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thewritingrowlet · 2 days ago

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The Flavors of Rivalry, ft. STAYC Isa

tags: creampie, (a hint of) breeding

length: 15k

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

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"Through here, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#girl group smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader #male reader smut #smut

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thewritingrowlet · 10 days ago

Text

Office Desire (Saerom)

Synopsis: You are a 21 year old working as Junior Writer at some Digital Agency. Three women, Ms. Saerom from marketing, Ms. Eunbi from sales, and Seoyeon as new Junior Strategist, keep pulling you out of your bubble. They bring teasing, tension, and feelings you're not sure you're ready to deal with.

Lee Saerom / Kwon Eunbi / Yoon Seoyeon

9.4k+

It's Thursday afternoon, and the office is loud and busy as you working on a client's tagline at your desk.

An email from Saerom pops up: "Files Needed ASAP."

She writes, "Hey, cutie. Got those files? Bring them to me. Don't be late." Her tone makes you blush. Saerom's always teasing you, winking, touching your arm in meetings, making you nervous with her charm.

You copy the files onto a flash drive and walk to her desk. Saerom's area is neat but has her style, coffee mugs with lipstick marks, fashion magazines, and a photo of her looking glamorous. She's typing, looking sharp in a tight blazer, her hair perfectly smooth.

"Here's the files," you say quietly, handing her the drive.

She smiles, taking it, her fingers touching yours a bit too long. "So quick," she teases, leaning back, her skirt sliding up slightly, "Hold up. I wanna check them."

You nod, stand awkwardly as she opens the files, her eyes flicking to you playfully.

Suddenly, she pulls you closer by your waist. "Don't be shy," she says, her voice soft.

You freeze as her hand moves lower, brushing against your pants where your cock already half hard from her teasing.

"What's this?" she whispers, smirking, her fingers tracing you slowly. You're embarrassed, unable to speak, your face turns hot.

"Ms. Saerom-" you start, but she laughs.

"Ms.? Just call me Saerom, with noona would be better," she says, her touch bolder, making you tense, "Relax, no ones looking."

Her perfume surrounds you, and your torn part of you wants to run, but part of you likes it. The office is busy, and no one notices, but the risk makes it intense.

Then, Eunbi from sales walks up, confident and smiling. "Saerom, are you stealing our writer again?" she teases, noticing Saerom's hand near your pants.

Saerom doesn't move, saying, "Just checking his... work."

Eunbi laughs, stepping closer, "Are you okay, darling?" she says to you, her hand brushing your arm.

"I'm fine," you mumble, stepping back.

Saerom lets go slowly, winking. "Good job, cutie." she says.

Eunbi smiles as you hurry back to your desk, still flustered, heart pounding.

At your desk, you try to calm down, don't know if you can handle this forever.

The day is finally over, and you're at your desk, shoving your laptop and papers into your bag, ready to head home and crash.

You're exhausted from the day, trying to keep up with work. All you want is to relax and forget the office chaos.

As you zip up your bag, Saerom walks over, her heels clicking softly.

She's still in her tight blazer, her hair a little messy but sexy, and that teasing smile is back on her face. She leans against your desk, close enough that you catch her strong perfume, and it makes your stomach flip.

"Hey, cutie," she says, her voice low and playful, like she's up to something, "Got plans tonight? I need your favor to help me move some boxes at my place. It won't take long." She tilts her head, her eyes locked on yours, making you more nervous.

You pause, gripping your bag, "Uh, I just gonna go home," you say quietly, avoiding her gaze. You're tired, and the idea of more work sounds like too much. Plus, Saerom's flirty always leaves you flustered, and you're not sure if you can handle being alone with her.

She pouts, stepping closer, her hand brushing your arm lightly. "Please?" she says, her voice softer now, almost begging.

"I'll make it worth it. I'll cook you dinner, something really good, like pasta or steak. And I'll give you some cash for the help. Come on, don't make me beg too hard." She giggles, biting her lip, and her fingers linger on your sleeve, sending a little tension through you.

Your face heats up, and you feel your cock twitch in your pants, stirred by her closeness and that flirty tone. You know she's trouble, her teasing in the office already messes with your head, but the thought of being at her place, eating her food, maybe seeing more of her game, pulls you in.

You glance at her, and her eyes are sparkling with mischief, like she knows exactly what she's doing to you. "Huft... okay," you mumble, barely audible, your heart pounding. "I'll help."

Saerom's grin lights up, and she claps her hands together, "Yes! You're the best," she says, her voice excited.

"Meet me at my car in ten minutes, okay? Don't keep me waiting," she winks, her hips swaying as she walks away, leaving you staring after her, your mind racing.

You sit back down for a second, trying to calm the heat in your cheeks and the growing hardness in your pants. You're nervous, excited, and a little scared, wondering what's waiting at her place and if you're ready for whatever she has planned.

You don't know much about her, just bits and pieces from office chatter. She's young, maybe in her early thirties, but already a widow.

Her husband passed away a couple of years ago, leaving her alone, and you've heard she's been on her own since. It makes her flirty, confident vibe feel a little heavier, like there's a story behind her teasing smiles.

You grab your bag and head to the parking lot, spotting Saerom's sleek black car. She's already inside, her window rolled down, "Hop in, cutie," she calls.

You nod, feeling a bit shy, and slide into the passenger seat. The car smells like her perfume, and your heart beats faster, but you try to stay cool.

Saerom focuses on driving, her hands steady on the wheel, eyes on the road. She doesn't tease or flirt, just hums softly to the radio, which is a relief.

The ride is quick and quiet, no weird moments, and you're glad for that. You can calm down, stare out of the window, enjoy the scenes of lights night city.

In no time, you pull up to her apartment building, a modern, tall place with glass windows. She parks and turns to you, smiling. "Thanks for coming," she says.

"Let’s head up." You grab your bag and follow her, feeling nervous but curious, wondering what's next in her world.

You follow Saerom into her apartment, and the door clicks shut behind you. Her place is nice, spacious, with modern furniture, big windows showing the city lights, and a cozy vibe.

"I'm gonna change real quick," Saerom says, pointing to the couch, "Sit, make yourself at home." She disappears down a hallway, leaving you alone.

You set your bag down and wander a bit, looking around. The apartment feels personal, there's a shelf with books, some plants, and a few framed photos.

One catches your eye: a picture of a man, maybe in his late twenties, smiling brightly. It must be her late husband. You remember what you heard at the office, that she's a young widow, her husband gone too soon.

Your chest tightens, feeling sorry for her loss. She's so lively at work, but this must weigh on her.

As you're staring at the photo, Saerom's voice startles you, right behind your ear, "He looks a lot like you."

You jump, turning to find her standing close, her breath warm on your neck. Your heart skips. "A-a lot?” you stammer, caught off guard.

She nods, her eyes soft but with a bitter smile. "Mhm. He was younger than me, cute, quiet, worked hard. But fate took him first." Her voice is steady, but there’s pain there.

You don't know what to say, feeling awkward. "I-I'm sorry," you mumble, looking down.

Saerom tilts her head, her smile warming a little. "Sorry for what? You didn't do anything wrong."

She steps closer, and you finally notice what she's wearing a black lingerie robe, thick but sheer enough to show her bra and panties underneath.

Your eyes widen, and your face burns. Your cock twitches in your pants, and you try to focus on her face, but it’s hard.

"Ms. Saerom..." you start, voice shaky, "a-are you sure about... that outfit?" you gesture vaguely, embarrassed.

She laughs, amused, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "What? Don't like it? Is it ugly?" she teases, stepping even closer, her robe brushing your arm.

"Or... want me to wear nothing?” Her voice is bold now, daring, and your cock hardens more, making you shift uncomfortably.

"N-no, no!" you blurt, waving your hands.

"Keep it on! I mean, it's fine. Better than... nothing." Your words tumble out.

Saerom grins, "Alright, since my cutie want me to cover this," she listens to you and grabs a thicker robe, tying it tightly so it covers her body better.

You feel a bit relieved, your heart still racing from her teasing, but now you can focus.

"Let's get the work," she leads you to a small storage room in her apartment.

She points out boxes and items that need moving and organizing. "Just put these in there, stack them neatly," she says, her tone more practical now, though her playful smile lingers.

You get to work, carrying boxes and bags to the storage room. The stuff isn't heavy, mostly old books, clothes, and some random decor, but there's a lot of it, and it takes effort to move and arrange everything. You're sweating a bit, your arms tired as you stack boxes on shelves and push bags into corners.

Saerom follows you, giving directions like, "That one goes on the top shelf," or "Put those in the back, please." She’s close, watching you work, her presence still making you a little nervous.

After tidying up the storage room, you're sweaty and tired.

Saerom claps her hands with a grin, "You've more than earned that dinner I promised," she says, her voice light.

"Give me some minutes to cook something for you." She heads to the kitchen, and soon the apartment fills with the mouthwatering aroma of garlic and cream.

You sit at her small, cozy dining table, watching her move confidently around the kitchen. She’s still in her thicker robe, her hair loose now, and you try to shake off the lingering tension from earlier.

In about 10 minutes, she brings over two plates of creamy fettuccine Alfredo, the pasta glossy with sauce, and two tall glasses of iced tea with lemon slices, "Hope you're hungry," she says, sitting across from you, her smile warm and inviting.

You dig in, and the pasta is delicious, rich and perfectly cooked, the iced tea refreshing after all the work.

As you eat, Saerom starts talking about her late husband, "He was a lot like you, you know," she says softly, twirling her fork in her pasta.

"Quiet, kind of shy, but so dedicated. He'd work late, always trying to make things better for us. We had dreams, traveling, maybe starting a little business. But then he got sick... and he was gone before we could do any of it." Her voice stays steady, but her eyes sharing old pain.

You listen closely, nodding, feeling her loss in the quiet pauses. "That sounds really tough," you say gently, wanting to comfort her but unsure how.

She gives you a small, bittersweet smile, "It was. But life goes on, right?"

You finish eating, and the meal leaves you full and content. Saerom stands, stacking the empty plates. "Let me grab that money I owe you," she says, heading to her room, "Stay there."

You lean back in the chair, sipping the last of your iced tea, thinking about her story, how she's so strong, carrying that grief yet still teasing at work. It makes you see her differently, like there's more to her than the flirty office games.

A moment later, she's back, holding a few crisp bills. "Here you go," she says, handing them to you with a smile.

You take the money, mumbling, "Thanks, Ms. Saerom." But before you can pocket it, she steps closer, her fingers tugging at the tie of her robe.

In one smooth motion, she pulls it open and lets it drop to the floor, revealing she's completely naked underneath, no black lingerie she had wear it before.

Her skin glows under the soft apartment lights, every curve exposed, and your jaw drops. Your cock surges to life, instantly hard, straining painfully against your pants.

"This is what you were hoping for, right?" she asks, her voice low and teasing, a wicked smirk playing on her lips.

You're speechless, face burning, heart hammering in your chest. Your eyes can't help but trace her body, and your cock throbs.

"I-I... uh," you stammer, brain scrambled, torn between shock and raw desire.

Saerom stands confidently, unbothered by her nudity, clearly enjoying how flustered you are.

She grabs your wrist, her grip firm but not rough. "Come," she says, her voice low and commanding.

Before you can process, she's pulling you toward her bedroom, her naked body moving ahead of you. Your heart pounds, your cock throbbing so hard it's almost painful, and you're half-dazed, unsure if you're scared or just too turned on to think straight.

She leads you into her room, dimly lit, with a big bed covered in soft sheets, and yanks you toward it, pushing you down onto the mattress with a playful but dominant shove.

You land on your back, staring up at her, your breath shaky. She's standing over you, completely bare naked, her eyes intense and hungry.

You're nervous about her boldness, her control. "Ms. Saerom…" you start, voice trembling, trying to find words.

She cuts you off, leaning down, her face close to yours. "Don't 'Ms.' me," she says, her tone sharp but teasing.

"Call me noona if you want this to keep going," her hands move to her body, one cupping her breast, squeezing it slowly, the other sliding down to her pussy, her fingers brushing herself like she's putting on a show.

The sight makes your cock twitch, straining against your pants, and you can't hold back anymore.

"Noona... S-Saerom-noona!" you blurt out, the words spilling from you instinctively.

Her eyes light up, and she smirks, pleased. "Good boy," she purrs, climbing onto the bed.

She straddles you, her bare skin warm against your clothed body, and leans down, kissing you deeply.

Her lips are soft, her tongue pushing into your mouth, and you melt under her, kissing her back as your hands hover, unsure where to touch.

She presses herself closer, her weight pinning you down, until you both lying on the bed, her body on top of yours, her kiss pulling you deeper into the heat of the moment. Your cock pulses beneath her, and you're lost, caught in her control, not sure where this is going but too far gone to care.

Her hands move to your jeans. Still straddling you, she deftly unbuckles your belt, the metal clinking softly, and pops open the button with ease.

Her fingers tug down your zipper, all while her tongue dances with yours, keeping you dizzy with sensation. You're pinned beneath her on the bed, heart racing, your cock so hard it's almost painful.

She breaks the kiss just enough to glance down, her hand slipping into your open jeans. With a quick tug, she pulls them down slightly, freeing your fully erect cock.

It springs out, throbbing, and she wraps her fingers around it, stroking slowly. Her touch is warm and deliberate, sending a jolt through your body.

You gasp against her lips, and she smirks into the kiss, clearly enjoying your reaction. Her thumb brushes over the tip, spreading the slick pre-cum that's already leaking out, making her strokes smoother, teasingly slow.

"Relax, cutie, you're not going anywhere, aren't you?" she whispers against your mouth, her voice low and sultry, before kissing you again, deeper this time.

Her lips move against yours, her kiss fierce and consuming, while her hand keeps stroking your cock, slow and teasing, spreading the pre-cum over your length.

Your breaths come out shaky, every touch making your body tense with need.

She pulls back from the kiss, her eyes glinting with that familiar mischievous spark, and she shifts lower, her bare skin brushing against you as she moves.

"Look at you, so hard for noona," she murmurs, her voice dripping with satisfaction. Her grip tightens slightly, pumping your cock a little faster now, her fingers slick with your pre-cum.

You groan softly, hips twitching up into her hand, unable to help yourself. She chuckles, low and sultry, clearly loving how much control she has over you.

She leans down, her breath hot against your neck as she whispers, "You're so cute when you're like this."

Her lips graze your skin, kissing along your jaw, then lower, while her hand never stops its steady rhythm.

Your cock throbs harder, the heat of her touch and her closeness driving you to the edge. You're still fully clothed except for your open jeans, and the contrast of her naked body against you makes everything feel even more intense.

"Saerom-noona..." you manage to gasp, your voice weak.

She smirks, slowing her strokes again, teasing you, keeping you right on the edge, "Shh, just let me take care of you," she says, her free hand sliding up your chest, pushing your shirt up to expose your skin.

Her fingers trail over your stomach, and you shiver under her touch, your cock pulsing in her grip. You're completely at her control, heart pounding, not sure how much more you can take.

Her hand keeps stroking your cock, her fingers slick with your pre-cum, moving in a slow, torturous rhythm that makes your whole body tense with need.

Her lips trail from your neck back to your mouth, kissing you deeply, her tongue swirling against yours, pulling soft moans from you. You're still pinned under her on the bed, your jeans pushed down just enough to free your throbbing cock, your shirt bunched up from her roaming hands.

She pulls back from the kiss, her eyes dark with hunger, a wicked smile curling her lips. "You're such a good boy for noona," she purrs, her voice low and teasing.

Her hand slows on your cock, and you whimper, hips bucking slightly, desperate for more. She chuckles, clearly enjoying how much she's unraveling you. "Patience," she whispers, shifting her body lower, her breasts brushing against your chest as she moves down.

Your heart races as you realize where she's going. Saerom settles between your legs, her hands tugging your jeans down further to give her more access.

Your cock stands fully hard, glistening with pre-cum from her earlier teasing. She looks up at you, locking eyes, and the intensity in her gaze makes your breath catch.

Without breaking eye contact, she leans forward, her tongue flicking out to lick the tip of your cock, tasting the slickness there. You groan, your head falling back against the pillow, the sensation sharp and electric.

“Fuck, Saerom-noona...” you mumble, voice shaky. She smirks, clearly pleased, and wraps her lips around the head of your cock, sucking gently at first.

Her tongue swirls over the tip, warm and wet, and your hips twitch up instinctively. She hums against you, the vibration sending a jolt through your body, and takes you deeper into her mouth, her lips sliding down your length. Her hand grips the base of your cock, stroking what her mouth doesn't cover, while her tongue works you with slow, deliberate licks.

She's good, too good. Her mouth is hot and tight, and she bobs her head slowly, sucking harder each time she pulls back. Your cock is soaked now, slick with her spit and your pre-cum, and the wet sounds fill the room, mixing with your uneven breaths.

You grip the sheets, trying to stay grounded, but it's overwhelming, her lips, her tongue, the way she moans softly around you like she's enjoying it as much as you are. Your cock throbs in her mouth, and you're already so close, the heat building fast.

Saerom senses it and pulls off with a soft pop, her lips shiny, a string of spit connecting her mouth to your cock. "Not yet," she teases, licking her lips as she crawls back up your body.

"I'm not done with you," her voice is sultry, and your eyes widen as she straddles you again, positioning herself right over your slick, aching cock.

You can feel the heat of her pussy hovering just above you, and it’s driving you crazy, "Saerom-noona..." you start, but she shushes you with a finger to your lips.

"Shushh, silence," she says, gripping your cock with one hand, lining it up with her entrance.

She's wet, dripping, you can tell, and the sight of her above you, naked and confident, makes your head spin.

Slowly, she lowers herself, the head of your cock slipping into her tight, warm pussy. You both gasp, she's so hot and slick, gripping you perfectly as she sinks down, taking you inch by inch until you're fully inside her.

"Oh, fuck," you groan, your hands instinctively grabbing her hips, feeling the softness of her skin.

She moans softly, her head tilting back as she adjusts to your size, her pussy clenching around you, making your cock pulse inside her.

"So good," she murmurs, starting to move, her hips rolling slowly at first, grinding down on you. The sensation is intense, her tight walls squeezing you, and you're already fighting to hold on.

Saerom leans forward, her hands on your chest, pushing your shirt up further as she rides you, her movements picking up speed.

Her breasts bounce slightly, and you can't stop staring at her, her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the way she looks like she's lost in this as much as you are.

"You like this, don't you?" she whispers, her voice teasing but breathy, her pussy tightening around your cock as she moves faster.

You nod, barely able to speak, your hands gripping her hips tighter, urging her on.

Your cock is buried deep in her now, every thrust of her hips sending waves of pleasure through you, the sound of her moans and the wet slap of her skin against yours filling your ears.

You're close, too close, and she knows it, her eyes locking on yours as she rides you harder, daring you to lose control.

"Saerom-noona... I-I can't..." you stammer, your cock throbbing inside her, the pressure building fast.

"Not yet, good boy," she says, leaning down to kiss you again, her lips crashing against yours as her pussy squeezes you even tighter. .

"Saerom-noona..." you gasp, your voice desperate as your hands gripping her hips tighter, trying to hold on.

She smirks, slowing her movements just enough to keep you teetering on the brink, her pussy clenching around you like she's enjoyed every second of this.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" she whispers, leaning down, her lips brushing your ear. Her breath is hot, and her words send a shiver through you.

"You're doing so well for noona." She straightens up again, her hands sliding down to brace on your stomach as she picks up the pace, her hips slamming down harder now.

Your cock is so hard it hurts, slick with her juices, and you can feel the pressure building, your whole body tensing.

She notices, her eyes glinting with that playtful spark, "Don't you dare come yet," she says, her voice firm but playful, "I want to enjoy you a little longer."

She grinds down slowly now, letting you feel every inch of her tight walls as she drags herself up and down your length.

You groan, your head falling back against the pillow, your hands clutching her hips like they're the only thing keeping you grounded.

It's torture, the way she’s controlling the pace, keeping you right on the edge but not letting you tip over.

She leans forward again, her breasts brushing your chest as she kisses you, her tongue dive into your mouth. You kiss her back, your hips bucking up into her instinctively.

She pulls back, gasping softly, a string of spit connecting your lips. "So eager," she teases, her hand reaching down to grip the base of your cock, giving it a quick squeeze before she starts riding you again, faster this time.

Your cock pulses inside her, the heat and tightness overwhelming. "Noona... please..." you beg, your voice barely a whisper, your body trembling under her.

You're so close, every thrust pushing you further, the slick heat of her pussy driving you insane.

She smirks, clearly loving how desperate you are, and shifts her hips, angling herself so your cock hits deeper, making her moan louder.

"Okay, good boy," she murmurs, her voice breathy now, like she's getting close too, "Let's see how much you can take."

She rides you harder, her pussy clamping down on your cock, and you can't hold back anymore.

Your hips jerk up, your cock throbbing as the pressure snaps, "I'm cumming-!" and you come hard, "Erghh..." a low groan escaping you as you spill inside her, wave after wave of release flooding through you.

Saerom moans, feeling you fill her, and she keeps moving, riding you through your orgasm, her hips slowing but never stopping, "Good boy," she whispers, leaning down to kiss you softly, her lips gentle now.

Your cock twitches inside her, still sensitive, as she finally stills, her body warm and heavy on top of you. She stays there for a moment, catching her breath, her pussy still gripping you tightly, before sliding off slowly, leaving you empty and dazed.

She lies next to you, her hand resting on your chest, a satisfied smile on her face. "You did good," she says softly, her teasing edge gone, replaced by something warmer.

You're still catching your breath, your mind spinning, your cock softening but still tingling from the intensity.

You gasp awake, your vision blurry, body heavy against the soft sheets.

As your eyes adjust to the dim light, the reality hits you like a shockwave, you had sex with Saerom.

Your heart starts pounding again, and you turn your head to see her sitting beside you on the bed, naked, her body barely covered by the same thin sheet draped over you.

Her hair is messy, her skin glowing faintly in the low light, and she’s looking at you with a soft, amused smile.

"Ms. Saerom...?" you mumble, voice hoarse, your mind scrambling to piece it together.

"What...? did I...?" You’re dazed, still processing the intensity of what happened, your cock twitching faintly at the memory of her riding you, her tight pussy gripping you.

Saerom chuckles, leaning closer, and playfully flicks your nose with her finger, "Yes, you did," she says, her voice teasing but warm.

"You fucked me, cutie boy. Don't act so surprised," her words are blunt, and your face burns, a feel of embarrassment swirling in your chest.

She shifts, the sheet slipping slightly, revealing more of her skin, and you can’t help but glance at her curves before looking away, flustered.

You sit up slowly, the sheet falling to your lap, exposing your bare chest, "I-I... didn't expect..." you stammer, rubbing your face, trying to make sense of it.

Saerom tilts her head, her smile softening. "You are definitely expected this, aren't you?" she says, her hand resting on your arm, her touch gentle now.

"You were great. No need to overthink it." She pulls the sheet tighter around herself, but her eyes stay locked on yours, still carrying that playful glint.

"Want some water? Or... round two?" she teases, raising an eyebrow, and you feel your cock twitch again, your body betraying how much you’re still drawn to her.

She slips out of bed, the sheet still wrapped loosely around her, and pads to the kitchen, "Stay there," she calls over her shoulder, her voice light.

You sit on her bed, still half-dazed, your jeans awkwardly pulled back up but unbuttoned, your shirt crumpled. Your mind replays the night, her body on yours, her moans, the way she called you "good boy"

She returns with a glass of water and hands it to you, her fingers brushing yours, "Drink," she says, sitting beside you, the sheet slipping slightly to reveal her shoulder and a hint of her chest.

You take the glass, sipping slowly, the cool water calming your dry throat. You're shy, avoiding her gaze, staring at the glass.

Saerom leans back, propping herself on one hand, watching you with a small, knowing smile, "You’re so quiet now," she teases, her tone gentle.

"Was I too much for you?" she laughs softly, and you shake your head, cheeks burning, taking another sip to avoid answering.

She starts chatting casually, like you didn't just fuck her senseless. "You did good with those boxes earlier," she says.

"Stronger than you look." Her voice is warm, almost normal, but the way she's sitting there, barely covered, keeps you on edge.

Then she shifts closer, her tone changing, more curious. "So... I've seen you at work, you know. The way you look at Seoyeon," she tilts her head, her eyes narrowing playfully.

"Got a little crush on her, don't you? Those sneaky glances when she's sketching at her tablet, the way you smile when you two chat in the pantry..."

Your stomach flips, caught off guard. You nearly choke on your water, setting the glass down on the nightstand. "W-what? Seoyeon? I-I don't..." you stammer, face hot, but Saerom just grins, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction.

"Oh, don't lie," she says, nudging your arm with her elbow.

"It's cute. She's sweet, right? Quiet like you, but I bet she's got a wild side too," she winks, and you're not sure if she's teasing or fishing for something.

Your mind races, Seoyeon's kind smile, her soft voice, the way your heart skips when she talks to you. You do like her, but admitting it to Saerom, after what just happened, feels like stepping into a trap.

"I... I mean, she's nice," you mumble, looking down, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the sheet. "We just talk sometimes."

Saerom laughs, leaning closer, her bare shoulder brushing yours, "Uh-huh, 'nice', sure," she pauses, her voice softening, "You know, it's okay if you like her. But..." she trails off, her hand resting on your thigh, her touch light but enough to make your cock stir again.

"You're here with me now, so maybe I'm a little jealous," her tone is playful, make you shy.

She catches your flustered expression, her playful smile turning into something hungrier. "You're cute when you're shy," she says, her voice dropping low, "but I think you've got more for noona, don't you?"

Before you can respond, she leans in, kissing you deeply, her tongue sliding against yours, reigniting the heat from earlier. You melt into it, your hands finding her waist, the sheet slipping off her completely, leaving her naked again.

She pulls back, eyes locked on yours, and slides off the bed, standing at the edge, "Come here," she says, her tone commanding but teasing.

She turns, bending over the bed, her hands bracing on the mattress, her ass up and inviting. The sight of her like this, curves exposed, pussy glistening from earlier, makes your cock fully hard again, throbbing with need.

"Fuck me like this," she says, glancing back at you, her voice daring, a smirk on her lips.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding, but you're too turned on to hesitate long. You kick off your jeans completely, your shirt tossed aside, and move behind her, your hands shaking slightly as you grip her hips.

Her skin is warm, soft, and she arches her back, pushing her ass toward you, making it clear she wants you now, "Don't be shy, be a good boy," she murmurs, wiggling her hips slightly, her pussy slick and ready.

You line up your cock, the tip brushing against her wet folds, and you groan at the contact. She's so warm, so inviting, and you can't hold back.

You push into her slowly, feeling her tight pussy stretch around you, gripping you as you slide deeper. She moans, low and needy, her head dropping forward as you fill her, "Fuck, yes..." she breathes, her voice shaking with pleasure. "Yeah, like that."

You start moving, thrusting into her, your hands gripping her hips tighter to steady yourself. Her pussy feels incredible, hot and wet, clenching around your cock with every thrust.

Sound of your hips slapping against her ass fills the room, mixing with her moans and your heavy breaths. Your cock throbs inside her, the pleasure building fast.

"Harder," she says, her voice sharp, turning her head to look back at you. Her eyes are dark, urging you on.

"Fuck me harder," you obey, picking up the pace, slamming into her with more force, your fingers digging into her hips.

She gasps, then moans louder, her hands clutching the sheets as she pushes back against you, meeting your thrusts, "Good boy... like that," she pants, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

You're lost in it now, your cock buried deep in her pussy, the wet, tight heat. You reach forward, grabbing a handful of her hair gently, pulling just enough to make her moan louder.

She loves it, her pussy tightening around you, and you feel yourself getting close again, the pressure building in your balls.

"Ms. Saerom... I'm..." you start, your voice strained, but she cuts you off, "Not yet," she gasps, pushing back harder.

"Make me come first," her words are a challenge, and you focus, thrusting deeper, faster, angling your cock to hit her just right.

Her moans turn into cries, her body trembling under you, and you can tell she's close.

Your hand slides around to her front, finding her clit, rubbing it in quick circles as you fuck her.

"Fuck yeah... so good," that pushes her over the edge,

"Ahh~!" she screams, her pussy clamping down on your cock as she comes, her whole body shaking.

You thrust a few more times, before your cock pulses hard, and pleasure snapped, you come, spilling deep inside her, "Ms. Saerom!" you groaning as the pleasure washes over you.

Saerom moans softly, riding out her orgasm as you fill her, her hips still moving slightly until you’re both spent.

You pull out slowly, your cock slick and softening, and collapse onto the bed beside her, breathing hard.

Saerom lowers herself onto the mattress, turning to face you, a satisfied smile on her face. The sheet is somewhere on the floor now, and she doesn't bother covering up, her sweaty, flushed body pressed close to yours.

She shifts closer, her lips brushing your ear. "You're not done yet, are you, good boy?" she whispers, sending a shiver down your spine.

You swallow, unsure if you can keep up, but her hand slides down your stomach, brushing dangerously close to your cock, and you feel it twitch, already stirring again. "Ms. Saerom..." you mumble, half-exhausted, half-turned on, but she just chuckles, nipping at your earlobe.

"I'm noona for now" she coaxes, rolling onto her side, her back facing you, her ass pressing lightly against your hips.

"One more for noona," she glances over her shoulder, her eyes daring you, and wiggles her hips, the curve of her body inviting you in. You can't resist her, your cock hardens fully again, pressing against her ass.

You wrap an arm around her, pulling her tight against your chest, your lips brushing her neck as you position yourself. Your cock nudges between her thighs, finding her pussy, still wet and slick from your last round, your cum mixed with her juices.

"Fuck me now," she murmurs, her voice soft but needy, pushing back slightly to guide you in.

Slide into her slowly, you spoon her, your cock slipping easily into her tight, warm pussy.

She moans softly, her head tilting back against your shoulder as you fill her, the angle making her feel impossibly tighy, "Oh, yes..." she breathes, her hand reaching back to grip your hip, urging you deeper.

You start moving, thrusting gently at first, your cock gliding in and out of her, the wet heat gripping you with every stroke, your bodies pressed so close, your arm wrapped around her, one hand cupping her breast as you fuck her.

"Harder," she says, her voice a little sharper now, her ass pushing back against you.

You pick up the pace, thrusting deeper, your cock hitting spots that make her gasp, her pussy clenching around you.

Your hand squeezes her breast, your fingers teasing her nipple, and she whimpers, her body trembling against yours. You kiss her neck, sucking lightly on her skin, and she tilts her head to give you more access, her hand tightening on your hip.

"Good boy..." she pants, her voice shaky with pleasure.

Your cock throbs inside her, the slow build of pleasure growing faster now, her pussy so tight and perfect it's driving you wild.

You slide your hand down from her breast to her stomach, then lower, finding her clit. You rub it in small, firm circles, and she cries out, her body arching against you, her pussy squeezing your cock even tighter.

"Fuck, Saerom-noona..." you groan, your thrusts getting harder, more desperate. She's moaning louder now, her body shaking as you fuck her, your fingers working her clit in time with your cock.

"I'm close," she gasps, her voice raw, her hand clutching your arm. You keep going, pounding into her, your cock pulsing, the pleasure overwhelming.

She comes first, her pussy clamping down hard on your cock as she moans your name, her body shuddering in your arms.

You thrust deep, groaning as you come, your cock spurting inside her, filling her again.

Keep moving, you ride out the waves of pleasure, your bodies locked together, until you're both spent, your breaths heavy and uneven.

Saerom relaxes against you, her body soft and warm in your arms, your cock still inside her, softening slowly. She turns her head slightly, kissing your jaw, a tired but satisfied smile on her lips.

She shifts slightly, turning in your arms to face you, her lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss. Her eyes, still heavy with lust, sparkle with that familiar teasing glint. "Ready for next?” she murmurs, her voice husky, a playful challenge in her tone.

Shake your head, your heart racing again, your cock already stirring at her words despite how spent you feel. "Saerom-noona..." you start, voice weak, but she just smiles, kissing you again, deeper this time, her tongue flicking against yours.

She pulls back, sliding out of your arms and lying on her back, she spreads her legs wide, her thighs parting slowly, giving you a clear view of her pussy, still slick with your cum and her juices, pink and inviting.

She reaches down with one hand, her fingers gently parting her folds, showing you how wet she is, her entrance glistening. "Come on, good boy," she says, her voice low and seductive, her eyes locked on yours. "Fuck me like this. I want to see your face."

Your cock hardens fully at the sight, throbbing with renewed need in your body. You move, positioning yourself between her legs, your hands trembling slightly as you brace them on either side of her.

She's so open, so confident, and the way she's looking at you, like she's daring you to please her, makes your pulse race.

Lean down, you kissing her softly, and she wraps her arms around your neck, pulling you closer, her lips hungry against yours.

Line up your cock, the tip brushing against her wet folds, and she moans softly, her hips tilting up to meet you. "Don't make noona wait," she whispers, her fingers digging into your shoulders.

Push in slowly, you feel her pussy stretch around you, so tight and warm, still dripping from before. She gasps as you fill her, her legs wrapping around your waist, pulling you deeper, "Fuck, yes..." she breathes, her head tilting back, her eyes fluttering shut.

You start thrusting, your cock sliding in and out of her with slow, deep strokes at first. Her pussy grips you tightly, every movement sending sparks of pleasure through you. Her moans are soft but needy, her hands roaming your back, nails grazing your skin.

"Harder," she says, her voice sharp, urging you on. You pick up the pace, slamming into her, your hips meeting hers with a wet slap that fills the room. Her breasts bounce with each thrust, and she opens her eyes, locking them on yours, her gaze intense and raw.

"God, you're so good," she moans, her hands sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you even deeper. Her pussy clenches around your cock, making you groan, your thrusts growing more desperate.

Lean down, you kiss her neck, sucking lightly on her skin, and she arches into you, her moans louder now. Your hand finds her breast, squeezing it, your thumb teasing her nipple, and she whimpers, her body trembling beneath you.

You can feel the pressure building again, your cock throbbing inside her, the slick heat of her pussy driving you closer to the edge. "Saerom-noona... I'm..." your voice strained, but she cuts you off, her hands cupping your face, pulling you into another deep kiss.

"Come for me," she whispers against your lips, her pussy tightening around you, pushing you over.

You thrust hard, one last time, and come, groaning loudly as you spill inside her, your cock pulsing with every wave.

"Yes... ahh~!" she moans, her legs tightening around you as she feels you fill her, her own orgasm hitting as her pussy clenches hard, her body shaking under you. You keep moving, riding out the pleasure, until you're both panting, spent, and tangled together.

She shifts, propping herself up on one elbow, her lips curling into that familiar, wicked smirk. "Last one for noona?" she murmurs, her voice soft but dripping with intent.

You're about to protest, your body pushed to its limit, but before you can speak, Saerom's hand slides down your stomach, brushing over your soft cock.

Her touch is gentle, coaxing, and even though you're drained, you feel a twitch, your body responding to her. "Saerom-noona" you mumble, half-dazed, but she shushes you with a quick kiss, her lips soft and teasing.

"Let me take care of you," she whispers, sliding down the bed, her hair trailing over your skin as she moves. She settles between your legs, her hands spreading your thighs slightly.

Your cock is half-hard now, stirred by her closeness and the anticipation of what's coming. She looks up at you, eyes glinting, and runs her tongue slowly over her lips. "Just relax, good boy."

She leans in, her breath hot against your cock before she kisses the tip, soft and deliberate. You groan, your head falling back against the pillow as she wraps her lips around you, sucking gently.

Her tongue flicks over the sensitive head, tasting the mix of your cum and her juices from earlier, and your cock hardens fully in her mouth, throbbing under her touch. She hums, the vibration sending a jolt through you, and takes you deeper, her lips sliding down your length, her hand stroking the base.

Her mouth is warm and wet, her tongue swirling around you with slow, practiced skill. She bobs her head, sucking harder, her cheeks hollowing as she works you, the wet sounds filling the room.

Your hands grip the sheets, pleasure building fast despite how many times you’ve come tonight. "Fuck, noona..." you gasp, your hips twitching up instinctively, but she presses a hand on your thigh, keeping you in place, fully in control.

She pulls back slightly, her lips shiny, a string of spit connecting her mouth to your cock. "You taste so good," she murmurs, her voice sultry, before diving back in, taking you even deeper.

Her tongue presses against the underside of your cock, and she sucks hard, her hand pumping you in rhythm with her mouth. You're overwhelmed, the pleasure sharp and relentless, your cock throbbing as she pushes you closer to the edge.

"Saerom-noona... I'm gonna..." you manage, your voice strained, your body tensing.

She doesn't slow down, her eyes flicking up to meet yours, urging you on. Her mouth works faster, her lips tight around you, her hand twisting slightly as she strokes.

It's too much, the heat, the suction, the way she's so focused on making you lose it.

You groan loudly, your hips bucking, and you come, hard, your cock pulsing as you shoot into her mouth.

Saerom moans softly, taking every drop, her lips staying locked around you as you spill, her tongue milking you through the orgasm.

