#qwib-Fromis9

[kwilquib]

Color of Deception

Series: Promised 9

Chapter - 2

Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Baek Jiheon (Fromis_9) X Male reader

Word Count: 11.1k+

a/n: It might look inconsistent but bear with me. i omitted the reader's given name this time.

Recap:

After a long shift, you left your bag at the Golden Brew café and returned to retrieve it—only to stumble upon a secret gathering of nine women, some familiar, some famous. The next day, your memory was hazy, but the illusion shattered when Chaeyoung confronted you. With a veiled threat, she led you to a hotel, ensuring a sleepless night.

You stir awake to the soft rustle of fabric and the faint, lingering scent of lavender. Morning light seeps through the curtains, casting the room in a muted gold. Every muscle in your body protests as you shift beneath the tangled sheets, memories of the night before flickering like fragments of a dream.

By the window, Chaeyoung stands wrapped in a silk robe that clings to her frame like liquid. She gazes out at the city below, her expression unreadable—calm, distant, almost detached. But when she notices you stirring, a sly smile tugs at her lips.

“Finally awake?” Her voice is a low purr, amusement dancing in her eyes.

You sit up, raking a hand through your disheveled hair. “What did you mean earlier… about it being a long day?” Your voice scrapes raw, throat dry from lack of sleep.

She turns, gliding toward the bed with effortless grace. “You’ll see,” she says, deliberately vague. Her robe slips slightly off one shoulder as she leans against the bedpost, watching you.

You glance at the clock on the nightstand and freeze. Shit. “What time is it?”

“Thirty minutes past your last alarm,” she replies, tracing a finger along the edge of the bedsheet.

“You looked so peaceful. I thought I’d let you sleep a little longer.”

“Peaceful?” You groan, scrambling for your clothes strewn across the floor. “I’m late for my shift. Gyuri’s going to skin me alive.”

Chaeyoung tilts her head, her smile sharpening. “Relax. I’ll call her. Tell her you’re… detained.”

You pause mid-motion, shirt halfway over your head. “But they’ll know I remembered everything. The meeting, the Nine—”

“They already know, silly.” Her laugh is light, almost musical. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

You glare at her, but she only smirks, unfazed.

As you yank your shoes on, her voice stops you at the door. “Oh, and if any of the girls ask why you were with me…” She pauses, her gaze sharpening. “Just tell them Saerom will explain.”

You frown, adjusting your bag. “Saerom? The one you called earlier? Is she your… captain?”

Chaeyoung’s lips twitch. “You could call her that. Trust me, it’ll be enough.”

You hold her gaze, searching for answers she’ll never give, before turning away. Her soft laughter follows you out like a ghost.

~~~

The bell above Golden Brew's door jingles as you slip inside, the café's warmth enveloping you—rich coffee, buttery pastries, the hum of morning chatter. But the comfort evaporates the moment Gyuri's voice slices through the noise.

"You're late."

She stands behind the counter, arms crossed, her usual warmth replaced by a frosty glare. The air around her crackles with unspoken tension.

You duck behind the counter, fumbling with your apron. "Sorry, I was—"

"With Chaeyoung?" Her tone is sharp, eyes lingering on the faint mark peeking above your collar.

Your cheeks flush, guilt and shame mingling. Of course she'd notice. "Look, I can explain—"

"Save it." She cuts you off, turning to aggressively wipe down the counter. "I trusted you to be professional. To respect this workplace."

You catch what you think is hurt in her voice, and your stomach twists. Great. Now Gyuri thinks you're fooling around with Chaeyoung instead of working. "It's not what you think. Chaeyoung, she..." You swallow hard. "She said Saerom would explain everything."

The name hits like a thunderclap. Gyuri freezes mid-motion, the rag clenched in her fist. "Saerom?" she echoes, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"That's what Chaeyoung told me," you say, watching her reaction carefully.

The anger in Gyuri's face transforms into something else entirely – fear? She sets down the rag with deliberate slowness, her hands trembling slightly. "Of course she did," she mutters, more to herself than you. When she looks back, her eyes are haunted. "She dragged you into this, didn't she?"

Your confusion grows. This isn't the reaction of a jealous boss anymore. "Into what? It's not like I had a choice—"

"You always have a choice," she snaps, then catches herself, voice softening to something almost desperate. "You could've come to me first. I could've... protected you."

The words hang between you, heavy with meaning you can't quite grasp. Your earlier assumption about jealousy crumbles, replaced by creeping unease.

"Protected me from what?" You step closer, frustration boiling over. "From them? From whatever this is? What aren't you telling me?"

Gyuri's expression shutters closed, professional mask sliding back into place. "You're a good kid," she says flatly, already turning away. "Like you said... Saerom will explain."

The dismissal stings. Before you can retort, she's already vanished into the kitchen, leaving you alone with the echo of her silence.

Your phone vibrates. Reaching into your pocket, the blue screen flashes your eyes, you find messages from a familiar name.

"Where did you sleep? I went to your dorm this morning you weren't there."

The message feels oddly natural. "I'm sorry, I didn't sleep in the dorm, something unexpected came up"

"okay I wont ask more..."

You turn back to work, focusing on the morning rush. The steam wand screams as you foam milk for a cappuccino. Another message.

"Can you grab my textbook from your place when you're done with work?"

You pause. Her textbook? Right – the calculus one she left last week when you were studying. The memory feels hazy, but it must have happened.

"Sure, which one was it again?"

The morning blurs between orders and conversations. A businessman wants his Americano extra hot. A student spills her latte. Your phone buzzes.

"The blue one! Don't tell me you're using it as a coaster again "

You smile, remembering the water ring on her– wait. When did that happen?

"I would never," you type back, uncertain why you're playing along.

The cafe fills with the lunch crowd. While preparing a sandwich, another message arrives.

"By the way, I cooked seaweed soup for you, to bad you weren't there this morning, you know the one that you kept asking me to cook?"

You blink. You were craving for some seaweed soup recently . Though you don't remember asking her for it. But there's that image – her concentrating, in the kitchen one hand om the ladle the other on her phone, trying out the recipe– No. That couldn't have happened. Could it?

"I'm sorry," you reply simply, not wanting to seem ungrateful.

More customers. More drinks. More messages that feel like pieces of a life you're not quite sure about.

"Hey, I can still stay over this weekend right? You promised." (Have you agreed for her to sleep in your dorm?)

"Don't forget your umbrella today!" (How did she know about the forecast?)

Each message slots perfectly into your day, filling gaps you didn't know existed. The strangest part is how unstrange it feels.

When lunch break arrives, you check your messages one last time:

"Let's grab dinner at the usual place? 7pm?"

You stare at the screen. The usual place. Of course – that small restaurant around the corner. The one with the red awning and the owner who always gives you extra–

You stop yourself. What usual place?

"Sounds good," you type anyway, wondering why your response feels so automatic.

You unconsciously find yourself scrolling back at your conversation, seeking comfort after the tense morning with Gyuri. The messages flow past your screen, and something warm unfurls in your chest. Of course – the usual place. That hole-in-the-wall restaurant near the engineering building where she always claims their kimchi stew tastes just like her grandmother's.

Three months ago: "Made it to Prof. Tan's seminar! Saving you a seat " Your lips curve into a smile, remembering how she'd dash across campus between classes just to sit together in Advanced Economics. The way she'd slide her coffee over when yours ran empty.

Six months ago: "Still up for study group? The midterms are killing me" The memory settles in naturally – hours in the library's third floor, her head bent over statistical models, the way she'd explain complex theories with perfectly simple analogies. That was before you picked up the cafe job, wasn't it? But the timeline feels right somehow.

A year ago: "Thanks for helping with my research paper! Dinner's on me " The quiet booth at the back of the restaurant, her excited chatter about her findings, how one dinner turned into regular study dates – everything feels right. Why were you questioning this earlier? The memories slot into place like they've always been there.

Your thumb traces over her messages, each one a reminder of shared moments between classes and coffee runs. The morning's uncertainties fade away, replaced by a gentle certainty. Of course she's worried about where you slept. Of course she checks on you. Of course she remembers which days you have back-to-back lectures.

Suddenly a hand taps on your shoulder.

"Hey, take your lunch break." Gyuri's voice carries that familiar warmth, her smile back as if your morning argument never happened.

You nod, already reaching for your phone to tell her you're heading out for lunch. How strange that you felt confused earlier. Must be the lack of exhaustion from everything that has been happening lately, you think, as you type out a quick "On break now, can't wait for dinner "

"Your on lunch break? Where?" she quickly replies.

"Probably just by the nearby konbini, by the campus, why do you want to have lunch together?" You ask her.

"I would love to, but my lecture just started" she replies.

The konbini's automatic doors slide open with a familiar chime. You grab your usual lunch combo – instant noodles, a triangle kimbap, and milk. The perfect trio. The cashier barely looks up as you pay, already familiar with your routine purchases.

Outside, you find a quiet spot on one of the concrete benches. The noodles steam in the cool air as you stir them, your phone silent now that she's in class. The sky above is a brilliant, crystal blue – the kind of blue that makes you think of clear water, of deep ocean trenches, of falling...

A peculiar heaviness settles over you as you finish the last of your milk. Your eyes drift upward again, drawn to that hypnotic blue expanse. It seems to pulse gently, like a heartbeat, like a lullaby. Your thoughts begin to blur at the edges, memories swirling like cream in coffee – the morning rush at the cafe, Gyuri's smile, messages on your phone, that familiar name, those shared memories that feel more real with each passing moment...

The empty milk carton slips from your fingers as your eyelids grow impossibly heavy. The last thing you see is that endless blue sky, beautiful and terrifying in its perfection, before darkness claims you.

~~~

You wake up with barely enough time before your shift starts. Gathering yourself, you rush back to the Golden Brew. You were already late this morning – being late again in the afternoon will definitely anger Gyuri, especially after the sour conversation you had.

As you run towards the cafe, you realize the nap left you feeling unusually refreshed, more than any normal rest could provide. The body aches you'd been expecting to endure all day have vanished. Your thoughts, heavy with recent events, now feel unexpectedly light.

Your mood lifts further as you step into the cafe. The familiar coffee scent, the cozy atmosphere, the gentle hum of the coffee machine – everything feels right.

You greet Gyuri with a smile, only to find her eyes already fixed on you. There's something different about her look, something you've seen before – her eyes sharp, searching for something.

"You're back. You seem happy." Her voice carries a concern that feels deeper than usual. "Did you meet with someone?"

"No." You smile at her specific query. "Just grabbed lunch at the konbini, got a short nap afterwards."

"Nap? At the konbini?" Gyuri doesn't look convinced. She studies you for a long second before nodding, though the furrow in her brow remains. "If you say so," she murmurs, but there's an edge in her tone that suggests she isn't letting this go.

You clock in and don your apron, moving behind the counter. Seoyeon catches your eye, still in her usual spot, focused intently on her laptop screen. You'd been about to wonder where she was – and there she is, as if summoned by the thought.

Between customers, you reach for your phone to continue your earlier conversation, but the front door's bell interrupts you. Regular customers enter – the usual trio, except they're missing someone. Your eyes automatically search for the third, and an unexpected disappointment settles in your chest.

"Good afternoon, just the two of you?" you ask as you serve their orders.

"Why, are you looking for her? Disappointed it's just us?" One of them teases as they both giggle.

You smile, unable to mask your honesty. "Yeah," you reply shyly. "Where is she?"

"She said she can't come with us, their professor doesn't want to end the class," one explains.

"Also, why are you asking us? You could ask her yourself," the other quickly adds.

"Maybe I should. Thanks," you say, taking their advice.

Back at the counter, you pull out your phone, opening the messages. 'I would love to, but my lecture just started' was the last message of your conversation.

"Hey, heard you're still in class. Your friends were just here. Have you eaten yet?"

'Seen'

The notification catches you off guard. It's not unbelievable, but it's something she rarely does.

"Jiheon?"

You message her name just to be sure.

"Sorry, I was packing up my stuff, the lecture just finished," Jiheon replies.

"I didn't have lunch yet. I'll just wait at your dorm, I'll be eating the soup I left there earlier," she continues.

"Can I?" she asks for permission.

"Of course, I'll finish my shift then go home," you reply.

"I'll be waiting," comes her final message.

“Hey…” Gyuri’s voice pulls you back to the present. “You’ve been fiddling with your phone. Is something wrong? You never do that.”

You blink, realizing you've been staring at your screen for too long.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to.” You bow your head slightly, but her words linger—You’ve never done this before.

You slip your phone into your pocket, exhaling softly. A warm contentment settles over you, pushing away the earlier unease—the confusion about Jiheon’s messages, the odd gaps in your shared memories, all of it dissolving like morning mist.

Of course, Jiheon would be waiting at your dorm. Of course, she'd eat the soup she made.

Of course, everything is exactly as it should be.

The afternoon light streaming through the cafe windows takes on that same crystal blue tint from your lunch break, but you hardly notice it now. You're too busy thinking about getting home.

~~~

You barely reflected on it, but now as each step brings you closer to your dorm, the weight of your guilt feels heavier.

Hesitant until the last moment, you finally knocked on your own door. No response.

“Jiheon?” You called out.

You step inside, closing the door softly behind you. Each movement feels heavy, like the air itself is resisting you. Jiheon lays there, her chest rising and falling gently, her face serene, untouched by the chaos inside you. She looks so delicate, so trusting, and it only deepens the ache in your chest.

Your thoughts swirl relentlessly as you stand frozen near the door. How could you do this? How could you betray her like that? You clench your fists, the guilt eating away at you. It wasn’t just Chaeyoung’s fault, or your inability to resist—it was you. You crossed the line, and no excuse could absolve you of that.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly walk to the edge of the bed and sit down carefully, not wanting to wake her just yet. The sight of her so peaceful and vulnerable makes it harder to hold everything in.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper under your breath, the words meant more for yourself than her.

But as if she’d heard, Jiheon stirs, her eyes fluttering open. She blinks a few times, disoriented, before her gaze lands on you. A soft smile spreads across her lips, one that feels like both a comfort and a dagger to your heart.

“You’re home,” she murmurs, her voice groggy but warm. “You okay? You look… tired.”

“I am,” you admit, though the exhaustion isn’t just physical. “Did you eat yet?”

“Yeah, I saved you some soup,” she says, stretching as she walks toward the kitchen. “I'll heat it up for you.”

As she busies herself with the soup, you watch her familiar movements—the way she hums while stirring, how effortlessly she navigates your cramped dorm. The domesticity of it all should bring you comfort, but instead, it leaves you feeling even more unsettled.

When the soup boils, she turns off the stove and brings the pot to the table, gently guiding you to sit down.

She scoops some soup with a spoon, blows on it, and holds it out to you. “Come on, eat. You've been asking for this all week,” she says with a soft smile.

“Jiheon, we need to talk,” you start, the heaviness in your chest almost unbearable.

She sits across from you, brushing her hair out of her face. “Is something wrong?” she asks, her tone light, though her eyes search yours with quiet concern.

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. Her care, her worry—it makes the guilt even sharper. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve her.

“I—” you begin, but she cuts you off, placing a hand gently over yours.

“Whatever it is,” she says softly, “it can wait. You’ve had a long day.”

“No, Jiheon.” You shake your head, pulling your hand away gently. “I need to tell you something. About last night.”

For a moment, her expression falters. A flicker of something unreadable crosses her face, but she quickly forces a soft smile—one that feels more like a shield. “Last night? You mean after work?”

You nod, barely able to meet her gaze. “Something happened, and I—”

“Stop.” Her voice is gentle but firm, cutting through your confession. She leans forward, cupping your face in her hands, forcing you to look at her. “I don’t need to hear it.”

“But—”

“Please.” Her voice trembles slightly, her thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “Let’s not… let’s not talk about it, okay? Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. I just need you to be here. With me.”

“I shouldn't, Jiheon. I’ve wronged you…” you begin, your voice cracking under the weight of your guilt.

“No, you could never do that, okay?” she says, her voice trembling now. “You could never wrong me.”

“Whatever happened that night, I forgive you,” she says, her panic slowly building. “Just… just forget about it, okay?”

As you glance away, the soft glow of the kitchen light catches the steam rising from the soup, refracting faintly against the walls in muted blues and silvers. For a moment, the reflection dances across your peripheral vision, subtle and natural, like a ripple in the air. Your gaze lingers, and without realizing why, you feel the tightness in your chest loosen.

It’s a fleeting, delicate moment—the kind you might’ve ignored on any other night—but it soothes you. The guilt that felt immovable now feels lighter, as though the air itself is urging you to stay, to let go of the weight pressing on your heart.

“We’ve… we’ve been through worse. We can move past this, right?” she reasons, her voice pulling you back. Her words carry the same desperate edge, but the calm from that fleeting moment lingers within you.

“You know I love you, right? Nothing’s going to change that.” Her voice cracks, and tears begin to swell in her eyes.

“No matter what happened, it’s fine. Just don’t leave me… You know I can’t live without you. Please…” she begs, her voice breaking into sobs. Your heart aches as you reach for her, pulling her into your arms.

“I’m sorry, Jiheon. I shouldn’t have thought of leaving. I’m sorry,” you whisper, realizing the mere idea of it is what hurts her most, the guilt now quieted by something warmer, more resolute.

You press a kiss to her forehead and lock eyes with her, tears pooling in your own. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, knowing it will never be enough, but hoping—praying—it can at least start to mend the cracks.

As the tension lingers in the room, Jiheon’s sobs soften, her hands clutching at your shirt as though afraid to let go. You hold her closer, your chin resting on the top of her head.

“I’m here,” you murmur, your voice soft but firm, as if trying to convince her as much as yourself.

Jiheon slowly pulls back just enough to look at you, her tear-streaked face lit with a bittersweet smile. Her gaze searches yours, still heavy with unspoken questions, but she says nothing. Instead, she cups your face with trembling hands, her thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks.

“Promise me,” she whispers, her voice raw. “Promise me you won’t leave.”

You nod, your forehead pressing against hers. “I promise.”

Her breath hitches, and before either of you can second-guess the moment, her lips find yours. The kiss is soft at first, hesitant, as though she’s testing the waters. But as the seconds stretch, it deepens, her desperation and longing pouring into you.

You respond in kind, your hands slipping to her waist, pulling her closer. The room feels smaller now, the world narrowing to just the two of you. The weight of guilt and exhaustion begins to melt away, replaced by the warmth of her touch and the comfort of her presence.

Her fingers wove into your hair, tugging gently as her lips pressed against yours, moving with a hunger that made your pulse race. Her breaths quickened, shallow and uneven, mingling with yours as the kiss deepened. When you finally broke apart, just enough for air, she rested her forehead against yours, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed, her half-lidded eyes brimming with emotion.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute, the words carrying a weight that made your chest tighten.

“I love you, too,” you replied, the confession slipping from your lips effortlessly, as though it had been waiting to be spoken all along.

Her lips crash against yours again, fiercer this time, fueled by an unspoken urgency. Your fingers find hers, weaving together in a silent promise, gripping tighter as the intensity builds. Her soft, breathy moans are swallowed into the heat of your kiss, felt more than heard, trembling against your lips.

Your tongue slips past her parted lips, tangling with hers in a slow, deliberate exploration. Gasps mingle in the space between you, each one drawing you deeper, pulling you further into the feverish heat of her touch. The air thickens, the world beyond this moment blurring into nothing as the kiss deepens, as the fire between you ignites into something undeniable.

Then—clank.

The sound slices through the tension like a needle through silk. The cup tumbles from the table, liquid spilling in a slow, creeping pool across the floor. Jiheon’s hand, still hovering where it knocked the cup, twitches slightly—caught between embarrassment and the lingering heat of your touch.

You both flinch, startled, eyes locking in shared surprise. For a moment, the intensity lingers, crackling in the air between you. But then, Jiheon giggles—a soft, melodic sound that melts through the weight of the moment like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

That once heavy, almost unbearable atmosphere shifts. Her smile—warm, unguarded—disarms you completely. There’s no frustration, no regret, just her, basking in the moment, unbothered by the mess, as if the only thing that truly matters is you.

Her laughter is contagious. Before you know it, you’re smiling too, drawn into the simple joy of being here, of being hers.

“Bed?” you ask, your voice low, laced with something deeper.

She nods, without hesitation.

You take her hand, guiding her gently, deliberately, until the backs of your knees hit the bed. You sit first, looking up at her, eyes tracing the delicate curve of her face, the way her chest rises and falls with each breath. Then, with a soft pull, you lead her onto your lap, her body settling perpendicular to yours, her warmth pressing firmly against you.

As the mood settles, the tension thickens once more. There’s no hesitation when your lips find hers again—no second-guessing, just the raw, undeniable pull between you.

The kiss deepens, slow yet hungry, your hands moving on instinct, fingertips grazing the soft curve of her breast. The fabric between you is a mere formality, a fleeting barrier that does little to dull the warmth of her skin beneath.

Then, suddenly, she pulls back.

Her breath is unsteady, her lips parted as she struggles with her words. “Aren’t I… aren’t I heavy?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, uncertainty flickering in her gaze.

You don’t hesitate. “No…” The answer is quick but gentle, steady, reassuring. Your fingers tighten slightly on her waist, a silent promise that she is wanted. Still, you sense the hesitation lingering in her, the quiet vulnerability she won’t voice aloud. So, without another word, you shift.

“Here, let’s move you.”

With care, you ease her onto the bed, her body sinking into the mattress beneath her. You hover for a moment, watching her, taking in the way her chest rises and falls, the way her fingers curl slightly as if unsure where to place them.

You place your hand on her breast again, fingers tracing over the soft curve, your palm molding to the warmth of her body as you knead gently. Her breath hitches, her chest rising beneath your touch. “Babe…” she calls out, her voice a little shaky, heavy with something unspoken.

You pause, your thumb circling lightly over the fabric covering her skin. “Huh… what’s the matter?” Your voice is soft, laced with concern, but you don’t pull away just yet.

Jiheon exhales deeply, her fingers tightening slightly where they rest against your shoulders. Her lips part as if to say something—but then she shakes her head.

“No… never mind… it’s nothing,” she dismisses quickly, exhaling sharply, as if trying to steady herself.

But you see it—the way her body tenses, the subtle way her fingers clutch at your shirt, like she’s caught between desire and hesitation.

You don’t ignore it. You don’t push, either. Instead, your voice drops to something softer, something meant only for her.

“We can stop if you want,” you murmur, brushing a thumb over her side. “You don’t have to force yourself.”

Her eyes flick up to meet yours, searching, uncertain for just a second—until she shakes her head. “No, it’s not that,” she whispers, hands coming up to cup your face. Her touch is warm, grounding, and when she smiles, it’s small but genuine.

“Please… continue,” she pleads, voice barely above a breath, yet somehow deafening in the quiet space between you. “I like it too…”

The words ignite something deep in your chest.

Your hands move, trailing down from her chest, fingers hovering just above her skin. When they finally meet her bare midriff—her top having ridden up slightly from all the movement—she shivers under your touch.

The warmth of her skin is intoxicating beneath your fingertips, soft and inviting. You pause, letting her breathe, letting her feel every second of your presence.

And when she doesn’t pull away, when she leans just a little closer, you know—she wants this just as much as you do.

Your hands slip beneath her shirt, fingertips gliding under the fabric, slipping past the lace of her bra until they find her chest. You tease her nipples, feeling the way her breath hitches, her body reacting instinctively to your touch.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, you lift her shirt fully, discarding it, leaving her bare beneath you.

You pause.

Your eyes drink her in, taking in every detail—the way her skin flushes under your gaze, the soft rise and fall of her breath, the vulnerability in her expression as she watches you carefully.

She hesitates. “It may not be the bigge—”

“Jiheon,” you cut her off, your voice firm but warm. You meet her gaze, letting every word sink in. “You’re already sexy as you are. I couldn’t ask for more.”

Your hand continues to tease her breast, rolling her nipple between your fingers, feeling the way it hardens under your touch. At the same time, your other hand moves lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her pants, fingertips gliding past the last barrier of her panties.

The heat there is intoxicating, warmer than anywhere else on her body, as if this is where her desire has been pooling all along. You press gently between her thighs, fingertips brushing against her, and feel the dampness already beginning to gather.

“Ah!” she gasps, her body jolting in surprise.

Then she laughs, breathless, cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry… I just wasn’t expecting it.”

You pause for a moment, watching her, feeling the way her thighs twitch beneath your touch. But she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she exhales shakily, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s fine… continue…”

Her cuteness drives you wild—the way she bites her lip, the tremble in her voice, the way her body instinctively presses into your hand despite her shyness.

You obey, rubbing slow, teasing circles against her sensitive spot. Her warmth spreads, her womanhood gradually growing slick beneath your fingers, the dampness deepening with each stroke. She shudders, her breath catching, her moans no longer muffled but clear, soft, needy.

Then, carefully, you push one finger inside, slow and deliberate, your eyes locked onto hers, reading her every reaction.

“Mmnnngg… it’s in… your finger… you’re inside…” she mutters, her voice trembling, surprise laced in every breath as she clenches around you. The way her body reacts, instinctively drawing you in, makes your pulse quicken.

You move, easing deeper, pulling out just enough before pushing back in, curling your finger inside her, coaxing new sounds from her lips.

“Babe… it feels… weird… I… can’t—mmnngg,” she whimpers, words cut off by the moans spilling from her throat.

You can feel it—how she’s growing wetter, how her body is adjusting, how each stroke pulls another shiver from her. Slowly, you try to slide in another finger, wanting to stretch her just a little more—

But before you can fully press in, her hands fly to your arm, gripping you tightly.

“Babe… don’t… please… it’s too much… I can’t…” she pleads, her voice so small yet so desperate.

You freeze immediately. “I’m s—”

Before you can even finish apologizing, she shakes her head, stopping you with a single glance.

“Instead…” she whispers, her hands now hovering over your pants, fingers brushing against your length, feeling the heat trapped beneath the fabric.

Even through the layers, you feel the way she hesitates—curious, nervous, but undeniably wanting.

Excitement courses through you, anticipation crackling between you like static. You strip off your shirt first, then your pants, Exposing your hardness completely before reaching for her waistband. Your fingers hook into the fabric, tugging gently.

“Jiheon, lift up a little…” you murmur, your voice husky.

She nods, her breath unsteady, pushing up just enough for you to slide them down. The fabric glides over her smooth skin, peeling away inch by inch, revealing more of her bare thighs, her soft curves.

And then—there she is.

Her most intimate place bared to you, glistening with anticipation, the soft folds parting just slightly with each shallow breath she takes.

You freeze.

Your eyes drink her in, utterly captivated, completely mesmerized.

Jiheon shifts slightly, noticing your stare. “Why are you looking at it like that?” she asks, her voice laced with curiosity.

You blink, snapping out of your trance, heat rushing to your face. “Uhm… it just looks pretty,” you confess, unable to tear your gaze away.

Her cheeks flushed a delicate rose as her smile bloomed, a beacon drawing you in. She reached out, her hand a soft invitation, cupping your face. Her thumbs traced gentle circles against your skin, a featherlight touch that sent shivers down your spine. Then, with a deliberate grace, her thumbs moved to your lips, gliding from the curve above to the fuller bottom, lingering there, a silent question hanging in the air.

The anticipation was a taut string, vibrating with unspoken desires. You lowered your gaze, your focus drawn to the place where your bodies met, where your tip pressed against her entrance. A low thrum of need pulsed within you.

"Jiheon…" you murmured, your voice thick with the urgency building inside. "I'm putting it in."

Her eyes, dark pools of longing, met yours. She nodded, her breath catching in her throat. "Slowly—" she began, her voice a breathy plea.

But the hunger was too intense, the pull too strong. Before she could complete her request, you plunged into her, your shaft claiming its rightful place within her.

"Ah—" she gasped, her body jolting, a sharp intake of breath as you entered her. Her nails dug into your shoulders, a reflex of surprise, her muscles clenching around you, a hot, tight fist gripping your throbbing flesh with an intensity that stole your breath. She held you captive.

Not fully inside, she was already breathless, on the edge. You tried pushing deeper, but her passage tightened, a stubborn resistance that made you pause.

“!… Ah… nngg… it hurts,” she yelped, a small, pained cry that vibrated against your skin. Her body trembled beneath you, a delicate tremble like a struck bell. You pulled back slightly, a slow retreat, her heat clinging to you, her inner walls pulsating.

Seeing the flicker of pain in her eyes, you decided to be gentler, teasing at the entrance.

You thrust again, a slow, deliberate slide. “Nnng…” a moan, softer this time, escaped her lips, a sound of surprised pleasure.

You pulled back again, leaving her wanting, a frustrated gasp escaping her.

“Hnngg!!”

Only to plunge deeper than before, filling her completely with a surge of heat.

“ngh…” she moaned, her head falling back, an unguarded display of pure sensation.

As you started to draw back, her hands flew to your arms, digging in this time with purpose. Her grip wasn't pushing you away, but fiercely pulling you in, demanding more.

You thrust once again, this time with more force.

“Nhhgg” she responded, eyes wide and fixed on you, her mouth agape, gasping, her body, still trembling slightly, was surrendering to the pleasure.

“Are… you okay?” You asked, a note of concern in your voice.

"Yeah... I'm okay..." Her hands tightened on your shoulders, a flicker of desire igniting in her eyes.

"Please... continue," she whispered, her voice husky with urgency.

You deepened your rhythm, the pace accelerating. Each thrust met with a muffled moan, her grip on you tightening with each movement.

"Babe..." she gasped, arching her back as you filled her. Your hand moved to her breast, gently caressing the taut skin. You couldn't fully enter, her body still tight with anticipation.

"Hnnnnn..." she moaned, a wave of pleasure washing over her.

You moved within her, finding the sweet spot where pleasure met comfort. It wasn't enough to cause pain, yet it was enough to send shivers down her spine. "It... hurts," she breathed, her tongue darting out to catch it. "Kiss me."

You leaned in, your tongues meeting in a passionate dance. Her moans were muffled against your mouth, but you could feel the vibrations deep within her. As you moved your hips, your tongues entwined, exploring every corner of each other's mouths. You felt her body begin to loosen, yielding to the deepening kiss. Finally, you parted, your tongues lingering for a fleeting moment before breaking free.

Your face moved to her chest, your mouth finding her erect nipples. You gently suckled on one while holding the other, eliciting a soft gasp from her. Her hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer.

"Don't suck too hard..." she whispered, her voice breathless.

You moved your mouth away from her breast, replaced by a gentle pinch.

"Nnggf..." she gasped, a shiver running through her.

"Jiheon, your breasts are beautiful," you murmured, admiring their shape.

"Haaa... Really?" she asked, a playful lilt to her voice.

Your hands began to massage her breasts, gently kneading the soft flesh. You moved them closer, teasing her nipples together, rubbing them against each other.

"Babe... I'm sensitive there..." she panted, her breath catching.

You pushed her nipples closer, feeling their sensitive tips brush against each other. Then, you lowered your head, licking them together, savoring the taste of her arousal. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through you, causing you to thrust harder.

"Ahhhhh!" she cried out, surprised by the sudden increase in your pace.

"Jiheon, you feel so good," you groaned, lost in the moment.

Her hips arched upwards, meeting your thrusts at a new angle.

"Does it still hurt?" you asked, your voice rough with desire.

A smile spread across her face. "No... you're making me feel so good right now."

Her words were like a trigger, shattering your remaining control.

"Then... Jiheon, I'm going deeper this time," you informed her, your voice low and urgent.

"Deeper?" she asked, surprised. "You... weren't—"

You didn't wait for her to finish, plunging deep inside her. Your length was fully buried within her, her body tightening around you like a vice.

Her hands instinctively reached for the front of your pelvis, stopping you.

"Ah— Babe! I can't... please... Don't move... I can't breathe..." she wailed, her body trembling violently.

"Then... shall we stay like this while you adjust?" you offered, your voice a low rumble in the quiet room.

You leaned in close, your hand slipping beneath her head as you pulled her closer, enveloping her in your embrace. You could feel her hot breath fanning against your neck, frantic and now slowing down as she relaxed against you.

As the room settled, you throbbed gently within her, her body embracing yours, making it feel as if you were meant to be there, a part of her. A part of you yearned to remain still, to savor this moment of perfect union.

She whispered against your ear, "Isn't this more lewd?" she asked, a hint of a smile in her voice. "Us... in this... embracing each other, feeling each other's heat through our connection?"

You shifted, wanting to see her face now that the room had calmed. As you gazed down, you saw her smiling beneath you, her hair spread across the bed, some strands framing her face. Her beauty was radiant, enhanced by the sheen of sweat on her skin.

You couldn't resist leaning in to kiss her again, a slow, lingering kiss that deepened with each passing moment. As you deepened the kiss, you resumed your rhythm, your movements slow and deliberate at first, teasing her with each gentle thrust. Her body, now relaxed and receptive, met your movements with a growing eagerness.

You moved your hands to her back, tracing the curve of her spine, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your fingertips. You lingered there for a moment, savoring the feel of her before continuing your exploration, your hands moving lower to cup her buttocks, pulling her closer.

"Mmm..." she moaned softly, her eyes fluttering closed.

You quickened your pace slightly, each thrust becoming a little deeper, a little more insistent. Her moans grew louder, more urgent, as she met your rhythm with increasing fervor. You could feel the heat rising between you, the tension building with each passing moment.

"Please... continue," she whispered, her voice filled with a desperate longing. "I'm ready now... take me..."

Her words were the final invitation, the key that unlocked the floodgates of your desire. You surged forward, your movements now more forceful, more demanding, as you pushed her closer and closer to the edge.

You grasped her legs, and she slowly lifted her hips towards you, her body mirroring your own peak.

"Jiheon, I'm close..." you murmured, your voice thick with desire. "I'll finish in your stomach."

"I feel weird..." she whispered, trying to maintain her composure, her words punctuated by soft moans. "I think... I'm close too."

She pulled you closer, her lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss, a kiss that spoke of shared desire and impending release. You shifted your hands to support yourself as the rest of your body surrendered to the wave of pleasure.

"Ahhhggg... Babe!!!" she cried out, her voice a mixture of pleasure and surprise.

Her body tensed, her arms tightening around your neck, her legs locking around your hips. Her core pulsed, squeezing you tightly, drawing you deeper into her embrace.

"Jiheon, I can't hold it in anymore," you groaned, your control slipping away.

You tried to pull back slightly, but as she held you close, her peak intensifying its grip, your release had no choice but to erupt within her, your fluids mingling together.

"Hmmmgg..." a moan escaped her lips as she accepted your warmth, her body filled with a deep sense of satisfaction.

Her eyes half-open, you caught a flicker in their depths – a spark of joy, of satisfaction, and a hint of mischief, as if she'd done something she shouldn't have.

You collapsed beside her, the aftermath of passion leaving you both breathless

For a moment, you lay intertwined, catching your breath. Jiheon was the first to recover, snuggling closer, her arms embracing you, her cheek resting against your arm.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to finish inside you," you apologized, a hint of guilt in your voice.

"Don't..." she murmured, her voice soft. "I'm more at fault. I didn't let go of you." She paused, then added reassuringly, "And it's fine... it's my safe day.”

You absently ran your fingers through her hair, but your mind was elsewhere – a nagging feeling that something was amiss.

"Jiheon?" you murmured, feeling her shift slightly against you.

"Mmm?" Her response was drowsy, content.

You hesitated, trying to reconcile the fragmented memories in your head. "Tonight felt... different."

She tensed almost imperceptibly before relaxing again. Had you not been so attuned to her, you might have missed it. "Different how?"

"You seemed..." You struggled to articulate the feeling, not wanting to upset her. "It felt like your first time."

Jiheon lifted her head, meeting your gaze with a soft laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Are you saying I'm not usually this responsive?" Her fingers traced distracting patterns on your chest.

"No, that's not—" you frowned, trying to grasp your elusive thoughts. Fleeting images flickered through your mind – your supposed first time together, other intimate moments – but they felt strangely distant, blurred, like looking through frosted glass. "You were in pain."

"Maybe you were just particularly passionate tonight," she teased, pressing a kiss to your jaw. Her voice held a practiced lightness. "Besides, it's been a while since last time."

You tried to recall your last encounter, but the memory slipped away, elusive as smoke. "I suppose..."

"You think too much," she whispered, curling closer. Her hand cupped your cheek, turning your face toward hers. "Just be here with me now."

As you gazed into her eyes, the questions swirling in your mind began to dissipate, replaced by a comfortable haze. She was right – you were overthinking things. Everything was fine. Everything was exactly as it should be. Or so it seemed.

As the night deepened, your whispers faded into soft breaths, and you drifted to sleep together, the unsettling feeling lingering somewhere in the back of your mind, a secret you couldn't quite decipher.

~~~

The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. You wake up to the soft sound of Jiheon’s breathing beside you, her back turned slightly away. The sight of her, the way the golden light catches in her hair, makes your heart swell.

Smiling, you shift closer, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing a soft kiss to the back of her shoulder. “Good morning,” you murmur against her skin.

She stiffens, just for a second, before relaxing under your touch. “Morning,” she says, but her voice lacks its usual warmth.

You don’t notice at first. Instead, you prop yourself up on one elbow, brushing her hair away so you can see her face. “I still have time before my shift start,” you say, voice laced with affection, “We didn't get to go to our usual place last night, how about we get brunch there?”

She gives you a small smile, but something about it feels... off. “Yeah… that sounds nice.”

You lean down, pressing a kiss to her forehead before getting up to change clothes. Jiheon watches you from the bed, eyes clouded with something unreadable.

Your hands move, trailing down from her chest, fingers hovering just above her skin. When they finally meet her bare midriff—her top having ridden up slightly from all the movement—she shivers under your touch.

The warmth of her skin is intoxicating beneath your fingertips, soft and inviting. You pause, letting her breathe, letting her feel every second of your presence.

And when she doesn’t pull away, when she leans just a little closer, you know—she wants this just as much as you do.

Your hands slip beneath her shirt, fingertips gliding under the fabric, slipping past the lace of her bra until they find her chest. You tease her nipples, feeling the way her breath hitches, her body reacting instinctively to your touch.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, you lift her shirt fully, discarding it, leaving her bare beneath you.

You pause.

Your eyes drink her in, taking in every detail—the way her skin flushes under your gaze, the soft rise and fall of her breath, the vulnerability in her expression as she watches you carefully.

She hesitates. “It may not be the bigge—”

“Jiheon,” you cut her off, your voice firm but warm. You meet her gaze, letting every word sink in. “You’re already sexy as you are. I couldn’t ask for more.”

Your hand continues to tease her breast, rolling her nipple between your fingers, feeling the way it hardens under your touch. At the same time, your other hand moves lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her pants, fingertips gliding past the last barrier of her panties.

The heat there is intoxicating, warmer than anywhere else on her body, as if this is where her desire has been pooling all along. You press gently between her thighs, fingertips brushing against her, and feel the dampness already beginning to gather.

“Ah!” she gasps, her body jolting in surprise.

Then she laughs, breathless, cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry… I just wasn’t expecting it.”

You pause for a moment, watching her, feeling the way her thighs twitch beneath your touch. But she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she exhales shakily, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s fine… continue…”

Her cuteness drives you wild—the way she bites her lip, the tremble in her voice, the way her body instinctively presses into your hand despite her shyness.

You obey, rubbing slow, teasing circles against her sensitive spot. Her warmth spreads, her womanhood gradually growing slick beneath your fingers, the dampness deepening with each stroke. She shudders, her breath catching, her moans no longer muffled but clear, soft, needy.

Then, carefully, you push one finger inside, slow and deliberate, your eyes locked onto hers, reading her every reaction.

“Mmnnngg… it’s in… your finger… you’re inside…” she mutters, her voice trembling, surprise laced in every breath as she clenches around you. The way her body reacts, instinctively drawing you in, makes your pulse quicken.

You move, easing deeper, pulling out just enough before pushing back in, curling your finger inside her, coaxing new sounds from her lips.

“Babe… it feels… weird… I… can’t—mmnngg,” she whimpers, words cut off by the moans spilling from her throat.

You can feel it—how she’s growing wetter, how her body is adjusting, how each stroke pulls another shiver from her. Slowly, you try to slide in another finger, wanting to stretch her just a little more—

But before you can fully press in, her hands fly to your arm, gripping you tightly.

“Babe… don’t… please… it’s too much… I can’t…” she pleads, her voice so small yet so desperate.

You freeze immediately. “I’m s—”

Before you can even finish apologizing, she shakes her head, stopping you with a single glance.

“Instead…” she whispers, her hands now hovering over your pants, fingers brushing against your length, feeling the heat trapped beneath the fabric.

Even through the layers, you feel the way she hesitates—curious, nervous, but undeniably wanting.

Excitement courses through you, anticipation crackling between you like static. You strip off your shirt first, then your pants, Exposing your hardness completely before reaching for her waistband. Your fingers hook into the fabric, tugging gently.

“Jiheon, lift up a little…” you murmur, your voice husky.

She nods, her breath unsteady, pushing up just enough for you to slide them down. The fabric glides over her smooth skin, peeling away inch by inch, revealing more of her bare thighs, her soft curves.

And then—there she is.

Her most intimate place bared to you, glistening with anticipation, the soft folds parting just slightly with each shallow breath she takes.

You freeze.

Your eyes drink her in, utterly captivated, completely mesmerized.

Jiheon shifts slightly, noticing your stare. “Why are you looking at it like that?” she asks, her voice laced with curiosity.

You blink, snapping out of your trance, heat rushing to your face. “Uhm… it just looks pretty,” you confess, unable to tear your gaze away.

Her cheeks flushed a delicate rose as her smile bloomed, a beacon drawing you in. She reached out, her hand a soft invitation, cupping your face. Her thumbs traced gentle circles against your skin, a featherlight touch that sent shivers down your spine. Then, with a deliberate grace, her thumbs moved to your lips, gliding from the curve above to the fuller bottom, lingering there, a silent question hanging in the air.

The anticipation was a taut string, vibrating with unspoken desires. You lowered your gaze, your focus drawn to the place where your bodies met, where your tip pressed against her entrance. A low thrum of need pulsed within you.

"Jiheon…" you murmured, your voice thick with the urgency building inside. "I'm putting it in."

Her eyes, dark pools of longing, met yours. She nodded, her breath catching in her throat. "Slowly—" she began, her voice a breathy plea.

But the hunger was too intense, the pull too strong. Before she could complete her request, you plunged into her, your shaft claiming its rightful place within her.

"Ah—" she gasped, her body jolting, a sharp intake of breath as you entered her. Her nails dug into your shoulders, a reflex of surprise, her muscles clenching around you, a hot, tight fist gripping your throbbing flesh with an intensity that stole your breath. She held you captive.

Not fully inside, she was already breathless, on the edge. You tried pushing deeper, but her passage tightened, a stubborn resistance that made you pause.

“!… Ah… nngg… it hurts,” she yelped, a small, pained cry that vibrated against your skin. Her body trembled beneath you, a delicate tremble like a struck bell. You pulled back slightly, a slow retreat, her heat clinging to you, her inner walls pulsating.

Seeing the flicker of pain in her eyes, you decided to be gentler, teasing at the entrance.

You thrust again, a slow, deliberate slide. “Nnng…” a moan, softer this time, escaped her lips, a sound of surprised pleasure.

You pulled back again, leaving her wanting, a frustrated gasp escaping her.

“Hnngg!!”

Only to plunge deeper than before, filling her completely with a surge of heat.

“ngh…” she moaned, her head falling back, an unguarded display of pure sensation.

As you started to draw back, her hands flew to your arms, digging in this time with purpose. Her grip wasn't pushing you away, but fiercely pulling you in, demanding more.

You thrust once again, this time with more force.

“Nhhgg” she responded, eyes wide and fixed on you, her mouth agape, gasping, her body, still trembling slightly, was surrendering to the pleasure.

“Are… you okay?” You asked, a note of concern in your voice.

"Yeah... I'm okay..." Her hands tightened on your shoulders, a flicker of desire igniting in her eyes.

"Please... continue," she whispered, her voice husky with urgency.

You deepened your rhythm, the pace accelerating. Each thrust met with a muffled moan, her grip on you tightening with each movement.

"Babe..." she gasped, arching her back as you filled her. Your hand moved to her breast, gently caressing the taut skin. You couldn't fully enter, her body still tight with anticipation.

"Hnnnnn..." she moaned, a wave of pleasure washing over her.

You moved within her, finding the sweet spot where pleasure met comfort. It wasn't enough to cause pain, yet it was enough to send shivers down her spine. "It... hurts," she breathed, her tongue darting out to catch it. "Kiss me."

You leaned in, your tongues meeting in a passionate dance. Her moans were muffled against your mouth, but you could feel the vibrations deep within her. As you moved your hips, your tongues entwined, exploring every corner of each other's mouths. You felt her body begin to loosen, yielding to the deepening kiss. Finally, you parted, your tongues lingering for a fleeting moment before breaking free.

Your face moved to her chest, your mouth finding her erect nipples. You gently suckled on one while holding the other, eliciting a soft gasp from her. Her hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer.

"Don't suck too hard..." she whispered, her voice breathless.

You moved your mouth away from her breast, replaced by a gentle pinch.

"Nnggf..." she gasped, a shiver running through her.

"Jiheon, your breasts are beautiful," you murmured, admiring their shape.

"Haaa... Really?" she asked, a playful lilt to her voice.

Your hands began to massage her breasts, gently kneading the soft flesh. You moved them closer, teasing her nipples together, rubbing them against each other.

"Babe... I'm sensitive there..." she panted, her breath catching.

You pushed her nipples closer, feeling their sensitive tips brush against each other. Then, you lowered your head, licking them together, savoring the taste of her arousal. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through you, causing you to thrust harder.

"Ahhhhh!" she cried out, surprised by the sudden increase in your pace.

"Jiheon, you feel so good," you groaned, lost in the moment.

Her hips arched upwards, meeting your thrusts at a new angle.

"Does it still hurt?" you asked, your voice rough with desire.

A smile spread across her face. "No... you're making me feel so good right now."

Her words were like a trigger, shattering your remaining control.

"Then... Jiheon, I'm going deeper this time," you informed her, your voice low and urgent.

"Deeper?" she asked, surprised. "You... weren't—"

You didn't wait for her to finish, plunging deep inside her. Your length was fully buried within her, her body tightening around you like a vice.

Her hands instinctively reached for the front of your pelvis, stopping you.

"Ah— Babe! I can't... please... Don't move... I can't breathe..." she wailed, her body trembling violently.

"Then... shall we stay like this while you adjust?" you offered, your voice a low rumble in the quiet room.

You leaned in close, your hand slipping beneath her head as you pulled her closer, enveloping her in your embrace. You could feel her hot breath fanning against your neck, frantic and now slowing down as she relaxed against you.

As the room settled, you throbbed gently within her, her body embracing yours, making it feel as if you were meant to be there, a part of her. A part of you yearned to remain still, to savor this moment of perfect union.

She whispered against your ear, "Isn't this more lewd?" she asked, a hint of a smile in her voice. "Us... in this... embracing each other, feeling each other's heat through our connection?"

You shifted, wanting to see her face now that the room had calmed. As you gazed down, you saw her smiling beneath you, her hair spread across the bed, some strands framing her face. Her beauty was radiant, enhanced by the sheen of sweat on her skin.

You couldn't resist leaning in to kiss her again, a slow, lingering kiss that deepened with each passing moment. As you deepened the kiss, you resumed your rhythm, your movements slow and deliberate at first, teasing her with each gentle thrust. Her body, now relaxed and receptive, met your movements with a growing eagerness.

You moved your hands to her back, tracing the curve of her spine, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your fingertips. You lingered there for a moment, savoring the feel of her before continuing your exploration, your hands moving lower to cup her buttocks, pulling her closer.

"Mmm..." she moaned softly, her eyes fluttering closed.

You quickened your pace slightly, each thrust becoming a little deeper, a little more insistent. Her moans grew louder, more urgent, as she met your rhythm with increasing fervor. You could feel the heat rising between you, the tension building with each passing moment.

"Please... continue," she whispered, her voice filled with a desperate longing. "I'm ready now... take me..."

Her words were the final invitation, the key that unlocked the floodgates of your desire. You surged forward, your movements now more forceful, more demanding, as you pushed her closer and closer to the edge.

You grasped her legs, and she slowly lifted her hips towards you, her body mirroring your own peak.

"Jiheon, I'm close..." you murmured, your voice thick with desire. "I'll finish in your stomach."

"I feel weird..." she whispered, trying to maintain her composure, her words punctuated by soft moans. "I think... I'm close too."

She pulled you closer, her lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss, a kiss that spoke of shared desire and impending release. You shifted your hands to support yourself as the rest of your body surrendered to the wave of pleasure.

