a word said with this ache in your pants getting worse by the second.

Her gaming sessions always go like this. Completely and totally distracted, lounging on the couch in whatever is most comfortable. When the mood hits, as it often does, it's not like you can really help yourself. The way she focuses so hard with her eyes glued to the screen, shifting to another position that exposes more skin while you massage her feet. 

It's those shorts that show way too much thigh. That shirt that teases the curve of her breasts. And when those plump lips of hers wrap around a straw to take a drink—all you can imagine is them wrapped around a certain part of you. It’s so pathetic to be this weak, but you can't ignore the heat growing inside, not when her tight little body is on display and every bit of you is silently begging to give it the attention it deserves.

So you dive in—deliberate in every motion, but careful not to distract. Starting just above the waistband of her shorts, you can’t starve off the ache to press hot, lingering kisses right along that creamy skin. 

Sakura catches on pretty fast.

"Baby—" Turning her attention, she glances down, furrowing a brow at the sight. “What do you think you’re trying to do?"

"N-nothing." 

It’s a response that comes out as more than a little pitiful, as if you couldn’t fathom the idea of being caught. 

"Clearly something, if you're distracting me from Splatoon like this," Sakura says, caressing the side of your face for a fleeting moment. 

"Just—just thought mommy deserved a little attention."

"Aren't you the sweetest? But mommy is busy right now. On a three game winning streak that I don't plan to give up. So you'll have to wait."

Just like that, she goes back to her game without a further glance in your direction. You're not a stranger to being lower on her priority list, rejected for something else that has her attention. It’s not like you expect her to drop her progress or halt her fun—but when her shorts keep riding up, exposing more cheek—you can’t stand it. Not when it makes your pants uncomfortably tight. 

Nor can you help but grind against her, slipping a finger into the opening of her shorts and grazing the lace of her panties. Sakura gives zero reaction, holding focus while your digits trace along the elastic. 

"Now, now, baby boy—you better behave. Mommy told you she was busy." 

Being scolded like this before is all too common, but in reality that’s little deterrent, if any. An easily dismissed warning that only encourages you to indulge, kissing at her inner thighs, until you’re close enough to breathe in her scent. You’re wearing the desperation on your face like a flashing sign, but you don’t care. You need relief. Badly. 

"Someone is awfully needy." That’s when this hint of annoyance creeps up in her tone. Which goes ignored. Because when aren't you? Shameless and desperate is your specialty, and being turned down and told to wait isn't going to cut it. When the throb is this urgent, you can't hold back, not when Sakura looks like an absolute feast that you just want to devour. 

It's getting increasingly difficult. You don't even have to do much that will distract her—just pull those skimpy shorts down, slide her panties to the side and bury yourself in her heat. That's the best solution to both of your problems, as simple as that. You’ve come this far, and there’s no turning back. More kisses up her thigh, as each touch gets more daring. It all goes ignored, even while you drag a finger along the small piece of pink cloth separating you from heaven. 

"Baby, I swear if you make me lose right fucking now—" Sakura snaps, and you not sure you're ready to pay for whatever wrath lies in her words. But even that isn’t stopping you from doubling down. 

"Mommy, please—" 

A squeeze on her thigh combines with another kiss as a final push. "Need you. Need you so fucking bad. Wanna taste you, mommy. Wanna slip inside you and make you feel good. Please, I'll be quiet."

A moment passes before she sighs. 

"You seriously think you'll be able to put your cock in me without making a single sound?" Despite the increased annoyance in her voice, the eye roll—you don't relent. 

"I can. Won't make a sound, not even when I cum. You won't even know I'm here. Promise."

There's no way Sakura will believe such a thing, you can see that plain as day. You can see it in the tilt of her head, a glance that shows you she's not convinced in the slightest. It's not surprising either, you'd probably call bullshit yourself.

"No, that's not happening. If you're that fucking hard, you're gonna take care of that yourself. 

"Mommy—" 

"What did I just say? No shoving your dick in me until I lose. And I'm not fucking losing because you're too goddamn horny to wait."

"Mommy, please, I—"

"Do not make me repeat myself. Ugh, I swear," she scoffs, and you're not sure you've heard her this annoyed—nor do you doubt that you're pushing too hard. It’s a glare that comes and goes within moments as she turns her gaze back to the screen, one that almost makes you hesitate about speaking up again. "If you're that fucking desperate, then just fuck my feet or something. But you better stay quiet, and do NOT distract me."

You’ll take that. Hell, you’ll take anything at this point, and the generous use of her gorgeous feet to get yourself off unattended is worthy of a thousand praise-filled thank you's. With her cute, black painted toes curled around your hard dick while you slide between them is a better reward than you deserve. 

Not another word as you take Sakura's perfect, pale, and pretty feet, and admire for a moment—how dainty they are and how many times they've gotten you off like this. Usually before bed, when you're just as desperate to get off as you are now. All you have to do is unzip your pants, free your cock—

And slide right in between those delicate arches. One step toward relief, it's almost impossible not to moan at the softness of her feet, enough pressure to make your head spin. The hardest part is keeping your promise, with your cock sandwiched in these soft, silky smooth arches. 

Thankfully, this isn't going to take long at all. 

The friction is everything you need, and each thrust elicits a moan that you try your damnedest to suppress. You have some actual self-control, you think—maybe you don’t, you’re about to find out. For now, it's going to be a challenge as you squeeze her pretty painted toes around your shaft to tease yourself, before sliding your cock in a delicious little rhythm while you fuck her feet. They're silky soft, and god you don't know how much longer you can be silent.

"These fucking idiot teammates, I swear—" Sakura mutters, letting off some steam now that the game can have her full attention. 

You'll leave her alone, and concentrate on pumping your cock between her heavenly soles. Even a bit slower, given all you need is to stay nestled between and let the friction bring relief, spitting in the space between to give some extra slickness to this whole thing. 

The desperation is real, and your moans aren't too muffled—so you pray that she’ll keep herself occupied and ignore what slips out. Every drag along the softness of Sakura's feet, every graze her toes give you is bliss. Every time you pause to slap your cock against her silky arches before sliding back in, it gets harder to hold back. Moans getting as deep as your breathing the more you continue to use her feet to jerk yourself off like this. 

"They better fucking get it together. S-rank my ass, they're dead weight. Dead fucking weight. How the fuck did these assholes rank up anyway,” Sakura continues mumbling, cursing her squad and ignoring every groan that you let slip in the process, biting back all of your gasps. 

Using her feet to stroke your shaft is a damn good compromise. Your teeth clench while your cock pushes into her soft soles isn't enough to drown out how good Sakura's feet feel. This is perfect as it can get—the intense squeeze against your aching shaft cock that keeps sliding in and out, the precum coating her toes. 

You can barely think straight. Getting so fucking close to blowing right there, each stroke threatening to set you off with the way her toes wrap around each side of your shaft. 

"Oh, for fuck's sake—goddamn spawn campers. Oh no, you don’t, you little bitch!" Sakura slams down her console on the cushions, somehow ignoring the frantic way you’re pumping away between her toes. Her anger almost gives you the fuel to fuck her feet faster—and they clamp down harder as a result. 

Thrusting between them gets even better with each passing second, this tighter squeeze as the friction gets you closer and closer, desperately wanting to pump yourself faster, fuck her gorgeous feet and just cum all over them. And that's exactly what's about to happen. 

"M-mommy, so close," you groan out, forgetting your promise to not make a sound and throw your head back. It's too fucking good, the feeling of them on either side of your dick, this intoxicating grip you don't want to part from anytime soon.

"God, who the hell taught them to play? Fuck this map. Fuck this team," Sakura spits out, slamming a fist down next to her on the couch. You however, are seconds away from blasting a mess all over.

"Mommy, mommy—" You're spilling right then, cursing under your breath as you try to fuck your cock faster between her soles while cum spurts everywhere. Your cock twitches wildly, spurting along the insides of her feet, on her soles, splattering all over her toes and blasting all the way even to her ankles—while Sakura pays absolutely zero attention to your release. It's a filthy mess, a stream of thick white coating the pale skin, running between her toes and even staining the fabric of the sofa cushions beneath.

While Sakura is seething, you're panting heavily, gripping onto her ankles and milking yourself dry with more strokes, eventually just moving her feet so that the tips of her toes are still stroking the sensitive head, your hot, sticky mess being dragged along. You give in and moan the more you thrust, sliding into her silky arches for one last bit of bliss, savoring the sight of your release coating her feet. 

"Okay, fuck this, we are NOT playing this garbage map again. This game is absolute shit, god, they all suck." 

And Sakura nearly tosses her console across the room before even noticing the mess on her feet. She stares, furrowing her brow to her once pristine soles, now coated in white streaks, dripping between her toes, and clinging to wherever else it landed. 

You look so spent, unapologetic and so satisfied—huffing to catch your breath while your cock stays nestled between.

"Well, would you look at that. Just couldn't contain yourself for one fucking game, could you? Had to use my pretty feet to get yourself off?"

All you can do is nod your head. Words aren't coming easy at the moment, especially not while you're lost in how gorgeous her feet look all covered in your creamy load.

"What am I going to do with you? Especially with how loud you were. Don't think because I was too busy dealing with AFK shitbrains that you couldn't follow a simple rule," Sakura continues and flexes her cute, cum-stained toes—letting your sticky mess drip further and coat the pale flesh. "I'm sure you didn't forget your promise, but you couldn't even do that. Fucking yourself like a pathetic slut between my feet. Did you get it all out?"

There's not an ounce of remorse in the nod that comes afterward. With all this pent-up stress and anger Sakura is letting off, you're scared to even utter another word. 

"I didn't hear an answer. Did you—get it all out?"

This time, you don’t dare hesitate. "Y-yes, mommy, I did."

"Good. Then you can clean it all off. Now." Sakura folds her arms across her chest, her full attention on you now. Her foot rises in the air, showing off the slick streaks that still linger. Her toes spread wide and you know all too well what to do—a command you don't dare protest.

A glance to look at your handiwork between her dripping toes. That's when your lips capture a single one to suck clean—starting at the big toe, the one that's your favorite to suck on.

"That's right. Clean up your mess, and then get the others."