You're shaking, the pleasure so intense it leaves you breathless, your vision blurring for a moment.

She swallows, her throat working, and slowly pulls off, licking her lips clean with a satisfied smile. A bit of your cum glistens at the corner of her mouth, and she swipes it with her finger, popping it back in with a playful wink.

"Good boy," she says, crawling up to lie beside you, her body warm against yours. You're completely spent, your cock soft and sensitive, your body heavy with exhaustion.

You're too tired to respond, your mind a haze of pleasure and disbelief, still processing this night, fucking Saerom over and over, ending with her sucking you dry. You feel her heartbeat against you, her warmth grounding you as you drift, unsure what this all means but too worn out to care.

You stumble out of the bathroom, freshly showered, your body clean but still heavy with exhaustion from the wild night.

Your hair is damp, and you're back in your jeans and crumpled shirt, feeling a mix of satisfaction and disbelief as you replay everything in your head. You grab your bag, ready to head home, your mind still spinning.

She is waiting for you in the living room, now dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, her hair tied up messily. She looks softer, less intense than before, but her eyes still have that warm, knowing glint.

She's leaning against the couch, arms crossed, a small smile on her lips as you walk in. "Feeling better?" she asks, her voice light but genuine.

You nod, a bit shy again, rubbing the back of your neck. "Yeah, thanks... for everything," you mumble, not sure what else to say.

Saerom steps closer, her smile softening. "No, thank you," she says, her tone sincere.

"For helping with the boxes... and, well, for tonight," she pauses, looking down for a moment, then back at you, her eyes searching yours.

"It's been a long time since I've felt like this… since I've fucked like that," her words are blunt, and you blush, but her honesty makes your chest tighten.

She reaches out, touching your arm gently. "You’re special, you know that?" she says, her voice quieter now.

"I mean it. Don't ever change, okay? Stay this sweet, shy guy who's so good to me." her fingers linger, and her expression turns serious.

"And don't turn away from me, no matter what. Promise me that."

You're caught off guard, her words heavy with meaning you don't fully understand, "I... I won't," you say softly, nodding, though you're not sure what you're promising. Her smile returns, small but warm, and she pulls you into a quick hug, her body soft against yours for a moment before she steps back.

"Get home safe, cutie," she says, her teasing tone creeping back in, though her eyes are still soft. You nod again, slinging your bag over your shoulder, and head for the door, your mind a mess of emotions.

You wake up the next morning, your body still tingling with the memory of last night at Saerom's apartment. You're exhausted but buzzing, barely able to focus as you get ready for work.

You step into the office, the usual hum of chatter and keyboards greeting you.

Your eyes instinctively dart to the marketing corner, where Saerom’s desk sits. She's already there, typing away, looking sharp in a fitted blazer and skirt, her hair swept to one side. As if sensing you, she glances up, her lips curling into a playful, knowing smirk.

It's subtle, just for you, but it hits like a spark, making your face heat up and your cock twitch faintly in your pants. You quickly look away, heart pounding, and hurry to your desk, trying to act normal.

You settle in, pulling out your laptop, but your minds elsewhere. Saerom's smirk lingers in your thoughts, a reminder of her naked body, her moans, her whispered promises.

You steal another glance at her, and she's still watching you, her eyes glinting with mischief before she turns back to her screen, biting her lip.

2PM, you're burned out, your eyes sore from staring at your laptop screen.

You lean back in your chair, rubbing your temples, craving a break. Your gaze drifts to Saerom's desk in the marketing corner, almost instinctively.

She's typing, but as if she feels your stare, she glances up, her eyes locking on yours.

Her lips curl into that familiar playful smirk, and she tilts her head slightly, giving you a subtle nod, a silent invitation to come over.

Your heart skips, a mix of hesitation and curiosity swirling in your chest. You glance around the office, it's busy, no one's paying attention.

Against your better judgment, you stand and walk toward her desk, your pulse quickening.

As you approach, Saerom leans back in her chair, her movements deliberate, "Hi cutie," she shrugs off her blazer, letting it slide down her shoulders, revealing a tight, white blouse that hugs her curves, the top buttons straining slightly against her chest.

The sight makes your mouth dry, your cock start stirring in your pants.

She smirks, noticing your reaction, and pats the space behind her chair, "I'm so tense," she says, her voice low, just for you.

"Be a good boy and massage my shoulders, will you? I need to relax."

You hesitate, glancing around again, but the office hums along, oblivious. You step behind her, your hands hovering before settling on her shoulders.

Her skin is warm through, and you start kneading gently, your fingers working into the tight muscles. She sighs, tilting her head back, her eyes half-closed.

"Mmm, that's nice," she murmurs, her voice soft and sultry.

"Lower, though... here." She guides your hands down, dangerously close to her chest, her blouse dipping slightly to show a hint of cleavage, your fingers brush the tops of her breasts.

She moans quietly, too quiet for anyone else to hear, but it’s enough to make your face burn, "Keep going,” she whispers, arching slightly into your touch.

Your hands tremble, massaging her chest now, feeling the soft give of her breasts under your fingers. She's clearly enjoying it, her breathing heavier, but suddenly she shifts, standing up.

"Sit," she says, her tone firm but teasing, pointing to her chair. You're confused, heart racing, but her commanding gaze leaves no room for argument.

You obey, sinking into her chair, the warm seat still carrying her scent.

She glances around briefly, then drops to her knees, crawling under the desk in one smooth motion.

Your eyes widen, panic mixing with arousal, "Ms. S-Saerom, what-" you start, but she shushes you, her hands already on your belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease.

"Quiet," she whispers, unzipping your jeans and tugging them down just enough to free your cock, already half-hard from the tension, "Let me relax you now."

Before you can protest, her lips wrap around your cock, warm and wet, sucking gently. You gasp, gripping the armrests, your body tensing as her tongue swirls over the tip, tasting the pre-cum already leaking out.

The office noise fades, keyboards, chatter, phones, all drowned out by the wet sounds of her mouth and your ragged breaths. She takes you deeper, her lips sliding down your length, her hand stroking the base, her movements slow but deliberate.

Your cock throbs in her mouth, fully hard now, and you bite your lip to stifle a groan, terrified someone might notice.

Her eyes flick up to meet yours from under the desk, glinting with mischief as she bobs her head, sucking harder, her cheeks hollowing.

Her tongue presses against the underside of your cock, and you feel the pleasure building fast, your hips twitching slightly despite your effort to stay still.

"Fuck, Ms..." you whisper, barely audible, your hands knuckling the chair. She hums around your cock, the vibration sending a jolt, you're barely holding back.

Suddenly you hear the sharp click of heels approaching. Eunbi’s voice cuts through the haze, "Darling? Where's Saerom?" she asks, her tone ligh, standing just on the other side of the desk.

You snap your head up, "Ms. Eunbi! ahh... sh-she's... uh... grabbing coffee," you stammer, your voice shaky, trying to sound casual. "I'm... uh... checking her work. Yeah, she asked me to," you force a tight smile, praying Eunbi doesn't notice how flushed your face.

Saerom keeps sucking, her movements slowing slightly but not stopping, her tongue teasing the tip of your cock.

Eunbi raises an eyebrow, her sharp gaze flicking over you, like she's picking up on something off. "Checking her work, huh?" she says, her lips twitching into a knowing smile, her tone carrying that same playful edge she always has. She steps closer, leaning slightly against the desk, her blazer opens just enough to draw your eye to her curves. "You look... tense. Everything okay, darling?"

You nod quickly, too quickly, your cock twitching in Saerom's mouth as she takes you deeper, her hand stroking faster now, clearly enjoying the risk, "Y-yeah, fine," you manage, your voice cracking slightly.

"Just... focused." Your heart is racing, torn between the fear of getting caught and the overwhelming pleasure of Saerom's lips and tongue working you under the desk.

Eunbi tilts her head, her smile widening, like she's not entirely buying it. "Hmm. Well, tell Saerom I need her for a quick chat when she's back from her coffee run," she says, her voice dripping with amusement.

She lingers for a moment, her eyes scanning you, then turns to walk away, her heels clicking as she heads back to her side of the office. You let out a shaky breath, relief flooding you.

Saerom doesn't let up, her mouth moving faster now, sucking harder, her tongue swirling around the head of your cock. The thrill of almost getting caught pushes you over the edge.

"Fuck, I'm cumming...!” you whisper, barely audible, your body tensing as the pressure snaps. You come hard, your cock pulsing as you spill into her mouth, waves of pleasure crashing through you.

Saerom moans softly, her lips staying locked around you, swallowing every drop as her tongue milks you through the orgasm.

Saerom finally pulls off with a quiet pop, licking her lips as she crawls out from under the desk, her face flushed but smug.

"Good boy," she whispers, wiping the corner of her mouth before standing, smoothing her blouse like nothing happened.

"You handled that well," she teases, her eyes glinting as she sits back in her chair, grabbing her blazer to slip it on.

You're still catching your breath, your cock softening in your open jeans, your mind a mess of panic and pleasure.

"That... that was too close," you mutter, zipping up quickly, your face burning. Saerom just laughs softly, leaning into whisper,

"Good, she doesn't notice it, though, right?" before turning to her computer, leaving you dazed and wondering how you’re supposed to focus on work now.

Over the next few weeks, Saerom's teasing gets intense. She brushes against you in the hallway, her hand lingering too long, and sends flirty emails that make your cock twitch.

In meetings, she'll flash a bit of cleavage or bite her lip, knowing it drives you crazy.

Once, in the pantry, she "drops" something and bends over, her skirt showing lace panties.

You're a mess, barely keeping up with work, torn between wanting her and feeling like you're losing control.

Her texts come late at night "Miss you, cutie" or "Come over?" and if you don't reply fast, she pouts, making you feel guilty, her words from that night about not turning away echoing in your mind, her promise to stay close, and a quiet feeling that this story with her isn't over yet.

617 notes · View notes

thewritingrowlet · 12 days ago

Text

The Gentle Ember, ft. fromis_9 Saerom

length: 6k

author's note: This one is rather aimless, honestly—and yes, I'm getting addicted to writing in third person.

---

Saerom watches Hyeonjun from across the kitchen island, a gentle smile playing on her lips. He is absorbed in carefully slicing strawberries for their morning oat, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration. The early morning light filters through the window, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow that catches the faint dust motes dancing in the air. She sips her lukewarm coffee, the ceramic mug warm against her fingers, a small comfort in the quiet hum of their usually busy home.

A familiar ease settles over her as she observes him. There's a subtle rhythm to their mornings now, a comfortable dance perfected over years of shared space and silent understanding. They don't always need words; sometimes, it’s the quiet presence of the other that speaks volumes. Lately, however, a new kind of quiet has crept in—not bad, not unsettling, just… different. A little less spark, a little more routine, like a well-worn bridge that's still sturdy but perhaps less exciting to traverse.

Hyeonjun, sensing her gaze, looks up, catching her eye. His lips curve into a relaxed smile, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and he gestures with the knife towards the bowl of fruit. "More berries, baby?" he asks, his voice soft, a hint of sleep still lingering in its depths. Saerom shakes her head, a quiet affirmation of contentment. No, no more berries, but perhaps more of this, this gentle connection that feels like a forgotten melody humming back to life.

Pushing off the counter, Saerom makes her way around the island. As she approaches, Hyeonjun sets the knife down, his hands instinctively reaching for hers. Their fingers intertwine, a simple touch that sends a surprising, tender warmth through her. It’s just a morning, just a quiet moment in their kitchen, but in the familiar press of his palm against hers, Saerom feels a tiny, fragile bloom of something new, or perhaps, something wonderfully old and rediscovered.

Hyeonjun presses a tender peck to her knuckles, his lips softly grazing the ring on her finger. “We haven’t had time to talk much, have we?” he mutters, his tone heavy with regret, his wish for more time together lying beneath the question. “We haven’t,” she echoes, her tender gaze staying locked with his. Her heart is filled with warmth at his recognition of their trajectory, his understanding that they haven’t spent much time with each other.

“And to think that we used to do so much together…” he trails off, unable to finish his sentence, a sense of guilt pressing down on him. “I’m so sorry, my heart.” Saerom shakes her head. Not denying his apology but rather telling him that it’s not his fault. None of this is anyone’s fault. “No, please don’t,” she murmurs, her hand squeezing his harder, her eyes turning glassy at his words. “It’s just how life is, love.”

Hyeonjun's thumb strokes the back of her hand, a silent conversation passing between them. He nods slowly, accepting her quiet absolution, but his gaze remains weighted with the unspoken. "Still," he continues, his voice barely a whisper, his gaze distant. "It feels like we've been running on autopilot." Saerom's eyes soften, a mirror of his own understanding. She leans in closer, resting her head gently on his shoulder, the familiar scent of him ‒ coffee and something uniquely Hyeonjun – filling her senses. It's a comfortable silence, different from the recent "quiet," this one filled with the soft promise of shared realization.

“If you want, though, we can go to that ramen shop tonight,” she offers. “Maybe a bowl of spicy ramen could help us unwind.” Hyeonjun smiles at the mention of the special restaurant, his mind replaying the evenings they shared with warm bowls of ramen, but that smile is quick to falter. “But you’re going to work overtime tonight, no? Because of the audit and all?” Saerom sighs; his reminder lands with a soft thud, a well-meaning truth that still feels burdensome. “You’re right…” she mumbles, the small spark of excitement dimming, replaced by the reality of her professional responsibilities.

Hyeonjun's hand, still cradling hers, tightens almost imperceptibly. He doesn't press the point; he never does. Instead, he simply brings their joined hands up, pressing a soft kiss on her palm. "It's alright, my heart," he murmurs, his voice a balm. "We can always do it another time," he adds, a new thought brightening his expression, "Besides, maybe a quiet night in is exactly what we need. I can whip up some pasta for dinner, and we can finally watch that series about that nuclear reactor meltdown."

A small smile takes root on Saerom’s face, a warmth spreading through her at his easy willingness to adapt, his endless patience always touching her. She accepts his idea with a peck to his cheek, resting her head on his shoulder after. “I love you. For everything that you are,” she utters, her voice shaking from the rise of emotions within. Slowly, her fingers trace lines on his arm, her nails digging oh-so-slightly into his skin.

Hyeonjun's arm slides around her, pulling her into a gentle hug. He rests his chin on the top of her head, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair, a comforting anchor in their often-hectic lives. "I love you too, my Saerom," he murmurs against her hair, his voice deep and warm. It’s a quiet moment, the kind that used to be plentiful and effortless, and now feels like a precious rediscovery. The sun has risen higher, painting the kitchen in brighter hues, but inside their embrace, the warmth feels deeper, more profound than any light.

“Go take a shower, baby. I’ll clean up here,” he says, a loving nudge to get her moving. Saerom nods, a fond smile gracing her lips. She frees herself from his embrace and heads off, smiling all the way to the bathroom. As the sound of the shower starts, Hyeonjun turns his attention back to the kitchen. The familiar task of wiping down counters and putting away dishes feels less like a chore and more like an extension of their shared morning. The air still hums with the recent tenderness, reminding them kindly that even in their usual routine, new sparks can ignite, transforming the mundane into something quietly profound.

With a satisfied sigh, Hyeonjun puts away the last of the breakfast dishes. He glances towards the bathroom, a soft smile on his face as the shower continues to run. “Maybe I can join her in the shower,” he considers, looking to kick off the day with a bit of intimacy. He pads over to the bathroom, knocking on the door softly. "My love?" he calls, raising his voice slightly against the rush of running water. “Can I join you, please?”

The shower cuts off, and a momentary silence stretches before Saerom opens the door for him. “Did you say something?” she asks. Hyeonjun’s eyes roam her body; water clings to her hair and skin, the light bouncing off making for quite the spectacle. Not wanting to get caught up in his own thoughts, however, he shifts his gaze to meet hers. “Can I join you, please?” he repeats, looking for her permission. A smile, brimming with understanding, blooms on her face. “Of course, dear.” As the door widens, Saerom extends a hand, inviting him to join her in the second-most sacred place in the house.

Hyeonjun steps inside, the warm, steamy air immediately embracing him. Saerom's fingers, cool and soft from the water, close around his, guiding him past the threshold. The door clicks shut behind them, sealing them into their own private world of steam and soft light. As the water begins to spray again, warm rivulets tracing paths down their skin, he pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her waist. Her head fits perfectly beneath his chin, and the quiet comfort of their joined bodies, enveloped by the cleansing steam, feels like a forgotten luxury, now rediscovered and deeply cherished.

“Saerom-ah,” he whispers, his fingers gently running on her belly. “Do you remember the first time we showered together?” Saerom turns, her adoring smile meeting his eyes as a fond memory replays. “We showered together after our first time,” she completes his thoughts, guiding his hand towards her private part, as if looking to recreate that moment. “There was so much blood, and you were so… nervous,” she adds.

Hyeonjun plants a soft peck on her nape, a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks as his initial cluelessness resurfaces. “I mean, I had never known anything about sex,” he reasons. Saerom giggles, her hand sneaking around to find his manhood. As she touches him, her mind takes her on a quick trip to the past; the sight of him coated in her blood—a testament to her lost innocence—is such a precious memory. “Yet, you somehow managed to take me to cloud nine,” she reflects.

Hyeonjun's own hand finds hers, intertwining their fingers as the warm water streams over them. "You were so brave," he whispers, his voice thick with a renewed admiration, his lips brushing her wet hair. He remembers the mix of fear and tenderness, the overwhelming desire to be gentle and kind. "And you were so kind to me," she ponders, remembering how bare and exposed she felt, and how his gentle touches were so soothing.

He pulls her closer, their bodies fitting together perfectly in the small, steamy enclosure. This shared history, this raw, unfiltered memory, isn't something to hide from; it's a foundation, a deep root that makes their love, and this rekindled spark, feel even more profound. “Thank you, Jeon Hyeonjun. For everything that you are. For everything that you’ve done for us.” His eyes turn wet, not because of the water washing over them, but because of her affirmation, her recognition of his efforts to make her feel loved and cherished. “Thank you, Lee Saerom,” he echoes, his heart warm at her assertion. “It’s you and only you, my heart.”

The water continues to fall around them, a soft, steady rhythm accompanying the beating of their hearts. They stand there for a long moment, simply holding each other, allowing the warmth and the weight of their shared history to settle deep within them. The world outside the shower fades away, leaving only the two of them, rediscovered and irrevocably bound. Slowly, reluctantly, Saerom reaches for the faucet, turning the water off with a soft click, drawing out the precious intimacy for as long as possible before the practicalities of the day call to them.

“I want to give you a little present. Something to remember me by during the day,” Saerom says. “Oh?” His eyebrow rises with intrigue, wondering what she has in store for him. “And that would be…?” Hyeonjun keeps his eyes fixed on her, as she slowly sinks onto her knees, a teasing smirk playing on her features. “Oh, yes, please…” he murmurs, his fists balling up in eagerness, fully aware of where this is headed.

Saerom's fingers, still cool from the shower, wrap around him, a gentle yet firm touch that steals the breath from Hyeonjun's lungs. His eyes flutter for a moment, savoring the feeling, the renewed intimacy that fills the steamy bathroom. Her lips ghost along his skin, a soft whisper against him, and he lets his head fall back against the tiled wall, completely at her mercy.

Hyeonjun gasps, his body shuddering in pleasure, as she takes him so far down. “That’s… that’s illegal, Lee Saerom.” He can only chuckle when she repeats the movement, not heeding his warning, if it can be even called that. Placing his hand on her head and stroking her tenderly, he looks on with a satisfied expression as Saerom continues her ministrations. “Just… take everything you need from me, my love,” he adds, happy to let her do her thing.

Saerom feels the subtle tremor that runs through his body, a silent testament to her effectiveness. The warmth radiating from him, the soft pressure of his hand on her head, fuels her own desire to please, to give him this moment of pure, unburdened pleasure. She continues, her gaze fixed on his closed eyes, seeing not just the man she loves, but the history they share, the quiet promise of their future. This isn’t just a physical act; it is a reaffirmation, a tangible rekindling of the profound connection that has always been there, waiting to be rediscovered.

He trembles violently, and Saerom closes her eyes, his warmth still filling her mouth. Eventually, he comes undone, flooding her warm mouth with his virile seed. “Mmph…” Her moan is muffled by his intruding fullness, her eyes fluttering like his. Eagerly—perhaps also greedily—she swallows his release, not letting any bit leak out. “Oh, God, you’re amazing,” she hears him say. Wiping her lips, she pulls away, smiling in pride at her undeniable success in making him finish. “I will surely remember you during the day.” Saerom chuckles, rising to her feet, and plants a peck on his cheek. “If you can stay awake during the show tonight, I’ll reward you even more,” she promises.

Hyeonjun's arms come around her, pulling her into a slow, post-intimacy hug. He rests his chin on her head, inhaling deeply, still a little breathless, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Your love is stronger than any coffee, baby," he murmurs, his voice warm with affection. The steam in the bathroom slowly begins to dissipate, but the warmth between them lingers, a pleasant hum of shared pleasure and profound connection. It's a sweet, silent agreement that this newly ignited spark will continue to warm their everyday routines.

He unwraps his arms, though his gaze lingers on hers, full of peaceful, reawakened adoration. "Time to face the world, I suppose," he says, his voice still soft, a gentle tease in his eyes. Saerom smiles, a genuine, radiating smile that feels like a new dawn breaking. She reaches up, pressing a quick, firm kiss to his lips, a silent promise of more to come. They step out of the shower, the cool air of the bathroom a stark contrast to the heat they just shared, but the warmth in their hearts is more than enough to carry them through the day.

Hours later, as dusk settled over the city, casting long shadows across the streets, the memory of the morning's intimate surprise was still a soft hum beneath Saerom's skin. She steps into their apartment, shedding her work bag by the door with a sigh of relief. The apartment is quiet, but a warm, inviting aroma already drifts from the kitchen. Hyeonjun is there, just as he promised, stirring a pot on the stove, the soft glow of the range hood light illuminating his concentrated profile. A profound sense of belonging settles over her, like coming home to exactly where she's meant to be.

Not bothering to remove her coat, Saerom crashes into him from behind. “Oppaaaa,” she whines, tapping into the cutesy side. “Yes, baby. What is it?” he murmurs, his free hand instinctively coming up to stroke her arm, ready to hear whatever she has to say. She presses her face into his back, filling her system with the familiar scent of his perfume. “I love you,” she mumbles. “Aw, I love you more.”

"Rough day?" Hyeonjun asks, his voice soft, his hands gently covering hers where they're wrapped around his waist. He shifts slightly, making them both more comfortable in the embrace. Saerom sighs, nodding into his back. "Just long—like, very long," she admits, the weight of the day pressing down but already feeling lighter now that she's home.

Hyeonjun chuckles softly, carefully turning down the stove with his free hand. He leans back into her embrace, content in her warmth, feeling the day's stresses melt away with her presence. "Dinner's almost ready," he says, his voice a low rumble against her ear. "Just needs a minute or two more." He turns in her arms, pulling her gently until she faces him, his eyes sparkling with the same tenderness that had filled their morning. “Let’s unwind with some creamy carbonara, baby.”

Hyeonjun taps the back of her hand, a soft signal for her to release, but her grip only tightens, clinging to him. His heart aches: Saerom is clingy, but something bigger, likely also heavier, is causing her to be extra clingy. “What’s wrong, my Saerom?” he asks, genuine concern carried in his voice. “Nothing; it just feels so safe to be with you,” she answers. Sighing, he asks once more. Not because her answer doesn’t satisfy him; he’s simply sympathetic. “Love, please. What’s wrong?”

Saerom's grip tightens again, a small tremor running through her. She buries her face deeper into his back, and her voice comes out muffled, thinner than before. "It's just... the audit. It's more complicated than I thought, and my boss is really pushing for impossible deadlines." She sighs, a tired, defeated sound. "I just want it to be over. I just want to relax."

Freeing himself from her clenching grip just enough, Hyeonjun turns, pulling her flush against his body. “Baby…” he mutters, his voice hushed by her hair. “With hardship comes ease—we’ve proven that many times over.” He strokes her back tenderly, his hand running softly along her spine. “I’m proud of you, and I will always root for you, because I know you always bust your bum-bum for everything," he adds, giving her lower back a gentle, affectionate squeeze.

He holds her tighter, feeling the lingering tension in her shoulders. His gaze softens, filled with a desire to protect her from the pressures of the world. " My poor baby. Let's not talk about work anymore," Hyeonjun decides, his voice firm but gentle. "Tonight, you just focus on unwinding. Let me take care of dinner, and then we'll just... be." He pulls back slightly, tilting her chin up so their eyes meet, but Saerom just breaks down in his embrace. She just lets everything be bare before him, the only one who can comfort her.

“Oh, Saerom, no…”

Hyeonjun's heart clenches at the sight, his strong arms tightening around her, holding her fast. He says nothing, offering only the solid warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart. His hand rises to stroke her hair, a soft, soothing motion. He lets her cry, letting the tears wash away the day's pressure, knowing that sometimes, all a person needs is a safe harbor, a place where they can truly fall apart without judgment. The only sound in the kitchen is the soft murmur of her sobs and faint bubble of the idling carbonara pasta.

He continues to hold her, patiently waiting for the storm to pass. After what feels like an eternity, Saerom's sobs soften, becoming quiet sniffles. Hyeonjun gently pulls back enough to look at her, his thumbs tenderly wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Better?" he murmurs, his voice filled with gentle inquiry. She nods, and then, seeking further comfort, presses her cheek into his chest. “Thank you, oppa. I-I know I shouldn’t have cried, but… I felt like there was no other choice.”

"Never apologize for feeling," Hyeonjun says, his voice a soft, soothing balm, as he wraps his arms around her again. “After all, feelings are what make us humans.” He rocks her gently, letting her find her grounding in his embrace. He understands that sometimes, the strongest people need to release the pressure, and he is her chosen release valve, a role he accepts without question.

Slowly, carefully, Hyeonjun unwraps her arms from around his body, their fingers tangling between them. “Can I feed you, baby?” he offers, thinking only about making her feel better. Saerom nods, so he gently guides her to sit at the dining table before returning to the kitchen to prepare a full plate of creamy, warm, and slightly spicy pasta for her.

He returns to the dining table, a fork already laden with creamy pasta. Saerom watches him, a soft, weary gratitude in her eyes. He lifts the fork, gently blowing on the steaming strands before guiding it to her lips. She opens her mouth, accepting the bite, the warmth and familiar taste a welcome comfort. Each slow, deliberate movement from him is a quiet act of devotion, a testament of his promise to be her anchor.

As more and more pasta fills her tummy, the color begins to return to her face, a faint, contented hum replacing the lingering tension. “Love, I want to do something.” Saerom takes the fork from him, directing his free hand to wrap around her instead. “I can eat, and you can, I don’t know, pet me or something.” Giggling mirthfully, Hyeonjun does as she asks, his hand softly tracing paths on her back, sometimes also on the back of her head, pouring his heart into the light actions. “Like this?”

Saerom hums softly, the combined comfort of the warm food and Hyeonjun's gentle touch melting away the last remnants of the day's strain. She leans back against his hand, eyes half-closed in bliss. "Perfect," she murmurs, her voice thick with contentment. The rhythm of his fingers on her skin, the soft clink of the fork against the plate, and the quiet presence of the man beside her, all combine into a symphony of peace. She sighs in relief, no trace of stress in the sound at all. “Absolutely perfect…”

Hyeonjun smiles, a soft warmth spreading through him as he feels her complete relaxation. He lifts his hand from her back, a reluctant farewell to the comforting contact, then gently helps her rise from the table. "Shall we take that peace to the living room?" he murmurs, already envisioning them curled up on the sofa, the soft glow of the lamp creating their own little haven.

Letting the empty plate sit forgotten in the sink, Hyeonjun takes his wife to the sofa, but only after shedding the outer layers of her clothes do they curl up on it. “Oppa, thank you, seriously,” she says, punctuating it with a tender kiss to his knuckles. “I know you’re tired, but you’re always so patient with me.” A peck lands on the back of her head, him accepting her gratitude with a warm heart. “What I wouldn’t give for you, Saerom-ah…”

Saerom snuggles deeper into his side, feeling completely at ease, all traces of the day's stress finally gone. Hyeonjun reaches for the remote, his movements slow and unhurried. He finds the streaming service, navigating to the series discussed this morning, the one about the nuclear reactor. The screen flickers to life, casting a soft glow over their faces. He drapes a soft, worn blanket over them, his arm tightening around her, content in the quiet hum of the television and the steady beat of her heart against his.

As the dramatic opening credits roll, Saerom glances up at Hyeonjun, finding his gaze already on her. He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. "Rest, my love," he whispers, his voice a gentle caress. Saerom sighs contentedly, closing her eyes for a moment before turning back to the screen, already feeling the pull of the story. More importantly, however, she feels the profound, unwavering warmth of his presence beside her. “Don’t worry about falling asleep. We can always watch it again some other time,” he adds, inviting her to relax. Something that she yearns for.

Hyeonjun fights to keep his eyes open, taking in as much detail as he can so they can talk about it tomorrow. However, against all his good intentions, his eyes grow heavy, Saerom’s subtle snores adding to the allure of rest. “3.6 roentgen is 400 chest x-rays, huh?” he wonders silently.

His silent thought echoes in the quiet room, unheard by her, who remains peacefully asleep against his side. Hyeonjun's gaze drifts from the screen to Saerom, her reflection illuminated softly by the flickering light. He presses a soft kiss to her hair, then gently adjusts the blanket around her shoulders. Just as his own eyes threaten to close for good, Saerom stirs slightly, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

“Shh, easy, baby. Just relax and…” he trails off, his speech interrupted by a yawn he can’t stifle. She snuggles closer, her hand finding his, and their fingers intertwine in the darkness, an invitation to join her in the peace. “I know, I know,” he murmurs. “I’ll turn off the TV now, and we can move to the bedroom.”

A subtle shift in the mattress stirs Hyeonjun from a deep sleep. His eyes open slowly, adjusting to the sunlight filtering through the gap in the curtains, signaling the start of a new day. Beside him, Saerom stretches languidly, a soft sigh escaping her lips. He watches her for a moment, a wave of tenderness washing over him in the calmness of the morning. The events of their day, the earlier intimacy, feel like a warm ember glowing softly beneath the surface of their sleep.

“Hi,” Hyeonjun whispers, his voice rough from the sleep. Saerom sighs contentedly, whispering back, “Hi.” She scoots over, closing the gap that was created at some point in the night, pressing her body into him. “I don’t want to go to work, oppa,” she complains, already getting a headache at the thought of facing those auditors. “I mean, you can call in sick,” he offers an escape route.

Saerom sighs, the idea of calling in sick a tempting idea for her weary spirit, but the weight of her responsibilities presses down. "I can't," she murmurs into his chest, her voice muffled and tinged with frustration. "It's too important. A key account’s request." Hyeonjun's arm tightens around her, a comforting anchor. He understands, of course, but a part of him aches to shield her from all stress. "Just lie with me for a bit then,” he suggests, his hand gently tracing a path along her spine. “Even a short break can make a difference.”

A small, grateful smile touches Saerom's lips, unseen by Hyeonjun. She closes her eyes, relishing the soft pressure of his hand on her back, the comfortable weight of his arm around her.

“Don’t let me fall asleep again, though.”

“I’ll try, baby.”

The silence then stretches, broken only by their breathing and the distant sounds of the city beginning to stir. They lie there, two bodies perfectly intertwined, finding a profound stillness in the heart of a burgeoning day. It's a stolen moment, a precious fragment of peace, before the responsibilities that await them pull them inevitably apart.

The tranquility holds them captive for a few more minutes, a tiny rebellion against the world outside. Saerom feels the gentle quickening of Hyeonjun's breath, a subtle sign that his mind is already turning towards the day's tasks. She tightens her grip on his hand, not wanting to let go, not yet. He squeezes back, a silent understanding passing between them. The peace, though profound, is fragile and fleeting, already beginning to fray at the edges as the sun climbs higher.

“Oppa,” Saerom calls to him, her whispered voice barely audible. “I want to take a leave after this. Can you also take a leave?” Hyeonjun hums quietly, counting how many days of paid leave he has left. A slow smile touches his lips. “Actually, the company owes me five days of leave,” he murmurs, a hint of surprise in his voice. She sighs in relief, satisfied with the small revelation. “Great. We can stay at home for a whole week,” she says.

A wave of quiet excitement washes over them both, chasing away the last vestiges of morning grogginess. "A whole week," he repeats, the words a soft promise, a luxurious thought. He imagines lazy mornings, slow cooking, perhaps even staying in their pajamas all day. The stress of the audit still looms for today, but the prospect of a full week of uninterrupted togetherness feels like a balm already settling over their hearts.

Three days into their leave, the apartment feels transformed—not by some grand renovations, but by the simple luxury of unhurried time. Saerom finds herself waking up naturally, without the blaring intrusion of alarms, her body slowly surfacing from dreams to the soft morning light filtering through their bedroom curtains. Beside her, Hyeonjun sleeps peacefully, his face relaxed in a way she hasn't seen in months. The harsh lines of workplace stress have melted away, replaced by the gentle vulnerability of true rest.

Placing a hand on Hyeonjun’s bare chest, Saerom watches, feeling his heartbeat pulse gently against her fingertips. “My love…” she murmurs, not exactly calling to him, but rather expressing her admiration. “We deserve this, don’t we?” she asks her sleeping husband.

Hyeonjun stirs slightly at her touch, a soft sigh escaping his lips, but his eyes remain closed. His hand finds hers instinctively, fingers intertwining over his heart as if even in sleep he seeks that connection. Saerom marvels at this unconscious gesture—how many times had they fallen asleep holding hands in their early days together, only to wake up on opposite sides of the bed in recent months? Now, even his sleeping self seems determined not to let her drift away.

She traces lazy circles on his chest with her free hand, mapping the familiar landscape of his body as if seeing it for the first time in ages. He finally wakes, his hand gripping hers more firmly as his consciousness returns. “Good morning, my heart,” he mutters, his rough voice thick with calmness rather than the usual grogginess of rushed mornings.

Moving with languid grace, Saerom climbs onto him, pressing her face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. “Mm, someone’s eager,” she quips, noticing his morning wood pressing against her abdomen. Hyeonjun laughs softly, his manhood growing even more at her tease. “I mean, last night, we fell asleep before… you know…” he trails off, but the unspoken words are clear to her.

Saerom lifts her head to meet his gaze, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "We have all the time in the world now," she whispers, her voice carrying a promise that makes his breath catch. There's no rush, no clock ticking in the background, no mental countdown to when they need to shower, dress, and scatter to their separate worlds. Instead, there's only this—the weight of her body against his, the morning light dancing across her skin, and the luxury of desire without urgency.

Their gazes hold, deep and searching, as if each waiting for the other to voice what they both already know. Eventually, Saerom straightens her body, her hair catching golden highlights in the morning sun. “Okay, I concede; I want you, oppa. Right now.” Hyeonjun’s fingers dig deeper into her waist, her whispered admission sending heat through him. “Tell me how much you want this, baby,” he teases, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties, ready to pull them down swiftly.

A soft blush spreads across Saerom's cheeks at his playful challenge, but her eyes never leave his. "I want this so much it aches," she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper, filled with raw honesty. "I want to feel us again, the way we used to be." Her admission carries more weight than simple desire; it's about reclaiming something precious they'd nearly let slip away in the chaos of their busy lives. She lifts herself slightly, allowing him to slide the delicate fabric down her thighs, the simple act feeling both familiar and thrillingly new after their recent distance.

The morning air kisses her newly exposed skin, but Hyeonjun's warm hands quickly follow, tracing paths he knows by heart. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion that goes far beyond physical attraction. It's appreciation, gratitude, love—all wrapped into those simple words. His thumbs trace gentle circles on her hips as she settles back against him, both of them savoring the unhurried intimacy they'd forgotten was possible.

"No rushing," Saerom whispers, though whether she's reminding him or herself isn't entirely clear. Her hands find his chest again, palms flat against his heart, feeling its steady rhythm quicken beneath her touch. “Yes, no rushing,” he repeats.

Saerom lifts her hips before slowly sinking back down, savoring the gentle intimacy of their connection. “Oh, God…” she breathes, still maintaining the relaxed tempo. “I’ve missed this… I’ve missed us, baby,” he murmurs, his hands guiding her movements. She nods, her eyes clouding briefly with the memory of too many nights when exhaustion won. “Me too, my love…”

Saerom leans into his touch, her body swaying with languid grace as she continues to set their pace. The morning light paints shifting patterns across their skin, illuminating every curve, every shadow. The world outside the bedroom feels distant, irrelevant. There's only the exquisite friction, the soft sounds of their breaths intertwining, and the overwhelming sensation of two souls reconnecting on the most fundamental level. This wasn't just intimacy; it was a conversation, a healing. A profound reaffirmation of their unwavering love.

Minutes blur into each other, unmarked by any urgency or countdown. Saerom's movements become more fluid, more instinctive, as if her body remembers exactly how they used to dance together in their early days. "Look at me, my heart," Hyeonjun whispers, his hands cupping her face gently, thumbs brushing away tears she didn't even realize had fallen. When their eyes meet, there's something raw and vulnerable in his gaze—not just desire, but a kind of desperate gratitude, as if he's afraid this moment might slip away if he doesn't hold onto it tightly enough.