"Ahhhggg... Babe!!!" she cried out, her voice a mixture of pleasure and surprise.

Her body tensed, her arms tightening around your neck, her legs locking around your hips. Her core pulsed, squeezing you tightly, drawing you deeper into her embrace.

"Jiheon, I can't hold it in anymore," you groaned, your control slipping away.

You tried to pull back slightly, but as she held you close, her peak intensifying its grip, your release had no choice but to erupt within her, your fluids mingling together.

"Hmmmgg..." a moan escaped her lips as she accepted your warmth, her body filled with a deep sense of satisfaction.

Her eyes half-open, you caught a flicker in their depths – a spark of joy, of satisfaction, and a hint of mischief, as if she'd done something she shouldn't have.

You collapsed beside her, the aftermath of passion leaving you both breathless

For a moment, you lay intertwined, catching your breath. Jiheon was the first to recover, snuggling closer, her arms embracing you, her cheek resting against your arm.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to finish inside you," you apologized, a hint of guilt in your voice.

"Don't..." she murmured, her voice soft. "I'm more at fault. I didn't let go of you." She paused, then added reassuringly, "And it's fine... it's my safe day.”

You absently ran your fingers through her hair, but your mind was elsewhere – a nagging feeling that something was amiss.

"Jiheon?" you murmured, feeling her shift slightly against you.

"Mmm?" Her response was drowsy, content.

You hesitated, trying to reconcile the fragmented memories in your head. "Tonight felt... different."

She tensed almost imperceptibly before relaxing again. Had you not been so attuned to her, you might have missed it. "Different how?"

"You seemed..." You struggled to articulate the feeling, not wanting to upset her. "It felt like your first time."

Jiheon lifted her head, meeting your gaze with a soft laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Are you saying I'm not usually this responsive?" Her fingers traced distracting patterns on your chest.

"No, that's not—" you frowned, trying to grasp your elusive thoughts. Fleeting images flickered through your mind – your supposed first time together, other intimate moments – but they felt strangely distant, blurred, like looking through frosted glass. "You were in pain."

"Maybe you were just particularly passionate tonight," she teased, pressing a kiss to your jaw. Her voice held a practiced lightness. "Besides, it's been a while since last time."

You tried to recall your last encounter, but the memory slipped away, elusive as smoke. "I suppose..."

"You think too much," she whispered, curling closer. Her hand cupped your cheek, turning your face toward hers. "Just be here with me now."

As you gazed into her eyes, the questions swirling in your mind began to dissipate, replaced by a comfortable haze. She was right – you were overthinking things. Everything was fine. Everything was exactly as it should be. Or so it seemed.