The salty taste of you all over hardly even registers when you get another chance to suck on Sakura's perfect, pretty little toes. Slow sucks and licks between, all the taste of skin and stickiness of your orgasm. Her gaze never falters, ensuring you take your time, not missing a spot while cleaning up until you suck the next toe. 

Long drags along her arches, gathering every drop while you kiss and lick on that tender skin. It's heaven between her toes, taking time to let the tip of your tongue trace patterns along the silky smooth soles, while all the rage built up in Sakura seems to slowly fade. 

"My pathetic boy likes licking the mess you made between mommy's toes. Loves cleaning up after himself like a depraved slut, sucking them clean."

You can’t even disagree, a loud slurp while you take two painted toes in at once, sucking until the majority of her toes captured between your wet, slobbering mouth glisten with all your spit. And you don’t stop for a second—you alternate between sucking, running your tongue down her soles, up her arches to capture every drop while Sakura enjoys every second of what you're doing.

No trace left behind of the way you used her feet for your own pleasure, and even when it’s all cleaned up, you don’t dare stop until she allows it. Sucking every toe, licking every creamy inch of her feet like you’ll never get a chance to ever again. Once her big toe pops out of your mouth, both soles raise up, all shiny with your saliva and press directly into your face.

"Naughty thing. All you had to do was sit quietly. Wait for me to finish my game, and you could've cum inside me all you wanted. Maybe even bend me over the counter and eat my ass too,” Sakura says, soles deeper into your face so all you can breathe in is their scent. 

"But you didn't listen—“ 

She presses down more with each second that passes, adding more weight to really give you the satisfaction you've been seeking. "Had to be a greedy whore. If I really wanted to, I'd jerk you off as fast as I can, make you blow more loads again, and again. Not allow any break until you're shooting nothing. But even that, you'd enjoy too much…” 

Again, she’s not wrong. 

Not even if it left you unbearably sore and sensitive. Not even if the orgasms left you raw and begging to stop, would you even want Sakura to. Because maybe you're just a bit too obsessed with her. 

And maybe that's been her whole plan since the beginning.

"Look at this cute face."

Sakura reaches over and caresses your cheek, giving a small pat before her fingernails trail down your neck. 

Not that you can respond—not with one of her stockings stuffed into your mouth. As she’s told you, you don’t deserve the privilege of her panties. You can’t do much now, with one wrist bound to the bed frame with a necktie, the other secured the same way. And written across your bare chest, is a single word, ‘MINE’, in dark red lipstick. 

Her panties are gone, bra removed, other stocking tossed aside with the rest of her clothes, as naked as she can be. She’s just taking you in, memorizing the desperation etched on your face.

"So pretty and helpless for me," she says with this dulcet tone that makes your breath hitch. "Where is that cocky attitude you showed me earlier?"

No answer even if you had one, her sheer stocking silencing even the weakest syllable. Sakura lets the image linger with a smirk on her face as she yanks the nylon free from your lips. 

"Answer me. Where did all that courage go, baby boy?"

"D-dunno," is what you settle on, looking away from her gaze that's too intimidating to stare straight at. But that earns you nothing but a harsh slap to your face. The sting hits hard—and there's not a thing you can do but take the next that lands on the opposite side.

"Look at mommy when I’m speaking to you."

Another slap comes just as fast, and this time, the arousal is surging. Because god, you can't get enough of those manicured hands dealing out this delicious punishment, the pain only adding to your own desires. 

"What’s the matter? All of a sudden you've gone shy?" There's no kindness in the slap that strikes with the back of her hand, sending another ache across your face. “What can I even do to punish you when you enjoy it this fucking much?"

No amount of scolding changes a thing. There’s no shame or anger—just satisfaction.

"Oh, I know,” Sakura muses, tilting her head with careful consideration. “Maybe I should just fuck myself on the strap that I use to pummel your ass. Use it to stretch my tight cunt instead and make you watch."

You know how this goes—what she's trying to do. While you'd normally object to the threat of being ignored or turned away, this trap isn’t going to spring so easily. Not this time. 

"If that's what mommy wants…” 

Sakura scoffs, in disbelief that you won't take the bait. She knows how easy you are to mold, and the idea that you could be anything else is unfathomable. 

"Don't try to be bold. Mommy already knows what you are," she hisses, showing some hesitation to slap you again—especially with how well you took the last one. "Nothing but a pathetic, obedient little slut. So how about this—"

Again, you respond with little care, keeping up the cavalier attitude. 

“Two toys at the same time, and neither of them will be you. You'll be lucky to be a spectator. Mommy could blindfold you for being so mouthy." 

“Whatever makes mommy happy, that's all I care about. You deserve it."

Once again, Sakura looks disappointed by the lack of weight to her threats. "What's gotten into you? No begging? No pouting? Is my baby sick or something?"

You smile. Maybe you've learned a trick or two over time. When all she gets is a simple shake of your head, the frustration on her face grows. The little change in her demeanor when she's used to this going exactly how she plans—that’s something you'll never forget. 

"If that's how you want things to be..." Her palm caresses the side of your face, nails scratching down from your cheek and past your jawline, while her lips slowly inch toward your ear. She drags her tongue over the outer shell before nibbling, coaxing a moan out of your throat.

Leaving the bed for a moment, Sakura approaches her nightstand and finds exactly what she’s looking for: a thin, black leather collar—one that matches a leash that's kept hidden away for special occasions. She holds it in her fingers for a few moments, just admiring it, stroking the material before grabbing one more thing from her dresser and heading back.

"Act like a brat and I'll treat you like one," Sakura says, wrapping the collar around your neck and fastening it in place. It's not tight enough to hinder breathing, but it certainly isn't as loose as you remember. "Since you're all tied up, I don't need the leash. But my dumb little pet decided to be all tough today, so we'll see how long you can hold out. When your cock is in my ass, and you can't even touch me."

Her fingertips trace the collar's strap along your throat, the delicate pressure making it a little harder to breathe. And this time when Sakura smiles—it’s the sort that lets you know the trouble you've signed yourself up for.

"Whatever makes mommy happy is all you care about? Is that right, baby?" 

Before you can answer, she turns around, grabbing a small bottle that you're more than familiar with. With her back now facing you, the smooth curve of her ass is on perfect display as she pops open the lid to pour some lube into her fingers. "My ass could be on your face, your tongue buried in my asshole with you spreading my cheeks wide open. But now you're not going to be anything but a toy for mommy."

All restrained, you’re forced to watch Sakura sliding a finger right into that tight asshole of hers. Just one, then adding another—stretching out her ass nice and slow as they disappear deep inside.

"When your cock is in my ass, straining to not cum while I squeeze around you, and you’re begging to untie you so that you can pound me, so that you can fuck me into the mattress—" 

With the way you're tugging on your binds, there's little doubt that it's all starting to work, your attempts to gain control over this situation are falling short. It only fuels her resolve to have her fingering her tight hole, letting every filthy sound escape, making sure she gets slick enough to fuck herself on your cock. "Now you've gone quiet. No more attitude? Or are you thinking about my tight little ass? That's all you want now, isn't it?"

There's little else you can do but obsess about it, about how good it's going to feel once you're buried deep, balls deep, the warmth and tightness that you crave, and the insane grip that would milk every drop out of you in a matter of seconds.

"My fingers aren't the same as your cock. We both know that," Sakura taunts. She turns a bit so she can pour lube over your shaft, staring into your eyes, to watch your expression linger on the bliss of her fingers stroking you.

"M-m-mommy—" 

"Oh, so you've found your words now? Too late for that, if you think you're getting out of being a toy. Maybe you'll learn to behave a bit better. Good boys get to ruin my pretty little asshole, but brats have to sit back and watch."

She's trying to crack you, pumping your cock with her body angled so that you can only imagine pushing inside—how goddamn tight her ass will be. The taunting goes both ways here—and Sakura's lust outweighs her urge to break you.

"Not that you can do otherwise, but you're gonna be a good boy while I ride you and let you cum in my ass. Don't make me regret that." 

Sakura leans back, hovering her ass right above your slick, painfully erect cock, showing some restraint just before. The hesitation cuts through you, unsure how much longer you can stand not being inside her, and then—her hips push down and bury every last inch deep inside.

You groan. Not just at the tightness that consumes every inch of your cock, her asshole clenching as her hands grip your thighs—but also that you don't have to hold back anymore. Now it's all pleasure, the way her ass rests on your hips, your balls flush against her soft cheeks.

Sakura barely takes any time adjusting. A shift of her legs, her bare feet flat on either side of your thighs, giving herself all the leverage she needs. Up, and then down, slow as can be. The view is deadly, her plump cheeks rising as she does, and then returning in a quick bounce, squeezing even tighter around you. And that's just the first time.

"So fucking hard, fits so well inside my ass, this is where your cock belongs—buried deep in mommy's asshole," Sakura sighs, hips building speed and taking you all the way in. The friction is perfect, the clench even better from this position as her nails dig deeper into your flesh, the impact of her bouncing ass getting louder and louder.

"So big, such a thick cock stretching out my asshole. Mommy's going to fuck this hard cock until you can't help but explode."

That's a threat you can get behind. You stare with rapt attention, watching her asshole take every thick inch as her pale cheeks bounce and smack against your thighs, swallowing all of you back inside every time her hips return down.

And then, without warning, the sensations stop. Sakura lifts up, enough to slide every last inch out of her ass, your cock slick with lube and twitching for relief. You can’t do anything but whine when she grinds her asscheeks along your length, the cold air a contrast to the warmth of her tight puckered hole. 

"You really thought mommy would let you have my asshole? Just like that?" Sakura laughs, savoring every pathetic noise that you let out. Her hips move so slowly, the soft flesh of her cheeks grazing along your dick. It's torture. Absolute torture. And it's only going to get worse. The way she traps your shaft, with the way her fingertips brush against it to keep you in the warmth of her ass.

"You've gone quiet again, haven't you? Can't even remember how to beg?"

God knows you could never forget. This ache, the tormenting sensation of her gorgeous ass rubbing against you, grinding on your swollen shaft, denying any sense of relief that you yearn for. You don't want to give the satisfaction, to let the real need shine through—but she'll draw it out eventually, coax out every desperate plea in your mind.