"I'm here," Saerom whispers back, understanding instinctively what he needs to hear. "I'm right here with you." Her words seem to unlock something in him, and she feels his body respond beneath hers, his breathing becoming more ragged, more urgent despite their commitment to taking their time. She increases her pace slightly, still maintaining that leisurely pace, but with more intention now, more focus on the building sensation between them. The morning light has shifted again, casting longer shadows across the rumpled sheets, but neither of them notices anything beyond the space they're creating together.

“Give it to me, my love,” she urges, looking to cross the finish line together. “Just let go and give me everything.” With a deep, guttural groan, Hyeonjun explodes, a rush of heat blooming deep within her. Saerom’s eyes flutter close, satisfied and sated, basking in the sensation of intimacy.

Saerom collapses onto him, their heartbeat matching as they ride the last waves of pleasure. Hyeonjun holds her close, pressing his lips onto her temple, his heart swelling with affection and gratitude. “Perfect,” he mutters. “You’re perfect, baby.” Saerom hums in agreement, her body heavy and relaxed against his. The thought of getting out of bed holds no appeal; instead, they simply lie intertwined, letting the warmth of their connection and the quiet joy of their leisure-filled week wash over them.

Saerom lifts her head slightly, just enough to press a soft kiss to the warm skin of his collarbone. She can feel his steady breath against her hair, the rhythmic beat of his heart against her ear. "Mm," she murmurs, a sound of utter satisfaction. Hyeonjun tightens his embrace, not wanting this moment to end. They lie there, connected in the most intimate way possible, two souls mending into one.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

This is the true luxury of their week. Not just time away from work, but time fully devoted to the rediscovery and nurturing of each other. The lingering stress of the audit will eventually fade, replaced by these precious memories. They will carry this feeling, this profound, unwavering warmth, with them, transforming ordinary days into something extraordinary, always finding their way back to this quiet, tender peace, together.

#girl group smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader #male reader smut #smut

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thewritingrowlet · 12 days ago

Text

JUNO

minju & dahyun x m reader

17k words

“No. No way. No freaking way.”

Dahyun nestles her chin into the dip of your collarbone, her smirk a telltale sign when your eyes flicker from her face to the rest of the ballroom; too early to tell if she’s drunk or probably in heat, it’s one of the two, you know that for sure. Though, her gaze follows yours at the commotion, noticing you can’t stop staring at something - or someone.

“You don’t need me to convince you,” she’s saying, nose grazing the side of your throat and jaw, in tandem with a lip bite. “She’s really fucking horny.”

–

Look, if there’s anything you’ve learned about Kim Dahyun: is the fact that she doesn’t spill the whole tale straight away.

Contrary to popular belief - as her plus one - you might add, her style of being coy and mysterious, always backfires in the end eventually. Yet here you are again: trailing behind or at her side, playing along in the usual antics she puts up to ease the boring periods of these stupid events you’ve been forced to be dragged along.

“Suits and ties, and flashy smiles. That's all they are.” She had said to you hours before, sitting on your desk with her veneers up on high, ankles crossed with heels, wearing the tightest dress imaginable - the kind of dress where it shows just enough skin to get people’s heads turning.

A shame that white was her ideal color too, since you and her both know very well how good she looks in it.

(Your dress shirt in the morning or in a different dress at night, there’s no difference between them.)

Speaking of which:

“It’s a splitting image,” you’re telling Dahyun, head at an angle, squinting in the dimly lit room. “I swear she was just in a white dress the other day. When the hell did she get the lapis lazuli piece?”

“Beats me,” she replies, tugging your arm closer to her, finger directing your gaze as the second crown jewel of the night takes center stage. “I know you’re not denying it, but she’s pretty too.”

“That makes two of us.”

Smug smiled, Dahyun brings it upon herself to swoop the drink in your hand, down the leftover alcohol while the events at the opposite end of the room takes up everyone's attention. You’re part of the viewing crowd too, watching in wonder and from afar while the underlying ambiance of people conversing amidst the host greeting with the proper niceties like any other person would have when opening up the occasion. The lights dimming above with the scattered camera flashes the only sight visible to your eyes - aside from the recipient of tonight’s many awards.

“I still don’t know how you do it,” you remark, chuckling. “These outings - gala’s even. I mean- it hasn’t even been that long after you got the confirmation for the role, not to mention the invite-”

“To be honest, I don’t really know either.” Dahyun agrees, placing the empty glass to the passing server with an empty plate in hand, nodding in approval of thanks to make their job easier. Happily going along their way to assess the next area of need. Her eyes mirror yours - paying attention, spectating along with you until the undivided focus diverts to something else worth the time. “If anything, it’s good that you're with me. That way I can’t have all the fun myself.”

“Gotta spend my nights somehow.” You let your head fall sideways, she meets in the middle. “Rather be here than have your take of ‘rotting away alone at home’.”

“Nonsense,” chides Dahyun, stomaching a giggle down. “Wasted time with me is time well spent.”

“That I can concur,” you remark. “Though, it’s worth mentioning who convinced who earlier, remember?”

“You wanna expand on that a little more?”

“I can. It involves some hands-on work, actually.”

“Right.”

Everything from the events earlier is all panned out in your minds. Something about bending her over the desk and ignoring the call from her manager which almost resulted in being late - she’s not the kind to be on thin ice; as for you, this isn’t the first time this happened, and the warnings have only increased since then.

(A side of you few people know; exclusively for Dahyun to see. Bless the concealer for working its magic; most of the people won’t even be aware of the band-aid stuck onto her thigh.)

“A mouth can do so much more wonders than we expect.” Dahyun says cheerfully, concluding. Finger to her temple then to the lower rim of her lush lips.

Can’t deny her overbearing confidence at times.

“Really,” you say. “You’d reckon?”

“What the hell do you want me to ask for? A demonstration?” She herself knows fewer words are spoken between her and the other person. “Though, I technically don’t have to say anything to you at all since you can just tell from-”

You raise your eyebrow; solidifying the point. Nodding.

The crowd then erupts in a wave of thunderous applause, diverting both of your attention away from each other, seeing the award’s recipient bow before the audience before the event’s emcee steps on, keeping the proceedings flowing smoothly as possible. Most of the sounds are overstimulating as it is, seeing the groups of tables surrounded by people, not to mention the bar station working overtime. The flashing lights. Clamoring of paparazzi wanting the stars to look in their direction. Yeah. It’s a lot. You’ve had the rundown multiple times way more than you could count.

So you take the sight in. The usual work perk: better to be here than to sit behind a desk working into the late hours of the night, get an adequate amount of alcohol in your system to use the excuse of not being able to come in the next day, or even have the additional benefits traveling places you’d ever dream of going as a kid.

(In short saying: you liked your job, at least looking from the surface level. You don’t love or hate the gig, but you’d be willing to do what’s needed or asked without a reason or for something in return:

“Stay with me on the set?”

No problem.

“Run to the cafe down the corner and get drinks for us?”

Sure.

“I’ll give you a thank you note for your hard work. With a little extra prize at the end of it.”

No need to say ‘you’re welcome’ for that one.

You don’t even think twice about the things at all. Talk about being a sucker for love, leaving out the admission.)

It’s in the acts of service, much contrasted to doing it with a romantical intent. There might be a catch hidden deep within your heart and in those almond pools of hers; you and her had the discussion before, reapproaching it too many times for it to be pinned as a label. She says it’s a lot on her plate as it is - you’re harboring the feelings a bit too selfishly.

(Yearning and pining, everyone. The few answers to fill for those unanswered questions.)

And, it’s worth mentioning that for these brief periods of introspection, it doesn’t take much for you to snap out of the usual trance right away. Dahyun tugs the fabric of your coat for good measure, doubled down with a shoulder bump to put the vertigo in disarray, soon she has your attention again.

“What are you thinking about this time?” She asks.

That’s one prompt out of the many you find weaseling your way out easily.

“Well,” you start, pressing the buttoned-up collar up against your neck - negating the discomfort, soak some of the sweat into the threads, have the dry cleaners deal with the rest. “For one: it’s the drink they were passing around just now. And two: definitely the lack of air conditioning in this corner of the room-”

“So sensitive.” Dahyun laments, offering her small palm to your middle. “That shirt’s choking you as it is.”

“Ouch.” You sarcastically say. “Always clocking me for no reason. Unprovoked, I might add.”

“Lightening the load,” replies Dahyun, scrunching the bridge of her nose. Your coat suddenly no longer has a weight on your shoulders, finding its new place on smaller collarbones. Sure, the broad appearance depresses at the lapels, her fingertips are barely peeking out at the cuffs. Bonus points go to you for putting a considerate offer.

The top button of your shirt gets undone, freeing your throat. “What’s the plan now, miss?”

Dahyun swivels around, fiddles with the middle button of the coat until it’s in. “After party not far from here. I also think my publicist told me they have a small keynote thing I have to speak about.”

“Since when has anything ever kept you out of the spotlight?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking yourself if you’re my publicist or something?”

It takes two. The playing field’s still leveled.

But you happily oblige: “Lead the way, ma’am.”

Dahyun tilts her chin up, the corner of her mouth slightly ticked. Victorious. Some of the people around you two start to make a pathway to the exit. A little homage to Moses parting the sea for his people.

You’re already imagining the same scenario happening in traffic outside later, and you’re definitely telling Dahyun to keep her feet off the dashboard.

–

Here’s the thing. A clause in the signed contract, written and hidden deep between the lines.

You realize there’s no proper explanation to the level of engagement - exposure even - in these outings you’ve thrown yourself into. If the briefings prior are to be considered the shallow part of the pool, then the red carpets are without a doubt the deep end, it’s always going to be difficult to determine which one is easier to get used to.

Yet, you find yourself in the same spot as earlier. Except you’re lacking the usual occupant to your side back at the bar.

–

“I would like to greet everyone a good evening and thank you to the hosts for putting together-” says Dahyun, the collecting wave of applause scattering in pockets of the audience, “-such a wonderful gathering here tonight.” She then continues, now the center of attention before the occupying room, no short of most likely a hundred guests in the space if not more. The mic stand was casually adjusted by one of the stage workers, which made the appearance look more comical. Though, she bears no mind because she’s used to it on the regular.

Besides, not much time has passed once you two arrived at the second venue. Maybe a little shy of thirty minutes or something to that degree. You stopped looking at the watch on your wrist as it is - the first sign of how detached you’re slowly starting to become.

Worth noting the amount of alcohol in your system, leading to a single inevitable conclusion: one drink isn’t enough.

Luckily, the concoctions being created behind you have already been making the rounds to the guests; another cup manages to find its way to your hand again; this time with a little more kick compared to the main event’s refreshments, but the urge to grab another is a tempting thought.

There’s also the promising appeal of the balcony to your right - an opportunity to step outside, get some fresh air; you’ve got the dwindling pack of cigarettes in your right pocket, thumb reflexively twitching to ignite the lighter, the second sign of relapse waiting to happen. You don’t know how long you’ll be here, and you’re not the kind of person to push your hours for a faster paycheck.

Normally, on outings like these - they’re intended to celebrate, commemorate, congratulate, connect - then there’s the secondary layers of networking, creating connections for future projects, attached with the occasional icebreaker through the food and drinks where people are there to have a great time, socialize, share tales of what doesn’t get shown on cameras or what’s kept from being said on the record - the inner workings gradually forming once everyone’s settled in with the job done for the night.

While it may be a rinse and repeat on a different day, this face in particular does anything but that:

“Suppose you’re laying low for another hard day’s work?” She asks you, slotting herself into the spot where Dahyun would always be when she’s fulfilled her duties as an attending individual.

Speaking of Dahyun, she’s still on that stage with another co-star joining her, exchanging niceties and getting showered with compliments she plays off nonchalantly. Again, you told her to take as long as she liked, convincing yourself while walking away she’ll eventually find the way back once her minutes are up on the schedule. Until then, the oddly familiar face next to you is worth passing the seconds for now.

The girl waves a waiter nearby, nods in acknowledgement as the rim of the glass meets her fingertips, swirls it around while pursing her lips, looks in your direction and offers a toast-

You’re blinking as the action is mirrored. Ah, okay. She has your full attention alright.

You begin to see why there was a sudden influx of flashes at the photo-op earlier. This girl was amazing. The headlights shining in the dark with you as the innocent deer caught in the middle.

A drink like the one in your hand has never been swallowed faster than ever in your life.

“Ugh,” she utters, the small bump in her throat returning to its normal position, the tip of her tongue peeking out from her lips, savoring the taste. “Gotta say, this is way much better than what they were handing out in the other place.”

Turns out you’re not the only one who thought the drinks were a little fuzzy in terms of taste. So your face motions an expression of agreement and pulls a light chuckle out the mouth.

“No kidding,” you reply, examining the glass more closely, set it down on the bar, don’t ask for a second one - there’s no point, every ounce of coherence is needed to keep this conversation going, inhaling sharply for composure. “These have a little more kick,” you add on. Not much to expand as it is, but you’re getting somewhere.

“Right? It’s just enough to savor, but also not too much for you to end up in the bathroom later.” She pulls her head back, revealing the dips in her shoulders. Her necklace is an astonishing piece to notice, clearly worth in the five-digits. The shade of her dress is also another part of the appearance you’re doing multiple checks in. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but, some of the guys here are already wasted.”

Not quite blue, not quite a dark color either. You’re noticing something else here anyway.

“Hasn’t even been that long.” You’re playing it safe, observant. “The waiters are pretty much vultures in this setting; circling around the crowd until one of them drops to the floor out of exhaustion,” you tell her, checking your surrounding for anything out of the ordinary, the mix of tailored suits and dresses, elegance flooding the floor - filling up every pocket of space where it can. Some people are glancing over and immediately turning the other way, as if you had stolen a piece at the art museum. In a figurative sense, she’s drenched in blue, a siren in human form and she knows what the others are thinking around her.

“Attention always follows when you least expect it.”

“Isn’t that the epitome of this industry?” You lift your hand up towards the crowd of people, and higher up to point out the ambience. “Safe to also add there’s a lucky few that get the royal treatment and fawned over because of looks and status.”

“For all we know that could be you up there,” the woman drawls, eyes rolling and shaking her head. You can tell right off the bat she’s in denial, laid-back and totally doesn’t give a fuck; the kind of person you take pride in confiding in. “In the end, who’s really winning? The idiots who didn’t bet on their potential or the fools who were dumb enough to follow a stupid dream?” The girl runs her hand down her face. “I can tell which side you’re on.”

“I’ve been around long enough to know where the line’s drawn,” you scoff. “There’s pride in that choice for me.”

“It’s their job to use me,” she tells you. There might be a double meaning to it if you think long enough. “Just like it’s my job to be of use.”

“I’ll leave the interpretation for another time,” you nod, swirling the drink like you’ve got nothing else to do.

Her gaze doesn’t falter when you turn to put your elbows on the bar. “Well kudos to you, I guess.”

Your shoulders move again, facing towards her, elbow still on the edge of the bar. The rest of the room begins to fade out in your ears. “I don’t need an introduction, by the way. Since I already know who you are.”

“That so?”

“Minju.” You answer. “Kim Minju, to be exact,” you confidently say. A smirk tugged once the casual banter’s finally broken in. “Impressed much?”

Minju gently applauds at the meaningless achievement, smiling and giggling in a gentle tone. “Congrats. I’m assuming you totally didn’t read my name in the headlines let alone a file at your workplace?”

“There’s much more to it than your name being on the guest list.”

She blinks. The grin on her face spreads wider.

A handshake would be a nice touch to the introductions, but you’re past that point, unknowingly pushing to a higher stride.

“Alright then,” says Minju, threading her brows, teeth nipping the inside of her lower lip. “What else do you know about me? Or have you heard?”

“Loved your performance in that lawyer series,” you compliment. “Care to expand on what made you want that role in the first place? And is it true you learned sign language for the upcoming movie you’re starring in?”

This could be drawn up to be a fanboy image, but the interest is in the working passion. You don’t know whether or not the landing is sticking, but that’s just the natural flow of things. Minju herself has shuffled closer to lessen the proximity. You’re giving less care to the logistical side of the job, settling in letting loose since there aren't any plans for you after tonight. You haven’t had much to drink as it is plus this was a good way to keep the schedule moving.

“My my, so many questions for me.” Minju is a bit appalled at the sudden bombardment in the exposition and commentary you’re spilling. “Are you sure you’re working for the right agency? When were you so interested in making an impression for someone who’s clearly out of your league?”

She’s noticing the effort, that’s for sure. It isn’t like you to act this way, especially if it’s someone that’s not in the typical clientele you’re used to working with. Though, giving the informative part is easy, no doubt. If anything, this is taking a bite out of what she’s set out on the table; sooner or later, it’s going to take a lot more for her to buy into what you’re selling - especially when you don’t have all your cards laid out in front of you.

Minju watches you look left to the stage, and that was all she needed to know.

–

There’s not much to catch up on after. Consider this the transitional sequence - capped off with the polite waves and exit left once the minutes are up on stage. Everything resumes to normal: people exchanging laughs, getting plastered, acting like you’re aware of what’s happening here half the time. Dahyun spots you at your most preferred place and-

“Nice to see you two got acquainted while I was away doing my ‘obligatory’ duties,” she remarks - her way of weaseling into the conversation with a hand to your arm and chest, presenting you like some prized possession - a one of one. “I hope you’ve been keeping him occupied?”

“For the most part.” Minju’s face beams the same expression you have and your brows give off a tale of: yeah, that’s usually her thing around here. Though the mood’s already been set even before Dahyun managed to find her way back, she’s also capable enough to slot herself in effortlessly. “He’s a real charmer, this one.”

“Really?” Dahyun asks.

You scoff. “Not a chance.”

“Oh c’mon,” Minju says, and her head twists the opposite direction - noticing the sudden commotion somewhere off in the endless crowd. The three of you assume it’s a good sign - due to the cheers of approval with one of the awards is up in the air. “Never really thought you’d be one to get a little shy in showing their piece.”

“Piece?” You look at Dahyun, slightly pressed.

She shoos off the question in ignorance. “Minju doesn’t mean that.” Looks at Minju with a refined demeanor. “She, on the other hand, isn’t new to this kind of thing.”

Minju flashes a brow and that all glittering grin. “He must not be as familiar to me as you say.”

“And you’re underestimating my potential,” you drawl. “Have we met properly?”

“Not yet,” Minju responds, and Dahyun glances at the both of you - like a mastermind deep in the shadows, plotting moves on the chess table. “You’re the first person Dahyun’s brought along to and from events, though it looks like she’s managed to keep you around for a while.”

“Out of how many?” You add. Minju’s chin tilts an angle and Dahyun squints her eyes out of suspicion. It’s interesting enough how the two share the same mannerisms when around friends; the way their dresses are molded to their small waists - a nice curve in the swelled hips, enough for an average guy to do a double take every time they walk past them.

Dahyun clears her throat then blinks. “Let’s just say you’ve lucked out getting assigned to me for the long-term.” Minju brushes up your left side like she’s someone you’ve known for a while, despite only a few minutes. “May I remind you’re still on the clock?”

“Is he actually,” an intrigued Minju butts in.

“The phrase is a practical technicality, but yes.” You shrug.

“Does this remind you the other time where both of our managers got into a pissing match cause we fucked around with the livestream chat.” Dahyun sticks the peak of her tongue out - another eyebrow raiser. An instance predating your time. The topics switch to the next seamlessly:

“Oh and the one thing where we-”

“-or when your bikini pics got leaked-”

“When you got cozy with your male lead a while back-”

“-the whole accident on set with one of the staff-”

“You’re still dancing for fun and hanging out with the girls from your last group-”

They’re trading memories back and forth, with the deposit for more shenanigans beckoning to be cashed. In all of this you’re just an innocent bystander, fixated on the sudden pressure of Dahyun’s ass against your crotch with Minju fixing up her hair in a tiny, messy bun. The slim line on both pairs of collarbones reeling your eyes and gazing into their eyes. Minju’s cheekbones at the highest peak they could ever be with that photogenic grin; Dahyun looks up from underneath to see and realize you’ve been enamored from the event earlier.

“That’s right, I forgot. He hasn’t stopped noticing you with your fabulous dress, Minju. Since we crossed paths in the hotel before driving over.” Dahyun declares, in the most roundabout way of letting it known you wanted her. All you do is nod in admission. Then, Minju bites down her lip - eyes unfailing because apparently the girl knows everything. “Speaking of which-”

“Same hotel, right?” Minju offers. You could imagine the scattered sparkles over her head. “I suppose I can hitch a ride with you guys on the way back?”

–

The worst part about these events would definitely be the traffic.

With the streets packed with cars and taxis, waiting for every red light to turn green with the fingers tapping on the wheel starts to get a little more erratic out of impatience. You’re already in a sour mood on the way out because the valet couldn’t stop bitching and there was a scuffle near the door; but your attention isn’t on the road- rather, Minju in the driver seat - on your lap, in fact- feeling your mouth more than you feeling hers.

“Isn’t this a bit restricting?” Minju asks as she draws back, fingers in the opening of your necktie and pulling. “Looking flustered with a pretty woman on top of you, hm? Or is that the alcohol blushing your face.”

“It’s a bit confining,” you’re saying (and thinking), adding onto the fact of the growing tent at your crotch - accepting the weight of her ass holding you down - there’s no way in hell she hasn’t noticed it yet-

“Careful now,” Dahyun jumps in from the seat behind, happily watching. You’re unsure if she’s saying that to you or Minju - there’d be no difference in that regard anyway. “We wouldn’t want to have something bad happen to all of us, right?”

“Do you know who I am?” you mumble, getting caught in Minju’s lips and her hands doing all the right things to make sure your foot stays on the brake pedal. The light then turns green, stopping at the sudden movement of the car, bringing her knees higher to give your arm more space. “You’re lucky the hotel isn’t far this time around.”

“Oh? What happened before?” Minju inquires, “Don’t tell me you got pulled over with her sitting on your lap like this.”

“Almost,” answers Dahyun, slipping Minju’s heels off from her feet, leaving a few kisses on them. Another hint to keep as to what this girl likes - what she’s into. Dahyun wasn’t kidding when she explained what Minju is behind closed doors and she convinced you without lifting a finger to help her along in doing the honors. “Except you wouldn’t believe what the company had to do to keep the headline from hitting the main news birds.”

Minju gasps. “So that wasn’t a rumor.”

“Never happening again,” you rebuke, “Trust me when I say that I dealt with her once we got back.”

Dahyun sighs out of spite and Minju coos. Slipping your tie from the collar and handing it to the woman in the back like a baton. Un-do’s the top two buttons on your shirt, exposing your neck - freeing up the air. The dress at her legs starts to ruck up in loose rolls, showing more of those incredible thighs- shit, they’re on par with Dahyun’s, that’s for sure.

“Assuming you two missed the flight back home, I suppose?” Minju keeps talking, leans her head on the window, gets more lapis around her fingers. You look down and- okay, fuck-

She isn’t wearing any underwear.

“I don’t really remember,” Dahyun answers, and you notice she’s not at your shoulder anymore. A quick look up at the rearview, her posture is beyond slouched, leaning her head back, fluttering her eyes shut - already ahead of what she’s lacking, hoping you won’t make her wait any longer, but for now, her fingers will have to do.

No underwear for her, either. She really is playing both sides to this plot.

“It started with something like that,” you say, paying no further attention to the Dahyun fingerfucking her cunt open in the backseat - as compared to the Dahyun from a few months ago, who did the same exact thing in the passenger side before hopping on your lap - the red and blue lights are shining from the rear. Minju’s case however is a bit different: the girl’s running her hand up and down her waist, dancing along your jaw, finger to your lip and that’s an offer you can’t really refuse, so you lick the pad of her thumb, staring at you in awe, building up the profile in how to get you going.

“You really are a keeper,” Minju breathes, and Dahyun laughs in agreement, sighing - her fingers clamped by her cunt. Yu could imagine how soaked her digits are. You want to help clean the mess up later. “Do you hear that? Sounds like your girl’s enjoying herself in the back.”

“Is she? Good to know.”

“Wanna give her a little show?”

“What did you have in mind?” Playing into the role so easily Minju doesn’t flinch when your arm goes up and under her legs. The wonderful blessing of pairs, they do come in handy. “I’m an auditory learner, by the way. I like to get an idea of what I’m about to do.”

Minju was about to explain what was about to happen, but your muscle memory had other ideas: palm feeling out the surface of her soft skin over her ass, thumb lazily tampering the end of her slit, and you hear a sudden hitch - the hook of her fingers around your neck press harder in anticipation. “Here’s a hint: Dahyun’s doing it right now, too.”

“If it wasn’t obvious enough.”

“You-ah, you’re a smart guy,” says Minju, biting her finger. “Okay, god. That’s- wow. That’s really fucking good.”

You sink your thumb in deeper, coat it around that warm slick - swap it for a proper finger, watch her (and the road, mind you) melt at your touch. She mewls at the slow place, and breathes carefully. The same woman who had a captivating sense of beauty talking to you and on stage is withering away by the second.

“Wait- you, fuck.” She grins. You look back again to Dahyun in the rearview, her head on one side and bobbing her head in approval. Nothing more delightful than the gentle purr of the engine - the light smacks of skin to skin a nice plus. “Please, please-”

Her eyes are lidded and shimmering at the same time. How is she able to do that?

“Nice to see you’ve kept yourself busy,” Dahyun chuckles, leaning back forward, nose to your temple. Gently laving her tongue at you, nibbling a bit of skin, the first mark of the night. Her hand keeps your gaze to the front, smears her slick fingers across your lips and when you’re at another red light, she pulls your head to her, claiming your mouth as her own.

The air’s only getting hotter, the fabric of your shirt’s starting to mold to your body.

Dahyun’s tongue is already addicting with Minju’s keening at your fingers. You feel helpless with the seatbelt around you and time; it’s also worth noting the shared blessing plus curse in being a very skilled multitasker. Minju’s body jolts, crumpling smaller, pinching her cunt from inside and at the clit, her face scrunching once you’ve discovered her sweet spot that makes her yelp. Oh, oh my. You’re saving that for later.

You wouldn’t want to have any other problem than this. A prisoner sitting up in heaven. Until the driver behind you holds his horn way longer than you’d liked.

Dahyun then pushes your face to the windshield again. Minju’s granted a moment to breathe. The pair laughing at the sudden embarrassment of you just now.

“Mind that you’re still at the wheel, sir?” Dahyun grins, departing her lips and hands to shift the focus to the current task. “The agency’s gonna have your dick if something bad happens to me.”

“I’m counting on it,” you dart back. Minju shuffles her body to a more comfortable position, slipping her tongue into your mouth intentionally - resulting in an increase over the speed limit, and that gets her cackling. “If it means I get to run away with you.”

Dahyun tugs the stray end of your hair. “Don’t push your luck.”

“You didn’t cum yet, Dahyun?” Minju asks, tracing a nail on your cheek. “I can’t believe I just got edged.”

“We’re breaking you in little by little, sweetheart,” Dahyun replies to Minju, “don’t worry, our lover boy and I are gonna take good care of you when we get there.”

“You promised?” Minju then adds, sounding like an excited little kid, waiting for their reward.

“Mhm,” hums Dahyun, “Why don’t you give him a little space to concentrate,” she suggests, the blood running through your veins starts to flow much faster. “How about, giving him a proper trade off for getting you all riled up.”

As if the night couldn't be any worse (for the better, actually), you’re holding your breath - straightening the posture.

(You’re just happy this happened to you.)

So far, Minju’s got a bag full of surprises. What she does next really blows the whole aspect right out of the gate - the kind that risks all your lives in the car if it were to end up off the road.

Dahyun helps Minju off your lap, ends up back in the passenger seat, her dress rumpled amidst the shuffling to get her knees on the leather, elbows resting above the compartment, staring back - her eyes full of greedier intent. Coy smile and everything, without saying a single word.

“You’re sure I can?” Minju asks, pinching her lip delicately and Dahyun shelters her grin, aware of what she’s about to do. “I’m not gonna kill him, am I?”

“Oh please,” Dahyun sighs, hand to shoulder, showing comfort to the approval. Letting go of the reservation. “He lets me have my way all the time. I don’t think he would mind.”

“Not like I can do anything in this situation,” you shake your head, bearing the sudden influx of movement around your pants. Fingers getting a feel at your thighs, then your crotch-

“Looks like someone’s ready for some action,” Minju breathes, nails clinging to the zipper, tugging. The belt unbuckling soon after. You’re lucky she didn’t go for the seatbelt - for safety reasons. How considerate.

When your cock is finally brought into the mix, her hand is finally able to wrap around the size of you. She’s left in a slight state of shock, trying to come to grips at the long awaited reveal.

“Jesus christ,” she breathes, Dahyun’s smirk is one you would like to wipe off of her yourself. Minju’s still reveling at the hold she has on you, in ownership. “How do you deal with this?”

Dahyun’s answer is an open-ended one: “I just do.”

No warning is given, Minju’s small nose grazing the head, getting one good whiff at the scent. She sighs, and it’s euphoric. Her tongue is the first to have another sense unlocked; the taste, the feel, the sensitivity - it’s a mutual agreement without diplomacy: you want her, she wants you.

One more look back at Dahyun, the final confirmation. “May I?”

You could imagine the subtle nod of approval. And Minju’s mouth takes you.

All of that sensational alcohol is suddenly in the back of your head, replaced with a new stimulation.

There is a slight bit of resistance - on reflex: your stomach and legs tensing when Minju slides her mouth, brushing saliva over skin. She stops halfway, coughs, soaking your cock even more. Even though you can’t see it, you could imagine her eyes cinched shut, enlightened to pleasure you more.

“Wow,” you’re saying, and the hand grips the wheel even tighter.

Dahyun’s taken the indulging upon herself, pulling Minju’s dress up from behind, revealing those wide hips, and the irresistible ass attached with it. Palm flat - kneading it where Minju hums at the touch, vibrating it down on your slick shaft, stuffing her mouth as much as she can, swirling her tongue all over, adding more spit to the surface.

“Can you believe,” says Dahyun, sliding her fingers in Minju’s poor, open cunt, “how wet you made her? You should have some shame.”

“That isn’t my fault-”

“But it is.” Dahyun tells you with another kiss to your cheek.

“Damn right it is.”

“Just listen.” Dahyun instructs you, letting silence fill up the car and it’s all just the gentle ticks of Minju’s mouth taking you in the driver’s seat. Meticulously calculated to the finest point of your nerves, throat bobbing you - getting used to the unfamiliar girth of your cock. To which she does with ease, like a natural. It’s another story for you to ask about the two once all of this is over. Though you don’t want it to end.

All of the current thoughts are filled with Dahyun’s moans filling your ear, Minju’s mouth slipping over your lap.

“Everything okay, Minju?” Dahyun asks, and Minju’s lips pop off the tip with an audible noise. Eyes full of you. She looks at Dahyun with the look of a girl who’s discovered fire. Lips smeared with spit mixed pre-cum. Her tongue licking off the remnants is a telltale of a job not finished. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves now, shall we?”

“I’m just having my fun with your toy, that’s all.” Minju reprimands. “I was hoping you’d believe me when I told you before we went on stage.”

“Are you done showing him what you’re made of, or are you gonna give him more than he asked for?” Dahyun adds, her eyes lidded once again when she sets them on you.

“If that’s what he likes,” says Minju.

Your hand would definitely be rather tangled up in Minju’s hair over the wheel. When you wanted to satisfy that necessary impulse-

“Ah ah,” Dahyun tells you, Minju taking that as her cue to get your cock back in her mouth again, with much more motivation now carried behind the action. It’s a sensory overload on all fronts: the steering wheel, the windshield, Minju’s mouth lapping up your cock all the way in the velvety clinch of her throat, the sounds she’s making. “Shh, I’ve got you. Try to relax. Take us home, and let Minju be a good girl for you.”

Once you hear the gags become much more louder, the tip of her tongue teasing the base where your balls meet-

You groan and press on the pedal a little too much, dancing over the speed limit.

“Mmm,” Minju moans into your skin. The arch in her back now coming to form, Dahyun’s hand still to the rear of her ass. All three of you are playing into the act - curated by Dahyun’s fantasies.

She’s so good, Minju. Too fucking good. Ever since you’ve laid eyes on her. Now the pretty sight is her face to your hips, makeup messy, dress left in ruin, both holes occupied by you and Dahyun.

The hotel’s on the right in the next two lights. You can hold it, keep yourself together. Or- have Minju have her fun - make you burst right her and now; not to prove a point, but to show that she’s up for what you’re willing to dish out as soon as you could get back to the room, put the ‘do not disturb’ card out on the handle and eventually tell housekeeping to come back later - if there is a later.

These two, they’re relentless. They know you’re wrapped around their fingers and there’s not much for you to do except get them back in one piece. It’s on the assignment, but Minju’s bobbing mouth - Dahyun’s snarky dirty comments of how you’re going to fuck her into the mattress is something that the mangers didn’t mention. Rather the exclusivity perk told by the girl herself, a walking apparition of sin and her sexy advocate. You couldn’t ask for anything more than that.

“Minju, I swear to fuck-”

Dahyun doesn’t really falter if you were to speak for your own sanity, Minju keeps on sucking to the point where you’re relying on the sheer instinct of keeping the car on the street, deepthroating to submission, letting the friction of her hand bring you closer to that sweet release.

Christ.

It really can’t be helped.

If the right hand is busy, then the left hand is there to pick up the slack on the wheel.

The way you grip Minju’s hair, push her past the comfort zone, take her mouth in - deeper, where you don't believe she’s able to handle, but does. She keeps the rhythm, peak consistency. Her sly mouth filled with heat. Dahyun notices- assists in the movement, hand stacked on yours and she’s amused.

“Aw, you really like her,” says Dahyun, guiding her tongue into the cuff of your ear, her breath soothing and alarming. “Makes me wonder whose mouth is better: mine or hers.”

“Shit, baby.” You’re trying, but Dahyun smiles again when she hears the combined sound of Minju’s muffled remark and your loud moan. Minju’s mouth is a literal dream, deliberately filthy; stuffing your cock, fitting the size in a matter of minutes. The taste of you already addicting and she doesn’t let up on the tension, flicking her tongue on the underside and swapping it with her hand, holding you tight where the grip is almost white-knuckled. Tracing every layer from the skin to the veins, memorizing how wide and where to make you lose control. “You shouldn’t test me like this.”

“How long are you willing to keep it together for me? For us?” Dahyun asks, biting down a patch on your neck and watching the rise and fall of Minju’s head. Her savagery coming to light, deep within the darkness. “You could cum for our little cumdump and she’d be happy with it.”

“Mmph,” Minju garbles onto your cock.

“Fuck-”

“That’s right,” Dahyun murmurs, a hot wet kiss to the same spot where she nibbled, pushing Minju’s head down and holding it there. “Make our slut earn for it.”

And then-

You slam on the brakes.

The movement was sudden (and forceful). Dahyun and Minju share a reaction: gasping in shock where one’s pulling the other for air, eyes quirking like they’re seeing you walk in on them and the appropriate reaction to stare seems the most reasonable one. Dahyun’s hand is still in Minju’s hair, with you paying no attention and pulling the car into the valet lane of the hotel. “We’re gonna make you pay for that,” Dahyun tells you, letting go of Minju - to where she leans over to get the head of your cock wrapped around her pretty lips once again.

“Uh huh,” you say, tapping Minju’s shoulder, signaling to stop for now, right when your balls were about to burst. “Help me out and make yourselves look presentable, will ya?”

Minju rises up and wipes the layer of spit spread from her mouth, jaw slack-open and trying to memorize how your cock fills her throat. She’s good and she knows it. You and Dahyun don’t need any other confirmation to tell you she’s ready.

“If that’s what you want,” hushes Dahyun, nodding Minju to follow your wishes, she carefully puts your cock away while the car’s slowly rolling in the line. Thank god for the tinted windows, and you’re starting to imagine what the pictures would look like if they got leaked.

Any more time spent in this car and it would’ve ended up off the street. Minju’s lips capture yours first, and then Dahyun’s after. You can’t help staring, because it’s a pretty sweet view.

–

(Nobody bats an eye at the three of you at the venue, easily the center of attention whether you’d like it or not. Nobody really bats an eye if it’s the hotel doorman seeing you carrying a girl on your shoulder and heels in your hand - another girl in front of you wearing your coat, happily acknowledging the service as if it’s just a normal night. Doesn’t hide the fact the doorman wished he could trade places with you and be in that predicament instead.

He holds the door when Dahyun goes first, looks you in the eye with Minju bowing her head from behind in a fun way of saying hello and the doorman gives you this look of light confusion, but also: one of those nights, isn’t it?

Man to man, you just smirk and nod. No need to elaborate any further.)

–

In the elevator, it’s also a one-way ticket to a destination you’ve been to many times with Dahyun before. Whether to put it as your personal heaven or literal hell, it might be simply considered as purgatory.