As the night deepened, your whispers faded into soft breaths, and you drifted to sleep together, the unsettling feeling lingering somewhere in the back of your mind, a secret you couldn't quite decipher.

~~~

Entering The Golden Brew, your steps feel heavy, weighed down by lingering worries.

“Hey… I’m sorry about yesterday,” Gyuri says softly, approaching as you prepare for your shift. “You seem really down. Is it because of what happened?”

“No, it’s not that…” you reply, though your voice lacks conviction.

She studies you for a moment before pressing on. “You know you can talk to me, right? Are you sure everything’s okay? You’ve been acting strange—especially after your lunch at the konbini.”

Her words hang in the air, but before you can find an answer, the front door bell chimes—customers waiting at the counter.

The afternoon drags on, each minute stretching endlessly, yet somehow, before you realize it, night has already fallen.

“Hey… I’ll head out first. You can close up, right?” Gyuri asks, slipping off her apron.

You nod, offering her a faint smile. “Yeah, I got it.”

She returns your smile, though it’s laced with concern, before stepping through the door and disappearing into the night.

You step out of The Golden Brew, locking the door behind you with a quiet click.

A flash of light catches the edge of your vision. You turn—and there it is. The same sleek, sapphire-blue Porsche, parked just a short distance away.

Chaeyoung.

Your breath tightens in your chest. You know why she’s here. You know what you need to do.

Pushing down your hesitation, you walk toward the car, your footsteps firm, determined. You have to end this—end the guilt that clings to you like a shadow.

You rap your knuckles against the tinted window. Before you can tell her to get out, the glass slides down smoothly.

“Get in,” she says, smiling.

You sit in the front passenger seat, slamming the door closed, refusing to face her as your gaze fixes straight ahead through the windshield.

Her smile is wide enough to reflect in the window. "Miss me?" She asks teasingly. "You're not even going to look at me? I've been waiting ever since Gyuri left."

"Why are you here?" Your voice comes out stern, cold.

"I think you know why." Her hand moves to your thigh, rubbing through your pants, slowly inching upward.

You grip her arm, trying to stop her advance. Surprised at first, she battles against your resistance as you try to push her hand away.

"Aw... is our pretty boy shy?" She teases, pushing harder against your grip. "Don't worry, I'll be gentle this time."

"I can't betray her any further..." The words come out strained as you struggle against her persistence.

"Who's 'her'? Do you have a girlfriend or something?" Her movements slow slightly, but don't stop.

Your silence speaks volumes.

Her strength wavers. You finally overpower her, swatting her hand away as you turn to face her. Her smile fades slowly. "This was a mistake," you say firmly. "This... entering this car... it was a mistake then, and it's still a mistake now."

"You actually have a girlfriend?" Disbelief colors her voice, confusion twisting her features. "Gyuri told me you never had one..." Her expression shifts to panic. "You were supposed to have no attachments!"

You exhale sharply. "Whatever this was… it’s over."

Your hand reaches for the door, but she grips your arm with surprising strength. Her face now shows clear desperation.

"No, it's fine. It's okay." The words seem more to reassure herself than you. "You— you could just break up with her... you— just forget about her..." Her words stumble over each other.

"This has to end. That night was a mistake, one I won't repeat." You stand, opening the car door.

She pulls you back into the seat, eyes flashing with anger. "Mistake? Let me make something clear – that wasn't just some simple one-night stand. I warned you, and you still continued. You cannot just back out. It's too late to regret it now. You agreed to it—"

"Whatever game you think this is, I’m done playing it." You meet her gaze, unflinching. "I won’t hurt her like this."

You step out of the car. Behind you, the driver’s door slams shut, heels clicking rapidly on the pavement as she follows. Her voice is sharper now, edged with something you don’t want to name.

"You don’t understand what you’re doing. This isn’t something you can just walk away from."

"How great is she?" The words drip with venom. "You made a promise—to me, to us. Aren’t you a man? Then keep your word." She’s throwing anything she can now, anything to make you stop. Then, her voice shifts, silk over steel. "Who is she?"

You don’t answer.

She stops in her tracks, watching you, a slow smirk forming. "Tell me, or I’ll find out myself."

You hesitate. That smirk—she’s toying with you, and you know it. But you also know she’s not bluffing.

"...Jiheon," you say at last.

Something flickers in her expression. "Jiheon?" she repeats, almost to herself. Then, realization dawns. "You said you only met her the day before—" She cuts herself off, as if she’s said too much.

Your stomach tightens.

When she looks back at you, the panic is gone. The desperation wiped clean. That smirk returns, sharper than ever.

She closes the distance between you, fingertips grazing your jaw, trailing lightly down your neck. "Jiheon, huh?" she muses, voice dipped in honey. "Would she really mind? You've already done it once… what’s one more time?"

There’s something else beneath her teasing—something darker, something she shouldn’t know.

You step back, gently pushing her hand away. "Enough."

Her smile doesn’t falter. "Are you sure?" she murmurs.

"I wasn’t in my right mind that night." You turn away.

Her laugh follows you, light and knowing. "What makes you think you’re in your right mind now?"

The words freeze you mid-step. There’s something in the way she says it—casual, amused, but laced with certainty.

Before you can turn back, before you can demand what she means, her heels click against the pavement, the Porsche’s engine purring to life. And then—she’s gone.

But the chill she leaves behind lingers.

Your dorm room feels different when you return—heavier, somehow. Jiheon is already there, perched on the edge of your bed, fingers twisting nervously in her lap. The moment you step inside, she looks up, and something in her eyes makes your chest tighten.

"I was worried," she says softly, but she doesn’t move to embrace you like she usually would.

You sense it immediately—something isn’t right. But the silence between you feels fragile, and you hesitate to break it.

"Did you have dinner yet?" you ask.

"No. I... I cooked for you."

"Jiheon—"

Before you can say another word, she’s in front of you, pressing her lips to yours. The kiss is desperate, almost frantic. Her hands clutch at your shirt as if she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You pull back, startled by her intensity. "Jiheon, what’s—"

Her breath ghosts against your lips, warm and pleading, fingers curling into your shoulders as she tries to draw you back in. But you resist—just long enough to watch the frustration flicker through Jiheon’s dark eyes, her lips parting with a needy little whimper. A flicker of something else, too, something that looked suspiciously like guilt, crossed her face before she masked it with a determined set to her jaw.

“Please,” she whispers, voice trembling with want. “Just let me…”

Before you can answer, she’s already moving, trailing a line of feverish kisses down your throat, across your collarbone, until her mouth finds its way lower. Her touch is both tentative and daring, fingertips skimming down your torso, tracing the hard lines of muscle, the sensitive dip just above your hips. It felt almost… rehearsed, you thought vaguely, as if she were following a well-worn script.

You feel her breath against your stomach, hot and uneven, as she kneels between your legs. Her eyes flick up to yours, smoldering beneath those thick lashes, seeking permission she doesn’t really need. Her hand wraps around the base of your cock, firm yet soft, squeezing just enough to make you throb against her palm.

“Let me make you feel good,” she murmurs, her voice sultry, dripping with desire. But there’s a slight edge to it, an almost desperate undertone that makes you wonder what she’s trying to prove.

Her lips brush over the tip, soft as a whisper, before her tongue darts out, flicking across the sensitive head, tasting you. You can’t help the low groan that escapes you, hands sliding into her hair, gripping gently—not to guide, just to feel that silky texture between your fingers.

“Fuck, Jiheon…” you breathe, the words spilling out before you can catch them.

She grins, a wicked glint flashing in her eyes before she sinks lower, taking you into the wet heat of her mouth. Her lips stretch around you, cheeks hollowing as she sucks, her tongue pressing firm against the underside, tracing every vein, every ridge. She starts slow, savoring each inch as she takes you deeper, her throat relaxing, her breath hot against your skin. There’s a frantic edge to her movements, as if she’s trying to erase something, or perhaps prove something to herself.

“Just like that,” you murmur, voice rough. “Take it all.”

She moans around you, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. Her hands find their rhythm, one pumping slowly at the base while the other grazes up your thigh, nails dragging lightly, making you shiver. Her touch is almost too much, too insistent, as if she’s trying to compensate for something unspoken.

She pulls back just enough to catch her breath, a string of saliva connecting her swollen lips to your glistening cock. Her eyes stay locked on yours as she leans in again, her tongue swirling around the tip before she plunges down, faster this time, her head bobbing as she builds a steady, relentless rhythm.

“God, Jiheon,” you gasp, your hips bucking slightly, pushing deeper into her eager mouth. Her eyes flutter shut, a blush creeping over her cheeks as she takes you even further, her throat flexing around you. The sensation is intoxicating, the wet, tight heat pulling you closer to the edge. But even in the throes of pleasure, a small part of you can’t shake the feeling that something is off, that Jiheon’s intensity is driven by something more than just desire.

You can feel yourself teetering there, the pleasure coiling tight in your stomach. Your grip in her hair tightens, and she responds by sucking harder, her cheeks hollowing, her tongue working you mercilessly.

“Jiheon, I’m close,” you warn, voice strained. But she doesn’t slow. Instead, she takes you deeper still, her nose brushing against your abdomen, her throat swallowing around you as she hums in encouragement. The vibration tips you over the edge, a shuddering groan tearing from your chest as you spill into her mouth, waves of pleasure crashing over you.

She holds steady, swallowing every drop, her tongue still moving, milking you for everything you have. Only when your grip loosens does she pull back, licking her lips, a satisfied smile curling at the corners of her mouth.

“Mmm,” she purrs, her voice husky, eyes gleaming with pride. “You taste so good.” But the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and the pride seems… forced. She wipes a stray drop from the corner of her mouth with her thumb, popping it into her mouth with a mischievous little grin. It feels almost… practiced, you realize.

“Did I do good?” she teases, her gaze challenging, playful. But beneath the surface, you detect a hint of vulnerability, a desperate need for reassurance. You can’t help but chuckle, breathless and dazed. “You did more than good, Jiheon.”

She crawls back up your body, pressing herself against you, her lips finding yours in a slow, heated kiss that tastes faintly of you. As she pulls away, her smile softens, a hint of vulnerability beneath the bravado.

“should we continue in bed?,” she whispers, resting her head against your chest, the steady beat of your heart beneath her ear. “I just want to make you feel good.” The words hang in the air, both a promise and a confession. You realize, with a growing sense of unease, that she’s trying to make up for something, trying to assuage a guilt she hasn’t yet voiced.

But something clicks in your mind—the desperation in her kiss, the sudden intimacy, the guilt in her eyes all day.

"This isn’t about what happened with Chaeyoung, is it?"

She flinches.

"I thought you were acting strange because you hadn’t forgiven me," you continue, watching her reaction carefully. "But that’s not it, is it? There’s something else."

Something shifts. Like a puzzle snapping into place, memories sharpen—and unravel.

Your first kiss. It had been perfect, hadn’t it? Too perfect. Like something scripted, a scene from a movie playing out exactly as it should.

And then, fragments resurface:

"You’ve been fiddling with your phone. Is something wrong? You never do that."

"You’ve been acting strange—especially after your lunch at the konbini."

"Girlfriend? Gyuri told me you never had one..."

"You said you only met Jiheon the day before—"

"What makes you think you’re in your right mind now?"

Your head throbs, a sharp, pulsing ache as if something inside you is trying to fight back—trying to correct itself. Memories overlap and distort, tangled in contradictions. You stagger, gripping your temples, struggling to stay on your feet.

Jiheon catches you, hands cupping your face. "Stop," she chokes out. "Please don’t—"

Her eyes flash that strange cyan again. And this time, you don’t dismiss it.

"What did you do to my memories?" The question comes out softer than you expect, more hurt than anger.

Jiheon breaks. "I’m sorry," she sobs, reaching for your hand. Her touch feels both familiar and foreign now. "I never meant... it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was just a trick—I didn’t know what I was doing, I wasn’t myself."

You pull your hand away. "How much of it is real?"

Her silence is answer enough.

Your breath catches. "The past year..." You step back, needing distance as the artificial memories begin to fracture. "Our first meeting by the fountain. The late-night study sessions. Our first kiss in the rain. None of it happened, did it?"

"I’m sorry. I don’t— I didn’t know what I was thinking," she pleads, rising to follow you. "Let me explain. I know I did wrong, but I never meant to hurt you. I just... I can’t lose you, please—"

A pulse of cyan light flickers in her eyes, and suddenly, the fog starts creeping back in. That familiar haze.

The same blue that flashed across your screen. The same brilliant sky over the konbini. The same refracted light on your kitchen wall. The same color that flickered in her eyes the night before.

But this time, you recognize it for what it is—

Manipulation. Magic. A violation.

"STOP!"

The word erupts from you with unexpected force, reverberating through the room. The haze in your mind shatters, retreating like a receding tide, leaving you clearer than you’ve felt in… how long?

Jiheon stumbles backward as if struck. "I didn't— I couldn't control it," she gasps, tears spilling down her face. "I… I succumbed to myself. I was… overcome by my emotions."

"The konbini," you say, your thoughts falling into place like tumbling dominos. "The blue light I saw there… that was you?"

She nods miserably, arms wrapping tightly around herself. "I thought… I thought it would be interesting if I became your girlfriend." Her voice wavers. "I didn’t mean to toy with you…"

"Interesting?" The word tastes bitter in your mouth. "Didn’t mean to?" Your voice rises, fury breaking through the lingering fog. "You think that’s an excuse? You didn’t just toy with me—you rewrote my life. How many of my memories have you…?" The sentence fractures before you can finish it.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, reaching for you again. "Please, let me stay. I’ll tell you everything, I’ll—"

"No." You step back, widening the distance between you. "I need you to leave."

"Please," she begs, her voice breaking. The cyan light flickers weakly in her eyes, uncertain now. "I know I can’t fix this, but—"

"Jiheon." Your voice is firm despite the chaos roaring in your mind. "You’re the last person I can trust right now."

The words land between you like a final blow.

She stands there, trembling, her tears falling silently. For a moment, you think she’ll fight, refuse to go. But then she nods, turning toward the door with slow, heavy steps.

At the threshold, she hesitates. "Will you…?" The question remains unfinished, hanging in the air like an unresolved note.

You close your eyes, unable to look at her. "I don’t know. Just… go."

The door clicks shut softly behind her.

When you open your eyes, you are alone—with a head full of memories you can no longer trust and the lingering cyan glow of betrayal still burning behind your eyelids.

a/n: As always, any feed back is welcome (needed/ preferred :))

Chapter 3 ->

[kwilquib]

Driving you Mad

Series: Promised 9

Chapter - 3

Chapter 0 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

Lee Chaeyeoung (Fromis_9) X Male reader (ft. Seoyeon)

Word Count: 21.8k+

a/n: See tags...

Recap:

What started as an ordinary weekend after a night with Chaeyoung unraveled into dread when you discovered Jiheon had woven false memories into your mind—crafting a counterfeit love story you’d lived as if it were real.

You wake up, gasping, the weight of two lives clawing at your chest, crushing the air from your lungs. The memories Jiheon shoved into your skull haven’t just buried the real ones—they’ve fused with them, a grotesque snarl of half-truths and lies bleeding into each other like ink dumped in water. You can’t tell where one ends and the other begins, and the chaos is eating you alive.

You see it all at once—her fabricated love story etched in vivid, nauseating detail, every fake touch branded into your skin, every whispered promise echoing in your ears. But the truth screeches behind it, clawing at the edges of your mind, a faint, ragged whisper you can’t ignore. The two don’t even fight—they coil together, mocking you, daring you to pick which one’s real. First dates you never lived, her lips brushing yours in a ghost of a kiss that never landed, vows you swore to nothing but air. Then the jagged reality: Jiheon’s cold, surgical hands slicing into your past, rewriting you like some lab experiment gone wrong.

Your phone buzzes, a violent jolt against your nerves. Friday, 6 AM.

You stare at it, eyes burning, body locked in place. The last thing you can grab onto—Sunday night—slips through your fingers like sand. A whole week, gone. Vanished. Just a black void where your mind used to be, a gaping hole that laughs at you.

You don’t move. Can’t. The sheets cling to your sweat-soaked skin, the cold air biting at your face, and exhaustion sinks its teeth into you, dragging you down. You’re awake, but your head’s trapped, spinning in the wreckage of memory and madness, begging for something—anything—to claw its way out of the mess and make sense.

The morning light slashes across the walls, slow and cruel, but time’s lost its grip on you. In one twisted version of your head, this is her room—yours and hers—the faint stench of her perfume choking the pillow next to you. In the real world, she was here once, just one night, but it’s enough to make you gag on the lie. Your shaking fingers graze your phone, itching to dig through it—messages, photos, something to tether you to the ground. But dread coils in your gut. What if it’s all fake too? Doctored pictures of a life you never lived, texts spelling out a love story you never wrote—proof of her fingerprints all over your soul, even now.

The faucet drips. One drop. Another. Uneven, unhinged, a stuttering pulse drilling into your skull. Drip. Drip. Drip. It’s alive, taunting you, unraveling you. Each sound rips another shred loose: her laugh ringing in a café you’ve never seen, her fingers locked in yours on a beach you’ve never touched, her sobs choking the air in a fight that never fucking happened. The emotions hit harder than the images—warmth that burns, tension that strangles, the gut-punch of losing something you never had. She didn’t just plant memories; she stitched them into you, thread by thread, so you’d feel every cut she made.

Your heart slams against your ribs, erratic, too fast.

You slam your hands against your eyes, grinding until white-hot sparks explode behind your lids, desperate to shove it all out—her lies, your life, the whole damn mess. But it’s a flood now, a screaming torrent of fake and real smashing together, and you’re drowning in it.

Drip.

Your teeth grind, a low growl building in your throat.

Drip.

Your nails dig into the sheets, clawing at the fabric like it’s her skin.

Drip.

Something molten erupts in your chest—rage, raw and jagged, clawing up your spine.

She did this. She broke you. She tore you apart and stitched you back together wrong, left you like this—this twitching, fractured thing.

The faucet drips again, and you shatter.

Fury floods your veins, a wildfire scorching everything it touches. At Jiheon. At them. At the pathetic, trembling mess staring back at you from the void. You let them in—you let their whispers and their twisted games sink their hooks into you, and now you’re coming apart, thread by thread, a puppet with its strings slashed.

Your mind spins, a frantic loop of blame—them, with their cryptic bullshit and their memory-warping tricks, then you, for being too stupid, too weak to see it coming, then back to them, because they’re the ones who lit the match and watched you burn. Your fists ball up, knuckles white. You suck in a breath, ragged and sharp. Let it go. It doesn’t help. Nothing helps.

The anger doesn’t fade—it festers, throbbing behind your ribs, thick and suffocating. You need to do something—scream, smash, find her and make her undo it. Anything to stop the buzzing in your head, the war tearing you in half.

Your phone sits beside you, a cold, mocking weight. You don’t think—you can’t think. Your hand lunges for it, fingers trembling like they’re about to snap, unlocking the screen with a swipe that feels too violent. The glare stabs into your eyes, cutting through the dim haze of the room, and everything’s wrong—the air buzzes with static, your memories twist and writhe like snakes, and your skull feels ready to split open. Rage floods your veins, too much, too fast, a feral thing clawing to get out, and you’re not sure if you’re holding it in or if it’s already tearing you apart.

You scroll past Jiheon’s name—her cursed fucking name—and your stomach lurches. Not her. Not now. You’d scream, you’d break something, you’d lose what little grip you’ve got left if you heard her voice. Your thumb jerks, hesitates, then slams down on Gyuri’s name like it’s a trigger.

It rings once. Twice. Then—

“Hey.” Her voice slides through, calm, steady, unfazed. Like nothing’s wrong. Like the world isn’t collapsing.

The sound of it—her casual, unshaken tone—snaps something deep inside you, a brittle thread you didn’t know was still holding you together.

“You knew.” The words rip out of you, jagged and dripping with venom, barely human.

She doesn’t answer right away. You hear something on her end—rustling, faint, deliberate. Papers? Fabric? You see her in your head, pristine and smug, perched in some sterile office, legs crossed, barely paying attention, already three steps ahead while you’re choking on the wreckage she helped make.

“You fucking knew, didn’t you?” Your grip on the phone tightens, knuckles bleaching, the plastic creaking under your fingers. “That Jiheon was—” You choke on it, the words tangling in your throat, too heavy, too real.

Gyuri sighs—a slow, deliberate hiss, not defensive, not sorry, just tired. “Of course I knew.”

The silence hits like a punch.

Then the rage explodes.

“And you didn’t stop her?!” You’re out of bed now, stumbling, pacing like a caged animal, your voice shaking with something unhinged. “You just fucking—let her do this to me? To my fucking head?!”

“I couldn’t risk it.” Her voice stays level, but there’s a crack beneath it, a wire pulled too tight.

“Risk?” Your laugh is a mangled, vicious thing, scraping out of you like broken glass. “Risk what? What was so fucking precious that you let her shred me apart? Too scared to cross your little psycho queen Jiheon? Or was it just easier—huh?—to sit there and watch while she turned my brain into her fucking playground?”

A pause. You feel it—the way she hesitates, calculating, deciding how much of you is worth her breath.

Then: “You don’t get it.”

“Then make me get it!” It’s a scream now, desperate, wild, clawing out of you. You need something—anything—to aim this fire at before it burns you alive.

She hums, slow, deliberate, and then she drops it: “You think you were the only one affected?”

Your breath catches, sharp and painful.

“What?”

“You act like you’re the only one suffering,” she says, voice still smooth but slicing deeper now, an edge creeping in. “Like Jiheon walked away clean. Like we’re all just laughing while you fall apart. Do you really think that?”

You stumble, your pulse hammering unevenly, tripping over itself. Because no—you hadn’t thought about it. You’d been drowning in your own splintered mind, your own violation, your own rage, and it never crossed your fractured skull to wonder—

Jiheon’s face flashes behind your eyes. Hollow. Guilty. A ghost of herself, crumbling under what she’d done.

Your fingers twitch, your jaw locks. No. Fuck that. You won’t let her haunt you with pity. You won’t let this twist back into your fault.

“Don’t you fucking—” Your voice shakes, splintering with fury. “Don’t you dare try to make me feel sorry for her!”

“I’m not.” Gyuri’s tone hardens, the polish cracking at the seams. “I’m saying it’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple!” You’re roaring now, throat raw, words slamming against the walls. “I didn’t ask for this—I didn’t fucking deserve this!”

And then—

“Neither did she.”

The silence is a void, swallowing you whole.

Your breaths come hard and fast, ragged gasps that scrape your lungs. Your nails are carving bloody crescents into your palm, and Gyuri’s not saying a damn thing, and that’s worse—it’s worse—because it leaves you alone with the storm in your head.

You feel it shift now, the ground tilting beneath you.

She’s slipping too.

You hear her exhale, sharp and unsteady, like she’s clawing herself back from a ledge, but she’s already falling.

“Do you think I wanted this?” Her voice drops, low and taut, trembling at the edges. “You should’ve asked me for help.”

Your mouth opens—no sound comes out, just a hollow wheeze.

“Do you think I enjoy watching this implode? You think I wanted you tangled up in our shit? You think I don’t—” She stops herself, her breath hitching, and for the first time, she’s shaking.

And it hits you.

She’s burning too.

Not just at you—at Jiheon, at the Promised 9, at the whole rotting mess. At herself. The heat in her words, the tremor behind them—it’s the same feral, helpless rage that’s been gnawing you alive.

Click.

The line dies.

You stare at the phone, hands quaking, heart slamming against your ribs like it’s trying to break free. The rage is still there, a living thing coiled in your chest, but now it’s got nowhere to go—no target, no release.

Gyuri was supposed to be the wall you’d smash it against. But she’s not a wall—she’s a mirror, cracking under the same fire that’s torching you.

And that only makes it worse. The flames climb higher, hotter, feeding on themselves, and you’re running out of things to burn.

You call her again. Once. Twice. Ten fucking times. Each unanswered ring is a blade twisting in your gut, your pulse slamming so hard it’s rattling your skull.

No answer.

The screen glares back at you, a harsh, mocking light. She’s ignoring me. You knew she’d do this after hanging up—Gyuri, with her calculated little sigh, abandoning you to choke on your own chaos—but the silence gnaws, relentless, a living thing sinking its teeth into you.

You rake a hand through your sweaty, matted hair, about to smash the call button again when something slams into focus—something off.

Your phone’s… stuck.

No new notifications. No new calls. No new texts.

You squint, heart lurching. That’s not right. That’s not fucking right.

You swipe to your messages. The old threads are there—random chats, group texts, stupid memes from weeks ago—but nothing fresh. Not a single new word since… when?

Emails? Same deal. Professor nagging about deadlines, pinned lecture notes—all frozen, timestamped days back. No updates, no reminders, no org newsletters clogging your inbox like they should.

A cold, greasy panic slithers up your spine.

You fumble to the call log, stabbing at a name—some guy from class, a nobody, someone too boring to be tangled in their web.

It rings. And rings. No pickup. No voicemail. Just… dead air.

You try again, fingers trembling, jabbing harder like it’ll force a connection. Nothing.

Your breath comes fast, shallow, scraping your throat raw. No. No way.

You stagger to the window, nearly tripping, and mash your face against the glass. Outside, the world’s still turning—students drifting past, cars nosing into the lot, everything mocking you with its normalcy.

You unlock the latch with stiff fingers and shove the window open. Cold air rushes in, biting against your skin.

Then—you yell.

"Hey!"

Your voice cuts through the air, sharp and desperate. A few people pass directly below, their heads tilted in conversation.

No one looks up.

You grip the windowsill, knuckles white. Your breath shakes.

"Can anyone hear me?!"

Nothing. Not even a glance.

It’s like you’re not even there.

Your stomach flips, sour and tight.

You stumble into the hall, the dorm stretching out too quiet, too long. It’s the same as ever—chipped walls, scuffed floors—except every door’s plastered with flyers, loud and garish. Every single one.

Except yours.

Yours is blank, a void in the noise, like you’re not even here.

Rent was due days ago. Your landlord’s a bloodsucker—should’ve been hammering your door down, blowing up your phone with threats. But nothing. No calls. No texts. No knocks.

You lurch outside, past the entrance, into the open. People brush by—chatting, laughing, breathing—and you’re a phantom, invisible. No eyes catch yours. No heads turn.

It slams into you, a frigid, suffocating wave.

They’ve cut me off.

A laugh tears out of you, sharp and unhinged, bouncing off the emptiness.

Of course. Of fucking course. The Promised 9. Gyuri’s bullshit “I couldn’t risk it”—what a sick, twisted lie. Risk what? Protecting you? No, this was them, flexing their claws, severing every thread tying you to the world. No new messages. No new calls. No rent demands. Like you’ve been paused while everything else keeps spinning.

You stare at the crowd—oblivious, alive, real—and it’s like you’re slamming against a glass cage, unseen, unheard.

It’s impossible. It should be impossible. But they bend reality like it’s their toy, don’t they? Always have.

Your fists clench, nails carving into your palms, blood welling up.

“Fine.” The word growls out, low and shredded.

You storm back inside, kicking the door shut so hard it shakes in the frame. The lock snaps into place—a useless little click against their game. You’re trapped, a rat in their maze, and they’re rewriting the walls while you run.

You gulp air, ragged and desperate, trying to claw your way back to solid ground. But your mind’s splintering—rage and paranoia twisting into a jagged, screaming mess.

Are they watching? Right now? Hiding in the shadows, giggling at your collapse?

Your jaw locks, teeth grinding until they throb. You drop onto the bed, slamming your palms into your thighs, gripping so tight your knuckles bleach, fighting to keep from shattering completely.

But it’s slipping. The anger’s boiling now, a scream clawing up your throat, and if you let it out—if you let go

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You don’t know what you’ll break. Or who.

Time slips away. You don’t know how much.

Minutes? Hours? Days?

It’s all mush now, a smeared streak of nothing. The silence isn’t just outside anymore—it’s in your head, thick and suffocating, wrapping around your thoughts like damp rot.

It’s just you.

You and the jagged mess clawing inside your skull.

You collapse onto the bed, fingers twisting into your hair, pulling until it stings. Your mind lurches, dragging you down into the undertow—

Jiheon.

A flicker—a memory, or whatever the hell it is.

You’re in the back of a taxi, city lights streaking across her face, sharp and fleeting. She nudges your shoulder with hers, her voice a low murmur, teasing, curling into your ear like smoke. Her hand brushes yours—warm, soft—or did it? Did she ever touch you like that?

Another flash—her laugh, quiet and velvet, a secret carved out just for you, spilling into the dark.

Real? Fake? Does it even matter anymore? You don’t care. You let it roll, let it flood you.

Your eyes flutter shut, and you chase it—her phantom warmth, the shape of her beside you, a lifeline to a past that might be a lie. You breathe it in, greedy, desperate, clinging to the edges of something that could’ve been.

Knock.

Your eyes snap open, wide and wild.

The room’s dead still. Your breath snags in your throat. Then—

Knock. Knock.

It’s sharp, real, slicing through the haze like a blade.

Your heart slams against your ribs, erratic, too loud.

Who—?

You lurch upright, dizzy, palms slick with sweat. You haven’t heard a human sound in—fuck, how long? Days? Weeks? The world’s been a void, and now this—this knock—it’s a lifeline, a threat, a scream in the silence.

Your mind scrambles, tripping over itself. Only one person knows this place. Only one person could find you here, buried in their mess.

“Jiheon.”

The name tears out of you, raw and instinctive, a growl from somewhere deep. Your body’s moving before your brain catches up—stumbling, nearly crashing into the wall, hands shaking as you lunge for the door.

Everything else burns away—the rage, the dread, the memory of her hollow eyes the last time you saw her, the way she broke you. It’s gone, torched in the frantic need to see her, to know, to rip something real out of this nightmare.

Your fingers claw at the handle, slick and fumbling.

You fling the door open, chest heaving, eyes wild—ready to face her, ready to break her, ready for anything—

Eyes lock onto yours through the open door.

Blue.

Not hers. Not Jiheon’s.

Deeper. Mesmerizing. A pull that sinks into you like hooks.

Chaeyoung.

“Missed me?” Her voice slithers out, thick and syrupy, laced with a taunt that makes your skin crawl. You freeze, brain stuttering, but she doesn’t wait—she glides past you, smooth and brazen, like the room’s already hers.

She surveys the chaos—tangled sheets, scattered bottles, the stale reek of too many days alone—and lets out a slow, mocking “Wow.” Her fingertip trails along your desk, collecting dust like it’s evidence, a smirk flickering as she wipes it off. “You live like this?” Her hum is low, teasing, a blade disguised as velvet. “I thought men only crashed this hard after a divorce. But you—” She pivots, those piercing eyes glinting, “you’re shattering over a little heartbreak, aren’t you?”

Your fists ball up, nails biting into your palms, blood prickling under the skin. “What do you want?” The words grind out, rough and unsteady, barely holding back the storm churning inside.

Chaeyoung tilts her head, sizing you up, that knowing smirk sharpening. “Why so tense? You were practically drooling to see who was at the door.” She steps closer—too close—her perfume curling into your lungs, sweet and suffocating. “Did you think I was her?”

Your jaw locks, teeth grinding, and her grin widens, delighted.

She moves past you, slow, unhurried, fingers grazing the door as she swings it shut. The lock clicks into place.

When she turns back, her gaze drips with amusement.

“Poor thing,” she purrs, her hand lifting, fingertips brushing your collarbone—light, deliberate, dragging down slow enough to burn. “Still waiting for Jiheon to crawl back? Begging on her knees, maybe?”

She leans in, her breath hot against your neck, voice dipping low. “Or maybe you wanted something else. Someone else.”

Your exhale is a jagged rasp, and her laugh—sharp and lilting—cuts through you like glass.

“Don’t be shy.” Her fingers dance across your chest, teasing, pressing, stoking something raw. “Locked up in here for days—alone, restless, no one to talk to, no one to touch—” She inches closer, her body brushing yours, “it’s gotta be eating you alive.”

Your muscles coil, heat spiking where it shouldn’t, where you don’t want it to. Your mind’s screaming—trap, trap, trap—but your body’s traitorously still, caught in her pull.

“It’s okay,” she coos, voice softening into something dangerous, something that coils around your throat. “I can make it easier. Just let go. Let me.”

And that’s when it breaks.

Something in you fractures, a dam splitting wide open. Before she can blink—before you can think—your hands lunge.

Fingers clamp around her throat, tight and trembling, and you slam her against the wall with a force that rattles the room. Her head snaps back, breath catching—

But she doesn’t flinch.

No fear. No shock.

Her lips twist upward, a slow, wicked smile blooming under your grip.

“Oh,” she breathes, voice rough but dripping with hunger, eyes blazing dark and wild. “There he is.”

Your grip tightens, pulse pounding in your ears, but her stare—unyielding, pleased—digs into you, unraveling what’s left of your fraying sanity. She’s not scared. She’s thrilled. And that—that—makes the chaos in your head scream louder, teetering on the edge of something you can’t claw back from.

Your grip tightens, fingers digging into her throat, the tendons in your hands straining as rage boils over, uncontainable. Her hands latch onto your wrists, tugging, but it’s weak—halfhearted—like she’s playing at resistance.

“You did this.” Your voice rips out, a guttural growl trembling with fury. “You and the others—you fucking isolated me. Cut me off. Why?!”

Chaeyoung tilts her head against the wall, barely fazed, lips twitching with the ghost of a smile. “Torment?” she tosses back, her tone light, mocking, like it’s a game.

“Don’t act fucking clueless!” Your nails bite into her skin, carving faint crescents, your breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts. “What the hell did I do to deserve this?!”

She exhales, slow and deliberate, a sigh that’s too calm, too unbothered for the pressure crushing her windpipe. Then—her eyes flicker up, locking onto yours.

A smirk curls her lips, sharp and venomous.

“Did you forget?” she murmurs, voice low, dripping with something dark.

“You chose this.”

Her lashes flutter, her gaze slicing through you—cruel, knowing, peeling back layers you didn’t know were there.

“You wished for this.”

Your mind stutters, a jolt of ice cutting through the heat. “Wished for this? Why the fuck would I—when—?” Then it hits—the memory slams into you like a fist. That night with Chaeyoung, her voice teasing, sultry, whispering ‘Be careful what you wish for’ as the room spun and her laughter faded into the dark. “That night? That stupid fucking wish you threw out there? How was I supposed to know—you didn’t even explain it!”

Her smirk deepens, unfazed by your snarl. “Either way, you’re with us now.” Her voice is velvet over steel. “You locked yourself in when you spent that night with me—and oh, so much more with Jiheon.”

One of her hands, still gripping your wrist, shifts—sliding up, slow and deliberate, caressing your cheek. Then it drops, her fingers brushing lower, rubbing against your crotch through your pants, a bold, taunting stroke.

“Why don’t you calm down for now?” she purrs, eyes glinting with mischief. “Or if you prefer this, I wouldn’t mind.”

Your breath hitches, a mix of fury and disbelief choking you.

“You’re fucked in the head,” you spit, voice shaking, incredulous.

Your grip clamps tighter, fingers sinking into Chaeyoung’s throat, your breath heaving, wild and uneven, like something’s clawing out of your chest. Her gasping, broken laugh spills out anyway, her chest shuddering under the strain, defiant even as you crush her windpipe.

“Ironic,” she wheezes, eyes half-lidded, glinting with something mocking, dangerous, her lips twitching despite the chokehold. “Coming from someone who’s losing his mind.”

“Insane?” Your voice cracks like a whip, jagged and unhinged, your grip tightening until your knuckles bleach. “What the fuck do you mean by that?”

She forces a ragged breath, her smile unwavering, predatory. “Haven’t you seen it? Felt it?” she rasps, voice low and cutting. “You’re coming apart. That memory’s eating you alive.”

Then—

A bang at the door—sharp, thunderous, rattling the frame.

“Hey! It’s me—Gyuri!” Her voice slices through, fierce and commanding. “Chaeyoung, open the damn door! I know you’re in there—enough with your fucking games, he doesn’t need this!”

Another bang, harder, the wood groaning under her fist.

“What was that crash earlier?!” Gyuri’s tone spikes, worry twisting into anger. “Open it—NOW!”

Your head jerks toward the sound, but your eyes snap back to Chaeyoung. She meets your stare, her smirk stretching wider, feral and gleeful, like she’s feeding off the chaos.

“What are you gonna do now?” she whispers, voice trembling with delight, strained and taunting under your grip. Her fingers twitch, still clutching your pants, pressing harder against you, shameless. “Unless… you wanna keep going?” Her lips part, a shaky inhale breaking through, her smile teetering on the edge of collapse. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Then—

The world shatters.

The door doesn’t just explode inward—it detonates. A violent eruption of force tears through the room, sending a shockwave rippling outward. The walls groan under the impact, picture frames shattering, glass spraying across the floor. Furniture is upended—your bed slams against the opposite wall with a deafening crack, a dresser topples, scattering papers and broken wood across the floor.

A crimson-red streak of light flares from the splintered remains of the doorway, burning hot, searing bright. The entire building shakes, the foundation trembling under the sheer weight of the force. Dust and debris rain down from the ceiling, the floorboards quivering beneath your feet.

A shard of wood slices past Chaeyoung’s cheek—a thin red line blooms, blood welling up instantly. She barely reacts, eyes locked onto the wreckage, onto her.

Gyuri stands amidst the destruction, breathless, eyes blazing like molten fire. Her silhouette is framed by the carnage—splintered wood, dust still swirling, the faint glow of embers flickering at her fingertips. She takes it all in—one sharp, furious sweep—the trashed dorm, the suffocating tension, the overturned chair, the damp stench of neglect.

And you.

Looming over Chaeyoung. Hand still locked around her throat.

Then—her eyes land on you.

And something shifts.

The raw, furious blaze in her gaze wavers, flickers—just for a moment. The fire dims, softens, but it doesn’t disappear. It settles into something steady, something alive.

She steps forward—slow, deliberate, like you’re a bomb she’s afraid to set off.

“Hey.” Gyuri’s voice cuts through, soft yet insistent, piercing the static screaming in your skull.

Your chest heaves, breaths ripping out in sharp, uneven bursts. You don’t move. Can’t. The world’s a haze of red and shadow, your hands locked, trembling, unrelenting.

Her fingers graze your arm—light, cautious, not forcing, just there, a fragile thread in the storm.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, her hand sliding to your wrist, warm and steady, curling around it like a lifeline. “Look at me.”

Your grip stays iron-tight, nails digging into Chaeyoung’s throat. Her smirk’s vanished—wiped clean. Her lips part, gasping, straining for air that won’t come, her chest jerking faintly. Her eyes meet yours—stripped of taunts, hollowed out, reflecting something shattered.

“Why should I listen to you?” Your voice claws its way out, raw and trembling, thick with rage. “You fucked with my head. You’re fucking with my life. You’re making me disappear.”

Chaeyoung’s gaze holds, unblinking, her wheeze barely audible under your chokehold. No defiance. Just that flat, eerie stillness.

Gyuri exhales—slow, controlled, a thin line of calm threading through your chaos.

“We did that,” she says, her voice deliberate, careful. “And I’m sorry. We could’ve done better—I could’ve done better.” Her fingers tighten around your wrist, not pulling, just grounding. “I should’ve cared for you more. Kept you closer instead of… this.”

Her words hang there, heavy with regret, but they don’t soothe—they sting, like salt in a wound you didn’t know was bleeding.

“We didn’t know how to handle you,” she continues, softer now. “Your mind—it’s fragile. We thought controlling everything, cutting you off, would keep you safe. But I see it now—we fucked up.”

Your vision blurs, red seeping into the edges, the room swaying as your mind teeters on a brittle edge—fury crashing against her confession, tearing you apart.

“Let go. Let’s talk.”

Her hand slides up, cupping your face, her palm pressing firm against your jaw—solid, unyielding, anchoring you. She pulls you in, closer, until her forehead rests against yours, her breath warm, steady, mingling with your ragged gasps.

A faint red glow flickers at the corners of your sight, pulsing faintly, warm and alive.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again, her voice cracking just enough to feel real. Her warmth seeps into you, threading through the tangled mess shredding your head, dulling the sharpest edges.

“Breathe.”

Your fingers twitch, the grip on Chaeyoung’s throat faltering—slowly, haltingly—until your hands drop, heavy and shaking, useless at your sides. She collapses with a choked gasp, air rushing into her lungs, but you don’t look. Can’t.

Gyuri’s hands stay, firm on your face, her forehead pressed to yours, her touch the only thing keeping you from spiraling into the void gnashing at your heels.

Your grip on Chaeyoung slackens, trembling fingers peeling away.

She drops, hitting the floor with a thud, gasping, coughing, hands flying to her throat. She doesn’t speak—doesn’t taunt. Just watches.

Gyuri doesn’t spare her a glance.

Gyuri holds you there, her fingers digging into your skin, a desperate tether dragging you back from the abyss gnashing at your heels. Your pulse thunders, a deafening roar in your ears, your mind spinning—fractured, teetering—but her eyes, steady and unyielding, lock you in place, keeping you from shattering completely.

“You need help. You know it yourself,” she says, her voice firm but laced with a softness that stings deeper than you want. “Let us help you. Me. No more of… this.” Her hand sweeps faintly toward the wreckage—the trashed dorm, the splintered door, the chaos seeping into every corner. “I promise this time.”

Her words dangle there, a lifeline tangled with guilt. You hesitate, chest tight, breath hitching. She’s right—you need help. They broke you, shredded your mind and left you clawing through the debris, but they’re the only ones who can piece you back together. It’s a cruel, twisted punchline, and the bitterness burns your throat.

You nod—just a twitch of your head—too drained, too furious, too lost to fight. Gyuri’s grip eases, her thumb brushing your jaw, a fleeting warmth you hate needing but can’t reject.

Behind you, a faint rustle. Then—Chaeyoung pulls herself up from the floor, slow and stiff, her movements deliberate, like she’s testing if her body still works. Her fingers flex and curl, trembling faintly before she clenches them into fists. “Great. Can we go now?”

Her voice is flat—no teasing lilt, no playful bite. She’s facing Gyuri, her back to you, her tone hollow, drained of its usual spark. You can’t see her face, but the air shifts—something unspoken crackling between them.

Gyuri’s jaw tightens, her eyes flicking to Chaeyoung, then back to you. “I can’t,” she says, quieter, a strain threading her words. “I need to stay. Clean this up.” She nods toward the shattered door, the mess of your dorm, her hands slipping from your face but hovering close, like she’s scared you’ll bolt. “The Mist can only do so much. We shouldn’t strain it more.”

Mist? Your brows knit, confusion spiking through the haze. “I thought we were done with that. Can you just explain—”

She flinches—barely—but doesn’t answer. Her gaze meets yours, heavy with something murky—regret, maybe shame. “Go with Chaeyoung,” she says instead, voice firming up. “She’ll take you to Saerom. She’s waiting. She can�� give you answers.”

You scowl, frustration boiling over. “Then why her? Why can’t you do it?” You glance at Chaeyoung, expecting her usual smirk, but she’s still—too still. Her face is blank, no fire, no taunt, just a weary, distant stare. The cut on her cheek gleams, blood still wet, but she doesn’t flinch at it.

Chaeyoung turns to you then, and—like a mask snapping back into place—her smirk flickers on, jagged at the edges. “What’s wrong? Scared to be alone with me after our little dance?” she purrs, her voice dripping with mock sweetness, leaning in just close enough to let her breath graze your ear. “Don’t you trust me, baby? I thought we were getting so… intimate.” Her tone wavers for a split second, a faint crack betraying her, but she covers it with a low, taunting chuckle.

The air thickens, heavy and suffocating, as Gyuri glares at her. A faint red glow pulses at the edges of the room, seeping from Gyuri’s clenched fists, the light flickering like a heartbeat—angry, unsteady. She squeezes her eyes shut, her chest rising and falling too fast, and you feel it—a hum in the air, a crackle of something raw and red bleeding into the space. She’s meditating, or trying to, holding back whatever’s clawing to get out. When her eyes snap open, they’re sharp, glinting with a crimson sheen she can’t fully hide, and she deliberately avoids Chaeyoung’s grin.

“Just go with her for now,” she mutters, her voice tight, strained, like it’s taking everything to keep the red from spilling over. She pulls you aside, her fingers trembling faintly against your arm, and whispers, tense and low, “Chaeyoung acts like teasing’s her only trick, but she’s the one you can trust most. At least you know what she’s after.” The red light flares briefly around her, casting harsh shadows across her face, then dims as she forces it down.

You chew on that, the words sinking in slow and bitter. Gyuri, who seems to care but keeps proving otherwise with every move. Jiheon, who cracked your mind open and left it bleeding. The others, shadows you can’t read. Chaeyoung—at least she’s predictable, her edges sharp but familiar.

“Let’s gooo,” Chaeyoung sing-songs, her lazy grin stretching wide, but her hands fidget at her sides, fingers twitching—a crack in her act she can’t quite hide.

You hesitate. Gyuri’s hand presses lightly to your back, a gentle nudge. “Go,” she says softly, urging you forward.

You step toward the door, but Gyuri’s voice cuts through just as you reach it. “Chaeyoung.”

You both pause. You glance back; Chaeyoung doesn’t.

“I’m serious,” Gyuri says, her voice taut, eyes dark and piercing. “Don’t hurt him.” It’s not a request—it’s a warning, laced with steel.

For a split second, Chaeyoung’s mask slips. Her shoulders stiffen, her breath catches—just a flicker of something raw—before she forces a sharp exhale through her nose, rolling her neck like she’s shrugging it off. When she turns, the teasing glint is back, polished and bright, but her eyes are too tight, her smirk too forced. “I’d do eight other things with him before we get to that kink,” she chirps, voice airy, then leans toward you, dropping it to a mock whisper. “Unless you wanna skip ahead?”

You don’t answer. Don’t look at her. Just step past, out the door, your mind a snarl of rage and exhaustion.

Chaeyoung follows, her footsteps light but uneven, like she’s still steadying herself. For a moment, she’s quiet—too quiet—her breathing shallow, a faint tremor in it she tries to cover with a soft hum. She’s shaken, more than she’ll let on, hiding it behind that brittle grin and barbed words.

You don’t care. You keep walking, and she trails you, the two of you slipping into the unknown, toward Saerom, while Gyuri stays behind in the wreckage—alone with her promises and the mess she can’t undo.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The car hums beneath you, a low, steady purr cutting through Seoul’s streets with effortless precision. It’s not Chaeyoung’s usual blue Porsche, all flash and noise. This is subtler—a Lexus, four-seater, sleek and understated, the kind of luxury that doesn’t scream but commands. Familiar. You’ve seen it before, that night you first stumbled into their world, half-blind and reeling.

Chaeyoung doesn’t fill the silence with chatter. Her hands grip the wheel, steady, her eyes fixed ahead—no music, no distractions, just the engine’s rhythmic drone and a heavy, unspoken weight between you. You don’t ask where you’re going. You don’t need to. She’d dropped it once, casual and dismissive—Saerom will explain when it’s time. That time’s now, and it hangs over you like a blade.

The car slows, but not in front of the gleaming glass tower you’d braced for. Chaeyoung veers sharp down a ramp, plunging into an underground lot. Dim fluorescent lights buzz overhead, the hum of ventilation fans swallowing the Lexus’s glide. The world above fades, muffled and far.

She parks with crisp efficiency. Her fingers tap the steering wheel—once, twice—a quick, restless tic before she exhales and unbuckles her seatbelt. “Let’s go.” She’s out before you can blink, not waiting.

The elevator ride is silent, the numbers climbing higher and higher until they stop at the top. When the doors slide open, you step into a space that feels like the crown of the building. Not just an office—Saerom’s office.

The door is heavier than the others, a polished plaque with her name the only marker. Chaeyoung raps her knuckles against it once, sharp, then shoves it open without pause.

Inside, the air thickens—leather, fresh flowers, a ghost of perfume. Floor-to-ceiling windows dominate one wall, tinted to hold the city at arm’s length. The space is pristine, curated, every detail deliberate.

At the center, behind a broad desk, sits Saerom. She doesn’t look up right away, her pen scratching across paper with a final, precise flourish before she sets it down. Only then do her eyes lift, locking onto yours. No surprise. No flicker of doubt. She’s been waiting.

“What took you so long?” Her gaze slides past you, pinning Chaeyoung.

Chaeyoung answers with a smile—thin, tight, not quite reaching her eyes.

You tilt your head, a smirk tugging at your lips despite the churn in your gut. “An actress with her own office, signing papers? Bit much, isn’t it? Almost like you run the place.”

Saerom doesn’t bite, doesn’t even blink. Chaeyoung lets out a low chuckle behind you, soft but sharp, like you’ve stumbled over something painfully obvious.

Saerom rises, smooth and unhurried, crossing the room toward you. When she’s close—close enough to feel the weight of her presence—she stops. “What happened to you?” she asks, her voice calm but edged, her eyes flicking to Chaeyoung.

You follow her gaze. The cut on Chaeyoung’s cheek gleams, still wet, but it’s her neck that draws you now—red marks blooming where your fingers dug in, faint bruises tracing the shape of your grip.

Chaeyoung flinches, just a fraction, caught off guard. “Nothing,” she says, too quick, a tiny hitch in her breath. “Just got a little excited.” Her hands land on your shoulders, rubbing them with forced ease, her smile flashing for Saerom—bright, brittle, a shield snapping back into place.

Saerom studies her for a beat, then turns, satisfied or uninterested—you can’t tell. She moves to the center of the room, settling onto a low couch by the coffee table, her eyes locking onto yours again. Waiting.

Chaeyoung’s hands give your shoulders a final tap. “Well, good luck,” she chirps, already retreating. “I’ll be outside.” Before you can say a word, the door clicks shut behind her, the sound sharp in the stillness.

You sit across from Saerom, alone now, her presence a quiet storm filling the room. Her gaze is unrelenting—steady, piercing, drawing you in whether you want it or not. No assistants buzzing around, no flashing cameras, no polished persona. Just her, seated in this private meeting room atop the city, waiting.

She doesn’t bother with pleasantries. Her eyes lock onto yours, unreadable, and she cuts straight to it. “Do you know the myth of the Promised 9?”

You exhale, sharp and bitter. “Yeah. Conveniently, I do.”

Silence. She’s waiting.

You hesitate, then give in. “Nine women, tied to humanity’s extreme emotions.” Your voice feels heavy, like you’re dragging it out of somewhere dark. “The King begged a deity for help, and they sent nine embodiments to carry that burden. But they needed an anchor—someone to keep them from losing it.”

The words hit differently now, tugging at a thread in your mind. Jiheon’s face flashes—tear-streaked, broken—“I wasn’t myself. Please, forgive me.” It clicks, heavy and sickening.

Saerom, as if reading your unraveling thoughts, breaks the quiet. “You’re that anchor. You keep us from spiraling.”

Your jaw locks. “Why me? Why now? Don’t you have someone else?”

She leans back, crossing one leg over the other, unruffled. “We weren’t always like this. Normal, once. Then one night, we woke up… changed. Something shifted, and we had no choice but to carry it.”

Your fingers twitch against your knee. “How long?”

“A few years. Less than ten.” She tilts her head, studying you. “We managed—until we couldn’t. We knew we’d lose control eventually.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “And I’m supposed to just step in? I don’t even know if I can—or how.”

Her lips curve, not quite a smile. “You already have. Twice.”

Your stomach twists. You don’t need to ask. Jiheon. Chaeyoung.

She watches the realization sink in, then adds, “And there’s more.”

You meet her gaze, wary.

“You resist us,” she says, matter-of-fact. “Our influence—our magic—it doesn’t take you fully. That’s why you’re different. Why you’re necessary.”

The words press into you, a weight you can’t shake. “You’re the perfect anchor,” she continues, voice low, steady. “Especially when we lose ourselves. Others would’ve broken by now. You haven’t.”

“And what? I just accept it?” Your voice rises, edged with frustration. “Chaeyoung said I chose this, but no one explained shit. You misled me—dragged me into this without a fucking word.”

Her eyes flicker away for a moment, staring past you, lips moving silently—like she’s cursing someone under her breath. Then she refocuses, unyielding. “I see. But what’s done is done. Doesn’t change that you’re what we need.”

“Why should I help you?” You shove up from your seat, voice cracking with anger. “After everything you’ve done? Jiheon fucked my head, and you—you made the world forget me!”

“Jiheon’s effect was… unfortunate,” she concedes, calm as ever. “But the rest? That was to protect you.”

“Protect me?” You laugh, harsh and hollow. “By cutting me off? Making me a ghost? You’re sociopaths—”

“It’s not just us who needs help,” she cuts in, stopping your spiral cold. “You need us too. That mind of yours—those memories—they’ll drive you insane. We can make it bearable, at least. Normal, even.”

“Convenient as hell for you,” you mutter, sinking back into your seat, defeated. “Might as well say you planned it all.”

“You think this is one-sided,” she says, leaning forward slightly. “That we’re just using you. It’s not that simple.”

Your fingers dig into your knee, but you don’t interrupt.

“We’re tied to you as much as you are to us,” she says, her gaze unflinching. “You anchor us, yes. But we take care of you in return. That’s the deal.”

“Sounds like a fancy cage,” you bite back.

A flicker of amusement crosses her face. “If that’s how you see it, fine. But it’s not cold. Not transactional.” She tilts her head, assessing you. “You’re already changing us—more than you realize.”

She leans back, ticking off names like she’s reading a ledger. “Gyuri—never begs me for anything. She did for you, just to get me here faster.”

“Chaeyoung—doesn’t give a damn about anyone outside us. Now she does.”

“Jiheon—reckless, shameless Jiheon—crippled with guilt over you.”

“Seoyeon—avoids responsibility like it’s a disease. Mentioned your name once, and she stepped up.”

Each name lands like a brick, stacking up in your chest. You don’t know what to say.

Saerom lets the silence settle, then drops it, casual but firm: “You should move in with us.”

Not a question. A statement.

It hits like a slap. “What?”

She doesn’t repeat it. Just watches you wrestle with it.

“That’s insane,” you say, shaking your head. “I barely know you. Why would I—”

“Why not?” she cuts in, smooth and sharp. “What’s stopping you?”

You open your mouth—nothing comes out.

“Your dorm was wrecked. No family waiting,” she says, voice low, relentless. “No career you’re tied to. No friends anchoring you. What’s keeping you out there?”

Your throat tightens, her words slicing too close. “I have a life,” you rasp, but it sounds weak even to you.

“Do you?” She leans forward, piercing. “A shitty dorm. Classes you sleep through. A routine you don’t care about.”

The ache settles into your bones. You can’t argue.

“You’d lose nothing by staying,” she says, softer now. “But you’d gain something.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?” Your voice is rough, brittle.

Her lips twitch—not quite a smile.

“A purpose.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The elevator chime cuts through the haze, a soft ding reverberating in the empty space. The doors slide open, revealing the underground parking lot—dimly lit, shadows pooling under flickering fluorescents.

You don’t move right away. Your hand clenches into a fist at your side, and you draw a slow, deliberate breath. This time, it steadies you.

For the first time in days your mind isn’t a storm of unanswered questions. The weight in your chest hasn’t lifted, but it’s shifted—less a choking fog, more a solid pressure you can finally wrap your hands around. Something real. Something you can face.

Anchor. Necessary. One of us now.

The words echo, but they don’t claw at you anymore. They’ve settled, heavy and certain, like stones in your pocket. It should scare you—shouldn’t it?—but instead, there’s a strange relief in the clarity. A thread to cling to, something to pull you forward when everything else has frayed.

You drag a hand over your face, rough against stubble, and step out.

Then you see her.

Chaeyoung’s leaning against the black Lexus, arms crossed, one boot kicked back against the concrete pillar. The faint light overhead glints in her eyes, sharpening the smirk tugging at her lips—a knowing, waiting curve.

Your gaze locks with hers, and you can tell in an instant.

She thought you’d run.

She thought you’d crack.

Instead, you exhale, a faint shake of your head as you step toward her. For the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel adrift. The ground’s still shaky beneath you, but it’s there—and that’s enough.

“Waiting for me?”

Her smirk widens. “Obviously.” She shifts, stepping toward you, closing the distance with a predator’s grace. “And I’m not done with you yet.”

You scoff under your breath, shoving your hands into your pockets. “I wasn’t planning on running.”

“I know,” she murmurs, her voice dipping, less tease and more weight—something off, something personal. “You won’t… you can’t… not with me.”

It’s not about Saerom or anchors or any of that. It’s her. Just her. Your shoulders stiffen as the words settle, heavy, like a snare you’ve walked into before.

You shake your head, exhaling hard. “She said you care about me.”

Chaeyoung snorts, amused. “Did she now?”

You shouldn’t ask, but it slips out. “Is it true?”

She steps closer, her gaze unwavering. “Does it matter?”

It does. You want it to. Your fingers twitch at your side. “What about Jiheon?”

Her expression flickers—brief, almost imperceptible—lips parting before she glances away, jaw tight. “You’re worried?” she says, sharper now, edged with something raw. “After what she did to you? Worry about her later.”

Your stomach twists. What if Jiheon didn’t mean it? What if she wasn’t herself when she broke you? The thought gnaws, but you don’t have an answer. So you don’t give one.

Instead, you nod toward the car, grasping for anything else. “This ‘anchor�� thing—what does it even mean?”

Chaeyoung exhales, shaking her head with a faint, bitter laugh. “You’re overthinking it.”

“I’d like a straight answer for once,” you snap, teeth gritted.

She leans in, voice low, teasing but barbed. “You keep asking like you don’t already know.”

You don’t. Or maybe you’re terrified you do.

Her smirk sharpens, a finger tapping her lips before she drawls, “Fine. You’re ours, we’re yours… yet.” She tilts her head, eyes glinting. “Happy now?”

Your chest tightens. “And sex—is that really how I help you?”

Her eyes gleam with mischief. “Why?” She steps closer, her breath brushing your skin. “Wanna test it again—see if I’m still worth it?”

Your lips part, but before you can bite back, she moves—quick, fluid, like she’s been waiting. Her hands slam against your chest, shoving you back through the open car door. You hit the backseat with a thud, leather and her perfume flooding your senses.

Then she’s on you, straddling your lap with slow, deliberate grace. Her fingers trail up your jaw, curling into your hair, tilting your head back to lock eyes. “Still undecided?” she murmurs, lips hovering just above yours, teasing the space between. She leans closer, her smile grazing your cheek. “Need me to remind you how good this gets?”

Your pulse spikes. You swallow hard. “Chaeyoung,” you rasp, “this isn’t the time—or place.”

Her lips curl sharper. “Then stop me.”

You hesitate—too long. She sees it, and the glint in her eyes flares, reveling in the edge she’s claimed.

“Chae—”

Your protest barely escapes before she’s on you, her fingers twisting into your shirt, yanking herself closer. Her mouth crashes against yours, fierce and possessive, a hungry edge to it that leaves no room for doubt—she knows what she wants, and it’s you.

Her lips move with bold, teasing confidence, pressing hard, demanding, like she’s playing a game she’s already won. The heat surges when her tongue brushes the seam of your mouth, coaxing you open—an invitation you shouldn’t take but can’t refuse. You part your lips, letting her in, and she dives deep, tasting like danger, sweet and addictive, pulling you under.

Her weight shifts, hips pressing into yours, her body molding against you with a deliberate grind that screams intent. You should stop this—draw a line before it’s too late. You know it’s a distraction for her, a power play, nothing more. But your hands betray you, sliding to her waist, tugging her closer, feeding the fire. You want her, even if it’s just this fleeting burn.

Then it shifts.

The kiss slows—her lips soften, less demanding, more lingering. The hunger doesn’t fade, but it melts into something warmer, something unguarded. Her breath catches, a faint tremor against your mouth, and the tease gives way to a quiet depth you didn’t expect. Her tongue brushes yours again, but it’s tender now, searching rather than claiming.

Your hand twitches, lifting toward her neck. You hesitate—flashes of earlier, your grip too tight, her gasping under your anger flickering in your mind. Guilt stalls you, but the kiss keeps pulling you in, softer still, and you can’t hold back. Your fingers find her neck, resting there—not choking, not controlling, just cradling, gentle and steady, a stark contrast to before.

She doesn’t pull away. Her lips stay on yours, warm and slow, a scrape of her teeth against your lower lip—not playful anymore, but raw, almost aching. When she finally breaks the kiss, it’s too sudden, a soft gasp slipping out as she stares at you. Her eyes widen for a heartbeat, mask slipping—surprise, vulnerability, like she didn’t mean to let it feel this real.

“Chaeyoung,” you murmur, voice rough, your thumb brushing the graze on her cheek—still raw from earlier, a mark you left behind.

She snaps back fast, that smirk curling her lips like armor, her gaze sweeping over you as if she didn’t just bare something unguarded. “What?” she teases, voice steadying too quick, too smooth. “Don’t tell me you’re hooked already.”

But your hand stays on her neck, light and warm, and for a moment, she doesn’t shake it off—the softness lingers between you, unspoken.

“You’ve been acting pathetic long enough,” Chaeyoung murmurs, shifting atop you. She pulls back slowly, settling her weight onto your hips, pinning you in place. “Let me take care of you.”

Her hands, warm and sure, glide from your thighs to your belt, fingers deftly working the buckle loose.

You catch her wrist, halting her. “Chaeyoung, we’re in public—”

“No one’s coming,” she interrupts, voice soft but firm, cutting through your protest. She leans in, her breath teasing your lips. “You need this.”

Her free hand fumbles blindly behind her, pulling the car door shut with a quiet click. She doesn’t say she needs it too, but the way her fingers tighten on you, the way her pupils flare, betrays her.

Your grip slackens.

A slow, wicked smile curls her lips. She shifts lower, unfastening your belt with a tug, sliding your waistband and boxers down in one fluid motion. Your cock springs free, and her eyes widen—just for a heartbeat—before that grin takes over, sharp and hungry.

Her tongue flicks out, tracing a deliberate, languid stripe up your length. A shudder rips through you as she swirls around the tip, savoring you, then takes you into her mouth. She sinks down, lips wrapping tight, the heat of her throat swallowing you inch by inch. A groan claws its way out of your chest, your hips twitching up instinctively.

She hums, the vibration pulsing through you, her tongue flicking against the sensitive underside as she bobs deeper, faster. Her fingers curl around the base, stroking what she can’t take, while her other hand teases your balls with a gentle roll. It’s too much—too good—pleasure coiling tight and fast. You’re close, teetering on the edge, when she pulls off with a wet pop, a thin string of spit bridging her lips to your throbbing tip.

She rises slightly, hands moving to her jeans. With maddening slowness, she unbuttons them, lifting her hips just enough to peel the denim down her thighs. Her dark panties cling to her, barely a barrier, and she kicks the jeans aside, settling back onto your lap.

Before you can catch your breath, she straddles you, grinding her hips down. The thin fabric between you does nothing to hide her heat, her slickness seeping through as she rolls against your aching length. Your hands grip her waist, fingers digging in, body taut with want.

“Mmm, you taste better than I remember,” she purrs, lips brushing your ear, nails raking your shoulders with a sharp thrill. “I want you inside me. Want you to fuck me ‘til I can’t stand.”

Her words ignite you, heat roaring through your veins. The slow drag of her hips has your breath stuttering, your hands itching to pull her closer, to lose yourself in her—

But then she stops.

Not hesitation. Not doubt.

She’s waiting, her focus shifting past you.

A beat hangs.

Then—click.

The car door creaks open, and your blood turns to ice.

“Chaeyoung…?”

The voice isn’t loud, but it slices through the haze, freezing you mid-breath. You don’t recognize it—not instantly—but the weight of that stare burns into you, heavy and unyielding.

“Oh… fuck—” A woman’s voice falters, stammering.

Panic hits like a flood. You jolt upright, scrambling to yank your pants up, fumbling in a clumsy rush. Chaeyoung, unbothered, slides off you with effortless grace, reaching for her jeans like it’s a casual pause in her day.

“Unnie, you’re here,” she says, voice light, almost bored, as she shimmies denim back over her hips.

You look up, heart slamming, and see her—Seoyeon—standing there, wide-eyed, caught in the doorway.

Your breath lodges in your throat, guilt and shock colliding as her gaze flickers between you and Chaeyoung.