Even as you form tight fists that clench hard enough to hurt, that makes her smile. Even as the desire becomes so consuming and you throb against her supple ass cheeks.

"Mommy. Mommy, please—god, I need you. Need to be in your perfect tight ass. Need you so bad, mommy."

All the shame comes in how quickly you cave in, an easy surrender in the blink of an eye just like every single time before. Even with the restraints on your wrists, the collar around your neck, there isn't any fight left. She's gotten everything she wants.

"Yeah, that's what mommy likes to hear. Now remind me—what are you?" 

"Your obedient little slut. Your dumb little toy. Mommy's plaything—that gets used whenever mommy wants. Doesn't matter if I get left here tied up, my pleasure is always secondary to yours." 

"And don't you forget it. You're just a tool to get me off. A pretty toy to shove in my cunt until I cream all over you. But mommy takes care of her toys, of everything in her possession."

With that, Sakura stands up again and shifts her body around, tossing a leg over your hips to straddle your waist and face you. The loss of seeing her ass doesn't compare to the sight of her lovely face, her silky hair that falls over her shoulders, and that perfect little grin. 

Another cold sensation over your throbbing cock, more lube that'll have you buried back inside her ass in no time. Her hand finds it to guide right where she wants. It's almost agonizing, waiting for her to lower down, and the way the rim of her tight puckered asshole spreads around your swollen tip. Yet she doesn't move, just staying in place with every last inch held inside.

Sakura glances down, at your pathetic, helpless state—and leans over so her tits press flush against your chest. Without a word, she practically rips the collar off your neck, but doesn't even dare loosen the ties wrapped around your wrists. Instead, she replaces the leather with her grasp, her hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing enough for you to gasp.

"Mommy likes you better like this. So submissive and helpless, ready to listen to every order, every desire—not forgetting who owns you."

This close, her hot breath tickles the side of your face, so she can see all the desperation as her ass grips down tight around the head of your cock after lifting up the slightest. Just teasing, squeezing the tip and not letting an inch sink further in.

"That's where your thick cock belongs. Inside my tight little asshole, swallowing you deep. My little pet that can't keep quiet, had to be reminded who's in charge."

It's hard to get every word out with Sakura squeezing harder around your throat, but you don't ever need the pressure to let up for any reason. Her hips slam down hard, sinking down on every inch of your cock in her ass—a tightness that you can't even comprehend. A vice grip that almost has you losing the strength to keep holding yourself together. The heat, the squeeze, you swear it feels tighter than the first time. 

"This is what good boys get, isn't it? Getting your cock ridden until you get to fill mommy’s tight ass with cum,” Sakura says, not breaking eye contact for one moment with her delicate hand locked so tight around your neck. You're the definition of overwhelmed, airflow restricted while her ass bounces on top in rapid, harsh movements that only get harder to handle with each rock of her hips. 

You're too gone to answer with anything but a nod, and you can't look anywhere else. Not with her hand clutching around your throat like the collar tossed aside—not when the look in her eyes has you utterly lost in lust. 

At this point, you hardly care about the fabric around your wrists keeping you from touching her. This is more than enough, the rhythm and fervor she fucks herself down on top, not looking away for a second as she chokes you and rams her ass down onto your cock. The tightness, the way her tits bounce so perfectly—god, you're so close already. You're trying so hard to shake it off as long as possible, but there's no use to fight the inevitable. 

"M-mommy, I'm, I'm gonna—"A quick nod and a smile before you can finish the sentence, followed by a tight clench that demands you do exactly that. 

"It's ok, baby—fill my ass up. Fill me right up." 

Not a word said as the force of her hips sends her ass down for those final bounces, until you're shooting your hot cum inside of Sakura, flooding her tight hole. Every spurt throbs violently as she watches you give in, never ceasing that grip on your throat as you erupt. Just throbbing as she milks you dry, every spurt squeezed deep inside her warm, tight asshole until you've given everything you possibly can.

"Good boy, such a good boy. Mommy's sweet boy came so much…” When her hand leaves your throat, you’re too exhausted to even complain, no strength for anything as she’s caressing your face. Kisses come next, all along your cheek, before her soft lips meet yours for an even deeper kiss. 

You want to touch her, to pull her in close, to do something—anything as Sakura plants kiss after kiss. But all she does is lift off your sensitive cock, the emptiness immediate, that thick load dripping down out of her ass and oozing everywhere. And she makes sure to finish the job, fingers grabbing at your spent cock to pump out whatever remains. 

“My good boy made quite a big mess, didn’t he? Such a huge load inside mommy’s ass…"

Even with nothing left in your balls to drain, Sakura keeps pumping, fist a blur around your slick length that rips all these desperate noises from your throat. "Now, now. Mommy knows you're sensitive, but that doesn't mean we should stop. Your cock is still hard, so that means you need to be milked again, doesn't it?"

Nothing comes out from your mouth but another pitiful whimper, because the sensations never stop as Sakura pumps her hand even faster. It's nothing but painful, torturous overstimulation that makes your whole body jerk. And every time you pull on the restraints, that only makes the smirk grow. 

"Fuck, I can’t, please, mommy, p-please—“ 

She refuses to let up at that merciless pace, each stroke getting faster, grip a little tighter, the ache in your balls harder to deal with more by the second. “Mommy doesn’t care if you can’t. You’ll go again if I say you will, because your greedy fucking cock exploded in my ass. Which means I didn't even get to watch all that cum shoot out. Not very fair now, is it?"

The torturous pace of her stroking doesn't let up. Fast, painfully fast strokes and squeezes all the way up your shaft, with her other hand feeling up your aching balls. A rough squeeze to them—one that makes you jerk so hard the bed shakes, making your dick throb even more.

 "See? Still so heavy and full. Not nearly done cumming, now are we?"

"M-mommy, fuck—" you swear under your breath, bucking your cock into her grasp as she pumps without mercy, keeping a hand squeezing your balls like they’ve got an endless amount stored. 

"Don't mommy me. Good boys can cum more than once, can't they? Shoot out another thick massive load that’ll make mommy so damn proud.” 

You’ve never been this helpless. There's no escape from these overstimulating sensations, each squeeze to your aching balls or pump of your length drawing out more of this painful pleasure. All while you can't do anything but clench your fists. Sakura’s got no end to these evil intentions, thumb rubbing against the underside of your cock with her hand speeding along.

"Jesus—god, fuck, please," you curse, wrists straining hard while Sakura ignores every desperate plea. 

"Oh, don't think that begging will do you any good. This isn't for you. This is for mommy." 

As if you already didn’t know that. Through all of this, the ache, the soreness of your poor cock, you still need this—need to reach that edge again, maybe more than she does. You don't even know whether to beg her to keep going, or for the opposite.

At least there's an end to this torment. Not like earlier in the week, where Sakura edged you from behind in front of a mirror in this exact room, so you could see your own pitiful reflection. A hand stroking your dick so fast—to be pulled right to the brink and then stopped completely, right before cum spurted out in thick, hot streams across the glass. 

"M-mommy—" That word leaves your lips so effortlessly, sounding so pitiful as you let the sensations consume your whole body, not even able to tell the difference between pain or pleasure anymore. You're just lost in this blissful torture, in every aching stroke that makes your balls tense up. But all that tension eases off—when your cock throbs one last time before Sakura stops and pulls her hand away, right as you finish emptying what's left in your balls out across your stomach, untouched the whole time.

It's cruel, the look she gives you when your cock twitches even in this weak orgasm that she's refused to help you with. The visual is enough for her, but the whimpers, the frustrated groans, they’re making sure that twisted grin doesn't go anywhere as your  swollen tip keeps shooting out pathetic little spurts that leave her more satisfied than you are. Even more when a single fingertip teases along your sensitive shaft, a simple little graze that comes a little too late. 

"What do you say, baby boy?"

Ridiculous that you should even think about thanking her, for an orgasm you didn't even want, nor did you even get to enjoy—and yet you do, out of pure mindless adoration. "Th-thank you, mommy. Thank you for making me cum again." 

It’s almost laughable—how Sakura shifts, from soft and sweet one moment, to an absolute sadistic demon the next. For now, her sweet side lingers as she laughs, glancing down at the mess you've made and kissing you without a second thought. The same moment, she's untying your wrists, massaging them as she peppers kisses all over the tender skin. Breaking out the lotion is next, from a nearby nightstand drawer, the same one used on your ass when she gets a little too crazy with the riding crop.

"Good boy. Mommy is so proud of you, I knew you'd shoot a big load again." 

The praise barely registers when you're about to collapse, but you'll take it, let the words flood through as those warm kisses get even sweeter, spreading her fingertips along the sticky mess that's coating your abs. The sticky substance she spreads around, lifting up her wet finger and just popping it in her mouth with no hesitation.

"I love tasting what comes out of my toy. It's my favorite part." Sakura takes her time, one sloppy lick at a time. She cleans off the mess with her tongue, dragging a slow path across your body and swiping away each drop until what’s left is the sheen of her spit once the rest is cleaned away. Then those same lips crash against yours and the taste of yourself is practically dripping off her tongue as it shoves into your mouth. No hesitation to deepen the kiss either, guiding your tongue like she owns your mouth with her hands grabbing either side of your face. 

Her lips are warm and the last bits of your release mixed with her spit slide between your lips as you lap away every trace of that bittersweet mixture until there's no more to enjoy. Until she keeps your face cupped in her hand, then with your mouth still open—she spits right in, landing it perfectly and it hits right in the back of your mouth.

"Now swallow that."

Of course you obey, tongue out like you have a craving for more. Sakura is happy to oblige and spits in your mouth a second time, holding your face close as you eagerly accept all she gives.

"Who's my pathetic good boy?"

That question hits differently with Sakura's loving smile directed down at you, hand brushing back a few loose strands of sweaty hair on your forehead. "M-me, mommy. I am. Your pathetic little fucktoy." 

"Never forget that. Mommy's precious toy who loves getting his ass plowed like a slut. Now come on—it's getting late and we should sleep. You'll need rest for tomorrow." 