If you were half the honest man you were - have a little more truth to your name, you would’ve gotten to know Minju a little more. Break the ice, learn what her hobbies are when she’s not in front of a crowd or camera. When her laugh echoes in the lobby and Dahyun’s trying her best to keep her quiet - even that is near impossible to do. She didn’t even drink that much to begin with, but she sure as hell looks like it.

She even looks better on her knees, with the panel behind highlighting all the floors to not make it a one-way trip back to the room.

“Fucking hell,” you hiss, hand deeply planted into her mocha shaded tresses, wet lips prettily wrapped around your cock, slipping a tongue to the slick, sensitive plane every other second making your grip around the railing a little less pleasant. Dahyun’s also lowered herself, tending to your balls and holding your thigh. Neither of them are in competition for your cock- not yet, at least, but the genuflection at your feet is enough to make you think that you’re someone worth worshipping.

Though, there’s not much to think about when they’re both swallowing your dick down their throats respectively.

Minju bobs her head up, pops, and Dahyun swallows your dick back in. You’re flexing your stomach as hard as you can.

“This isn’t too much for you, right?” Minju asks sweetly, batting eyelashes in second nature. Gazing at Dahyun who’s repeating the same moment Minju has been doing since the elevator started working. Your right hand is far off from Dahyun’s head, and you hover it over to keep the pace going.

“I’d be dead if I said it was,” you admit to Minju, to where she just fucking- looks up, face at the underside and those doe eyes, swimming in black, glistening with such innocence- lapping up the spots where Dahyun can’t reach. “But christ- you two are-”

“Relax.” You imagine that’s the word Dahyun is saying; but with her mouth filled so full up of your cock the sound comes out as garbled, saliva leaking at the corners. She’s hungry, deprived, longing for your cock. And now she finally has it dancing on her neat little tongue.

“All the stories she tells me- like, fuck, she looks so hot seeing it happen in person.”

“Minju.” You’re calling the name like putting the blame on her, staring deep into your soul. She grabs your wrist for you to not let go - to stay - just like this, you’re not going anywhere; you let the back of your head hit the wall as it feels like gravity is leaving your body. “God,” you’re gasping, suffocated by Dahyun throating your cock. “Her mouth is just-”

“I know, baby,” Minju tells you, above the half-gagged sounds of Dahyun sliding your shaft in and out of her throat, the motion selfish in every bob she does - like she doesn’t want Minju to have her fun. Your breaths staggering with every pass, smothered by the vibration between your legs, moaning with watery eyes. “She’s too good for you, we know.”

Dahyun lets you breathe, slips her hand all over her newly created mess. Minju stacks her hand right on top. The friction strong enough to pull your weight over them. You could feel your back slide against the metal, knees buckling.

“Looks like we softened him up, huh Minju?” Dahyun says sweetly, innocuous. “Got it nice and throbbing for you-”

Minju’s tongue darts at the bead of cum weeping out your slit; makes your hips twitch in the draw-back. “He’s raring to go, have you seen the look on his face?”

When they both look up: you’re dumbstruck, ogling - but all that pride you had at the start of this is nowhere to be seen.

“What floor is your room again?”

“29th.”

“Just a couple more floors up,” you say and they’re both giggling. Either at you, specifically - or the limitless amounts of tricksd how you’re going to pull and bend their gorgeous little bodies. Sensibility and control has no meaning to them. It probably has no meaning to you after everything that’s unfolded thus far.

Dahyun and Minju tilt their heads up to the underside of your cock, and the urge to grab both shades of brown to black flashes through your mind, but you digress.

They (or even you) wouldn’t have to wait any longer.

–

There’s no subtle preamble. No- that went out the door the moment you stepped in.

It’s the same order since the foyer: Dahyun first, followed by a clingy Minju and her lips with you the last one to file in line. Minju hasn’t been forthcoming in freeing you from her grasp, but you’re not the kind to fight in these situations - so, you let her kiss you anyway.

Dahyun tosses your jacket on the chair adjacent to the bed, stains fading from the earlier session, heels gracefully thudding the carpet. The blinds are parted just wide enough to get the backdrop of the cozy blue lighting hitting against the beachfront, the sound of waves crashing into shore. Bags upon bags zipped open with the assortment of essential wear and toiletries.

Minju’s not letting you go still, arms well hooked to the nape. Like she wants you to pin her to the wall straight away and let Dahyun be the lone spectator, standing in the dark.

“Can’t even spare one second of decency,” she breathes; you and Minju both look at her, not insulted - technically - but rather in a mere taunt.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” Minju asks, slyly. You shift your head back on her, let the height do the talking - make her feel small. In hindsight, she’s roughly about Dahyun’s height; that part you figured out the second Dahyun stepped into the conversation back at the party. “Are you going to stand there and watch? Or are you gonna join in on the action?”

Her voice is beyond casual, and almost a siren’s call. Dahyun doesn’t hesitate with her small stature, pulling one end at the collar of her dress, undoing it. You remember hearing that the dress itself that she was wearing was worth six figures - and she isn’t fazed when the fabric crumples at her hips - then to her thighs.

The audacity of this woman. Her figure is much more alluring to look at when there’s nothing on it.

You give your neck a gentle tweak, put any implication of soreness in the back of your head. It’s going to be a long night as it is.

“Someone’s feisty to get the ball rolling,” you’re saying, lips fast to Minju’s neck; the clutch of her hands and arms already with enough pull. Needlessly. Graciously. She tries to get your shirt off but all you give her is two hands on her shoulders and put her back against the surface. Her head hits the earthy shaded drywall - it might be intentional, or not, you won’t give any quarter either way.

Dahyun slots herself in, like she did back at the party. Only this time, she’s playing your role as second fiddle, peeling Minju away and giving her some breathing room - just to be snuffed out as she’s treating her lips to the exposed collarbone.

Minju’s leaning back, arching. Her hands don’t know whether to go to you or to Dahyun. It’s a win-win situation for her (probably a win for all three of you across the board). Two of the most attractive beings she’s ever crossed paths with and finally living out her wildest wet dreams.

The reality of it hasn’t set in yet, but the cracks are showing when Dahyun hushes into her neck: “We’re going to take good care of you tonight, honey.” She leaves a hot kiss right on the bridge of her collarbone, and you see her lip quivering. “I hope you’re ready for what’s coming.”

“Do you have any-” Minju’s sentence gets cut short when the press of your fingers gets a little too greedy, bending the blue frame under your will. “-idea of- fuck, how long I waited to finally have a go with your guy?”

“No,” replies Dahyun, tilting her chin up. Your lips are at her throat again and Dahyun seizes the chance to let Minju speak. “Maybe, I don’t really remember.”

“Let’s not forget,” Minju gasps and the heat rising on her face starts to become noticeable. “That you’re the one who set all of this up.”

“Did I?” Dahyun’s airheadedness is worthy enough for her to get the dunce cap. “Hmm.”

“She’s got a point,” you’re dishing out the unsolicited reality check. “I’m on Minju’s side here.”

Minju smiles as Dahyun rolls her eyes. The air in the room is thicker here compared to the car, shared breathing amongst you three intoxicating enough to get high on. It’s a higher plane of existence - a nirvana. Minju’s fingers trace the cotton on your waist, goes lower, till her fingertips get the cool touch of the belt buckle. There isn’t much to be said here; nothing but sly comments and filling the other’s ego to the brim. “Heh. The majority is two to one.”

You realize that it was a collective effort a while ago. Though, you liked the idea of being the bigger person over the both of them, literally.

You’ll have pride in that regard, especially in the ways you want to go about things. Dahyun lets her fingers slide over Minju’s body, canvas the curves in her wrinkled dress and slowly drag the material down in a fashion that makes your cock throb even harder against the cotton, beneath Minju’s hand. Showing care in the craft before the messy idea of undressing fills her mind. It’s Newton’s third law in real time: Dahyun setting the vision in motion and everything else seems to topple down like dominoes.

“Should we take things slowly?” Dahyun asks; proposing a challenge with the heavy implication of doing the opposite - albeit a complete rhetorical. “Make him lose his mind in being gentle and get him antsy?”

“Please,” Minju says with a hitched inhale, a hiccup, when the cool air finally hits her skin. “Anything but that.”

“You want more than just a hot mouth and fingers, huh?” Cute.” She tells Minju, dryly. “Well, why don’t you show him again how ready you actually are.”

Minju’s way ahead before you get the chance to register it: her hand well below your waist, wrapping her dainty fingers around your cock and the reflexive suck of your gut is the exact same as in the car when her lips make contact she can- god - she’s gonna-

Both exchange and share a glance, leaning their heads and drinking the sight of your inevitable demise. Minju raises her leg in the open space of yours and Dahyun’s happily helping along - hand to her thigh and making her feel lighter.

And your mind feels the exact same way when you kiss Minju once more. Which shows how much passion she has in somebody she likes; it’s sweet, wonderful, and really just pushing to keep going. Dahyun watches the whole thing unfold: you gripping tighter on Minju and handing you over the work while she pulls the dress lower and lower until it’s nothing but a pool of blue at her feet. Then she pitches in the effort. If a pair of hands and mouth isn’t enough for Minju, what’s wrong with adding another? Your clothes are soon falling out of your rigid frame not long after, and that’s the last piece finally unraveling. Minju’s still got her hand to your cock still and you’re tending to her breasts - her collarbone, Dahyun letting the width of her hips fill her palms and settles in the place of Minju on the wall.

You really can’t help yourself. Hands feasting over the unclaimed skin. You’re grasping Minju’s waist, her unimaginable ass - you hear Dahyun laugh as you’re nibbling on her jaw. The facial structure itself reminds you of another girl you and Dahyun had escapade with not long ago: Tzuyu was her name- was it? Probably. Now isn’t the time to think about it.

Because you keep kissing Minju. There isn’t really any other motive than that. Her pert mouth with those pouty lips, the sticky-messy kind and perfect enough to get more sloppy. Dahyun covers her breasts and pinches the hard buds as Minju accustoms your leg in the space between her legs. And she’s just- having the most fun out of the three of you. You think it would be Dahyun having her ‘i made it moment’ right at this second, and you’re sure she has that thought somewhere in her brain. This is Minju’s time to shine, between you two, and she’s living in it. One hand is full of Dahyun’s ass from behind, and the other’s pulling your cock closer and closer to her hips until the bits of precum starts to smear over her stomach, jerking and jerking.

“I haven’t mentioned how much I love this cock,” Minju spills with an airy laugh. Biting her lip down at feeling she got back in the car. Though she lays an admission: “If you really let me, I would’ve hopped on it in the driver's seat while we were on our way back.”

“You should’ve,” you were about to say, but Dahyun beats you to it. “Had you been riskier enough.”

Minju bites her lip down a little harder, head tipped by Dahyun that shines a spot on her chest where you notice a beauty mark- actually two beauty marks. Something to keep focus on with your eyes and not gander down to her hand had your cock. Rubbing your head right at her clit and she-

“No doubt she’s ready,” you tell the both of them, putting your two fingers between your cock and her cunt for confirmation. “I was surprised you didn’t jump on the opportunity in the car.”

“Thought I could skip to the part where you take me as I am, like I haven’t been touched in my life.” Minju threads the phrase out smoothly; little does she know that would be the last coherent thing she will say tonight. Blatantly point out the most obvious thing in your eyes: “you’ve got two of the most beautiful women in your hands and your cock isn’t fucking me yet. Is- is that gonna change anytime soon-”

“To hell with the foreplay and toying,” Dahyun coyly says, setting the declaration. “Say goodbye to your legs for the time being. You won’t be able to feel them once we’re done, or even if you’re ready for seconds.”

“Or thirds.” You smirk.

“Even if your manager calls him, he won’t answer.” Dahyun assures.

Somehow the three of you were going to end up in the bed one way or another, but right now: Dahyun raises Minju’s arms up, her wrists crossed instinctually, and opens up the chance for you to lift her leg. The stability is there with Dahyun behind, closing the distance where it’s skin on skin on skin.

Dahyun’s dreamy gaze captures her creation coming to life, holding her hips along with you, then her nuzzling cheek to the back of her neck. “The perfect girl.” All sleepy smiled with her eyes closed, “A clean slate for him to just-”

Right when you slip your cock inside, it’s behind closed doors - no flashing cameras, no name being called to the stage.

You’ve got Minju right where she is. Where she wants to be.

“Oh sweetheart,” you breathe, and you don’t flinch at the broken pitch Minju sings.

“-fuck your brains out to your wildest dreams. Isn’t that right, Min Min? Look into his eyes and show him how badly you want it.”

You freeze. Because you’re just staring into the endless void of those illustrious, beautiful irises Minju bears. Her face pulls a minor wince at the sensation - like she’s about to cry, but she’s nodding despite it; her arched back, the tipped head, her leg bound to your thigh - curling her toes and sinking her nails into your shoulders- holding on for dear life.

The only thing you want to manage: “Minju, baby- this cunt.” This is something you want to capture, fulfill a desire you didn’t think you had. Dahyun will be expecting your thanks later, and you’ll owe her big time.

“Mhm, I figured.” Dahyun laughs, victorious. “Go ahead, fuck those pretty lips of hers. Make her cum like you do with me.”

“You’ll get me again.” You’re saying that as some routine, rather than a promise. The groan falling out your tongue is a red herring in itself. Minju’s ass rests on your hands, still getting used to the insane width of her hips when rounding at the swell. Spread her raised leg wider to push your cock all the way in. Murmuring and mumbling the same in loose prayer.

Minju’s learning curve isn’t hard to follow, nor get used to. Even though it’s the first time you’ve got yourself inside all night, that's evident with the amount of ‘holy shit’ you keep mouthing as she puffs her chest out, lifting her upper half as the lower is hopelessly slipping down your length. Dahyun wasn’t kidding when she told you her body was primed for sex: hips broad enough for you to palm (and not grip if needed), to her slick cunt, swallowing up the shaft with an endless supply of heat.

Dahyun hums above the tics Minju gives with her exhales, sliding her hips down to yours; rolling them on the slight elevation provided by her other leg still on the floor, tip-toed. “Okay- holy shit,” she grits, her sly and elegant persona ripped out of her; in disbelief and in reverence: “How does this even fucking-”

A hold and yank at the apex. The audible slap is loud for someone to hear next door. Minju’s yelp doubles down on the point.

In the heat of everything. In the heat of Minju’s cunt swallowing your cock whole now. Dahyun caresses her friend’s pleasure-stricken expression, nibbling and kissing the cuff of her ear. Hand now to her clit to get her closer- faster- to that fine edge. Minju’s back bucks the opposite of the arch she managed to hold impressively well, but Dahyun (again, you can thank her for the literal support) presses down on her upper back, opens her breasts up for you to smother yourself in.

“It just does. He just does.” Dahyun supplies Minju’s working theory. “Your pretty pussy is made for a cock like his. Such a good girl for taking him so well-”

“Fuck-” is all Minju stutters. Unable to say anything else.

Her body is unbelievably responsive with the slip in, drag out motion. After all, you’re the one giving the goods. Fucking her poor pussy and splitting her legs open and listen to her whine and whimper in the same repeating fashion before Dahyun swoops her lips in to shut her up. “Oh my god,” she mumbles into the pair. “It’s so good,” and it’s everything to her. “His cock fills me up so well-”

“Right? Just let him take care of you, baby? Okay?” Dahyun’s fingers corral in a ‘v’, where she catches some of the slick and your cock sliding and feel how wet you two made her. She looks down in the low lights, gasps. “You see that? So much fucking cream down there. You naughty girl.”

You look down as well, and it’s a gentle layer of white spread all over. Minju’s liking this, and you are too.

“Holy shit,” Minju spits. The sound competing between the wails and moans - you feel her leak more. “So good. So good-”

“Yeah?” You and Dahyun say in unison. Softly. Cradling poor, pretty Minju.

“I can’t- I need. I need you two-”

You can’t stop this. Dahyun will have your dick severed and in her hand if you do. But who in their right mind would ever think of dropping her while she’s coming undone. Not while Dahyun’s arms are hooked beneath Minju’s shoulders; you, holding her dangling leg up higher, stretching Minju’s body in the hopes of furthering the sensation. Break that cunt up along with her voice.

“Breathe, Min Min. Let him take you,” Dahyun shoots a glance at you, mouth hovering yours like a tease at the crossroads. Minju’s hand clings to the back of your head, lips to the ear, head bobbing amongst the hitched gasps and clench of her teeth.

“Minju.” You’re saying her name that way for the second time tonight. “God- look at you. Such a good fucking girl for me, letting us hold you while I fuck your cunt up all the right ways,” you groan, “-Dahyun holding you up while I dick you down-”

“Bless her, bless you,” she sighs out in thanks. “You’re too good to me.”

The rhythm keeps going. Your mind doing everything it can to keep up with the beats down your heart and hips. Minju’s body is in complete euphoria the way you pull halfway and drive back in, watch her face light up a million times brighter when Dahyun slips a finger in along with your cock.

“As if you wanted anything else- fucking- unreal.” She’s still got that confidence from earlier. Hoping that you can take that away from her.

“Wouldn’t trade the world for this,” you say.

“Why would we?” Dahyun adds on, and it just- feels right. Those two got all the awards. You’re just acknowledging them with your own reward.

Minju clings on tighter. The arch in her back going the opposite direction as before, hunching, embracing; hopelessly becoming a puddle soaking your body. Her sweet little cunt and those fox like eyes, the low timbre of her voice coming around only to be replaced with a high pitched moan - it’s a splitting image, in the appearance and feeling - embedding your cock inside to the same spot you hit before and you almost feel bad for the girl. Like she was meant to take the hitting hips- because she’s made for it.

Dahyun - to her own fun, coils her fingers around your shaft. To add to the pressure, the friction. She even teases the outer rim of Minju’s pussy lips because she can. Those small hands: so delicate and light, touching and pinching and even gently slapping-

Minju wails.

“You- you’re- you’re gonna make me fucking cum-”

“Goodness, are we?” Dahyun inquires, sneering into Minju’s cheek.

“Yes, yes-”

“I don’t think he heard you just now,” Dahyun hushes, “say it one more time for us, Min min,” and you know well that power isn’t one of Dahyun’s key archetypes, but when she grips Minju’s chin and wiggles a finger past her teeth. She doesn’t even register the nice nerve pinch at the bite. “You fucking little slut. Minju, take that fucking cock in your pussy like it’s yours-”

“B- Be”

“What’s that?” The pleads are helpless, because Minju’s fingers slip and grasp onto you, raising her body like that was the thing holding her back. It doesn’t stop you from fucking her cunt into oblivion - having the tight heat and engulfing sopp of her pussy be the only thing for you to focus on.

“You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” Dahyun says, and her circling hand doesn’t let up as Minju’s voice reaches those similar tones, “Why don’t you do it. Cum. Cum right now. All over his fucking cock-” and at this point, most of the superiority complex has fully taken over. Enough with all the nice praise and encouragement, Minju will do exactly what Dahyun tells her to do: “Let his cock cum up all inside your pretty little belly, make you feel so full. I better see that small bump where it’s poking so deep-”

“Yes-”

You’re blindly nodding along. Hips coming to contact with hers in muscle memory. “I know you want everyone to hear you, huh Minju? How much of a whore you can be when you got a nice cock all up inside you, breeding-”

“Yes, please.” Minju gasps. “Please, just- give me that-”

“Say it.” Dahyun announces. “We wanna hear your pretty voice.”

Minju, at the center of everything; the center of you two, lays it out: “My god- yes, I want his cum so bad. I want him to - shit! Yes, yes, have him breed my - fucking - pussy and nothing else-”

You look to Dahyun for the revelation, and she gives you this look saying: Yeah, you heard the girl. Go ahead and give her a baby.

Then she adds: “If that’s what she likes, don’t stop.”

So you keep fucking her. Slam your hips harder. Minju’s downfall ripples over her body as she tries to stand on her leg. Her head rests at your chest, at the collarbone, her tongue licking up the sweat off your skin. She murmurs a “hmm’ with her jaw chattering, in response to you saying her name, every angle of her cunt shaping itself to your cock. Bottoming out in a seamless fashion which does feel like you’re fucking Dahyun again - the feeling eeriely the same. Since she utters the same words Dahyun said to you multiple times before:

“Cum,” she sputters. “Want your cum so bad. Want you to breed me over and over and over-”

Dahyun’s massaging her belly as you could feel the nerves in your body go haywire. Minju’s body goes limp at the hold as you keep pushing your cock deep into her cunt at a consistent pace, taking it slow with one good stroke - and you breathe, deep. Look in Dahyun’s eyes and see her veneers peering into a smile, right where you’re about to lose it. There, in Minju’s stomach, and Dahyun’s words cross your mind as to how deranged the proposition was in the first place.

You don’t even register the pulses, cumming inside her. She’s wailing so loudly that it mixes with the tinnitus ringing in your ears.

Minju’s lips goes slack, mouthing incoherent nonsense, head tipped over the shoulder making her neck look longer.

“Aw, there we go,” Dahyun coos into Minju’s ear, patting her belly. “Got it warm and thick- in your nice little stomach.” She then swipes her slit, now coated in white, gets a taste for herself - a small little appetizer. “Mmmm, yummy.”

It takes your entire being to fuck her whole one last time, wrenching out the last few shots of cum in Minju’s cunt. “Fuck-” Minju slurs out, letting her limbs go limp; lazily kissing you and her fingers graze the ends of your hair - lightly clinging.

“Honey,” you breathe, and it’s fucking wonderful. “Was it everything you wanted?”

Her throat bobs as Dahyun makes you take over the weight, carrying her by the ass, the loosely wrapped legs giving weight. The smirk she bears is enough to show you. Yes. You wonder. Perfect. Perfection at its finest.

–

“Dahyun,” you’re calling out, and she shows her side profile over her shoulder, hand to her chest behind her back, the naked hourglass figure impossible to look away.

She replies, “Hm?” Asking like she doesn’t know what’s about to happen.

Minju’s hobbling along, hand wrapped to your cock and jumpstarting your sore muscles, kissing your arm since the girl can’t get enough.

“There’s a reason why the blinds are open.”

“Is that so?” She’s teasing, walking on the balls of her feet until the moonlight cascades around her frame, outlining in the brightness. “I hope you’ll keep your promise in fucking me on the balcony.”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it,” you tell her, and Minju snorts in the back - still cock drunk and lust ridden where she’s finding everything to be funny.

Minju gets ahead of the curve, leaving you for the woman in front. Hand caressing her backside; from her ass, working the way up. Dahyun may not look like it, but she’s been waiting for you to have a go at her. Most of the outside has faded out from your vision; leaving you, her, and Minju.

“Had I not been here, it would’ve just been you two in this room together,” Minju says, leaning over next to Dahyun and arching her back the same way as she is. “Guess I should consider myself lucky,” she says, smile widening when you finally reach Dahyun’s backside.

“We’re not done with you,” Dahyun tells her, a sharp inhale passing her teeth when the head of your cock slides across her aching folds. Up, down, maybe a little slap to just be evil. “Oh, babe. Don’t do this to me.”

“What is it that I’m doing exactly?” You ask naively, eyes hypnotized at the width of her ass, brushing against your cock without you having to do anything. “I’m not the one who’s a little antsy to get split apart.”

“That’s what she wants out of you,” Minju groans, slipping her two fingers inside her own cunt - probably to mimic the feeling. “Maybe you need a reference to look at.”

“No need,” you retort, pursing your lips the more you push your cock into her sopping cunt, stomach billowing for the unexpected blowback. Get your hands at the swell of her sloping hip and lean down to kiss her back.

“Oh, oh-” Dahyun’s mouth cobbles out, putting her face against the glass and she lifts her body to the feeling of your lips. “There- right there, that fucking cock is just-”

“Big? Amazing? Too much?” Minju teases, burying her nose into her temple, licking her cheek. “I had a feeling you’d clench a little harder when he slipped it in.”

You remember like it was the first time, how she fits so snug around your cock like a sock or a glove in the first slow strokes, getting acquainted with how her wals kiss every sensitive part and nerve and vein across your shaft. How she messes around with the angle and even getting on her tippy toes - to deepen the arch in her back and lift her ass up since the flexibility is always a-fucking-must. Pushing down with your hand for one second and grabbing the ends of her the next. Soon you’ll imagine the ripples on her skin match the waves below, creaming her cunt as her heat swallows you whole.

Minju treats herself, which makes the whole job easier. Dahyun knows well how you’ll take her however you’d like. Faster, harder, softer even. And she won’t hesitate to tell her needs. Your grip around her hair tugs a little harsher, but she can take it. When the strokes start to increase in pace, where you’re dragging back as far as you can and yank her hips back onto yours - make her yelp, let the whole world know who’s yours.

“Fuck- fuck, he feels-” Dahyun spills out, kissing and telling. Minju hums in agreement because she knows and doesn’t need her to explain anything else. “Don’t- shit, just keep your fucking cock inside-” and your grip on her ass isn’t kind from this point on. The sensation choking you like a vice, the tightness, her heat leaking in the wetness around your cock. Minju brings Dahyun’s arm around her back, another hold for you to grab, and you can see the fist she forms which doesn’t help to the trembling legs below. “Fuck- you’re rubbing me up so good, how the fuck do you do that?”

“He just does,” Minju says, and it’s a callback - a full circle moment of sorts, really.

“Hey, those are my words-”

“Not anymore,” she tells her, hand deep in her hair and keeping her neck upright, cheek away from the cold pane of the glass. “Not while lover boy here’s finally owning your ass to thank you for bringing us all together here. So he’s gonna hold you- like this, and fuck your pussy full until you beg him to stop. Even if he does- it’ll be done with a hot load up in your fucking guts.”

The further you push your cock in, the more addicting the feeling gets. Your hands are leaving red over the pale canvas and her neck is riddled in crimson. This is what she wanted after all - what she asked for. She pleas for a breather, which you give: “Wait- wait; fuck, I need a second- okay,” while you slide the length all the way, pull her body up and pin her where her tits spread across the window, the coolness absolving the heat away. Minju’s kissing her shoulder, then yours, and manages to get her lips to the both of you when Dahyun’s back is flush with your front.

“How much time do we need?” Minju asks, gauging the conditions.

“A few seconds,” you supply unknowingly, to which Dahyun shakes her head. “Don’t know about her, though.”

From her, through blown out eyes, “I still want him.”

“You already have him.” Minju tells Dahyun, and her body goes even further back when she feels the friction inside her.

So. You keep going. Even when the sound ripped out of your lungs is agonizing because the wetness is making you desperate for that chained release. Dahyun groans - growling with shut eyes and taking your cock deep.

(She may not admit it for the next few moments, but she’ll also beg for the same thing you gave to Minju.)

“I think she’s ready,” is what Minju says, eyes flaring in excitement at the sudden slip of your fingers in her cunt, a pinch to her cunt as a reminder of her place in all of this. “Okay,” she’s telling you, “Sorry, I- fuck; can’t even have my own fun, can I?”

“Be a darling and try to keep her quiet, or don’t,” you say, one full stroke in and pulling your hips all the way back. “I love when she gets this way.”

Minju’s face forms this look, with a twitch when Dahyun clenches around your cock the second or third thrust, twitching her brows at the sound of knees banging the glass on accident, but the pain is subsided by pleasure instantaneously. “Why don’t you show us how messy you can get with her then?”

Dahyun’s voice lifts when the pace resumes to normal. She’s gotten herself so soaked that it’s leaking onto your cock - out her folds. She bites down a squeal or two when your fingers bury themselves into her hair, tip her head backwards and her muscles are reduced to pure putty. You and her try your best to keep track of the strokes - the fifth, the sixth, the seventh one where it grants an ass slap. Minju, in the midst of all this, serves a poetic justice of her own when she grabs Dahyun’s chin and slips a finger inside - something to keep her mind off of the pounding from the back and lets you test how deep her back can bend. Or even slip around to her stomach and bring her body the other way where it curves your cock deep in her womb and that’s a spot you don’t remember hitting before, but- God, the yell reaches a new note tonight.

One touch. One touch is all it took, to ease Dahyun’s mind from the endless wrath of pleasure coursing all over her body. That’s given by Minju, in the most Minjuest way possible - kissing her swollen lips, swallowing her moans down her throat so Dahyun can only hear the claps of skin, waving and rippling in your eyes.

“Oh fuck!” Dahyun screams into Minju’s face, but she just laughs it off since it’s nothing personal.

Minju just kisses Dahyun again. Muting her cries and smiling into the girl. She loves her. Adores her. You’re pretty sure these two have hooked up without you knowing and it’s already shown in how much passing they’re both putting into it.

Dahyun loves having it rough - you’re happy to give that to her. For how badly she needs this.

It’s all riding on the feel of her cunt, how it’s managed to get you in every nook where your cock touches inside her, the trick of her tongue and mouth working you to that point earlier - ripping the sounds deep in your lungs, but it’s her who cums the second out of you three.

You’re fucking her so hard she can’t control her voice.

A ripple effect in real time. Her heat washes over every corner of her body - you swear you haven’t gotten your cock deep enough so she can grab and curl around to own you, where you think she already has. Coming all the way undone. And it’s messy. So fucking messy.

Her hands hold you so dearly, lips so close to yours. You could see the hint of her reflection, how the light shines on her porcelain skin and the faint lines of her eyes closed, encapsulated in pleasure. Minju’s chin is stacked on your shoulder and pulls a lazy smile. Mumbling sweet nothings beneath the rising moans, adjusting to you and Dahyun’s height where she stands a tad bit taller.

In another corner of the universe, the roles could be switched between them, leading to the same inevitable outcome.

“Fuck me full,” Dahyun tells you, alternating with every wince and groan spilling out of her lips. “Want it- so fucking bad. You perfect bastard-” Here you’re cupping her chin as her voice gets raised - more, more, or some substance of the syllables where you’ve heard them before. With a lover's touch and mindful care for a face and body like hers, unlike the slick noises of your cock jutting out and embedding itself back in, Minju licking your neck which slightly helps the condition but not by much.

You and Minju can see Dahyun’s breath bless the class with a white, grayish fog, lip quivering until she has to hold it down to proffer a few more parting words: “hold me, love me, don’t let me down, please,” then, “your cock is-”

“Hold her up until she can’t take it anymore,” Minju growls, “She’s not gonna last any longer-”

“You fucking slut,” you snap back at Minju, probably to Dahyun too with her mewling in some form of an agreement. The pounding of your hips keeps its pace.

She clenches a bit harder to the increased tempo.

Sooner or later, you’ll have to wind up on the bed. Not just to rest, relax, or take a breather, but to swap the idea of putting your legs up rather than on the ground, fighting against gravity. Though, you’d love to stay like this- for as long as you could hold it, where the mix of blue and white illuminates through the looking glass and to your bodies. Dahyun’s fingers slide up on the pane, fingers spreading, high to where she could get them, extending her figure to the heavens where the imaginary gods could look down in astonishment.

“Dahyun, you feel- fuck, I’m cumming,” you sputter, “God, baby-” pushing her body flat and railing her ass beyond the breaking point.

Two good strokes would be the last good moves from you, fucking your cum into the muscles of Dahyun’s cunt, where you want to add fuel to the fire - soak up all the slick with more spill. The three of you are all collectively groaning and saying obscene words, burying the evidence and hope to god a scandal won’t come out of it. You pull out, slowly, let Dahyun savor the feeling of your cock leaving her. Minju’s pulling her head the other direction and sloppily slicking up her lips. Some of the cum gets on the head of your cock; so, you rub her pink folds and push right back in, see Dahyun’s body tense up since you gave her no warning, and Minju just laughs. You’re even kissing her first then Dahyun’s backside, with your cock warm in her cunt still.

Neither of you three move. It’s a moment to breathe, reflect. Normally you would be the first to panic for every slip into the mess up with Dahyun.

(In reality: you fucking love it. Despite the denial in the admission.)

You’ll just wait for the pregnancy scare to come back around again.

“Is our lovely little princess all fucked out and bred up like she asked?” Minju says, rubbing Dahyun’s back and belly and peppering her shoulder with more kisses. Holding her while you take a step back and plop to the side of the mattress.

Dahyun, still breathing in between smacking lips, “I want another.”

You and Minju both look at each other in surprise. “She’s usually competitive with me,” you say, “so it’s nothing new.”

“I figured,” Minju brushes it off, helping Dahyun walk over to you, one straddling leg over the other. Where Dahyun truly shines in the height advantage. Can’t deny she looks pretty with her straight hair now frazzled, from all the pulling and grabbing-

“Min min,” Dahyun calls Minju, “Do you mind grabbing something for me?”

“What is it? And where.”

“Michael Kors duffle bag, middle zipper.” Is all she says, and her lips are back on you. The kiss alone in a normal occasion would be enough for you to lose the air in your chest, away from the public eye and you two can fully embrace each other between the intimate, slow sex to the fast, rough fucking depending on the mood - usually one outshines the other and it’s an open ended interpretation.

Minju disappears out of your view for what seems like a few seconds, comes back with a hat in her fingers, holds it as she sees you and Dahyun cross further away from the edge. Refusing to keep your eyes on Minju, Dahyun’s hands are quick to shift your gaze back on her - hitching between muffled words and sighs and moans all the same, pressing down hard on skin where the shade goes beyond red.

You, of all people too, should know this: what Dahyun has is hers to keep.

“Greedy little girl isn’t she?” Minju asks, with a little smirk peeking at the corners. Scooting herself closer and closer to the action in excitement. The unspoken law of attraction, possessed by you and Dahyun both. “So tragic - like she can’t get enough.”

“You too,” Dahyun darts back, shimmying her pussy lips down at the underside and it’s the slightest bit of -fuck, pressure applied at the underside, her gyrating hips doesn’t help the case either.

Minju passes the hat off to her; as fitting for the position that she’s in: a cowgirl hat she puts on to make the appearance true to life.

You catch yourself staring much longer than usual.

“Makes no sense,” breathes Dahyun, brushing the head of your cock against her folds with such ease, and you move her hand away to tap lightly on her clit. Made you want more. “How his cock is still hard after he-”

“Fucked your ass raw?”

(I mean, yeah-)

“Mmm, I think she’s ready,” Minju says, huskily, hand to cheek and you don’t think twice when her thumb slips past between your lips. The wicked smile eliciting as she’s doing so only sparks a multitude of different things to try after- or later. “Ride his cock, Dahyunie. I wanna see how good you can tame him.”

It’s very possible, and she’s done it before.

Dahyun pushes you back into the sheets, lets your hands roam all over her front, “My lovely girl,” you coo, smirking.

She gasps, bites down hard on her teeth at the feeling of your cock pushing in, filling her up. “God- okay, wait-”

The fucking stretch. Slow at first, but once she took more than half the seamless movement of her taking the entire length is a sight you’re hoping to see again and again. Your thumbs find themselves at the indent of her hip and thigh, greedily pressing down and unwilling to let go. Rigid to smooth, the breaths steadying with every rock of her hips.

You lean up and fix the hat for her, leave a kiss on her neck for the good job. “Good?”

“Mmm,” Dahyun hums with a smile, getting more and more confident with the feeling. “Feels so fucking good.”

Minju grabs hold of her waist and raises her up- just slightly, where you could feel your shaft tense up in anticipation. But instead, you buck your hips to meet in the middle, wrap your hand to her waist along with Minju’s arms as Dahyun grinds her cunt onto your cock.

“Bet that must feel real good for you, doesn’t it?” Minju giggles out.

“Oh, I can’t even begin to describe it,” you barely whisper, because Dahyu’s cunt sucks the air right out of you.

“Won’t be long for seconds then, are we?”

Minju’s words fizzle out in your ears the more you watch Dahyun lean forward one second, back the next, hips rising and falling on your shaft. The expressions written on her face changing every beat of skin hitting against itself, alternating between fucking herself to you thrusting. If Minju’s words couldn’t register in your head, then the sounds of Dahyun whining on top is literal music happening in real time.

Minju’s on her knees, rubbing herself up at the sight of Dahyun hopping along. Until you decide to help along to reach that high again. In the embrace of your head on your chest, you’re scattering kisses all over her breasts and soon the idea of Dahyun and Minju getting off to you becomes more and more of the current reality.

Dahyun sucks in, through her teeth and stomach, curling her lips when the upward thrusts start to get ruthless. Her hands are gripping and soon the patchwork of nails will start clawing their way into your skin. Despite all that, her body holds still to your grasp, like it’s used to the clutch and all she has to do is keep herself still.

“My- fuck, it’s not even fair; so- so fucking big, you are,” she strains out, hooking an arm around your neck and your hand’s to her ass. “Baby please- ‘m gonna fucking-” is the last thing she says before her own cry cuts her off, burying her lip into the dip of your shoulder - the ache coursing through her body she has to channel it through her teeth onto your skin.

“Cum,” Minju orders, knowing very well Dahyun’s getting to that point. Fixing the hat so dutifully and moving the wisps of hair falling to her front. “I know you want to. You can take it. You can take him.”

You’re certain you could hear the squelch of her cunt the faster you move.

“For me,” you say, the low rumble in your tone slightly trembling, trying to keep up. “Just a little more.”