Seoyeon freezes, her wide eyes flickering between you and Chaeyoung before dropping to the ground, like she’s trying to unsee what she just walked into. Her fingers tighten around her bag strap, and a faint flush creeps up her neck, barely visible in the parking lot’s dim glow.

That reaction—soft, unguarded—hits you harder than it should. Seoyeon, the quiet beauty you’d watched from a distance, always so composed, so untouchable. She’d had this effortless allure—serene, distant, captivating. And now, she’s flustered, unraveling before you.

Guilt twists in your chest, sharp and unfamiliar. You hardly know her—just fleeting glances, occasional nods—but her seeing you like this, tangled in Chaeyoung’s mess, stings in a way you can’t explain. Her expression, unreadable yet raw, makes it worse.

She shifts, hesitating, like she’s torn between bolting and pretending this never happened.

Then Chaeyoung moves.

Unfazed, she slides out of the car, rolling her shoulders as if shrugging off a minor annoyance. Her lips curl, eyes glinting as she turns from you to Seoyeon. “Seoyeon-ah,” she purrs, stretching the name with relish. “You’re so cute when you blush.”

Seoyeon stiffens. “I—I wasn’t—” she stammers, voice soft, faltering.

Chaeyoung’s laugh cuts through, stepping closer. “What? Didn’t enjoy the show? Or are you mad you missed your chance to play?”

Seoyeon’s breath catches, her grip on her bag whitening her knuckles. She doesn’t retreat, though—rooted there, trapped under Chaeyoung’s gaze.

You watch, a dark thread coiling in your mind. Chaeyoung’s teasing has shifted—no longer aimed at you, it’s sharper now, laced with an edge that feels almost territorial.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, closing the distance, her tone hovering between irritation and something colder.

Seoyeon hesitates. “You… said you’d drive me home.”

“Ah…” Chaeyoung tilts her head, smirk returning, but it’s tighter, meaner. “Right. I did, didn’t I?” She crosses her arms. “So, your little meeting’s done?”

Seoyeon nods, barely.

Chaeyoung spins back to you, her grin wicked. “Hear that? Our shy little puppy just signed a deal—her book’s getting adapted.” Her fingers trail up Seoyeon’s arm as she speaks, possessive, taunting. “Isn’t she incredible?” Her eyes lock on yours, gleaming. “Go on, praise her. She’d love to hear it from you.”

Your throat tightens, brain scrambling. A writer? You’d seen her in the café—alone, lost in thought, typing by her laptop. You’d guessed student, freelancer, anything but this.

“I—” You clear your throat, forcing it out. “Congrats. That’s… really impressive. I always wondered what you were up to.”

Seoyeon fidgets with her strap, eyes down. “I—I could just go home alone. I don’t want to interrupt—”

“Too late,” Chaeyoung cuts in, smooth and biting. Her fingers slide down Seoyeon’s wrist, tugging at her sleeve, and Seoyeon tenses—but doesn’t pull away.

“Join us,” Chaeyoung hums, tilting her head, lips curving sharper. “Unless…” She flicks her gaze to you, then lowers her voice, “you wanted a different kind of invitation?”

Your breath snags. Her hand drifts lower, fingertips brushing Seoyeon’s waist, pressing just enough to draw a faint shudder. It’s blatant, deliberate—performed for you, like she’s daring you to react.

Your jaw clenches.

Seoyeon bites her lip, face flaming, eyes darting away. She’s unrecognizable from the café girl—cozy sweaters swapped for something sleek, her softness sharpened by the moment, helpless under Chaeyoung’s grip.

And you—you’re still hard, the ache a cruel reminder of where this was headed. Chaeyoung catches it, her smirk flashing like she’s won something.

“Don’t go,” she murmurs, leaning closer to Seoyeon, fingers tracing her blouse’s hem. “Especially after crashing our fun.”

Chaeyoung glances at your still bulging pants.

She whispers something in Seoyeon’s ear—too low to catch—and Seoyeon’s breath hitches, her flush deepening.

Then Chaeyoung grins, turning to you. “Besides… don’t you want me to introduce you?” Her voice drops, eyes flicking between you both. “Show you who she really is?”

She tosses you the keys with a flick of her wrist. “Drive us, sweetie. Follow the GPS,” she says, mischief glinting in her stare. She glances at the backseat. “I want Seoyeon’s company back there.”

You slide into the driver’s seat, fingers clamping around the wheel, knuckles whitening. A quick check in the rearview shows Chaeyoung sprawled comfortably, dark hair fanning over the leather, one leg crossed casually. Seoyeon sits beside her, rigid, hands knotted in her lap, staring out the window like it might save her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The car hums softly, the GPS’s faint beeps punctuating the quiet. The silence stretches—not heavy, but taut—until Chaeyoung slices through it.

“So… how much do you actually know about Seoyeon?”

Your fingers flex on the wheel, eyes flicking to the rearview. Chaeyoung’s smirking, amused, while Seoyeon jolts slightly, her gaze snapping from the window to dart between you and Chaeyoung.

You clear your throat. “Uh… I see her at Golden Brew a lot. She’s always there.”

Seoyeon blinks, startled—like she didn’t think you’d noticed her.

Chaeyoung chuckles, low and teasing. “That’s it? Just some café girl?” She slings an arm over Seoyeon’s shoulders, tugging her closer with casual possessiveness. “Come on, you’ve got more than that. Give us an impression.”

You hesitate, Seoyeon’s eyes on you now, soft but searching. What do you say? That she always looked so calm there, tucked in her corner, lost in a book—like the world couldn’t touch her? That she’s nothing like the flustered girl beside Chaeyoung now?

“I don’t know,” you mutter, eyes back on the road. “She just… seemed at peace there. Like nothing else mattered when she was reading.”

Seoyeon shifts, a mix of flattered and uneasy, while Chaeyoung hums, twirling a strand of Seoyeon’s hair. “See? He notices you.” Her voice dances with playful mockery, but it lands—Seoyeon’s cheeks flush pink.

The air shifts, no longer awkward but charged, teetering on something new. Chaeyoung’s either diffusing it or stirring it—you can’t tell.

Then—“So,” she drawls, stretching her legs like she owns the car, “when are you moving in?”

Your grip tightens, knuckles whitening. You knew it was coming—Saerom’s words made it inevitable—but resistance flares anyway, a reflex you can’t kill.

“Gyuri called earlier,” she adds, casual but pointed. “Asked if you’ve got anything sentimental in that dorm.”

The question jars you. Gyuri called her—not you? And moving your stuff herself? Your mind scrambles for something sentimental, but it’s blank—Saerom was right. A week with them, and they’ve already peeled back how empty your life was.

Your silence lingers too long.

Chaeyoung clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Still acting like you’ve got a choice, huh?” She leans forward, propping her chin on Seoyeon’s shoulder, eyes glinting in the mirror. “It’s not just about you crashing with us. It’s that head of yours—we’re keeping it from cracking open.”

Your jaw clenches.

“Your mind’s a mess,” she says, smooth and unrelenting. “It’s not a quick fix, sweetie.”

“We—or someone—” she loops an arm around Seoyeon’s waist, pulling her tighter, “has to stop you from losing it completely.”

Seoyeon stiffens, like she’s just now catching the drift. Chaeyoung doesn’t let her squirm away.

“Meet your minder,” she purrs, nudging Seoyeon forward like a prize on display. “Our best little memory-sorter.”

You catch Seoyeon’s reaction in the mirror—her fingers knot into her dress, lips parting in a half-formed protest she doesn’t voice.

“You,” Chaeyoung continues, dragging a finger up Seoyeon’s arm, making her twitch, “never step up unless you’re forced. But when Saerom asked for someone to help our poor, scrambled boy here, you volunteered fast.”

Seoyeon glances at you—quick, fleeting—then down. “I didn’t—” She swallows, voice thin. “It just made sense.”

Chaeyoung snickers. “Oh, sure. Made sense.” She mocks it, tilting her head. “Not because you’re perfect for untangling his head, but because you wanted to, right?”

“Because I’ve got the most experience,” Seoyeon snaps, face reddening.

“Mhm. Purely professional,” Chaeyoung grins, dripping sarcasm.

You keep your eyes on the road, but it’s sinking in—Seoyeon chose this? You’d figured it was thrust on her, like everything else with you. If she wanted it… why?

Chaeyoung leans closer to Seoyeon, voice dropping, teasing but firm. “Then why’re you blushing, sweetheart?”

You swallow hard, no answer forming. Seoyeon’s a stranger beyond café glimpses, but now—flustered, off-balance—she’s the last one you’d expect to sift through your fractured mind.

The wheel bites into your palms, city lights streaking past. You don’t want to unpack Chaeyoung’s words—or why Seoyeon’s quiet gaze in the mirror unsettles you so much.

Then— A sound. Soft, barely there. But in the thick silence, it cuts through like a blade. A… moan? Your grip tightens. Did you imagine that?

"You interrupted us earlier," Chaeyoung murmurs, voice slow, teasing. "He’s still probably hard from before. Don’t you think you owe him a show?”

You keep your eyes forward. You should keep them forward.

Another noise—fainter, but unmistakable—followed by the rustle of fabric, a shift of weight on leather. Your stomach twists, unease coiling tight. What the hell’s going on back there?

Chaeyoung’s voice breaks through, playful but laced with command. “See, Seoyeon’s brilliant with her spells, but there’s something she’s terrible at.”

You could look. One glance in the mirror would settle it. But with Chaeyoung, looking’s a trap—you know better. Still, your mind spins, torn between shutting it out and the nagging pull to understand. Is this her game again? Or is Seoyeon—? No. You kill the thought fast.

A soft, pleading whimper escapes Seoyeon. “Chaeyoung, please—” she mumbles, voice fragile, but Chaeyoung barrels over it.

“She can’t say no,” she teases, mischief dripping from every word. “Or rather, she’ll do anything but say it.” Another moan—clearer now—punctuates her taunt, leaving no room for doubt. “Such a sweet unnie, always so eager to please… or maybe you just love being used like this?”

Curiosity and dread tug your gaze to the rearview. The dim light barely outlines them, but it’s enough: Seoyeon pressed against Chaeyoung, her body yielding to soft, relentless touches. Chaeyoung’s fingers weave through her hair while another hand traces slow, teasing lines under her skirt. Seoyeon’s trembling grip clings to Chaeyoung’s arm, her gasps spilling out—small, desperate sounds of surrender.

“Mr. Driver, eyes on the road,” Chaeyoung chides, her tone sharp with glee. You snap your focus forward, heat prickling your neck, but the image sticks—burned into your mind.

“Sounds like someone’s enjoying herself,” she murmurs, voice curling with delight. “Seoyeon, why don’t you tell him? Describe every little thing I’m doing to you.”

Seoyeon’s breath hitches, her fingers digging into Chaeyoung’s arm. “Chaeyoung, I—” she stammers, voice a whisper, fraying at the edges.

Chaeyoung hums, feigning consideration, but her hands don’t stop. “What? Want me to stop?” A deliberate pause. “When you’re already this wet?”

Silence—thick, heavy. Then, soft and broken: “No… please don’t… I’ll do it.”

“Good girl,” Chaeyoung purrs, satisfaction dripping from the words.

The air turns stifling, filled with Seoyeon’s shaky breaths and Chaeyoung’s low murmurs. You grip the wheel tighter, fighting the urge to look, to let their game pull you in. The city lights streak by, blurred and distant, drowned out by the pounding in your chest.

Seoyeon’s voice trembles, halting. “I… I feel Chaeyoung’s fingers… sliding under my skirt… touching me…” Each word wavers, forced out between gasps. “She’s tracing circles… slow, then faster… it’s—ah—it’s tingling everywhere…”

Chaeyoung’s eyes flick to you in the mirror, a brief, wicked glint, before she leans closer to Seoyeon. “That’s it,” she coaxes, voice a velvet tease. “Let him hear every sound. Show him how irresistible you are.”

Seoyeon swallows, her breaths short and ragged. “Her fingers… they’re higher now… brushing—oh god—brushing my panties… they’re soaked… it’s too much…” Her voice climbs, desperate, unraveling.

You can’t see it, but you don’t need to—the picture paints itself: Seoyeon squirming, flushed and needy, Chaeyoung’s fingers working her into a frenzy. You force your focus on the road, but it’s useless—the sounds, the heat, the tension—they claw at you.

“Getting excited, Seoyeon?” Chaeyoung whispers, lips grazing her ear. “Does my touch make you all fluttery inside?”

A strangled moan is her only answer, nails biting into Chaeyoung’s arm.

“I think he needs to know,” Chaeyoung murmurs, fingers teasing the damp fabric. “How much you’re loving this. Tell him how wet I’m making you.”

Seoyeon whimpers, her body squirming against the seat. “I… I’m soaking,” she confesses, voice trembling, barely holding together. “Chaeyoung’s fingers… they’re making me drip… my panties are drenched… I want—ah—I want her inside…” Her words break into a fractured moan as Chaeyoung’s fingers slip beneath the damp fabric, stroking her slick, eager folds.

Chaeyoung chuckles, low and dark, her touch unrelenting. “You hear that?” she murmurs, voice a taunting caress. “She’s begging for it.” Her fingers plunge deeper, a slick, rhythmic sound filling the car as she works Seoyeon open, drawing out sharper gasps.

Your grip on the wheel tightens, sweat beading on your brow. You shouldn’t look—you can’t look—but the pull is too strong. Your eyes flick to the rearview, catching them in fragments: Chaeyoung’s hand buried between Seoyeon’s thighs, her fingers curling inside with a slow, deliberate thrust. Seoyeon’s head tips back, lips parted, her chest heaving as soft, needy cries spill out.

“Chaeyoung… please…” Seoyeon’s voice is a broken plea, her hips rocking into the touch, chasing it. Chaeyoung leans closer, her lips brushing Seoyeon’s ear, whispering something too low to catch—but it makes Seoyeon shudder, her nails scraping the leather.

The car feels smaller, the air thick and stifling. Chaeyoung’s fingers move faster, a wet, obscene rhythm that syncs with Seoyeon’s escalating moans. “You’re so close, aren’t you?” Chaeyoung purrs, her free hand sliding up to grip Seoyeon’s waist, holding her steady. “Let him hear how good it feels.”

Seoyeon’s response is a high, desperate whine, her body arching off the seat. You can’t tear your eyes away—her flushed cheeks, the way her thighs tremble, the glistening sheen on Chaeyoung’s fingers as they pump in and out. Your breath catches, pulse hammering, the road blurring at the edges of your vision.

She’s unraveling—fast. Chaeyoung adds another finger, stretching her, and Seoyeon’s cry spikes, raw and unrestrained. “Yes—oh god—Chaeyoung—” Her voice cracks, teetering on the edge, and you’re staring now, fully caught, the wheel forgotten as her climax builds.

“Come on, baby,” Chaeyoung coaxes, voice thick with satisfaction, her thumb flicking over Seoyeon’s clit. “Let go for me—for him.”

Seoyeon’s body tenses, a taut bowstring ready to snap. Her gasps turn sharp, frantic, her hands clawing at Chaeyoung’s arm. You’re locked on her—her glazed eyes, her shuddering frame—watching the wave crest, so close you can almost feel it.

Then—a horn blares, loud and jarring.

Your heart lurches as the car swerves, tires skidding over the line. You jerk the wheel hard, yanking it back into your lane, adrenaline spiking as the world snaps back into focus. Shit—too close. Your eyes snap forward, chest heaving, the climax slipping past you in the chaos.

You miss it—the peak.

But you hear it: Seoyeon’s sharp, broken cry, a sound of pure release that cuts through the roar in your ears. It’s followed by a trembling gasp, then a soft, shuddering exhale as she collapses against the seat. Chaeyoung’s low hum of approval weaves through the aftermath, her fingers slowing, guiding Seoyeon down from the high.

You don’t dare look again. The road demands your focus, but the echoes linger—Seoyeon’s ragged breathing, the faint slick sound as Chaeyoung withdraws her hand. Your knuckles ache from gripping the wheel, your shirt clinging to your back with sweat.

“Look at this mess,” Chaeyoung murmurs, her voice smug, lazy, dripping with triumph. “You really enjoy him hearing how perverted you are, don’t you?” She shifts, and in your peripheral, you catch her wiping her fingers on Seoyeon’s skirt—casual, possessive, like marking her territory.

“You do realize this is Saerom’s car, right?” Chaeyoung adds, a teasing lilt in her tone.

Seoyeon’s too spent to reply, her breath still unsteady, a faint whimper slipping out as she slumps against the seat, boneless and dazed.

Chaeyoung chuckles, low and indulgent, leaning closer to Seoyeon. “Oh, don’t even try to play shy now. You loved every second of him listening—didn’t you, unnie?”

Seoyeon’s lips part, a weak protest forming, but it dies in her throat, replaced by a shaky exhale. Her hands twitch in her lap, like she’s grasping for control she doesn’t have.

“You don’t have to say it,” Chaeyoung continues, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, though loud enough for you to hear. “It’s obvious. You get off on this—being use freely. Anyone can have you, anytime, anywhere, and you just melt for it.”

Your grip tightens on the wheel, the words sinking in. Free use? Your mind stumbles over it, but Chaeyoung doesn’t pause, her tone turning instructional, like she’s savoring the explanation.

“See, that’s her thing,” she says, glancing at you through the rearview with a smirk. “Seoyeon’s too sweet to admit it, but she thrives on being taken—however, whenever. No boundaries, no fuss. Just… available.” She runs a finger along Seoyeon’s thigh, drawing a faint shiver. “Why do you think she didn’t say no back there? She can’t. It’s wired into her.”

Seoyeon’s breath hitches, her head dipping lower, but she doesn’t contradict it. Her silence is louder than words—agreement by default, too overwhelmed to argue.

“Chaeyoung…” Seoyeon mumbles, voice barely audible, a plea or a surrender—you can’t tell.

“What?” Chaeyoung cuts in, grinning. “You’re not denying it, are you? Look at you—still trembling, skirt a mess, all because I decided to play with you in front of him. You didn’t stop me. You wanted it.”

Seoyeon’s fingers curl into the leather, her face flushed, but no rebuttal comes. She’s trapped—caught between exhaustion and the truth Chaeyoung’s laying bare.

The GPS chimes, a soft ping slicing through the charged air, signaling the final turn. The road stretches toward a towering mansion, its dark silhouette carving into the night sky, stark and commanding.

“Great, we’re here,” Chaeyoung says, stretching with a lazy roll of her shoulders, as if this were just another casual drive. “Park by the gate.”

You guide the car to a stop, tires crunching faintly against gravel, your hands still clamped around the wheel. Your mind’s a snarl—reeling from the sounds, the heat, the scene that burned itself into your skull from the rearview.

Chaeyoung slips out first, the door shutting with a crisp thud, her movements fluid, unbothered. You don’t follow. Not yet. Your fingers flex, uncertain, rooted to the seat.

Your gaze flicks to the mirror.

Seoyeon’s still there, slumped against the leather, her chest rising and falling in slow, unsteady breaths. Her skirt’s rucked up, thighs parted just enough to betray the aftermath—tremors still rippling through her, faint and fading. Her eyes are half-lidded, lost in a dazed fog.

You should say something. Move. Anything.

But before you can unstuck yourself, a light tap-tap raps against your window. Chaeyoung leans down, her smirk glinting in the dim light, sharp and knowing.

“Just leave her for now,” she says, voice thick with amusement, like she’s commenting on a spilled drink instead of a trembling wreck. “She’ll be fine.”

The way she says it—casual, dismissive—makes your fingers twitch against the wheel, a spark of something hot and unnamable flaring in your chest.

You exhale, sharp through your nose, and glance back at the mirror.

Seoyeon hasn’t moved. Her breaths are shallow, her body limp, a quiet shadow of the poised girl you’d glimpsed before.

You don’t respond. The silence settles, thick and unresolved, as Chaeyoung straightens and saunters toward the gate, leaving you with the echo of her words and Seoyeon’s heavy stillness in the backseat.

You shove the car door open, stepping out fast, gravel crunching under your boots as you close the distance. Before she reaches the gate, you grab her arm, pulling her to a stop. “What was that about?”

Chaeyoung turns, smirking like she expected this. “What, the show?” She tilts her head, eyes glinting. “Just giving you a front-row seat to Seoyeon’s little quirk. She’s fine—better than fine. She loves it.”

Your grip tightens slightly, jaw clenching. “Loves it? She could barely speak back there.”

“Exactly,” Chaeyoung says, unfazed, twisting her arm free with a casual shrug. “That’s the point. She doesn’t fight it—never will. Free use isn’t just her kink; it’s her nature. You could take her right now, and she’d let you. Hell, she’d probably thank you.”

You stare, the words sinking in, a mix of unease and heat stirring in your chest. “And you’re just… okay with that?”

She laughs, sharp and low. “Okay? Sweetie, I’m telling you to use it. She’s your anchor duty too, you know—keeping us steady means keeping her satisfied. Plus…” Her smirk widens, eyes flicking over you. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy hearing her fall apart. Take advantage of it. For her. For you.”

You don’t answer, the weight of her suggestion pressing down, tempting and unsettling all at once. Chaeyoung steps back, grinning, then turns toward the gate, leaving you standing there—caught between her words and the quiet, trembling figure still in the car.

The gates slide open with a low hum, machinery purring softly into the still night. Beyond them, the mansion rises—a sleek, modern sculpture carved against the dark. Sharp angles and clean lines meld glass and concrete into something precise, deliberate. Warm light pours from vast windows, pooling onto the manicured garden and the smooth stone walkway that stretches toward the entrance.

It’s grand but restrained—wealth distilled into control, not extravagance. Every detail feels intentional, a quiet flex of power.

Your shoes crunch faintly on the path as you step forward, the sound crisp in the silence. Chaeyoung strides ahead, unbothered, stretching her arms overhead with a fluid, careless grace.

You glance back—just once—at the car, where Seoyeon lingers. Chaeyoung catches it, peering over her shoulder, her smirk deepening as she reads your pause.

“Relax,” she says, voice smooth, gliding over the tension like silk. “She’ll come in when she’s ready.”

The front doors part before you reach them—automated, or maybe someone’s watching. A rush of cool air greets you, crisp and faintly floral, laced with the scent of something expensive and understated.

You step inside, crossing the threshold into their world. “Might as well show you around,” Chaeyoung says, glancing back with a faint smirk. “Wouldn’t want you lost on your first night.”

The interior gleams—sharp, modern, all polished surfaces and muted tones. Chaeyoung takes the lead, her steps echoing faintly in the cavernous foyer as she gestures with a lazy flick of her wrist.

“We’re barely here,” she says, her tone laced with casual confidence. “Busy as hell—shoots, meetings, all that chaos. The place stays empty most of the time.” She shoots you a sidelong glance, smirk tugging at her lips. “Just us. No staff, no stragglers, no visitors. Keeps it clean—literally and figuratively.”

You follow, shoes tapping against hardwood, the silence amplifying each sound. She veers left toward a small hallway—her lobby. “This is me, Hayoung, and Jiwon,” she says, pointing to three doors clustered together, a sleek bathroom tucked at the end. “Our little corner. Hayoung’s … very territorial—don’t touch her stuff unless you want a lecture. Jiwon’s chill, but she’s hardly around.”

She doesn’t linger, heading up a cold, modern staircase—glass steps, steel railing. You climb behind her, the house’s quiet pressing in. At the top, a long hallway stretches out, doors like sentinels.

“Second floor,” she announces. “This is where you’ll be.” She nods toward a lobby with five rooms—Saerom, Jisun, Seoyeon, Nagyung, and yours—flanked by three bathrooms. “Seoyeon’s is closest to you—she likes her quiet.” She nudges a door open with her hip. “Here’s yours.”

You peer in—dark wood floors, a wide bed with crisp sheets, a desk angled toward a towering window framing the garden. Sparse, sharp-edged, waiting to be claimed.

“Not bad, huh?” Chaeyoung leans against the frame, watching you take it in. “Beats that cramped dorm by a mile.”

You nod faintly, the reality of moving in sinking deeper. She pushes off, strolling down the hall. “Saerom’s got the big office up here—barely uses it unless she’s playing boss. Jisun is a neat freak, don’t let her see any of your mess, Nagyung’s… Nagyung.”

She leads you back downstairs, drifting toward the kitchen—a pristine space with gleaming appliances and an untouched island. “Jisun rules this when she’s here,” she says lazily. “Hates us touching her stuff—knife-throwing threats included.” She pauses by a wall of windows overlooking the garden, night pressing dark against the glass.

The tour stretches—past a living area with a plush sectional and stark art, a sleek bar counter, a lounge with low couches and a massive TV, a small gym with mirrored walls, a tucked-away balcony catching the city’s distant glow. “We don’t use half this stuff,” she admits, shrugging. “Too busy. Keeps it nice for crashing, though.”

She veers toward another small hallway on the first floor, two rooms facing a glass wall to the garden. “Gyuri and Jiheon’s lobby,” she says, pointing. “Gyuri’s closer, Jiheon’s farther.”

You stop, staring at Jiheon’s door. A storm churns in your chest—anger, disappointment, longing, hate, forgiveness, disgust, a twisted ache you can’t name. It’s heavy, bitter, and you don’t know what to do with it.

Chaeyoung leans close, her whisper brushing your ear, breaking the spiral. “Wanna knock?”

“No.”

She smirks faintly but doesn’t push, guiding you back toward the second floor. “Let’s check on our little star—give her time to pull herself together.” Her voice dips with that familiar tease.

When you first saw Seoyeon’s room—just down from yours—it felt normal. Quiet, orderly, a haven of books and lavender. But now, as you return, your steps drag, each one heavier than the last, like the air’s thickened, resisting you. Chaeyoung doesn’t knock—just eases the door open and steps inside, claiming the space.

Seoyeon’s there, perched on her bed, changed into an oversized long-sleeved shirt, the hem brushing her thighs. Her hair’s loose, faintly tousled, a soft flush still on her cheeks. She glances up as you enter, eyes widening briefly before dropping to her lap, fingers twisting into her cuffs.

You pause, the shift in the room undeniable—something sluggish, unseen, pressing down. But Chaeyoung just smirks, oblivious or unconcerned, and you let it pass, chalking it up to the day’s weight.

Seoyeon’s there, sitting on the edge of her bed. She’s changed—swapped the creased skirt for an oversized long-sleeved shirt that drowns her frame, the hem brushing her thighs. Her hair’s loose, still slightly tousled, and the flush on her cheeks has faded to a soft glow. She glances up as you enter, eyes widening for a split second before dropping to her lap, fingers fidgeting with the shirt’s cuffs.

Chaeyoung crosses her arms, smirking. “Look at you, all cozy now. Took you long enough.”

Seoyeon mumbles something under her breath, too quiet to catch, her posture stiff but not defiant. The room fits her—bookshelves packed tight, a cluttered desk with notebooks and pens, a faint lavender scent softening the air. It’s a refuge, even if she doesn’t look entirely at ease in it now.

Chaeyoung tilts her head toward you. “Told you she’d be fine. Didn’t even need a nudge to freshen up.”

You don’t reply, the air between you three thick with unspoken currents—Chaeyoung’s easy control, Seoyeon’s fragile calm, and your own unsettled place in this strange, polished world.

Chaeyoung glances at the sleek clock on Seoyeon’s wall, then back at you, a glint sparking in her eyes. “Still got a couple hours ‘til dinner. Plenty of time for you two to get started.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Started on what?”

“Healing that mess in your head,” she says, smirking as she nods toward Seoyeon. “She’s your little mind-fixer, remember? Might as well dive in now.”

Something nags at the back of your mind. A small, quiet wrongness.

Your gaze flickers to the clock.

The sleek, minimalist hands tick forward, smooth and unhurried. But something feels off. It takes a second to register—the movement isn’t quite… right. The rhythm is steady, but it doesn’t match the weight of the moment, doesn’t line up with the pulse in your veins, the breaths in your lungs.

Seoyeon shifts on the bed, smoothing the oversized long-sleeved shirt over her thighs, her composure steadier now—a stark contrast to the trembling wreck in the car. She doesn’t protest, just nods faintly.

You glance at the time again.

Something feels… off.

The second hand moves, but sluggishly, dragging itself forward in a way that doesn’t match the quiet tension in the room. The tick, usually sharp and precise, stretches—each second stretching just a little longer than it should.

The time is wrong. Not in numbers, but in weight.

Or maybe not. Maybe you’re imagining it. Maybe your mind is more broken than you thought.

“Fine,” you mutter, the weight of it settling in. You’re here, in their world—might as well see what this ‘healing’ actually means.

Chaeyoung steps back, leaning against the doorframe, her smirk widening as she eyes you both. “Perfect. A cozy little session. Just don’t get too distracted, hmm?” She tilts her head toward Seoyeon, voice dipping low and teasing. “Our sweet unnie’s still got that free-use itch, you know. Might be hard to focus when she’s so… available.”

Seoyeon’s cheeks flush faintly, but she doesn’t flinch this time. Her gaze lifts, meeting Chaeyoung’s with a quiet steadiness. “If he needs my help,” she says, voice soft but deliberate, “I’m here.” It’s passive, almost detached—yet the way her eyes flicker to you for a split second carries an anticipating leer, unspoken but undeniable.

Chaeyoung’s grin sharpens, delighted. “See? Always so willing.” She lets out a bright, cutting laugh, pushing off the frame. “You two have fun—I’ll leave you to it.”

With that, she slips out, the door clicking shut behind her, her laughter echoing faintly down the hall.

You’re left alone with Seoyeon, the air in her room thickening—lavender and paper mingling with the weight of her words. She sits there, composed but not entirely closed off, watching you with a quiet intensity that makes your pulse tick faster.

“So,” you say, voice rougher than intended, breaking the quiet. “How does this… healing thing work?”

Seoyeon pats the space beside her, a silent invitation. You don’t move right away, and she shifts, the oversized sleeve slipping past her wrist as she gestures again—patient, expectant, a quiet pull in her motion.

“Come here,” she says, soft but certain. “Lay down.”

You hesitate.

She doesn’t repeat herself, just waits, her gaze steady, unwavering. There’s no push, no command—just a calm assurance, like she knows you’ll come to her.

And somehow, you do.

You ease onto the bed, head settling into the pillow she nudges against her lap. The fabric of her shirt drapes over you, soft and warm, brushing your skin like a whispered promise. Her heat radiates through, steadying you in a way that catches you off guard.

Then she moves.

Her fingertips graze your temple, light as a feather, tracing slow, wandering patterns. Each touch is deliberate, tender—like she’s unraveling you, thread by thread, feeling the knots of tension still coiled beneath your surface.

Your eyes lift to hers.

Her gaze catches you, and something shifts. At first, her eyes are shadowed pools—deep, unreadable—but then they bloom. Color seeps away, melting into a grey that’s alive, liquid silver threaded with dusk, like the tender hush of twilight spilling over a still lake. It’s not stark or cold; it’s a soft veil, a mist kissed by starlight, drawing you into its quiet embrace. Her eyes shimmer with a gentle depth, as if they hold the weight of a thousand unspoken dreams, tender and infinite.

The air thickens—light, hazy, blurring the edges of the world until it’s just you and her in this fragile, suspended moment.

A grey fog unfurls at the corners of your vision, curling like tendrils of smoke. You don’t flinch.

Seoyeon doesn’t blink. “It’s okay,” she murmurs, her fingers still dancing, still grounding. “Just breathe.”

You do.

The pressure against your ribs softens—just a fraction.

“Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Her voice weaves through the haze, a guiding thread—gentle, not pressing, simply offering a space for you to fill.

You swallow. “Too much.”

She hums, a low, knowing sound that resonates in your chest. “Then start small.”

Her fingers press faintly, a quiet nudge, her warmth sinking deeper—sliding into fractures you didn’t know you’d left open.

Your lips part before you mean them to.

And slowly, as the grey haze wraps tighter, pulling you into its tender depths, the words begin to spill out.

You wake to silence.

The room’s dimmer now—not dark, but the warm gold of before has dulled into something softer, hazier, less defined. Your head rests in Seoyeon’s lap, her hand lying still against your hair, a faint warmth lingering in her touch.

You blink, sluggish, piecing together the gap. How long were you out? Something’s… off. Not wrong—just unmoored. Like waking from a dream where the edges don’t align, the fragments slipping through your fingers.

Your eyes drift to the clock on the wall, its sleek hands stark against the muted backdrop. You frown.

The seconds tick—or don’t. The motion’s too slow, a crawl that drags against the rhythm of time, you know. Did it move at all? Or is your mind lagging, stretching moments into something they’re not?

You must’ve been under longer than it felt. That’s it—right?

Your body’s heavy, limbs thick and reluctant, as if they’re wading through molasses. A fog clings to you—not exhaustion, not the ache of sleeplessness, but something stranger, weightless yet suffocating. A spell’s aftereffect, you tell yourself. Just the residue of whatever she did to pull you under, clouding your edges.

Seoyeon shifts beneath you, a faint rustle breaking the stillness. “You’re awake,” she whispers, voice so soft it barely stirs the air.

You swallow, throat dry. “Yeah.”

She studies you, her gaze searching—probing—for something you can’t name. Her fingers lift, returning to your temple, pressing lightly, delicately, like she’s testing a pulse beneath your skin.

You should ask. Should question the sluggish air, the way time feels like it’s pooling instead of flowing. But the words stick, caught in the haze.

Her head tilts, and those eyes—still a quiet, misted grey, like twilight caught in glass—hold you. They shimmer faintly, a silvered depth that seems to stretch too far, too still. “How do you feel?” she asks, voice threading through the fog, gentle but heavy with something unspoken.

You hesitate.

The question lingers, and you realize the room feels softer—too soft. The light bends at odd angles, the shadows too lazy to sharpen. Your thoughts drift, sluggish, curling inward like smoke you can’t grasp. It’s the spell, you think—it has to be. The aftermath of her magic left you dazed and untethered.

But beneath that reasoning, something prickles—a flicker of doubt, a whisper that this isn’t just residue. That the world itself is slowing, sinking, and she’s at the center of it.

You don’t voice it. Can’t.

You shift, pushing yourself upright. The weight lingers, but the room snaps into focus—too quick, too vivid, like a reel jerked back into alignment. For a moment, the air still hums thick, heavy with the promise of something unravelling—but then it steadies, settling into a fragile normalcy.

Seoyeon’s hand hovers near you, hesitating before pulling back. The grey in her eyes lightens, the quiet storm fading into something softer, more contained.

“Ri—right, it’s the first treatment,” she says, voice gentler, a little unsteady. “That was the first time… I’m sorry I couldn’t heal you fully.”

You shake your head, the spell’s residue still fogging your edges. “No, it’s okay. I knew it wouldn’t be instant. But I feel better now.”

And for a fleeting second, you believe it.

Until it strikes.

A flash—too fast, too brutal. Jiheon’s face, warped and sharp, tears streaking her cheeks. Not a memory—a violation, shoved into your skull with searing force. Pain blooms, white-hot, and you clutch your head, breath catching as it digs deeper.

Seoyeon’s eyes widen, concern flashing as she leans in. “Are you okay?” Her fingers graze your wrist, steady and warm. “Tell me—ask if you need anything.”

You force a sharp exhale, the image of Jiheon flickering, unstable, like a signal breaking up. “Actually, there’s something I need your help with.”

She freezes. Then—“Oh—oh…” Her voice lifts, a spark igniting in her tone. Her hand slides from your wrist to your thigh, fingers curling tight, gripping with sudden, eager intent. Her other hand follows, rubbing slow, firm circles higher up your leg, her touch bold and warm through the fabric. Her lips part, breath quickening, eyes glinting with something hungry as they dart to your mouth. “Then… tell me what you need.”

The air charges, her excitement pulsing through her grip, her body shifting closer—too close—her oversized shirt brushing your arm.

You blink, the misunderstanding hitting you late, electric and awkward. “I keep hearing ‘The Mist.’ What is it?”

Her hands stop dead.

“What…?” The word hangs, her eyes widening as the spark snuffs out. Color floods her cheeks, a flush of mortification chasing away the eagerness. She pulls back fast, hands retreating to her lap, pressing her lips tight like she could swallow the moment whole.

“The—The Mist…” she echoes, voice leveling as she forces herself steady.

A breath—shaky, then firm. She exhales, recalibrating, the blush still lingering as she meets your gaze again.

“Think of it as a literal mist or fog,” she begins, voice smoothing into something measured, deliberate. She glances toward the window, eyes tracing the faint glow of the outside lamps before flicking back to you. “Let’s say this morning, Gyuri blew up your door. Shook the entire building. A full-force explosion—undeniably real.”

Her fingers twitch against the fabric of her oversized sleeve. “But what if that wasn’t what really happened?”

Your brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“You saw it with your own eyes, right? But to outsiders? To anyone not meant to understand?” She tilts her head. “The Mist works on their perception. To them, it wouldn’t have been a single woman causing destruction. It would’ve looked like a gas leak. A structural fault. Something explainable—because that’s easier. That’s normal.”

The weight of her words sinks in, slow and unsettling.

“Or…” she hesitates, then leans in slightly. “Have you ever walked into a room and forgotten why you were there? Sworn something was different, but you couldn’t place what?”

She taps a finger against her temple. “That’s The Mist, too. It doesn’t erase things, not exactly—it redirects your thoughts. A missing object, a changed detail, a person who was never supposed to exist…”

Your mind flashes back. “That night at the café—when we first met. It felt wrong going back. Like something had shifted.” Your voice is careful. “Did you use The Mist then?”

She nods. “The Mist doesn’t just hide things. It bends perception, guides thoughts. It makes the impossible seem ordinary, the unnatural seem mundane.”

Her gaze holds yours, steady and unreadable. “It doesn’t just mask the truth.” A pause, the air thick between you. “It replaces it.”

"So you created The Mist?"

Seoyeon shakes her head. "No. It’s always been there—thin, spread out, almost insignificant. What we do is draw from it, shape it, use it as a tool. It helps us hide, keeps us at a distance… while letting us live normally."

Before you can respond, the door swings open.

Chaeyoung steps inside, scanning the room—first you, then Seoyeon. Her wound by her cheek, marks on her neck now gone, as if it never happened. Something flickers across her face, a mix of surprise and… disappointment?

"I leave you two alone, and you did nothing?" she asks, voice lilting with amusement, but her gaze isn’t on you. It’s fixed on Seoyeon.

A beat of silence.

"I hope you know what you’re doing," she murmurs, unreadable.

Then, without waiting for a reply, she turns on her heel. "Come on. Let’s eat."

The dining room hums with a lived-in warmth—familiarity etched into the clink of plates and the quiet rhythm of routine. Gyuri and Hayoung move with seamless precision, setting bowls and dishes across the table, a dance they’ve done countless times. You follow Seoyeon and Chaeyoung to your seats, easing into the house’s unspoken flow.

Gyuri keeps her focus on the task, her movements precise, not sparing you a glance. Hayoung’s eyes snag yours—sharp, fleeting—and without thinking, you start, “I’m—”

“I know who you are,” she snaps, voice cutting like a blade, venom simmering beneath. Her hand hovers over a glass, fingers tightening for a split second before she turns away, dismissing you.

You pause, then press on, undeterred. “—a big fan of yours.”

The words land softer, earnest, and Hayoung freezes mid-motion. Her head snaps back to you, eyes widening just enough to betray her surprise. The sharpness in her stance falters—her grip on the glass loosens, and a faint flush creeps up her neck. She blinks, caught off guard, the bite in her fading as something shy flickers across her face.

She doesn’t respond right away, her lips parting then pressing shut, like she’s unsure what to do with the compliment. The hostility doesn’t vanish entirely, but it’s tempered now, her gaze darting away as she fumbles with the glass, suddenly less certain.

You settle in, the air prickling faintly as the first dish remains untouched. “What about the others?” you ask, glancing around.

Chaeyoung, already pouring herself a drink, answers with a lazy drawl. “Saerom and Jiwon are tied up with work—won’t be back tonight. Jisun’s with Jiheon, eating in her room.”

Jiheon. The name drops like a stone in your chest, dragging up jagged, counterfeit memories—her tears, her touch, a love that never was. Your head throbs, the falseness of it clawing at you, and you force a nod, swallowing the ache.

Something’s missing, though. A gap in the tally nags at you—until the chair at the table’s far end scrapes lightly against the floor.

Nagyung sits.

No one reacts.

It’s not deliberate—no one looks her way, no one adjusts to include her. It’s as if she’d been there all along, or never there at all. Gyuri keeps arranging dishes, Hayoung pours water with a taut grip, Chaeyoung sips her drink. Seoyeon doesn’t flinch.

But you see her.

“Hey.”

The word lands like a glass shattering on tile.

Gyuri freezes mid-reach, her arm suspended. Hayoung’s glass clinks hard against the table, her jaw tightening as her eyes flick to you, narrow and edged with something bitter. Chaeyoung leans forward, smirk blooming with intrigue. Seoyeon’s gaze widens, a quiet shock rippling through her composure.

Nagyung tilts her head—just a fraction—brown eyes locking onto yours, flat and unreadable, like a still pond undisturbed by wind.

“What?” You glance around, unease prickling. “Did I say something weird?”

Chaeyoung’s chuckle cuts the silence, her fingers tapping a slow, amused beat on the table. “Not weird. Just… unexpected.”

Hayoung exhales sharply through her nose, a sound laced with irritation. “We’re not used to someone noticing her first,” she says, her tone cold, barbed. Her gaze lingers on you, heavy with something unspoken, festering under the surface.

Your brows knit. “Noticing—?”

Then it clicks.

The vague itch when you’d asked about the others, the way her entrance slipped past everyone like a shadow dissolving into dusk. She’s not just quiet—she’s apathy, a presence that erases itself, deliberately unseen.

And you broke that.

A faint spark—curiosity, perhaps—flickers in Nagyung’s eyes before she speaks, her voice smooth, detached, like it’s drifting from somewhere far off. “You see me.”

Not a question. A quiet acknowledgment, testing the air.

You hold her stare. “Yeah.”

The silence stretches, too long, too still. Then, without a ripple of reaction, Nagyung picks up her chopsticks and starts eating, as if the exchange never happened.

The clink of chopsticks against porcelain punctuates the quiet after Chaeyoung’s offhand comment.

“Oh right, we haven’t told Jiheon you’ll be living here from now on.”

Your chopsticks freeze above your plate, mid-reach.

“I—”

You don’t get further—if you even meant to argue—because Hayoung chokes across the table. A harsh, ragged cough erupts, her hand fumbling for water. The sound jars the room, but no one flinches. No one moves to help. It’s as if they’re used to her unraveling like this.

You exhale, leaning back, letting your chopsticks settle. “I don’t care.”

You do. Too much.

Hayoung wipes her mouth with a napkin, her gaze snapping to you—razor-sharp, venom simmering. “Of course you don’t.”

The hostility isn’t veiled anymore—it’s a blade, honed and pointed.

You don’t bite back. There’s no point.

But you notice.

Each time your chopsticks hover toward a dish—steamed greens, grilled fish, even the plain rice—Hayoung’s move first. Her motions are swift, precise, cutting you off before you can touch anything. Once might be chance. Twice, impatience. By the third, fourth, it’s a game—a quiet, spiteful claim over every bite, every inch of space you try to take.

You let her have it.

The tension coils tighter, a bowstring pulled taut, thrumming between you. It’s suffocating, unspoken—until Gyuri’s voice slices through.

“I’m leaving first.”

You turn, really seeing her for the first time tonight.

Her eyes catch yours, and for a brief, electric moment, she holds the stare. There’s something there—raw, flickering beneath the polished mask she wears so effortlessly. A storm brews behind her calm, a heat she’s wrestling to bury. Wrath, barely leashed, glints in the tightness of her jaw, the way her fingers flex against the table’s edge.

Then she forces a smile.

It’s thin, brittle—never touching her eyes.

And just like that, she’s gone, chair scraping faintly as she slips away, leaving the air heavier than before.

Dinner winds down, the clatter of dishes fading into a quiet hum. The table’s a battlefield of half-empty bowls and scattered chopsticks, the tension from earlier simmering beneath the surface. You push your chair back, the scrape soft against the hardwood, as the others begin to drift away.

Seoyeon rises without a word, her oversized shirt swaying as she heads straight for her room, steps muted and purposeful. Nagyung’s chair sits empty—you didn’t catch when she left, her absence slipping past like a shadow dissolving into the dark. Chaeyoung lingers, smirking faintly as she watches you, already poised to follow.

Hayoung stays behind, stacking plates with sharp, deliberate movements. Her jaw’s tight, her earlier hostility still clinging to her like a second skin. You hesitate, then step toward her, voice low. “Need a hand?”

She freezes, a bowl half-lifted, her eyes snapping to you—wide, caught off guard. The sharpness in her gaze falters, softening just a fraction, as if your offer punched a hole through her armor. “What?” Her tone’s still edged, but there’s a crack in it—surprise, maybe doubt.

“I can help clean up,” you say, reaching for a stack of dishes. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

For a moment, she doesn’t move, just stares, her grip on the bowl tightening then loosening. The hostility doesn’t vanish, but it dulls—her shoulders easing, her lips pressing into a thin line instead of a scowl. “Fine,” she mutters, turning back to the table, but there’s less bite in it now. A flicker of something—grudging respect, maybe—hints at her guard slipping, your thoughtfulness cutting through her resentment.

You work in silence, clearing plates, brushing past her as she rinses. She doesn’t snap again, doesn’t block you out. It’s not peace, but it’s a truce, fragile and unspoken.

When the last dish is stacked, you turn to leave—and Chaeyoung’s right there, leaning by the stairs , arms crossed, grinning like she’s been waiting. “Aw, look at you, playing nice,” she teases, voice lilting as she falls into step beside you.

You don’t reply, heading for your room, but she follows, undeterred, her presence a persistent hum at your side. Nagyung’s gone—slipped away sometime between bites, unnoticed again—and Seoyeon’s door is already shut when you pass it.

Chaeyoung trails you into your room, flopping onto the bed without invitation, stretching out with a lazy smirk. “So, hero of the night—how’s it feel to crack Hayoung’s shell a little?”

You shrug, the day’s weight sinking into your bones, but her eyes gleam—teasing, daring you to snap back. She’s not going anywhere soon.

You sink onto the unfamiliar bed beside her, the mattress yielding softly beneath you. Turning to Chaeyoung, you let the question drop.

“Hey. What was up with Gyuri earlier?”

She exhales, shifting to lean on one elbow, fingers slipping into your hair, twirling idly. “It’s expected.” Her tone’s light, but there’s a knowing edge lurking underneath.

“Expected?”

“No one told you, huh?” She tilts her head, eyes glinting as her fingers keep playing. “Using our powers nudges us closer to the edge. The more control slips, the less we fight it—a spiral. Gyuri trashing your dorm? That cost her. She’s wrestling it down now.”

You catch her wrist, pulling her hand away. “Then why keep using them?”

She slides her fingers right back, undeterred, smirking faintly. “If you had our gifts, could you really hold back?”

“If it risks my mind, yeah.”

“It’s not madness, exactly.” She tilts her head, considering. “Think of it like drinking. One glass—you’re fine. Two—you feel it, but you’re still sharp. Keep going, and suddenly you’re slurring, drunk on power. Literal power.” She pauses, voice dipping lower. "But we have to. Our powers help us cope with responsibility, make life manageable. So we focus as much as we can on controlling our emotions… ideally.”

“Like The Mist?”

She nods, a flicker of approval in her gaze. “Yeah. Seoyeon told you?” Then, after a beat, “It’s not usually that taxing, though.”

You wait. She’s not done.

“The bigger the cover-up, the more we lean on it, the worse the strain gets. And if someone breaks through?” Her exhale’s sharp, almost a scoff. “Keeping it steady turns into a fight.” She shifts, sitting up straighter, her fingers stilling briefly. “That night at the café, when you cut through The Mist? Seoyeon was holding it. She called it practice—said she’d make sure it never happened again. Since then, she’s been the one volunteering to manage it.”

Her voice drops, tinged with something rare—concern, maybe. “Your seclusion. The dorm explosion. She was probably weaving it together right up until this afternoon. And now?”

Her hand pauses, resting against your scalp, her eyes locking onto yours.

“Now she’s the one piecing your head back together.”

You’re lost in the thought, the weight of it pulling you under—so much so that you don’t notice how close Chaeyoung’s gotten. Her leg’s tangled with yours, her breath warm against your ear, her palm pressing firm on your chest, anchoring you there.

“You’ve yet to explain why you followed me here,” you say, voice low, catching up to her proximity.

“I think you already know why,” she murmurs, her lips brushing your ear, a smirk curling through her words.

“Really, now?” You shift slightly, exhaustion dragging at you. “Chaeyoung, I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Is that a no?” Her finger traces a slow, deliberate dance across your chest, then dips lower, her hand sliding to your pants, rubbing your crotch with a teasing pressure that sends a jolt through you.

Her touch lingers, bold and unyielding, her breath steady against your skin as she waits—daring you to push back or give in.

“You really need to stop pretending you don’t love this,” she murmurs, leaning close, her whisper a warm tease in your ear. “I’ll be gentle. Just lie back for me—I’ll make it quick.”

You shift, dragging yourself to the bed’s center, head sinking into the pillow. Chaeyoung stays glued to your side, her leg still brushing yours, her presence inescapable.

“Were you disappointed we got interrupted earlier?”

Before you can answer, she closes the gap, her lips catching yours in a soft, deliberate kiss. She pulls back just enough to flash a smile—teasing, knowing.

“Nothing wild,” she promises, voice low and sultry. “Just one slow fuck…” Her hand moves deftly, unbuckling your belt with a flick, your cock springing free as she grips it, stroking gently, her touch firm but unhurried.

She chuckles, a soft, wicked sound, watching you squirm under her. Leaning in, she pecks your lips—a tease—then lingers, her eyes flicking over your face, drinking in every twitch of pleasure. Her next kiss dives deeper, her tongue slipping past your lips, tangling with yours in a slow, hungry dance.

She tries to pull away, but you’re caught, chasing her lips, entranced, until air runs thin and you both break, breathless.

Her smile doesn’t falter. “Stay,” she commands, voice firm, playful.

She eases back, turning it into a show. Her top peels off slow, revealing smooth skin, then her bra drops, baring her chest. Her pants follow, sliding down her thighs, and when her panties come into view, the damp fabric clings, a dark spot betraying her arousal. She tugs them off, and a glistening thread stretches, refusing to snap, connecting her to the discarded cloth.

“Fuck, Chaeyoung, you’re already wet?”

“Just for you,” she purrs, her eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and hunger. “Always.”

Chaeyoung shifts, climbing atop you with a fluid grace, her hips hovering just above yours. She straddles you, knees pressing into the mattress on either side, caging your body between her legs. Her heat radiates, close but not yet touching, a tantalizing promise hanging in the air. “I can’t wait,” she breathes, voice low, edged with need.

She lowers herself slowly, deliberately, her slick folds brushing against your length. The first contact is electric—warm, wet, a soft glide that coats you in her arousal. She starts to grind, hips rolling with a lazy rhythm, her wetness spreading over you, slick and hot, marking you with every subtle shift. Her breath hitches faintly, a sound that betrays her own want despite the control she wields.

Each motion teases you further, her folds sliding along your cock, dragging from base to tip in a slow, torturous dance. She moves too far sometimes—deliberately or not—and your tip presses against her entrance, nudging just at the edge of her hole. It’s fleeting, a tease of pressure, her warmth pulsing there, inviting but never quite yielding. She pulls back each time, smirking as your hips twitch instinctively, chasing her.

“Fuck,” you mutter, voice rough, the sensation overwhelming—her slickness, the friction, the nearness of sinking into her.

She chuckles, soft and wicked, leaning forward to brace her hands on your chest, her hair spilling over her shoulders to frame her face. “Patience,” she whispers, though her own breath trembles, betraying the effort it takes to hold back. Her hips tilt, adjusting the angle, and the pressure intensifies—your tip catches again, slipping just past her entrance, enough to feel her clench, tight and eager, before she retreats once more.

Her wetness pools, a glossy sheen coating you both now, strands of it stretching between you with each grind, glistening in the dim light. She rocks harder, just a fraction, letting your length slide through her folds, her clit brushing against you with every pass. A low moan slips from her lips, unbidden, and her eyes flutter, but that smirk stays—teasing, daring you to take more.

“You feel that?” she murmurs, voice husky, grinding slower now, savoring it. “That’s all for you.” Her hips circle, dragging you through her heat, your tip nudging her hole again—closer this time, lingering longer, her body trembling as she fights the urge to give in fully.

Your hands grip her thighs, fingers digging into her skin, torn between pulling her down and letting her play this out. The tension’s a live wire, snapping between you, her control fraying at the edges as her own need seeps through.

Her hips circle, dragging you through her slick heat, your tip brushing her entrance again—closer, lingering, her body quivering as she teases the edge of giving in. Your hands tighten on her thighs, fingers sinking into her flesh, caught between restraint and the urge to pull her down.

Chaeyoung catches it—the tension in your grip, the way your breath hitches—and her smirk widens, eyes glinting with wicked delight. “Oh, you’re desperate for it, aren’t you?” she taunts, voice a low purr as she slows her grind even more, torturing you with the barest contact. She shifts, letting your tip press harder against her hole—just enough to feel her tighten around it, a fleeting promise—before lifting away again.

“Chaeyoung—” Your voice cracks, rough with need, the word half a plea, half a growl.

She laughs, soft and cruel, leaning forward until her lips hover near yours, her hair tickling your face. “What? Too much for you?” Her hips tilt, and your cock slides through her folds again, coated anew in her dripping arousal. She rocks once, twice, letting your tip dip just inside—warm, tight, a maddening taste of what’s coming—then pulls back with a sly hum. “Thought you were tired,” she mocks, echoing your earlier protest, her fingers trailing up your chest to pin you with her gaze.

You groan, head sinking deeper into the pillow, hips twitching up instinctively. “Fuck, Chaeyoung, just—”

“Just what?” she cuts in, grinning as she straightens, hovering above you again. Her wetness glistens, strands of it clinging to your length, and she drags her nails lightly down your stomach, watching you squirm. “Say it. Tell me how bad you want it.”

You grit your teeth, the frustration boiling over, but her eyes dare you—playful, unrelenting. “I want you,” you mutter, voice strained, giving her the win.

Her smile turns triumphant, and she finally relents. “Good boy,” she purrs, shifting her hips with agonizing slowness. She aligns you, your tip pressing fully against her entrance now, and pauses—drawing it out one last time, letting you feel her heat, her pulse—before sinking down.

The first inch is torture—tight, wet, her walls gripping you as she takes you in, slow and deliberate. She gasps softly, a rare crack in her control, but keeps going, lowering herself until you’re buried deep, her hips flush against yours. Her warmth envelopes you, pulsing, overwhelming, and she stills there, savoring it, letting you feel every shudder of her body adjusting to you.

“Fuck,” she breathes, a quiet, unguarded sound, her head tilting back as she settles. Her hands brace on your chest, nails digging in just enough to sting, and that smirk creeps back.

Chaeyoung’s hips settle against yours, her warmth gripping you tight, a pulse of heat that steals your breath. She lingers there, savoring the fullness, her nails biting into your chest as she flashes that triumphant smirk. “Told you I’d be gentle,” she murmurs, voice husky with a teasing edge.

Then she moves.

Her first roll is slow, deliberate—a long, languid grind that drags her walls along your length, coating you further in her slick heat. You groan, hands sliding up her thighs to grip her hips, but she swats them away with a playful tsk. “Nuh-uh,” she chides, pinning your wrists above your head. “Let me play.”

She picks up the pace, hips snapping faster, the rhythm sharp and relentless. Her breaths turn shallow, punctuated by soft moans as she rides you, her wetness soaking you with every thrust. The bed creaks faintly beneath her, her control absolute—until she shifts.

She slows abruptly, leaning down, her lips brushing yours in a warm, tender kiss. It’s soft at first, a contrast to the fire she’d stoked, her tongue slipping in to dance with yours, lazy and deep. “You feel so good,” she whispers against your mouth, her tone shedding its tease for something sweeter, her hands loosening on your wrists to cradle your face.

Before you can sink into it, she pulls back, sitting upright again. Her pace ramps up—harder, faster, her hips slamming down with a wet smack that fills the room. She tosses her head back, a low groan spilling out as she chases the edge, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” she pants, the affection threading through her voice now, raw and unguarded.

Your hands find her waist again—this time she lets them stay, her own fingers digging into your shoulders for leverage. The heat builds, her movements growing erratic, her walls clenching tighter around you. She leans down once more, kissing you fiercely, all warmth and want, her lips trembling against yours. “Stay with me,” she breathes, a soft plea wrapped in adoration, her teasing gone, replaced by something deeper.

Her rhythm stutters, hips grinding slower now, deeper, as she presses herself flush against you. Each roll is deliberate, drawing out the friction, her moans softening into whimpers. She kisses you again—gentle, lingering—her tongue tracing yours as her body tenses. “I’m yours,” she murmurs, voice breaking with affection, her breath hitching.

Then it hits.

Her hips falter, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat as her climax crashes through her. Her walls pulse hard around you, tight and hot, her body shuddering as she rides it out, grinding slow and deep to milk every wave. She leans into you, forehead pressing against yours, her kisses turning sloppy, warm, her arms wrapping around your neck as she trembles. “Fuck, I—” she starts, but the words dissolve into a soft, breathless moan, her affection spilling out in the afterglow.

Chaeyoung collapses against you, her body still trembling, her breath hot and ragged against your skin. You’re still hard inside her, the heat of her pulsing walls a lingering ache, and she notices—her hips shifting slightly, a soft hum escaping her lips as she feels you.

“You’re not done, are you?” she murmurs, voice soft but laced with a knowing warmth. She doesn’t wait for an answer, sliding off you with a slow, deliberate drag, her slickness trailing as she pulls away. The sudden emptiness makes you groan, but before you can protest, she’s moving—slipping down between your legs, settling there with a glint in her eye.

Her hand wraps around your base, slick with her arousal and yours, stroking once, twice, before she leans in. Her lips brush your tip, teasing, then part to take you in—slowly, her tongue swirling around the head, tasting herself on you. “Can’t leave you like this,” she whispers, breath ghosting over you, sending a shiver up your spine.

She sinks deeper, her mouth warm and tight, sucking with a steady, gentle rhythm. Her cheeks hollow as she works, tongue flicking along the underside, drawing low, guttural sounds from your chest. Your hands fist the sheets, hips twitching up instinctively, but she presses a palm to your thigh—firm, grounding—keeping you still as she takes control.

Her pace quickens slightly, lips sliding down further, taking you to the back of her throat with a soft, muffled moan that vibrates through you. She’s relentless but tender, her eyes flicking up to meet yours, watching your every reaction—your strained breaths, the way your jaw tightens as the pleasure builds too fast.

It doesn’t take long. The heat coils tight, a molten knot deep in your core, her steady suction dragging you relentlessly toward the brink. Her mouth’s a furnace—hot, wet, unyielding—each pull sending jolts up your spine, each swirl of her tongue a spark that ignites the fuse. Your breath turns ragged, chest heaving as the pressure builds, teetering on unbearable.

Then she hits it—her tongue curls just right, a deft, wicked flick against the sensitive head, and you shatter. “Chaeyoung—” Her name rips from your throat, a broken, guttural cry as the climax slams into you, white-hot and blinding. Your hips buck hard, thrusting deeper into her mouth, and she takes it all—lips locked tight, throat flexing as you spill into her in thick, pulsing waves. The pleasure’s savage, shredding through you, every nerve alight as she keeps sucking, drawing out every last shudder, swallowing every drop with a soft, triumphant hum that vibrates through your core.

Your vision blurs, head slamming back against the pillow, a raw groan tearing free as she milks you dry, her tongue still teasing, prolonging the aftershocks until you’re trembling, spent, and gasping for air.

She doesn’t stop there—her lips stay on you, softer now, cleaning you off with slow, deliberate licks, her tongue tracing every inch until you’re spent and twitching from the sensitivity. You both feel it—the pull for more, the raw want still simmering—but she pulls back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

“Keeping my promise,” she says, voice low, a little hoarse. “You’re tired—I said I’d be quick.”

She slides off the bed, legs still shaky, and pads to the bedside drawer. Pulling out a cloth, she cleans herself with quick, practiced motions—wiping her mouth, cleaning away the mess between her thighs, the glistening trails of her own release. You watch, too drained to move, as she tosses the cloth aside and returns, climbing back into bed.

She slips into your arms without hesitation, curling against you, her head nestling into your chest. Her warmth presses close, soft and steady, her breath evening out as she settles into your embrace—a quiet end to the fire she’d stoked.

Chaeyoung breaks the silence, her voice cutting through the soft hum of the room. “I’ll be gone tomorrow morning and for a bit. Overseas work.”

You shift, turning to face her, the weight of her words sinking in. “That’s why you were so eager tonight?” There’s a bite in your tone—disappointment laced with the nagging thought that you’re just a tool for them, a convenient fix. “Needed a refill before you jet off?”

Her eyes lift to meet yours, hesitant, softer than you expect. The look isn’t smug or teasing—it’s unguarded, almost reluctant, like leaving isn’t her choice. It makes you pause, reconsider the venom in your assumption.

“What, did you forget that hotel night?” she says, a faint smirk tugging at her lips, though her voice stays low. “You fucked me so hard I’d have to shatter the moon to lose my mind now.”

You narrow your eyes, not fully buying it. “So it’s just horniness then? You’re always this desperate?” The words slip out sharper than intended, brushing against an insult you don��t fully mean.

Her face shifts—something flickers, hurt flashing behind her eyes, a quiet disappointment dimming her usual spark. “You think I’d just screw anyone, anytime?” Her directness hits you square, catching you off guard, and then that smile creeps back, softer now, teasing but warm. “What’s this—jealousy? I’ve already told you, I’m yours. Always will be. The others too, actually, they just haven’t caught up to that yet.”

She holds your gaze, the reassurance steady, her hand brushing your chest as if to seal it, leaving the sting of your words—and her response—hanging between you.

She leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, warm and fleeting, then pulls back with a small, knowing smile. “Didn’t you say you’re tired?” she murmurs, her voice a gentle tease. “Sleep now—unless you want me to pounce on you again.” Her hand lifts, fingers brushing your face, tracing your jaw with a caress so tender it feels like a whisper against your skin.

No magic flares, no glowing eyes or woven spells—just her, her touch, her words wrapping around you like a quiet lullaby. Your eyelids grow heavy, the weight of the day melting under her steady gaze, and as her fingers linger, you drift—slipping into sleep as if she’d willed it so.

[kwilquib]

Careful What You Wish For

Series: Promised 9

Chapter - 1

Chapter 0 | Chapter 2

Lee Chaeyeoung (Fromis_9) X Male reader

Word Count: 8.8k+

a/n: please read chapter 0 first...

“...Just a little nap.” A voice—familiar yet frustratingly elusive—echoes in your mind as you jolt awake, drenched in cold sweat. The words linger, slippery and insistent, like a whisper you’re not supposed to remember.

Your heart pounds as your eyes dart around, landing on the ceiling of your room. Afternoon light filters through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the walls. You sit up abruptly, a vague unease twisting in your chest. Something feels... off, though you can’t quite place it.

Shaking the thought, you glance at the alarm clock on your bedside table, only to realize it isn’t there. Did you forget to set it up last night? No time to ponder. Your body moves on instinct. Late. You’re definitely late.

Throwing on a crumpled shirt and the first pair of jeans you find, you fumble with your shoes, skipping the hassle of socks. There’s no time for a shower; no time for anything, really. Professor Min doesn’t tolerate tardiness, and while you’d normally convince yourself you could charm your way out of it, today is different. You feel heavy—foggy, like a part of you is still struggling to wake up.

You rush out of your room, backpack slung hastily over one shoulder. Yet as your hand touches the doorknob, you pause. A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you, like you’ve forgotten something important. A flicker of... something—a faint image—dances on the edge of your consciousness.

Darkened windows. Cyan blue. Laughter and whispers.

You blink, and it’s gone.

“What the hell...?” you mutter, shaking your head as you swing the door open.

The hallway feels unfamiliar, even though you’ve walked it countless times. The walls seem a little too bare, the light a little too dim. Your feet carry you forward, but the nagging sensation that something isn’t right refuses to leave.

As you step outside, the sun’s warmth strikes your skin, grounding you momentarily. Yet, as you hurry toward campus, you can’t help but glance over your shoulder, as though expecting to see someone—or something—following.

The faint echo of that voice, soft and teasing, creeps back into your thoughts.

“Just a little nap.”

And for the life of you, you can’t remember what came before it.

As you step out of the dorm building, your hurried stride falters. A particular car catches your eye—a sleek, emerald green Mini Cooper parked casually at the curb. Its glossy finish gleams under the afternoon sun, an almost hypnotic allure drawing your gaze.

You pause, a strange pang of familiarity gripping your chest. It’s an uncommon car for this area, a neighborhood more accustomed to well-worn sedans and the occasional scooter. This Mini Cooper feels out of place, yet somehow… it doesn’t. Something about it nags at the edges of your mind, tugging at thoughts you can’t quite grasp.

“Why does this feel so... familiar?” you mumble under your breath, your feet rooted to the spot.

You study the car closely, as though its curves and details might unlock the reason it stands out. The deep green hue reminds you of something—vivid yet blurred, like a dream slipping away the moment you wake. Your thoughts swim with fragmented flashes: evening, under the street light, brown hair.

And then, nothing.

You shake your head, frustrated with yourself. It’s just a car, you tell yourself, though the words feel hollow. A part of you knows it isn’t just a car. It’s connected to something—or someone. But no matter how hard you try to chase the thought, it remains just out of reach, like a name you can’t remember no matter how many times you roll it around in your mind.