The next morning rolls by and you're barely cognizant of your surroundings, when you're awakened with fingers threading through your hair and a familiar warmth right beside you. Sakura seems to be awake for some time already, sitting against the headboard, thumb tapping against her phone screen while her other hand is in your hair.

"Good morning, mommy—"

Sakura laughs. "It's already afternoon, silly."

A glance at the bedside table confirms what Sakura's already said, clock staring back with a harsh reminder that noon has long come and passed, the sun much brighter than when it usually wakes you up in the early hours.

"You really needed the sleep, so I tried to not bother you, baby boy. Did you sleep well?" 

How could you not, really? With all the exhaustion hitting all at once—the soreness in your muscles, the bruises on your wrists, the scratches along your back. Not forgetting the paddle marks on your sore ass still yet to fade, just a few examples. Not forgetting the moment of her plump ass smothering you with all that softness and warmth, sinking deep down, until you can barely breathe from how she relentlessly fucks your face.

"Baby boy—"

It takes a little tug from Sakura's fingers, a brief snap out of your thoughts, for you to realize you haven't responded yet. "Yes—of course, mommy. I did, I slept great. Better than I have in a while."

She's unconvinced at first, putting her phone down for the time being and giving you all her attention when she swings her body over yours. Straddling your hips, the hem of the long t-shirt she's wearing rises higher until you catch a peek of what's beneath. 

"You sure about that? Can't have my poor toy be too worn out. Mommy was pretty rough yesterday, can't have you falling apart on me just yet."

The reality is—falling apart is inevitable at this point. You're been far beyond that since the beginning, put through the ringer enough times that you aren't sure if there's a part of you not broken. Every dirty, degrading act you thought she could possibly throw at you. Every toy imaginable stuffed in you to ruin your ass. Every painful edging session—tied to the bed with your wrists held down with handcuffs, rope, zip ties—every inch of your skin kissed, nipped, and bitten. Enough cum blown across every surface imaginable, or just over Sakura's open palm, her face, inside her cunt, all over that pretty ass that you'd lay your life down to worship.

And still, you're more addicted to this girl than ever. To that smile while her fingers rest right on your cheek, to the bruises on your neck from her choking you. "I'm okay, mommy. I'm okay—"

Your words fade once again and you're not even sure if you believe what's being said, but Sakura seems to, which is all that matters. Enough that she'll brush those messy bangs out of the way and bend down, enough that she'll plant soft little kisses along the fading marks across your neck, tracing the purple hue. Kisses just as light along your collarbone, until she inches down little by little, every scratch and bite along your skin being cared for and soothed, her lips pressing all over your body with so much affection you never want it to end.

"Since I was so rough yesterday, and because you've been such a good boy—you get to relax and we don't need to do anything all day," Sakura says, lips not straying too far from your mouth for too long.

"Just wanna stay in bed with you all day, mommy. You can play games and I won't bother you, and I'll just..."

She laughs, pressing a firm kiss at the corner of your mouth. "You can bother me, baby boy. Bother me all you want—all you need."

"Can we order food?"

"Whatever you want. You know I hate leaving the house unless I absolutely need to. Only for work and important things—nothing else."

"Cheesecake?"

"Only after eating other actual food," Sakura scolds, sitting straight back up and reaching for her phone. 

"The extra expensive one with raspberry glaze and ice cream?" 

"Yes, that one. The fanciest cheesecake you can imagine. You can have two, even, just don't make yourself sick." 

"Can't promise that—" That laughter hits louder than before, echoing around the room. Sakura just shakes her head before a finger slides across her phone screen a few times. 

"All the cheesecake you want then, baby boy." 

[rvp32]

P.S.T INTERLUDES. 2 | Deep in the Willow

Male reader x Seulgi, Wendy

10.2k words

tags: sorrow( :( ), whipped cream, threesome, anal, fucktoy wendy

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"So? How's Europe?"

Rina was on the other side of the screen on FaceTime with you. She was in London, the second stop on the European leg of Aespa's tour. The cute angel looked tired, her hair loose and somewhat disheveled, already dressed in the blue pajamas she loved as she spoke to you at length about her recent experiences.

"And god, Minjeong has been clingier than usual!" Rina said in an exasperated tone. "Not having you around makes it a damn group task to keep her from going crazy."

"Speaking of not having any of us around…" You took a moment to consider the words, aware of how sensitive the subject was for everyone. "How's the new manager? I imagine the change hasn't been easy."

Rina's expression darkened as she looked down. It pained her to remember that Jihye was no longer her manager as much as it pained you to not have her by your side.

"Well… he's not Jihye, but he takes good care of us," Rina looked up. "At least he doesn't ask me to give him head. That's good."

You both burst out laughing at the memory.

"You can't complain, though," you pointed out. "That little favor led to those nights in Miami. I wouldn't trade anything for it."

"That's true," Rina smiled, and you heard her bedroom door open. "We have to do that again. You know, when the tide goes out a little."

"Jimin-ah!" you heard Minjeong say. "It's supposed to be girls' night and you're here. You said we'd watch Little Women!"

"Coming, coming!" Rina said. She squealed when one of the girls tickled her as a threat. "We were just catching up! We're leaving now."

Minjeong pulled Rina away from her own phone to say hello. Ning and then Aeri joined her on either side to do the same.

"How have you been, darling?" Ning asked.

Damn, what a question. How were you? Being in the eye of the storm day after day hadn't let you stop and think about it. It seemed crazy, but it wasn't. You didn't really know how you were. That's what happened when you were busy all the time: your mental health took a backseat, like going on autopilot through life. Honestly, you didn't know if that was good or bad.

"I've been fine, dear," you opted to say. "At least I'd like to think so."

Minjeong took the whole frame to herself.

"Any news about Jihye?" she asked, hoping for good news.

Another difficult question. Only you were expecting that one, and you were dreading it. You couldn't blame Minjeong for asking it; after all, she must still be feeling guilty about the whole thing.

Three months had passed since the events at the airport, and aside from rumors that were just rumors and the occasional leaked message from Gunwook, Jihye's existence had come to feel like a mere dream. Something that was once too good and beautiful to be true. Something that had been taken away from you.

Because yes, she was taken away from you. From you and the girls.

You took a deep breath and searched your phone for the last message Gunwook had given you about her.

"And I quote: Jihye and Irene are fine," you said. "She misses the girls and is constantly watching fancams and supporting them from Seoul. She also wanted me to tell you all that technically she was still your boss, just a few steps above you. So you better not disappoint her."

When you exited the messaging app and zoomed in on FaceTime again, you were met with faces full of mixed emotions.

"Oh… okay," Minjeong said. "Well, it's good to know we still have her support."

"I really miss her…" Ning added softly.

And a silence fell between you.

"I'll keep you updated, I promise," you said after a few seconds. "But right now you have a movie to watch and I have work to do."

The girls said their goodbyes one by one, Rina being the last. And so, your video call with the girls ended.

Bringing you back to the harsh and exhausting reality.

Shortly after the pool party, work had you by the throat with a grip that wouldn't loosen. Just as Gunwook and Jihye had anticipated some time ago, the level of paranoia among the upper management after the incident with the reporter had skyrocketed. Now they had you hunting down college boys and forcing them to cut off all contact with idols or trainees from their companies.

Interestingly, JYP was the complete opposite, considerably more flexible and permissive. They were somewhat strict, as you'd expect, but they were everything the other agencies weren't: humane. That confirmed to you that all this time, Gunwook had indeed been on the right side of history and was truly putting his effort into his fight to give idols decent lives. Thank god he was winning it.

That was a relief, because over the past three months, the two of you had become more than just coworkers; you could now call each other a friend. It would have been a shame to throw that away if he had turned out to be another heartless maniac.

And speaking of JYP, ITZY started preparing for their world tour not long after the pool party.

The stress was making them all miserable, but it was Lia who, sadly, finally gave in to the pressure and requested a hiatus so she could take care of her mental health after so many years of working day and night nonstop. She would be close to her family, right where she needed to be to heal, so you remained calm about it, knowing everything would be okay for her.

But that didn't mean you didn't miss her like crazy. Lia was one of those rays of sunshine who always helped you move forward, and now it was the ray of sunshine who needed help to move forward. It broke your heart, and you couldn't do anything but pray for her return as soon as possible.

Other than that, the only thing you could do while the girls were all on tour was throw yourself into your new job. Nayeon and Chaeyeon had been trying to distract you from that from time to time, and while they had usually succeeded, the most common thing was for you to joke about them having to make an appointment with your receptionist first.

The same receptionist who, at that time of the afternoon, was helping you with your notes. Being on the dirty side of the industry, Gunwook had suggested you keep a file as a burn book, and one of the day's tasks had basically been to update the records to stay current.

Of course, you weren't stupid. The file contained a long list of many things the agencies wanted kept secret that only a few of you knew, so the most sensible thing was to give code names to each of the idols involved in each case. Western names, mostly. And the password for that file was saved in a notebook in your personal safe.

You were just doing that last thing. But as you were entering the safe combination to store the notebook, your phone vibrated on your desk. Gunwook was the one calling.

It wasn't uncommon for him to call at that time of the afternoon, so you quickly assumed he'd either invite you over for drinks and karaoke, or invite you over to his house to show off his collection of fine liquors. So you took the call without fear.

"Hello?" you answered, holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you continued doing what you were doing.

"Hey man," Gunwook said. "Look, I hate to make this call, but it's best to give you a heads-up."

Well, and there went all your hope for a peaceful, normal call.

"You're going to get a call soon, from my namesake at HYBE. I'm sure you remember him from the airport."

"Uh… yeah, I remember him. Unfortunately," you said, closing the safe and signaling for your receptionist to leave.

"Well, what he's going to ask you to do tomorrow is probably the most messed up thing you've done so far."

"Gunwook, you're scaring me," You sat up straighter in your seat and leaned back.

"Tomorrow you'll have to go to the HYBE building, using the same underground parking garage as always so as not to attract attention. And listen to me carefully," his tone became more imperative, but also lower. "You can't, and you won't, talk to the girl you're picking up. She'll be wearing a mask, cap and sunglasses, so you won't know who she is."

Suddenly, a chill ran through you. The words stuck in your mouth, and already feeling anxious, you stood up to pace slowly around your office.