“Yours- yours. So yours, please. It’s all yours-”

She’s biting hard on her bottom lip, and you’re shushing her.

“Breathe, babygirl.”

“God- it’s, ugh,” groans Dahyun. “K-keep going-”

Little do you realize, she’s been working you up again. In those wobbling lips and the gasps in the little spaces of your bodies, shadowed by the echoing of wet skin hitting against itself. Dahyun switches from the fast fall of her hips, to the agonizing grind of your cock filling her up - all the way down to the hilt.

It doesn’t take much - not that it had to. Dahyun’s helpless to stop the second spill of cum flooding her womb; the sounds of her the same as always: fucked to the brim, where the head of your cock gets to the deepest spot in her cavern and you see her ruby shaped eyes meet yours - half-lidded and hazy. Just the way you like them.

“Fuck, Dahyun-”

“Ah,” Minju sighs, ‘There we go. Finally.” She’s saying like it’s some relief, cradling Dahyun’s pleasure stricken head as her body freezes when she rests her hips for the last time, leaning down to kiss your mouths in a lazy fashion, then to your jaw, whispering a string of words you’ll ask her later when she’s back to her sense.

Her lips are back to where they never leave: yours. “Do-” she tries to say, and you’re laughing.

“What is it, love?” You like throwing the pet name around. Maybe the meaning behind it doesn’t apply to her (yet), but it does for your case. “Use your words. Anything.”

“Let. Let-”

“Take your time.” You’re speaking oh-so softly to her. She’s still got her hat on, sliding off her hair and behind.

Dahyun takes a few breaths to collect herself. All her thoughts as best she could conjure up. Which she does: “I want him to milk you again.”

Comically on cue, you and Minju both gasp. Is it in shock? Surprise? No. Neither of those assumptions could suffice the wicked grin Minju has on her face. Not that it was a competition or an endurance test. You’ve concluded that both of these girls are absolute freaks having fun with a cock together.

“Didn’t he just-”

“He’s a good one.” Dahyun explains with no elaboration to Minju, for (hopefully) the last time. Sucking in a shared inhale when her pussy lips slide up and off your cock, the audible wet sound beyond obscene; some of the locks on her hair actually get caught to the slick underside, licking the evidence and pursing her mouth right above your balls. “What? You don’t trust me?”

“No, it’s not that. I just-”

“Why don’t you lay down and let him make you feel good? Don’t you want him to fuck your hole full again? Until you’re sick and cock drunk you go dumb?”

By your own standards, this is teetering to pure insanity for Dahyun. Minju doesn’t see it that way, since her expression hasn’t changed, putting no fight when Dahyun’s hands are on her body, flipping her over on her back and spreading her legs wide. The hand-off is something to take note of - the coordination. Soon you’re slapping your cock on her clit, making her body tense up. She doesn’t even blink when you slip inside.

Her eyes go wide, and you swear you see sparks flying beneath them.

“There’s that face,” Dahyun urges, holding your chest from the rear. A kiss to your neck, with a departing tongue. “She’s all yours.”

Your hips move on their own, hands fast to the hourglass curve of her waist- her fucking hips. With every passing stroke it wriggles up to her tits in the same motion: down then up, up then down. A quick gaze to the action below and you can’t understand how well she’s meant for this kind of work.

“This fucking cunt,” you grit, “My fucking god.”

“No room for control.” Dahyun’s wrapped around your middle in quick succession. “The best girls like her are always meant to be bred. Pounding her pretty little fuckhole because she always has you coming back for more.”

Minju’s arms are all over the place. First gripping the sheets, then covering her face - touching her hair. She’s so goddamn pretty and even more beautiful when completely fucked out - the pink now apparent in her cheeks with the lighting provided by the blistering moon through the windows. Her brows are creasing and the opposite, mouth canted and spilling in tongues. “Mmnh, fuck, you’re so good- so deep- ah-”

You can’t help but be amazed you’ve got her to be like this in a short span of time. Legs open and letting your cock push and drag its way out. The shadow creating this mosaic on the wall - where all of your bodies are meshed into one.

Somehow you manage to bring Minju closer, have her (somewhat long, lengthy) legs curl loosely around your thighs. Where the motion of your hips hit that same spot you discovered earlier unintentionally, bend the springs deep in the mattress where the frame is moving along with your thrusts. The harder you grip her waist, the louder the slaps are. You don’t even show a hint of worry when Minju goes limp in her arms, her back arching towards you, using the position to the fullest potential.

Dahyun observes from above, smiles when you grab both of Minju’s wrists and she takes it upon herself to grab your necktie conveniently at the edge of the bed. You don’t even notice her tying it around her hands and putting them above her head, holding as you find the perfect angle and aim for the same spot to get her cumming in no time flat.

“Thanks,” you’re panting out.

“Breed my little girl again.” Dahyun says to you. And you feel it in the grip, that addicting clench - massaging your cock around her slick walls. “Hold her hands, her wrists, just make sure you empty every drop inside her.”

“More, more,” the girl beneath you cries out. “Let me be good- milk your cock like she asked. I want it in my fucking pussy- you motherfucker, just do it already.”

“You heard her, have Min min here take it,” Dahyun growls into your face. You don’t even yield to look for the assurance, because it’s drawn up in her mind. “I want her to have it in her fucking stomach.”

Dahyun’s role in all of this isn’t common: to be the one calling the shots, but you’re welcoming it anyway with her at your side.

As for Minju’s case: she’s been reduced to a river of breath, bent into hisses and hums from the soft flesh of her mouth and throat.

Even when you want your mouth to comply with the demands, your body does the talking. Before it sets in: you seize the movements when the first rope of cum coats Minju’s walls; hell, you don’t keep track of the countless pulses of cum shooting inside her cunt, slamming your face onto hers and groaning so loudly she could choke on the sound alone. Her breathing shudders and you go with the slight tip of her head back, feeling every push of fresh cum inside to the point you fail to control it.

Dahyun smiles in approval as you bring it upon yourself to keep thrusting, forcing every fiber in your body and using everything - even using a whimpering Minju at your hips - to make sure she wrings out all the bits of white from your cock.

When you slow down, lightheaded and the scent of the room is full of sweat and sex, Minju’s swollen cunt keeps you grounded while she keeps your cock warm. “Good job,” you hear Dahyun whisper, and manages to get her slack lips onto yours, then leans over to show some love to Minju as well. “Well done, sweetie. We’re both proud of you.”

You didn’t want this to end - and Minju makes it known with an unrestrained sigh when your cock finally leaves her properly fucked cunt.

There she lays once the soreness sets in, cum leaking out and you hear Dahyun giggle when her pussy makes a subtle ‘pop’. You lift a brow in the bubble that forms in the mess, but they’re both looking at you-

“What?” The two ask in unison.

You shake your head, and smile. “Nothing,” you say. Which is the whole truth.

–

(Seconds before you doze off, you twist your head to them sitting up. Actually, Minju’s on her back still with an elbow for support. Dahyun’s hand is between her legs and scooping the lasting bits of cum from her pussy, licking it up and kissing Minju.

You don’t bother asking about the debauchery happening across. Someday the inquiry will come from you, just not today.)

–

“No.”

“Yes.” Is what Minju says, but it’s not directed at you.

“No way. No freaking way.”

Minju’s sitting near the nightstand, in one of your shirts. Knees stacked elegantly as she maintains the professional mannerisms on the phone. You assume it’s her manager, but she ends the call on one hand and switches over to the hotel phone, resuming her conversation. “Yes I understand. By the way, can I order some room service?”

Dahyun shuffles from the open balcony, welcoming in the morning breeze. Bathrobe coated around her figure and in the oversized slippers. Two small boxes are in her hands, and she meets you with the same eye smile she always flashes.

You bite your knuckle as Minju’s nodding her head. Curious as to what was discussed. “Okay, we’ll come right down in fifteen minutes.” She hangs up the phone soon after.

“Well?” You ask.

“Believe it or not,” Minju starts, and she’s trying her best not to smile. “They want to see us in the lobby to talk about- last night.”

Dahyun tips her head down with a grin and you’re arching your eyebrows in relief. “Thank god, I hope it wasn’t another noise complaint.”

“Oh they mentioned that as well,” Minju says, killing your whole mood.

“See? I told you,” Dahyun laughs, and it’s the kind where it’s cute and unbearably impossible to not go along with. There weren't plans in the schedule today, especially with Minju tagging along, so that alone could be drawn up as a free day. “How many complaints are we at now? Five? Six?”

“Seven,” you deadpan. “What’s with the boxes in your hand?”

“Pregnancy tests.” Dahyun answers. You look at Minju and all you see is her pursed lips with a thumbs up.

Oh god, you’re mouthing to yourself. As if this new adventure didn’t have much to unravel - turns out you’re absolutely wrong.

(When the two ask you ‘what’s the problem?’, they’re left puzzled with the facepalm you give. Little do they know about the smirk hidden behind your hand, and it goes to show that you’re just as sick and twisted like the both of them.)

(a/n: one year of kooyabooya fics, and what better way to go back with the two that started it all <3)

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thewritingrowlet · 16 days ago

Note

maybe you could do like a super model wife Sohyun smut that takes place in the maldives or something?

Hi, hello.

Maldives, hey? That is quite specific.

Perhaps I can write about she and her partner going on a honeymoon, making love through the night, until they're both drained and sore, and she conceives.

Anyway, Rowlet clears his throat, stopping himself from over-fantasizing. We shall see if I can write that fic.

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thewritingrowlet · 16 days ago

Note

hey rowlet, for everyone out there, maybe u can tell us what are your upcoming fics? 😨

Hi, hello.

I know this message was sent a while ago, but I needed a reason to post this.

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thewritingrowlet · 18 days ago

Text

The Uncontested Attention, ft. NMIXX Sullyoon

tags: first time

length: 13k

---

The roar of the crowd is a distant hum in Jihoon's ears. He's on the free-throw line, the weight of the game resting squarely on his shoulders. This is a crucial semi-final match in the national tournament, and every point counts. He takes a deep breath, focuses on the hoop, and sinks the shot, but not before the ball rattles around the rim—quite the unnerving sight for the captain; missing a free throw in the dying embers of the game might turn out disastrous.

The cheerleading squad bursts into an energetic routine on the sidelines, a blur of motion and color. He hears Yoona's clear, bright voice leading the chants, her presence a steady, familiar beacon in the exhilarating chaos. As he backtracks towards his team’s side of the court, Jihoon catches a glimpse of her, her features beaming with pure joy. Jihoon allows himself to smile back at her, acknowledging her support and momentarily clearing space in his mind.

After the game, a hard-fought victory, the locker room is a mix of exhaustion and elation. Jihoon is toweling off when Jinsol appears, seemingly out of nowhere, her eyes sparkling with what she clearly thinks is triumph. "Oppa, you were amazing! We have to celebrate tonight. My treat." She leans in too close, her perfume filling his nostrils.

Jihoon forces a polite smile, already formulating an excuse while also wondering how she’s managed to get in the locker room. “I’m sorry, Jinsol-ah, but I’m kind of exhausted,” he replies, opting to be as honest as can be, careful to not hurt her feelings. “Are you serious, oppa?” Jinsol asks, her fists planted on her hips, her expression turning sour. “You don’t have even an hour or two for me?”

Jihoon sighs, feeling pressured both by Jinsol’s demanding presence and his teammates’ gaze, trying his best to stay calm and not say anything regrettable. “Please, let me get some rest, sweetie,” he whispers, begging her to understand, using a pet name for good measure. “Oh, erm, o-okay,” Jinsol’s cheeks turn a pink hue, getting butterflies in her stomach at the endearment, “I-I’ll see you tomorrow, oppa.”

Jihoon watches Jinsol retreating, a sense of relief washing over him, quickly replaced by a weary sigh. He hates being rude, especially when someone is clearly trying to be kind, but Jinsol’s brand of affection feels more like a demand; she’s constantly seeking him, looking for ways to be close. He just wants some space, especially now, with the national final looming. He glances at his teammates, some still laughing, others already heading for the showers. Jihoon wants to escape the locker room, find a moment of peace.

Looking for some fresh air, Jihoon heads out of the locker room, dragging his tired, aching legs to find somewhere to sit, and his choice lands on a bench under the lights. “Ugh.” He grunts as his butt settles on the cold steel bars of the bench. It’s not the most comfortable, but this will do for now.

As he closes his eyes to relax, a commotion is heard nearby. When Jihoon opens his eyes again, his gaze lands on Yoona, following behind her the rest of the cheerleading squad. She stops in her tracks and gives him a small nod, immediately looking away after, her cheeks starting to burn from shyness. He chuckles a little, amused by her little gesture, and that chuckle grows into a laugh when some other cheerleaders start teasing Yoona for it.

“I think you guys should leave her alone,” Jihoon says, his voice gentle with no trace of anger, trying to save Yoona from further embarrassment. “Yeah, well, I think you guys should start dating,” one of the girls manages to counter, causing Jihoon to regret intervening.

Jihoon's ears burn, a blush creeping up his neck. "Hey!" he calls out, though his voice lacks any real bite. The cheerleaders just giggle, high fiving each other as they walk away, leaving Yoona still standing there, face a deep crimson. She avoids his gaze, fiddling with the pom-poms in her hands as if they hold all the secrets of the universe. He feels a strange mixture of embarrassment and... something else. An unexpected flutter in his chest. Dating Yoona? The thought is foreign, yet not entirely unpleasant. He's never really considered her in that way, not seriously.

Jihoon rises from the bench, slowly approaching the girl who is rooted to the spot. "Don't listen to them," he says, trying to sound casual, but his voice feels a little too loud in the sudden quiet. "People say stupid things sometimes. There's no reason to be embarrassed." He clears his throat, trying to shake off the lingering awkwardness from the cheerleader’s comment. “My name is Min Jihoon. Can I ask what yours is?”

Yoona finally looks up, her eyes wide, still shy but meeting his. Her nervousness is endearing. He realizes he's never truly looked at her like this before, not really taken in her bright eyes and the way her hair catches the lights of this little park. “I-it’s Yoona. Seol Yoona,” she answers, her whispered voice barely heard. “N-nice seeing you, s-senior.” A warm smile blooms on Jihoon’s face, a similar sense of warmth rising within. “Please, it’s just Jihoon-ie. If you want, you can call me ‘oppa’ instead.”

Yoona's eyes widen, her cheeks flushing even deeper at the suggestion of calling him by “oppa” or even his name. She bites her lip, a shy smile finally breaking through her embarrassment. "Okay... oppa," she manages, testing the name on her lips. The moment stretches, filled with unspoken questions and a newfound awareness. Jihoon finds himself drawn to her quiet vulnerability, a stark contrast to the demanding attention he usually receives. He feels an unexpected urge to protect that shyness, to keep this moment separate from the noise of the tournament.

“Hey, erm, you’re coming next weekend, right?” Jihoon asks, the words leaving his lips before he can think. “I mean, with the rest of the cheerleading team, of course.” Yoona nods, clutching her pom-poms to her chest. “Yes, I am. Erm, there will be a new routine for the finals.” Her voice is still soft, but there’s a spark of excitement in her eyes at the new routine. Jihoon smiles again, genuinely. He realizes he's completely forgotten about Jinsol, about the lingering stress of the game. For the first time all day, his mind feels truly clear, focused only on the girl in front of him. "Good luck with your routine, Yoona-yah. I'll be watching."

A soft blush blooms on Yoona's cheeks at his use of "Yoona-yah.” The way he says it in that calm, steady tone feels rather tender. "Thank you, oppa," she murmurs, her gaze still fixed on him, a quiet warmth emanating from her. The air between them hums, thick with unspoken possibilities. Jihoon finds himself wanting to extend the moment, to simply bask in her serene yet alluring presence. The fatigue in his legs seems to lessen, replaced by a light, hopeful energy. He realizes he's rarely felt this centered, this... simply good.

"I… I should head back to the dorms," Yoona says, finally looking away, her eyes briefly scanning the area around them. "It's getting late." A small pang of disappointment registers in Jihoon's chest. "Right," he says, trying to keep his voice even. "Get some good rest." He watches her as she turns, her steps quick and light as she moves in the other direction. “I’ll see you around, sweetie,” he mutters, his low voice making him confident that he won’t be heard.

Upon arriving at her room, Yoona slams the door behind her, the thud echoing through the quiet hallway. “Oh my God, oh my God,” she chants frantically, her chest rising and falling rapidly, still unable to shake off the shock from meeting Jihoon. “What… what just happened?” she asks herself, the furniture in her room offering no clarity.

Yoona jumps onto the mattress, landing on her belly, not concerned about changing out of her cheerleader uniform. “Aaaaah!” she whines, her pillow muffling the sound. “Seol Yoona, you are out of your mind, talking to the captain like that,” she bashes herself, rambling nonsense as her mind races with possibilities. Future encounters, ones where they might actually be open with each other.

Yoona kicks her legs in the air, a giddy laugh bubbling up from her chest, quickly stifled by her hand. "He called me 'Yoona-yah'!" she squeals silently. The tenderness in his voice, the way he looked at her—it was all so much more than she ever dared to dream. She needs to write this down, capture every detail before it fades. She scrambles off the bed, rummaging through her backpack, searching for a small journal bound in a soft, navy-blue cover. This is where her deepest hopes and most embarrassing confessions live.

She clutches it to her chest for a moment, letting the weight of the day settle, before flipping to a fresh page. Her pen hovers for a second, then dances across the paper. “June 1st,” she begins. “The day I actually talked to oppa.” Yoona doesn’t bother writing down his name, her heart already feeling very comfortable about him. “HIS SMILE!” Yoona writes in all uppercase, punctuating the lasting impression with an exclamation mark, her writing untidy because of the giddiness flowing through her.

Yoona’s pen flies across the page, recounting every detail of their brief interaction, filling the page with every little detail she's picked up. It's exhilarating and terrifying, putting these profound feelings into concrete words, etched in a physical medium, making them feel undeniably real. She can't believe it actually happened. Jihoon, the basketball captain, the one everyone looks up to, actually engaged her in a real conversation, a connection far deeper than she'd ever dared to dream.

As Yoona writes, a new determination stirs in her, her mind coming up with ways to get close to him, to get his attention, even if it’s fleeting. “I can use those,” she thinks, her gaze locked on the stack of sticky notes before her. “I can just… leave him notes…” she mumbles.

Yoona picks up a sticky note, her thumb rubbing against its smooth surface. Anonymity is the name of the game. It allows her to say what she's too shy to express face-to-face, to offer the kind of genuine support she knows he needs without making him uncomfortable. He's been distracted by Jinsol, oblivious to the deeper connection he might be craving. Yoona closes her eyes, picturing his face, the subtle lines of stress she'd noticed even through his post-game smile.

“Oppa,” she pens, letting her hand be led by her heart. “I know how hard you work for us, but please stay safe and don’t get injured. I’m rooting for you.” Yoona falls silent as she finishes writing, the radiance dissipating from her face as she feels the pull of something deeper. “Oppa…” she mutters softly. “Please win. For us and everyone who believes in you. I know you can do it.”

Yoona reads the note once more, her fingers tracing the neat, heartfelt script. It's more personal than anything she’s ever done before, imbued with a new kind of urgency. She folds it carefully, tucking it into a small, decorative envelope she keeps for special occasions.

Tomorrow, she'll find the perfect moment. She knows his routine: early morning shots at the gym. She can slip it into his bag or maybe tuck it under his water bottle while pretending to do something else. A nervous excitement flutters in her stomach, pushing away the earlier giddiness. This isn't just a crush anymore; it's a profound wish, a silent promise.

Yoona finally rises from her chair. Her earlier uniform forgotten, she slips into something more comfortable for bed, but sleep feels distant. She climbs back under the covers, but sleep feels distant. As she lies on her side, her stare remains fixed at the note she’s prepared, a fond smile playing on her lips from imagining his reaction to it. She hopes that he will feel the sincerity in the words, the true meaning of the gesture. Tomorrow, when he reads it, she will still be a cheerleader, practicing the new routine for the grand finals, but after that, Jihoon will know that someone is cheering him on from his corner.

Yoona approaches the arena carefully, her light steps betraying the heavy pounds of her heart. Pushing the glass door, her ears pick up some familiar noises: the squeaks from shoes that skid against the court, mixed with the subtle thuds from a bouncing basketball. She peeks around a corner, and there he is, pacing along the width of the court, his fingers controlling the ball with ease as if attached to strings.

Yoona watches on as Jihoon stands just beyond the three-point line, his eyes locked on the rim before him. Suddenly, with an explosive burst of energy, he sprints towards it, dribbling the ball with focused intensity. When Jihoon gets close enough, he lifts the ball, letting it bounce softly against the glass backboard—but he misses.

When he turns around, Yoona sees the frown on his face, his own mind admonishing him for his failure to perform a supposedly simple task: to score from that close of a range. Her heart clenches as she starts to grasp the kind of pressure that’s he’s carrying on his shoulders.

Jihoon sighs, running a hand through his damp hair. He retrieves the ball, bouncing it once, twice, then sends it arching towards the hoop again. This time, it swishes cleanly through the net. He nods, but the frown lingers, a testament to his own high expectations. Yoona watches, her resolve firming. This is why he needs her note. She takes a silent breath, pulling the decorative envelope from her pocket. Jihoon heads towards the water cooler, briefly setting the ball down by his gym bag on the sidelines.

This is her chance. Her heart pounds a frantic rhythm against her ribs, but her steps are light, almost soundless, on the polished court. She moves with the practiced stealth of a cheerleader during a surprise routine, gliding towards the sidelines. In a swift, practiced motion, she kneels by his bag, slipping the note inside before he even turns from the cooler. She rises just as quietly, her gaze sweeping the empty gym, and then, with a final, quick glance at Jihoon's back, she sprints away before—a voice, sharp and sudden, cuts through the echoing gym.

“Who is that?”

Yoona’s legs lock, coming to a dead stop. She is stunned by his voice, unable to take even one step away from him. “I-it’s me, oppa. S-Seol Yoona,” she mumbles, not daring to turn around to face him, her stare stuck on the floor. Jihoon drops the ball, letting it roll away, wiping off most of his sweat to make himself presentable. He stops closely behind her, towering over her petite frame. “You’re not even facing me. Is that how you speak to your senior, Seol Yoona?” he asks, his voice gaining quite the sharp edge, a contrast to last night's.

Mustering up the courage, Yoona turns around but still can’t look him in the eyes, her body trembling slightly with fear. “I’m so sorry, Yoona-yah,” he takes a few steps closer towards her, getting down on one knee to get on her eye level, “did I scare you? Was I being too mean?” She manages to shake her head, hiding her shaken heart behind it. “Please forgive me, Yoona-yah. I was just… frustrated.” He pauses, gauging her reaction to his apology. “I mean, that’s no reason to be mean, but please understand where I’m coming from.”

Yoona offers another hesitant shake of her head, still unable to meet his eyes, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Even with him kneeling, his presence feels immense, dominating the quiet space. He's so close, she can smell the lingering scent of his sweat, clean and sharp, mixed with a faint hint of his body wash. The note, now tucked away in his bag, feels like a live wire, burning a hole through the fabric. Did he see? Does he know? The questions scream inside her head, but she can't find her voice.

Jihoon watches her, his brow furrowed with genuine concern. He reaches out a hand, hesitates, then gently brushes it against hers. "Yoona-yah, really, it's okay. I didn't mean to snap. Just... rough practice." He pauses again, his gaze drifting from her downcast face towards his gym bag, then back to her. He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "What are you doing here, anyway? Do you have practice too?" The question hangs in the air, innocent on the surface, yet loaded with unspoken implications.

“I just wanted to see you, oppa,” she answers, not mincing her words. “I… I wanted to see you,” she repeats, this time in a whispered, low tone. Her entire body flushes, burning hot with a potent mix of embarrassment and excitement. “You wanted to see me?” Jihoon confirms, his tone taking on a similar soft tone. “I’m honored, Yoona-yah. Thank you,” he adds.

Jihoon rises slowly, his gaze still soft, but a flicker of something new—intrigue, perhaps—dances in his eyes. Yoona keeps her eyes fixed on his chest, her cheeks still burning. The weight of his acknowledgment feels both overwhelming and deeply gratifying. She curses her own impulsive words, yet a part of her is also relieved they're finally out. She braces herself for what he might say next, a knot tightening in her stomach.

“Yoona-yah, please listen to me,” he says. Yoona lifts her chin, ready to listen intently, her glassy eyes meeting his. “Thank you for the support, seriously, but… Bae Jinsol won’t take this kindly, and I don’t want to put you in the crossfire.” Tears begin to pool in her eyes, expecting to hear a rejection from the man she admires so. “Oh, sweetie, please don’t,” he hurries before tears begin flowing down her cheeks. “I’m not shutting you out, I promise, but let me figure things out with Jinsol-ie first.”

Yoona swallows hard, the tears receding, replaced by a fresh surge of embarrassment and a quiet understanding. He's not rejecting her, but he's acknowledging the complicated mess Jinsol represents. It's almost worse, knowing he cares enough to protect her from that. "Okay," she murmurs, the word barely audible.

Jihoon reaches out, his fingers hovering over her wrist. "Are you heading back to the dorms now?" he asks, his voice soft, almost hesitant, as if gauging her reaction. "It's still pretty dark. I could walk you back?" His offer is a lifeline, a gentle invitation to extend this charged moment, despite the unspoken barrier. Yoona nods, her lips curving into a small smile. The path forward feels clearer, yet also far more difficult than she'd ever imagined. “Yes, oppa. Please walk with me,” she says.

Jihoon's hand lightly takes her arm, and he steers her gently towards the wide glass doors of the gym. The cool air outside is a stark contrast to the humid warmth of the court, but Yoona barely notices. Her focus is entirely on the man beside her, his presence a comforting anchor. They walk in silence, the rhythm of their footsteps echoing faintly on the deserted pathways. Yoona glances at him from the corner of her eye. He looks tired, the subtle lines of strain still etched around his eyes despite the victory. The urge to help him, to truly be his support, swells within her.

“Oppa…” she calls to him, her tone gentle and careful. “Are you okay? Is there any way I can help?” Jihoon offers a small, tight smile, hiding the depths of his burdens. “I’m okay, Yoona-yah. Just a bit tired and stressed, but that’s nothing new to me.” Yoona sighs, wishing he would open to her more, let her look into his life just a bit more, but her heart insists: such a time will come eventually. “Okay,” she concedes. “But… but please know that I’m here for you, oppa.”

Jihoon nods, his gaze softening further. "I know, sweetie," he replies, the endearment slipping through his lips, his voice carrying a warmth that makes her heart flutter. "I appreciate that, really." His thumb lightly brushes against her arm where his hand rests. It's a small gesture, but to Yoona, it feels monumental, a silent acknowledgment of the comfort she offers. The early morning chill seems less biting now, replaced by the warmth emanating from his touch.

Reaching the big intersection, Jihoon stops, turning towards Yoona, his towering presence more comforting than intimidating. “Yes, oppa? Is everything okay?” she asks, unsure as to why they have stopped here and now. “Seol Yoona, I…” he sighs, the cool air making his breath visible, “I don’t know, I just want to… be with you just a bit more.”

Yoona stares at him, her mind struggling to process his words. "Be with me... just a bit more?" The question hangs in the air, fragile and precious. A slow, undeniable smile spreads across her face, mirroring the hope she sees in his eyes. Her cheeks flush, but this time it's from pure, exhilarating joy. "Okay, oppa," she breathes, a soft confirmation of agreement. "Why don’t we take a seat somewhere and, you know, be with each other just a bit more?"

Jihoon’s shoulders drop, the tension releasing from his body, as Yoona leads him towards a nearby bench, the steel bars cold from the early morning breeze. His gaze drifts to the right, taking in the sight of the female dorm buildings that are standing strong despite their age. “You know, I’ve actually never been to the girls’ dorms,” he admits. Her eyebrows furrow: there’s no way he’s never been there. “You can’t be serious,” she protests. He chuckles, not taking any offense from her counter. “I mean, I’ve never dated anyone in university, so I basically have zero reason to go there.”

Yoona's eyebrows remain furrowed, a thoughtful expression on her face. "So, you've just been... focusing on basketball?" she asks, a genuine curiosity woven in her tone. It's a stark contrast to her own life, where cheerleading is important, but there's still room for friends, for quiet moments, for crushes. Jihoon nods, his gaze fixed on the dorms. "Pretty much. No time for anything else, really." He gestures vaguely, as if explaining a complex play. "It's all consuming. Especially with the finals coming up."

A quiet hum settles between them. Yoona realizes that despite his popularity and his obvious talent, there's a part of him that's incredibly innocent, perhaps even a little lonely, in his relentless pursuit of the game. He's never experienced the awkwardness or the thrill of young love. This thought sparks gentle protectiveness in her. "I’m… willing to take a chance with you, oppa.”

Jihoon turns his head slowly, his gaze shifting from the distant dorms to Yoona's face. Her words hang in the cool morning air, clear and utterly unexpected. His eyes, usually so focused on the court, are wide, reflecting a mix of shock and a dawning comprehension. The easy rhythm of their walk, the comfortable silence, all of it shatters under the weight of her declaration.

“Seol Yoona…” he says her name in this tranquilizing tone. “Look at me, please.” Following his request, Yoona turns her head towards him, holding his gaze despite her burning cheeks. “Are you serious about that? About giving me a chance?” he asks, his eyes searching for signs of dishonesty but finding only the truth. “Yes, but there’s a condition,” she says. “I don’t want to see you hang out with Bae Jinsol.”

Jihoon blinks, processing her words, a subtle shift in his posture suggesting he's moved from surprise to problem-solving mode. He sighs, running a hand through his damp hair. "Bae Jinsol," he murmurs, more to himself than to Yoona. "She's... persistent." He looks back at Yoona, a hint of a wry smile touching his lips. "It won't be easy, Yoona-yah. She's not exactly subtle when she wants something." He pauses, his gaze locking with hers, a serious, determined glint in his eyes. "You're right, though. That's a fair condition."

A wave of relief washes over Yoona, making her almost dizzy. He understands. He's not dismissing her; he's simply acknowledging the difficulty. "So... you'll do it?" she asks, her voice a hopeful whisper. Jihoon nods, a firm, decisive motion. "I will," he promises, his voice low and steady. "Just... give me a little time, sweetheart. I’ll figure it out. For us."

Yoona nods, a slow, happy nod that reflects the profound relief settling in her chest. The early morning chill, which had seemed so sharp just moments ago, now feels irrelevant, replaced by the warmth that blooms from Jihoon's promise. “Thank you, oppa, and I like it when you call me sweetheart.” Jihoon chuckles, shaking his head out of amusement. “I mean, your heart is indeed sweet—ow, what’s that for?” He rubs the spot on his thigh where her fist landed, playing up his reactions. “You’re going to give me diabetes, Min Jihoon,” she quips, her voice laced with playful annoyance.

Jihoon rises from the bench, his relaxed shoulders a proof of his lessening stress. “Come, baby. Let’s get you indoors.” He opens his palm, offering it for Yoona to hold. With a big smile, she takes his hand, her fingers wrapping tightly around his. “Yes, please.”

After the gentle slope of the brick path, they reach the steps to her dorm building. Jihoon stops, still holding her wrist. "I'll see you soon, Yoona-yah," he says, his voice softer now, the teasing gone, replaced by a quiet earnestness. “By then, I hope I will have cut ties with Jinsol-ie.” His thumb brushes gently against her pulse point, adding weight to his promise. Yoona's heart thumps. "See you, oppa, and please be kind to Jinsol-ie" she replies, her voice barely a whisper, already anticipating their next encounter, a future that feels suddenly, beautifully, real.

The last day of practice before the finals is here, and according to the wind carrying the rumors, the cheerleading team will be practicing their new routine at the other basketball court, next to the court in which Jihoon’s team will be practicing.

Jihoon stretches at the edge of his team's court, his muscles already protesting the rigorous practice ahead. “Oh, God,” he grunts, bending his back too far backwards, his joints making these popping sounds. As he stretches other parts of his body, music with uplifting, fast beats begin filling the area, the cheerleading girls moving around to find their practiced spots.

“Look,” Siwoo nudges Jihoon’s elbow, “the girl wearing 26 is cute, no?” Jihoon’s eyebrows furrow; 26 is Yoona’s number. “Why, you like her or something?” he asks, covering his irritation with a question. “I mean, who doesn’t?” Siwoo shrugs, thinking it’s simply a fact that Yoona is crush material. “Don’t let me catch you drooling over 26, Siwoo-yah,” Jihoon threatens, the weight of his words not truly reaching Siwoo, who is thinking it’s a normal banter.

Jihoon glares at Siwoo's retreating back, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “No one is drooling over Yoona but me—that’s my Yoona”, he thinks, the possessive thought surprising even himself. His eyes instinctively drift to the adjacent court, finding Yoona among the blur of motion. She's at the front, leading the complex movements, her focus absolute. The new routine is indeed intricate, demanding. He watches her, completely absorbed, warmth spreading through him that makes him forget the protesting muscles and the impending rigorous practice.

The sound of Coach Kang’s whistle breaks his concentration. “Come on, let’s get this started already,” he shouts. Jihoon snaps his attention back to his own team, but the image of Yoona, graceful and vibrant, remains etched in his mind. “Captain, stop ogling those girls, will you?” Jihoon clicks his tongue and shakes his head, downplaying his interest in front of his coach.

Jihoon throws himself into the drills with renewed fervor, the basketball a familiar extension of his will. Unlike other practices, however, his focus isn't solely on the rim or facing the opposing team. Every explosive sprint, every precise pass, every powerful jump feels infused with a new, quiet purpose. He knows Yoona is just meters away, and the thought of her watching, or perhaps even glancing, adds a subtle fire to his movements. He can still hear the faint, rhythmic pulse of the cheerleading music, a comforting counterpoint to the squeak of his shoes.

He pushes himself harder, imagining her new routine, the dedication it must take, comparing her struggles with his own. He promised her he'd figure things out with Jinsol. Watching her now, so full of grace and determination, only solidifies his resolve. This upcoming final isn’t just about the championship anymore; it is about laying the groundwork for them. He glances quickly towards the adjacent court during a water break, catching a glimpse of her laughing with a teammate, and a genuine smile, unbidden, touches his lips.

As he puts down his bottle, Jihoon catches a familiar figure sitting in the empty stands: Bae Jinsol. “Oh, hell no,” he thinks, staring at her blankly. Thinking he’s excited to see her, Jinsol waves at him, grinning ear to ear, seemingly excited to have him notice her presence. Jihoon offers her a small nod, not wanting to be caught reacting too much when Yoona is just meters away from him.

Jinsol rises to her feet, waving at Jihoon with more fervor. “He must be shy around his teammates,” she thinks, clueless to the actual reason of his reservations. Jihoon gives her one last smile before turning around, redirecting his focus back on the practice. As she settles in her seat again, Jinsol’s heart soars with pride, as if she just claimed him before this crowd. On the other hand, Yoona, who has been watching Jinsol’s antics, can only wipe her glassy eyes before the tears spill out.

Yoona quickly turns her head, pretending to adjust her hair, her gaze fixed on the intricate patterns of the gym floor. She blinks rapidly, trying to force the tears back, a bitter lump forming in her throat. “He promised,” she thinks, clinging to the memory of his quiet words on the bench, but seeing Jinsol's brazen claim, Jihoon's subtle nod, and her own hidden tears, the promise feels fragile, easily broken under the harsh light of public display. Her stomach churns with a mix of despair and a fierce, unfamiliar anger. The new routine suddenly feels meaningless, her dedication hollow. All she can do is bite her lip, trying to hold back the sob that threatens to escape.

“Don’t betray me now, my love.”

Yoona forces her head back up, her jaw clenched tight. The music for their routine swells again, the familiar upbeat tempo now feeling like a mocking echo of her own internal turmoil. She blinks once, twice, forcing back the burning wetness from her eyes, and takes her place, ready for the next sequence. Her movements are stiff at first, mechanical, lacking the usual grace. Every synchronized step, every energetic jump, feels like a performance she's putting on for herself, a desperate attempt to ignore the ache in her chest. She glances over at Jihoon's court, but he's a blur of motion, absorbed in his own practice, seemingly oblivious. “He can't betray me,” she repeats, a silent, desperate mantra, pushing through the routine with a newfound, rigid determination.

The minutes fly by, and now, both Jihoon and Yoona are finished with their practices. Jihoon sits down in the middle of the court, leaning backwards and supporting himself with his arms, his legs let straight. Across him, Yoona also sits in the middle of the court, albeit a bit hidden by one of her teammates—Jihoon can only see her face, not the rest of her body. He notices that she’s glaring at him, her burning gaze drilling a hole between his eyes. As an attempt to defuse the situation, Jihoon offers her a tentative smile, hoping that she will calm down.

Jihoon's smile falters under the unwavering intensity of Yoona's glare. It's not just frustration; it's betrayal, raw and painful. He realizes, with a cold jolt, that she must have seen Jinsol, must have misinterpreted his subtle nod. "Oh, hell no." The thought from earlier reverberates in his mind, now tinged with acute regret. He glances quickly towards Jinsol, who is still beaming from the stands, oblivious. He needs to fix this, and fast.