With a final glance at the Mini Cooper, you force yourself to move. There’s no time to stand around playing detective. Yet, as you walk away, you can’t help but feel like you’ve left behind more than just a car.

As you jogged up the university steps, the sharp echo of your hurried footsteps reverberated through the halls. The sound was accompanied by the pounding in your chest, a mix of adrenaline and residual confusion from your abrupt awakening. Your mind raced just as quickly as your feet.

"Please don't be over, please don't be over," you muttered under your breath, clutching your bag tightly as you approached the classroom door.

With a quick glance at the room number to confirm you were at the right place, you pushed the door open. The chatter inside abruptly quieted, and you were met with a sea of unfamiliar faces staring back at you. No sign of Professor Min. No familiar classmates. Instead, a lecturer you didn’t recognize stood at the front of the room, mid-discussion.

"Uh… sorry," you stammered, stepping back awkwardly.

The lecturer barely spared you a glance, and the students returned to their notebooks and screens. Confused, you slipped back into the hallway, your heart sinking. This didn’t make sense. You checked the schedule last night—it was supposed to be Literature in this room today.

Pulling out your phone, you glanced at the time. 1:47 PM. That was correct. But something else caught your eye.

The date.

You blinked, certain you’d read it wrong. Friday.

But that’s impossible, you thought. Yesterday was Wednesday, Wasn’t it?

Your stomach churned as you refreshed the screen, but the date stubbornly remained the same. You checked your calendar app, your messages—everything confirmed it was Friday.

A cold wave washed over you as the realization hit. Somehow, an entire day had slipped past you, and you didn’t even remember it. You staggered back against the wall, struggling to steady your breathing.

What’s going on?

—

You find yourself staring at your reflection in the school's bathroom mirror, your damp hair clings to your forehead. The gnawing discomfort of losing an entire day weighed heavily on you, but what else could you do? you need to move on. Whatever had happened to Thursday—or your memory of it—was a mystery you weren’t equipped to solve. At least not now. For now, you have to focus on damage control.

Pulling out your phone, you checked the course materials. The latest lecture—The Promised Nine. you frowned. The title rang a distant bell, but you couldn't quite place it. Deciding you wouldn't get anything done in your cramped apartment, you fix your damped hair and head out . Golden Brew seemed like the best choice; it was quiet, comfortable, and you had a shift there later anyway.

The walk to Golden Brew feels longer than usual. The streets are quieter now, the usual hustle of students replaced by a calm that only deepens your unease. You can’t shake the feeling that something is missing—something important—but every time you try to grasp it, it slips away like smoke.

When you finally push open the door to the café, the familiar scent of roasted coffee beans and freshly baked pastries washes over you, grounding you for a moment. The place is bustling, as always, with students hunched over laptops and faculty members sipping espresso. You scan the room, looking for a quiet corner to settle into, when your eyes land on her.

Gyuri.

She’s behind the counter, her usual warm smile in place as she hands a customer their drink. But something about her feels different today. Her movements are slower, more deliberate, and there’s a faint crease between her brows that wasn’t there before. It’s subtle, but you notice it—the way her gaze flickers to the door every so often, as if she’s waiting for someone.

“Junho,” she calls out, her voice warm but with a hint of something you can’t quite place. “You’re early today.”

You approach the counter, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I… had some time to kill. Thought I’d get a head start on some reading before my shift.”

Gyuri studies you for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re not usually this early. Everything okay?”

Her question catches you off guard. There’s a suspicion in her tone, a probing curiosity that makes you feel like she’s seeing right through you. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” you say quickly, perhaps too quickly. “Just… trying to stay on top of things.”

Gyuri doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t press further. Instead, she nods toward the usual spot in the corner. “Well, find a seat and make yourself at home. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” you say, grabbing a cup of coffee before heading to an empty table near the window.

As you sit down and pull out the book you borrowed from the library, your eyes drift across the room. That’s when you notice her.

Seoyeon.

She’s sitting in her usual spot, hunched over her laptop. She looks the same as ever, but something about her presence feels… heavier today, as if she’s carrying a weight she doesn’t want anyone to notice.

You watch her for a moment, struck by how familiar she seems, even though you’ve never had a proper conversion with her. She’s always here, always in that same spot, typing away at something. You’ve seen her countless times, but today, for some reason, she stands out to you. Maybe it’s the way she seems so detached from the world around her, or the way her tired eyes flicker to the screen with a kind of quiet intensity. Whatever it is, you can’t look away.

Gyuri doesn’t mention her, doesn’t even glance in her direction. It’s as if Seoyeon doesn’t exist to her, which strikes you as odd. You’ve always assumed they knew each other, given how often Seoyeon is here, but now you’re not so sure. The two of them seem to exist in separate worlds, even though they’re in the same room.

And yet… something about the way they don’t interact feels wrong to you. It’s not just that they don’t acknowledge each other—it’s that they should. You don’t know why you think that, but the thought lingers, nagging at the back of your mind. There’s a strange dissonance in the air, like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’re missing something obvious.

Shaking off the thought, you pull out your phone and open the document. The title stares back at you: Myths and Legends: The Promised Nine. It’s the same myth Professor Min discussed in class yesterday—or at least, the class you think was yesterday. You flip to the chapter, skimming the first few lines. The words feel familiar, almost too familiar, as if you’ve read them before. A faint sense of déjà vu washes over you, and you pause, your fingers hovering over the page.

“Long ago, during a time when humanity was steeped in chaos, war, and unrelenting greed, there was a king—a wise man, yet weary of the barbarism that plagued his people…”

The words echo in your mind, but not just from Professor Min’s lecture. Something deeper, something more recent, tugs at the edges of your memory. Fragments of last night begin to surface—flickers of a darkened café, the hum of low voices, the glow of cyan light. Your chest tightens as the images grow clearer. The women gathered around the table, their presence commanding and otherworldly. Gyuri’s uncharacteristic coolness. Jiheon’s playful smile, her fingers glowing with that eerie light. The weight of their words—The Promised Nine. Anchor. Deceit.

Your breath catches, and you nearly drop your phone. It all comes rushing back—the meeting, the cryptic conversation, Jiheon’s spell. You remember everything. The shock of it hits you like a punch to the gut, and you grip the edge of the table to steady yourself. Your heart races, your mind reeling as the pieces fall into place.

Gyuri and Seoyeon. They were there. They were part of it. They’re part of this—whatever this is. The realization sends a chill down your spine, and you glance up, your eyes darting to Gyuri behind the counter. She’s watching you, her expression unreadable but her gaze sharp, as if she can sense the turmoil in your mind. Seoyeon, too, has paused her typing, her tired eyes flickering toward you for the briefest moment before returning to her screen.

You force yourself to take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm in your head. You can’t let them know you remember. Not yet. Not until you figure out what’s going on. Slowly, you close the book and set it aside, your hands trembling slightly. You take a sip of your coffee, the bitter taste grounding you, and pretend to focus on the steam rising from the cup.

But inside, your mind is racing. The Promised Nine. Anchor. The weight of their emotions, their burdens. And you—somehow, you were there. You heard it all. You saw it all. And now, you’re caught in the middle of something far bigger than yourself.

Gyuri’s voice breaks through your thoughts. “Junho, everything okay over there?”

You look up, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just… got lost in thought for a second.”

She studies you for a moment, her gaze lingering a little too long, before nodding. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do,” you say, your voice steady despite the storm inside.

As she turns away, you glance at Seoyeon again. She’s still typing, her movements slow and deliberate, but there’s a tension in her shoulders that wasn’t there before. You can’t tell if she’s aware of your internal crisis or if it’s just your paranoia, but one thing is clear: you’re not as invisible as you’d like to be.

For now, all you can do is keep up the act. You reopen the book, pretending to read, but the words blur as your mind races. The memories of last night play on a loop, each detail sharper than the last. You need answers, but you can’t risk tipping them off. Not until you know what you’re dealing with.

The café hums with activity around you, but at your table, the silence is deafening. You take another sip of your coffee, the bitterness grounding you slightly. Whatever is going on, you’re determined to figure it out. But for now, all you can do is sit here, pretending to read, while the weight of the unknown presses down on you.

The hours drag on as you finally start your shift, your mind still reeling from the flood of memories that returned while reading the book. Every movement feels deliberate, every action calculated, as if Gyuri might notice the slightest slip-up. You’re hyper-aware of her now, her presence looming larger than ever as the two of you work in close proximity behind the counter. Her usual warmth is still there, but it feels… different. Like a mask she’s wearing, one that’s just a little too tight.

You fumble with the espresso machine, nearly spilling a shot as you pour it into a cup. The milk steamer hisses louder than usual, startling you, and you overfill a latte, the foam spilling over the edges. Each mistake piles up, small but noticeable, and you can feel Gyuri’s eyes on you more and more often. Her smile remains, but there’s a tension in her posture, a sharpness in her gaze that makes your stomach twist.

Finally, after you nearly drop a tray of pastries, Gyuri steps closer, her voice low but firm. “Junho, can I talk to you for a second?”

You freeze, your heart pounding as you nod and follow her to a quieter corner of the café. Her warm smile is still in place, but it feels strained now, like it’s holding back something you can’t quite name. Anger? Frustration? Whatever it is, it’s enough to make your palms sweat.

“Is everything okay?” she asks, her tone gentle but probing. “You’ve been… off today.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… tired, I guess. Didn’t sleep well last night.”

Gyuri studies you for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re sure that’s all it is?”

You nod, though your throat feels dry. “Yeah. Just a rough night.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but before she can press further, the bell above the door jingles, drawing both of your attention. You glance over, and your stomach drops.

Chaeyoung.

She strides in with effortless confidence, her presence commanding the room the moment she crosses the threshold. A bold blue sweater clings to her frame, the faux fur trim brushing against her collarbone—a perfect reflection of her duality. Allure and restraint. Desire and control. Her sharp gaze sweeps across the café before settling on you, a sly smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

You recognize her instantly from last night. But you force yourself to look away, pretending you don’t.

From the corner of your eye, Gyuri stiffens ever so slightly, though she quickly masks it with her usual warm smile. “I’ll let you handle this,” she says, her tone light but laced with something unreadable. Before you can respond, she’s already disappearing into the back, leaving you alone at the counter with Chaeyoung.

Your heart pounds as you turn to face her, forcing a polite smile. “Welcome to Golden Brew. What can I get for you?”

Chaeyoung doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she leans against the counter, her eyes locking onto yours with unsettling ease. “Junho, right?”

Your stomach drops. The name feels heavier coming from her lips. You scramble to keep your composure. “I... don’t know you.”

She smirks, savoring your discomfort. “Of course you don’t.” She gestures lazily toward your chest. “I read it off your name tag. Unless we have met before?”

“No— I... we haven’t,” you stammer, fingers curling involuntarily. “Can I take your order?”

“I’ll have a caramel macchiato. Extra shot.” She watches you with an almost amused expression. Then, casually, she adds, “Funny thing... I feel like we have met. Maybe you just don’t remember?”

Your throat tightens, and you quickly focus on the register, keying in her order. “That’ll be 4,500 won.”

Chaeyoung makes no move to pay. Instead, she leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You remember, don’t you?”

Your hands tremble slightly as you fumble with the cash drawer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her smile widens, and there’s a flicker of something dangerous in her eyes. “Sure you don’t. But just in case you’re lying... meet me after your shift.” She tilts her head slightly, the threat barely concealed beneath her playful tone. “If you don’t, I might have to let the others know your memories are coming back. And trust me... you don’t want that.”

Your pulse quickens, the café suddenly feeling too small, too stifling. Before you can respond, Gyuri reappears from the back, her timing unnervingly precise. She places the caramel macchiato on the counter, her smile unwavering but her eyes sharper than usual. “Here’s your drink. That’ll be 4,500 won.”

Chaeyoung straightens, pulling out her wallet with deliberate slowness. “Thanks, Gyuri. Always so helpful.”

Gyuri’s smile doesn’t falter, but there’s an unmistakable tension in her posture. “Junho, can you check on table three? They’ve been waiting for their order.”

You seize the opportunity, nodding quickly and stepping away. As you walk toward the other side of the café, you can feel Chaeyoung’s gaze burning into your back, her presence lingering like an unwelcome shadow.

—

The shift drags on, each minute feeling heavier than the last. By the time evening rolls around, the café has emptied out, the usual hum of chatter replaced by an eerie silence. You’re hyper-aware of Gyuri’s presence, her every movement sharp and deliberate, as if she’s watching you more closely than usual. Your clumsy mistakes throughout the day haven’t gone unnoticed, and the tension between you feels like a taut wire, ready to snap.

Seoyeon, who had been typing away in her usual corner, left at some point without you even noticing. Her absence feels strange, as if the café lost a piece of its atmosphere when she walked out. You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you barely register Gyuri approaching you, her expression softer now but still tinged with concern.

“Junho,” she says, her voice gentle but firm. “You can leave early tonight. I’ll close up.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Are you sure? I can stay and help—”

“No,” she interrupts, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You’ve been… off today. You should rest. You don’t look well.”

Her words sting, not because they’re harsh, but because they’re true. You do feel off—like you’re teetering on the edge of something you can’t quite understand. Still, you hesitate, glancing around the café. “Are you sure you don’t need me?”

Gyuri’s smile is warm, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m sure. Go home, Junho. Get some sleep.”

You nod reluctantly, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. As you head for the door, you can feel her gaze on your back, heavy and unreadable. The bell above the door jingles softly as you step outside, the cool evening air hitting you like a splash of water.

The street is quiet, the golden glow of the café’s windows fading behind you as you walk. Your mind is still racing, the events of the day—and the night before—swirling together in a chaotic mess. You’re so lost in thought that you almost miss it.

A flash of light catches your eye, and you turn to see a sleek, blue sapphire Porsche parked a short distance away. Its engine purrs softly, the headlights briefly flickering as if to get your attention. Your breath hitches. It’s one of the cars you saw last night, parked outside the café after hours. And now, it’s here.

Your stomach twists as you realize what—or rather, who—it must belong to. Chaeyoung.

The memory of her threat echoes in your mind: “Meet me after your shift. If you don’t, I might have to let the others know your memories came back.”

You hesitate, your feet rooted to the spot. Part of you wants to turn around, to walk away and pretend you didn’t see anything. But another part—the part that remembers the weight of her gaze, the sharpness of her smile—knows you don’t have a choice.

Taking a deep breath, you walk toward the car. As you approach, the passenger-side window rolls down, revealing Chaeyoung behind the wheel. Her sharp eyes meet yours, a sly smile playing on her lips. She’s dressed in the same sleek blue dress from earlier, the deep blue fabric catching the faint glow of the streetlights.

“Get in,” she says, her voice smooth and commanding.

You glance around, as if hoping for some kind of escape, but the street is empty. Swallowing your unease, you open the door and slide into the passenger seat. The interior of the car is as luxurious as you’d expect, the leather seats cool against your skin. The scent of her perfume—something rich and intoxicating—fills the air, making your head spin.

Chaeyoung doesn’t say a word as she pulls away from the curb, the car gliding smoothly through the quiet streets. The silence is heavy, broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional flick of the turn signal. You sit stiffly, your hands clenched in your lap, your mind racing. Where is she taking you? What does she want? And most importantly, what happens if the others find out you remember?

The tension builds with every passing second, and you can’t take it anymore. “Chaeyoung,” you say, your voice tight with impatience, “what’s this about? Why did you bring me here?”

She glances at you briefly, her smirk widening. “Impatient, aren’t we? Relax, Junho. We’ll get there.”

“Get where?” you ask, frustration creeping into your tone. “You said you wanted to talk. So talk.”

Chaeyoung chuckles softly, her fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel. “So eager. I like that. But some things are better discussed in private, don’t you think?”

You clench your jaw, trying to keep your composure. “You threatened me back at the café. Said you’d tell the others if I didn’t meet you. What do you want from me?”

Her expression doesn’t change, but there’s a glint in her eyes that makes your stomach twist. “Patience, Junho. All in good time.”

You want to press her further, to demand answers, but something about her calm demeanor stops you. She’s in control, and you’re not. The realization makes your skin crawl.

The car continues to glide through the city, the streets growing quieter and more upscale the further you go. Finally, Chaeyoung slows the car and pulls into the driveway of a luxurious hotel. The building looms ahead, its glass façade reflecting the city lights like a glittering jewel. A valet steps forward as the car comes to a stop, but Chaeyoung waves him off with a dismissive hand.

She turns to you, her sharp eyes locking onto yours. “We’re here.”

You stare at her, your heart pounding. “A hotel? What are we doing here?”

Chaeyoung’s smile is slow and deliberate, her voice dropping to a low, almost teasing tone. “Like I said, some things are better discussed in private. Come on.”

Without waiting for your response, she steps out of the car, her movements smooth and confident. You hesitate for a moment, your mind racing. This feels like a trap, but what choice do you have? If you walk away now, she might make good on her threat. And if the others find out you remember...

Swallowing your unease, you open the door and step out, the cool night air doing little to calm your nerves. Chaeyoung is already walking toward the hotel entrance, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. She doesn’t look back, as if she knows you’ll follow.

And you do.

—

The penthouse suite is bathed in the soft glow of city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The room is spacious and opulent, with plush furniture and a sleek, modern design that screams luxury. But you’re too on edge to appreciate any of it. Chaeyoung stands a few feet away, her back to you as she pours two glasses of wine from a decanter on the counter. The bold blue sweater she wears clings to her frame, the faux fur trim brushing against her collarbone as she moves. She looks relaxed, almost casual, but you know better. There’s nothing casual about this.

“Sit,” she says, not turning around. Her voice is smooth, commanding, and you find yourself obeying before you even realize it. You perch on the edge of a sleek leather sofa, your hands gripping your knees as you watch her.

She turns, holding out a glass of wine to you. You hesitate, but she raises an eyebrow, and you take it, your fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment. The contact sends a jolt through you, but you quickly pull your hand back, setting the glass on the table in front of you.

“Relax, Junho,” she says, her lips curving into a sly smile as she sits across from you, her posture languid and confident. “I’m not going to bite. Not unless you want me to.”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. “Why are we here, Chaeyoung? What do you want from me?”

She tilts her head, her smile widening. “Straight to the point, huh? I like that.” She takes a sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving yours. “I told you before. I’m curious about you. You’re… interesting.”

“Interesting how?” you ask, your voice tight.

She leans forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees. “You somehow got through the mist. Jiheon just let you through. And now, Jiheon lied to the others for you.”

You shake your head, trying to keep your composure. “Mist? Jiheon? We’ve only known each other since yesterday. And didn’t you also see me when you entered the café that night?”

“Hmm,” she hums, her gaze sharpening. “Maybe… but that makes you even more interesting.”

You don’t respond, your mind racing. She’s toying with you, and you know it, but you can’t figure out her angle. Why bring you here? Why the games?

Chaeyoung sets her glass down and stands, moving to sit beside you on the sofa. You tense, but she doesn’t touch you, her presence alone enough to make your heart race. “You’re nervous,” she observes, her voice soft, almost teasing. “Why? Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you say quickly, though the lie is obvious. “I just… don’t understand what you want from me.”

She smiles, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Maybe I just want to get to know you better. Is that so bad?”

You don’t answer, your throat dry. She’s too close, her scent—something rich and intoxicating—filling your senses. You try to focus, to keep your guard up, but it’s getting harder. There’s something about her, something magnetic, that’s pulling you in, and you can’t figure out why.

Chaeyoung leans in slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re fighting it, Junho. Why?”

“Fighting what?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“This,” she says, gesturing between the two of you. “The tension. The attraction. You feel it too, don’t you?”

You shake your head, trying to deny it, but the words catch in your throat. She’s right, and you hate that she is. There’s something about her, something irresistible, and the more she leans into it, the harder it is to resist.

“You don’t have to fight it,” she murmurs, her voice like velvet. “Just let go.”

Her words are soft, almost hypnotic, and you feel yourself leaning in despite your better judgment. Your mind screams at you to pull away, to leave, but your body betrays you, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She’s close now, so close you can feel her breath on your skin, and you know you should stop this, but you can’t.

And then, just as your lips are about to meet hers, you see it—a faint flash in her eyes the color of allure and depth, sapphire blue, like a spark of light catching the edge of a gemstone. It’s there for just a moment, so brief you almost convince yourself you imagined it. But before you can process it, her lips are on yours, and all rational thought evaporates.

The kiss is electric, consuming, and you’re powerless to resist. Her hands slide up to cradle your face, her touch both gentle and demanding, pulling you deeper into the moment. The taste of her is intoxicating, a mix of wine and something uniquely her, and it’s impossible to think, to breathe, to do anything but surrender.

For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you—the warmth of her body, the softness of her lips, the way she seems to know exactly how to unravel you. But even as you lose yourself in the kiss, a small, distant part of your mind whispers that something isn’t right. That flash in her eyes… It wasn't normal. It wasn’t human.

But then she deepens the kiss, her tongue brushing against yours, and the thought slips away, drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of her. The way she moves is deliberate, teasing, and you can’t help but respond, your own instincts taking over. Her fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, and you’re lost in the heat of the moment, unable to think, to reason, to do anything but feel.

And at that moment, you don’t care. Whatever she’s doing, whatever game she’s playing, you’re too far gone to stop it.

When she finally pulls away, it’s slow, deliberate, her lips lingering just inches from yours. Her breath is warm against your skin, and her eyes—now their usual dark, piercing gaze—lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

“See?” she murmurs, her voice low and husky. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You're too dazed to respond, your mind still reeling from the kiss. She smiles, a slow, satisfied curve of her lips, and leans back, putting just enough distance between you to make you ache for her closeness again. Your eyes meet with hers. You can tell what she's thinking, she takes pleasure in seeing you this flustered. Chaeyoung's fingers trail down your chest, her touch sending shivers down your spine.

She kneels down in front of you, her eyes locked onto yours as she slowly unfastens the button on your pants. The zipper slides open with a gentle click, and she pulls your trousers down with deft hands. You can't help but breathe a little heavier as she cups your lenght through the fabric of your boxers, her touch sending sparks along your body.

She teases you for a moment, tracing patterns on your skin with her fingers before giving in to the desire that's been building between you two. Chaeyoung asks, her voice low and husky as she leans forward to whisper in your ear, "Want to see something?" You can't help but nod, your throat dry with anticipation.

With a sly smile, Chaeyoung takes her time, pulling down your pants and boxers with a gentle tug. Her eyes dance across your body, drinking in every detail as she licks her lips in anticipation.

"Look at me," Chaeyoung says, her voice low and commanding. "Tell me what you want to do with yourself."

You try to form words, but all that comes out is a groan of desire. Chaeyoung laughs, a soft sound that sends shivers down your spine.

"Oh, I think this guy knows what he wants," she says, glancing at your shaft before her eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

Her lips brush against your skin, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. She kisses you slowly, incrementally making her way up to your tip. With each gentle touch, your meat twitches in response, and Chaeyoung enjoys every reaction, her eyes never leaving yours.

As she reaches the base of your shaft, she pauses for a moment before continuing her ascent. Her lips dance across your skin, sending shivers down your spine with each caress. You feel yourself becoming harder, more insistent, as if begging to be claimed by her touch.

Chaeyoung's mouth covers yours now, warm and soft against your skin. Your breath catches as she nibbles at your tip, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. She takes her time, savoring the moment as much as you are. Your heart pounds in time with hers, the rhythm matching the beat of your desire.

Just when you thought you were finally adjusting to the explosion of stimulation you’ve experienced. She stopped, her eyes met yours.

"Want me to make it easier for you?" Chaeyoung asks, her voice low and husky as she leans forward to whisper in your ear. "Want me to show you exactly what I want?"

Your gaze locked with Chaeyoung although her mouth is preoccupied to form a smile, you can see it through her eyes. She planted both her palms on your lap, gripping them, as her cheeks hollowed as she took you in deeper, her tongue moving freely, swirling around your meat. The sensation was too much, her warm, wet mouth enveloping you as she worked to bring you pleasure. All you can do is groan. As you helplessly grip the sofa.

The reaction as if giving her energy, her pace grew faster, taking you even deeper, you can feel her tongue pressed down by your shaft as she sucks. The wet sound rings to your ear, her moans muffled, its vibration moves through your skin as she serves you pleasure, and it's close. She matched your eye once again, you can see she has no intention of stopping. Her lip tightening around you as she sucked even more harder, her tongue swirled around your tip, her movement grew bolder as she knew you were near the edge.

You groaned one last time as it finally happened. At the last moment she freed her mouth from your length and switched it immediately with her palm cupping the top of your tip, catching your release.

"That's it?" her eyes looking at you disappointed. Before her attention shifts to her hand full with cum. "It was fun at least". She continues.

You stare at her still in dazed, as she was sitting on the floor, she first licked her palm clean of your cum, then her fingers sucking them one by one. After cleaning herself up, she realized you were still staring at her.

“‘You’re still here?’ Chaeyoung mildly amused, her eyes locked on yours once again. A faint, otherworldly light seemed to dance in their depths, as if they were absorbing the very air around them.

“You can leave now,” she said with a wave of her hand, as if ousting you from her presence.

Your confusion deepened at her question. "What do you mean, leave?" you replied, unsure of what she was getting at.

Chaeyoung's eyes widened in surprise as you sat up straight, mirroring her bewilderment. "How?" she asked again, her voice tinged with frustration and curiosity.

Your confusion deepened at her question. "What do you mean, how?" you replied, unsure of what she was getting at.

Chaeyoung stood up and placed her hands on either side of the sofa, trapping you in between her grip. Her eyes, filled with the tiniest hint of blue, bore into you, making you feel as if she was delving into your soul.

"You remember?" she asked cautiously.

"Yes, I remember last night. Isn't that why we're here?" you answered back.

"No, not that. Just now, what happened, did you remember it? Were you conscious?" Chaeyoung queried again.

“Am I not supposed to?” You asked.

Still maintaining her lock on you, she broke eye contact and started muttering, "So Jiheon didn't lie... you're either resistant if not immune..." Her thoughts drifting away from you.

"Helloooo..." you try to get her attention, snapping her out of her musings. Her gaze returns to your eyes, reminding you of how close your face is.

"Anyway, what will you do now? Will you leave?" she asked, her voice regaining its usual confidence.

"Should I leave? Do you want me to?" you reply, starting to get annoyed with the constant questions and stacking confusion.

Chaeyoung seemingly recognizes your hidden desire. "So you don't want to?" She shifts her position, her arms which were on your sides before now resting on your shoulder, crossing behind your neck. Her feet, once on the ground, now on both your sides as she sits on your lap.

"Why? Is there a reason you want to stay?" she asked, her voice teasing you.

"Well, I feel like it's only right that I return the favor," you answer, your desire to explore this new dynamic between you both growing. Chaeyoung's eyes widen at your response, her lips curling into a smile as she leans in, her breath brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

Chaeyoung's eyes widened further, her smile turning into a predatory grin. "Be careful what you wish for, Junho," she whispers in your ear, her voice laced with both warning and invitation. "Are you sure you want to continue?, you sure you can handle it?”

She pauses, allowing the weight of her words to sink in. "It's not too late to walk out, after this there's no going back" Chaeyoung explains, her voice low and intense.

Driven by lust and the thrill of the unknown, Junho doesn't take her warning too seriously. "I can handle it," he responds, his confidence fueled by arousal.

Chaeyoung's grin widens as she leans back, her eyes never leaving yours. "Then show me how much you can handle," she dares you.

Your heart races as you accept the challenge. You take hold of Chaeyoung's waist, pulling her closer as your lips meet in a passionate, fiery kiss. Your hands roam her body, exploring her curves and feeling the heat of her desire.

She moans into your mouth, her hands moving to your chest, then to the end of your shirt, pulling it up, undressing you as if impatient to have your skin against hers. Your lips never falter, continuing their fiery dance as her hands roam over your chest, exploring every ridge and valley.

With the same fervor that you tore her clothes, you begin to undress her, your lips never leaving hers, your hands never leaving her body. Only stopping to catch air, you take a break from kissing, giving you enough time to admire her now barely dressed top, with only her black lace bra remaining.

Chaeyoung, impatiently, hastily stands up, and in a fluid motion, removes her shorts, then her panties, casting them aside. You, not idle, pull down your pants and boxers which were already previously unbuckled.

After undressing, with the exception of Chaeyoung's bra, you're both completely naked. She returns to your lap, and resumes the kiss, her hands roaming your back, her nails digging into your skin, urging you on.

Your hands grasp her waist, pulling her closer, your bodies pressed tightly against each other. As the kiss deepens, you can feel her hardened nipples rubbing against your chest, sending shivers down your spine.

Chaeyoung breaks the kiss, her lips trailing down your jaw, to your neck, her teeth gently nipping at the sensitive skin there, as her hands reach around to unclasp her bra. It falls away, her breasts freed, her nipples standing erect, aching for your touch.

You eagerly complied, your hands finding Chaeyoung's breasts, cupping them gently, thumbs teasing her nipples, rolling them between your fingers, making her shiver with pleasure. Her head falls back, a soft moan escaping her lips.

You move your hands lower, tracing her stomach, and settling between her legs. Your fingers part her folds, gently rubbing her swollen clit, feeling her wetness coating his digits. Chaeyoung's moans grow louder, her hips bucking against his hand, encouraging you to continue.

Your other hand leaves her breast, moving to her hip, steadying her as you begin to finger her, slowly at first, then increasing the pace as you feel her body reacting to your touch. Her back arches, and her fingers claw at your shoulders, leaving red marks.

The air is thick with the scent of desire, the sounds of their heavy breathing, and the wet slaps of your fingers penetrating her. Chaeyoung's eyes flutter shut, her body quivering, on the edge of release.

You feel a surge of power, knowing you're the one bringing her closer to ecstasy. You stop, smirking against her lips as you pull your fingers from her, bringing them to your mouth, tasting her on them.

Chaeyoung's eyes open wide, a look of both frustration and desire on her face. "Put it in.." she whispers, her voice breathy and needy. Junho smirks, ready to continue their erotic dance.

You prepare yourself to pierce Chaeyoung, the sensation was both overwhelming and exhilarating. The tight warmth enveloping me sent shivers down my spine. You could feel her muscles clenching around you, gripping your length, and her orgasm washes over her like a tidal wave.

Chaeyoung's body arched, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her cry of ecstasy echoing in the room. Her eyes seemed to lock onto yours, filled with the subtle color of allure. I asked her, "Why did that happen so fast?" My voice was laced with curiosity and a hint of concern.

Flushed with both embarrassment and amusement, Chaeyoung admitted, "I... I haven't done it in a while." Her cheeks were a vivid shade of red as she revealed, "Usually, others never got this far."

You feel a surge of pride and protectiveness, your heart pounding with each beat. you start to move within her, your thrusting slow and deep, feeling her body responding to your touch. The sensation of her legs wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer, is intoxicating.

“Oh…. Fuck… that feel… sooo.. Good…” Cheayoung exclaimed.

You feel the telltale signs that Chaeyoung is nearing her climax once again. Her moans grow louder, her pants hasten, her muscles tightening around your length, her nails digging deeper into your shoulders. You can sense the electricity building between you two, as you match her intensity, with lust fueling both your passion.

"That's it… I'm close, keep going… plea–... please," Chaeyoung pleaded, her voice trembling with desperation as she pressed against me, her body yearning for release. The air was electric with tension, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of desire at the sight of her, her skin glowing with sweat, her eyes locked on yours with an unspoken plea.

As Chaeyoung reaches her climax for the second time, her body shudders, her grip on you tightening as her cries fill the room. A wave of satisfaction and arousal washes over you, and you continue to move with her, wanting her to feel every moment of connection between the two of you. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered promise sends shivers down your spine.

"Wa- wait… not yet," she gasps, her words interrupted by uncontrollable moans that echo through the room like a symphony of pleasure. Her body begins to tremble, her muscles convulsing as if trying to release a pent-up storm.

Breathless yourself, you decide to heed her plea, slowing your movements to give her a moment to recover. Chaeyoung's body, now glistening with sweat, slumps against yours, her stiff nipples brushing against your skin as she rests her head on your shoulder. Her face is a mess, strands of hair clinging to her flushed cheeks, her lips parted as she gasps for air.

Gently, you guide her into a new position, placing her hands on the backrest of the couch and helping her kneel on the cushions. You stand behind her, taking a moment to admire the curve of her toned back, the delicate dip of her waist, and the graceful arch of her hips. The sight of her is intoxicating, and you feel a renewed surge of desire that threatens to overwhelm you.

Chaeyoung's brief respite ends as you join with her again, moving in a rhythm that feels both familiar and exhilarating. Her body responds to yours, her grip tightening as if unwilling to let go. Every movement, every breath, every whispered promise sends shivers down my spine, building the tension until it becomes almost unbearable.

"I can't... no... I- can't..." she murmurs, her voice a mix of protest and surrender, though the way she clings to you tells a different story. You wrap one of your arms around her waist, holding her in place for support, while the other reaches up to grip her neck, feeling the tension in her throat muscles as each of her moans vibrates through her body.

With a gentle pull, you bring her closer, your bodies pressed tightly together as you stand. Her hands, desperate to find something to hold onto, wrap around your hair and grasp it firmly. Her head turns to yours, her eyes locking onto yours with an unspoken plea for release, for connection, for the one person who can satisfy her.

"You feel so good," you whisper, your voice husky with desire as you meet hers once again in a fierce, passionate kiss. Chaeyoung's body shudders and trembles beneath you, her third climax building to a crescendo that threatens to consume them both.

And then, in a burst of energy, you felt your body tense and release, your orgasm building to a crescendo as Chaeyoung's muscles responded to yours. You could feel your seed mixing with hers, a union of flesh and blood that was both intimate and primal. The sensation was overwhelming - a mix of pleasure, pain, and release that left you breathless and trembling.

As the wave of pleasure washed over you, you felt Chaeyoung's body tighten around yours, her muscles contracting to hold onto your spent form. You knew then that you had come inside her, that your seed had mingled with hers in a union of flesh and blood that would remain with you forever.

As you hold on to her tightly, feeling her body lose strength against yours, you can sense the power dynamic shifting in between you. You are the one in control, the one guiding her movements, but she is still clinging to you, as if needing your strength to keep her upright.

You continue to hold her close, your lips never leaving hers, as Chaeyoung's body begins to relax into yours, her breathing slowing and her muscles releasing their tension. You can feel her heart pounding in time with yours, a rhythmic match that seems to be growing stronger by the second.

Just when you thought she was spent, her body turned to face you. She created distance between your lips, giving you a clear view of her face, even with her messy hair and sweat-drenched cheeks, her face wore a smile, instead of exhaustion and satisfaction. Her still eyes full of passion and hunger seemed to bore into your soul.

You realized the night had just started, her eyes hinting at a desire for an endless night. “I told you, Junho, be careful what you wish for”.

Her lips returned to you, unrelenting as she led you to the bedroom. The rest of the night was blurry, but one thing was clear - your desires and hers had merged into a single, all-consuming passion.

—

You wake to the soft glow of pre-dawn light filtering through the window, the sky painted in muted shades of blue and gray. The bed beneath you is warm but messy, the sheets tangled and damp, a testament to the night’s activities. You blink slowly, your mind still foggy, as you take in your surroundings.

By the window, Chaeyoung stands, her silhouette framed against the cityscape. She’s completely bare, her back to you, her posture relaxed yet commanding. The faint light catches the curves of her figure, and for a moment, you’re struck by how effortlessly she commands the room, even in stillness.

Her voice breaks the silence, soft but clear, and you realize she’s not just standing there—she’s on the phone.

“...Jiheon was telling the truth,” she says, her tone thoughtful. “It doesn’t work on him. He’s… resistant to it.”

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. Resistant to what? Your mind races, fragments of the night before flashing through your thoughts—her sapphire-blue eyes, the way she seemed to pull you in, the way you couldn’t resist her. Was it all… her? Her magic?

A deep unease coils in your chest, the realization creeping in slowly. What have you done? You replay the night over and over in your head, trying to convince yourself it was your choice—that you wanted it. But doubt gnaws at you, whispering insidious thoughts. Did she manipulate you? Was any of it real? Or were you just another piece in whatever game she was playing?

Chaeyoung continues, her voice calm but firm. “He’s perfect for the job. What else do you need? He’s already acquainted and close to the other girls. Plus, he knows our secret, and we can’t exactly get rid of him now, can we?”

Her words send a chill down your spine. Perfect for the job? What job? And what secret? Your mind spins, but before you can process it, Chaeyoung turns toward the bed. The dim light hides her expression, but you can feel her smile, sharp and knowing, as if she’s aware you’re awake and listening.

“Don’t worry, Romsae,” she says, her voice dropping slightly. “He’s more than adequate. I checked him myself.”

The way she says it—confident, almost smug—makes your cheeks burn. The heat rising to your face is laced with something far heavier than embarrassment—regret. Should you have resisted? Should you have walked away when you had the chance? Now, it feels like you’ve stepped into something far beyond your understanding, and there’s no easy way out.

You want to say something, to demand answers, but your body feels heavy, your thoughts sluggish. Chaeyoung ends the call and sets her phone aside, her movements unhurried as she approaches the bed.

Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you’re pinned under her gaze. You search her expression for anything genuine, anything real—but all you find is that same knowing look, like she’s already figured you out.

She reaches out, her fingers brushing against your cheek, her touch surprisingly gentle. “You should sleep more,” she murmurs, her voice soft, almost soothing. “It’s going to be a long day.”

Her words wash over you like a lullaby, and despite the storm of questions raging in your mind, you feel yourself drifting. Your eyelids grow heavy, and the last thing you see before sleep claims you is Chaeyoung’s faint smile, her sapphire-blue eyes glowing softly in the dim light.

And as darkness takes you, the doubt lingers—settling deep within your bones. Did you make the right choice? Or did you just seal your fate?

Next ->

[kwilquib]

Promised 9

chapter - 0

Fromis_9 x Male reader

Word Count: 4.5k+

Chapters: One | Two | Three

a/n: This is just set up of the story, no smut in this chapter. but this chapter is important, for the story.

The classroom buzzed with the faint whispers of students exchanging notes and furtive glances at their phones. You sat slouched at the back, staring blankly at your open notebook, the pages still pristine except for a single doodle in the corner: a coffee cup. You idly tapped your pen against the desk, your thoughts drifting far from the lecture.

“Mr. Kang Junho!”

The sharp voice of your Professor Min snapped You back to reality. The room fell silent, and all eyes turned toward you. You straightened, blinking rapidly as the professor leveled a stern gaze at you from the podium.

“Care to join us in this riveting discussion, or are you busy solving life’s great mysteries back there?” Professor Min’s voice was tinged with sarcasm.

“Uh, no, sir. I mean, yes, I’m listening,” You stammered, scratching the back of your neck. A few chuckles rippled through the classroom.

Satisfied, the professor adjusted his glasses and continued, pacing slowly across the front of the room. “As I was saying, today’s topic is about myths and their reflection of humanity. Take, for instance, the legend of the Promised Nine.”

The room quieted, the students now leaning in slightly. Professor Min always had a way of making even the dullest of topics sound compelling.

“Long ago, during a time when humanity was steeped in chaos, war, and unrelenting greed, there was a king—a wise man, yet weary of the barbarism that plagued his people. No matter how many treaties he signed or how many battles he fought, peace was fleeting. He despaired, knowing that humanity’s greatest enemy was not the sword but the emotions that drove men to wield it: pride, envy, wrath, greed, gluttony, sloth, lust, apathy, deceit…”

Junho’s attention perked up. There was something strangely familiar about the words, though you couldn’t place why.

“So the king, in his desperation, climbed the tallest mountain in the land to plead with the deity who ruled the heavens. He begged for salvation, not for himself, but for humanity. The deity listened, moved by the king’s earnestness. But salvation comes with a cost.”

Professor Min paused dramatically, glancing at his captivated audience. “A promise was made—a sacred pact between the king and the deity. Aid would be sent to humanity, not as armies or riches, but as nine beings, each representing the most volatile of human emotions. Their purpose? To keep the balance of these forces, preventing anyone from consuming the world.”

He walked over to the whiteboard and wrote the words The Promised Nine in bold letters.

“But there was a catch,” he continued. “The deity warned the king that these emotions, though tempered, could never truly be eradicated. The Promised Nine would struggle with the very forces they were meant to contain. And should even one of them fall to the temptation of their burden…”

Professor Min trailed off, his gaze sweeping the room.

“What would happen?” a student near the front blurted, unable to resist.

“Should one of the Nine succumb, their emotion would consume them entirely, turning them into a force of destruction. And that destruction could spread unchecked, tipping the scales and plunging the world into chaos once more. To prevent this, the Deity decreed that the Nine would be connected to a chosen mortal—an anchor. This anchor would serve as their confidant, grounding them when the weight of their burden became too great to bear.”

He turned back to the whiteboard, writing in large, bold letters: The Promised Nine.

“The anchor is as important as the Nine themselves,” he said. “Without them, the balance could not be maintained. The king agreed to the Diety’s terms, knowing full well the cost. And thus, the Promised Nine came into being.”

Professor Min stepped back from the board, his expression somber. “But the Diety’s warning still lingers in the echoes of time: no balance lasts forever. The story of the Promised Nine reminds us that humanity’s greatest strength—and its greatest threat—lies within ourselves.”

The shrill ring of the bell echoed through the room, breaking the spell. Students began packing their bags, the hum of chatter returning.

“Read chapters six through eight for next week!” Professor Min called over the noise.

You gathered your things slowly, the tale still turning over in your mind. As you slung your bag over your shoulder and made your way to the door, you muttered to yourself, “Promised Nine, huh? Sounds like something out of a fantasy novel.”

—

You exit the lecture hall, slipping into the stream of students flowing out into the bustling campus courtyard. The sun dips low in the sky, casting long shadows and a warm orange glow over everything. You glance at your watch—just enough time to get to your part-time job.

The café isn’t far, a cozy little spot just outside the university gates. Its charming wooden sign, Golden Brew, sways slightly in the breeze. The place is always busy, a favorite among students and faculty alike. But there’s one reason it stands out from the dozens of other coffee shops around: its owner, Gyuri.

You push through the door, greeted by the familiar hum of chatter, clinking cups, and the hiss of the espresso machine. The café smells like roasted beans and freshly baked pastries—a comforting combination that feels like a second home.

“Junho, you’re late!”

The voice is soft yet commanding, and you immediately straighten, turning to the counter. There she is—Gyuri, the radiant owner of Golden Brew. Her beauty is the kind that leaves people momentarily breathless. stood effortlessly graceful in her casual white t-shirt and mint-green cap, her gentle features framed by stray strands of hair and a gaze as warm as the morning sun

“I-I’m sorry, Ms. Gyuri,” you stammer, bowing slightly as you head toward the staff room to put your bag away.

“It’s fine, just don’t make a habit of it, okay?” she replies, her voice as warm as the golden light streaming through the café windows.

“Yes, of course!” you reply quickly, though you can’t shake the sense of unease you always feel around her.

It’s not fear, exactly. Gyuri is unfailingly warm and generous. She treats her staff like family, remembers the names of regulars, and always has a smile for everyone who walks through the door. Still, you find yourself hyper-aware of her moods, as though disappointing her might lead to something far worse than a lecture.

When you emerge from the staff room in your apron, Gyuri is already behind the counter, expertly steaming milk for a cappuccino. “Can you handle table seven’s order? They’ve been waiting a bit.”

You grab the tray, carefully balancing two lattes and a slice of cheesecake, weaving your way through the maze of tables. It’s almost automatic at this point—sidestepping bags, dodging half-turned chairs—but when you reach the corner table, you stop.

She’s there.

Seoyeon.

She’s a regular, not a student or faculty, just... always here. You’ve seen her enough times to notice the details: the dark circles under her eyes, natural and striking, framing her otherwise delicate features. She’s beautiful in a way that sneaks up on you—her sleepy, almost lazy demeanor masks something deeper.

She’s hunched over her laptop, typing slowly, as if testing each word before committing to it. The oversized navy shirt drapes over her frame, and her hair carelessly tied, some falls messily around her face. You set the tray down gently, not wanting to disturb whatever she’s working on.

“Thanks,” she mutters without looking up, her voice soft, almost as if she’s halfway to falling asleep.

You nod, even though she doesn’t see it, and glance at her screen. It’s filled with text—lines upon lines of words you can’t make sense of from this angle. Stories, maybe? Essays? You don’t know, and it’s not your place to ask.

As you turn to leave, she stretches, her movements slow and languid, like she has all the time in the world. For a moment, you wonder what keeps her coming back here, day after day, to sit in that same spot, typing away.

But you shake the thought off. You’ve got other tables to serve.

.You make your way back behind the counter, tray in hand. It’s a small relief to retreat to this spot, even if only for a few moments. Manning the cashier is easier—less weaving between tables, fewer chances to trip or spill something. The register beeps softly as you organize receipts and prepare for the next wave of customers.

The door opens, and the atmosphere in the café shifts. It’s subtle, like a faint breeze stirring through a room, but you notice it immediately. Heads turn—students and faculty alike—and conversations falter as if someone hit pause.

You glance up and freeze.

Jiheon.

Her name is spoken in hushed tones across campus, her presence both admired and untouchable. She moves with an effortless grace that feels out of place in the mundane setting of the café, her bright smile commanding attention without even trying. But it’s her eyes that hold you—the way they curve into crescent moons with a hint of something sharper, more mischievous, just beneath the surface.

To your utter disbelief, she walks directly to the counter. Your counter.

“Hi there,” she says, her voice smooth and casual, like she’s greeting an old friend. Her gaze locks onto yours, and her smile widens slightly. “You’re Junho, right?”

You blink, caught so off guard that you almost drop the pen in your hand. “Uh… yeah?” Your answer comes out as more of a question than a confirmation.

Her smile grows, as if your awkwardness amuses her. “Thought so. I’m Jiheon.” She leans in just slightly, resting one hand on the counter. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Your wariness kicks in. Jiheon—the Jiheon—is talking to you? Asking for your name? It feels like the kind of thing that only happens to other people. Your eyes flick briefly to Gyuri at the other end of the counter. She’s busy steaming milk, not even sparing a glance in Jiheon’s direction.

“Nice to meet you,” you manage, your voice steadier this time, though your thoughts are racing. “Uh, caramel macchiato?” You blurt the question out more out of instinct than anything else.

Her laugh is light, lilting, but there’s something playful in it, like she’s already decided you’re her new source of entertainment. “Hmm. Good guess,” she teases, tapping a finger against the counter. “Sure, I’ll have that. But I’m impressed you remembered. I didn’t think I was that predictable.”

You feel your face heat up, fumbling to punch her order into the register. “It’s not that, I just—uh—” You stop, realizing anything you say will just dig you deeper.

She watches you, clearly enjoying the way you stumble over your words. “Relax, Junho,” she says, her tone soft but undeniably amused. “I’m just messing with you.”

Handing her the receipt, you attempt a smile. “Coming right up.”

Instead of moving to find a seat, she lingers by the counter, her eyes drifting lazily around the café before landing back on you. “Nice place. Gyuri’s done a great job here, hasn’t she?”

Your gaze flicks to Gyuri again. Still busy. Still not looking this way. “Yeah, she has,” you reply, keeping your voice neutral.

Jiheon tilts her head, her smile still firmly in place. “You two seem close,” she muses, her tone light but probing. “Gyuri’s lucky to have someone like you helping her out.”

The way she says it makes you feel like she’s toying with you, testing your reaction. “I just do what I can,” you say cautiously.

Her eyes light up, as if you’ve said something particularly amusing. “I bet you do.” She straightens up and takes a step back. “Well, Junho, it’s been… enlightening.” Her smile takes on an almost cat-like quality. “Thanks for the drink. I’ll be around.”

As she walks away to find a seat, the tension in your shoulders eases, but her presence lingers like a shadow. You glance at Gyuri one last time, hoping for some kind of reaction, but she’s focused on the drinks in front of her, her usual calm smile in place.

And yet, for just a moment, you swear there’s something almost knowing in the way she glances at Jiheon’s retreating figure..

—

The bell above the door jingles as the last customer leaves, and you let out a long breath, leaning against the counter. The café feels different now—quiet, peaceful, but heavy with the lingering scent of coffee and pastries. It’s nighttime, and the warm glow of the overhead lights gives the empty space a cozy but slightly eerie feel.

“Good job today, Junho,” Gyuri says, flashing you one of her signature warm smiles as she locks the cash register.

“Thanks, Ms. Gyuri,” you reply, your voice softer than usual in the now-empty café.

After finishing up your closing duties—wiping down tables, stacking chairs, and sweeping the floors—you grab your jacket and step out into the cool night air. The streets are quieter now, with only a few scattered groups of students heading home. You adjust your backpack, your thoughts already drifting toward the comfort of your cramped boarding room.

As you turn a corner, someone bumps into you.

“Ah, sorry,” you mumble automatically, stepping back.

The girl doesn’t even glance up, her eyes glued to her phone. She’s wearing what looks like an e-sport jersey jacket, its bold colors contrasting with the dark street. Her brown hair catches the ambient glow of the streetlights, faintly shining as she moves past you. For a brief moment, her face is illuminated, and it’s enough to leave an impression.

She’s stunning.

Before you can fully process it, your impulse kicks in. You take a step forward, clearing your throat. “Hey, uh, I’m Junho...”

But she doesn’t respond. Her focus remains solely on the screen of her phone, and she keeps walking, oblivious to your presence.

You stand there for a second, feeling a bit foolish, then shake your head. The image of her lingers in your mind as she disappears into the night, leaving you with nothing but the quiet hum of the street.

When you finally reach your room, you fumble with your keys and push the door open. It’s as small and cramped as ever, but it’s yours. You toss your jacket onto the single chair by the desk, only to realize something’s missing. Your bag. You groan, running a hand through your hair. You must’ve left it at the café in your rush to leave. There’s no helping it—you’ll have to go back.

The walk feels longer this time, the quiet streets amplifying the sound of your footsteps. As you get closer, a strange unease settles in your chest. The air feels heavier, the streetlights casting elongated shadows that seem to move just out of sync with your steps. Your skin prickles, as if something unseen is watching.

When you reach the café, you notice something strange. Cars are parked outside. Not just any cars—luxury vehicles, sleek and expensive, the kind you’d expect to see in a high-end district, not outside a cozy student café. Their polished exteriors gleam under the soft glow of the streetlights, each one a testament to sophistication and taste.

Your gaze drifts across the lineup, catching details that feel oddly personal. A jet-black SUV, imposing and understated. A sapphire blue Porsche, sharp and vibrant, eerily luring you in. Your eyes stop briefly on a compact car that feels out of place among the giants—a Mini Cooper. Its emerald green paint shimmers, the kind of green that feels rich and alive, paired with racing stripes that speak of personality rather than pure extravagance. It’s less ostentatious but undeniably stylish, a subtle standout among its peers.

As you approach, an inexplicable resistance builds inside you, like a pressure against your chest. Your feet feel heavier, your thoughts fuzzier, and for a brief moment, you consider turning around. The café seems distant, almost unreal, like it’s shifting away even as you step closer. But you shake it off, forcing yourself forward.

You head to the backdoor, fishing out the spare key Gyuri gave you for emergencies. Pushing it open, you step into the staff area and spot your bag right where you left it. Relieved, you sling it over your shoulder and turn to leave.

That’s when you hear it.

The faint jingle of the front doorbell breaks the silence, followed by muffled voices.

You freeze. The café should be empty, but there’s a light seeping through the crack of the door leading to the main lobby. Slowly, you step closer, curiosity outweighing caution.

Peeking through the door, you see her.

She steps inside like she owns the air she breathes, her presence commanding yet effortless. Her long, jet-black hair cascades down her back, perfectly straight, with sharp bangs framing her face. Under the glow of the café lights, her striking blue eyes seem almost unnatural, as if they were cut from the sky itself.

For a moment, her gaze sweeps the café, and then it lands directly on you.

Your heart skips a beat. You’re sure you’ve been caught—your face heats up, and you’re ready to stammer some excuse about being here after hours. But her expression doesn’t shift.

Her lips curl into a smile, slow and deliberate, as if she’s been waiting for this very moment. It’s the kind of smile that feels personal, like it holds a secret meant only for you.

But then, as quickly as her eyes found yours, they slid away.

It’s deliberate—you’re certain of that. She must have seen you. And yet, she acts as if you’re invisible, as if your presence is of no consequence. She turns, her hair sweeping behind her like a silk curtain, and addresses the others in the room.

From your hidden vantage point, you take in the scene.

The café, which should have been empty, is instead alive with movement. A group of women fills the space, each one radiating an aura of distinct confidence and beauty. They aren’t just sitting or lounging; they seem to command the room, transforming it into something that feels foreign, almost sacred.

“Chaeyoung,” one of the women calls out, her tone both teasing and sharp, “you’re late.”

Your eyes dart to the source of the voice, and your breath catches—it’s her. The same woman you bumped into earlier, the one engrossed in her phone. She’s still wearing that e-sport jersey jacket, looking as effortlessly confident as she had before.

“And Nagyung? You’re not late?” Chaeyoung fires back, her tone teasing, her smile sharper now.

The casual banter between them feels like watching something private, yet you can’t look away.

Your gaze shifts to the rest of the table. The initial shock of seeing Chaeyoung fades as you take in the others, each of them equally striking in their presence. You almost stumble backward when you spot familiar faces.

Gyuri, whose warmth you’ve come to rely on, sits with an unfamiliar coolness about her. Her brow is furrowed, a faint trace of annoyance crossing her usually gentle features. It sharpens her striking appearance, making her seem like someone you’ve never truly known. There's a tension in her posture that makes you feel like you're seeing a side of her that’s been hidden until now.

Seoyeon leans lazily toward the women beside her, her relaxed posture contrasting the air of composure around the table.

The woman Seoyeon is leaning into feels strangely familiar, as if you should recognize her. She matches the others in beauty, her jet-black hair framing a delicate face. A soft smile plays at her lips, radiating warmth and charm. With luminous skin and deep, expressive eyes, she exudes an effortless elegance that captivates without even trying.

And as if that weren’t enough to leave you reeling, on the other side of the table, you recognize Lee Saerom.

The Saerom. The top celebrity, known for her flawless visuals and commanding performances.

Sitting next to her is Song Hayoung, the famous songwriter and soloist whose music dominates every chart. 

They’re casually leaning into the conversation, as though their combined fame and aura aren’t enough to make this room the most exclusive place in the city.

“Is Jiwon not here yet?” Chaeyoung asks as she slips into a seat, her voice nonchalant, but her eyes scanning the room with interest.

The front doorbell jingles, and the door swings open.

“I’m here!!” a bright, piercing voice calls out.

Your head swivels toward the source, and there she is. Jiwon, bounding through the entrance like a whirlwind of energy, her grin lighting up the room before her words even have a chance.

“Jisun, did you bring food?” Jiwon’s question comes rapid-fire, her tone playful but undeniably demanding.

The woman Seoyeon was leaning into rose. She moves with calm precision, her composure stark against Jiwon’s lively presence.

"Of course, I brought food. Wouldn’t want you to starve." Jisun says, her voice soft but firm, as she produces a stack of containers seemingly out of nowhere. She places them on the table, the gesture practiced, as though she had been anticipating the request long before it was asked.

It hits you then. Roh Jisun. The world-famous chef. Known for her culinary brilliance and beauty. You've seen her multiple times before in magazines, tv, or online articles. You can hardly believe she's here, so close, exuding an effortless elegance.

“Can we finally get started? I still have to clean up after all of you,” Gyuri complained, her annoyance clear.

Now that the group had gathered, all eyes shifted to Saerom, who was waiting for their attention.

“Our youngest is losing control,” Saerom began.

“We all constantly are,” Nagyung shrugged off the concern.

“This isn't the same, you know that,” Saerom replied firmly.

“Don’t try to ignore these meetings, Nagyung. I’m losing millions just being here,” Jiwon said, flaunting her wealth.

“Must be nice having all those millions,” Hayoung remarked. While her gaze focuses on the only fork on the table, in the hands of Chaeyoung.

“You’re a millionaire too. Why are you eyeing my money?” Jiwon shot back defensively.

“Ahem!… Losing control?” Gyuri steered the conversation back on track.

Saerom, now commanding their full attention, spoke with purpose.

“We need to consider finally finding an anchor.”

“Then we’ll get an anchor. Meeting is done,” Soyeon said with a yawn, stretching.

Charyoung, still twirling the fork between her fingers, smirked. “Do we have to? I’ve been liking her attitude recently.”

“It’s time,” Saerom replied, her tone serious. “We can’t risk it. If deceit consumes her…”

“It will consume all of us,” Gyuri finished, her voice dark.

You stay frozen, trying to make sense of the conversation. Consume? Anchor? Deceit? The weight of their words sinks in, and though you know you should leave, something keeps you rooted to the spot. The truth behind their cryptic conversation is just out of reach.

Then, without warning, a soft voice whispered near your ear.

“Curiosity can be dangerous, you know.”

You nearly jump out of your skin, spinning around to find Jiheon standing inches away, her signature eye-smile curved upward in amusement. You’re certain she wasn’t there a second ago. How could she have gotten so close without making a sound?

“Wha—how—?” you stammer, instinctively taking a step back, only to hear the door creak open behind you.

Seoyeon, now fully awake, leans forward slightly, her drowsy facade giving way to genuine surprise. “How did he get here?” she asks, her voice carrying a rare edge of curiosity. Her eyes scan you, but it’s not just scrutiny—it’s disbelief, almost as if you’re some kind of anomaly.

“Who’s this?” Nagyung asks, clearly not remembering you.

“Junho,” Gyuri says softly, her voice now laced with concern and confusion. “How are you here?” Her warm demeanor has returned that almost makes you feel safe. Almost.

Your mind scrambles for an explanation, but Jiheon, ever calm, steps forward, her gaze fixed on you as if she’s reading your very thoughts.

“He overheard,” Jiheon says simply, her tone neither accusatory nor dismissive.

“Clearly” Jiwon crosses her arms, her lively energy dampened by suspicion. “Why did you let him through?”

Jiheon doesn’t answer. Instead, she steps forward, closing the already narrow distance between the two of you. Her eyes glint with an eerie amusement, her head tilting slightly as she examines you like a puzzle she’s just begun to piece together.

“Regardless of how,” Saerom says, her voice cutting through the murmurs and drawing every gaze. She rises slowly, her commanding presence quieting the room once more. “What matters is why. What did he hear?”

“I didn’t mean to listen!” you blurt out, your voice shaky as you raise your hands in defense. “I—I just came back for my bag, and then I heard voices, and—”

“And stopped to eavesdrop,” Chaeyoung interrupts, her voice playful but her eyes uncomfortably sharp.

“No! I mean—yes, but not like that!” you stammer, feeling the weight of their collective stares crushing you. “It’s not what you think! I swear I won’t tell anyone!”

Gyuri sighs, stepping closer. “Junho, you don’t understand. This... what you’ve heard... it’s not something you can just walk away from.”