"Look, this shit sounds wrong, Gunwook. What the fuck am I getting myself into?"

"You're going to take her to a clinic, and before you get her out, you're going to make sure there's only the necessary personnel inside for her… operation."

"So much secrecy for a simple cosmetic surgery?" you asked. "I've already taken idols to appointments like that. What's the difference here?"

"This isn't plastic surgery we're talking about, kid," Gunwook said, his voice shaking throughout the sentence.

That alone was enough to make reality hit you like a speeding truck. The chills returned, and with them the unpleasant feeling of your stomach crumpling like a cardboard bag.

"You don't have to say anything else, Gun," you said. "The topic is difficult for me to broach, let alone for you with your religious beliefs."

"You have no idea," Gunwook sighed. "The decision wasn't mine, but my priest will definitely find out about this at my next confession."

There was a much-needed silence between you.

"I know this is heavy, kid," Gunwook began again, his voice calmer now. "But we need you to be a professional tomorrow. With something this delicate, you're going to be under scrutiny all day, and yes, they're going to be on your trail too. I also recommend you don't write this down in your notes; it'll be like it never happened."

Just as he finished speaking, you received a second call. An unknown number. It had to be him.

"It's happening, dude," you said. "I'll call you back later."

"Sure. Good luck, bro. And God bless."

With that, you hung up on Gunwook and answered the other one.

As you expected, the HYBE representative told you everything Gunwook had already told you you would do, but lacked the tact with which your friend spoke about it. He even mentioned that the root of the problem had been this girl and her stupid boyfriend not using protection. To the surprise of no one.

The son of a bitch sounded like a robot: not a hint of emotion as he talked about the matter. He didn't sound worried, or disturbed, or anything. He didn't care at all. It was fucking sickening to hear him talk, especially since he talked about the girl—whom you decided to call Rosemary—as if she were a damn animal.

All you could hope for was that one day karma would knock on that bastard's door and force him to testify.

The weight of what was going to happen tomorrow fell heavily and oppressively on your shoulders on the ride home. You were one of those who believed that women could do whatever they wanted with their bodies, and that the decision was solely theirs. But in this case, you felt like the decision was everyone's but hers.

For the love of God, poor girl.

Much to your chagrin, you had to swallow all your worries and go with the flow. You were in the middle of a war, and as low and mean as that seemed to you, there were battles better lost. So tomorrow you'd be a good soldier and do whatever was asked of you.

But fuck. Poor girl. All because she was an imperfect human, like you and everyone else. The only difference was that, in Rosemary's case, she'd chosen the wrong industry in which to make mistakes.

The next morning, you arrived punctually at the meeting point designated by the HYBE representative: the underground entrance to the main building, which was accessible only with prior authorization. You parked right in front of the exit, as instructed.

Anxiety was eating away at you from the inside. Over time, you'd trained your stomach to cope with the pressure of dealing with these kinds of situations. But this absolutely surpassed all extremes. There was nothing about it that felt right or normal.

The demons didn't keep you waiting long. A couple of minutes after your arrival, a security guard came out, escorting a girl who perfectly matched the description Gunwook had given you. Rosemary hurried to follow the path the security guard indicated, head down and arms crossed as she was ushered into the backseat of the sedan you had rented for the day.

When the girl settled into the seat, the guard closed the door and approached your window, which you had to roll down. He bent down and rested a forearm on the edge of the window.

"Look, kid, I don't think I need to remind you how crucial it is that everything goes smoothly today," his tone of voice was subtle and kind, but you could see in his eyes that he was trying to intimidate you. "You can't, and you won't screw this up. There will be zero tolerance."

He then took a folded piece of paper out of his front jacket pocket and handed it to you.

"That's the address you'll be going," he pointed as you opened the paper. "Don't even think about using the GPS. Just follow the street signs."

"Understood," you nodded. "There'll be no problem."

"Good. Get out of here."

The guard stepped back and signaled for you to get going.

According to the address they'd given you, and according to your calculations, it would take you around 15 minutes to get there. 15 minutes in which you'd have to deal with the awkward silence inside the car, because you couldn't talk to her, and you also couldn't play music because it would be too out of place.

It was going to be a fucking horrible ride.

There was a huge chasm between you and Rosemary. No connection at all. When you got a taxi, the driver would at least try to make conversation once in a while, or play the radio at a considerable volume to keep the atmosphere pleasant. But at that moment, all you were forced to hear was the sound of the engine running and the air conditioning. Nothing else. It was unbearable. And it must have been even worse for her.

The worst part wasn't that, but the uncomfortable feeling that you weren't transporting a sentient person. The mask, the cap, the sunglasses, and the fact that she remained silent the entire trip certainly didn't help either. Rosemary was being treated like a disposable object, and that was exactly the feeling all of this gave you. Fuck, you just wanted it to end soon.

Your calculations were correct, and you arrived at the clinic about 15 minutes later. It wasn't exactly a seedy place, but it wasn't the kind of clinic a famous person would go to for medical problems.

"Stay here for a moment, please," you said to Rosemary, breaking the silence after all that time. "I'll pick you up right away."

Rosemary didn't say anything, just nodded distractedly.

Getting out of the car, you went straight into the clinic and followed the protocol they'd given you to the letter. You'd been told the staff was already aware of everything, so your job was to make sure everyone remembered the importance of everything running smoothly that day. Part of the job also involved questioning the nurses specifically, to prevent any potential leaks. You weren't going to be in charge of the doctors; coercing them would be the job of your superiors.

After making sure the staff was trustworthy, you left the clinic and opened the car door for Rosemary to get out. Then you escorted her inside, looking in every possible direction for onlookers. But even four eyes in your back couldn't have saved you from the car that was parking behind yours at that very moment. Instantly, a man you didn't recognize got out.

Then you remembered what Gunwook had told you: 'They're going to be on your trail too.'

Fuck, they were good. More than once, you'd looked in the car's rearview mirror to see if anyone was following you, and not once had you seen that car. Terrifying.

You simply motioned for Rosemary to walk inside. You followed her.

The nurses quickly took care of her, directing you to sit and wait on some benches near the reception desk. Anxious for everything to go well and your heart pounding, you nodded and sat down for a wait that seemed like an eternity. You weren't one to overthink things, but hundreds of ways this could somehow go wrong ran through your mind.

Fortunately, the doctor came out of the operating room half an hour later to tell you that everything had gone perfectly, and that she would be discharged in about an hour. Only then did you allow yourself to relax.

"So…" the doctor folded his hands behind his back. "About the payment?"

"Uhm…" you frowned. You had assumed HYBE had already taken care of that.

The doctor and you turned your heads toward the clinic entrance when the man who'd parked behind you walked in, a duffle bag in his hand, presumably full of money.

"Every won is in here, doc," the man said, placing the duffle bag on the ground. "With a little something extra as a thank you for your professionalism."

"Thank you," the doctor bowed and took the bag without hesitation.

"Now you know the drill: I need every tool you used to dispose of them. Including what was already discarded."

"Sure," the doctor nodded.

He turned to signal one of the nurses, who shortly returned with everything packed in vacuum-sealed ziplock bags, which were then handed to the HYBE man.

"Excellent. Pleasure doing business," the HYBE man now turned to you. "You're almost there, kid. Keep going and don't do anything stupid. I have plans tonight, and I wouldn't want to cancel because I have to clean up your messes."

"Whatever you say, man," you replied, already mentally exhausted, perhaps in a less than friendly tone. "I know what I'm doing."

"You better."

The man then turned around and left the way he'd come in. A few seconds later, you heard his car start and speed off down the street.

An hour passed until Rosemary finally emerged from the operating room, flanked by two nurses who had been guiding her.

The sight of the poor girl broke your heart.

Rosemary walked with her head down, slightly hunched over, hugging herself, her steps somewhat unsteady. As she got closer, you could notice her hands were shaking. In another context, you would have assumed she had some kind of severe concussion, but on second thought, the apple didn't fall too far from the tree.

For the love of god, what the hell was wrong with the world? That was exactly what a girl whose decision about her body had been ignored, trampled on, and spat on looked like. You would have said she looked fragile, but no.

That girl was already broken.

"All set to go, ma’am?" you asked one of the nurses.

"Yes, sir," a nurse nodded. "Make sure she doesn't get too agitated."

"It'll be no problem, thank you very much," you motioned for Rosemary to walk ahead of you. "Good afternoon."

And so, in a matter of minutes, you were back at the HYBE building, a journey that was uneventful but had left you feeling unpleasantly sick.

When you parked in front of the same underground entrance, you heard a girl talking. You thought it was someone outside the car, but when you listened closely, you realized it was Rosemary talking. Some medication must have loosened her tongue.

"This is bullshit," Rosemary said to herself with a chuckle. "I didn't do anything the other girls didn't do. Nothing. I just had bad luck. It's fucking bullshit…"

Your orders were not to speak to the girl, and you did your best to hold your tongue.

"I probably would have made that decision myself," Rosemary continued. "But it all happened so fast I didn't even have time to think about it."

There was another long pause. The HYBE employee was taking his considerable time appearing.

"So much work… so much effort put into all of this," Rosemary's voice cracked, and even you could feel the lump in her throat. "It was my dream. Fuck… it was my dream…" she sobbed. "All wasted for 20 minutes under the covers. I'm an idiot."

Your stomach lurched. You looked out the window, biting your nails, your face dismayed. It was so painful to hear her blame herself, so heartbreaking, that you couldn't help but glance at her in the rearview mirror.

"Hey, you can still debut," you said. "You'll be able to handle all of this, I'm sure. Lean on your other trainees…"

Rosemary started laughing through her tears.

"I can tell you're new on this side of the pond," she mocked. "A little naive and too sweet. I appreciate your concern, but my fate is already sealed. The company agreed to settle my debt in exchange for signing an NDA, and then they'll fabricate a bullying scandal in my name to get me out of the group. Simple as that."

Then finally, the same HYBE employee from a few hours ago came out to pick up Rosemary.

"Wait a second here," he said as Rosemary got out of the car.

The man motioned for Rosemary to come inside the building with him. And that was the last time you saw her.