He pushes himself up, his muscles stiff, but his mind is racing. This isn't just about his promise anymore; it's about the trust he's already inadvertently broken. Yoona's gaze never leaves him, a silent, burning challenge. He knows he can't approach her now, not with Jinsol watching. He has to handle the immediate problem. He takes a deep breath, his decision firm, and with a determined set to his jaw, he heads straight for the stands, ignoring the questioning glances from his teammates.

“Can we talk, Jinsol-ah?” he whispers to Jinsol, urgency lying beneath his question. “Depends,” she says. “Do I or do I not have your attention?” Jihoon exhales deeply, trying to stay calm in front of the difficult girl. “Please, sweetie. Let’s… head somewhere else and talk.” She smirks, satisfied with both the pet name and his soft demand. “Aww, okay. Let’s head out for a bit, yeah?”

Jihoon nods, his jaw still tight, and gestures towards the tunnel leading to the locker rooms, a place where they can have more privacy. Jinsol's smirk widens, and she playfully grabs his arm, a move that makes him inwardly flinch. As they walk away, Jihoon risks a quick glance towards Yoona's court. Yoona is still there, her head now turned away, her posture rigid. He knows she saw—she must have. A fresh wave of urgency washes over him. This conversation with Jinsol will not be easy, but he has to make it clear, once and for all, where he stands at this crossroads of attention.

Meanwhile, back on the cheerleading court, Yoona's eyes burn with unshed tears. She sees them walk away, Jinsol clinging to his arm. It is everything she fears. The promise, about him cutting ties with Jinsol, from this morning feels like a cruel joke now, a false hope offered. She bites her lip, trying to steady her breathing. The new routine, the finals, everything feels overshadowed by this sharp, sudden pain of perceived betrayal. All she can do is hope that Jihoon is indeed "figuring things out" and not just playing into Jinsol's hands.

Jinsol pulls Jihoon towards a curve at the far end of the sports complex, the pillars providing privacy for the pair. He quickly frees his wrist from her grip, not wanting to make physical contact more than needed. “What's wrong, oppa? You look so stressed,” Jinsol wonders, noticing his perceived odd behavior.

Jihoon takes one step forward, closing the distance without being too close. “Look, Jinsol-ah. I appreciate your support for me and the team, but… it's starting to feel…” He trails off momentarily, unable to find the correct word for it. “I don't know, it's distracting, I guess.” Her eyebrows furrow, the joy melting away from her face, her heart flinching with hurt at his choice of adjective. “What is that supposed to mean, oppa?” she protests, her voice laced with irritation. “Just get to the point, please: are you going out with someone else and looking to leave me?”

Jihoon sighs, but unlike when he was with Yoona, it's not out of relief. Rather, it is a product of his tension that is growing heavy. “Sweetheart, please,” he murmurs, hoping that the pet name will reach the soft spot in her heart. “There isn't no one else right now. It's just that I need to focus on the finals, and as much as I'm honored to have your support, I can't afford to be distracted.”

Jinsol's lower lip trembles, and her eyes, which moments ago were sharp, now fill with a wounded glint. "Distracted?" she whispers, her voice quivering, as if deeply hurt. She shakes her head slowly, a tear welling up and tracing a path down her cheek. "I thought... I thought we had something special, oppa. After all this time, all my efforts... you're just going to throw it away because of a game?" She reaches out, her hand gently touching his arm, her gaze pleading. "Don't you care about—mmph…”

Before Jinsol manages to finish her pushing sentence, Jihoon interrupts her, stifling her lips with… with his. She melts into him, reactively putting her hands on his chest, but he's quick to break away. “I'm sorry, but this is for the best. Please remember me by the taste of my lips,” he says, his voice deep with a sense of finality, of closure. “I’ll go back to practice now, and please, go find something else to do. I'm begging you, Jinsol-ah.”

Jinsol falls onto the floor, covering her mouth as sobs begin to flood out, deeply struck by his rejection. The kiss did very little in terms of providing comfort, but it was certainly final. “Oppa…” she mutters between sobs. As her cries grow, Jinsol leans against the pillar, hugging her legs in a ball. “Please don't forget about me,” she pleads.

Heading back inside the gym, Jihoon rushes towards the other court, his steps thumping against the smooth surface. “Where is Seol Yoona?” he asks the crowd of cheerleaders. Surprised by his sudden appearance and demanding voice, one of them simply points at the restroom. “Great. Thank you,” Jihoon says with no tenderness in his tone.

Jihoon turns to make his way towards the restroom, unwavered by the thought of possibly having to enter the female’s section. As luck would have it, however, Yoona is walking out. Her fresh makeup gives him the idea that she likely just finished crying and re-applied it.

Yoona gasps as her gaze lands on him. “Hi there,” he says. “We need to talk.” Unable to say anything else, she simply nods, walking behind Jihoon as he leads her away from the gym.

Jihoon leads Yoona down a quiet corridor, away from the echoing sounds of the gym, stopping at a secluded alcove near a rarely used exit. He turns to face her, his gaze intense. The earlier brusqueness in his demeanor fades, replaced by a deep concern as he sees the lingering hurt in her eyes.

"Yoona-yah," he begins, his voice softening, a stark contrast to moments before. "I saw you. I saw you watching us, and I know what it must have looked like." He pauses, taking a deep breath. "But you have to believe me, it's not what you think. I wasn't... I wasn't trying to be with her. I was cutting ties. Just like I promised you this morning, and I have done exactly that." He searches her face for any sign of understanding, any flicker of the trust they built hours ago.

Yoona’s stare towards the ground, his purple shoes suddenly very attractive. “But… you were kind to her, right?” she asks, more concerned about Jinsol than herself. “What did you say to her, oppa?” Jihoon closes his eyes, the taste of Jinsol’s lips still lingering on his. “I said I couldn't afford to be distracted,” he answers.

“Distracted…” she echoes. “What about me? Am I not distracting you?” Jihoon shakes his head, firm in his stance about her presence in this trying time. “No, you're not. I mean, you never demand my attention, do you, dear?” he answers.

Yoona finally lifts her gaze, her eyes meeting his. The lingering hurt is still there, but a flicker of something else—hope, perhaps—begins to fight through it. "So… you really meant it?" she whispers, her voice fragile. "About… us?"

Jihoon reaches out, his hand gently cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear she hadn't realized had fallen. "Every word, sweetheart," he says, his voice a low, earnest rumble. "Especially the part about you."

Yoona nods, her resolve gaining strength again, her cheek rubbing against his palm, and that's when Jihoon quickly removes his hand. “Oh my God, I'm so sorry,” he exclaims, only remembering that his hand is dirty after touching basketballs for so long. “Oh, no, your face is dirty, baby,” he adds, guilt rising within him for ruining her fresh makeup. She giggles, smacking his arm lightly. Not out of anger, of course; just… playful frustration. “Don't worry about it, oppa. If anything, that's proof of my belonging to you.”

Settling in the front seat of the bus as usual, Jihoon puts on his headphones, tuning in to some piano to clear his mind before the final game. This game means much, much more to him; not only is this his final season as a collegiate player, but he now has Yoona. It is her that has been steadfast by his side, offering comfort and affirmation when he needs them most, a steady beacon for him to cling to.

Leaning against the window with his eyes closed, he doesn’t catch Yoona slipping into the empty seat next to him, taking her rightful spot. “Oppa,” she pokes his shoulder, a grin spreading across her face, “I’m here too, you know.” Seeing the beautiful smile of hers warms Jihoon’s heart, prompting him to smile. “I can see that, sweetie,” he says, his hand snaking around her waist, pulling her close. It’s no secret that the cheerleading team always travels together with the basketball team, but now that they’re more than strangers, it matters more.

Yoona settles comfortably into his side, nestling her head against his shoulder. The soft piano music from his headphones is a gentle hum against her ear, creating a private bubble around them amidst the low chatter of their teammates. "Nervous, oppa?" she whispers, her fingers gently tracing the lines of his arm.

Jihoon nods, a faint smile playing on his lips. He shifts slightly, pulling her even closer. "A little," he admits, his voice low. "But in a good way. Like everything's leading up to this, and... now that you're here, it feels different." He squeezes her gently. "Are you ready for your new routine?" His question is soft, filled with genuine interest, reminding her that his attention is fully on her now, even as the biggest game of his life awaits. Yoona nods against his shoulder, drawing strength from his solid presence. “Yes, and I’m going to make sure you don’t have anyone else to watch but me,” she replies, radiating the confidence that Jihoon loves the most.

The bus starts to roll, and the cabin is filled with the soft rumble of its engine. Jihoon takes a deep breath, collecting himself for the upcoming game, his arm tightening around Yoona’s body. She follows afterwards, taking a deep breath to steel herself before the grand performance, her body melting into him more, seeking comfort that only he can provide. Jihoon takes off his headphones, placing them over Yoona’s ears to help her relax. “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I’ll wake you when we arrive.” Yoona hums softly, her eyes closing as she drifts to dreamland.

The rhythmic sway of the bus and the comforting warmth of Jihoon's arm around her pull Yoona deeper into sleep. It feels like moments later when a gentle tap rouses her. "We're here, sweetheart," Jihoon's murmurs, soft as the piano music that lulled her to sleep. Yoona blinks her eyes open, feeling refreshed, and straightens up as the bus comes to a complete stop. She glances at Jihoon, whose gaze is already fixed on the massive arena looming outside the window, a blend of intense focus and quiet anticipation on his face.

“Oppa…” she calls to him softly, her gaze following his, taking in the sight of the arena. “We’re going to be okay, right?” Jihoon turns his face towards her, looking at her with a tranquilizing expression. “Yes, we are. I’m going to give this everything I have. For you, and for me.” Yoona presses a gentle peck on his cheek, her heart filled with warmth that is most welcome. "For us, oppa.”

Players and cheerleaders get off the bus in a line, immediately met with a bunch of cameras that are aimed at them, the reality of the national grand final settling in the heart of each person. “It’s called a ‘grand final’ for a reason,” Jihoon thinks, somewhat familiar with the exposure that comes with it. Yoona’s close proximity to him makes him want to hold her hand as they walk towards the arena but doing so before these cameras might do more harm than good.

Jihoon's hand aches with the unspoken desire to reach for hers, but he keeps his arms stiffly at his sides, his jaw tight. He maintains a calm, focused expression for the cameras, accustomed to this kind of scrutiny. Beside him, Yoona walks with a quiet grace, her eyes forward, her steps in perfect sync with his, as if they're still moving as one, even without physical touch. He can sense her awareness of his proximity, a silent understanding passing between them that this public restraint is necessary, for now. The flashes of light, the murmuring crowd, and the sharp questions from reporters attempting to break through the security line are a dizzying blur, but he navigates it all with a singular focus: getting them both safely inside the arena, where their private world could re-establish itself.

After settling their things in the locker room, the players and cheerleaders gather, forming a big circle in the center of it. “Guys, listen to me, please,” Jihoon starts, taking point as both the captain and the senior. “First of all, please remember to stay safe at all times, and I’m talking about you girls,” he adds, his index finger tracing a line across the row of cheerleaders. Yoona bites her bottom lip to stop herself from blushing; even if his attention isn’t focused on her, being addressed by him as a part of a crowd still gives her the butterflies.

"And to my team," Jihoon continues, his gaze sweeping over the basketball players, his voice firming. "We’re here as champions, and everyone has been gunning for us, giving us a run for our money, but we came out on top every single time. So, let's come out on top one last fucking time." He pauses, letting his words sink in, then his gaze softens slightly as he looks back at the cheerleaders. "We couldn't do this without your energy and support. So, let's go out there and show them what we're made of. All of us." A unified roar of agreement ripples through the circle, a powerful surge of collective determination. “Win on three. One, two, three, win!”

The unified roar reverberated off the locker room walls, a tangible wave of shared adrenaline. Jihoon's eyes met Yoona's across the circle, a silent acknowledgment passing between them—a flash of their private promise amidst the collective energy. Then, the huddle breaks, each person taking a spot to form two lines to head out together. With a subtle tilt of head, Jihoon gestures to Yoona to stand at the end of their respective queue.

An event coordinator signals to the cheerleaders to head out first, and as the line begins to move, Yoona gives him one last squeeze of hand, an unspoken promise that she’ll be there, pouring everything she has into supporting him, and by extension, the basketball team. Jihoon watches as she walks away from him, hypnotized by her wiggling ponytail, smiling like a fool in love. Well, he is a fool in love.

Soon, the same coordinator gives the signal for Jihoon’s team to enter the arena, but as he steps closer towards the end of the tunnel, he is stopped. “Captains enter last—you know, for the TV,” he says. Jihoon chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. “It wasn’t like this last year,” he quips. The coordinator chuckles with him. “We’re trying out new things each year, captain.”

The arena announcer’s voice grows louder, more excited, as he calls for the captains of each team to come out. “I guess that’s my cue.” Jihoon straightens his posture, fixing the jacket hanging on his shoulders, only hanging by a small rope connecting each end of the collar. He gets a few taps on his shoulder, confirming that it’s time for him to walk out of the dark tunnel and into the brightly lit court.

Jihoon walks out at the same time as the other team’s captain and a fellow senior, Park Taehyun, offering a nod to acknowledge his presence, the crowd bursting into energetic screams at the sight of the two. As he joins his team, Jihoon’s gaze roams the stands, indicating to those present that he acknowledges their overwhelming presence, offering smiles and nods where he can.

Jihoon's eyes finally land on the cheerleading section, a familiar warmth spreading through him as he spots Yoona. Her bright smile and energetic waves are unmistakable for him, and he feels a subtle surge of confidence that has nothing to do with the roar of the crowd. He gives her a quick, almost imperceptible nod and a private, genuine smile before turning his full attention to the center court. The referee blows the whistle, signaling the start of the coin toss, and the anticipation in the arena becomes a tangible force, ready to erupt with the game's first play.

Jihoon’s team win the tip-off thanks to the center’s quick reaction. The ball gets passed to him right away, music resembling a countdown playing over the speakers as he navigates across the court, the bouncing ball an extension of his controlled will. His calculated passes cause chaos in the defense, creating separation all over the floor. Eventually, the ball finds its way back to Jihoon, right as he’s closing in towards the hoop, and with practiced movement, he scores the first basket of the game, thus earning excited screams from both the crowd and the cheerleaders, not excluding Yoona.

The game intensifies, the scoreboard ticking steadily, yet the tension in the arena only grows. Jihoon is everywhere, a blur of blue and white, orchestrating plays, sinking shots, and denying the opposition. The other team, however, desperate to close the widening gap, pushes back with aggressive drives and tight defense.

Mid-second quarter, the opposing team's power forward, a burly player named Kim Donghwan, drives hard to the basket. Jihoon meets him as he jumps, a fierce battle for the rebound ensuing as the shot clanks off the back board. Donghwan, off-balance from the collision with Jihoon and the sudden shift in momentum, stumbles wildly out of bounds. He trips over the baseline advertising, his massive frame tumbling awkwardly. Before anyone can react, he crashes directly into the cheerleading line, specifically into Yoona.

Panicking at the sight of his girlfriend sprawling, Jihoon quickly rises to his feet, rushing towards her. Jihoon grabs Donghwan by the hips, pulling him to his feet with all his might, more concerned about Yoona than anyone else. “Get out of here,” he snarks, his hand, planted on Donghwan’s chest, pushing him backwards. “Get your fucking hand off me,” Donghwan barks back, slapping his hand away in anger. Nine times out of ten, Jihoon would crash out, but this one time, he doesn’t take the bait; Yoona needs help, and anger isn’t going to help her.

A wave of whistles immediately shrills through the arena, cutting through the sudden, stunned silence that followed the collision. Jihoon ignores them, his gaze fixed on Yoona. She's still on the floor, one hand pressed to the back of her head, her eyes squeezed shut in pain. He drops to his knees beside her, his earlier aggression vanishing, replaced by profound worry.

"Sweetie, are you okay?" he asks, his voice tight with concern, gently cradling her head. Around them, chaos erupts. Teammates from both sides rush forward, referees try to separate the players, and the crowd murmurs anxiously. Donghwan, still seething, is being pulled away by his coach. Jihoon barely registers any of it; his world has shrunk to just Yoona, lying still on the cold, hard court.

“Baby, please say something,” he says, his stomach clenching with worry. Yoona’s free hand scrambles, trying to find him, her anchor in this sea of pain. “It… hurts,” she manages. “I know, I know,” Jihoon hurries, carefully rubbing the back of her head, trying to ease the sting. Realizing he can’t stay for long, he turns to one of her teammates, asking her to call the medics. “You’ll be fine, baby.” With a heavy heart, Jihoon lets go of Yoona, returning to his duties as a basketball player, his mind replaying the scene of the tumble.

Jihoon forces his attention back to the court, the referee's whistle a sharp demand for order. His teammates gather around him, their faces etched with concern, but he waves them off, a grim determination setting his jaw. The game clock has stopped, leaving the arena in a thick, uneasy silence broken only by the distant murmur of the crowd. He glances back quickly, seeing the medical team rushing towards Yoona, a small circle of worried cheerleaders already surrounding her. He has to trust them. He has to play. The adrenaline that had surged with panic now channeled itself into a cold, hard resolve. Every dribble, every pass, every shot in this game would now be for her.

A referee heads to the scoring table, a microphone being brought to him for an announcement. “A technical foul is called for player number twenty from Juwan University. Two free throws for Yeonseo University,” he announces, making appropriate gestures as he does. Jihoon’s teammates choose him to take those free throws, but he declines; his mind is not fully in the game, still distracted by the incident involving she who holds his heart. “Just take it, man,” he says.

Minjun, their shooting guard, steps forward without a word, picking up the ball. He knows Jihoon too well, understands the unspoken weight of his captain's gaze on the medical team. Jihoon watches as Minjun calmly stands in the spot, focuses on the rim, and sinks both free throws with a satisfying swish. The scoreboard shifts, adding two precious points to their tally, but Jihoon barely registers it. His eyes are still fixed on the sideline, where Yoona is now being carefully helped onto a stretcher, a white neck brace stark against her cheerleading uniform. He watches her, his heart clenching with every slow, deliberate movement of the medics. He can't go to her, not yet, but he feels every ounce of her pain as keenly as if it were his own.

Noticing the distracted captain, Coach Kang calls for a substitution, giving someone else, who is more focused on the game, to take Jihoon’s spot on the court. As he’s signing off, Jihoon gets a smack to the back of his head; Kang is expressing his disappointment. “Focus, or you’ll regret it,” he threatens. Jihoon offers a nod, but his mind barely grasps the coach’s words; there’s simply no space in his head for the game.

The whistle signaling the end of the first half blows, the players clearing out of the court to give room for the cheerleaders to perform their routine. Jihoon joins his team, retreating to the locker room for a half-time pep talk, a towel covering his head. Passing through the tunnel with his eyes aimed at the ground, he notices a girl rushing out—those shoes look familiar too.

“Oppa!” Jihoon hears her yell and reactively lifts his head: it’s Yoona, no longer showing signs of being hurt, her energetic form returning as if she didn’t hit her head less than ten minutes ago. A pleasant shiver runs down his spine, opening his arms to welcome her. “Later, oppa,” she declines, zipping past him. “I need to perform first!” His eyes follow her as she disappears into the light. “She’s not giving up, is she?” he thinks, his resolution regaining strength at the face of Yoona’s unwavering spirit.

Jihoon walks into the locker room, his stride now imbued with a different kind of energy. Coach Kang looks at him, a questioning glance, and Jihoon offers a confident nod, the towel still draped over his head but his eyes blazing with renewed focus. The image of Yoona's fierce determination, her confident, steady attitude, burns bright in his mind. He pulls the towel off, wiping his face, and steps into the huddle, ready for whatever the second half throws at them. The championship, and everything Yoona represents, feels within their grasp now.

Jihoon concentrates, putting everything that the coaches are saying into his mind. Their instructions to “find space” and “move the ball around” tell him just enough about his roles in the second half, his basketball mind primed. “And you,” Kang points at him, “are you ready to play, or are you still mourning your girl?” Jihoon chuckles, almost insulted by the question about his readiness. “I am ready,” he answers firmly, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “Put me in, and I’ll do everything you want me to.”

Jihoon and company return to the court, standing in the sidelines as they wait for the cheerleaders to finish. His eyes quickly find Yoona among the crowd, performing with everything she has. Each smile and movement remind him of her promise: “I’m going to make sure you don’t have anyone else to watch but me.” Jihoon’s smile grows bigger, drawing strength from her presence, admiring her strong resolve to always give her best in everything she does. “You’re amazing, Seol Yoona,” he praises her silently.

Soon, the ref's whistle for the start of the second half pierces the arena, and Jihoon explodes from the bench, his feet already moving with a purpose that wasn’t there moments ago. He takes the inbound pass from Minjun and quickly takes the ball over to the other half, already finding the mismatch he wants; the player guarding him is bigger—and therefore slower—and he is about to put him in the wringer.

With a chain of precise dribbles and crosses, Jihoon manages to make his opponent trip on his own feet, creating a mile of separation, and he exploits it right away. With the ball settled in his hands, Jihoon rises to take a shot from beyond the three-point line. The crowd, initially amazed by the ankle-breaker, explodes into deafening cheers. With a cocky smirk, Jihoon puts a finger on his earlobe, riling up the crowd to scream louder for him.

As he returns to his team’s side of the court, Jihoon spots Yoona. She’s cheering him on, bouncing up and down on the spot, her pom-poms skipping along with her, and the sight sends his heart soaring with pride. He points right at her. “For you,” he mouths.

When the final horn pierces through the arena, Jihoon drops to his hands and knees, the depths of his exhaustion finally settling in his mind. He tunes out the sound of the erupting crowd, focusing only on the back-to-back championship and what it means for him. The captain, in his last year of competition, signs off with a parting gift that is most sweet.

As he stays on the floor, someone crashes into him, demanding his attention. “Yoona-yah…” he murmurs, pulling the crying girl into his arms. “This one is yours, baby.” Yoona hides her face in the crook of his neck, sobbing out of control in his arms. “This one is yours,” he repeats, punctuating it with a tender peck to the top of her head, smiling in pride at this achievement.

Nestling in the front seat of the bus once more, Jihoon immediately pulls Yoona closer to him, closing the little gap between them. “We did it, baby,” he whispers, his voice nearly gone from screaming too much during the celebration. “Yes—yes, we did,” she confirms, her hand finding purchase on his chest, rubbing it tenderly. “Congratulations, my love,” she adds, looking at him with glassy eyes, threatening to break down crying again.

As the bus starts rolling to take them home, Yoona rests her head on his shoulder, her arms wrapped around his like they were hours ago. “Oppa, can we celebrate a little?” she asks, looking for a reason to be with him longer. “Yeah, we can. What are you thinking, Yoona-yah?” Yoona shifts around, positioning her lips right beside his ear. “We can… try having sex.”

Jihoon's breath hitches. The soft rumble of the bus, the distant cheers from outside, all fade into a blur. His grip on Yoona's waist tightens reflexively, his mind reeling from her whispered words. He pulls his head back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes, which are now wide and earnest, reflecting the dim light of the bus cabin. A slow, warm smile spreads across his face, a mix of surprise, tenderness, and an unmistakable excitement.

"Yoona-yah," he murmurs, his voice still hoarse, but now filled with a different kind of intensity. "Are you serious?" He searches her gaze, not for doubt, but for confirmation. Her cheeks flush a delicate pink, but her eyes hold steady, a silent, confident affirmation. "Yes," she whispers, her hand pressing more firmly against his chest. "Be my first, oppa."

Jihoon's smile softens even further, becoming purely tender. He gently moves his hand from her waist to cup her cheek, his thumbs stroking softly. "Yoona-yah," he whispers again, his voice now a low, husky rumble, filled with overwhelming emotion. "You trust me with that?" A smile forms on Yoona’s face as she nods to his question, her trust in him immense. The trust that tells her, in his arms, she will be safe and loved. “Then yes,” he breathes, leaning closer to her. “I will be your first, and I’ll cherish every single moment, my heart.”

Yoona pecks him on the cheek, her heart warm with his promise to cherish the monumental moment they will share. “We’ll be happy, right, oppa?” she asks, hope lying beneath her pleading voice. “Of course, baby. We’ll be happy together.” Jihoon pecks her in return. Not on her cheek, but on her head, his nostrils filled with the subtle scent of her shampoo.

The soft hum of the bus engine became a comforting lullaby as Yoona settles deeper into Jihoon's side. With his arm securely around her, and her head resting on his shoulder, the weight of the championship, the earlier scare, and the boldness of their shared confession all seem to melt away, leaving only a profound sense of rightness. Jihoon looks out the window, watching the city lights blur past, a contented smile playing on his lips. This is more than just a victory; it is a new beginning, a quiet promise of a future he is now more than ready to embrace, hand in hand with his Yoona.

The bus arrives back at the university after what feels like a moment, as Jihoon and Yoona get lost in their own world where peace is the name of the game. “Yoona-yah…” he taps her shoulder gently, whispering her name as to not startle the exhausted girl. “Wake up, baby. We’re here.” Her eyes flutter open, looking around the bus to find it nearly empty. “W-where’s everyone?” she asks. “Well, they got off moments ago. It’s now our turn,” he says, pressing a light kiss to her forehead to kick-start her body after the slumber.

“Oppa, I can’t walk.” Jihoon’s eyebrows furrow, concern etched in the lines of his forehead. “Are you hurt?” Yoona shakes her head, a playful, teasing smile starting to form. “No, but… I do want to be carried—you know, like you’re abducting me,” she teases. He bursts out laughing, shaking his head simply out of mirth. “Yeah, let’s do that. I hope no one thinks I’m actually abducting you.”

As his laughter dies down, Jihoon gets down on one knee beside her, tapping his shoulder a few times. "Hop on, my little abductee," he jokes, flexing his shoulders playfully. Yoona giggles, getting on his shoulder, her belly pressed firm against it. Even exhausted, Jihoon feels a surge of strength at her light weight. As he stands, adjusting his grip on her back, he looks around the near-empty bus, then out the window at the quiet university grounds. "Ready for your grand abduction?" he whispers, his voice filled with tender amusement. Yoona buries her face in his neck, the soft rumble of his laughter echoing in her ears. "Lead the way—ah, oppa!”

Yoona yelps when Jihoon suddenly runs out of the bus. As if not feeling the weight of the duffel bag in his hand or the girl on his shoulder, Jihoon darts across the parking lot, really getting in the act of pretending to be abducting her. “Oppa, oppa, slow down!” she protests, whacking his back while giggling, not actually scared about any of this. “I can’t slow down. The cops are on me,” he jokes, his voice steady despite running. Yoona laughs even more at his quip, so much so that her saliva drips out of her lips.

Just as Jihoon rounds a corner past the main dormitory, a familiar voice calls out. "Min Jihoon? Is that you?" He skids to a halt, Yoona letting out another surprised yelp. It's Coach Kang, walking briskly with one of the assistant coaches, clearly just leaving a late meeting. Kang's eyes widen, first in surprise, then amusement, as he takes in the sight of his star player carrying the cheerleader captain like a fugitive. Yoona immediately buries her face deeper, trying to become one with Jihoon's back.

"Uh, Coach," Jihoon manages, trying to stifle a laugh and regain some composure. "Just... an emergency escort." Coach Kang simply shakes his head, a wide smile spreading across his face. "Right. Well, try not to get too abducted, Miss Seol—and you, my boy, try not to get a speeding ticket. Well, see you both bright and early for team photos!" He walks past, chuckling, leaving Jihoon and Yoona in a fresh wave of embarrassed laughter.

Jihoon stands still as Kang and the other coach walks away, his cheeks burning with after getting caught frolicking with Yoona. “God, that’s so embarrassing,” she sighs, her cheeks also burning, “can we… I don’t know, get to our destination soon?” He chuckles once more, getting ready to start running again. “Alright, baby. We’re almost there.”

Jihoon tightens his grip, and then, with a renewed burst of energy, he sprints the last hundred meters. He veers off the main path, cutting through a small, shrub-lined shortcut leading directly to the back entrance of his dormitory. The building lights are mostly out, indicating the late hour and the general quiet. He slows as they reach the door, fumbling for his keycard with one hand while still holding her securely with the other. "Home sweet home, my abductee," he whispers, a hint of something deeper in his tone now. Yoona lifts her head from his shoulder, her eyes sparkling in the dim light.

“Wait, this… doesn’t feel like a regular student’s dormitory,” she blurts, offering the result of her brief observation. “No, not really,” he replies. “Student-athletes don’t live like other students.” Her jaw drops, surprised by the revelation. Yoona never knows that people like Jihoon get special treatments. “You’re joking,” she says, but he just shrugs. “College sports bring in loads of money, and we get our privileges for bringing in that money,” he adds.

Stopping in the middle of the hallway, Jihoon carefully lowers Yoona onto her feet, straightening her crumpled jacket and hair. "Seriously? So, you guys have, like, private rooms and, like, better food?" Yoona asks, her voice still laced with disbelief, momentarily forgetting their playful pretense. "Something like that. Think of it as a thank-you for all the blood, sweat, and tears we put in for the good name of the university."

He reaches a door with a discreet number plaque, tapping his keycard on the scanner. "Anyway, we can discuss the economics of collegiate sports later." He nudges the door open with his elbow, revealing a meticulously kept room, the interior full of shiny furniture. "For now," he whispers, his voice dropping to a tender murmur as he guides her inside. "How about we focus on that celebration you mentioned?"

Yoona steps into the plush carpeted room, her eyes widening slightly at the tasteful, minimalist decor and the sprawling view of the university grounds outside the large window. The door clicks softly shut behind them, muffling the last distant sounds of campus. The air inside is cool and still, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the arena and the bus. She turns, her gaze meeting Jihoon's, and the playful teasing from moments before completely vanishes. His eyes, warm and earnest, are fixed solely on her. Without a word, she steps forward, her hands finding his chest, and comes in for a kiss.

Their lips meet softly at first, a gentle exploration filled with the weight of the day's events and the unspoken promise of the night. It's a kiss that speaks of gratitude, relief, and a burgeoning intimacy. Jihoon's hands instinctively land on her waist, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh, holding her with utmost possessiveness. Yoona's arms tighten around his back, pulling him closer, seeking the solid comfort of his presence. The world outside their private sanctuary fades away, leaving only the feel of each other's lips, the warmth of their embrace, and the quiet beating of their hearts.

“Seol Yoona, my heart, I promise to always prioritize us,” he murmurs when they finally break apart. Yoona presses her face against his chest, basking in his manly scent, taking his promise to heart. “Lead us, oppa,” she says, her voice muffled. “Not because I can’t, but because I trust you.” Her words strike deep in his heart, her expectations of him, of their future, crystal clear for him to see. “You promise to always support me, right, baby, because I need you.”

Yoona pulls away, looking up at him, her eyes gleaming with determination. “Of course, oppa,” she says. “I’m giving you my first time as… say, proof of my commitment.” Jihoon inhales sharply at the mention of her innocence, the weight of the moment pressing down on him, but he’s committed to this relationship as much as she is.

“I’m giving you my first time too, baby,” he replies. Yoona nods, remembering his confession about never having a girlfriend, understanding the implications of this encounter. Tonight isn’t just about her giving him the honor of being her first, but she’s also getting the honor of being his first. “You’ll be my first and last, because I don’t want no one else but you,” he adds.

Jihoon's gaze, filled with unwavering devotion, searches her eyes once more, confirming the powerful connection now binding them. He then gently takes her hand, his thumb stroking her knuckles. "Come on, my heart," he whispers, his voice thick with tenderness and anticipation. He doesn't need to ask if she's ready; her presence, her words, everything about her radiates a resolute willingness.

He leads her towards the bed, taking slow steps along with her. “Lie down, please,” he whispers. “I promise you; this bed is far superior to yours.” Yoona giggles as she lies flat on his bed, the mattress sinking slightly at her weight. “It is comfortable,” she confirms. “But… I want you to be with me, oppa, and I’m not talking about lying next to me.” Before joining her, Jihoon takes off his hoodie, revealing his toned physique that she hasn’t seen before. “Goodness me…” she mumbles, her eyes darting around his torso, taking every little detail of him. “No wonder Bae Jinsol fell so hard for you.”

Jihoon places his finger on her lips, bothered by the name she just said. “Please don’t, baby,” he warns her, his voice still soft, only mildly aggravated. “No one else matters like you do.” Yoona closes her eyes, silently scolding herself for saying another name so carelessly. “I’m sorry, my heart,” she says. “That… will never happen again.” He presses a soft, fleeting peck to her lips, as if permanently stifling them from mentioning Jinsol’s name. “You’re forgiven, my love.”

Jihoon's eyes, now clear and focused only on her, move from her lips to her eyes, then down to the simple uniform she still wears. He offers a tender smile, a silent question in his gaze. "Relax, my love," he murmurs, his fingers gently reaching for the zipper of her jacket, beginning to undo it. Yoona takes a shaky breath, a shiver running through her that has nothing to do with cold, but everything to do with anticipation and trust. She watches his hands, then meets his gaze, a silent surrender in her eyes as he slowly, deliberately, begins to strip away the layers that separate them.

“Take me, my love…”

Jihoon's hands tremble slightly as he finishes unzipping her jacket, letting it fall open. Yoona's breath hitches, her chest rising and falling with quickened anticipation. He pushes the jacket from her shoulders, then the thin fabric of her top, revealing the soft curve of her collarbones, then the delicate lace of her bra. His gaze is reverent, taking in every detail as if seeing her for the very first time. He leans in, his lips finding hers in a slow, deep kiss that speaks of awe and unwavering devotion, a silent promise to honor the incredible trust she places in him.

He pulls back just enough to murmur against her lips, "My heart, are you sure?" Yoona's eyes, wide and filled with a luminous trust, meet his. She nods, a silent, resolute affirmation. Her hands find the hem of his joggers, pulling them down with a shaky determination that matches his own. Their clothes fall to the floor in a heap around them, the last barriers between their bodies. He shifts above her, supporting his weight on his forearms, allowing her to adjust, to breathe.

Their skin meets, a rush of warmth and undeniable friction. Jihoon moves slowly, carefully, his eyes never leaving hers, seeking permission in every subtle shift of her expression. Yoona arches into him, a soft gasp escaping her lips as their bodies align, becoming one. He listens to her reactions, to her soft moans, to her pained grunts, guiding their movements with a tenderness that seeks only her pleasure and comfort. The air in the room thickens with their shared breaths, with the growing intensity of their connection.

“My love…” she murmurs, her chest rising and falling quickly, the acute pain subsiding to give way to stellar pleasure. “I’m… I’m yours.” Jihoon presses his lips against the skin of her neck, his hips still moving steadily. “And I’m yours, my heart…” he replies, his gentle voice akin to music to her ears.

The world outside the private dormitory room ceases to exist. There is only the rhythm of their bodies, the whisper of skin against skin, and the profound intimacy of two souls merging for the very first time. Jihoon moves with a deliberate, loving pace, ensuring that each sensation is shared, each moment cherished. Yoona clings to him, her fingers digging into his back, her earlier tension melting into a pure, incandescent pleasure. In this sacred space, amidst the quiet hum of the night, their unspoken promises culminate in a profound act of love, marking a new, indelible beginning for their hearts.

“I… I won’t last long like this, my love,” he murmurs, hoping she will understand his inexperience. Amongst her moans, Yoona nods, acknowledging the quick pace at which this encounter is progressing. “You don’t have to, oppa,” she replies. “Just let go and give me everything you have. Show me your love.”

Jihoon's body tenses, a low groan escaping his throat as he pours every ounce of his being into the moment. Yoona's grip on his back tightens, her fingers digging into his skin as her own pleasure surges, meeting his. The air crackles with their shared intensity, their breaths ragged gasps that mingle in the quiet room. Then, with a final, shuddering release, Jihoon collapses against her, his weight heavy but comforting. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, his body still trembling, their skin slick with sweat.

“I love you, Seol Yoona,” he whispers, his voice rough from his release. “I love you more, oppa—oh, you’re so… warm…” Jihoon chuckles a little, but it’s not amusement; it’s an innocent person’s reaction to someone else’s innocence—or rather, the loss of it. “Let’s lie still and… savor this for now, baby.” Yoona nods, content in the knowledge that she’s loved and cherished, but her eyelids are getting heavy. “You can sleep a little if you want,” he says. Jihoon pecks her forehead, as if pressing a button to send her to sleep.

Yoona's breathing evens out almost immediately, her body relaxing completely against his. Jihoon shifts slightly, pulling the soft blanket up over them, cocooning them in warmth. He closes his eyes, savoring the subtle scent of her hair against his cheek, the steady rhythm of her breath against his chest. The exhaustion from the game, the emotional rollercoaster of the day—the tension, the injury scare, the victorious cheers, and their tender confessions—all melt away, replaced by a profound, peaceful contentment. This quiet intimacy, lying tangled together after such a momentous step, feels like the truest victory of all. Outside the window, the soft glow of the university lights shimmer, a silent witness to the quiet triumph within. The night is still young, but for Jihoon and Yoona, their story is just truly beginning.