“I don’t know how you got through the mist ” Jisun adds, her tone firm but not unkind. “But this isn’t something just anyone can know.”

“Maybe,” Chaeyoung says, her lips curving into a sly smile, “he’s not ‘just anyone.’”

“Enough.” Saerom’s single word silences the room, her authority undeniable. Her eyes pierce through you, weighing your very existence. “What’s done is done. The question now is what we do with him.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. “Wait!” you cry, your voice desperate. “I swear I won’t say anything! I don’t even understand what I heard! Just let me go, and I’ll forget everything!”

“That’s not how this works,”  Hayoung says from across the room, her voice carrying an edge as she’s now holding the fork she was eyeing earlier.

Jiheon smirks, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she takes another step closer. “Oh, Junho,” she purrs, her voice dripping with playful malice. “It’s not your fault, really. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She tilts her head, her smile widening. “But... well, it’s a little late for regrets, don’t you think?”

Her hand lifts, faint cyan light dancing at her fingertips, and you can’t tear your eyes away. The glow reflects in her eyes, making her look ethereal and otherworldly.

“Jiheon, stop!” Saerom’s voice cuts through, but Jiheon doesn’t even flinch.

“Relax,” Jiheon says lightly, her tone almost soothing as she looks at you. “I’m just helping him... rest a little.”

“Jiheon!” Saerom’s command comes sharper this time, but it’s already too late.

Jiheon’s fingers flick, the cyan light tracing an elegant pattern in the air. “Just a little nap,” she whispers, her voice lilting and playful.

The moment the light touches you, an overwhelming drowsiness washes over your body. Your knees buckle, the edges of your vision darken, and Jiheon’s playful smile is the last thing you see as the world fades to black.

a/n: Before you move one the next chapter, can you guess who's who, with their pairing emotion?

(Pride, Greed, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Wrath, Sloth, Deceit, and Apathy)

Next ->

[kwilquib]

On the Cliff,

Part 2

Part 1 | Part 3

Park Jiwon (Fromis_9) X Male reader

Word Count: 11.7k+

a/n: Few days after the 1st part.

The steady hum of the office barely registers in your mind—the clatter of keyboards, the muffled conversations, the occasional shrill ring of a phone. It’s all just background noise, drowned out by the thoughts you can’t seem to shake.

Jiwon.

You stare at the contract in front of you, the words blurring into meaningless lines of text. Your pen rests idle in your hand, tapping against the desk in an erratic rhythm. It’s been fifteen minutes, and you haven’t flipped a page.

She left.

Slipped away before the sun even rose, without a word, without a trace—except for the crumpled bills she left on the nightstand.

Your jaw tightens at the memory. Did she really think it was just a one-night thing? That she could simply walk away and pay it off like some meaningless transaction? The thought settles in your chest like a dull ache, an irritation you can't quite ignore.

You run a hand through your hair, exhaling sharply.

You’re not the type to dwell on these things. And yet, here you are.

A sharp knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts.

“Sir,” comes a familiar voice, laced with just the right amount of exasperation. “If you’re done brooding dramatically, the board meeting is in thirty minutes. You know, the thing that actually pays your bills?”

You glance up to find Jihoon standing in the doorway, a stack of documents in his hands, the usual tired patience in his expression.

“Brooding?” you echo, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t brood.”

Jihoon snorts, stepping inside without waiting for permission. “Right. And I’m quitting tomorrow.” He drops the files onto your desk with a dull thud. “You’ve been staring at that page like it’s about to confess its undying love for you. Which, by the way, is kind of unsettling.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “I was thinking.”

“Oh, I can tell. Must be exhausting for you.” Jihoon crosses his arms, watching you closely. “Let me guess—woman trouble?”

You don’t answer, which only makes his grin widen.

“Called it. So, what’s her name?”

You hesitate for a fraction of a second before muttering, “Park Jiwon.”

Jihoon’s brow furrows for a moment, then his eyes widen slightly in recognition. “Wait... Park Jiwon? As in Park Sangho’s daughter?”

The name sits on your tongue uncomfortably. “Park Sangho?”

Jihoon nods. “Yeah, Park Sangho. CEO of Park Conglomerate. Or what’s left of it. They’ve been struggling for a while now.” He pauses, eyeing you carefully. “And his daughter... well, there’s been talk about her getting married off to Director Kang.”

Your fingers tap against the desk. Kang. You know the name well enough—ruthless in business, worse with women. The kind of man who takes what he wants without a second thought.

Jihoon smirks. “Sounds like she dodged a bullet, running into you instead.”

You don’t laugh. If anything, the thought irritates you more. Jiwon thought she could slip away quietly, disappear before anyone noticed. Too bad she met you instead.

Reaching into your drawer, you pull out the grainy black-and-white photo—the one you got from the paparazzi before they had a chance to release it. You and Jiwon, walking into the hotel together.

You should have deleted it, like you always do. But this time, you didn’t.

You slide the photo across the desk. “Spread it.”

Jihoon blinks. “You serious? This’ll stir up a mess.”

“That’s the point.” Your voice is steady, calculated.

Jihoon gives you a long look before shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

You watch him pick up the photo, your mind already working three steps ahead.

Jiwon didn’t know your name when she left.

But soon enough, she’d have no choice but to remember it.

She thought she could run.

But you’re not done with her yet.

A Few Days Later

You sit at your desk, staring at the glossy tablet in front of you. The bold headline screams back at you, accompanied by the grainy photo of you and Jiwon entering the hotel that night.

“Park Jiwon: Desperate Heiress or CEO Yoon’s Latest Fling?”

The article dances around the idea with just enough venom to sting. It paints Jiwon as a woman clinging to survival, her family’s struggling business hanging by a thread, subtly implying that she’s using you to climb her way back up.

You should have seen this coming. Hell, you did see it coming. You were the one who leaked the photo, after all. And yet, something about the way they talk about her—like she’s nothing more than a desperate opportunist—makes your jaw tighten.

Your grip on the tablet hardens before you toss it onto the desk, exhaling sharply.

The intercom buzz “Sir, your grandmother is here to see you—”.

You barely have time to let that information settle before your office door swings open without warning.

"Where are you?!"

You don't need to look up to know who it is. The sharp, authoritative voice—tinged with just enough warmth to remind you she still cares—belongs to only one person.

Your grandmother.

With Jihoon following after her.

"Do you ever knock?" you mutter, running a hand through your hair as she marches in, holding up the same tabloid you were just glaring at.

"I don't need to knock when my dear grandson's face is plastered all over the media with a young woman he's clearly trying to ruin!" she huffs, dropping the magazine onto your desk with a disapproving glare. "Care to explain, dear?"

You sigh, leaning back in your chair. "It’s just a photo. The media exaggerates everything, you know that."

Your grandmother eyes you sternly, lips pursed in that way that makes you feel like you're fifteen again, being scolded for skipping out on family dinners. "Don't play dumb with me, Dear. I taught you better than that."

Before you can offer another half-hearted excuse, her expression softens—just slightly—as she picks up the tablet and runs her fingers over Jiwon’s picture.

"This poor girl," she murmurs, almost to herself. "I remember Park Jiwon. Such a sweet child when I last saw her. Always so polite and thoughtful.” Her eyes flick back to you, sharp once more. “Unlike someone I know.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. "I'm sure she’s doing just fine, Grandmother."

"Hmph," she scoffs. "Fine? With her father’s company sinking and now the press tarnishing her name?" She fixes you with a look that could cut through steel. "Tell me, dear. Did you even consider how this might affect her?"

You don't answer right away, which only makes her sigh in disappointment. "Of course you didn't. You're too busy playing your little power games to see what's right in front of you."

Your jaw tightens. "She left me, you know."

Your grandmother raises a delicate brow. "Oh, poor you. A woman left you for once in your life."

You grit your teeth. "That's not the point."

"No," she agrees, settling into the chair across from you. "The point is, you caused a scandal, and now the least you can do is take responsibility."

You arch a brow. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

She gives you a pointed look, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "Marry her."

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, dear." Her tone is sweet, but there's steel beneath it. "You've already dragged her name through the mud. The decent thing to do would be to make an honest woman out of her."

You let out a humorless chuckle. "And let me guess, this has nothing to do with your constant nagging about settling down?"

"Of course it does," she says matter-of-factly, offering a saccharine smile. "But more importantly, it would be a mutually beneficial arrangement. She needs protection from vultures like Director Kang, and you..." She tilts her head. "You need someone who won’t let you get away with this nonsense anymore."

You exhale, pacing toward the window. Marry Jiwon? The idea should be absurd. You don’t do marriage, relationships, or anything that even remotely resembles commitment. And yet…

Your grandmother watches you closely, her voice softer now. "She's a good girl, Seojoon. And I have no doubt she can handle you."

You glance back at the photo on your desk. Jiwon, with her hesitant smile and those guarded eyes.

Maybe she could.

But claiming her—making her yours—wasn’t about saving her. It never was.

It was about something far more selfish.

You turn back to your grandmother, expression unreadable. "And if I refuse?"

She smiles knowingly. "Then I’ll do what I always do—make your life a living hell until you see reason."

You sigh, rubbing your temple. "Of course you will."

"Good." She stands, smoothing out her coat with deliberate care. "Call her now. Arrange a meeting."

"Now?" You blink, surprised by her urgency.

Your grandmother gives you a pointed look. "Yes, now. Do you think I don't know you, dear?"

You lean back in your chair, stalling. "I don't even have her number."

She merely lifts a brow, unimpressed. "Then call her family."

Before you can protest, her gaze shifts to Jihoon, who straightens under the silent command. Without hesitation, he pulls out his phone, his fingers moving swiftly over the screen. Within moments, he steps forward, presenting the device to you with an expectant expression.

The call screen stares back at you, one press away from dialing.

Park Conglomerate.

You glance between the phone and your grandmother, who offers you a sweet yet undeniably stern smile. "Go on, dear. I'm waiting."

You exhale slowly, your fingers hovering over the screen.

Jiwon thought she could leave quietly, slip away without a trace.

She was wrong.

Jiwon let out a tired sigh as she stepped into her bedroom, the weight of the day settling heavily on her shoulders. The soft click of the door behind her sealed her in the quiet sanctuary of her space, a brief moment of solitude she desperately needed.

She walked over to her desk, her movements slow and deliberate, fingers reaching up to remove the delicate earrings that adorned her ears. One by one, she placed them on the glass tray beside her scattered notes and half-empty coffee cups. The cool air brushed against her skin, but her mind was elsewhere.

No matter how much she tried to push it aside, the memories of that night refused to leave her mind. They clung to her like a second skin, vivid and unrelenting, replaying in her thoughts when she least expected it. She could still feel his touch—firm, demanding, yet oddly tender. The way his hands had roamed her body, possessive yet reverent, as if he were memorizing every curve, every inch of her. The heat of his lips tracing along her neck, the scrape of his teeth against her sensitive skin, the way his breath had hitched when she shivered under his touch. It had been overwhelming, intoxicating, and she had been powerless to resist.

Her fingertips grazed the side of her neck absently, recalling the ghost of his touch. She could still feel the faint ache where he had marked her, the memory of his mouth on her skin sending a shiver down her spine. She shouldn’t be thinking about it, shouldn’t be replaying every stolen moment, but she was. It was as if he’d left an invisible mark that wouldn’t fade, a brand that lingered long after the night had ended.

She closed her eyes, and the images came flooding back—his body pressing against hers, the weight of him pinning her to the bed, the way his hips had moved with a rhythm that left her breathless. She could still feel the way he had filled her, the stretch and burn giving way to a pleasure so intense it had left her trembling. His voice, low and rough in her ear, murmuring words she could barely comprehend through the haze of desire. “Moan for me, Jiwon… let it all out.”

Her breath hitched as she remembered the way his hands had gripped her hips, guiding her movements, his touch both commanding and gentle. The way he had looked at her, his dark eyes filled with a hunger that had both terrified and thrilled her. She had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, yet so utterly desired. And when he had finally brought her to the edge, her body arching into his as she fell apart.

Even now, the memory of it made her pulse quicken, her skin flushing with heat. She could still feel the way his lips had claimed hers, the way his tongue had tangled with hers in a kiss that had left her dizzy. The way his hands had explored her body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. The way he had whispered her name, his voice rough with need, as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world.

She shouldn’t be thinking about it. She shouldn’t be craving the feel of his hands on her skin, the weight of his body pressing her into the mattress, the way he had made her feel so alive, so wanted. But she was. And no matter how hard she tried to push the memories away, they always came back, more vivid, more consuming than before. It was as if he had awakened something in her, something she couldn’t ignore, no matter how much she tried.

Her fingers trailed lower, brushing over her collarbone, and she could almost feel his lips following the same path, his breath hot against her skin. She bit her lip, her body betraying her as a flush of warmth spread through her. She shouldn’t be thinking about it. But she was. And she couldn’t stop.

It was just one night, she reminded herself, shaking her head as if to dispel the thoughts. A mistake.

She sighed, pulling her hair loose from its clip, letting the strands fall around her shoulders. Maybe some sleep would finally help clear her mind.

But just as she reached for her journal, a sudden, thunderous voice shattered the calm.

"JIWON!"

Her father’s voice, laced with pure, unrestrained rage, echoed through the house. The sound of her name being screamed like that sent a shiver down her spine. She barely had time to react before the heavy, relentless banging on her door followed.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"Open this door right now!" her father bellowed, his fists hammering against the wood with enough force to rattle it in its frame.

Jiwon's breath caught in her throat, heart pounding wildly in her chest. Her mind raced, trying to figure out what had set him off this time, but deep down, she had a sinking feeling she already knew.

Swallowing hard, she took a step toward the door, her fingers trembling slightly as they hovered over the handle.

"I said open it!" he roared again, the anger in his voice cutting through her hesitation like a knife.

Jiwon closed her eyes for a brief second, bracing herself for whatever storm was about to come crashing through that door. She inhaled shakily, steadying herself before unlocking it.

Before she could even turn the knob, the door swung open violently, slamming into her and making her stumble back.

“You fucking bitch!” Her father’s voice tore through the air like a blade, sharp and unforgiving.

“Fa—Father…” Jiwon’s voice wavered as she tried to meet his eyes, but before she could—

Slap.

The force of his hand sent her head snapping to the side, a sharp sting blooming across her cheek.

"I raised you, and this is how you repay me?" His voice was a furious snarl. "I should have listened—I should have left you with your mother. Her filthy blood runs through you. Just like her, you're nothing but a disgrace."

Jiwon trembled, her vision blurring as tears welled in her eyes. Her mind struggled to catch up with what was happening, the shock paralyzing her.

“F-Father, wh—what? Wh-why?” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper, trembling with fear.

"Don't you dare pretend you don't know!" he roared, stepping closer, his grip seizing her wrist with crushing force. "I told you to be obedient, to marry Director Kang, and now you're out there sleeping with another man? Do you have any idea how this makes me look? How it tarnishes my company’s reputation?"

Jiwon’s breath hitched, her tears spilling over. “Father… I—I was mistaken, I—”

“Mistaken?!” He yanked her forward, dragging her across the entryway. “You're not my daughter anymore! You’ve humiliated me for the last time.”

“Please, Father, wait—” she sobbed, struggling against his iron grip, but he ignored her, dragging her toward the front door. The harsh fluorescent lighting above made everything feel even colder, emptier.

From the grand staircase, her stepmother watched with an unsettling calm, her lips curled into a faint, satisfied smile. She didn’t move, didn’t speak—just observed, as if this was nothing more than an inevitability she had been waiting for.

"You want to act like a whore? Then go and live like one!" he spat, throwing the door open and shoving her out onto the cold pavement outside. Jiwon staggered, barely catching herself before she fell.

Her father turned away without a second glance, already dismissing her existence. But her stepmother lingered.

Her stepmother stands before the gate, arms crossed, a thin smile tugging at her lips. For a moment, she simply observed, as if savoring the sight of Jiwon trembling.

Jiwon swallowed hard, lifting tearful eyes. “Mother, please…”

Her stepmother crouched gracefully, her touch deceptively gentle as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind Jiwon’s ear. “Oh, Jiwon,” she sighed, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “You always were so naive.”

Jiwon’s lips trembled, guilt pressing down on her chest. “I… I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Her stepmother smiled, but it never reached her eyes. “Of course you didn’t, dear. You never do, do you?” She shook her head, clicking her tongue in mock disapproval. “But intentions don’t erase consequences.”

Jiwon looked down, shame crawling through her. “I just… I thought…”

Her stepmother's fingers tightened slightly on her chin, lifting her face. “You thought you could play in a world that doesn't belong to you,” she said softly, though there was something sharp beneath her words, something cruel. “You thought you could be reckless and not pay the price. But you’re just like your mother, aren’t you? Always chasing things beyond your reach.”

Jiwon blinked rapidly, her stepmother's words slicing through her defenses with precision. "I—I didn't mean to—"

Her stepmother laughed lightly, standing back up. “I know, dear. But mistakes like yours? They leave stains that don’t wash off easily.” She glanced at the looming gates. “You’ve embarrassed your father for the last time. It’s better this way.”

Jiwon nodded slowly, tears falling freely now. Deep down, she believed it too. This was her fault. No one else’s.

Her stepmother turned back toward the house, pausing at the threshold. She tilted her head, watching Jiwon with a smile that didn’t match the satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. “Take care of yourself, Jiwon,” she said sweetly, before glancing at the guards. “Close it.”

As the gates groaned shut, sealing her out, her stepmother’s voice drifted through the cold air one last time. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll convince your father to at least continue treating your mother. Someone has to think of her well-being, after all.”

She stood frozen, chest heaving, her hands trembling as they clutched the fabric of her dress. The cold night air bit at her skin, her hair falling in disheveled strands around her face. Her cheek still burned from the slap, and the ache in her chest threatened to crush her.

Then, her phone vibrated in her pocket, the sudden buzz cutting through the suffocating silence. With shaking hands, she fumbled it out, her blurred vision struggling to focus on the screen.

A notification.

Breaking News: Heir of Park Conglomerate spotted with chaebol bachelor—scandal unfolds.

Jiwon's breath caught in her throat. Her heart pounded violently as she stared at the photo accompanying the headline—her and him, stepping into the hotel together, the grainy image unmistakably damning.

Her fingers tightened around the phone, the cold metal trembling against her skin.

The realization hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her with relentless force.

She should have known better.

She should have never let herself be so reckless, so desperate for something—anything—that she thought for even a moment he could offer her.

She was the one who let him too close.

She was the one who fell for the way he touched her, the way he looked at her like she was something more than just a pawn in her father’s plans.

She was the one who let a single night ruin everything.

You watch as Jihoon dials the number, his expression calm and professional. The phone rings a few times before someone on the other end picks up.

"Hello, this is Park Group. How may I assist you?" a polite yet detached voice answers.

Jihoon leans slightly forward. "Good evening, this is Jihoon from J Group. We’d like to speak with Chairman Park regarding an important matter."

There’s a brief pause, a faint shuffle on the other end before the voice responds. "Please hold, I'll transfer you to the chairman."

Jihoon meets your eyes, giving you a subtle nod as he waits. A few seconds later, the line clicks.

"This is Chairman Park," the familiar, calculated voice filters through the speaker.

Jihoon quickly hands you the phone, his voice steady but respectful. "Sir, Chairman Park is on the line. I've introduced you as the CEO of J Group."

You take the phone, your grip firm, and bring it to your ear. "Chairman Park," you say evenly.

A brief silence, then his voice, smooth and unreadable, replies, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

“I’d like to discuss a potential marriage arrangement,” you cut straight to the point, feeling the weight of your grandmother’s gaze on you. She’s watching carefully, waiting for every word.

The line falls silent for a moment too long. Then, Chairman Park’s voice, still smooth but with an underlying note of surprise, responds. “A marriage arrangement? Isn’t this... sudden?”

You lean back in your chair, the cool surface of the desk beneath your fingertips grounding you. “Circumstances have changed. I believe it would be in both our interests to resolve this sooner rather than later.”

There’s another silence, as if the man is considering your words carefully. Then, after a pause, he speaks again. “Very well.”

You nod, though he can’t see you. “Perfect. I’ll send you the address, Lets meet there later at 8. ”

But then, you can’t help it — you have to ask. “And Jiwon?”

For a moment, the line is quiet again, and when Chairman Park responds, his tone is careful, almost rehearsed. “She’s... currently unavailable.”

You don’t let it slide. “I’d still like to speak with her.”

There’s a shift in his tone, subtle but noticeable. “She’s resting. This has been... overwhelming for her, as you can imagine.”

Your brow furrows, but you keep your voice steady. “I’d like to hear that from her myself.”

He laughs, but there’s no warmth in it. “You’re persistent, Don’t you think?”

“I have to be,” you reply, your grip on the phone tightening. Something doesn’t feel right.

Another pause, then, “I’m afraid Jiwon isn’t in a position to talk right now. But don’t worry, you’ll see her soon enough.”

Your eyes narrow, your instincts prickling with unease. Something isn’t adding up. You exchange a glance with your grandmother, who’s watching you closely. The unease swirling in your chest tightens.

“Understood,” you say, your voice calm, but there’s an edge to it now. “I’ll see you tonight.”

You hang up, the silence of the room heavy in the wake of the conversation. Your grandmother’s eyes are on you, sharp as ever.

“What is it?” she asks, sensing the shift in you.

You place the phone down, your fingers lingering on the edge as you stare at it. Something is wrong. The way Chairman Park avoided your questions, the way he kept circling around Jiwon’s whereabouts... you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this than he’s letting on.

“So… did they agree?” your grandmother asks impatiently, her sharp eyes studying you like a hawk.

"Yeah, later at eight," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. "Jihoon will send you the address."

She nods, satisfied for now, but you can feel the weight of her expectations pressing down on you.

You rise from your chair abruptly, already reaching for your coat. “I have to go somewhere first,” you say, your mind racing ahead.

Jihoon, standing quietly by the door, perks up at your sudden movement. His eyes flick to yours, waiting for instructions.

"Wait for my call," you add, pulling on your coat with a sense of urgency. "Just in case."

Jihoon gives a curt nod, understanding the unspoken tension in your voice. “Understood.”

You don’t wait for another word. With each step out of the office, the uneasy feeling in your chest grows heavier. Something isn’t right—Chairman Park was hiding something, and you weren’t going to sit around and find out what it was the hard way.

As you step outside, the cold air biting against your skin, one thought lingers in your mind.

Where are you, Jiwon?

Jiwon sits hunched over at the bar, her fingers trembling around the glass as she takes another sip. The alcohol burns down her throat, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in her chest. The same dim lighting, the same hushed murmurs of conversation around her—it’s almost comforting. Almost.

Her reflection stares back at her from the glossy surface of the counter, a ghost of the person she used to be. Her cheeks are swollen, a faint imprint of her father’s anger still visible against her skin. Her hair is disheveled, her clothes wrinkled and clinging to her like a bad memory. She swirls the amber liquid in her glass, biting down the sob rising in her throat.

"Rough night?" The bartender’s voice is gentle, but wary. She doesn’t look up, just nods and takes another sip.

"You sure you’re okay, miss?" he presses, his concern deepening. "You've been here a while."

Before she can answer, a voice cuts through the air from behind her. Deep, steady, and far too familiar.

"I’m with her."

Jiwon stiffens, the glass freezing midair. Her pulse quickens, the weight of his presence settling over her like an iron chain. She doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is.

Of course he would find her.

“You’re here again, drinking, alone.” Your voice is soft, almost too soft—tinged with something that sounds dangerously close to concern. “I thought I told you not to do that.”

Jiwon doesn't turn around right away. She takes another slow sip, staring down into her glass as if it holds all the answers she’s desperately looking for. When she finally speaks, her voice is light, almost joking—but devoid of any real joy.

“Ah... you’re here, Mister CEO.” A dry chuckle escapes her lips, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I should’ve known.”

She swallows hard, her fingers tightening around the glass. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been more careful,” she murmurs, her voice trembling. “I didn’t mean for this to happen… I didn’t think someone would take a picture of us.”

Her eyes, glassy and unfocused, blink rapidly, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this scandal.”

She’s blaming herself.

A slow, almost amused smile tugs at the corner of your lips. How easily she takes the fall—so eager to carry the weight of it all on those delicate shoulders. It’s almost endearing, really, how she thinks this is her doing.

She has no idea.

No idea that you’re the one who set this all in motion, that every step she’s taken has been within the palm of your hand. And yet, she looks at you with those trusting, guilt-ridden eyes, as if you’re her only lifeline.

You lean in slightly, watching her crumble, savoring the way she still believes you’re the victim here.

It’s almost too easy.

You notice the swollen redness marring her cheek, a stark contrast against her pale skin. It doesn’t take much to piece it together—who did it, why it happened. A slow, simmering anger coils in your chest, familiar and possessive. It always makes you mad when someone lays a hand on what’s yours. And this time is no different.

Your jaw tightens, but your voice remains smooth, unwavering. “Stop drinking,” you say, reaching for the half-empty glass in front of her and sliding it away. “Tidy yourself up. We have somewhere to go.”

She blinks up at you, confusion flickering through the haze in her eyes. You can tell she wants to protest, but something in your tone leaves no room for argument.

You watch as she swallows hard, her fingers trembling slightly before they reach for a napkin, dabbing at the corner of her mouth as if that alone could erase the evidence of what happened.

Good. She’s learning.

Once again, Jiwon found herself following him without hesitation, as if it were second nature. Despite everything that had happened, despite the turmoil in her heart, she couldn't fight the invisible pull he had on her. It was undeniable—an unspoken force that drew her in, compelling her to trust him when she knew she shouldn’t.

He led her to his car and slid in first without a word, his presence commanding in its quiet intensity. With a simple gesture, he motioned for her to join him. And she did. She settled into the passenger seat, her pulse thrumming in her ears, a heavy silence stretching between them.

As he reached for his phone, his voice cut through the stillness, sharp and composed. “Jihoon, get me a dress for a lady. I’ll wait by the lot behind the office.” His tone was cool, effortless—like he was always in control.

A brief pause followed, then his eyes flickered to her, lingering just long enough to make her breath hitch. “As for sizes…” he trailed off, clearly expecting her to respond.

Caught off guard, Jiwon’s cheeks flushed. She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, her voice barely above a whisper. “Um… I’m a small. My measurements are…” She hesitated before murmuring the numbers, feeling an odd sense of vulnerability under his unwavering gaze.

He listened in silence, his expression giving nothing away. With a curt nod, he relayed the details to Jihoon and ended the call.

The hum of the engine filled the air, the steady rhythm amplifying the tension between them. Jiwon sat stiffly, hands clasped tightly in her lap, her thoughts racing. She could feel his gaze on her, heavy and unrelenting, but she kept her eyes fixed outside the window, watching the blur of city lights pass by.

A quiet sigh escaped him, breaking the stillness. She risked a glance in his direction, anxiety coiling in her chest. Was he disappointed? Angry? The uncertainty gnawed at her, making the silence feel suffocating.

The drive stretched on, each passing moment only deepening the questions swirling in her mind. Her fingers toyed nervously with her coat, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on her.

When they finally pulled into the parking lot, Jiwon held her breath. He parked but didn’t move, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel, his gaze fixed ahead. The silence thickened, settling heavily between them.

Stealing another glance at him, she found him staring into the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable—watching, waiting.

“Why are we here?” she asked, her voice fragile, barely a whisper. Her eyes stayed on the dashboard, afraid of what she might see in his face. “Why did you bring me here?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then, with a quiet exhale, he finally turned to her. His gaze was steady, piercing. “You looked like you needed somewhere to go,” he said simply.

Jiwon swallowed, her fingers trembling as she gripped her coat tighter. “I… I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” she murmured. “I just… didn’t know where else to go.”

His eyes lingered on her, the weight of his silence making her stomach twist. Then, after a moment, he reached out—his fingers grazing the back of her hand, a touch so light it sent a shiver through her. “You’re not trouble,” he said, his voice softer now, laced with something unfamiliar. “But you shouldn’t be out there alone. Not like this.”

Her throat tightened. “I didn’t have anywhere else,” she admitted, voice breaking. “My father… he…”

She couldn’t finish. The memory of his harsh words, the sting of his slap, still clung to her like a shadow. But she didn’t have to say it—he already knew.

His jaw clenched, a dark flicker in his gaze. “Your father’s a fool,” he said flatly, leaving no room for argument. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Jiwon blinked, caught off guard by the quiet anger simmering beneath his words. She had expected indifference, maybe even judgment—but not this. Not the fierce protectiveness lurking behind his calm demeanor.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she whispered. “I never thought… I never thought someone would take a picture of us. I didn’t think it would turn into this.”

He studied her intently, as if searching for something beneath the surface. Then, with a slow exhale, he leaned back, his hand still lightly resting against hers. “It’s not your fault,” he said, voice steady but resolute. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her chest tightened, a lump forming in her throat. “But I did,” she murmured. “I should’ve been more careful. I shouldn’t have—”

He cut her off with a touch—gentle but firm as his fingers brushed her cheek. The warmth of it burned through the cold she felt inside. “You don’t have to be careful with me,” he said, his tone unwavering. “Not anymore.”

Jiwon’s breath caught. The way he looked at her—dark, possessive, and yet… protective—made her feel things she couldn’t quite name. Things she wasn’t sure she should feel.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, voice trembling. “Why do you care?”

His eyes never wavered from hers, his expression serious. “Because you’re mine,” he said, the words carrying a quiet intensity that left no room for doubt. “And I don’t let anyone take what’s mine.”

A shiver ran down her spine. There was something about the way he said it—calm, certain, as if it was an undeniable truth. She wasn’t sure whether to feel terrified or safe.

Before she could find the words to respond, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the lot. Jihoon emerged from the shadows, a garment bag draped over his arm and a pair of heels in hand.

He offered a polite, reassuring smile as he handed the items through the open window. “Here you go,” he said, his tone light but professional. “I think you’ll like it.”

Jiwon hesitated before taking the bag, her hands trembling slightly. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Jihoon nodded, his gaze briefly flickering toward the man beside her before stepping back. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said, the respect in his voice unmistakable.

As he walked away, Jiwon turned back to him, her heart still racing. “What… what is this for?” she asked, her voice tinged with unease.

His eyes met hers, unwavering. “Dinner,” he said simply. “With your father.”

Jiwon’s breath stilled, and she clutched the garment bag tightly, the soft fabric crinkling under her trembling fingers. “Dinner?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “With my father?”

He gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable yet strangely reassuring. “Yes,” he said, his tone even. “To discuss our upcoming marriage.”

Jiwon froze, her lips parting in shock. “M-Marriage?” she stammered, her wide eyes searching his face for some hint of a joke. But there was none. His expression remained calm, composed—completely serious.

“Yes,” he repeated smoothly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “It’s the next logical step, don’t you think?”

Jiwon shook her head slowly, disbelief washing over her. “I… I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Why would you—why would we…?”

He leaned back slightly, watching her with that same steady gaze that always made her feel like he was ten steps ahead of her. “Because it’s what’s best for you,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “Your father will listen to reason if he knows you’re in good hands.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, and she could barely form the words. “But we’re not… we’re not really…”

His lips curled into a faint smile, his fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel. “Not yet,” he said, tilting his head as if considering something. “But we could be. It’s a solution to your problems, Jiwon. You’ll have security, protection—everything you need.”

Jiwon’s fingers clenched the garment bag tighter, her mind racing. Everything about this felt overwhelming, too sudden, too unreal. She barely even knew what to say. “But marriage isn’t something you can just—just decide like this.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering, laced with quiet persuasion. “I’m not forcing you,” he said, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. “But think about it. No more running, no more uncertainty. Your father will have no reason to push you away anymore.”

Jiwon swallowed hard, her thoughts swirling in chaos. She had spent so long feeling lost, unwanted—always fighting to prove herself. And here he was, offering a way out, a way to fix everything, even if it felt… too easy. Too perfect.

“I…” Her voice faltered, and she looked away, staring down at the fabric in her lap. “It just feels… so sudden.”

A soft chuckle escaped him. “Life rarely waits for us to catch up, Jiwon.” He reached out, his fingers grazing the back of her hand, sending a shiver up her spine. “Trust me. This is the right move.”

Her heart fluttered at his touch, her mind screaming at her to think, to question—but all she could feel was the steady pull he had over her, the way his words made everything seem so inevitable.

“I need to think,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

He nodded, as if he had already expected that. “Of course. Take your time,” he said smoothly. “But tonight, just come to dinner. Let your father see that you're not alone.”

Jiwon exhaled shakily, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on her. She didn't trust herself to argue anymore. “Okay,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Good girl.” His smile was small but satisfied, and Jiwon couldn’t help but feel like she had just taken a step onto a path she didn’t fully understand.

“Where… where should I change?” she asked hesitantly, her voice soft and uncertain.

He didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed on the rearview mirror as if he were barely paying attention. “Here,” he said, his tone indifferent, almost bored. “You’re not walking through the building like that, and I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Jiwon exhaled shakily, her fingers tightening around the garment bag as she sat in the passenger seat. The air in the car felt heavy, charged with a tension she couldn’t quite place. He had told her to change right there, in the front seat, and though his tone had been indifferent at first, something about the way he’d said it made her pulse quicken.

“Here?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her cheeks already burning at the thought.

He didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed on the steering wheel, his expression unreadable. “Unless you’d rather walk through the building like that,” he said, his tone calm, almost bored. “Your choice.”

Jiwon hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. She glanced down at her wrinkled clothes, the faint scent of alcohol still clinging to her. He was right—she couldn't be seen like this and she couldn’t exactly walk into the dinner looking like this. But the idea of changing in the car, with him just inches away, made her stomach twist with nervousness.

“Okay,” she whispered finally, her voice trembling. She unzipped the garment bag, her fingers fumbling as she pulled out the dress. It was a soft pink, simple but elegant, with delicate straps and a fitted silhouette. She glanced at him again, but he wasn’t looking at her his eyes were fixed on the windshield, his expression detached.

She took a deep breath, her hands trembling as she began to undress. She slipped off her coat first, then her shoes, her movements careful but hurried. She could feel the weight of his presence beside her, calm and steady, but there was something about the way he was sitting his jaw tight, his hands gripping the steering wheel that made her heart race.

When she began to unbutton her blouse, she felt it the shift in the air. It was subtle at first, almost imperceptible, but then she heard it: the faintest intake of breath, the softest rustle of fabric as he adjusted his position.

Her heart skipped a beat, her hands freezing mid-motion. She glanced at him, her cheeks burning as she realized his gaze was no longer fixed on the windshield.

His eyes were on her now, dark and intense, and there was something in his expression something heated, almost predatory that made her stomach twist.

“I… I thought you weren’t going to look,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he finally spoke. “I wasn’t,” he said, his voice low and rough. “But you make it difficult not to.”

Jiwon’s breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared at him. There was something in his eyes something possessive, almost hungry that made her stomach twist with a mix of fear and something else she couldn’t quite name. She should protest, should demand he look away, but the way he was looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered made it impossible to think clearly.

Her fingers trembled as she finished unbuttoning her blouse, slipping it off her shoulders and letting it fall to the seat beside her. She could feel his gaze on her, hot and unrelenting, and it sent a shiver down her spine. She reached for the dress, her hands shaking as she pulled it over her head, the soft fabric sliding over her skin. She adjusted the straps, smoothing out the material as it hugged her figure, her cheeks burning under his intense scrutiny.

When she was done, she glanced at him, her breath catching in her throat as she realized he was still watching her, his expression unreadable but his eyes dark with something she couldn’t quite place. And then she noticed it—the unmistakable tent in his pants, the evidence of his desire impossible to ignore.

Her heart raced, her mind spinning as she stared at him. The words had slipped out before she could cage them—reckless, impulsive, charged with a heat she hadn’t meant to unleash. “I… I could help you with that.”

The moment the words left her lips, her entire body froze. His gaze snapped to hers, sharp and molten, like embers flaring to life. She backtracked immediately, panic fraying her voice.

“I—I just meant… it looks uncomfortable. You’re clearly… struggling. And I—I might’ve caused that, right? Because of the way I… undressed. We’ve already done it before, so it’s not… and if we do get married, we’ll have to… anyway, so—”

He leaned back in his seat, his eyes darkening as they raked over her—the flushed cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers twisted nervously in the fabric of her pink dress. A slow, predatory smile curved his lips.

“Caused this?” he repeated, his voice rougher now, thumb brushing the edge of the steering wheel. “You think you did this?” His gaze dropped pointedly to the strained fabric of his slacks, then back to her face. “Are you that confident in what you do to me, Jiwon?”

She swallowed, her pulse thrumming wildly. “N-no! I just—I thought—”

“And if we marry,” he cut in, leaning closer, his breath grazing her ear, “we’ll ‘have to do this anyway’?” His hand settled on her thigh, warm and deliberate. “Define this. What exactly are you volunteering for?”

Jiwon’s breath hitched, her skin burning beneath his touch. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“You’re talking in circles,” he murmured, fingers tightening slightly on her leg. “But I’ll admit… your eagerness is… interesting.”

The low, graveled edge to his voice sent a shiver through her. She opened her mouth to protest, but he interrupted, his tone shifting to a warning—one layered with barely restrained hunger.

“Careful,” he said, his thumb tracing idle circles on her thigh. “You keep offering things you don’t understand. You might regret it.”

But Jiwon, emboldened by the flicker of heat in his eyes, doubled down. “I’m not wrong,” she insisted, lifting her chin. “You said it yourself—I’m yours. So… so this is part of that, isn’t it?”

For a heartbeat, he stared at her, his composure cracking just enough to reveal the hunger beneath. A rough laugh escaped him, his grip on her thigh tightening as he pulled her closer.

“You’re playing with fire,” he said, his voice a dark caress. “But since you’re so determined…” He released her, gesturing vaguely toward his lap, his gaze never leaving hers. “Show me what you’re offering.”

Jiwon’s courage wavered. Her earlier bravado dissolved into shaky uncertainty as she stared at the evidence of his arousal, her mouth suddenly dry. “I… I don’t… How do I…?”

He leaned back, his smile sharp and thrillingly dangerous. “You started this,” he said, his voice a velvet command. “Finish it.”

Jiwon’s fingers trembled as they hovered over the waistband of his slacks, her breath shallow and uneven. His gaze never wavered, a silent dare burning in his eyes as she fumbled with the zipper, the sound obscenely loud in the charged silence. When she finally tugged his pants and underwear down just enough to free his length, her throat went dry. He was thick, already fully hard, and the sight sent a jolt of heat straight to her core.

She hesitated, her palm hovering inches away, until his voice cut through the tension—low, edged with impatience. “Don’t stop now.”

Her first touch was tentative, her fingers wrapping around him with unsure pressure. A sharp inhale escaped him, his jaw clenching, and she froze. But when his hand slid into her hair, not pushing, just anchoring, she took it as permission. Slowly, she began to stroke him, her movements awkward at first, her thumb brushing clumsily over the head.

His reaction was immediate—a low groan, his hips jerking faintly upward into her grip. Emboldened, she tightened her fingers, finding a rhythm that made his breath hitch. She chanced a glance at his face and nearly faltered at what she saw: his head tilted back against the seat, eyes half-lidded but blazing, lips parted as ragged breaths slipped free.

He’s letting go. The realization sent a thrill through her, her own arousal spiking as she watched him unravel. Her strokes grew bolder, her free hand braced against his thigh for balance, her thumb swiping over the slickness beading at his tip.

“Jiwon.” Her name was a growl, a warning and a plea.

She didn’t stop. Instead, she leaned closer, her breath ghosting over his skin as her lips brushed the hollow of his throat. His hand tightened in her hair, yanking her head back just enough to force her to meet his gaze.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered, his voice fraying at the edges.

She obeyed, her strokes slowing as she watched him—the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when she twisted her wrist, the muscle fluttering in his jaw as he fought to keep still. A dark, unfamiliar pride bloomed in her chest. She did this. She reduced him to this—a man of calculated control, now gripping the steering wheel like it might snap under his restraint.

Her own need coiled tighter, her thighs pressing together as she worked him faster, spurred on by the raw hunger in his eyes. She could feel him thickening in her hand, his hips rolling upward to meet her strokes, his breath coming in sharp, fractured bursts.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his free hand sliding down to grip her wrist, not to stop her, but to guide her, his thumb pressing over hers to adjust her rhythm. “Just like that.”

The praise ignited something reckless in her. She leaned in again, her lips grazing his ear. “Do you… like this?” she whispered, the question trembling with a boldness she didn’t recognize.

His laugh was a dark, shattered sound. “You’ll know when I do.”

“Move”

Your voice cuts through the charged air, rough and strained, and Jiwon freezes. Her wide, innocent eyes blink up at you, her lips parted in that soft, questioning way that makes something dark coil tighter in your gut. You watch the confusion flicker across her face—unsure, hesitant—but she obeys.

Slowly, cautiously, she shifts, her touch lingering a moment too long before she pulls her hand away. The absence of her warmth makes your jaw clench, your control hanging by a thread. She’s always so careful, so sweet, and it drives you fucking insane.

You guide her, hands firm on her waist, positioning her until she’s straddling you. Her knees press into the seat on either side of your thighs, her trembling fingers finding tentative purchase on your shoulders. Her breathing is unsteady, shallow, her cheeks flushed pink under the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the windshield.

“Like this?” she whispers, voice uncertain, a quiet vulnerability lacing her tone.

Your hands tighten on her hips, grounding yourself in the softness of her curves, in the way she feels so small beneath your touch. “Yeah,” you rasp, letting your thumbs stroke slow, lazy circles into her skin. “Just like that.”

You can feel the tension in her muscles, the way she holds herself so carefully, afraid of doing something wrong. But you don’t want careful. You don’t want hesitant.

You want her.

With a slow, deliberate pull, you drag her down, pressing her against the hard, aching length of you. Her breath hitches sharply, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she feels just how much you want this—how much you need her.

“You feel that?” you murmur, voice low, dangerous against the shell of her ear. “This is what you do to me, Jiwon.”

She swallows hard, her body trembling slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she shifts, pressing down tentatively, testing the friction, the heat, and fuck, you feel it in your bones.

“Good girl,” you breathe, the words slipping past your lips before you can stop them, and the way she reacts—the way she melts against you—makes your blood run hotter.

Her fingers clutch at your shirt, unsure, unsteady, and you can’t help the way your hands slide up her sides, over her ribs, until you’re cupping her face, forcing her to look at you. “You wanted to help me, don’t you?”

She nods without hesitation, her lips parting in a breathless, “Yes.”

That one word sends something primal surging through you, and your grip tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her who’s in control.

“Then move for me,” you say, the command firm, unrelenting.

Jiwon hesitates for the barest second before she obeys, shifting in your lap, rocking against you with shy, uncertain motions that drive you fucking wild. She’s so soft, so eager, and the way she bites down on her lip, trying to hold back those sweet little noises, makes your restraint slip another inch.

“That’s it,” you murmur, one hand slipping down to guide her, helping her find the right rhythm. “Just like that, baby.”

Her breathing stutters, and she clings to you tighter, her forehead resting against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “I— I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admits in a whisper, and the innocence in her voice nearly undoes you.

You smirk, your hands roaming lower, gripping her ass, pulling her closer, grinding her against you until she gasps. “You’re learning,” you murmur, lips brushing against her temple. “And you’re doing so fucking good.”

She shivers, pressing closer, and you can feel the heat pooling between her thighs, the dampness seeping through the thin fabric of her underwear. It takes everything in you not to rip it off, not to flip her over and take everything she’s offering. But you hold back. Barely.

Instead, you let her explore, let her take what she needs. You can feel her pulse racing, feel the anticipation thrumming between you both like a live wire.

“Keep going,” you urge, your hands steady on her hips, guiding, controlling. “I want to feel you.”

And she does. Slowly at first, then with more confidence, grinding against you in slow, teasing rolls that make your grip tighten, your breath grow ragged. She’s needy, desperate in a way she doesn’t quite understand yet, but you do. And you’ll teach her.

You lean in, dragging your lips down the side of her throat, feeling the way she shivers beneath you. “You like this, don’t you?” you whisper, your tongue flicking against the sensitive spot just below her ear. “You like how I feel against you.”

She nods frantically, pressing harder, her soft whimpers filling the small space of the car.

You chuckle darkly, the sound vibrating against her skin. “That’s my girl.”

Her fingers tighten in your hair, and she’s moving faster now, desperate, lost in it, in you. Your grip on her hips turns bruising, guiding her harder, deeper, until the friction becomes unbearable.

“Jiwon,” you groan, your forehead resting against hers, sweat beading at your temples. “You’re gonna drive me fucking crazy.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, her lips grazing yours, hesitant, teasing. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

You grin against her mouth, your hands slipping beneath her dress, fingers teasing along the edge of her panties. “Yeah,” you murmur. “It is.”

Then, without warning, you flip her onto her back against the seat, pinning her beneath you, your weight pressing down until there’s nowhere for her to go—nowhere for her to hide.

Her eyes widen, lips parting in a soft gasp, but there’s no fear. Only trust.

And that’s all the permission you need.

You press her down into the seat, your weight settling over her like a promise. Jiwon's breath comes in soft, shaky pants, her eyes wide, searching yours, but you see it—the need, the anticipation trembling just beneath the surface of her innocence. You slide your hands under her dress, bunching the fabric up to her waist, revealing the soft curves of her thighs, the damp heat pressing against you through the thin scrap of lace she calls underwear.

"You're already soaked," you murmur, dragging a finger along the slickness pooling between her thighs, feeling her shudder. "How long have you been waiting for this, Jiwon?"

She turns her face to the side, cheeks flushed, biting her lip in that way that drives you insane. "I... I don't know," she whispers, but the way she shifts beneath you, pressing up into your touch, tells a different story.

"Liar," you smirk, pushing her panties aside, letting the heat of her bare skin sear into your palm. You slide a finger inside her without warning, feeling her clench around you, tight, warm, perfect. Her sharp intake of breath is loud—too loud.

Your hand clamps over her mouth instantly, fingers digging into her jaw. "Quiet," you warn, your voice low, dark. "Do you want someone to hear us?"

She shakes her head frantically, her wide eyes meeting yours, but you don't miss the way her thighs tighten around your hand, the way her walls flutter around your fingers like she’s excited by the risk.

You chuckle softly, a dark, knowing sound, and you lean in, your lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "You like it, don't you?" you whisper, curling your fingers inside her, teasing that spot that makes her squirm. "The thought of someone catching you like this... spread open, taking my fingers, my cock."

She whimpers against your palm, her hips rocking helplessly against your hand. You remove your hand from her mouth, trailing it down her body, savoring the way she trembles beneath you.

"I— I don't..." she tries to deny it, but the words come out shaky, uncertain. You drag your cock along her slit, coating yourself in her slickness, and her breath catches. "Please..."

"Please what, Jiwon?" you murmur, pressing against her entrance, teasing, not giving her what she wants just yet.

She swallows hard, her hands clutching at your shoulders. "Please... don't tease me," she whispers, voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and something she doesn't quite understand yet.

You smirk, pushing inside her in one slow, relentless thrust, watching her eyes widen, her lips parting on a silent cry. She's so tight, so wet, and you groan, feeling her squeeze around you like she's trying to keep you inside forever.

"God, you're gripping me so tight," you growl, your hands sliding down to her hips, holding her still. "You're lucky it's me and not someone else, Jiwon. Someone who wouldn't be so careful with you."

Her nails dig into your back, her walls fluttering around you in response, and you feel it—that dark thrill, the way her body reacts before her mind can catch up.

Then—headlights.

A sudden beam sweeps through the windshield, cutting across Jiwon's flushed skin, illuminating the scene in stark, undeniable clarity. She freezes beneath you, her body going stiff, and for a moment, neither of you move, the tension thick, suffocating.

But then—then.

You feel it.

Her walls clamp down on you, a strangled moan slipping from her lips before she can stop it. The realization hits you hard, a wicked grin curling at your lips as you lean down, your breath hot against her ear.

"You like this," you whisper, rolling your hips slowly, deliberately, dragging a ragged gasp from her throat. "The idea of being seen... being watched."

"I—" She shakes her head, but her nails scrape against your skin, and her hips move on their own, rocking against you.

"Liar," you murmur again, biting down gently on her neck, feeling the way she squirms beneath you. "Look at you, clenching around me so tight. Are you dripping because you're scared, or because you want them to see what a good little wife you are?"

She whimpers, her face turning away in shame, but you catch her chin, forcing her to meet your gaze. "Tell me, Jiwon," you demand, thrusting deep, slow, pulling another gasp from her. "Would you let them watch? Let them see how I ruin you?"

She shakes her head frantically, but the way her body tightens, the way her thighs tremble against yours, tells you the truth.

"You would," you chuckle darkly, dragging your cock out slowly before slamming back in, making her arch under you. "You'd let them see how desperate you are for me."

"Stop," she pleads, but there's no real conviction in her voice, just raw, trembling need.

You lean down, your lips brushing hers. "Make me," you challenge, your thrusts growing rougher, deeper, filling her completely.

She doesn't. She can't. She's lost in it now, lost in you, her legs wrapped tight around your waist, pulling you deeper, harder.

"You feel so good," you groan, dragging a hand up her body to cup her breast, teasing the sensitive peak. "You were made for this, Jiwon. Made for me."

Her whimpers grow louder, her grip desperate, and you clamp a hand over her mouth again. "Shh," you murmur, your pace relentless. "Unless you want them to hear you."

She moans against your palm, her body trembling violently beneath you, and you feel it—she's close, right on the edge, teetering.

"Come for me," you rasp, thrusting hard, deep, hitting that spot that makes her eyes roll back. "Show me how much you love this."

Her body tenses, and with a muffled cry, she shatters around you, her walls gripping you like a vice, pulling you deeper into her heat. The tight squeeze, the raw desperation, it's too much—your own release hits you like a freight train, a guttural groan ripping from your throat as you spill inside her, holding her close, buried deep.

For a moment, neither of you move, the only sound filling the car is your ragged breathing, the creak of the leather seat beneath you, and the distant hum of the city.

Jiwon slumps against you, trembling, her body still pulsing around you in the aftershocks. Your hands stay firm on her hips, grounding her, keeping her in place.

"You'll regret this tomorrow," you whisper against her damp skin, smirking when she doesn't respond, just clings to you tighter.

For a moment, you let yourself enjoy it—the way she fits against you, the way she’s still trying to catch her breath. But then your eyes flicker to the dashboard, and a low curse slips from your lips.

“Shit.”

Jiwon stirs slightly, dazed and blissed out. “Hmm?”

You run a hand down your face, frustration simmering beneath the lingering heat of your release. “The dinner. Your parents.”

Her entire body stiffens against you, her eyes snapping open in alarm. “Oh my God.”

You grin darkly, smoothing your hands over her hips. “Yeah. We’re very late.”

The drive to the dinner is quiet, the hum of the engine a dull counterpoint to the chaos in your head. You keep your eyes on the road, grip tight on the steering wheel, but you feel her. Always her.

Jiwon sits beside you, radiating a warmth that’s annoying in its persistence. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch it—the flush on her cheeks, the way her fingers trace idle patterns on her thigh, the faint, stupid smile she’s trying to hide. It makes your jaw clench. She’s glowing, soft and satisfied, like she’s just been given something precious instead of fucked raw in a parking lot.

Pathetic.

But then her hand drifts toward yours, tentative, brushing your knuckles. You stiffen. “What?” you snap, sharper than intended.

She flinches, but doesn’t retreat. “Can I… hold your hand?”

The question is so absurd, so ordinary, you nearly laugh. But her eyes—wide, hopeful, still hazy with whatever delusion she’s spinning—stop you. You should refuse. Should remind her this isn’t a romance. But the memory of her body clenching around you, desperate and yours, lingers like a brand.

“Fine,” you mutter, relenting. “If you need to cling.”

Her fingers slip into yours, soft and trusting, and you hate how your pulse jumps. You tell yourself it’s a reward. A leash. Let her have this small comfort, if it keeps her pliant for what’s coming.

She squeezes gently, and you squeeze back—harder, a warning. Mine.

“Thank you,” she whispers, leaning her head against the window, that damned smile still playing on her lips.

You don’t answer. Instead, you focus on the road, on the cold calculus of the dinner ahead. Let her dream. Let her think this changes anything.

But when you pull up to the restaurant, her hand still in yours, you don’t let go. Not yet.

As the car rolled to a stop in front of the restaurant, Jiwon exhaled shakily, her fingers still entwined with his. The steady warmth of his hand had been her anchor throughout the drive, grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected. But as the valet opened her door, reality crashed back in, sharp and unforgiving. She pulled her hand away instinctively, smoothing the fabric of her dress in a futile attempt to steady herself.

Stepping out, the towering entrance of the restaurant loomed before her, an imposing reminder of what awaited inside. The mere thought of facing her father—her stepmother—sent an uneasy twist through her stomach.

She lingered by the car, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. He noticed.

With a quiet sigh, he reached out, his palm open in silent reassurance.

“Jiwon,” he murmured, his voice calm and steady. “Come here.”

Her eyes flickered to his hand, uncertainty clouding her expression. “I—”

“You’ll be fine.” His tone softened, but there was an undeniable firmness beneath it. “I’m right here.”

After a beat, she swallowed hard and placed her hand back in his. His fingers curled around hers, firm and unwavering, and the tension coiled in her chest loosened—just a little.

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, leading her forward with the quiet confidence she envied. “Just stay close to me,” he said smoothly, as if his presence alone could shield her from everything that lay ahead.

Jiwon nodded, clutching his hand tighter as they stepped through the grand entrance. Inside, the soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses faded into the background, overshadowed by the looming confrontation she could feel brewing.

The hostess greeted them with a polite nod before guiding them toward the private dining room. As the door swung open, Jiwon’s heart faltered.

The room was elegant, the chandelier above casting a warm glow over the meticulously arranged table. His grandmother sat at the head, a pillar of quiet authority. At the sight of them entering together, her lips curved ever so slightly, a flicker of intrigue crossing her face.

Her father and stepmother, however, were not so welcoming.

Jiwon’s father’s expression shifted—shock flickering across his usually impassive features before his gaze hardened into something sharper, more calculating. Her stepmother, ever composed, maintained a careful smile, but Jiwon didn’t miss the way her fingers tensed against the table’s edge.

They hadn’t expected her to come. More importantly, they hadn’t expected him.

A fleeting sense of satisfaction sparked in her chest, only to be replaced by the crushing weight of their stares.

Jiwon’s grip on his hand faltered, uncertainty creeping in. Had this been a mistake?

As they stepped further inside, the atmosphere thickened with unspoken expectations. Conversations stilled, glasses set down mid-motion.

Jiwon forced a nervous smile, holding onto him like a lifeline. “Ah, um…” she started, her voice catching in her throat. “Father, Mother, I—” She glanced toward him, as if drawing strength. “This is—”

And then it happened.

The shift.

His demeanor changed in an instant. The warmth that had reassured her moments ago disappeared, replaced by a cold, unrelenting presence.

His gaze fixed on her stepmother with a sharp, unwavering intensity, and the sudden chill in the air made Jiwon’s pulse stutter. The hand that had held hers so gently now felt like a distant memory.

Without thinking, she withdrew her fingers, instinctively retreating from the invisible force radiating from him.

Her throat tightened as she stole a glance at him. Gone was the composed man who had whispered reassurances in the car; in his place stood someone far colder, far more dangerous.

Her father’s voice sliced through the silence. “You’re late.”

Jiwon stiffened at the weight of his disapproval, but beside her, he remained unmoved, his gaze locked on her stepmother with a simmering fury that made her insides twist.

He didn’t need to say a word—his presence alone sent a message clear enough.

Jiwon swallowed, suddenly feeling like an outsider in her own family’s presence.

Maybe… maybe she shouldn’t have come.

The steady hum of the office barely registers in your mind—the clatter of keyboards, the muffled conversations, the occasional shrill ring of a phone. It’s all just background noise, drowned out by the thoughts you can’t seem to shake.

Jiwon.

You stare at the contract in front of you, the words blurring into meaningless lines of text. Your pen rests idle in your hand, tapping against the desk in an erratic rhythm. It’s been fifteen minutes, and you haven’t flipped a page.

She left.

Slipped away before the sun even rose, without a word, without a trace—except for the crumpled bills she left on the nightstand.

Your jaw tightens at the memory. Did she really think it was just a one-night thing? That she could simply walk away and pay it off like some meaningless transaction? The thought settles in your chest like a dull ache, an irritation you can't quite ignore.

You run a hand through your hair, exhaling sharply.

You’re not the type to dwell on these things. And yet, here you are.

A sharp knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts.

“Sir,” comes a familiar voice, laced with just the right amount of exasperation. “If you’re done brooding dramatically, the board meeting is in thirty minutes. You know, the thing that actually pays your bills?”

You glance up to find Jihoon standing in the doorway, a stack of documents in his hands, the usual tired patience in his expression.

“Brooding?” you echo, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t brood.”

Jihoon snorts, stepping inside without waiting for permission. “Right. And I’m quitting tomorrow.” He drops the files onto your desk with a dull thud. “You’ve been staring at that page like it’s about to confess its undying love for you. Which, by the way, is kind of unsettling.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “I was thinking.”

“Oh, I can tell. Must be exhausting for you.” Jihoon crosses his arms, watching you closely. “Let me guess—woman trouble?”

You don’t answer, which only makes his grin widen.

“Called it. So, what’s her name?”

You hesitate for a fraction of a second before muttering, “Park Jiwon.”

Jihoon’s brow furrows for a moment, then his eyes widen slightly in recognition. “Wait... Park Jiwon? As in Park Sangho’s daughter?”

The name sits on your tongue uncomfortably. “Park Sangho?”

Jihoon nods. “Yeah, Park Sangho. CEO of Park Conglomerate. Or what’s left of it. They’ve been struggling for a while now.” He pauses, eyeing you carefully. “And his daughter... well, there’s been talk about her getting married off to Director Kang.”

Your fingers tap against the desk. Kang. You know the name well enough—ruthless in business, worse with women. The kind of man who takes what he wants without a second thought.

Jihoon smirks. “Sounds like she dodged a bullet, running into you instead.”

You don’t laugh. If anything, the thought irritates you more. Jiwon thought she could slip away quietly, disappear before anyone noticed. Too bad she met you instead.

Reaching into your drawer, you pull out the grainy black-and-white photo—the one you got from the paparazzi before they had a chance to release it. You and Jiwon, walking into the hotel together.

You should have deleted it, like you always do. But this time, you didn’t.

You slide the photo across the desk. “Spread it.”

Jihoon blinks. “You serious? This’ll stir up a mess.”

“That’s the point.” Your voice is steady, calculated.

Jihoon gives you a long look before shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

You watch him pick up the photo, your mind already working three steps ahead.

Jiwon didn’t know your name when she left.

But soon enough, she’d have no choice but to remember it.

She thought she could run.

But you’re not done with her yet.