He returned a few minutes later, carrying a duffle bag similar to the one given to the doctor, but not much smaller. He placed it on the passenger seat.

"Good job today, kid," he said, and without further ado, he walked back inside.

When the man disappeared from your sight, you opened the bag a little to confirm what it was: money, and quite a bit of it. As always, it was going to be a pain to declare it to the tax authorities, but thanks to Gunwook, you had made some contacts that would make things easier.

However, money was the least of your problems at that moment.

Despite having already finished the job, the bad feeling wouldn't go away. Not even when on the way home you'd put on some music in the car to try to wash your brain of the memories of that day. It was useless; you were on autopilot, unable to feel good even knowing that none of it was your fault and that there was nothing you could have done to prevent it.

It was a call from Gunwook that brought you back to reality at a stoplight.

"Hi," you answered halfheartedly.

"Hey bro, how are you holding up?" Gunwook asked.

You sighed, staring blankly at the red light. A light drizzle had begun to fall at that time of the afternoon, even though it was almost October and the rainy season had already passed.

"How do you think?"

"Sure, it was a stupid question, sorry."

"Nah, you good."

"I don't feel much better than you, if that helps, but hey, did you eat already?"

"I plan on doing it when I get home. I don't feel like stopping to eat anywhere right now."

"You can come over tonight if you want," Gunwook said. "You know, we'll grill some steaks and have a drink, and my wife can make us a salad."

"Honestly, I think what I need is time at home. I…"

"That'll work!" Gunwook interrupted. "I can take the steaks and beer over there."

"Gun, I appreciate it, but no. I just want to unwind."

"Well… okay," Gunwook finally relented, hesitantly. "Anyway, I'm just a phone call away, buddy."

"I know, thanks. Have a nice afternoon."

You hung up and waited a few more seconds until the light turned green again.

Once you got home, you went straight to the couch and sat down, surrounded by a cold and profound silence, wondering how much longer you could endure all that fucking torment. After all, the person you were willing to do all this for in the first place didn't show even the slightest hint of caring. So what was the point?

Your sense of time vanished as you sat there, sunk in the middle of a moral dilemma that was starting to give you a headache. Your stomach growled, but you didn't have the strength to get up and cook anything. You didn't even change your position during the thirty minutes you were dissociating.

But a soft, unusual knock on your door awakened all your senses, completely certain that you were now a loose end that they, the demons, needed to burn. It was probably just your paranoia, but you had reason to believe such a thing. At that point, you saw them as capable of anything.

The heaviest object within reach was an acoustic guitar Chaery had given you a while back. You picked it up by the neck and walked toward the door as cautiously as possible. Two more knocks, and you were already preparing to smash the guitar over someone's head.

"Hey, we know you're there," you heard… Seulgi? say from the other side of the door. "Don't play hard to get."

Of all the voices you expected to hear that night, Seulgi's certainly wasn't one of them. After leaning the guitar against the wall next to the door, you opened it to find two beauties standing in the doorway.

"Hey tiger, long time no see, huh?" Wendy greeted, as Seulgi threw her arms around your neck and hugged you.

The thoughts of wanting to be alone in your bubble of misery and dismay disappeared when you saw Wendy smile and when you wrapped your arms around Seulgi's body.

But the fact that the two of them were there, at that time of day and after everything that had happened, seemed suspicious. Something didn't fit.

"Wait a minute," you pulled away from Seulgi, somewhat distracted by the fact that they were both wearing outfits that left their midriffs exposed. "How did you know my day was a total mess?"

Seulgi placed her hand on your chest and led you inside. Wendy, being the last to enter, closed the door behind her.

"We don't know all the details," Seulgi began as you hugged Wendy. "And maybe this isn't what you want to hear right now, but Gunwook called Jihye and told her he was worried about you."

Wendy went to sit on your couch when you gestured for her to sit. Seulgi walked beside you, following the same path.

"He told her that today you'd have to do something you'd never had to do before and that he knew it would affect you," Seulgi sat down next to Wendy, and you sat down next to her. "After talking to Gunwook, Jihye shared her concern with Irene, and as soon as Irene got some time alone she called us and asked us to come check on you."

Knowing that Jihye still cared about you made you feel like an idiot. How could you even dare doubt the most wonderful woman you'd ever met? It was even insulting to the memory you had of her. Never again.

But Irene?

Was she showing signs of being a real, sentient person? Or was this just another one of her tricks? It's not like you held a furious grudge against her, but anything she did was enough to make you doubt her. It wasn't your fault, though; she'd earned that reputation the hard way.

"What, are you surprised it was Irene who sent us here?" Seulgi asked, curious by your silence. "I told you she wasn't all evil."

"She also forbade us from telling Jihye we were coming to see you," Wendy added. "She didn't want you to think it was a way to curry favor with you. She really does care about you."

Irene legitimately worried about you? Wow, that sounded idyllic. It was something to behold.

"And I thought nothing could surprise me anymore," you said, slumped in your seat with your arms crossed. "But it seems you all have tricks up your sleeves."

Then you began to share your day with them, perhaps skipping details and not explaining yourself very well on some things, but in a way that helped you vent and process everything with a cool head and out of the fire. Wendy and Seulgi listened attentively to every word, careful not to interrupt you more than necessary. When you finished letting out everything you were feeling, Wendy kissed your cheek and stood up to go to the kitchen, rummage through your pantry, and start making dinner for the three of you.

Seulgi snuggled up against you, her head resting on your collarbone on the left side, wrapped in your arm.

"I'm so sorry you're having to go through all this, darling," Seulgi said after a while, wrapping an arm around your abdomen to hug you. "And believe me, I'm just as devastated as you are for that poor girl." She turned her head to look at you closely. "But beating ourselves up about it won't get us anywhere."

"You knew this wasn't going to be an easy road and that you were going to need some serious balls to get through it. I have faith in you and your desire to help all these people, and I love your nobility. But it won't happen overnight, sweetheart. Don't be so hard on yourself."

You remained silent, not quite sure what to say to such kind words. Seulgi understood, and being the care bear she was, she only hugged you tighter. You hugged her back and closed your eyes.

"Thank you, little bear," you sighed. "In case I haven't thanked you enough for everything."

"I don't need you to. You deserve everything for always being so sweet to us."

"Guys, dinner's ready!" Wendy said from the kitchen behind you. "Come on."

You and Seulgi stood up and went to sit at the dining table. Wendy had prepared chicken wraps with orange juice, something quick and delicious that she knew you'd love.

Wendy carried the plates to the table and sat across from you, Seulgi to your left. Then, you proceeded to eat while catching up. You hadn't seen Wendy in a while, so it was only natural that she did most of the talking throughout dinner.

The levity of the conversation managed to wash away all the bad feelings you had after the events of that day. It was strange, but lately, there were very frequent moments when you stopped to appreciate the wonderful friendships you'd made and all the good things that had happened to you thanks to the questionable career decisions you'd made so far. You were extremely lucky for that.

But at that moment, all your gratitude was directed toward those two women who were eating with you that night. Who knows where your thoughts would have gone if they hadn't shown up? The range of stupid decisions was wide, and every one of them ended with you either at a severe disadvantage or potentially in a black bag in the Han River.

Blessed were Jihye and Irene, after all.

"Hey, aren't you hungrier by any chance?" Wendy asked half an hour later, when you'd finished eating and talking.

"Hungrier?" you asked. "Why?"

"I don't know…" you heard Wendy take off her sneakers, and a moment later, you felt one of her feet on your inner right thigh. "I'm kind of hungry for more than just food."

Seulgi placed her hand on your other thigh, and you turned to face her. Where had her black jacket gone?

"I think me too, you know?" Seulgi said. Her fingers tightened on your thigh, and her hand moved up to grope your bulge. "I guess it's because I didn't have lunch today."

"You guys are big eaters then, aren't you?" you asked, as Wendy rubbed one of your thighs with her foot and Seulgi worked you up with her hand.

"Only on very specific days," Seulgi replied, and when you wrapped your left arm around her back to hold her waist, she kissed you.

Seulgi immediately unbuttoned your pants, unzipped your zipper, and pulled your hard cock out of your boxers, wrapping her fingers around it and slowly moving her wrist. Wendy added to the equation by lifting her foot slightly and rubbing the back of your shaft and your balls with her toes.

Since you found it impossible to stay still with Kang Seulgi by your side, you brought your right hand to her perfect tummy and caressed it with your fingertips before undoing her belt, unbuttoning her pants, and reaching in to rub her pussy over her panties.

Seulgi let out a soft moan against your lips and cupped the side of your face with her left hand, while the other moved off your cock to unzip her pants, pull down the top of her pink crop top and pull up the bottom so it was bunched up just below her breasts, which were currently covered by a black bra.

Wendy took advantage of Seulgi's release of your cock and leaned back in the chair to lift her other leg, take your shaft between her feet, and move them up and down.

Seconds later, Seulgi's panties became slightly wet from you rubbing circles on her clit. You then took your hand out of her pants, and before moving it to her breasts, you used your left hand to unclasp her bra, revealing those pretty mounds. Seulgi bit your lip and sighed when you pinched one of her nipples, returning her hand to your cock.

"Do you have any whipped cream?" you heard Wendy ask with a moan.

Frowning, you broke away from Seulgi's lips to turn to look at her; the question seemed odd to you. Wendy had already removed her black crop top and bra. Only her necklace remained, the cross perfectly positioned between her small, bare breasts.

Wendy just looked you in the eye and bit her lower lip. You didn't need any further explanation; you got it immediately.

"In the fridge," you replied. "I just bought it yesterday."

Wendy smirked, slid her legs off your lap, and stood up to go to the kitchen. Meanwhile, you and Seulgi stood up and walked over to the couch to kiss again. Seulgi grabbed the hem of your pants and boxers and pulled them both down. Returning the gesture, you took care of her pants and panties, and also took off your sweater so that both of you were naked.

Seulgi pushed you down onto the couch, then straddled you to cradle your face and deepen the kiss. Her pussy ground against your cock, and she ground her hips slowly to rub it between her wet folds. Your hands immediately went to grope her firm ass.

"Dessert is served!" Wendy said, standing behind you. "Come here, unnie."