#girl group smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader #male reader smut #smut #nmixx smut

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thewritingrowlet · 19 days ago

Text

Alive (tripleS Seoyeon)

15k words

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“For the last time,” huffs Seoyeon, tone playful but showing a tinge of disdain toward her friends, bothered by their insistence. Raising her voice through the ear-thumping club music, she says, “I’m not interested.”

“Oh come on, don’t be so cold.” Yooyeon replies, bumping shoulder to shoulder, poking at her sternness. “You haven’t gone out with us once the entire time. We’re headed back to Korea tomorrow, mind you. We don’t know when we’ll have another opportunity to spend time like this together.”

“Okay, and what about it? Someone has to be the adult around here.” Seoyeon remains uptight, crossing her arms and shaking her head. If not for the neon lights gleaming throughout the place, her face would be seen lit bright red with rage. “I’m down to follow you around and maybe have a drink or two, but please leave me out of your bullshit.”

“Bullshit? You mean us flirting with the guys here?” Xinyu points at one such man, in a ragged business suit, clearly a few bottles in and on the verge of falling over. “They won’t remember a damn thing when they wake up.”

“And what if they do remember? What about the rest of us then? Have you considered what you’re doing can harm our career, hell our personal lives?”

“Hasn’t done anything, so I think we’re good,” Xinyu fires back, as if it were a gotcha moment. Drinking another round to prove her point, she adds, “Look, I’m saying you should have fun every now and then. A little party never killed nobody, after all.”

“I don’t think that saying is true these days,” replies Seoyeon, tilting her head, unconvinced. She rises from her seat to leave, unwilling to hear any more of her friends’ yapping. “Like I said, I’m not interested. Just call when you need me to take you home.”

As she walks away from her two friends, disappearing into the energetic crowd, Xinyu and Yooyeon stare at each other, shrugging their shoulders before returning to the club’s backrooms.

—————

“Look, for the last time, I’m not interested,” you tell your friend, looking left and right. Clubs have never been your favorite place nor have parties been your favorite pastime. Nevertheless, you’re still accompanying a few workmates there because of bullshit office culture and so-called teambuilding. For a weekday, the energy is surprisingly electric. “I don’t mind having one drink, but I’d rather be home right now over anything, so—”

“Dude, this is where all the rich people and celebrities hang out. No way on earth you’re not going,” your friend tells you, as if the last thing you wanted was to share the same space with more men and women in the upper tax bracket when you’re not even making a tenth of their monthly income. Nevermind the fact that most of you unceremoniously decided on this excursion at the eleventh hour—you’re all still in your office attire, evidently worn out and in need of a laundry service. “I mean, there are some gachas nearby, since you seem to like them a lot—”

“Hey. I haven’t bought a gacha in two weeks!” you fire back, but your reply is drowned out in a sea of colleague laughs and party music.

You can only shake your head and sigh, taking an embarrassing defeat on your character.

As you scan your surroundings, you can’t help but recognize that you’d fit right in with all the groggy strangers and passed out drunkards filling out the seats and the corners of the club. Your sleep-deprived brain might as well be a few rounds in with how overworked and pushed it has been with all the overtimes, assignments, and take-home work you’d been receiving. All that for the bare minimum with no consideration for promotion nor any hints indicating such. But to be fair, you’d only been around for a handful of months; most of your peers have found their careers stuck for up to years.

And based on some of the other salarymen you’ve seen knocked unconscious, they seemingly feel the same way. So you can conclude that it’s only right that you should drink your worries and sorrows away, at least for tonight.

It doesn’t take long for jovial merrymaking and intoxication to set in. You swear that your coworkers emptied out two buckets full of alcohol bottles in mere minutes, with plenty of liquor in great abundance to pass around. It gets to a point where you have to take at least one.

And so you do—in tiny, barely recognizable sips to blend in.

Some of your colleagues are singing their hearts out, others end up on the dance floor, but most fall head first onto the table, completely inebriated. Their minds filled with poison, your cue to weasel out of there.

Making your way through the crowd, unsure of where the entrance and exit was, you head down some steps, uncaringly bumping every person that passes by you and vice versa. You’re one bad move away from an incident. It could be anyone.

It ends up catching up to you.

“Oh!” A frantic shout rips through your ears and to everyone nearby, sending you careening onto the floor—except it’s your body crouching by impulse. Glancing to your side, a phone falls onto the stairsteps with a not so audible thump. Your natural instinct is to grab it, while the party goes on without a care.

The person turns around and immediately realizes what’s happened. Reaching out her hand, it intertwines with yours. Your eyes meet. An air of familiarity flows between you two. It’s a slow-motion, time-freezing scene straight out of any cliche drama—the ones you’d make fun of for being too unrealistic and predictable. And now, you’re put in that exact same scenario. Not a soul could have written your story any better.

Looking into her eyes, you’re taken back to not that long ago, at the tail end of a busy day like this one:

—————

As the clock struck the top of the hour before midnight, a command blared through the subway station speakers, telling all passengers that there’s only 30 minutes remaining before all services will come to an end. And yet, even this late, every terminal is brimming with life.

All the more reason to rush through the crowd and head home. Another overtime shift in the books and you’re running on fumes to get back to your apartment. You’re dead set on crashing as soon as you hit the bed or the couch, whichever is the first you see.

You barely make it, narrowly entering the train mere seconds before the doors close. Before you’re forced to stay the night in some convenience store to get some semblance of sleep.

Inside, the carriage is filled with people from all walks of life, from single parents and families with their children, businessmen from salarymen to executives, to partygoers going club hopping. The city never sleeps. Like everyone else, you occupy yourself in your own earphones and music to get by until you reach your stop.

Shuffling your way out the train and down the steps, you recall this exact moment. It should have been an afterthought, but you still remember everything vividly: a bump—a borderline tackle—that sends you tripping down the stairs. No wonder that scream sounded so familiar.

Instead of a phone, it's a patchwork of documents and paperwork flying in every direction. The girl frantically grabs for whatever she can retrieve while you recover the rest. She’s quite apologetic doing so, repeatedly saying ‘Sorry’ in the tiniest voice imaginable, that you overlook how she’s got all your files mixed up with no cohesion or continuity whatsoever.

“God, I’m so—so—sorry—” she mutters, clutching the last of your paper before straightening the pile she collected and handing them back to you. Bowing her head, she follows with: “I really am sorry. I was in such a rush to get home and—”

But you never hear the rest of it, because you promptly take the papers back and hurry out of there.

—————

Deja vu is working overtime.

Your fingers are slowly pointing at each other, mouths slowly gaping, eyes also widening, stunned speechless. The girl is first to speak:

“It’s you again.”

And to be quite honest, you don’t have a response to that.

“You’re the guy I ran into at the train station last week,” she recalls, her eyes widening more, her shocked expression turning into a look of genuine delight, like you’re distant friends reconnecting after a long time apart: “I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Glancing left and right, you scramble for a quick answer. It comes out awkward: “Y--yeah. Me neither. That’s crazy.”

“Small world, huh?” she quips, quickly grabbing her phone off the floor and pocketing it. “Didn’t I also see you the morning after?”

“Morning after?” you ask, puzzled by what seems to be a second previous encounter.

“Yeah. I was going to the convenience store for some coffee and I saw you across the street,” she says, grinning from ear to ear. “You were still wearing the same suit you wore the night before.”

Knowing that you did, in fact, crash onto the couch once you got home and went to work the next day without changing clothes proves to be embarrassing. You get completely flustered. What a spectacular first impression.

“I—yeah, I—I guess I did,” you reply, scratching your head, unable to look her directly in the eye in light of this revelation. You can only chalk it up to one thing. “Work.”

The girl laughs, covering her mouth. “Can relate.”

“So,” you swallow your throat, tugging on the collar of your shirt. Feeling sweat trickle down your face and new tension brewing. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, some friends,” she remarks, rolling her eyes seemingly at the thought of them. “I was about to leave for some fresh air. And you?”

You stifle your laugh, toothily smiling, hoping you’re not turning her away. She looks at you intently, like you have something important. “Oh, funny. I was gonna say friends, too, if coworkers qualify as friends.”

“Really now?” She scans you from head to toe and recognizes that you’re one of those men. “I’m not surprised. My friends dragged me here as well. I’m guessing you didn’t wanna come along too?”

Your eyes widen at how quick she is at reading you. Like she’s known you for so long. “Wait, how’d you—”

“I guess we share quite a lot of things, huh?” she comments, beaming. The realization hits her: it’s destiny, it’s fate. “Gosh, it does really feel like we’re meant to cross paths.”

“Now that you’ve said it, you might be right.”

The girl looks around, and a realization dawns on her: that you’ve been making casual conversation on some narrow stairs, unknowingly being a mild inconvenience to partygoers. It’s only afterward she notices the growing pileup of disgruntled people cutting past, cursing you both out for indirectly acting as human roadblocks.

Glancing up the stairs, she remarks, “I think we should take this outside, you know, so we can hear each other better. My ears are hurting.”

—————

Despite reacquainting yourself with fresh air, your ears are still reeling in aftershocks from deafening party music.

Across the street, from the club, lies a humble cafe serving customers 24/7. Despite the music being so loud that you can still hear it from behind these walls, the place is empty and solemn. Evidently most people here prefer their drinks with alcohol, not coffee. And looking at the girl, you do seem to share something common: that you’re both fishes out of water, living in a way that your peers might describe as ‘foreign’ and ‘weird.’

She’s on her phone, sighing as she fires back text after text to what seems to be her friends, annoyed about being bothered. Occasionally shooting you a meek, apologetic smile. You can make out her name even through the little font on the screen; ’Seoyeon-unnie, where did u go?’ reads one of the messages, and she catches on right as you’re reading them, concealing it, her face turning red and cheeks puffing.

“You’re not from around here?” you ask, genuinely curious. She’s blended in with the locals effortlessly.

“Afraid not,” she tells you, rapidly mashing through her phone before putting it away. Sipping on her drink, her eyes fixate on you, reciprocating interest. She inhales deeply, adding: “We’re here on a scheduled trip, so we’ll be leaving soon. Don’t know when we’ll come back.”

If this is her attempt to dissuade you from developing this little date into something more, then she’s failed. She has a natural glow around her, a magnetic pull that has you hooked. Even when she sounds direct, she’s as gentle as a candle’s flame. You can imagine the stars revolving around her; she’s that charming.

“That’s unfortunate,” you reply, frowning, hoping to earn some sympathy points from Seoyeon.

She doesn’t really notice, or sees through your act. Either way, she doesn’t react. “Yep,” she sighs, stirring the straw on her drink, glancing down on the table’s surface. “Tonight’s actually our last night before we leave tomorrow, so we went out. Not a party animal, so—”

She should have probably led with that. Hearing that this encounter will be as brief as your previous ones rips through your hopes and dreams like a gun shot straight through your heart.

It leaves you speechless for a moment. Unable to take even a little sip of your own drink too.

And maybe it’s better off this way. Cherish the brief time you have before you part ways again.

“Hey, are you alright?” Seoyeon asks, snapping you from your daze.

Shaking your head loose, you adamantly lie. “Y-yeah. I’m good.”

She’s leaning her head forward, staring into your eyes intently. Something appears off. “I don’t think so.”

Fucking hell. Seoyeon’s smarter than you thought.

She pulls the rug from underneath, catching you further off-guard.

“Let me guess: work, huh?”

It’s the perfect alibi and escape. There’s some truth behind your excuse to stand on. Countless hours of a thankless job, being forced out of your comfort zone by peers that you hardly know and vice versa, when all you want is to separate your work life and personal time. Clock in, clock out.

“Yeah. Something like that. I don’t really drink; I wanna go home, but you know—”

“I understand. I mean, I’m not saying my job is as bad, but the hours eventually catch up and weigh down on you. I don’t sit behind a desk in an office for hours everyday, like you do, but the feeling is mutual.”

“Way to kick a man when he’s down,” is your reply, throwing a light jab at what appears to be a misguided attempt at empathizing. She lost you when she said she doesn’t work office hours.

Seoyeon seems to take offense to it, shooting a pout, firing a glare in your direction. “I didn’t mean to make your life sound boring and monotonous. If anything, I’ve got it worse—well, we do.”

You remain silent. Suspect.

“Imagine getting up at two in the morning, putting on makeup, being in front of cameras at nearly every waking moment, having to put on your best behavior, no matter how tired you are. Having to sing and dance the same song a dozen times without making a mistake. And when the day is over, you only have 30 minutes of sleep before you do it all over again. Rinse and repeat.”

A dour feeling hits you right in the gut. Not even you get overworked this terribly, even if your company’s policies are borderline unethical.

“Well—shit,” is your only response to quite the expository dump.

“Sometimes I wonder if this is even worthwhile,” she adds, pausing to take a prolonged drink. “I mean, I’m not alone; the responsibility is on all of us to look out for one another, but I wonder if they share the same feelings as me.”

Tilting your head, you reply, “Pretty sure they’re just as good as hiding it as you are. I mean—there’s a reason why my coworkers keep asking me to drink with them almost every other day.”

“I guess, but—someone has to be the levelheaded one in our group,” she says, her brows furrowing, reminding herself of the responsibility. “As much as we want to let loose, we still have to be careful. Getting drunk can be the worst sometimes.”

“True.”

Seoyeon has already emptied her drink while yours is still halfway unfinished. She looks directly into your eyes, reaching out her hand across the table, which you instinctively hold. Despite the little time you’ve spent together, your interactions mostly a string of mere coincidences, you feel a sense of warmth and familiarity with her that only close friends share.

“Sorry for going on a tangent like that,” she says, gently caressing your hand beneath hers, resting her head on the table, her gaze staring out the window, visibly looking tired and defeated. “I get really stressed out sometimes, and I can’t show weakness in front of anyone. I’m just—” she abruptly pauses, huffing, sighing wistfully. “I’m not ready to get back out there.”

Admittedly, you hardly know her, nor will you ever get a chance to, if she’s to be believed, but you can’t let the opportunity slip away for good. There’s no way she’s confiding this much of herself in some random stranger.

“Well, we can still stay in touch, for when you leave,” you tell her, drawing her attention. “Unless you don’t wanna exchange numbers with a guy you just met properly for the first time.”

She pauses, takes a moment to quietly chuckle, before looking up at you, grinning. “Technically, we already met twice. Just not in a conventional way.”

“Still won’t let me live that down, huh?” you remark, annoyed, much to her amusement. Meanwhile, she’s straight up laughing.

“I don’t know. I think it’s cute, actually,” is her reply, her ear to ear smile and upbeat expression infectious. “Shows that you’re committed.”

“Or that my workplace has no qualms about overworking their employees to death, but sure. Committed.”

“Hey, you’re not the only one overworked here, like I said.” Seoyeon raises her arms defensively, feigning innocence. “I thought we were on the same page.”

“You’re making me look like I enjoy it.”

“Never said you did. Did you not listen to me?”

“I heard you—I just don’t see it that way, honestly.”

“Then stop being an uptight dick about and move on.”

“You won’t let me.”

“Are you this insufferable with your coworkers?” Seoyeon mocks, resting her chin on her palm, eyes gleaming with mischief.

You lean back, feigning offense. "Only when they drag me to clubs late at night on a Wednesday." She laughs—a bright, clear sound that cuts through the cafe’s drowsy hum. "Fair. But you’re bearable. Surprisingly."

"Wow. High praise," you deadpan, swirling the ice in your half-finished drink. A comfortable silence settles, the kind that feels earned. Her thumb traces idle circles on the tabletop, and you notice the chipped polish on her nails. The neon glow from the club across the street paints her face in fleeting streaks of flashing colors.

Seoyeon sighs, the playful edge softening. "This was—nice," She glances at her phone lighting up again. Another ignored message. "I should probably face the music. Literally."

The neon glow from the club across the street pulses through the café windows, painting alternating stripes of violet and gold across her cheekbones. You watch as she absently traces the rim of her empty glass, the ice long since melted into a sad, diluted puddle. There's a quiet intimacy in the way the condensation clings to her fingertips, in the way she hesitates before finally pulling her hand away.

"You don't have to go back yet." The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

She looks up, one eyebrow arched. "Oh? And what exactly would we do instead?" There's a challenge in her voice, but beneath it—something softer. Something hopeful.

Outside, the bass from the club thrums through the pavement, vibrating up through the soles of your shoes. A group of drunk salarymen stumbles past the window, their laughter sharp and raucous in an otherwise quiet street. The contrast is jarring; the chaotic energy of the night pressing in closely against this fragile bubble you've created.

"I don't know," you admit. "Walk. Talk. Find somewhere that doesn't smell like stale beer and poor decisions."

A slow smile spreads across her face. "You had me at 'doesn't smell like stale beer.'" She stands abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. "But if we're doing this, we're doing it properly."

Before you can respond, she's shrugging out of her jacket and tossing it to you. "Put this on."

"Why—"

"Because," she interrupts, already pulling her hair into a messy bun, "if anyone recognizes me, I'd rather they think I'm some random girl out with her—" She trails off, gesturing vaguely at you.

"Ugly salaryman boyfriend?" you supply dryly.

She barks out a laugh. "I was going to say 'tragically overworked acquaintance,' but sure. Let's go with that."

The jacket is too small around the shoulder, the fabric still warm from her body heat. It smells faintly of her perfume—something floral and expensive, undercut with the sharp tang of citrus.

"You look ridiculous," she informs you playfully, stepping out into the night.

The cool air hits your face like a slap, sharp and bracing. Seoyeon tilts her head back, inhaling deeply as the city lights reflect in her eyes. For a moment, she stands there, perfectly still, as if savoring the simple act of breathing.

"Where to?" you ask.

She turns, and the smile she gives you is different now. Less guarded, more alive.

"Let's get lost."

—————

The alleyways twist and turn like a maze, the sounds of the main streets fading into a distant hum. Here, the air smells of frying oil and damp concrete, of laundry hung out to dry on cramped balconies overhead. Seoyeon walks half a step ahead of you, her fingers trailing along the graffiti-covered walls as if reading some secret braille only she can understand.

"You know," she says suddenly, "I used to do this all the time as a trainee. Just—walk. No destination. No manager breathing down my neck."

A cat darts across your path, its eyes gleaming in the dim light. Seoyeon crouches down, making soft clicking noises with her tongue. To your surprise, the creature actually approaches, butting its head against her outstretched hand.

"Traitor," you mutter.

She grins up at you. "Animals love me. It's my one true talent."

"What, and the whole singing-dancing-being-ridiculously-good-looking thing is a happy accident?"

The words are out before you can stop them, too honest by half. Seoyeon goes very still, her fingers pausing mid-scratch. The cat, sensing the shift, slinks away into the shadows.

"Sorry," you start, but she shakes her head.

"Don't be." She stands, brushing invisible dirt from her jeans. "It's just—strange. Hearing someone say that like it's a fact. Not a PR talking point."

There's a rawness to her voice that makes your chest ache. You want to reach out—to bridge the gap between you—but the moment stretches, fragile and uncertain.

A distant siren cuts through the silence. Seoyeon blinks, as if waking from a dream.

"Come on," she says, nodding toward a flickering convenience store sign at the end of the long, narrow alley. “I'll buy you a drink that doesn't taste like regret."

—————

It’s half-past midnight. The air inside Room 408 hangs thick with ghosts of cheap perfume and spilled beer. Neon lights pulse across soundproof walls as Seoyeon kneels on the carpet, her fingers hovering over the touchscreen. The menu glows unnaturally bright in the dimness, a constellation of song titles scrolling into infinity.

“New rule,” she says, not looking up. “If you pick anything released before 2010, you automatically lose.”

You sink onto the pleather couch beside her. The material groans, releasing a puff of dust that dances in the projector’s beam. “That eliminates eighty percent of good music.”

“Your definition of ‘good’ is suspect.” She finally meets your eyes, a challenge in the tilt of her chin. “We’re playing ‘Answer Me.’

“The kids’ game?”

“Adapted.” She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The motion is quick, practiced. “I ask a question. You answer while staring at the ceiling. If you blink, you sing first. If I blink, then I do.”

“What’s the question?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

She rises, standing before you. The shift alters the room’s gravity; suddenly, the space feels smaller, charged. The thump of bass from next door vibrates through the floor.

“Ready?”

You nod, leaning back. The ceiling tiles are water-stained, patterned like old tea leaves.

Seoyeon’s voice drops to a murmur, cutting through the muffled chaos beyond the door. “What did you wish for at the train station? That night we collided.”

Your breath hitches, heart pumps erratically, endlessly going through a million probable answers.

“A promotion.”

She doesn’t move. “Liar.”

“How would you—?”

“You blinked.” Triumph curls her lips. “Twice.”

You scowl, your brows furrowing. “Fine. I wished I had asked for your number when you apologized.”

Silence. The neon shifts from blue to violet, catching the startled dilation of her pupils. Her throat moves as she swallows.

“My turn,” she says, too quickly.

You stand, closing the distance. Her shoulder brushes your chest. “Rules are rules. You blinked.”

“I did not!”

“Your left eye. At ‘apologized.’

She glares, but it lacks heat. “Cheap shot.”

You chuckle.“Sing.”

Indignantly turning away from you, she complies.

She picks the song almost a little too fast. ‘Into the New World’ by Girls’ Generation flashes on the screen. A classic. A rite of passage for every female aspirant looking to get into the industry.

The opening notes shimmer, crystalline and familiar. She takes the mic like a weapon, her knuckles clenched, white.

“You know this one?” she asks, back still turned.

“Who doesn’t?”

“Right.” A bitter edge. “National anthem.”

When she faces you, the transformation is jarring. Her posture straightens, shoulders pulling back. Chin lifted. Even her breathing changes: measured, controlled. The girl who tripped on alley cobblestones is gone. In her place: a performer. A born to be idol.

Her voice is clean, technically sound—every note placed with surgical precision. But it’s hollow. A perfect mannequin singing a perfect replica of joy.

Halfway through, she stumbles. Not on the notes, but on the choreography. Her hand rises automatically for a fanchant that isn’t there, then aborts the motion, fingers curling into her palm. She doesn’t look at you. A glance here and there, but otherwise, you’re nowhere in sight.

The final chorus fades. The screen flashes 99.7%. Artificial applause crackles from the speakers. She smiles naturally as if she performs for thousands, not for one man.

She drops the mic onto the couch. It bounces, hurling toward your knee.

“Your turn,” she says, her voice tight.

You don't pick a song. Not right away.

“My question now.” You hold her gaze. “What did you wish for? That morning you saw me in this same suit.”

The air conditioner whirs. A drop of condensation slides down a beer can, pooling on the table.

Seoyeon looks down at her hands, deep in thought. A moment that could be its own eternity. She holds her breath, before her lips curl into tangible words: “That you’d look up.”

It barely registers in your head.

“—What?”

“At the convenience store. You were staring at your shoes. I wished you’d look up so I could wave. Say sorry properly for the stairs.” She picks at a thread on the couch. “Stupid, right?”

You step forward. The scent of her shampoo cuts through the stale air—pear blossoms and salt. “Why didn’t you?”

“You seemed—” She searches your face, blinking slowly. “Like you carried something heavy. I didn’t want to add to it.”

The admission hangs between you both. Raw. Unrehearsed.

“Just sing,” she whispers, her voice shrinking, body lightly jittering. “Please.”

Turning around, you scroll past Hotel California, then Gee, eventually landing on Spring Day.

Seoyeon’s breath hitches. “That’s—”

“Yeah.”

The piano intro spills into the room, slow as honey. You don't bother to face the screen. Don’t need to. You watch her instead, keenly observing the way her lashes lower at the first line, how she knots her fingers together.

Your voice cracks on the high note. Not idol-perfect. Human. Rough with the weight of overtime shifts and convenience store dinners and wishing for things you couldn’t name.

Seoyeon doesn’t move. But when the bridge begins, her lips shape the words silently. A secret shared.

On the final chorus, your voice breaks entirely again. When the song ends, the screen flashes 72.1%. ‘Better luck next time’ flashes brightly on the screen, as if it were a divine message from some higher power. You don't care in the slightest. At least you did your best, and you have no regrets.

Silence floods the room, for real this time. No fake applause.

Seoyeon reaches out. Her fingertips graze the back of your hand: feather-light, electric.

“You blinked,” she says, soft as the neon bleeding through the curtains. “During the second verse.”

“I know.”

“So I win.”

“Do you?”

Her thumb brushes your knuckle. A tremor runs through her. “No.”

—————

The air in Room 408 hums, thick with the bass bleeding through the walls and the raw scrape of your own voice battling the final lines of Fix You. Hours have dissolved into a blur of flickering lyrics, shared laughter that rattles cheap speakers, and the warm, drowsy haze of cheap drinks. Empty beer cans and soju bottles gleam like fallen soldiers under the relentless neon pulse, cycling across Seoyeon’s face as she watches you, chin propped on her hand, a soft, unfocused smile playing on her lips.

Your voice, which was never strong to begin with, has been steadily ground down by belting out everything from Bon Jovi to Gee. It’s a ragged thing now, tearing on the high notes of Iris, collapsing into a cough that bends you double, one hand braced against the sticky tabletop. You try to push through, clinging to the mic like a lifeline to no avail. The sound you make is pure gravel, like a wounded animal rasping against the soaring melody still pouring from the speakers.

"Okay, okay! Stop!" Seoyeon’s laugh cuts through the noise, warm and slightly breathless. She’s on her knees beside you in an instant, her hand landing firmly over yours on the mic. Her touch is electric, sending a jolt through the pleasant fog of alcohol and shared exhaustion. "You sound like you’re gargling rocks. Give it!"

She tugs gently, but you cling on, stubbornly trying to croak out the next line. It’s truly pitiful. Painful, even.

"Seriously!" she insists, her laughter fading into genuine concern. She leans in closer, her other hand landing on your shoulder. Her face is inches away, the neon catching the flecks of gold in her wide, amused eyes. "You’re going to ruin your throat forever. Stop." There’s surprising strength in her grip as she pries away the mic from your weakened fingers. She tosses it carelessly onto the couch beside her, the clatter loud in the sudden vacuum left by the abruptly silenced backing track.

Silence crashes down, dense and immediate. It amplifies everything else: the frantic thudding of your own pulse in your ears, the soft, quick rhythm of Seoyeon’s breathing so close to your face, the faint, sweet scent of pear blossoms and alcohol clinging to her skin and hair. Neon washes over her; blue highlights the curve of her cheekbone, red stains her parted lips, green catches the sudden intensity in her gaze. She’s not laughing anymore. Just—looking. Scanning your face.

Her hand is still on your shoulder—a warm, grounding weight. You don’t pull away; neither does she. The air crackles, thick with the unspoken weight of the hours spent here, the confessions whispered between songs, the shared cynicism about work and life, the unexpected comfort found in mutual exhaustion. The ridiculousness of your dying-frog impression evaporates, replaced by something else entirely. Something fragile, terrifyingly potent, and charged with the raw intimacy of the dying night.

You see the shift in her eyes, a softening, a question forming in the slight tilt of her head. Your own gaze drops to her lips, then flickers back up, held captive. The scant distance between you feels like an impossible chasm and a magnetic pull all at once. The noise of Shibuya, the weight of her impending flight, the looming dawn—it all recedes, muffled by the soundproofed walls and the sudden, profound quiet binding you together. You lean in, your movement barely a fraction. An unconscious yielding to gravity. Her breath catches a tiny, audible hitch. Her eyes widen slightly, dark pools reflecting the fractured light, but she doesn’t retreat. Her fingers flex slightly on your shoulder, not pushing away, not pulling closer. Just holding. Waiting.

Her face is but a hair away. You can see the faint smudge of eyeliner beneath her lower lashes, the almost invisible scar just above her left eyebrow, the delicate flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat. The scent of her is intoxicating—floral, malty, and something uniquely, essentially her. The world narrows to the point where your noses might brush, where shared breath mingles in the charged space between your lips. Her eyelids start to drift shut, long lashes casting feathery shadows on her cheeks, a silent surrender, an unspoken invitation held in that fragile darkness. Your own eyes begin to close, the chaotic neon dissolving into warm anticipation, the space between you measured in heartbeats. You lean in further, the distance collapsing into millimeters, the world reduced to the scent of her and the roaring silence—

The door crashes open with a force that rattles the entire booth.

"Unnie! There you are! We were wondering where you—" A woman’s voice, shrill and triumphant, cuts through the intimate silence like shattering glass. It dies instantly, choked off into a stunned gasp.

You jerk back as if electrocuted, your heart pounding unceasingly against your ribs. Seoyeon recoils violently, snatching her hand from your shoulder and scrambling backwards on her knees until she bumps the low table, sending an empty can clattering to the floor. Her eyes, wide and dilated a moment ago, are now huge with pure, unadulterated panic. Not embarrassment, but fear.

Xinyu and Yooyeon stand frozen in the doorway, silhouetted by the harsh fluorescent glare of the corridor. Their faces, flushed with alcohol and the thrill of the hunt, morph from gleeful excitement to slack-jawed disbelief. Xinyu’s mouth hangs open, her finger still raised in a pointing gesture that now feels accusatory. Yooyeon’s sharp eyes dart rapidly: from Seoyeon’s flushed face and dishevelled hair, to your proximity, to the scattering of empty beer cans, the discarded mics, and finally, landing pointedly on her jacket shared between your shoulders. Her expression hardens, a flicker of cold betrayal sharpening her features into something diabolical.

The silence is absolute, heavier and more suffocating than before. The only sound is the relentless, cheerful thump of an uncaring, soulless pop song bleeding from the room next door.

Seoyeon finds her voice first, thin and strained. "Xinyu. Yooyeon. What are you—"

"We’ve been looking everywhere for you!" Xinyu explodes, stumbling into the room, her voice regaining volume, thick with indignation and cheap soju. "Ignoring our calls! Texts! We thought you got lost! Or mugged! Or worse!" Her gaze sweeps over you again, lingering with undisguised disgust on the jacket, now spread on the couch after falling away. "And this? This is where you vanished to? Cozied up in a karaoke booth?" She spits the word like it’s filthy, her finger pointed at you like you’re dangerous. "With—him?"

The pronoun is a weapon. A curse. A byword.

Yooyeon steps in beside Xinyu, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her voice is lower, colder, cutting through Xinyu’s drunken hysteria. "Manager-nim has called eight times, Seoyeon. Eight. He’s downstairs in the lobby. Right. Now." Her icy gaze flicks over to you, then back to Seoyeon, heavy with accusation. "Care to explain? Or were you too busy?"

Seoyeon flinches as if she were physically struck. Color drains quickly from her face, leaving her pale and suddenly fragile looking. The vibrant, almost luminous girl from moments ago is gone, replaced by a cornered idol, defenses visibly crumbling. She pushes herself shakily to her feet. "I—I just needed air. Somewhere quiet. We—we ran into each other. We were—talking. Singing." The lie is paper-thin, pathetic against the evidence littering the room and the intimacy they had shattered.

"Talking?" scoffs Xinyu, stepping further into the cramped space, invading it with her presence and the smell of stale cocktails. She gestures wildly at the scene: the beers, the mics, the close proximity. "In a private karaoke booth? At 2:00 AM? Looking like that?" She waves a hand dismissively at Seoyeon’s messy bun and slightly smudged lip tint. "Singing? Is that what they call it now?"

"It’s not what you think," Seoyeon insists, her voice gaining a desperate edge. She takes a step towards her friends, but Yooyeon’s glacial stare stops her cold.

"Funny," mocks Yooyeon, her voice dangerously quiet. She takes a deliberate step forward, her eyes locked on Seoyeon’s. "That’s exactly what it looks like. Looks like you ditched us. Ditched all of us. After all that righteous indignation earlier." She lets the words hang, sharp as knives.

Seoyeon swallows hard, looking worse by the second, evidently guilty. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, don’t play dumb," Xinyu cuts in, her voice rising again. She steps right up to Seoyeon, jabbing a finger near her shoulder. "Remember? Back at the club? ‘I’m not interested.’ ‘Leave me out of your bullshit.’ ‘Someone has to be the adult!’" Xinyu’s mimicry is viciously accurate, laced with venom. "You looked down your nose at us for wanting to have a little fun, for maybe flirting with some harmless, wasted salarymen." She spits the last word, her eyes flicking contemptuously towards you. "And then you sneak off to do what? Exactly the same thing? But oh, it’s different when you do it, right? Because you’re the responsible one? Because your taste in men is so much better?"

The accusation lands like a wicked blow. Seoyeon’s face crumples for a split second before she forces the idol mask back on, but it’s deeply cracked. Her hands, clenched at her sides, tremble slightly. You see the shame flood her eyes, hot and bright, before she looks down at the garish carpet.

"It’s not the same," Seoyeon whispers, the protest weak, barely audible.

"Isn’t it?" Yooyeon presses, her voice blisteringly cold, simmering with a deeper hurt. "You judged us, Seoyeon. You called it bullshit. You acted like you were above it. And now here you are, hiding away, drinking," she gestures at the cans, "getting cozy with some random office drone you bumped into on the subway. What’s the difference? Because he looks a little more pathetic than the ones we were talking to? Because you feel sorry for him?"

Each word is a lash on her back and her heart. Seoyeon flinches with every syllable. The hypocrisy laid bare is brutal, undeniable. The jacket you’ve gripped with your fingers feels suddenly heavy, suffocating, a symbol of a critical lapse in judgment. You want to speak, to defend her, to deflect, but the words choke in your raw throat. You’re paralyzed, a spectator to her public flaying.

"We were worried," Yooyeon continues, the ice cracking slightly to reveal genuine anger. "We were looking for you. We thought something happened. But you were—here. Doing exactly what you scolded us for. Only sneakier."

Xinyu snorts derisively. "Yeah, real adult behavior."

Seoyeon says nothing. Her shoulders are hunched, her head bowed. The vibrant spark that animated her while singing, while arguing, while laughing with you, is utterly extinguished. She looks small, defeated, drowning in the harsh light and her friends’ cruel judgment.

Yooyeon lets the silence stretch, thick with condemnation. Finally, she sighs, a sharp, dismissive sound. "Whatever. Manager-nim is waiting downstairs. We’re leaving in five hours. Get your things. Now."

It’s not a request. It’s an order.

Xinyu grabs Seoyeon’s discarded wallet from the floor. "Unbelievable," she mutters again, loud enough to carry, shaking her head as she turns towards the door. "Just—unbelievable."

Seoyeon doesn’t look at you, nor does she look at her friends. She turns mechanically, her movements stiff, robotic. She walks towards the door, shoulders slumped, head still down. As she passes Yooyeon, the taller girl grabs her elbow, not roughly, but with firm, impersonal efficiency, steering her out into the harsh corridor light.

Yooyeon pauses in the doorway, turning back. Her gaze sweeps over the wreckage of the booth—the cans, the couch, the abandoned mics—until it finally lands on you, still frozen on the couch. Her expression is unreadable, a mix of disdain and something colder, more calculating. "Stay away from her," she commands, her voice flat, final. "You’ve caused enough trouble."

Moments later, they’re gone, pulling the door shut behind you with a soft, definitive click.

—————

Silence. Not the warm, charged quietness of moments before, but a hollow, echoing void. Once again, you’re all alone. The relentless neon continues its mindless cycle—red, blue, green—flashing idiotically over the empty couch, the scattered cans, and the silent microphones. Her jacket now hangs over your shoulders, the scent of pear blossoms now sickly sweet, a cloying reminder of an intimacy violently ripped away. The phantom warmth of her hand on your shoulder lingers, a faint touch against the sudden, profound chill settling into your bones. This karaoke booth, previously a sanctuary, a pocket universe, now feels like a desolate crime scene. The taste of cheap beer persisting in your mouth has turned into ash. The city outside, hurling relentlessly towards dawn, feels vast, indifferent, impossibly cold. The space where her lips almost met yours is a vacuum, sucking all the air from your lungs.

You sink back against the groaning pleather of the couch. Deathly silence presses in, broken only by the relentless, mocking, cheerful beat bleeding through the wall from the next room, a grotesque soundtrack to your shattered intimacy. The echo of Xinyu’s mocking words—’Because you feel sorry for him?’—reverberates in the hollow space, sharp and corrosive, scathing.

You can only stay here for long before it feels like a prison sentence. A crime for breaking from a predetermined path. A crime against normalcy.

The click of the karaoke door shutting behind you echoes with unnatural finality in the suddenly oppressive hallway. The cheap, overloud music from surrounding booths feels like a physical assault after the hollow silence you left behind. You’re adrift, unmoored, with Seoyeon’s jacket still draped awkwardly over your shoulders like borrowed skin. The scent of pear blossoms and lager clings to the otherwise soft fabric, a cruel, intoxicating reminder that feels invasive now, tainted by Xinyu’s sneer and Yooyeon’s glacial dismissal.

You walk. The corridor stretches, gaudy and endless, each numbered door leaking its own brand of musical chaos. The sticky linoleum tugs at your soles. You don’t look back at Room 408. That booth, as far as you’re concerned, is tainted and cursed. You wouldn’t wish it on anyone, even your worst enemy. Elsewhere, the lobby is a blur of overtly bright lights and the tired, vacant stare of the night attendant. The automatic doors hiss open, releasing you into the pre-dawn chill of Shibuya.