~~~

A Few Days Later

You sit at your desk, staring at the glossy tablet in front of you. The bold headline screams back at you, accompanied by the grainy photo of you and Jiwon entering the hotel that night.

“Park Jiwon: Desperate Heiress or CEO Yoon’s Latest Fling?”

The article dances around the idea with just enough venom to sting. It paints Jiwon as a woman clinging to survival, her family’s struggling business hanging by a thread, subtly implying that she’s using you to climb her way back up.

You should have seen this coming. Hell, you did see it coming. You were the one who leaked the photo, after all. And yet, something about the way they talk about her—like she’s nothing more than a desperate opportunist—makes your jaw tighten.

Your grip on the tablet hardens before you toss it onto the desk, exhaling sharply.

The intercom buzz “Sir, your grandmother is here to see you—”.

You barely have time to let that information settle before your office door swings open without warning.

"Where are you?!"

You don't need to look up to know who it is. The sharp, authoritative voice—tinged with just enough warmth to remind you she still cares—belongs to only one person.

Your grandmother.

With Jihoon following after her.

"Do you ever knock?" you mutter, running a hand through your hair as she marches in, holding up the same tabloid you were just glaring at.

"I don't need to knock when my dear grandson's face is plastered all over the media with a young woman he's clearly trying to ruin!" she huffs, dropping the magazine onto your desk with a disapproving glare. "Care to explain, dear?"

You sigh, leaning back in your chair. "It’s just a photo. The media exaggerates everything, you know that."

Your grandmother eyes you sternly, lips pursed in that way that makes you feel like you're fifteen again, being scolded for skipping out on family dinners. "Don't play dumb with me, Dear. I taught you better than that."

Before you can offer another half-hearted excuse, her expression softens—just slightly—as she picks up the tablet and runs her fingers over Jiwon’s picture.

"This poor girl," she murmurs, almost to herself. "I remember Park Jiwon. Such a sweet child when I last saw her. Always so polite and thoughtful.” Her eyes flick back to you, sharp once more. “Unlike someone I know.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. "I'm sure she’s doing just fine, Grandmother."

"Hmph," she scoffs. "Fine? With her father’s company sinking and now the press tarnishing her name?" She fixes you with a look that could cut through steel. "Tell me, dear. Did you even consider how this might affect her?"

You don't answer right away, which only makes her sigh in disappointment. "Of course you didn't. You're too busy playing your little power games to see what's right in front of you."

Your jaw tightens. "She left me, you know."

Your grandmother raises a delicate brow. "Oh, poor you. A woman left you for once in your life."

You grit your teeth. "That's not the point."

"No," she agrees, settling into the chair across from you. "The point is, you caused a scandal, and now the least you can do is take responsibility."

You arch a brow. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

She gives you a pointed look, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "Marry her."

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, dear." Her tone is sweet, but there's steel beneath it. "You've already dragged her name through the mud. The decent thing to do would be to make an honest woman out of her."

You let out a humorless chuckle. "And let me guess, this has nothing to do with your constant nagging about settling down?"

"Of course it does," she says matter-of-factly, offering a saccharine smile. "But more importantly, it would be a mutually beneficial arrangement. She needs protection from vultures like Director Kang, and you..." She tilts her head. "You need someone who won’t let you get away with this nonsense anymore."

You exhale, pacing toward the window. Marry Jiwon? The idea should be absurd. You don’t do marriage, relationships, or anything that even remotely resembles commitment. And yet…

Your grandmother watches you closely, her voice softer now. "She's a good girl, Seojoon. And I have no doubt she can handle you."

You glance back at the photo on your desk. Jiwon, with her hesitant smile and those guarded eyes.

Maybe she could.

But claiming her—making her yours—wasn’t about saving her. It never was.

It was about something far more selfish.

You turn back to your grandmother, expression unreadable. "And if I refuse?"

She smiles knowingly. "Then I’ll do what I always do—make your life a living hell until you see reason."

You sigh, rubbing your temple. "Of course you will."

"Good." She stands, smoothing out her coat with deliberate care. "Call her now. Arrange a meeting."

"Now?" You blink, surprised by her urgency.

Your grandmother gives you a pointed look. "Yes, now. Do you think I don't know you, dear?"

You lean back in your chair, stalling. "I don't even have her number."

She merely lifts a brow, unimpressed. "Then call her family."

Before you can protest, her gaze shifts to Jihoon, who straightens under the silent command. Without hesitation, he pulls out his phone, his fingers moving swiftly over the screen. Within moments, he steps forward, presenting the device to you with an expectant expression.

The call screen stares back at you, one press away from dialing.

Park Conglomerate.

You glance between the phone and your grandmother, who offers you a sweet yet undeniably stern smile. "Go on, dear. I'm waiting."

You exhale slowly, your fingers hovering over the screen.

Jiwon thought she could leave quietly, slip away without a trace.

She was wrong.

~~~

Jiwon let out a tired sigh as she stepped into her bedroom, the weight of the day settling heavily on her shoulders. The soft click of the door behind her sealed her in the quiet sanctuary of her space, a brief moment of solitude she desperately needed.

She walked over to her desk, her movements slow and deliberate, fingers reaching up to remove the delicate earrings that adorned her ears. One by one, she placed them on the glass tray beside her scattered notes and half-empty coffee cups. The cool air brushed against her skin, but her mind was elsewhere.

No matter how much she tried to push it aside, the memories of that night refused to leave her mind. They clung to her like a second skin, vivid and unrelenting, replaying in her thoughts when she least expected it. She could still feel his touch—firm, demanding, yet oddly tender. The way his hands had roamed her body, possessive yet reverent, as if he were memorizing every curve, every inch of her. The heat of his lips tracing along her neck, the scrape of his teeth against her sensitive skin, the way his breath had hitched when she shivered under his touch. It had been overwhelming, intoxicating, and she had been powerless to resist.

Her fingertips grazed the side of her neck absently, recalling the ghost of his touch. She could still feel the faint ache where he had marked her, the memory of his mouth on her skin sending a shiver down her spine. She shouldn’t be thinking about it, shouldn’t be replaying every stolen moment, but she was. It was as if he’d left an invisible mark that wouldn’t fade, a brand that lingered long after the night had ended.

She closed her eyes, and the images came flooding back—his body pressing against hers, the weight of him pinning her to the bed, the way his hips had moved with a rhythm that left her breathless. She could still feel the way he had filled her, the stretch and burn giving way to a pleasure so intense it had left her trembling. His voice, low and rough in her ear, murmuring words she could barely comprehend through the haze of desire. “Moan for me, Jiwon… let it all out.”

Her breath hitched as she remembered the way his hands had gripped her hips, guiding her movements, his touch both commanding and gentle. The way he had looked at her, his dark eyes filled with a hunger that had both terrified and thrilled her. She had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, yet so utterly desired. And when he had finally brought her to the edge, her body arching into his as she fell apart.

Even now, the memory of it made her pulse quicken, her skin flushing with heat. She could still feel the way his lips had claimed hers, the way his tongue had tangled with hers in a kiss that had left her dizzy. The way his hands had explored her body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. The way he had whispered her name, his voice rough with need, as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world.

She shouldn’t be thinking about it. She shouldn’t be craving the feel of his hands on her skin, the weight of his body pressing her into the mattress, the way he had made her feel so alive, so wanted. But she was. And no matter how hard she tried to push the memories away, they always came back, more vivid, more consuming than before. It was as if he had awakened something in her, something she couldn’t ignore, no matter how much she tried.

Her fingers trailed lower, brushing over her collarbone, and she could almost feel his lips following the same path, his breath hot against her skin. She bit her lip, her body betraying her as a flush of warmth spread through her. She shouldn’t be thinking about it. But she was. And she couldn’t stop.

It was just one night, she reminded herself, shaking her head as if to dispel the thoughts. A mistake.

She sighed, pulling her hair loose from its clip, letting the strands fall around her shoulders. Maybe some sleep would finally help clear her mind.

But just as she reached for her journal, a sudden, thunderous voice shattered the calm.

"JIWON!"

Her father’s voice, laced with pure, unrestrained rage, echoed through the house. The sound of her name being screamed like that sent a shiver down her spine. She barely had time to react before the heavy, relentless banging on her door followed.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"Open this door right now!" her father bellowed, his fists hammering against the wood with enough force to rattle it in its frame.

Jiwon's breath caught in her throat, heart pounding wildly in her chest. Her mind raced, trying to figure out what had set him off this time, but deep down, she had a sinking feeling she already knew.

Swallowing hard, she took a step toward the door, her fingers trembling slightly as they hovered over the handle.

"I said open it!" he roared again, the anger in his voice cutting through her hesitation like a knife.

Jiwon closed her eyes for a brief second, bracing herself for whatever storm was about to come crashing through that door. She inhaled shakily, steadying herself before unlocking it.

Before she could even turn the knob, the door swung open violently, slamming into her and making her stumble back.

“You fucking bitch!” Her father’s voice tore through the air like a blade, sharp and unforgiving.

“Fa—Father…” Jiwon’s voice wavered as she tried to meet his eyes, but before she could—

Slap.

The force of his hand sent her head snapping to the side, a sharp sting blooming across her cheek.

"I raised you, and this is how you repay me?" His voice was a furious snarl. "I should have listened—I should have left you with your mother. Her filthy blood runs through you. Just like her, you're nothing but a disgrace."

Jiwon trembled, her vision blurring as tears welled in her eyes. Her mind struggled to catch up with what was happening, the shock paralyzing her.

“F-Father, wh—what? Wh-why?” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper, trembling with fear.

"Don't you dare pretend you don't know!" he roared, stepping closer, his grip seizing her wrist with crushing force. "I told you to be obedient, to marry Director Kang, and now you're out there sleeping with another man? Do you have any idea how this makes me look? How it tarnishes my company’s reputation?"

Jiwon’s breath hitched, her tears spilling over. “Father… I—I was mistaken, I—”

“Mistaken?!” He yanked her forward, dragging her across the entryway. “You're not my daughter anymore! You’ve humiliated me for the last time.”

“Please, Father, wait—” she sobbed, struggling against his iron grip, but he ignored her, dragging her toward the front door. The harsh fluorescent lighting above made everything feel even colder, emptier.

From the grand staircase, her stepmother watched with an unsettling calm, her lips curled into a faint, satisfied smile. She didn’t move, didn’t speak—just observed, as if this was nothing more than an inevitability she had been waiting for.

"You want to act like a whore? Then go and live like one!" he spat, throwing the door open and shoving her out onto the cold pavement outside. Jiwon staggered, barely catching herself before she fell.

Her father turned away without a second glance, already dismissing her existence. But her stepmother lingered.

Her stepmother stands before the gate, arms crossed, a thin smile tugging at her lips. For a moment, she simply observed, as if savoring the sight of Jiwon trembling.

Jiwon swallowed hard, lifting tearful eyes. “Mother, please…”

Her stepmother crouched gracefully, her touch deceptively gentle as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind Jiwon’s ear. “Oh, Jiwon,” she sighed, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “You always were so naive.”

Jiwon’s lips trembled, guilt pressing down on her chest. “I… I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Her stepmother smiled, but it never reached her eyes. “Of course you didn’t, dear. You never do, do you?” She shook her head, clicking her tongue in mock disapproval. “But intentions don’t erase consequences.”

Jiwon looked down, shame crawling through her. “I just… I thought…”

Her stepmother's fingers tightened slightly on her chin, lifting her face. “You thought you could play in a world that doesn't belong to you,” she said softly, though there was something sharp beneath her words, something cruel. “You thought you could be reckless and not pay the price. But you’re just like your mother, aren’t you? Always chasing things beyond your reach.”

Jiwon blinked rapidly, her stepmother's words slicing through her defenses with precision. "I—I didn't mean to—"

Her stepmother laughed lightly, standing back up. “I know, dear. But mistakes like yours? They leave stains that don’t wash off easily.” She glanced at the looming gates. “You’ve embarrassed your father for the last time. It’s better this way.”

Jiwon nodded slowly, tears falling freely now. Deep down, she believed it too. This was her fault. No one else’s.

Her stepmother turned back toward the house, pausing at the threshold. She tilted her head, watching Jiwon with a smile that didn’t match the satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. “Take care of yourself, Jiwon,” she said sweetly, before glancing at the guards. “Close it.”

As the gates groaned shut, sealing her out, her stepmother’s voice drifted through the cold air one last time. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll convince your father to at least continue treating your mother. Someone has to think of her well-being, after all.”

She stood frozen, chest heaving, her hands trembling as they clutched the fabric of her dress. The cold night air bit at her skin, her hair falling in disheveled strands around her face. Her cheek still burned from the slap, and the ache in her chest threatened to crush her.

Then, her phone vibrated in her pocket, the sudden buzz cutting through the suffocating silence. With shaking hands, she fumbled it out, her blurred vision struggling to focus on the screen.

A notification.

Breaking News: Heir of Park Conglomerate spotted with chaebol bachelor—scandal unfolds.

Jiwon's breath caught in her throat. Her heart pounded violently as she stared at the photo accompanying the headline—her and him, stepping into the hotel together, the grainy image unmistakably damning.

Her fingers tightened around the phone, the cold metal trembling against her skin.

The realization hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her with relentless force.

She should have known better.

She should have never let herself be so reckless, so desperate for something—anything—that she thought for even a moment he could offer her.

She was the one who let him too close.

She was the one who fell for the way he touched her, the way he looked at her like she was something more than just a pawn in her father’s plans.

She was the one who let a single night ruin everything.

~~~

You watch as Jihoon dials the number, his expression calm and professional. The phone rings a few times before someone on the other end picks up.

"Hello, this is Park Group. How may I assist you?" a polite yet detached voice answers.

Jihoon leans slightly forward. "Good evening, this is Jihoon from J Group. We’d like to speak with Chairman Park regarding an important matter."

There’s a brief pause, a faint shuffle on the other end before the voice responds. "Please hold, I'll transfer you to the chairman."

Jihoon meets your eyes, giving you a subtle nod as he waits. A few seconds later, the line clicks.

"This is Chairman Park," the familiar, calculated voice filters through the speaker.

Jihoon quickly hands you the phone, his voice steady but respectful. "Sir, Chairman Park is on the line. I've introduced you as the CEO of J Group."

You take the phone, your grip firm, and bring it to your ear. "Chairman Park," you say evenly.

A brief silence, then his voice, smooth and unreadable, replies, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

“I’d like to discuss a potential marriage arrangement,” you cut straight to the point, feeling the weight of your grandmother’s gaze on you. She’s watching carefully, waiting for every word.

The line falls silent for a moment too long. Then, Chairman Park’s voice, still smooth but with an underlying note of surprise, responds. “A marriage arrangement? Isn’t this... sudden?”

You lean back in your chair, the cool surface of the desk beneath your fingertips grounding you. “Circumstances have changed. I believe it would be in both our interests to resolve this sooner rather than later.”

There’s another silence, as if the man is considering your words carefully. Then, after a pause, he speaks again. “Very well.”

You nod, though he can’t see you. “Perfect. I’ll send you the address, Lets meet there later at 8. ”

But then, you can’t help it — you have to ask. “And Jiwon?”

For a moment, the line is quiet again, and when Chairman Park responds, his tone is careful, almost rehearsed. “She’s... currently unavailable.”

You don’t let it slide. “I’d still like to speak with her.”

There’s a shift in his tone, subtle but noticeable. “She’s resting. This has been... overwhelming for her, as you can imagine.”

Your brow furrows, but you keep your voice steady. “I’d like to hear that from her myself.”

He laughs, but there’s no warmth in it. “You’re persistent, Don’t you think?”

“I have to be,” you reply, your grip on the phone tightening. Something doesn’t feel right.

Another pause, then, “I’m afraid Jiwon isn’t in a position to talk right now. But don’t worry, you’ll see her soon enough.”

Your eyes narrow, your instincts prickling with unease. Something isn’t adding up. You exchange a glance with your grandmother, who’s watching you closely. The unease swirling in your chest tightens.

“Understood,” you say, your voice calm, but there’s an edge to it now. “I’ll see you tonight.”

You hang up, the silence of the room heavy in the wake of the conversation. Your grandmother’s eyes are on you, sharp as ever.

“What is it?” she asks, sensing the shift in you.

You place the phone down, your fingers lingering on the edge as you stare at it. Something is wrong. The way Chairman Park avoided your questions, the way he kept circling around Jiwon’s whereabouts... you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this than he’s letting on.

“So… did they agree?” your grandmother asks impatiently, her sharp eyes studying you like a hawk.

"Yeah, later at eight," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. "Jihoon will send you the address."

She nods, satisfied for now, but you can feel the weight of her expectations pressing down on you.

You rise from your chair abruptly, already reaching for your coat. “I have to go somewhere first,” you say, your mind racing ahead.

Jihoon, standing quietly by the door, perks up at your sudden movement. His eyes flick to yours, waiting for instructions.

"Wait for my call," you add, pulling on your coat with a sense of urgency. "Just in case."

Jihoon gives a curt nod, understanding the unspoken tension in your voice. “Understood.”

You don’t wait for another word. With each step out of the office, the uneasy feeling in your chest grows heavier. Something isn’t right—Chairman Park was hiding something, and you weren’t going to sit around and find out what it was the hard way.

As you step outside, the cold air biting against your skin, one thought lingers in your mind.

Where are you, Jiwon?

~~~

Jiwon sits hunched over at the bar, her fingers trembling around the glass as she takes another sip. The alcohol burns down her throat, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in her chest. The same dim lighting, the same hushed murmurs of conversation around her—it’s almost comforting. Almost.

Her reflection stares back at her from the glossy surface of the counter, a ghost of the person she used to be. Her cheeks are swollen, a faint imprint of her father’s anger still visible against her skin. Her hair is disheveled, her clothes wrinkled and clinging to her like a bad memory. She swirls the amber liquid in her glass, biting down the sob rising in her throat.

"Rough night?" The bartender’s voice is gentle, but wary. She doesn’t look up, just nods and takes another sip.

"You sure you’re okay, miss?" he presses, his concern deepening. "You've been here a while."

Before she can answer, a voice cuts through the air from behind her. Deep, steady, and far too familiar.

"I’m with her."

Jiwon stiffens, the glass freezing midair. Her pulse quickens, the weight of his presence settling over her like an iron chain. She doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is.

Of course he would find her.

“You’re here again, drinking, alone.” Your voice is soft, almost too soft—tinged with something that sounds dangerously close to concern. “I thought I told you not to do that.”

Jiwon doesn't turn around right away. She takes another slow sip, staring down into her glass as if it holds all the answers she’s desperately looking for. When she finally speaks, her voice is light, almost joking—but devoid of any real joy.

“Ah... you’re here, Mister CEO.” A dry chuckle escapes her lips, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I should’ve known.”

She swallows hard, her fingers tightening around the glass. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been more careful,” she murmurs, her voice trembling. “I didn’t mean for this to happen… I didn’t think someone would take a picture of us.”

Her eyes, glassy and unfocused, blink rapidly, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this scandal.”

She’s blaming herself.

A slow, almost amused smile tugs at the corner of your lips. How easily she takes the fall—so eager to carry the weight of it all on those delicate shoulders. It’s almost endearing, really, how she thinks this is her doing.

She has no idea.

No idea that you’re the one who set this all in motion, that every step she’s taken has been within the palm of your hand. And yet, she looks at you with those trusting, guilt-ridden eyes, as if you’re her only lifeline.

You lean in slightly, watching her crumble, savoring the way she still believes you’re the victim here.

It’s almost too easy.

You notice the swollen redness marring her cheek, a stark contrast against her pale skin. It doesn’t take much to piece it together—who did it, why it happened. A slow, simmering anger coils in your chest, familiar and possessive. It always makes you mad when someone lays a hand on what’s yours. And this time is no different.

Your jaw tightens, but your voice remains smooth, unwavering. “Stop drinking,” you say, reaching for the half-empty glass in front of her and sliding it away. “Tidy yourself up. We have somewhere to go.”

She blinks up at you, confusion flickering through the haze in her eyes. You can tell she wants to protest, but something in your tone leaves no room for argument.

You watch as she swallows hard, her fingers trembling slightly before they reach for a napkin, dabbing at the corner of her mouth as if that alone could erase the evidence of what happened.

Good. She’s learning.

~~~

Once again, Jiwon found herself following him without hesitation, as if it were second nature. Despite everything that had happened, despite the turmoil in her heart, she couldn't fight the invisible pull he had on her. It was undeniable—an unspoken force that drew her in, compelling her to trust him when she knew she shouldn’t.

He led her to his car and slid in first without a word, his presence commanding in its quiet intensity. With a simple gesture, he motioned for her to join him. And she did. She settled into the passenger seat, her pulse thrumming in her ears, a heavy silence stretching between them.

As he reached for his phone, his voice cut through the stillness, sharp and composed. “Jihoon, get me a dress for a lady. I’ll wait by the lot behind the office.” His tone was cool, effortless—like he was always in control.

A brief pause followed, then his eyes flickered to her, lingering just long enough to make her breath hitch. “As for sizes…” he trailed off, clearly expecting her to respond.

Caught off guard, Jiwon’s cheeks flushed. She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, her voice barely above a whisper. “Um… I’m a small. My measurements are…” She hesitated before murmuring the numbers, feeling an odd sense of vulnerability under his unwavering gaze.

He listened in silence, his expression giving nothing away. With a curt nod, he relayed the details to Jihoon and ended the call.

The hum of the engine filled the air, the steady rhythm amplifying the tension between them. Jiwon sat stiffly, hands clasped tightly in her lap, her thoughts racing. She could feel his gaze on her, heavy and unrelenting, but she kept her eyes fixed outside the window, watching the blur of city lights pass by.

A quiet sigh escaped him, breaking the stillness. She risked a glance in his direction, anxiety coiling in her chest. Was he disappointed? Angry? The uncertainty gnawed at her, making the silence feel suffocating.

The drive stretched on, each passing moment only deepening the questions swirling in her mind. Her fingers toyed nervously with her coat, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on her.

When they finally pulled into the parking lot, Jiwon held her breath. He parked but didn’t move, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel, his gaze fixed ahead. The silence thickened, settling heavily between them.

Stealing another glance at him, she found him staring into the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable—watching, waiting.

“Why are we here?” she asked, her voice fragile, barely a whisper. Her eyes stayed on the dashboard, afraid of what she might see in his face. “Why did you bring me here?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then, with a quiet exhale, he finally turned to her. His gaze was steady, piercing. “You looked like you needed somewhere to go,” he said simply.

Jiwon swallowed, her fingers trembling as she gripped her coat tighter. “I… I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” she murmured. “I just… didn’t know where else to go.”

His eyes lingered on her, the weight of his silence making her stomach twist. Then, after a moment, he reached out—his fingers grazing the back of her hand, a touch so light it sent a shiver through her. “You’re not trouble,” he said, his voice softer now, laced with something unfamiliar. “But you shouldn’t be out there alone. Not like this.”

Her throat tightened. “I didn’t have anywhere else,” she admitted, voice breaking. “My father… he…”

She couldn’t finish. The memory of his harsh words, the sting of his slap, still clung to her like a shadow. But she didn’t have to say it—he already knew.

His jaw clenched, a dark flicker in his gaze. “Your father’s a fool,” he said flatly, leaving no room for argument. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Jiwon blinked, caught off guard by the quiet anger simmering beneath his words. She had expected indifference, maybe even judgment—but not this. Not the fierce protectiveness lurking behind his calm demeanor.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she whispered. “I never thought… I never thought someone would take a picture of us. I didn’t think it would turn into this.”

He studied her intently, as if searching for something beneath the surface. Then, with a slow exhale, he leaned back, his hand still lightly resting against hers. “It’s not your fault,” he said, voice steady but resolute. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her chest tightened, a lump forming in her throat. “But I did,” she murmured. “I should’ve been more careful. I shouldn’t have—”

He cut her off with a touch—gentle but firm as his fingers brushed her cheek. The warmth of it burned through the cold she felt inside. “You don’t have to be careful with me,” he said, his tone unwavering. “Not anymore.”

Jiwon’s breath caught. The way he looked at her—dark, possessive, and yet… protective—made her feel things she couldn’t quite name. Things she wasn’t sure she should feel.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, voice trembling. “Why do you care?”

His eyes never wavered from hers, his expression serious. “Because you’re mine,” he said, the words carrying a quiet intensity that left no room for doubt. “And I don’t let anyone take what’s mine.”

A shiver ran down her spine. There was something about the way he said it—calm, certain, as if it was an undeniable truth. She wasn’t sure whether to feel terrified or safe.

Before she could find the words to respond, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the lot. Jihoon emerged from the shadows, a garment bag draped over his arm and a pair of heels in hand.

He offered a polite, reassuring smile as he handed the items through the open window. “Here you go,” he said, his tone light but professional. “I think you’ll like it.”

Jiwon hesitated before taking the bag, her hands trembling slightly. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Jihoon nodded, his gaze briefly flickering toward the man beside her before stepping back. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said, the respect in his voice unmistakable.

As he walked away, Jiwon turned back to him, her heart still racing. “What… what is this for?” she asked, her voice tinged with unease.

His eyes met hers, unwavering. “Dinner,” he said simply. “With your father.”

Jiwon’s breath stilled, and she clutched the garment bag tightly, the soft fabric crinkling under her trembling fingers. “Dinner?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “With my father?”

He gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable yet strangely reassuring. “Yes,” he said, his tone even. “To discuss our upcoming marriage.”

Jiwon froze, her lips parting in shock. “M-Marriage?” she stammered, her wide eyes searching his face for some hint of a joke. But there was none. His expression remained calm, composed—completely serious.

“Yes,” he repeated smoothly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “It’s the next logical step, don’t you think?”

Jiwon shook her head slowly, disbelief washing over her. “I… I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Why would you—why would we…?”

He leaned back slightly, watching her with that same steady gaze that always made her feel like he was ten steps ahead of her. “Because it’s what’s best for you,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “Your father will listen to reason if he knows you’re in good hands.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, and she could barely form the words. “But we’re not… we’re not really…”

His lips curled into a faint smile, his fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel. “Not yet,” he said, tilting his head as if considering something. “But we could be. It’s a solution to your problems, Jiwon. You’ll have security, protection—everything you need.”

Jiwon’s fingers clenched the garment bag tighter, her mind racing. Everything about this felt overwhelming, too sudden, too unreal. She barely even knew what to say. “But marriage isn’t something you can just—just decide like this.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering, laced with quiet persuasion. “I’m not forcing you,” he said, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. “But think about it. No more running, no more uncertainty. Your father will have no reason to push you away anymore.”

Jiwon swallowed hard, her thoughts swirling in chaos. She had spent so long feeling lost, unwanted—always fighting to prove herself. And here he was, offering a way out, a way to fix everything, even if it felt… too easy. Too perfect.

“I…” Her voice faltered, and she looked away, staring down at the fabric in her lap. “It just feels… so sudden.”

A soft chuckle escaped him. “Life rarely waits for us to catch up, Jiwon.” He reached out, his fingers grazing the back of her hand, sending a shiver up her spine. “Trust me. This is the right move.”

Her heart fluttered at his touch, her mind screaming at her to think, to question—but all she could feel was the steady pull he had over her, the way his words made everything seem so inevitable.

“I need to think,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

He nodded, as if he had already expected that. “Of course. Take your time,” he said smoothly. “But tonight, just come to dinner. Let your father see that you're not alone.”

Jiwon exhaled shakily, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on her. She didn't trust herself to argue anymore. “Okay,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Good girl.” His smile was small but satisfied, and Jiwon couldn’t help but feel like she had just taken a step onto a path she didn’t fully understand.

“Where… where should I change?” she asked hesitantly, her voice soft and uncertain.

He didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed on the rearview mirror as if he were barely paying attention. “Here,” he said, his tone indifferent, almost bored. “You’re not walking through the building like that, and I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Jiwon exhaled shakily, her fingers tightening around the garment bag as she sat in the passenger seat. The air in the car felt heavy, charged with a tension she couldn’t quite place. He had told her to change right there, in the front seat, and though his tone had been indifferent at first, something about the way he’d said it made her pulse quicken.

“Here?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her cheeks already burning at the thought.

He didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed on the steering wheel, his expression unreadable. “Unless you’d rather walk through the building like that,” he said, his tone calm, almost bored. “Your choice.”

Jiwon hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. She glanced down at her wrinkled clothes, the faint scent of alcohol still clinging to her. He was right—she couldn't be seen like this and she couldn’t exactly walk into the dinner looking like this. But the idea of changing in the car, with him just inches away, made her stomach twist with nervousness.

“Okay,” she whispered finally, her voice trembling. She unzipped the garment bag, her fingers fumbling as she pulled out the dress. It was a soft pink, simple but elegant, with delicate straps and a fitted silhouette. She glanced at him again, but he wasn’t looking at her his eyes were fixed on the windshield, his expression detached.

She took a deep breath, her hands trembling as she began to undress. She slipped off her coat first, then her shoes, her movements careful but hurried. She could feel the weight of his presence beside her, calm and steady, but there was something about the way he was sitting his jaw tight, his hands gripping the steering wheel that made her heart race.

When she began to unbutton her blouse, she felt it the shift in the air. It was subtle at first, almost imperceptible, but then she heard it: the faintest intake of breath, the softest rustle of fabric as he adjusted his position.

Her heart skipped a beat, her hands freezing mid-motion. She glanced at him, her cheeks burning as she realized his gaze was no longer fixed on the windshield.

His eyes were on her now, dark and intense, and there was something in his expression something heated, almost predatory that made her stomach twist.

“I… I thought you weren’t going to look,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he finally spoke. “I wasn’t,” he said, his voice low and rough. “But you make it difficult not to.”

Jiwon’s breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared at him. There was something in his eyes something possessive, almost hungry that made her stomach twist with a mix of fear and something else she couldn’t quite name. She should protest, should demand he look away, but the way he was looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered made it impossible to think clearly.

Her fingers trembled as she finished unbuttoning her blouse, slipping it off her shoulders and letting it fall to the seat beside her. She could feel his gaze on her, hot and unrelenting, and it sent a shiver down her spine. She reached for the dress, her hands shaking as she pulled it over her head, the soft fabric sliding over her skin. She adjusted the straps, smoothing out the material as it hugged her figure, her cheeks burning under his intense scrutiny.

When she was done, she glanced at him, her breath catching in her throat as she realized he was still watching her, his expression unreadable but his eyes dark with something she couldn’t quite place. And then she noticed it—the unmistakable tent in his pants, the evidence of his desire impossible to ignore.

Her heart raced, her mind spinning as she stared at him. The words had slipped out before she could cage them—reckless, impulsive, charged with a heat she hadn’t meant to unleash. “I… I could help you with that.”

The moment the words left her lips, her entire body froze. His gaze snapped to hers, sharp and molten, like embers flaring to life. She backtracked immediately, panic fraying her voice.

“I—I just meant… it looks uncomfortable. You’re clearly… struggling. And I—I might’ve caused that, right? Because of the way I… undressed. We’ve already done it before, so it’s not… and if we do get married, we’ll have to… anyway, so—”

He leaned back in his seat, his eyes darkening as they raked over her—the flushed cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers twisted nervously in the fabric of her pink dress. A slow, predatory smile curved his lips.

“Caused this?” he repeated, his voice rougher now, thumb brushing the edge of the steering wheel. “You think you did this?” His gaze dropped pointedly to the strained fabric of his slacks, then back to her face. “Are you that confident in what you do to me, Jiwon?”

She swallowed, her pulse thrumming wildly. “N-no! I just—I thought—”

“And if we marry,” he cut in, leaning closer, his breath grazing her ear, “we’ll ‘have to do this anyway’?” His hand settled on her thigh, warm and deliberate. “Define this. What exactly are you volunteering for?”

Jiwon’s breath hitched, her skin burning beneath his touch. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“You’re talking in circles,” he murmured, fingers tightening slightly on her leg. “But I’ll admit… your eagerness is… interesting.”

The low, graveled edge to his voice sent a shiver through her. She opened her mouth to protest, but he interrupted, his tone shifting to a warning—one layered with barely restrained hunger.

“Careful,” he said, his thumb tracing idle circles on her thigh. “You keep offering things you don’t understand. You might regret it.”

But Jiwon, emboldened by the flicker of heat in his eyes, doubled down. “I’m not wrong,” she insisted, lifting her chin. “You said it yourself—I’m yours. So… so this is part of that, isn’t it?”

For a heartbeat, he stared at her, his composure cracking just enough to reveal the hunger beneath. A rough laugh escaped him, his grip on her thigh tightening as he pulled her closer.

“You’re playing with fire,” he said, his voice a dark caress. “But since you’re so determined…” He released her, gesturing vaguely toward his lap, his gaze never leaving hers. “Show me what you’re offering.”

Jiwon’s courage wavered. Her earlier bravado dissolved into shaky uncertainty as she stared at the evidence of his arousal, her mouth suddenly dry. “I… I don’t… How do I…?”

He leaned back, his smile sharp and thrillingly dangerous. “You started this,” he said, his voice a velvet command. “Finish it.”

Jiwon’s fingers trembled as they hovered over the waistband of his slacks, her breath shallow and uneven. His gaze never wavered, a silent dare burning in his eyes as she fumbled with the zipper, the sound obscenely loud in the charged silence. When she finally tugged his pants and underwear down just enough to free his length, her throat went dry. He was thick, already fully hard, and the sight sent a jolt of heat straight to her core.

She hesitated, her palm hovering inches away, until his voice cut through the tension—low, edged with impatience. “Don’t stop now.”

Her first touch was tentative, her fingers wrapping around him with unsure pressure. A sharp inhale escaped him, his jaw clenching, and she froze. But when his hand slid into her hair, not pushing, just anchoring, she took it as permission. Slowly, she began to stroke him, her movements awkward at first, her thumb brushing clumsily over the head.

His reaction was immediate—a low groan, his hips jerking faintly upward into her grip. Emboldened, she tightened her fingers, finding a rhythm that made his breath hitch. She chanced a glance at his face and nearly faltered at what she saw: his head tilted back against the seat, eyes half-lidded but blazing, lips parted as ragged breaths slipped free.

He’s letting go. The realization sent a thrill through her, her own arousal spiking as she watched him unravel. Her strokes grew bolder, her free hand braced against his thigh for balance, her thumb swiping over the slickness beading at his tip.

“Jiwon.” Her name was a growl, a warning and a plea.

She didn’t stop. Instead, she leaned closer, her breath ghosting over his skin as her lips brushed the hollow of his throat. His hand tightened in her hair, yanking her head back just enough to force her to meet his gaze.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered, his voice fraying at the edges.

She obeyed, her strokes slowing as she watched him—the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when she twisted her wrist, the muscle fluttering in his jaw as he fought to keep still. A dark, unfamiliar pride bloomed in her chest. She did this. She reduced him to this—a man of calculated control, now gripping the steering wheel like it might snap under his restraint.

Her own need coiled tighter, her thighs pressing together as she worked him faster, spurred on by the raw hunger in his eyes. She could feel him thickening in her hand, his hips rolling upward to meet her strokes, his breath coming in sharp, fractured bursts.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his free hand sliding down to grip her wrist, not to stop her, but to guide her, his thumb pressing over hers to adjust her rhythm. “Just like that.”

The praise ignited something reckless in her. She leaned in again, her lips grazing his ear. “Do you… like this?” she whispered, the question trembling with a boldness she didn’t recognize.

His laugh was a dark, shattered sound. “You’ll know when I do.”

“Move”

~~~

Your voice cuts through the charged air, rough and strained, and Jiwon freezes. Her wide, innocent eyes blink up at you, her lips parted in that soft, questioning way that makes something dark coil tighter in your gut. You watch the confusion flicker across her face—unsure, hesitant—but she obeys.

Slowly, cautiously, she shifts, her touch lingering a moment too long before she pulls her hand away. The absence of her warmth makes your jaw clench, your control hanging by a thread. She’s always so careful, so sweet, and it drives you fucking insane.

You guide her, hands firm on her waist, positioning her until she’s straddling you. Her knees press into the seat on either side of your thighs, her trembling fingers finding tentative purchase on your shoulders. Her breathing is unsteady, shallow, her cheeks flushed pink under the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the windshield.

“Like this?” she whispers, voice uncertain, a quiet vulnerability lacing her tone.

Your hands tighten on her hips, grounding yourself in the softness of her curves, in the way she feels so small beneath your touch. “Yeah,” you rasp, letting your thumbs stroke slow, lazy circles into her skin. “Just like that.”

You can feel the tension in her muscles, the way she holds herself so carefully, afraid of doing something wrong. But you don’t want careful. You don’t want hesitant.

You want her.

With a slow, deliberate pull, you drag her down, pressing her against the hard, aching length of you. Her breath hitches sharply, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she feels just how much you want this—how much you need her.

“You feel that?” you murmur, voice low, dangerous against the shell of her ear. “This is what you do to me, Jiwon.”

She swallows hard, her body trembling slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she shifts, pressing down tentatively, testing the friction, the heat, and fuck, you feel it in your bones.

“Good girl,” you breathe, the words slipping past your lips before you can stop them, and the way she reacts—the way she melts against you—makes your blood run hotter.

Her fingers clutch at your shirt, unsure, unsteady, and you can’t help the way your hands slide up her sides, over her ribs, until you’re cupping her face, forcing her to look at you. “You wanted to help me, don’t you?”

She nods without hesitation, her lips parting in a breathless, “Yes.”

That one word sends something primal surging through you, and your grip tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her who’s in control.

“Then move for me,” you say, the command firm, unrelenting.

Jiwon hesitates for the barest second before she obeys, shifting in your lap, rocking against you with shy, uncertain motions that drive you fucking wild. She’s so soft, so eager, and the way she bites down on her lip, trying to hold back those sweet little noises, makes your restraint slip another inch.

“That’s it,” you murmur, one hand slipping down to guide her, helping her find the right rhythm. “Just like that, baby.”

Her breathing stutters, and she clings to you tighter, her forehead resting against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “I— I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admits in a whisper, and the innocence in her voice nearly undoes you.

You smirk, your hands roaming lower, gripping her ass, pulling her closer, grinding her against you until she gasps. “You’re learning,” you murmur, lips brushing against her temple. “And you’re doing so fucking good.”

She shivers, pressing closer, and you can feel the heat pooling between her thighs, the dampness seeping through the thin fabric of her underwear. It takes everything in you not to rip it off, not to flip her over and take everything she’s offering. But you hold back. Barely.

Instead, you let her explore, let her take what she needs. You can feel her pulse racing, feel the anticipation thrumming between you both like a live wire.

“Keep going,” you urge, your hands steady on her hips, guiding, controlling. “I want to feel you.”

And she does. Slowly at first, then with more confidence, grinding against you in slow, teasing rolls that make your grip tighten, your breath grow ragged. She’s needy, desperate in a way she doesn’t quite understand yet, but you do. And you’ll teach her.

You lean in, dragging your lips down the side of her throat, feeling the way she shivers beneath you. “You like this, don’t you?” you whisper, your tongue flicking against the sensitive spot just below her ear. “You like how I feel against you.”

She nods frantically, pressing harder, her soft whimpers filling the small space of the car.

You chuckle darkly, the sound vibrating against her skin. “That’s my girl.”

Her fingers tighten in your hair, and she’s moving faster now, desperate, lost in it, in you. Your grip on her hips turns bruising, guiding her harder, deeper, until the friction becomes unbearable.

“Jiwon,” you groan, your forehead resting against hers, sweat beading at your temples. “You’re gonna drive me fucking crazy.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, her lips grazing yours, hesitant, teasing. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

You grin against her mouth, your hands slipping beneath her dress, fingers teasing along the edge of her panties. “Yeah,” you murmur. “It is.”

Then, without warning, you flip her onto her back against the seat, pinning her beneath you, your weight pressing down until there’s nowhere for her to go—nowhere for her to hide.

Her eyes widen, lips parting in a soft gasp, but there’s no fear. Only trust.

And that’s all the permission you need.

You press her down into the seat, your weight settling over her like a promise. Jiwon's breath comes in soft, shaky pants, her eyes wide, searching yours, but you see it—the need, the anticipation trembling just beneath the surface of her innocence. You slide your hands under her dress, bunching the fabric up to her waist, revealing the soft curves of her thighs, the damp heat pressing against you through the thin scrap of lace she calls underwear.

"You're already soaked," you murmur, dragging a finger along the slickness pooling between her thighs, feeling her shudder. "How long have you been waiting for this, Jiwon?"

She turns her face to the side, cheeks flushed, biting her lip in that way that drives you insane. "I... I don't know," she whispers, but the way she shifts beneath you, pressing up into your touch, tells a different story.

"Liar," you smirk, pushing her panties aside, letting the heat of her bare skin sear into your palm. You slide a finger inside her without warning, feeling her clench around you, tight, warm, perfect. Her sharp intake of breath is loud—too loud.

Your hand clamps over her mouth instantly, fingers digging into her jaw. "Quiet," you warn, your voice low, dark. "Do you want someone to hear us?"

She shakes her head frantically, her wide eyes meeting yours, but you don't miss the way her thighs tighten around your hand, the way her walls flutter around your fingers like she’s excited by the risk.

You chuckle softly, a dark, knowing sound, and you lean in, your lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "You like it, don't you?" you whisper, curling your fingers inside her, teasing that spot that makes her squirm. "The thought of someone catching you like this... spread open, taking my fingers, my cock."

She whimpers against your palm, her hips rocking helplessly against your hand. You remove your hand from her mouth, trailing it down her body, savoring the way she trembles beneath you.

"I— I don't..." she tries to deny it, but the words come out shaky, uncertain. You drag your cock along her slit, coating yourself in her slickness, and her breath catches. "Please..."

"Please what, Jiwon?" you murmur, pressing against her entrance, teasing, not giving her what she wants just yet.

She swallows hard, her hands clutching at your shoulders. "Please... don't tease me," she whispers, voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and something she doesn't quite understand yet.

You smirk, pushing inside her in one slow, relentless thrust, watching her eyes widen, her lips parting on a silent cry. She's so tight, so wet, and you groan, feeling her squeeze around you like she's trying to keep you inside forever.

"God, you're gripping me so tight," you growl, your hands sliding down to her hips, holding her still. "You're lucky it's me and not someone else, Jiwon. Someone who wouldn't be so careful with you."

Her nails dig into your back, her walls fluttering around you in response, and you feel it—that dark thrill, the way her body reacts before her mind can catch up.

Then—headlights.

A sudden beam sweeps through the windshield, cutting across Jiwon's flushed skin, illuminating the scene in stark, undeniable clarity. She freezes beneath you, her body going stiff, and for a moment, neither of you move, the tension thick, suffocating.

But then—then.

You feel it.

Her walls clamp down on you, a strangled moan slipping from her lips before she can stop it. The realization hits you hard, a wicked grin curling at your lips as you lean down, your breath hot against her ear.

"You like this," you whisper, rolling your hips slowly, deliberately, dragging a ragged gasp from her throat. "The idea of being seen... being watched."

"I—" She shakes her head, but her nails scrape against your skin, and her hips move on their own, rocking against you.

"Liar," you murmur again, biting down gently on her neck, feeling the way she squirms beneath you. "Look at you, clenching around me so tight. Are you dripping because you're scared, or because you want them to see what a good little wife you are?"

She whimpers, her face turning away in shame, but you catch her chin, forcing her to meet your gaze. "Tell me, Jiwon," you demand, thrusting deep, slow, pulling another gasp from her. "Would you let them watch? Let them see how I ruin you?"

She shakes her head frantically, but the way her body tightens, the way her thighs tremble against yours, tells you the truth.

"You would," you chuckle darkly, dragging your cock out slowly before slamming back in, making her arch under you. "You'd let them see how desperate you are for me."

"Stop," she pleads, but there's no real conviction in her voice, just raw, trembling need.

You lean down, your lips brushing hers. "Make me," you challenge, your thrusts growing rougher, deeper, filling her completely.

She doesn't. She can't. She's lost in it now, lost in you, her legs wrapped tight around your waist, pulling you deeper, harder.

"You feel so good," you groan, dragging a hand up her body to cup her breast, teasing the sensitive peak. "You were made for this, Jiwon. Made for me."

Her whimpers grow louder, her grip desperate, and you clamp a hand over her mouth again. "Shh," you murmur, your pace relentless. "Unless you want them to hear you."

She moans against your palm, her body trembling violently beneath you, and you feel it—she's close, right on the edge, teetering.

"Come for me," you rasp, thrusting hard, deep, hitting that spot that makes her eyes roll back. "Show me how much you love this."

Her body tenses, and with a muffled cry, she shatters around you, her walls gripping you like a vice, pulling you deeper into her heat. The tight squeeze, the raw desperation, it's too much—your own release hits you like a freight train, a guttural groan ripping from your throat as you spill inside her, holding her close, buried deep.

For a moment, neither of you move, the only sound filling the car is your ragged breathing, the creak of the leather seat beneath you, and the distant hum of the city.

Jiwon slumps against you, trembling, her body still pulsing around you in the aftershocks. Your hands stay firm on her hips, grounding her, keeping her in place.

"You'll regret this tomorrow," you whisper against her damp skin, smirking when she doesn't respond, just clings to you tighter.

For a moment, you let yourself enjoy it—the way she fits against you, the way she’s still trying to catch her breath. But then your eyes flicker to the dashboard, and a low curse slips from your lips.

“Shit.”

Jiwon stirs slightly, dazed and blissed out. “Hmm?”

You run a hand down your face, frustration simmering beneath the lingering heat of your release. “The dinner. Your parents.”

Her entire body stiffens against you, her eyes snapping open in alarm. “Oh my God.”

You grin darkly, smoothing your hands over her hips. “Yeah. We’re very late.”

The drive to the dinner is quiet, the hum of the engine a dull counterpoint to the chaos in your head. You keep your eyes on the road, grip tight on the steering wheel, but you feel her. Always her.

Jiwon sits beside you, radiating a warmth that’s annoying in its persistence. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch it—the flush on her cheeks, the way her fingers trace idle patterns on her thigh, the faint, stupid smile she’s trying to hide. It makes your jaw clench. She’s glowing, soft and satisfied, like she’s just been given something precious instead of fucked raw in a parking lot.

Pathetic.

But then her hand drifts toward yours, tentative, brushing your knuckles. You stiffen. “What?” you snap, sharper than intended.

She flinches, but doesn’t retreat. “Can I… hold your hand?”

The question is so absurd, so ordinary, you nearly laugh. But her eyes—wide, hopeful, still hazy with whatever delusion she’s spinning—stop you. You should refuse. Should remind her this isn’t a romance. But the memory of her body clenching around you, desperate and yours, lingers like a brand.

“Fine,” you mutter, relenting. “If you need to cling.”

Her fingers slip into yours, soft and trusting, and you hate how your pulse jumps. You tell yourself it’s a reward. A leash. Let her have this small comfort, if it keeps her pliant for what’s coming.

She squeezes gently, and you squeeze back—harder, a warning. Mine.

“Thank you,” she whispers, leaning her head against the window, that damned smile still playing on her lips.

You don’t answer. Instead, you focus on the road, on the cold calculus of the dinner ahead. Let her dream. Let her think this changes anything.

But when you pull up to the restaurant, her hand still in yours, you don’t let go. Not yet.