Seulgi pulled away from your lips and looked up. You both looked at Wendy, who was holding the tub of whipped cream. Seulgi smiled and straightened her back, sticking out her chest so Wendy could cover her tits with whipped cream.

Wendy tapped you on the back of the neck with her middle finger.

"Come on, you know what to do," she urged.

Maybe your memory was failing at the moment, but you couldn't remember a single time you'd done that. Seulgi's tits looked stupidly hot, tho, and you loved whipped cream, reason enough to lean your head forward and start licking and sucking as slowly as you could.

Seulgi seemed to like it as much as you did, letting out small, muffled moans as she held the back of your neck, her fingers tugging at strands of your hair. Wendy joined you on the couch, sitting on your left side, completely naked except for her necklace. She knelt up and poured whipped cream on her small tits, so when you were finished with Seulgi, you could move on to hers.

Wendy moaned and wrapped her arms around your neck as you licked the whipped cream off her perky little nipples. Seulgi climbed off you and sat on your right side, grabbing the can of whipped cream and pouring just a little on the tip of your cock. Then, she bent down, licked it, and wrapped her lips around it to suck a few inches of your shaft.

"Hmm, I want to do that too," Wendy gasped. "Stand up."

You obeyed and stood in front of the couch. Seulgi and Wendy sat back on their heels, side by side, and both leaned toward your cock to lick and kiss it from different sides. It was Wendy who grabbed the can of whipped cream to pour it in a straight line from your base to your tip, and without a second's hesitation, she opened her mouth and took a sizable portion of your shaft inside until her lips closed and moved up. There was a bit of cream left near your base, but Seulgi was quick to lick it off.

Wendy sucked your cock with sensual pumps of her head, savoring the whipped cream she had collected as Seulgi poured more cream onto the few inches of your shaft that Wendy couldn't reach, using her tongue to lick it clean and suck on it.

When Wendy pulled out of her mouth, Seulgi took her place, sucking on almost the same number of inches of your cock as Wendy, who moved down to cup your balls, fill them with whipped cream, and bring them to her mouth. You moaned, one hand on both heads. You watched them have fun with your cock for a few minutes, letting them slurp and lick as much whipped cream as they wanted from it. Soon your cock was slick and saliva-soaked.

"Would you let me have a little fun too?" you asked, taking the can of whipped cream from Seulgi's hand.

"Oh sure, baby," Seulgi smiled, turning her back on you to lean forward and rest her hands on the back of the couch, her beautiful ass now at your mercy.

Wendy imitated her, and in a few seconds, both beauties were on all fours on your couch. The temptation to fuck them right away was there, but the desire to taste those asses and pussies was even bigger. So, you started by swirling whipped cream twice over each of Seulgi's buttocks, then bent your knees, grabbed her thighs, and licked the cream off, adding kisses and bites.

Moving to Wendy, you spanked her buttocks a couple of times and made her squeal, knowing she loved spanks. Then, on the red marks your hands had left, you poured cream the same way you did with Seulgi and repeated the process.

"Fuck, you must be in heaven, right?" Seulgi asked with a chuckle.

"You have no idea," you smiled, delighting in licking and kissing Wendy's cute, tight asshole. "And I haven't even eaten your pussies yet."

"Then what are you waiting for, hunk?" Wendy asked, looking over her shoulder at you. "Can't you see how wet you've got me?"

"What, needy already?" you asked back. "I can tell we haven't seen each other in months."

"Oh god, shut your mouth and… oh fuck yes," Wendy moaned when you grabbed her ass cheeks and brought your mouth to her pussy. "That's it, that's exactly it."

You gave Wendy a quick taste, licking and kissing between her folds. You also allowed yourself to move up a bit and pay attention to her butthole, making her moan louder since that was one of her sensitive spots.

"Hey, cutie," Seulgi called. "Over here."

Turning around, you found Seulgi spread-eagled, her head resting on the armrest at the end of the couch. Her pussy was covered in a line of whipped cream. Unable to resist, you moved away from Wendy and knelt on the floor in front of Seulgi, grabbing her thighs and wiping the cream off her pussy with a single upward lick.

Wendy lay between Seulgi and the back of the couch and hugged her, attacking her neck with kisses. Seulgi moaned, one hand in your hair as you savored the cream and ate her pussy, and the other cupping Wendy's face as she kissed her.

Seconds later, Wendy and Seulgi's lips met. The two women shared a passionate and sensual kiss, groping each other. Wendy rubbed Seulgi's clit, and Seulgi played with Wendy's small tits. The scene made your cock throb, especially seeing that pair of perfect tummies side by side.

Something occurred to you.

You left Seulgi's pussy and knelt in front of them, grabbing the can of whipped cream and pouring three lines on Seulgi's belly. You leaned down, grabbed her waist, and licked the sweet cream directly from her firm flesh. You did the same with Wendy, savoring the cream while you covered her toned abdomen with wet kisses and licks.

After indulging in that little treat, you went a little higher and, leaving the whipped cream aside, brought both pairs of tits to your mouth again. Seulgi reached down and grabbed your cock to rub it. Wendy, for her part, had you by the side of your neck while you were focused on her. A minute later, you rose up towards their faces, and the three of you merged into a dirty, saliva-filled triple kiss.

"Mmm, I'm assuming you're going to want to get fucked first, right?" you asked Wendy seconds later. "Seulgi can't protest; she already paid me a visit a few days ago."

Seulgi frowned.

"I don't know how that has to do with…"

"You're assuming right, sweetie," Wendy nodded, ignoring Seulgi. "You must be missing one of your favorite tight pussies, aren't you?"

"You can't imagine," you gave her a small kiss. "Wanna ride me?"

"No, right now I want you to pound my pussy like you've been saving that energy for all the days we haven't seen each other," Wendy replied, looking into your eyes with every word.

Wendy knelt up so you could wrap your arm around her small body and carry her to the opposite side of the couch, laying her on her back and spreading her legs. You spit on your cock to lubricate it, and without wasting much more time, you placed the tip inside Wendy's pussy and slowly pushed forward.

"Oh fuck fuck fuck," Wendy gasped, watching as you buried every inch inside her tight pussy until it bulged her abdomen. "Oh my god, wait," she writhed with a hand on your abdomen. "You're the biggest thing I've ever had inside me, and it's been too long."

Seulgi moved to the other end of the couch, which had a wider space, and got on her hands and knees, facing you, her face directly above Wendy's. She stroked her beautiful short brown hair and grabbed Wendy's face to force her to look at you.

"Ask him to fuck you really hard, go on," Seulgi said in a low, silky voice. "I know you're ready. You just like feeling him stretch you from the inside out."

Wendy looked you straight in the eyes as you held her left thigh against hers and left the other loose. Her face was flushed, making her pale skin look even prettier.

"Fuck me really, really hard, sweetie," Wendy moaned, caressing your abdomen with her fingertips. "My pussy needs it. I need it."

Fuck, you'd almost forgotten how submissive Wendy had always been.

"Don't beg anymore, gorgeous," you said with the same gentleness Seulgi had used, starting to slowly move your hips. "You know I always spoil you."

With that, you spent only a few seconds fucking her pussy slowly until you drastically increased your speed, making Wendy smother moans against Seulgi's lips. Her tiny waist was your initial point of grip, digging your fingers hard into her flesh as you shook her petite body with hard, fast thrusts.

Seulgi quickly grew aroused just watching you fuck Wendy and let out little moans as well. She leaned forward over Wendy's body, lowering her head to suck and lick her tits. Her ass looked really inviting from there, with that beautiful back arched above Wendy's face.

Wendy started moaning louder when Seulgi reached out a hand and began rubbing circles on her clit, in perfect sync with your strong pumping. Seulgi then looked at Wendy's abdomen, which bulged every time your cock went all the way into her pussy, and leaned forward a little further to kiss that constantly rising portion of flesh.

As the seconds passed, Wendy had her first orgasm, arching her back loudly and hugging Seulgi's body on top of her. You heard her muffle her moans against something, but it was Seulgi's face twisting that made you realize it was her pussy.

"Oh girl, you shouldn't have done that," Seulgi gasped, and turned around to straddle Wendy's face, pinning her arms with her knees. She leaned forward, arching her back again so you could see in detail how Wendy ate her pussy. "You keep at it, champ. She's loving every second of this."

You went from holding Wendy's waist to her thighs, pressing both of them against her torso as you gradually resumed your rhythm. Soon you were pounding her pussy again, so hard that it made her breathing ragged and her nails digging into Seulgi's ass.

Wendy had another orgasm not long after. Her whimpers, muffled against Seulgi's tender, wet flesh, were like music to your ears as you gently fucked her and she squirmed her hips. She instinctively moved one of her feet to your mouth, and of course you accepted it with kisses and sucks on her big toe.

"Don't you think it's my turn now, baby?" Seulgi asked, knowing her ass looked irresistible from that spot.

You pulled out of Wendy's pussy and crawled over her until you were kneeling above her chest, just behind Seulgi's ass. Wendy's first instinct was to capture your balls with her mouth, giving them light suction and licking. But then she grabbed your cock herself and guided it into Seulgi's pussy.

"Fuck, what a view," Wendy said, watching your cock force its way between Seulgi's walls from below. "I fucking love being bisexual."

Wendy continued licking your balls and the underside of your cock until you buried every inch inside Seulgi. Then her focus shifted to her unnie's pussy. Seulgi moaned, both from feeling your cock stretching her and from Wendy's licking. You were just as overwhelmed with pleasure as she was.

"Thank god she's such a good girl," Seulgi moaned, propped up on her elbows. She was looking forward as she ran her hand through her hair.

With Seulgi, you prolonged the slow pumps a little longer, just wanting to feel a little more of the wonders Wendy was doing beneath you. As the seconds passed, you couldn't help going faster, but that didn't stop Wendy from eating Seulgi's pussy like it was a divine command.

"Oh my god, yes!" Seulgi moaned as you pounded her pussy from behind, hands on her waist. "Please don't stop, don't stop!"

One of your hands moved from her waist to her hair, firmly grabbing a handful of it and speeding up as you were close to your climax. Seulgi came first, trembling on Wendy's face, and the way her pussy suffocated your cock and throbbed around it made you explode with moans as loud as Seulgi's.

"God!" you groaned, leaving only your tip inside Seulgi's pussy as you came, so that when you pulled out, your entire load spilled from Seulgi's folds into Wendy's mouth. "Yeah, that's a good girl."

Wendy took every drop that fell from Seulgi's pussy, savored it, and swallowed it without hesitation, then stuck out her tongue and cleaned the rest herself. As a reward, you took your cock and guided it into her mouth. She took it with a moan and sucked it until it was glistening.

"Don't even think I'm done with you," Seulgi told you between gasps, looking back into your eyes. "You know exactly what I want, and I know you want to give it to me."

"I've never refused it," you replied.

You got off Wendy and went to Seulgi, taking up the space on that side she wasn't occupying. As soon as you lay down and rested your head on the small of the couch, Seulgi straddled you. And without even letting your cock soften, she took you back into her pussy and began moving her hips on you.

It was a little painful at first, but nothing you weren't used to with her, especially since she hated breaks. Seulgi bent over you and kissed you while moving her hips on your cock. Your hands went to her waist and quickly went down to her ass as she began to bounce, almost twerking on your shaft.

"Does it feel good for you now, baby?" Seulgi asked in your ear, knowing it had been a bit painful for you. She made you smile at her ability to be so sweet despite the lewd moment.

"Yeah, I'm fine now," you nodded with a giggle, wrapping your arms around her back to hug her. "You're free to go wild."

Maybe you shouldn't have said that, as Seulgi took it quite seriously. She bounced faster and faster on your cock, showing off the excellent control she had over her hips. Then you heard a spank, one you hadn't given her. Glancing to your right, you saw Wendy kneeling beside you, playing with herself with one hand and holding Seulgi's lower back with the other.

"Pay no attention to me," Wendy said. She hadn't noticed that she still had a few drops of cum on her chin. "I'm just watching."

Despite being ‘just watching’, Wendy gave Seulgi another spank that made her squeal. But your amused smile turned into a grimace of pleasure when Seulgi planted her feet on the couch and began bouncing like an unstoppable force of nature on your cock, her hands on your chest and her eyes fixed on yours. Her body had picked up a light layer of sweat, giving it a soft sheen thanks to the living room lights.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!!" Seulgi moaned, reaching up for you to suck on her fingers. You did so without hesitation, playing with her tits until she came again with a grunt.

Seulgi lowered her knees back onto the couch and ground herself against it, your cock buried deep inside her pussy. She throbbed deliciously inside, her silky, suffocating walls making you moan. Her body fell towards you, and with her tits pressed against your chest, she moved her hips up and down as she rode out her orgasm.

Your cock accidentally popped out of Seulgi's pussy, and Wendy was quick to grab it with one hand and suck it with desperate, sloppy slurps.

"Do you want more, you submissive little whore?" you asked, reaching out to grab her ass.

"You ask that like you don't know me," Wendy replied with kisses to your cock, then released it to stand in front of the couch. "Come on, come."

"I love that you guys think I have unlimited energy," you sighed, looking at Seulgi, still panting and with her hair disheveled. "Get off me, big ass."

Seulgi got off you and let you stand.

Wendy was pretty predictable when she wanted something, and that something was you grabbing her behind the knees and lifting her up into the air so she could wrap her legs around your torso. Once that was done, she grabbed your neck and kissed you, letting you grab your cock and guide it inside her.

That woman was small and petite, so it was effortless for you to hold her in the air. This made it easy to manipulate her at will, bouncing her hard and fast on your cock while you held her ass. Wendy squealed against your lips. Her hand was behind your head, tugging at your hair when her arms weren't wrapped around your neck.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Seulgi get off the couch and kneel in front of you, right behind Wendy's ass. Her intentions were clear to you, so you spread Wendy's legs from around your torso, held them in the air with a grip behind her knees, and began pounding her pussy while Seulgi ate her butthole.

Wendy filled the entire apartment with screams worthy of the main vocalist she was, visibly overwhelmed by both simultaneous inputs of pleasure. Her eyes glazed over as her head fell back and her nails dug into the back of your neck. She wasn't much of a talker during sex, and this time was no exception. All her enjoyment was expressed in the way her face twisted and her moans modulated according to how close she was to orgasm.

In that case, her orgasm was very close, and a couple of minutes later, she exploded in spasms and intense screams that rattled your eardrums. Seulgi, her work done, stood up and buried her face in Wendy's neck, peppering it with kisses. Then she looked up at you.

"Do you have lube here?" Seulgi asked, while Wendy still wasn't fully recovered from her orgasm, which was still making her thighs tremble.

"Let's go to the bedroom," you said.

Not wanting to put Wendy down because you knew she wouldn't be able to walk, you picked her up and carried her on your shoulder, your arm wrapped around her thighs.

Seulgi led the way to your bedroom, followed closely by you. Upon entering, the first thing she did was go straight to your nightstand in search of the lube while you placed Wendy on the bed. She quickly found it and crawled into your bed to lie on her side and quickly pour the clear liquid on her ass and part of her thighs.

"Fuck, you really need it, don't you?" you asked, watching as she spread the lube until her ass was shiny and slippery.

"I lost count of the last time you fucked my ass, so yeah," Seulgi looked down at Wendy, who was face down with one knee raised higher than the other. Her ass looked too cute, and Seulgi knew it. "Do you want me to do the same to her?"

"She wants you to, but right now she can't string two sentences together without fainting," you replied.

While Seulgi prepped Wendy's ass, you got into bed, positioned yourself in front of her, grabbed your cock, and pressed it against her butthole, slowly inching it in.

"Oh, fuck, wait," Seulgi moaned, still holding Wendy's ass. "I'm not done yet… mmmgh!"

"You said you needed it, and now I'm a busy man. I can't wait forever," you joked with a half-smile.

Your cock slid easily into Seulgi's perfect, amazing, wonderful ass, every inch surrounded by suffocatingly tight flesh. Seulgi did her best to focus on finishing work on Wendy's ass, and when she did, she tossed the bottle of lube away to grab onto your wrist.

"Fuck me hard then, busy man," Seulgi hissed. You were already moving slowly. "Make up for all these months of not treating me."

It was no secret to either of you, but Seulgi's ass always managed to make your head spin, and you couldn't really put your finger on why. It was simply the ass you loved being inside the most besides Aeri's, Chaery's, and Wendy's. Your moans and the way you clung to her waist proved it.

"That's it, that's it," Seulgi moaned, her body increasingly rocked by your thrusts. "Just like that, baby. Didn't you miss your favorite ass?"

Fuck, of course you did, but at that moment, you couldn't respond; you were focused on fucking her faster and harder. The bedroom soon began to reverberate with the sounds of your pelvis colliding with her sticky ass, coupled with Seulgi's moans. You pressed her thigh back and against her torso with both hands, trying to hit her at that angle you knew she'd love. You knew you'd succeeded when Seulgi brought a hand to her mouth and arched her back, squealing.

"Oh god, yesss!!" Seulgi screamed. "I knew you wouldn't forget. Fuck, fuck!!"

Seulgi slammed her hand on the bed when, a minute later, she came in that way you so vividly remembered from your first sessions with them. Like she was possessed, basically. Her face looked damn sexy while she did it, tho. And her ass was squeezing your cock like hell.

Wendy was already watching, eager for her turn, so with a swift movement, you pulled out of Seulgi's ass and straddled Wendy's thighs to guide your cock between her slick buttocks, find her butthole, and slowly enter it.

The big difference between Seulgi and Wendy was that the latter felt everything there, but multiplied by ten. That meant that for every inch of cock you buried inside her ass, the more she lost her mind, to the point where she couldn't even move from the immense pleasure she felt. Within a few seconds, you reached that point, with your cock disappeared between her firm buttocks.

"You love this, don't you, Seungwanie?" you asked Wendy, one hand on her lower back and the other on the back of her neck.

Wendy just nodded weakly, unable to do anything else. Even her face was in a state of partial paralysis; only her mouth moved occasionally to emit muffled sounds and gasps. Then you started fucking her as hard as you were fucking Seulgi a moment ago.

That ass was on par with Seulgi's: just as tight and just as warm. Every inch of your cock slid in and out of her, fast and hard, up and down. Wendy was happy to be pinned to the bed like that; her fingers, both her hands and her toes, wrinkled in approval. Her blank eyes also urged you to keep going.

Within seconds, Wendy had a silent orgasm, but physically you knew it was considerably the most intense, aggressive, and mind-melting of all. The way she writhed, pulling the sheets off the top corner of the bed, made every drop of sweat worth it. But you needed to cum urgently.

Seulgi got on her hands and knees for you, and you returned to her ass to pound it hard from behind, pulling her hair and delivering spank after spank. A while later, when you'd given Wendy enough time to recover, you returned to her and flipped her over onto her back to spread her legs and also fuck her ass like a madman.

You spent a considerable amount of time switching between both asses, and after making them both cum once more, you reached your climax while fucking Wendy.

"Oh fuck!!" You groaned, your fingers digging into Wendy's tiny waist until, with a sudden thrust, you exploded inside her. "Fuckkk!!"

It didn't surprise you that, as you emptied your balls inside her, Wendy came again, and this time she whimpered until tears streamed down her cheeks. You slumped forward and kissed her, filled with nothing but gratitude and affection. Wendy cupped your face with trembling hands and kissed you back, until, out of nowhere, she fainted. It was also normal for her, so you weren't alarmed.

You pulled yourself out of her, and your cum spilled from her butthole onto the white sheets.

"Do you want us to spend the night with you, sweetheart?" Seulgi asked from beside you, lying on her own arm.

"Yes, please," you nodded between heavy gasps.

"And you want me to comb your hair right now?"

"Fuck, yes please," you sighed.

"First let me help you clean Seungwanie and the sheets."

Seulgi stood up, and on shaky legs, went to the bathroom to grab some toilet paper and come back to clean up the cum-soaked mess you'd made. Then, she settled onto a pillow on the right side of the bed and held out her arms for you to curl up between them.

Mentally exhausted from all the day's shit and now physically exhausted from being drained by those two, you hugged Seulgi like a helpless koala and let her cuddle you until you fell asleep.