~~~

As the car rolled to a stop in front of the restaurant, Jiwon exhaled shakily, her fingers still entwined with his. The steady warmth of his hand had been her anchor throughout the drive, grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected. But as the valet opened her door, reality crashed back in, sharp and unforgiving. She pulled her hand away instinctively, smoothing the fabric of her dress in a futile attempt to steady herself.

Stepping out, the towering entrance of the restaurant loomed before her, an imposing reminder of what awaited inside. The mere thought of facing her father—her stepmother—sent an uneasy twist through her stomach.

She lingered by the car, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. He noticed.

With a quiet sigh, he reached out, his palm open in silent reassurance.

“Jiwon,” he murmured, his voice calm and steady. “Come here.”

Her eyes flickered to his hand, uncertainty clouding her expression. “I—”

“You’ll be fine.” His tone softened, but there was an undeniable firmness beneath it. “I’m right here.”

After a beat, she swallowed hard and placed her hand back in his. His fingers curled around hers, firm and unwavering, and the tension coiled in her chest loosened—just a little.

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, leading her forward with the quiet confidence she envied. “Just stay close to me,” he said smoothly, as if his presence alone could shield her from everything that lay ahead.

Jiwon nodded, clutching his hand tighter as they stepped through the grand entrance. Inside, the soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses faded into the background, overshadowed by the looming confrontation she could feel brewing.

The hostess greeted them with a polite nod before guiding them toward the private dining room. As the door swung open, Jiwon’s heart faltered.

The room was elegant, the chandelier above casting a warm glow over the meticulously arranged table. His grandmother sat at the head, a pillar of quiet authority. At the sight of them entering together, her lips curved ever so slightly, a flicker of intrigue crossing her face.

Her father and stepmother, however, were not so welcoming.

Jiwon’s father’s expression shifted—shock flickering across his usually impassive features before his gaze hardened into something sharper, more calculating. Her stepmother, ever composed, maintained a careful smile, but Jiwon didn’t miss the way her fingers tensed against the table’s edge.

They hadn’t expected her to come. More importantly, they hadn’t expected for her to come with him.

A fleeting sense of satisfaction sparked in her chest, only to be replaced by the crushing weight of their stares.

Jiwon’s grip on his hand faltered, uncertainty creeping in. Had this been a mistake?

As they stepped further inside, the atmosphere thickened with unspoken expectations. Conversations stilled, glasses set down mid-motion.

Jiwon forced a nervous smile, holding onto him like a lifeline. “Ah, um…” she started, her voice catching in her throat. “Father, Mother, I—” She glanced toward him, as if drawing strength. “This is—”

And then it happened.

The shift.

His demeanor changed in an instant. The warmth that had reassured her moments ago disappeared, replaced by a cold, unrelenting presence.

His gaze fixed on her stepmother with a sharp, unwavering intensity, and the sudden chill in the air made Jiwon’s pulse stutter. The hand that had held hers so gently now felt like a distant memory.

Without thinking, she withdrew her fingers, instinctively retreating from the invisible force radiating from him.

Her throat tightened as she stole a glance at him. Gone was the composed man who had whispered reassurances in the car; in his place stood someone far colder, far more dangerous.

Her father’s voice sliced through the silence. “You’re late.”

Jiwon stiffened at the weight of his disapproval, but beside her, he remained unmoved, his gaze locked on her stepmother with a simmering fury that made her insides twist.

He didn’t need to say a word—his presence alone sent a message clear enough.

Jiwon swallowed, suddenly feeling like an outsider in her own family’s presence.

Maybe… maybe she shouldn’t have come.

Part 3 -->

[kwilquib]

On the Cliff,

Part 1

Part 2 | Part 3

Park Jiwon (Fromis_9) X Male reader

Word Count: 8.7k+

a/n: Ive tried in this fic, to write in switching POV (reader and Female Lead), and also tried writing where i left the readers name ambiguous.

The neon lights outside the bar flickered weakly, casting a dim glow on the crowded streets of Seoul. Inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke and the dull hum of conversation, broken only by the occasional burst of laughter. Park Jiwon sat at the far end of the bar, nursing her third drink of the night, the ice in her glass long since melted.

The neon lights outside the bar flickered weakly, casting a dim glow on the crowded streets of Seoul. Inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke and the dull hum of conversation, broken only by the occasional burst of laughter. Park Jiwon sat at the far end of the bar, nursing her third drink of the night, the ice in her glass long since melted.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she traced the rim of the glass, her mind swimming with thoughts she couldn't drown, no matter how much alcohol she consumed. The past few months had been hell—her job hanging by a thread, her father breathing down her neck, and now... this.

She exhaled sharply, pressing her fingertips to her temple. Work was a battlefield she could never seem to win. Her boss barely acknowledged her, dumping last-minute projects on her desk with impossible deadlines, and the younger editors—brighter, hungrier—were all too eager to step over her. She was starting to wonder if she’d ever escape the suffocating mediocrity that her life had become.

But even that stress paled in comparison to her father.

Park Sangho. CEO. Tyrant. The man who controlled her life with an iron grip. She could still hear his voice from earlier that evening, sharp and cutting like a blade.

“I won’t let you embarrass me any further, Jiwon. You will marry Director Kang, and that’s final.”

His words had echoed in her ears long after the call ended, filling her with a sickening sense of dread. She had tried—God, she had tried—to reason with him, to tell him that she wasn’t some bargaining chip he could use to salvage his failing company. But his fury had been swift, the bruises on her arm hidden beneath the sleeve of her blouse a testament to that.

Jiwon swallowed the lump in her throat and downed the rest of her drink in one go, wincing as the alcohol burned down her throat. What was she supposed to do? She had no place to go, no one to turn to. If she went back home, her father would push the marriage harder. If she stayed out, she'd only delay the inevitable.

Her reflection in the bar’s mirror caught her attention—dark eyes clouded with exhaustion, lips pressed into a thin line, a faint bruise peeking from beneath her makeup near her cheekbone. She looked exactly how she felt. Tired. Trapped. Alone.

“Sir, another please” she requested, handing her glass toward the bartender, who gave her a wary glance before refilling it.

"Hey, pretty thing," a voice slurred beside her, cutting through the noise.

Jiwon stiffened, her eyes widening as she glanced up. A man—older, disheveled, and smelling strongly of alcohol—was leaning too close, his smile wide and unpleasant. His hand rested on the bar, creeping toward hers inch by inch.

"You've been sitting here all alone," he said smoothly, his gaze lingering too long. "Need some company?"

Jiwon’s lips parted, but no words came out at first. Her mind scrambled for a polite way out, something that wouldn’t make him angry. She forced a small, uncertain smile. "Oh... um, no, thank you. I-I’m waiting for someone," she said softly, her voice wavering.

The man chuckled, clearly not believing her. "Come on now, don’t be shy. A sweet thing like you shouldn’t be drinking alone. Let me take care of you."

Jiwon’s heart began to race. She tried to inch away, but the barstool’s narrow space made it impossible. "T-That’s really kind of you, but I’m fine, really..."

Her voice trailed off when he suddenly reached for her wrist, his fingers curling around it too tightly. Panic swelled in her chest, and she instinctively tried to tug free, but he didn’t let go.

"Don't be like that, sweetheart," he said, his grin widening.

Jiwon’s breath hitched. Her head spun with fear, and for a moment, she froze, unsure of what to do. Was she overreacting? Maybe he didn’t mean any harm... right?

"I-I really need to go..." she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, her eyes darting around the room for help.

And then, a voice—cold and sharp—cut through the haze of her growing panic.

"She’s with me.”

—

This week has been exhausting. Your grandmother’s constant nagging about finding a wife, the relentless investors pressing you for an heir, and the vultures circling your company, waiting for any sign of weakness to strike. It was a never-ending cycle of boardroom battles and power plays, leaving you drained and disillusioned.

Then there were the usual sleazy old guys—insignificant men trying to weasel their way into your good graces, hoping you’d throw them a lifeline. It was pathetic, really, the way they groveled, desperate for an investment they didn’t deserve.

Tonight, you needed an escape. Something to drown out the noise.

The bar was dimly lit, filled with the low hum of conversation and the rhythmic thump of music. You didn’t come here often, but it was one of the few places where no one cared who you were. Just another man in a suit looking for a drink. Maybe a distraction. Maybe a hookup.

As you leaned against the bar, nursing your whiskey, your eyes drifted across the room, scanning the crowd with detached indifference. Couples whispering sweet nothings, groups of friends laughing over shared stories, and women—plenty of them—each eyeing you with varying degrees of interest.

And then you saw her.

She sat a few seats away, curled in on herself like she was trying to disappear. Compared to the usual crowd, she looked painfully out of place. Everything about her screamed innocence—too wide eyes, too soft features, too much hesitation. A woman like her didn’t belong here.

She was nursing a soju glass like it held all the answers to her problems, and you couldn’t help but notice how small she looked under the weight of whatever was troubling her. She had no business being here alone.

That should’ve been the end of it. You should’ve looked away, but then, some bastard slid into the seat next to her.

You watched as he leaned in too close, the stink of cheap liquor practically visible from where you sat. She flinched but didn’t push him away. Instead, she smiled nervously—too polite, too naive.

It annoyed you.

She wasn’t stupid, was she? Anyone could see what kind of man he was. Yet, she sat there, clutching her drink like it could shield her, trying to handle the situation with politeness instead of common sense.

The man’s hand reached out, curling around her wrist, and her eyes widened in that telltale way that told you she had no idea how to get out of this.

Pathetic.

You sighed, setting your glass down with a little more force than necessary, and before you knew it, you were standing.

"She’s with me."

Your voice was sharp, cutting through the noise like a blade. The man turned, bleary-eyed and annoyed, but the second his gaze met yours, his confidence withered.

"Sorry, man," he muttered, raising his hands in surrender before slinking away.

You didn’t bother watching the man stumble away. Your focus stayed on her—on the way she blinked up at you with wide, uncertain eyes, as if trying to make sense of what just happened. Surprise flickered across her delicate features, followed by something softer. Gratitude, maybe.

“Th-Thank you,” she stammered, her voice barely above the hum of the bar.

You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “You should go home,” you said, your tone sharper than intended. “Guys like him aren’t going to be the last.”

She hesitated, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. “I... I can’t really go home right now,” she murmured, her gaze dropping to the glass in front of her.

Her answer should have annoyed you, but instead, it piqued your curiosity. Before you could question it, she looked up again and extended a hand. “Jiwon,” she said softly. “Park Jiwon.”

You stared at her hand for a beat too long before shaking it, her fingers cool and small against yours.

“Let me buy you a drink,” she offered, a tentative smile tugging at her lips. “As thanks.”

You considered her for a moment, then shrugged and took the seat beside her. Free drinks weren’t something you turned down, even if they came from someone who clearly didn’t belong in a place like this.

She signaled the bartender, her small hand barely reaching across the bar. “Excuse me, please. One…” Her voice trailed off, embarrassment flickering across her face as she realized she had no idea what to order for you.

“...Whiskey,” you finished for her, watching the way her lips parted in relief. Your gaze lingered, drifting lower to the graceful curve of her neck, the delicate slope exposed by the collar of her blouse. She looked soft—too soft, too vulnerable. Something stirred deep inside you, something you weren’t willing to acknowledge.

She offered a nervous smile. “Let's say I can't go home, but at least I shouldn’t be drinking alone, right?”

Your jaw tightened at how casually she said it. "You shouldn't be here at all."

Jiwon sighed, stirring the melting ice in her glass. “It’s fine,” she said softly. “I don't think he meant any harm.”

You stared at her, disbelief prickling beneath your skin. “Meant no harm?” Your voice dropped, harsher than intended. “If I was a second later, he would’ve had his hands around your neck—”

You stopped abruptly, swallowing down the anger that came too easily. Your eyes flickered back to her throat, to the faint line where her pulse fluttered beneath the skin. You clenched your fists, dragging your gaze away.

She shifted in her seat, clearly unnerved by your sudden intensity, but still too naive to understand the weight of the situation.

“Are you really that naive?” you asked, more irritated than concerned. "Or do you just enjoy putting yourself in danger?”

Jiwon blinked up at you, and for a moment, you thought she might cry. But instead, she straightened, something stubborn in her eyes. “I can handle myself,” she whispered, but even she didn’t sound convinced.

You leaned in slightly, your voice low. “No, Jiwon. You can’t.”

Your gaze dropped again—her throat, the way it moved when she swallowed nervously. You told yourself it was just irritation, just frustration at her carelessness. But deep down, you knew better.

The conversation went silent, the air between you thick with unspoken words. You could have left. You should have. But something—something you couldn't quite explain—kept you anchored to your seat. An unease that wouldn't let you walk away, not yet.

So you stayed, drinking through the discomfort, each glass dulling the sharp edge of your thoughts. Four? No, maybe five now? You'd lost count somewhere between watching the ice melt in your glass and the way Jiwon's fingers trembled slightly around hers.

You turned to check on her, and the sight that greeted you made something stir deep in your chest. Her pale skin was now flushed, her cheeks tinted with a soft, rosy hue, her eyes unfocused yet still holding that same innocent trust.

"Hey," you called out, your voice lower, rougher than before. "You said you could handle yourself..."

Jiwon lifted her gaze to yours, her lips parting slightly. "I am handling myself," she murmured, voice hazy and far too soft. "And you're still here, so I don't have to worry."

Her naivety chipped away at your patience, poking at something dark inside you. You leaned in, amusement curling in your chest. "You already trust me? You don’t even know my name."

Her brows furrowed slightly, her drunken mind slowly processing your words. Then, with the same unwavering innocence, she reasoned, "You wouldn’t stay with me if you weren’t a good guy."

You let out a low, humorless chuckle. "What if I stayed exactly because I have intentions?"

Jiwon's eyes widened, realization flickering briefly before the alcohol dulled it. She blinked slowly, and then, as if accepting her own reckless logic, she whispered, "I trust you."

And then she did something you didn’t expect. Both her hands reached out, cupping your face, her touch warm—maybe from the alcohol, maybe something else. But it burned, seeping into your skin, igniting something dangerous in you.

Your jaw clenched under her gentle hold, and you exhaled slowly through your nose. "You're going to regret that," you muttered.

Before she could respond, you scooped her up in a swift, effortless motion, carrying her out of the bar in a bridal carry.

Jiwon made a small sound of protest, but it was lost against your chest, her body too pliant, too trusting. You told yourself it was just the alcohol making her reckless, but deep down, you knew—this girl didn't belong in your world. And yet, here she was.

—

The low hum of the car engine thrummed beneath her, a steady, grounding noise that pulled Jiwon back from the hazy edges of drunkenness. Her head lolled against the cool leather of the seat, and as her vision cleared, the blurry city lights outside the window sharpened into focus.

Reality crept in slowly.

She blinked once, twice, and the events of the bar replayed in her mind in disjointed fragments—the stranger’s leering smile, the way her heart had pounded in fear, and then... him. The man beside her now.

Her eyes flickered toward him cautiously. He sat there, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually against the gearshift, his sharp profile illuminated by the passing streetlights. The weight of his presence, his quiet confidence, pressed against her like an invisible force. And then it hit her.

I trust you.

Jiwon’s breath hitched as heat crept up her neck, mortification settling heavy in her chest. She had touched him, her fingers brushing against the sharp planes of his face without a second thought. Her lips parted slightly, as if to say something, to take it back, to explain herself—but no words came.

"You’re awake," his voice cut through the thick silence, deep and knowing.

She stiffened, hands curling into fists in her lap. "...Yes," she murmured, her voice quieter than she intended.

His lips quirked up, almost amused, but he didn’t look at her. "You remember?"

She swallowed hard. "Some of it..."

"Good."

The weight of that single word settled in her stomach like a stone. Jiwon turned her gaze to the window, watching the neon lights blur past, wondering where they were headed. She should have asked. She should have cared.

But then his hand reached over—strong, warm fingers brushing against her wrist, guiding her gently but firmly. And she followed.

She didn't know why. Maybe it was the remnants of alcohol clouding her judgment, or maybe it was something else—something deeper, something unspoken. A pull she didn't understand.

Before she knew it, they were in the elevator of a sleek hotel, the air thick with unspoken tension. Her pulse pounded against her skin, each ding of the elevator a countdown to something inevitable.

The doors slid open, and he stepped out, never loosening his grip on her wrist. She followed him down the quiet hallway, past doors she didn’t dare glance at, her heart pounding louder than their footsteps.

Inside the room, the door clicked shut behind them, sealing them away from the rest of the world. Jiwon stood frozen, her back pressed against the door as she finally looked up at him. The dim lighting cast shadows across his face, making him look even more dangerous, more untouchable.

"I should..." her voice wavered, hesitant, but even she didn’t know how to finish that sentence. I should go? I should stop?

He took a step closer, and Jiwon’s breath caught in her throat.

"Do you want to leave?" His voice was low, almost gentle, but there was something else beneath it. Something that made her stomach twist.

She opened her mouth to answer, to say yes, to say no, to say something—anything—but no words came out. Instead, she felt her head shake slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if her body had decided for her. His lips curved into a faint, knowing smile, and he stepped closer, closing the distance between them.

Jiwon’s breath hitched as his hand slid up her arm, his touch leaving a trail of warmth that made her skin tingle. His other hand came up to cup her face, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. She felt her eyes flutter shut, her body instinctively leaning into his touch, even as her mind screamed at her to stop.

His lips were on hers before she could think, soft yet demanding, and Jiwon felt herself melt under the weight of it. Her hands, which had been clenched into fists at her sides, slowly uncurled, her fingers trembling as they reached up to grip the front of his shirt. She didn’t know what she was doing, didn’t know why she was letting this happen, but she couldn’t stop herself.

His kiss deepened, and Jiwon felt a heat spread through her, pooling low in her stomach. Her inexperience showed in the way she hesitated, the way her movements were unsure, but he didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he guided her, his hands firm yet gentle, his lips coaxing hers to respond.

When he finally pulled away, Jiwon was breathless, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she stared up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. He studied her for a moment, his gaze dark and unreadable, before he leaned in again, this time to press a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"Jiwon," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. "Do you still trust me?”

Jiwon, perhaps too trusting, perhaps she knew what she was doing, perhaps she wanted it herself.

She, Jiwon simply nodded.

"Good girl."

Seeing her eyes wide and vulnerable, a slow smile tugs at the corners of your lips. She should be resisting, pushing back against you, yet she naively trusts you. Her innocence makes it more difficult for you to control yourself. You want to prove her wrong, want her to regret her choices, want her to learn—you want her.

The sight of her trembling chest and quick breaths sends shivers down your spine. You trace slow circles with your thumb against her cheeks. You lean in, breathing down her neck, her scent filling your thoughts. Her clear, smooth skin makes you want to mark her.

And you do. You suck on her neck, tasting her flesh. Her hands rest on your chest, poised to push you away, yet all she did was curl her fingers. Instead, she voices a subtle moan: "Mmm..."

Her knees trembling, but you keep her steady in your embrace, relishing in her helplessness. When you pull back, leaving behind a faint ache and a warm throb on her skin, you see the confusion and desire swirling in her eyes. It's intoxicating to know that you have this power over her, this ability to make her feel such conflicting emotions.

Her name rolled off your tongue, low and rough, a sound that seemed to echo in the charged silence between you. "Jiwon." The way her wide, innocent eyes flickered to yours, the way her breath hitched at the sound of her own name—it was intoxicating. There was something about her purity, her naivety, that made the desire to claim her even more irresistible.

“I… I haven't done this be.. before..” She shyly confess.

"You're so cute and innocent… too innocent…" you murmured, your voice a mix of amusement and something darker, something possessive.

Your hand brushed her hair back, tucking it behind her ear to give you a clearer view of her face—her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the way her breath came in shallow gasps. Your fingers traced the delicate line of her jaw, and she held her breath, her body trembling under your touch. You let your hand drift lower, following the curves of her body, savoring the way she shivered under your fingertips. When your hand lingered on her stomach, you could feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her body reacted to even the slightest touch.

Your hand dipped below the waistband of her pants, and she flinched slightly, a soft gasp escaping her lips. But there was no real resistance in her movements, no attempt to push you away. Instead, her wide eyes followed your hand, mesmerized, as if she couldn’t look away even if she wanted to.

With ease, you slipped your fingers beneath her underwear, your touch meeting the warmth and wetness that pooled between her legs. A smirk tugged at your lips as you realized just how ready she was for you. "Jiwon, acting so innocent…" you teased, your voice low and rough, "yet your body's so lustful."

Her cheeks burned at your words, her lips parting as if to protest, but no sound came out. Instead, a soft, breathy moan escaped her as you rubbed your finger against her entrance, her warmth coating your skin. Her body was already betraying her, her wetness inviting your fingers deeper, her hole radiating heat that seemed to pull you in.

Before she could form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence, your finger pushed inside her, and her breath hitched, her back arching slightly. Her gaze remained fixed on your hand, her eyes wide and unblinking, as if she couldn’t believe what was happening. Her moans were muffled, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she tried to suppress the sounds threatening to escape.

But you didn’t let her hide. You moved your finger slowly, deliberately, watching her face as her innocence unraveled under your touch. "Don’t hold back," you murmured, your voice a low command. "Let me hear you."

Her lips trembled, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps as you continued to move your finger inside her. Her hands clutched at the sheets beneath her, her knuckles turning white, but she didn’t try to stop you. Instead, her body arched into your touch, her hips moving slightly, as if seeking more.

"You’re so responsive," you said, your voice a mix of admiration and something darker, something possessive. "So pure, yet so eager. It’s intoxicating."

Her moans grew louder, less restrained, as you added a second finger, stretching her carefully. Her eyes fluttered shut, her head tilting back as waves of pleasure washed over her. "Ah... I... I can't..." she whispered, her voice quivering, but the words died on her lips. Her body spoke volumes instead—hips moving in rhythm with your fingers, breath coming in ragged gasps.

Her breath hitched at your command, her body trembling as she struggled to obey. Slowly, her eyelids fluttered open, her wide, innocent eyes locking onto yours. There was a mix of vulnerability and desire in her gaze, a silent plea for something she couldn’t quite name.

"Look at how wet you are," you repeated, your voice low and rough, as you withdrew your fingers slightly, letting her see the glistening evidence of her arousal. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, her lips parting in a soft gasp as she stared at your hand, mesmerized and mortified all at once.

"I... I didn’t know..." she whispered, her voice trembling, but you cut her off with a firm, possessive tone.

"Look at how much your body wants this,” you said, your fingers pushing back inside her, deeper this time, curling in a way that made her back arch off the bed.

Her breath came in short, uneven gasps, her hands clutching at the sheets as pleasure coiled tightly in her core. Her hips moved instinctively, seeking more of your touch, more of the intoxicating sensation you were giving her. "Ah... I... I can’t..." she whimpered, her voice breaking as the pressure built inside her.

"Let go," you commanded, your voice firm but laced with a dark tenderness. "I want to see you fall apart for me."

Her body obeyed before her mind could catch up. The tension inside her snapped, and she cried out, her voice a mix of surprise and relief as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Her back arched, her thighs trembling as she clenched around your fingers, her release washing over her in a dizzying rush.

You watched her closely, savoring every twitch, every gasp, every shudder that rippled through her body. Her innocence, her purity, was now forever marked by the pleasure you had given her. And as she slowly came down from her high, her breath still ragged, her body still trembling, you leaned in close, your lips brushing against her ear.

Waves of pleasure travel throughout her body, her hips out of control kept jerking. Her climax semingly unending as she can still vividly remember his finger inside of her as if it never left.

“Good girl”

Her thoughts that was swamp with pleasure cleared after he heard his voice. Jiwon dropped to her knees as her legs gave out. Her strength leaving her as she thinking it was over, she was satisfied more she asked for, she was relieved after a very long time.

But before she could even gather herself, arms suddenly swoop her, rasing her up.

Before she realized she was cradle in his arm, leaning into his chest.

He didn't talk, he didn't inform Jiwon on what his plan, Jiwon didn't know what was in his head, Jiwon didn't question what was he doing, all she did was trust him.

Jiwon dropped to her knees as it strength leaves her legs, her pelvis still burning from the after. She can still vividly remember his fingers inside as if it never left

Waves of pleasure continued to ripple through her body, even as his fingers left her. Her hips jerked involuntarily, still chasing the sensation, her climax seemingly unending. The memory of his touch lingered vividly, as if his fingers were still inside her, still coaxing every last tremor of pleasure from her trembling form.

"Good girl," his voice cut through the haze, low and approving, and Jiwon’s thoughts, once swamped with pleasure, began to clear. Her legs gave out beneath her, and she dropped to her knees, her strength completely drained. She gasped for air, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her body still trembling from the intensity of her release.

For a moment, she thought it was over. She felt satisfied, more than she had ever imagined possible, and a strange sense of relief washed over her, as if a weight she hadn’t even realized she was carrying had been lifted. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing, trying to gather herself.

But before she could even process what had happened, strong arms suddenly swooped beneath her, lifting her effortlessly off the floor. Jiwon let out a small, surprised gasp, her body instinctively curling into his chest as he cradled her against him. Her head rested against his shoulder, her breath still uneven, her mind still foggy with the remnants of pleasure.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t tell her what he was planning, didn’t explain where he was taking her. Jiwon didn’t know what was going through his mind, didn’t know what he intended to do next. But she didn’t question him. She didn’t resist. Instead, she simply trusted him, her body relaxing in his arms as he carried her down the hallway.

When they reached the bedroom, he set her down gently on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering on her waist for a moment as if to steady her. Jiwon’s legs still felt weak, her body still trembling from the intensity of what had just happened, but she sat upright, her wide, innocent eyes looking up at him with a mix of curiosity and nervousness.

He knelt before her, his hands moving to the hem of her shirt with a tenderness that felt almost reverent. The fabric slid upward slowly, his touch deliberate yet gentle, as if he were handling something precious. She raised her arms to assist, her movements hesitant but willing, her breath hitching as the cool air brushed against her now-bare skin. His gaze remained locked on hers, dark and intense, yet softened by something unspoken that made her pulse quicken.

Next, his fingers found the button of her pants, and she stiffened slightly, her hands fidgeting in her lap. "Relax," he murmured, his voice low and steady, though the roughness beneath the surface hinted at the restraint he was clinging to. "I’ll take care of you."

She nodded, her lips trembling as he undid the button and eased her pants down her legs. He paused, his hands lingering on her thighs, his breath catching as he took her in. His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his composure.

Now clad only in her white, flowery underwear, Jiwon sat at the edge of the bed, her smooth skin glowing under the dim lamplight. Her curves were unveiled, her bra accentuating the gentle swell of her breasts, her panties still damp from earlier. She waited, her heart racing, unsure of what would come next.

He stepped back, hurriedly shedding his own clothes. Jiwon’s eyes widened, her gaze flickering over his body with a mix of awe and nervousness. When he finally removed the last piece of clothing, her breath caught in her throat.

Her eyes fell to his shaft, stiff and swollen, and her mind flooded with questions.

Why is it so big?

Is it always like that?

Is it as hard as it looks?

Is it warm—or hot?

Why does it seem so full, like it’s about to burst?

Driven by curiosity, her hand trembled as she reached out, her fingers hovering just above him. But before she could make contact, his hand shot out, catching her wrist gently but firmly.

"Don’t," he said, his voice low and rough, his eyes dark with warning. "I can only hold back so much."

Though she didn’t fully understand his words, she quickly pulled her hand back, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I-I’m sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling.

He shook his head, his expression softening. "You don’t need to apologize," he said, his tone gentler now. "Just... let me take care of you."

"Jiwon," he said, his voice low and rough, "look at me."

She obeyed, her wide eyes meeting his, and he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently over her cheeks.

His hands guided her gently, easing her down onto the bed with a tenderness that belied the intensity in his eyes. He kept the intimate distance between their lips, his breath mingling with hers as he climbed onto the bed, his body following hers as he moved her farther into the soft mattress. The weight of him above her was both comforting and overwhelming, his presence enveloping her completely.

He leaned in, finally closing the distance between their lips, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss that was both demanding and tender. His tongue brushed against her bottom lip, seeking entry, and Jiwon hesitated for only a moment before parting her lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss. His tongue slid into her mouth, intertwining with hers in a slow, deliberate dance that left her breathless.

Their kiss seemed unending, each movement of his lips and tongue sending shivers down her spine. But as they kissed, Jiwon became acutely aware of the subtle shifts in his body, the way his hips pressed against hers, the way his tip brushed against her belly with every small movement. At first, she was surprised, her eyes fluttering open for a brief moment before she closed them again, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

But as the kiss continued, she found herself anticipating the sensation, her body reacting instinctively to the subtle friction. She began to notice which movements caused his tip to touch her skin, and without fully realizing it, she started to move herself in ways that would bring them into contact more often. It was almost unconscious, a natural response to the heat building between them, but each time she felt him against her, a thrill of excitement shot through her.

His hands roamed over her body, his touch firm yet gentle, as if he were memorizing every curve, every inch of her. He broke the kiss for a moment, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he looked down at her, his eyes dark with desire. "Jiwon," he murmured, his voice rough and strained, "you’re driving me crazy."

She blinked up at him, her lips slightly swollen from their earlier kiss, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. "I... I didn’t mean to," she whispered, her voice trembling, her words barely audible.

In one swift motion, his hands moved around her back, fingers deftly finding the clasp of her bra. With a soft click, it loosened, and he gently slid the straps down her arms, Jiwon assisting with a quiet compliance. Her chest was now fully exposed, her nipples erect and sensitive to the cool air—and to his gaze.

He didn’t hesitate. Lowering himself, he descended to her torso, his breath hot against her skin as it brushed over her sensitive chest. She shivered, a soft gasp escaping her lips as he began to explore her with his mouth. His tongue flicked against one nipple, teasing it before his lips closed around it, sucking gently but insistently. At the same time, his other hand moved to her opposite breast, his fingers rolling and pinching the nipple with just the right amount of pressure, ensuring it wasn’t neglected.

Jiwon’s breath hitched, her back arching slightly as pleasure rippled through her. Her hands found their way to his shoulders, fingers gripping tightly as she tried to steady herself. The sensations were overwhelming—his mouth hot and demanding, his touch both soothing and electrifying. She could feel once more the heat pooling low in her abdomen.

"Ah—" she whimpered, her voice trembling as she struggled to process the intensity of it all. Her mind was a haze of desire and vulnerability, her thoughts scattering as he continued to lavish attention on her. Every flick of his tongue, every gentle tug of his lips, sent waves of pleasure coursing through her, leaving her breathless and yearning for more.

But the sensation suddenly disappeared…

Before quickly reappearing in her belly.

Her breath came in shallow gasps, her body trembling as the sensations shifted. His tongue, which had been tracing lines across her stomach, now moved lower, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. She could feel his hands on her hips, firm yet gentle, as they hooked into the waistband of her panties and began to peel them away. Her womanhood, already slick with arousal, was exposed to the cool air—and to him.

She watched, her heart pounding, as he kissed his way down her thighs, his movements deliberate and unhurried. His breath was warm against her skin, sending shivers through her as he neared her most intimate place. When his head dipped between her legs, disappearing from her view, she felt a mix of anticipation and nervousness. She couldn’t see his face, but she could feel his gaze on her, intense and unwavering, as if he were studying her, memorizing every detail.

Then it happened—something warm and wet pressed against her, and she realized it was his tongue. Her breath hitched, her hands gripping the sheets as he began to explore her with a slow, deliberate precision. The sensation was foreign yet intoxicating, his tongue moving in ways that made her toes curl and her back arch.

But then something changed. His tongue delved deeper, more insistently, moving in unpredictable patterns that left no part of her untouched. It was wide and thorough, exploring her with an intensity that made her gasp. Her mind struggled to process the overwhelming pleasure, her thoughts scattering as he continued to taste her, to devour her.

When he finally pulled back, his head rising from between her legs, she saw him lick his lips, as if savoring the flavor of her. The realization of what he had just done—what he had just tasted—sent a flush of heat to her cheeks. She was utterly exposed, both physically and emotionally, and yet the way he looked at her, with a mix of hunger and reverence, made her feel something she couldn’t quite name.

Her voice was barely a whisper, trembling with a mix of embarrassment and desire. "You... you—" she started, but the words caught in her throat. She didn’t know what to say, how to articulate the storm of emotions swirling inside her.

He didn’t speak, either. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against her inner thigh in a soft, almost apologetic kiss, as if to reassure her. His eyes met hers, dark and intense, and in that moment, she knew he wasn’t done—not with her, not with this. And despite the whirlwind of sensations and emotions, she found herself wanting more, craving whatever came next.

“Jiwon, i can't hold back any longer” He stated. His eyes meet Jiwon, seemingly waiting for her confirmation.

Jiwon’s breath hitched as his voice broke the silence, low and rough, filled with a tension that mirrored the ache building inside her. His eyes locked onto hers, dark and intense, searching for her consent, her approval. She could see the restraint in his expression, the way his jaw tightened as he waited, giving her the power to decide.

For a moment, she hesitated, her mind racing with a mix of fear and desire. She had never been this vulnerable, this exposed, with anyone before. But the way he looked at her—with a hunger that was tempered by something softer, something protective—made her feel safe, even in her uncertainty.

Her lips parted, her voice trembling as she whispered, “I… I trust you.”

It was all he needed. His eyes flared with something primal, yet his touch remained gentle as he shifted closer, his hands sliding to her hips to guide her into position. She could feel the heat of him, the weight of his desire pressing against her, and her heart pounded in anticipation.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice thick with need but still tender. “Keep your eyes on me.”

She obeyed, her gaze locking onto his as he positioned himself at her entrance. The first touch of him against her sent a jolt through her body, and she gasped, her fingers digging into the sheets. He moved slowly, carefully, giving her time to adjust, his eyes never leaving hers.

As he finally pushed forward, a sharp, unfamiliar pain tore through Jiwon, stealing her breath and leaving her gasping for air. Her fingers clawed at the sheets, her back arching involuntarily as her body reacted to the sudden intrusion. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over as she struggled to process the intensity of the sensation. Her mind raced, replaying every choice that had led her to this moment, every step that had brought her here.

“Ah— it hurts…” she pleaded, her voice trembling, her body tense as she tried to endure the pain.

He froze immediately, his body going still as he felt her tense beneath him. The pause gave her a moment to catch her breath, her body slowly relaxing as the initial shock began to subside. The pain, while still present, became more manageable, and her focus shifted from the discomfort to the sensation of him inside her.

She could feel his warmth spreading through her, his presence reshaping her in ways she had never imagined. His throbs pulsed within her, a rhythm that seemed to echo in her very core. Her body heated further, a mix of curiosity and anticipation building within her.

Her thoughts raced, tumbling over one another in a chaotic flood.

Is this what sex is?

What happens after this?

How would it feel if he moved?

The pain that had consumed her just moments ago was now overshadowed by a growing curiosity, a yearning to understand, to experience more. Her passion ignited, her body responding to his presence in ways she couldn’t fully comprehend.

But before she could fully process her thoughts, his voice broke through the haze, his words pulling her back to reality.

“Jiwon… you’re bleeding.”

—

Her blood trickles onto you before it stains the bedsheets, a vivid reminder of what just happened. The sight of it sends a jolt through you, a mix of awe and something primal stirring deep within.

“I—I told you,” she whispers, her voice trembling, pulling your attention back to her. Your gaze shifts to her face, but her eyes are avoiding yours, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and something else—something vulnerable. “I’ve never done this before.”

The words hit you like a wave, and it all clicks into place. You remember her saying it earlier, but now, in this moment, the weight of it sinks in. She wasn’t just talking about the circumstances—she meant it was her first time. Ever. The realization sends a rush of heat through you, your body reacting in ways you can’t fully control.

You stare at her, taking in the way her hands grip each other, as if seeking comfort or reassurance. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, bitten nervously, and her entire demeanor screams innocence. This was her first time, and now… she’s no longer a maiden. Because of you.

The thought sends a surge of possessiveness through you, your excitement flaring as you realize what you’ve just claimed. Her first time. Her first everything. The heat in your body rises, your desire intensifying as you struggle to hold onto the last shreds of your sanity. She’s driving you insane, and she doesn’t even realize it.

“Jiwon,” you murmur, your voice low and rough, barely holding back the storm of emotions raging inside you. “…you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

She blinks up at you, her wide eyes finally meeting yours, and in that moment, you see it—the trust, the vulnerability, the curiosity. It’s all there, laid bare for you to see. And it only makes you want her more.

You lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss that’s both possessive and tender, trying to convey everything you can’t put into words. When you pull back, your forehead rests against hers, your breath mingling as you try to steady yourself.

“I’ll go slow,” you promise, your voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

She nods, her lips trembling, and you can feel her body slowly relaxing beneath you. You shift slightly, adjusting your position, and then you begin to move again, your thrusts slow and deliberate, giving her time to adjust. The way she feels around you is intoxicating—warm, tight, and utterly consuming. You have to fight to keep your movements controlled, to keep from losing yourself completely.

“Hmmmn…” she whimpers, desperately trying to hold back her moans, her voice trembling with restraint.

You can feel how tense she is, her walls gripping you with such intensity that it’s almost difficult to move. She’s holding back, both physically and emotionally, and you know she needs reassurance. You pull out slightly, feeling her body resist for a moment before you push back in, deeper this time. It’s still tight, but there’s a faint ease, as if her body is slowly molding to yours, adjusting to your size.

“Relax, Jiwon,” you murmur, your voice low and soothing as you continue to move against her, slow and steady. “You’re too tight… just let go. Trust me.”

Her hands grip your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as she clings to you. Her breath comes in short, uneven gasps, and you can feel her body responding to you, slowly but surely. Every sound she makes, every tremble of her body, only fuels your desire, and you can feel your restraint slipping. You pull out again, this time a little further, and when you push back in, you can feel her body yielding more easily, allowing you to go deeper. The sensation is overwhelming, and you have to grit your teeth to keep from losing control.

“Don’t hold yourself back,” you breathe into her ear, your voice a husky whisper. “Moan for me, Jiwon… let it all out.”

“Oh god… it feels weird, it’s—it’s… ah…” she moans, her voice breaking as she finally lets go, the sound sending a jolt of heat through you.

“You’re doing so well,” you murmur, your voice rough with need but laced with tenderness. “You fit me so well, Jiwon.”

Her eyes flutter closed, her body arching slightly as she begins to move with you, tentatively at first, but then with more confidence. The way she responds to you, the way she trusts you, only makes you want her more. Her innocence, her vulnerability—it’s all for you, and it drives you wild. You pull out again, this time almost completely, and when you thrust back in, you can feel her body opening up to you, accepting you more fully. It’s as if she’s molding to your shape, her walls gripping you tightly but with less resistance, allowing you to push deeper than before.

“Ahh… it’s too much… I can’t… something’s—” she gasps, her voice trembling as her body tenses beneath you.

“Let go,” you urge, your voice a low growl, barely holding back your own climax. “I’ve got you.”

“I ca—can’t anymore… something’s coming—ahh!” she cries out, her voice breaking as her body shudders with the force of her release.

“Don’t worry,” you assure her, your voice strained as you feel your own control slipping. “I’m close too…”

Her body tenses, her back arching as a wave of pleasure crashes over her, leaving her breathless and trembling. You feel her climax around you, her walls gripping you tightly as she cries out softly, her voice breaking with the intensity of it. The sensation is overwhelming, and it pushes you over the edge. You pull out one last time, your body trembling with the effort to hold back, and when you thrust back in, you can feel her body fully accepting you, her warmth enveloping you completely.

With a low groan, you pull out just in time, your release spraying across her exhausted body. It lands on her smooth, pale skin, tainting her once more, marking her in a way that feels both primal and possessive. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her climax.

For a moment, you both lie there, breathless and spent, the air thick with the weight of what just happened. You can feel her heart racing against your chest, her body pressed close to yours, her warmth seeping into you.

“Jiwon,” you whisper, your voice soft but filled with emotion. With your fingers you set aside her hair, pulling a hair strand out of her mouth. “You… you’re incredible.”

She doesn’t say anything, her mind clearly still reeling from what just happened. But as she lies there in your arms, her body pressed against yours, you know one thing for certain—she’s yours. And you’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe, to keep her close. Because she’s not just anyone. She’s Jiwon. And she’s everything.

—

The first thing Jiwon noticed when she woke up was the warmth—his warmth. His arm was still wrapped loosely around her waist, his breathing slow and steady against the back of her neck. It was a kind of comfort she’d never known before, and for a moment, she allowed herself to sink into it, to pretend it could last.

But reality was quick to creep in.

She blinked up at the ceiling, her mind replaying the events of the night before in fragments—the way he had touched her, not with urgency, but with a patience that made her chest ache. The way his lips had traced her skin with quiet reverence, his voice low and soothing when she hesitated. He had been so gentle, so careful with her, as if she were something fragile.

No one had ever treated her that way before.

Jiwon’s fingers curled into the sheets. Her father’s voice echoed in the back of her mind, sharp and unyielding. "You're to marry Kang, and that's final." It didn’t matter what she wanted; it never did. Love, tenderness—those were luxuries she was never allowed. Her life was a carefully laid-out plan, dictated by family expectations and obligations.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to move, slowly slipping out from under his arm. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake, and she took it as a sign. If she left now, she could convince herself this was just a fleeting mistake—something she could forget.

Standing by the bed, she watched him for a moment longer. In sleep, he looked softer, less guarded, and something deep inside her twisted painfully. She didn’t even know his name, and yet, he had given her something she had never received from anyone before.

She glanced around the dimly lit hotel room, searching for her clothes. As she quietly dressed, her eyes fell on the bedside table. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a few bills and placed them neatly beside his wallet—enough for breakfast, she thought. It was foolish, but it felt like the right thing to do, a way to show gratitude for something she could never truly repay.

With one last glance, she turned toward the door, hesitating just for a second.

Then, without looking back, she slipped out of the room and into the quiet hotel hallway.

As she stepped outside into the crisp morning air, wrapping her coat tightly around herself, she realized she didn’t regret last night.

For once, she had allowed herself to feel.

And maybe that was why, despite everything—despite the man waiting for her at home, despite the weight of expectations pressing down on her—she knew she had already fallen.

...

Part 2

[kwilquib]

Lazy Morning

Seoyeon X Reader

100 words

You feel it before your eyes even open.

That unmistakable wiggle.

Warm curve pressing into your hips, slow, intentional, and just a little too casual to be innocent.

“Mmh… baby,” slumbrous, by instinct your arms wrap around Seoyeon’s waist. “This again?”

“What again?” giving another slow roll of her hips.

“You’re evil,” giving in, nuzzling into the crook of her neck, already hard and trapped. “Do you want me to ruin this peaceful morning?”

“Shouldn’t have slept next to me,” sliding her hand over yours, resting on her stomach. Her fingers guide yours lower, slow. “Just making use of it…”