The city breathes differently now. The frantic, electric pulse has dulled to a weary, dead thrum. The crowds have thinned, leaving behind stragglers—stumbling groups clinging to each other, lone figures hailing cabs with the desperate focus of the profoundly exhausted. Neon signs still scream into the fading darkness, but their messages feel hollow, advertisements for a party that’s already moved on. The air is cool, damp, smelling of exhaust, stale beer and litter. It washes over your face, a feeble attempt to clear the fog of cheap drink, raw emotion, and the phantom sensation of Seoyeon’s breath so close to yours.

You keep walking, directionless for a block, her jacket heavy on your shoulders, every step dragging your feet. The memory of her cowardly flinch, the shame flooding her eyes under her friends’ assault, replays in your mind on a loop:

"Because you feel sorry for him?"

The words scrape like sandpaper against your raw throat. You shrug the jacket off, clutching it bunched in your fist instead of wearing it. The pear blossom scent is stronger now, released by the movement, a bittersweet assault.

A vacant taxi crawls past, its roof light a beacon. You raise a hand, the motion muscle memory. It pulls over, the tires whispering on the slightly worn asphalt. Opening the rear door, the vinyl seat feels warm against your legs. The interior smells faintly of pine air freshener and old cigarettes.

“Sorry,” you rasp, your voice still wrecked from all the singing, from all the tension. You give the driver your address, your own apartment building, a place that suddenly feels impossibly distant and devoid of anything resembling comfort. You lean against your seat throughout the ride, closing your eyes, the city lights streaking past the window in blurred ribbons of color. The jacket rests on your lap as a crumpled weight.

The taxi navigates the quieter streets, leaving the core of Shibuya’s nightlife behind. The buildings grow more residential, the neon less aggressive. You recognize the familiar turn onto your street, a canyon of mid-rise apartments and shuttered family-run shops. The taxi slows, pulling towards the curb opposite your building. You fumble for your wallet, motions sluggish, your mind still trapped in that neon-lit booth, in the shattered moment before the door crashed open.

You pay the fare, the transaction silent and efficient. The driver somberly nods in appreciation, the partition sliding shut as you open the door and step out onto the pavement and back out into the real world. The cool air hits you again, now sharper. You take a step towards your building’s entrance across the street, clutching the jacket. You need water. You need silence. You need to avert your mind from thoughts of pear blossoms or panicked brown eyes or the acidic taste of hypocrisy.

“Hey! Wait!”

The voice slices through the pre-dawn stillness, high-pitched, slightly slurred, but unmistakable. Her voice.

Your heart stutters, then drums hard against your ribs. You freeze mid-step, turning slowly, disbelievingly, towards the sound.

She’s standing maybe twenty feet down the sidewalk, on the same side of the street as your apartment building, swaying slightly. Seoyeon. No Yooyeon, no Xinyu, no manager. Only her, silhouetted under the harsh glow of a singular streetlamp, wearing the same jean shorts and thin top from the karaoke booth, her arms wrapped around herself against the relentless cold. Her hair is way messier, escaping the bun entirely on one side. Her eyes are wide, searching, slightly unfocused.

“You!” she says again, pointing a finger that wobbles unsteadily in your direction. She takes a stumbling step forward. “You have—” her voice rises and falls, as if she were winding up. “You have my jacket!”

You stare, dumbfounded. The taxi pulls away, its taillights disappearing around a corner, leaving you stranded on the curb facing her. The street is completely deserted. The only sounds you can hear are the distant hum of the city and the frantic pounding of your own pulse.

“Seoyeon?” Your voice is rough scraped gravel. “How are you here?”

She ignores the question, focusing entirely on the bundle in your hands. “My jacket!” she insists, lurching towards you with more determination than coordination. “Give it! They’ll—they’ll smell it on you—or something,” Her logic is drowned by the evident alcohol still swirling in her system. She covered it better in the booth, fueled by adrenaline and shared rebellion. Now, outside, alone, the full weight of the drinks hits her like a truck.

She reaches you, close enough that you catch the stronger scent of layered soju and see the hectic flush high on her cheeks under the streetlight. Her eyes are glassy, pupils dilated, but beneath the intoxication, there’s a frantic, almost panicked energy. She makes a grab for the jacket crumpled against your chest.

“Seoyeon, stop,” you say, instinctively taking a half-step back. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. Where are the others? Your manager?”

“Fuck them,” she slurs, swiping at the jacket again. Her fingers brush the fabric. “Judgy—hypocrites—‘Feel sorry for him’—fuck them!” Her voice rises, echoing slightly in the quiet street. “Just gimme my jacket!”

This time she lunges with reckless abandon, off balance, her weight tipping dangerously forward as she snatches at the bundle. Her fingers clutch on the fabric, tugging hard. Caught by surprise, you instinctively hold on for a split second. The opposing forces—her drunken momentum, your reflexive resistance—are disastrous.

She gasps, her eyes flying wide with sudden, sobering terror as her feet teeter and tangle. She pitches sideways, not towards you, but towards the unforgiving pavement of the sidewalk.

Instinct screams louder than thought. You drop the jacket and lunge forward, shooting out your arms. You catch her not gracefully, but desperately, one arm hooking awkwardly around her waist, the other hand grabbing her upper arm right as her knees buckle. Her weight slams into you, solid and warm and terrifyingly limp. You stagger back a step, boots scraping loudly on the pavement, struggling to keep both of you upright.

For a heart-stopping moment, she’s dead weight against you, her face buried against your shoulder, her breathing ragged and hot through the fabric of your shirt. The scent of alcohol, pear blossoms, and sheer, unadulterated panic washes over you. You tighten your grip, bracing your legs, holding her suspended inches from the ground.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” you repeat, your own heart hammering against your ribs. “I’ve got you. Don’t move.”

She doesn’t struggle. She sags against you, a shudder running through her frame. “Told you,” she mumbles, her voice muffled against your shoulder, thick with tears, or exhaustion, or both. “Screw them. I just—wanted my jacket—”

The near-disaster shocks some clarity into the situation. She’s out here alone, drunk, stumbling, and clearly in no state to navigate back to wherever her group is staying, let alone face her manager. The memory of Yooyeon’s icy command—’Stay away from her’—wars with the immediate, undeniable reality of Seoyeon trembling against you, inches from cracking her head open.

You look across the street. Your apartment building entrance is right there. Safe. Contained. A world away from judgmental friends and furious managers.

The jacket lies discarded on the damp pavement. You ignore it for now. Carefully, shifting your grip to better support her weight, you turn her slightly, keeping one arm firmly around her waist. She doesn’t resist, leaning heavily into your side, her head lolling against your shoulder. Her eyes are half-closed now, the frantic energy draining away, replaced by sheer, drunken exhaustion.

“Come on,” you say, your voice low, firm. “My place is right there. Across the street. You need to calm down. Get some water.”

She mumbles something incoherent, but allows you to guide her, her steps shuffling and uncoordinated. You half-walk, half-carry her a few steps to the curb, glance quickly for non-existent traffic, then navigate the short distance across the street to your building’s entrance. The automatic door slides open with a soft sigh.

The fluorescent-lit lobby is starkly quiet after the street. The night concierge glances up from his phone right as he’s about to walk away from the front counter, his expression carefully neutral as he takes in the scene: you supporting a clearly inebriated, strikingly beautiful young woman inside. You avoid his eyes, steering Seoyeon towards the elevators. She stumbles again on the smooth floor, and you tighten your hold, pulling her closer. Her warmth, her weight, the softness of her hair against your jaw—it’s overwhelming, charged with a different kind of tension now, born of necessity and shared vulnerability.

Punching the elevator button, waiting feels eternal under the concierge’s silent observation, but he eventually leaves you alone to your own devices before the doors finally slide open. You maneuver her inside, leaning her against the mirrored wall as you press the button for your floor. The reflection shows her slumped posture, her flushed face, her eyes slammed shut. She looks impossibly young and utterly spent. You pick up the jacket from where you’d managed to grab it off the pavement without dropping her.

The elevator ascends in silence, the hum of machinery the only sound. The mirrored walls amplify the awkward intimacy, the sheer strangeness of the situation. You hold her upright, her body a soft, trusting weight against yours, the events of the last hour—the singing, the almost-kiss, the shattering interruption, the street rescue—collapsing into a single, surreal point of contact in this sterile, ascending box. Her jacket, previously a symbol of stolen connection, now feels like a burden, a complication clutched in your free hand. Dawn is creeping closer, and with it, her inevitable departure. But for now, she’s here, leaning against you, breathing softly, entirely in your care.

It takes a herculean effort to fish the keys to your apartment from your pocket, with the weight of Seoyeon on your shoulders, but you unlock the door and take her inside your flat. Approaching the lone couch in your living room, you gently lay her down on her back as she releases her grip on you, settling in and taking up every little space. Leaving her to rest, you rush to the kitchen fridge and grab a glass and a pitcher of water, pouring it as you return to her, sprawled and deeply wasted. Well aware of the dangerous precedent you’re setting and its disastrous consequences, you can only pray she comes to her senses.

Placing the half-full glass of water and the pitcher on the table, you gently mutter, “Oh, Seoyeon. If only—”

The rest are words you don’t have the heart to openly declare. You share equal amounts of accountability as her, except you won’t get half the lashings, whether from her friends or from upper management.

As you scan her, peaceful and asleep, you come to the realization that she genuinely does not want to get on that plane in the morning. Beneath that quiet exterior lies unfettered frustration and rage against her so-called friends. The one time she decides to loosen up and have a night all to herself, it almost causes a near career-ending situation. She’ll probably live with that guilt for the rest of her idol days. Such is the unfortunate nature of the beast, of the industry. To be perfect always, to make no mistakes.

As the night approaches the point of fading away, you’re reminded of your own path. So different, yet so similar to Seoyeon’s. And considering what you’ve been through these last several hours, that’s a lifetime till you’ll get to experience something like this again. Admittedly, it’s liberating. A breath of fresh air from your otherwise repetitious life.

The only thing you want to see is her glow, that bright sparkle permeating from her face. If only you had more time.

Once you’re certain she’s unconscious, you hop from your crouch and walk away, readying yourself for a brief night’s rest, only to hear her faint, incomprehensible mumbles, drawing your attention.

“Seoyeon? What’s up?”

The cool plastic of the water glass beads with condensation against your palm as you turn back. Seoyeon hasn’t moved from where you laid her on the couch, a crumpled starfish against the worn dark fabric. Her face is turned towards the back cushion, half-buried. The soft, distressed mumble comes again, muffled.

“Seoyeon?” You crouch beside the couch, setting the glass and pitcher carefully on the low table. The floorboards creak under your knees. “Hey. Can you hear me?”

She stirs, a small, restless shift. One hand flails weakly, fingers brushing the air before falling back onto her stomach. Her eyelids flutter, but don’t open. “—no,” she slurs, the word thick and indistinct. “—don’t wanna—”

“Don’t wanna what?” You keep your voice low, gentle, trying to pierce the fog of alcohol and exhaustion. The pre-dawn light seeping through your thin curtains paints everything in shades of weak blue and grey, making the scene feel fragile, unreal. “Water? Here.”

You reach for the glass, but her hand flails again, this time connecting loosely with your forearm. The touch is startlingly warm. “—go,” she breathes, the sound catching on something wet. Perhaps a tear or her saliva. “—don’t make me go—”

The fragmented plea hits you like a physical weight. ‘Don’t make me go.’ Back to the hotel. Back to the manager. Get on that plane. Back to the life where moments like tonight are impossible, dangerous contraband.

You lower the glass. The urge to brush the stray strands of hair stuck to her damp temple is almost overwhelming. You curl your fingers into your palm instead.

“Nobody’s making you go anywhere right now,” you murmur, the lie tasting like ash. Dawn is making her go. Responsibility is making her go. Millions of fans around the world are making her go. The harsh reality Yooyeon and Xinyu represent is making her go. “No one else is here but me. Please rest.”

A small tremor runs through her. “Liars,” she whispers, the word barely audible, aimed at the cushions or the universe. “—all—hypocrites—” Her breath hitches, a soft, wet sound that twists something inside your chest. She’s crying. Silently, drunkenly, the tears escaping beneath closed lashes, tracking paths through the faint smudges of makeup still clinging to her skin.

The sight undoes you. The fierce performer, the exasperated friend, the girl with the sharp tongue but secret softness—reduced to this shivering, tearful vulnerability on your worn out couch. It’s a raw exposure far more intimate than any almost-kiss. It’s the crumbling of the last wall.

Carefully, slowly, you reach out. Not to touch her face, but to gently pry the crumpled jacket from where it’s still tangled near her hip. You smooth it out, the familiar scent of pear blossoms rising faintly, and drape it over her like a makeshift blanket, tucking it loosely around her shoulders. The gesture feels absurdly inadequate.

As the fabric settles over her, her hand moves. Not a flail this time, but a slow, searching crawl across the couch cushion. Her fingers brush yours where they rest near the edge of the jacket.

You freeze.

Her touch is hesitant, clumsy with intoxication, but undeniably deliberate. Her fingers, cold at the tips, curl weakly around your index finger. A silent cry. An anchor.

You don’t pull away; you let her hold on, her grip loose but desperate. Her crying softens to hitching breaths, her face still turned away, hidden. The silence stretches, filled only by her ragged breathing and the frantic drumming of your own pulse in your ears. The pale light strengthens incrementally, outlining the contours of your small, cluttered living room—the overflowing bookshelf, the takeout containers forgotten on the table, the silhouette of her curled form on the couch, clutching your finger like a lifeline.

This is the precipice. This quiet, tear-stained connection in the fading dark. The world outside—the furious manager, the judgmental friends, the looming flight, your own precarious job waiting in a few short hours—presses in like a crushing weight, an inevitable that will pull you apart. But here, now, there is only the warmth of her hand around yours, the slight tremor running through her, the impossible fragility of the moment.

You shift slightly, settling more fully onto the floor beside the couch, your back against its sturdy arm. You don’t speak. There are no words that won’t shatter this. You simply stay. You become the anchor she’s silently asked for. Your finger rests in her loose grip, a point of contact in the vast, terrifying loneliness of her world and the quiet desperation of yours. The pitcher of water sits forgotten on the table, beading coldly. Dawn is no longer approaching; it’s seeping into the room, minute by minute, a slow, inevitable tide washing away the fragile sanctuary of the night. But for now, you hold the line. You hold her hand. You watch the light grow stronger on her tear-streaked face, and you wait.

The apartment is quiet, but not silent. Only the faint hum of the fridge and the soft whistle of wind nudging the balcony glass. Dawn creeps in inch by inch, peeling shadows off the room like skin from fruit. You shift slightly, your back pressed against the arm of the couch, her fingers still curled loosely around yours. Seoyeon hasn’t moved, but you can feel her breathing change—steadier now, more aware.

Her fingers tighten.

You look up and find her eyes open, red-rimmed and puffy, lashes clumped from dried tears. She doesn’t say anything at first, merely stares at you, as if trying to anchor herself in reality. You hold her gaze, patient, silent. The world beyond this room is still waiting to collapse around her. You both know that. But right now, it hasn't.

“You stayed,” she whispers, hoarse.

“I said I would,” you reply, matching her softness.

A beat passes. Then another. Her eyes search yours with something deeper than gratitude—something raw and reverent. And then, without warning, she pulls herself up, slowly, until she’s sitting beside you again. Her legs are folded beneath her, her hands rubbing nervously at the sleeves of the jacket you returned to her sometime in the night.

She doesn’t meet your gaze now. Instead, her voice, tentative and low, breaks the stillness like a ripple across glass.

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

You don’t need to ask what this is. The industry. The expectations. The constant dissection of her every move, every breath. The public self, flawless and unbreakable. The private self, unraveling at the seams.

“I try to be the adult,” she continues, fingers curling into fists in her lap. “The one who keeps everyone safe, who doesn’t step out of line. But it’s so exhausting. I'm tired of holding it together just because I'm the one who looks like she can.”

She finally glances at you, eyes trembling. “And then I meet you. And it’s so stupid—this random accident. A bump on the train. A karaoke booth. But it’s the first time in a long time I felt like I didn’t have to—perform. Like I could truly be myself.”

You don’t speak. You reach out instead, brushing your thumb across the back of her hand, and her breath catches. Slowly, cautiously, she leans forward. Her forehead comes to rest on your shoulder. Then her whole body follows, small and warm and vibrating faintly with emotion as she folds into you.

You wrap your arms around her without thinking.

She smells like soap and sleep now, the faintest trace of pear blossom perfume clinging to the crook of her neck. Her body melts into yours, burying her face in your shirt as though trying to disappear inside your ribs. You hold her there, unmoving, your cheek resting against the top of her head.

“I’m scared,” she whispers. “That I’ll forget this. That I’ll go back tomorrow and none of it will matter.”

You close your eyes, fingers threading gently through her hair. “Then don’t forget about tonight. Don’t forget about the good times.”

She shifts, enough to glance up at you. Her eyes search yours again, but this time, the desperation is replaced with something quieter. Trust. The kind of trust that hurts because it’s so fragile, so undeserved, and yet she’s giving it to you anyway.

Her hand comes up, cupping your jaw with tentative care. You lean in without hesitation, like gravity’s been pulling you this way all night. She closes the distance the last few inches, her breath warm against your lips.

And then—she kisses you again.

It’s not careful; it's fierce—urgent. Like she’s trying to pour all the things she can’t say into the press of her lips against yours. Her fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer. You respond in kind, sliding your hand up her back, pressing her into you, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat.

The kiss deepens, not messy, but aching. Like a dam bursting. Like the moment before a fall you no longer want to stop.

She tastes like citrus, alcohol, regret, and everything else in between, like all the things you should have said earlier. Perhaps this night was always meant to end here.

When she finally pulls away, breath shallow and lips red, her forehead rests against yours, your noses brushing. Her eyes are closed, her voice small. You can hear her heart through her gentle breaths.

“I’m not sorry.”

You shake your head. Neither are you.

Her breath mingles with yours, shallow and unsteady, the heat between you both rising in quiet, unstoppable waves. Seoyeon’s hand remains against your cheek, her thumb gently stroking your skin, but there's tension behind the softness—an urgency beneath the surface, waiting to break through.

Then it does.

She kisses you again, harder this time—less hesitant, more driven. The kind that demands something, not just offers. Her fingers tighten at the back of your head, pulling you closer, until your teeth barely graze and your breaths tangle, ragged and warm.

Your body moves on instinct. You shift, climbing onto the couch, one knee sinking beside her hip, the other anchoring you against the cushions as your hands cage her in—one planted beside her head, the other skimming her waist. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t falter. Her eyes burn into yours for a fleeting second before she tugs you down into another kiss, fiercer than the last.

Your hand slides up her side, her thin shirt wrinkling beneath your touch. You feel the tremble in her breath as your fingers graze the hem. She answers by hooking her hands beneath your shirt, tugging it upward in fits and starts between kisses. When she finally peels it halfway up your chest, she lets out a soft, frustrated sound and rips it the rest of the way. The fabric stretches, then tears at the seam near the collarbone.

You blink. “That was my—”

“I’ll buy you another,” she murmurs against your mouth before pulling you back in, her teeth catching your bottom lip with intent. Pushing it off you, she tears the rest of it off your body, landing on the ground. She takes lease of your bare chest, claiming you as hers. “It was looking worthless anyway.”

You can’t even argue. In fact, you’re too far gone to care.

Your hands fumble at the hem of her shirt now, working fast, your pulse roaring so loudly in your ears it drowns out the city beyond your window. Digging through her shirt, slowly lifting it off her svelte body, eventually getting a little assist from her hands. Over her head, then sliding it off her shoulders, tossing it aside and joining the other discarded piece of clothing on the floor.

Seoyeon pulls you flush against her, her legs parting slightly to make room as you sink into the cradle of her hips. Your lips move along her jaw, her throat, her collarbone—tracing heat and longing across every inch of skin you find. She gasps your name into the quiet, and it doesn't sound like a whisper. It sounds like a need.

The moment has the weight of something irreversible.

You pause, your forehead resting against hers, your chest rising and falling against her ribs. Her hand rises to the side of your face, her eyes searching yours through the hush.

There’s no pretense left. No posturing. No industry rules. No office culture. Just the two of you: lonely souls, pressed together in the dying hours of a borrowed night, clinging to something fleeting and real.

And when she pulls you down again, lips parted, body arching to meet yours, it’s more than passion—it’s rebellion. It's a confession. It’s all the things she can’t say with a manager waiting in the lobby, with fans watching her every breath, with friends who pretend support but demand perfection.

Your mouths meet again. And again. The world blurs around the edges. Time unspools into something slow and molten.

Neither of you have anything left to lose. But in this fragile, fleeting moment—you have each other.

As the clock goes from 4 to 5, your kisses intensify, burning brighter than the neon lights that have blinded your eyes for hours. Your hands are all over each other, exploring the other’s bodies, leaving no opportunity wasted, leaving no room for regret. She kicks up a leg, giving your hand new territory to travel. Wrestling skin and fabric, your primal urges get the best of you. Like your mind hasn’t already hit the gutter, the temptation is something you can barely fight.

Still, you never forget your place. Hiking your hand up those jean shorts of hers, you ask her: “Can I?”

She nods vigorously, seemingly wanting it more than you.

You oblige, slowly working through the buttons, followed by the zipper, sliding it down along with the rest of the obstructive fabric. Getting a feel of her thighs, she trembles; whether it's due to the cold seeping in or from your touch, you have no clue. But what do you know is there’s barely anything beneath. A thin piece of black underwear separates you from her heat.

Dipping between the lines, the space between you merely breaths, you slip a finger through—and she keens.

Letting out this airy, thick sigh as your digit curls into her slit. Her core aches. Her mouth hangs wide, singing a profound note that’s music to your ears.

“Oh my God—” she whines, holding onto that last word with every fiber of her being. The newfound pleasure is heavenly.

“Don’t worry about anything, just focus on me,” you mumble, softly kissing down her neck between commands, hitching your breath as you feel her pussy begin tightening around your finger.

With her grip slowly arresting you like a vice, you slip a second digit in, eliciting a nasally moan from her saccharine lips. The chant is clear. ‘Need it, need it,’ she repeats, every word heavy, like it’s her lifeline, like it’s something she can’t do without.

Keeping your focus on her pleasure-laden face while her features are constantly shifting and morphing. Your fingers are pushing into her cunt, pressing the buttons that make her go wild. As she writhes and wriggles beneath you, you’re holding her steady with your other arm to keep you both from falling off that couch. She grows more and more restless with each pulse, each stroke, the sensation becoming too overwhelming to resist.

“Ah—fuck—this—is—so—” Seoyeon can’t help but rattle on, even with the endless rush of ecstasy flowing through her nerves. Still having the clarity to remember everything. It’s embedded into her mind like a deep scar. “Bet they’re jealous that you’re fucking me—”

You immediately cut her off kissing her hard on the lips, stretching that cunt a little too deep for comfort. She hums into your mouth, her body fighting against you by instinct before you quickly pull away. Gently shaking your head, you hush into the air, comforting and reassuring her, “Remember. Only me.”

She nods emphatically, bracing for impact. Through the talking, your fingers remain buried inside her cunt. They’re a match made in heaven, like she’s meant for you.

Fast on her clit, you’re regaining your rhythm as quickly as you’ve lost it. Everything falls naturally into place. Seoyeon lets out these quick whimpers, unable to keep herself together under duress. She looks so good like this, so vulnerable, so helpless in your grasp. With each sigh supplementing her moan, her body pushing against you in kind like you’ve been railing her for hours. You can feel how long she’s bottled it up, and how you’ve unlocked this side of her.

“Yes—God—yes—” she mewls, wrapping her arms around your neck and dragging you close, releasing any hope you have of letting go. Not that you had any intention to, considering how alarmingly wet and tight she feels around your grip. You can only imagine what it’s like when you finally make the move on her.

But at this moment, you can only focus on bringing her to that apex. Everything around you blurs except the heavy breaths and sighs, the natural squelch of her cunt with every drag of your fingers, and the tiny, desperate pleas for more.”‘So close,” she murmurs, biting harshly on her lower lip, using what remains of her dwindling resolve she has left to hold on, but she knows she’s on borrowed time. You’re there to accelerate the process.

Anytime now, she’ll come undone in your arms, so you savor every moment you can get.

“It’s okay, babygirl,” you whisper, your fingers inside her delicate, but ardent. “Cum for me. Cum all over my fingers. You’re so wet, God.”

Your voice activates her. Sets her off in a way that only you can.

Arching her back, you feel every inch of her fighting—resisting—only to fold right after. Her walls tensing, rigid against your digits, before it all comes together in a perfect concoction.

Seoyeon’s jaw drops hard. Lips forming a shape vaguely resembling an O, letting out a guttural whiny as her body locks beneath you, violently trembling. Brain going blank, having no other thought but the climactic bliss, the culmination of a dramatic night reaching its expected end. Fucking all sense and sanity out of her, if there’s even anything left to begin with. Your fingers take it all: a torrential downpour of slick and nectar coating your filthy digits, spilling onto your already worn couch, now past the point of repair.

You guide her through the aftershocks, never moving an inch inside her needy cunt, showering her with heaps of praise and soft, tender kisses on her skin. “Good girl—you’re cumming so much for me—” you tell her, comforting and reassuring your presence will stay for as long as she wants.

As her breaths shift from quick and erratic to slow and heavy, you take this opportunity to scoop her in your arms, taking her to somewhere a bit more—spacious. Your bedroom.

Her body instinctively clings to you, arms hooked around your neck, legs coiling around your hips as she finds an air of solace from the madness. Resting her head on your shoulder, you figure that she’s actually light as a feather when she’s not burdened by the weight of her world. Caressing streaks of raven colored hair and back, unhooking her bra and letting the panties halfway down her legs fall to the floor, leaving a trail of your whereabouts.

Gently setting her down on the bed, still in a wayward haze from her climax, the rest of your clothes follow; pants, shoes and boxers all kicked aside as you join her. Your bodies are pressed together, chest to chest, both of you sharing another passionate kiss. There’s nothing in between keeping you apart. Seoyeon looks incredibly pretty like this: so delicate and peaceful, the afterglow of her orgasm and her sticky juices clinging to her skin making her glow under the little light.

Already hard and finally loose, you line your cock on the edge of her aching core, the touch setting her alight, rekindling a dying fire. She keens, bites on her teeth, bracing herself for what’s to come, though she knows she’s not ready.

“Gonna put this inside you, babe,” you whisper , dangerously close to leaving a bruise on her skin, calling you to mark her, to claim her. She waits with bated breath, nodding vigorously in approval, as eager as you are. “Tell me if it’s too much,” you add, leaving pecks from her cheek down to her chin, finishing up at her lips. You don’t know when you’ll get a chance like this again, so you’ll make every moment something meaningful. “I’ll ease into you, but I won’t hurt you. Promise.”

“I know you won’t.” sighs Seoyeon, tilting her head back, gently smiling. “Not like you can hurt me as much as they have.”

“Need I remind you that we’ve only known each other for hours?” you reply, much to her amusement. She laughs, heartily—like you didn’t fuck her to pieces minutes ago.

“Not bothering to ask me if I’m on the pill?” she says, trying to throw you off.

“You’re an idol. I think we both know the answer to that.”

“And what if I wasn’t?”

You remain silent, brushing strands of hair blocking her otherwise perfect face away, seeing through the facade.

“Gosh, I will seriously get in so much trouble. I mean—they’re probably looking for me right now.” Seoyeon looks away, finding some clarity through her mostly drunken haze, even if her words feel heavy. “And if they see me here—with you—”

“Don’t worry about that,” you interrupt with a kiss, shaking your head. “Just—don’t forget this night. Forget about me, but not tonight. Ever.”

With that, you slip your cock inside her spreading core, feeling the sensation of her walls stretch against you upon making contact. Looking into Seoyeon’s twinkling eyes, seeing lifetimes in each other’s gaze, before the clench utterly breaks her. More than anything, more than your fingers ever have with a single stroke.

Lips parting, moaning against you, breath hot, laced with a dangerous concoction of alcohol and ecstasy. Her eyes slam shut as she takes you in. It’s all too much for Seoyeon to handle at once.

“Oh, holy fuck. Holy fuck,” she cries, her breath hitching, her body nearly jumping at the depths you’re reaching. “You feel so large inside me—”

“Does it hurt?” is your first question. It’s your top priority, caring more for her wellbeing than your own gain. Because fuck, she’s incredible. Too much for words to explain. Tight, intoxicating warmth envelops your cock as you bury yourself deep in her sopping cunt, unwilling to release you from its ironclad grip.

Vehemently, she shakes her head, her face burning red from sheer pressure. “It’s okay. I can handle it, I can handle it,” she pants, though her tone remains low, giving you second thoughts. But then she follows up with: “Don’t worry. There’s nothing you’ll do that can hurt me. Not when you’re giving this to me. Like you said: let loose.”

Further spurring you on is her hand delicately brushing up and down your arm. The only thing to really seal the notion is a kiss signed with her lips.

It takes every bit of strength to draw your hips back; she has you wrapped in a magnetic pull. Slick, wet, hot. Testing your resolve with every second you stay embedded inside her pussy, daring you to break right then and there. It’s nothing like the porn you’ve been watching during the little time off you have from work.

Swallowing your throat, holding onto a breath like you’re drowning (you are), the sound is sloppy yet so satisfying. Her juices coat your shaft, making it easier to plunge right back in. Stretching her cunt a little deeper with every thrust, overwhelming your muscles with a rush of adrenaline and blissful rapture as you fuck Seoyeon at a steady, perfect rhythm.

Doing all the little motions in between: kissing her temple, burying your face against her neck, finally leaving a bruise as a memento, whispering all the things she wants to hear.

“So fucking tight—” you mumble, brushing up against her ear, letting your tongue have a taste. As daylight begins to break and the night dies, you’ve never felt more alive with anything or with anyone than with Seoyeon, especially when you’re fucking her like this. Raw, intimate, passionate.

You can feel her body respond in kind. Her nails leave scratches all over your back, hugging you so tightly it’s suffocating. Moaning with desire, with intent. Demanding you go harder, she’s not as fragile as you believed.

“More, baby—” she whimpers, kissing your side, her embrace now inescapable. “This fucking cock—it’s so, so good—”

It’s now beyond your control. Hammering into her cunt, pinning her deep into the mattress to the point of splitting it in half. You’re working her throat overtime; unfazed and barely muffled, her voice strains and cracks with every curse and whine, clearly breaking apart at the seams. She leaves chills down your spine through vibrations of her obscene noises against your ear, accompanied by the echo of your skin slapping skin. It’s only pushing you further and further over the edge.

Pushing your hips against hers, your noses create a connection, allowing you to meet halfway in a torrid, frenzied kiss. You can hardly call it a respite, as you continue to pound into Seoyeon without quit, like you’ll burst into flames if you ever stop. Hardly a thought worth considering when you feel the intrusion of dusk piercing through the windows of your apartment bedroom.

She doesn’t have much time left—and so do you.

“Promise you won’t ever forget about me,” you beg, despite going against your own word and Seoyeon losing herself in her own bliss. A few minutes more and she might disintegrate into nothing right before your very eyes. Forget about pace at this point, it’s only about surviving the night till the world comes calling again.

“Never,” she manages to spit, moaning against your face, body trembling. Pulling you close to her like you’re her lifeline, shifting into millions of pieces that have no well-defined identity. “Not when you make me feel this good, this alive—”

God, no wonder you’ve fallen so hard for Seoyeon. Even when she’s shaking and pressed beneath your grip, she still finds ways to make your heart flutter.

“So close, again—” she whines, and that’s all you needed to hear. “I hope you are too—”

She activates something in your head. Right there, she’s set your body on fire. Like a ticking time bomb, minutes turn into seconds in an instant. As if her clench stifling your lungs wasn’t enough. Your senses are working overtime to salvage what’s left. It’s right there—the inevitable, the end.

You just have to give in.

A couple more thrusts into her; you’ve stopped thinking about it and choose to let go. Seoyeon keens, and then: she softly grins.

“There you go—give it all to me—”

Surprisingly, it’s a quiet affair. A deep moan escapes your mouth, sure, and it’s mostly you filling up the air with your weak groans, but she lets the moment pass by with an air of peace and finality. Like she’s already accepted her fate. And you pour it on; shot after shot of cum painting her cunt, not wasting a single drop. Falling beside her, burying your face into the sheets, now you’re the one desperately clinging to Seoyeon.

It should feel euphoric, a grand triumph. But knowing what’s waiting on the other side, it isn’t. It’s bittersweet.

You kiss her. Leave a second bruise on her neck. It will eventually disappear, but the memory never fades.

And so remain together like this: glued to each other in bed, while your orgasm dies and the morning rises. You don’t wanna look; the sight of Seoyeon’s little smile is the last image you want to remember. It finally catches up to you: the fatigue, the drunkenness, the wear of your emotions.

Eventually, your world fades to black.

————— Sunlight slants through the half-drawn curtains, painting stripes across the rumpled duvet where Seoyeon had been. The space beside you is hollow, the indent of her body already fading. A crushing weight settles on your chest, immediate and suffocating. The vibrant, tangled intimacy of the night—the moans, the desperate kisses, the raw vulnerability, the fierce claiming—feels like a dream punctured by the sterile silence of your bedroom.

The digital clock on the nightstand screams 10:47 AM. You’re catastrophically late.

Panic flares, cold and sharp, but it’s instantly drowned by a deeper, more profound realization: she’s just—gone. Like the last notes of a song fading into silence.

You push yourself up, the sheets pooling around your waist, the phantom warmth of her body against yours still palpable. The room feels too big, too quiet, haunted by the ghost of her laughter, the memory of her trembling beneath you, the echo of her whispered confessions against your skin. The faint, sweet scent clinging to the pillow is a cruel reminder of what you lost.

Stumbling out of bed, legs unsteady, the pleasant ache in your muscles a stark counterpoint to the hollow feeling expanding inside you. The living room is a tableau of the night’s chaotic intimacy: your torn shirt discarded near the couch, the empty water pitcher and glass on the low table, the cushions still bearing the deep impression where you’d coaxed her climax with your fingers. The memory is visceral, electric, making your breath catch. But the space feels abandoned. Sterile, despite the mess.

Then you see it.

Draped carefully over the back of the armchair, not crumpled on the floor where you’d both shed clothes in a frenzy of need, is her jacket. The soft, expensive-looking one she’d made you wear, the one that smelled like her. It’s folded with a care that feels deliberate, almost reverent. And beside it, resting squarely on the seat cushion, is a single, tiny square of paper, torn from something larger. Maybe a receipt, maybe a notebook page.

Your heart stutters, then hammers against your ribs like a trapped bird. Crossing the room slowly, the worn carpet feels rough under your bare feet. The silence is eerie, deafening. You pick up the paper. The handwriting is small, neat, a little rushed, but unmistakably hers:

> Had to go. Flight. Idol stuff. You already know.

> Don’t forget.

> 010-XXXX-XXXX

> - S1

Below the number: a single, hastily drawn puppy. Like something she might doodle in a margin during a boring meeting.

The simplicity of it steals your breath. No grand declarations. No promises she couldn’t keep. Just a lifeline.

‘Don’t forget.’

As if you ever could.

The scent of pear blossoms seems to intensify, rising from the jacket, from the paper held tightly in your suddenly trembling fingers. It’s not the scent of loss anymore. It’s the scent of her, preserved. A tangible connection.

You trace the numbers with your thumb, the ink slightly smudged, but real. The frantic worry about work, the looming dread of facing your boss, the mountain of emails undoubtedly piling up—it all recedes, muted by the sheer, staggering significance of this tiny square of paper. She didn’t merely slip away. She left a part of herself. Deliberately. Hopeful.

You remember her fierce kiss in the grey dawn light, her whispered "I'm not sorry." You remember her vulnerability, the tears, the way she clung to you like an anchor. You remember the rebellion in her touch, the way she shattered her own carefully constructed walls against your skin. She wasn’t merely escaping her friends or her manager last night; she was claiming a moment of pure, unvarnished self.

And she wants you to remember. She wants this—this connection forged in shared exhaustion and unexpected understanding, the intimacy that bloomed in the cracks of their pressured lives—to mean something beyond the frantic hours before her flight.

You pick up her jacket. It’s soft, still holding a whisper of her warmth or maybe the memory of it. You bring it to your face, inhaling deeply. Pear blossoms, beer and soju, the faintest trace of her perfume, and underneath it all, something uniquely Seoyeon. Not the idol, but the girl who tripped on subway stairs, who rolled her eyes at her friends, who confessed her fears in a quiet cafe, who kissed you like it was her final act of defiance.

A slow, hesitant warmth begins to spread through the hollow ache. It’s not happiness—not quite. It’s something quieter, more profound. A fragile kind of hope, delicate as the paper in your hand. The world hasn’t changed. Your soul-crushing job still waits. Her life as an idol, governed by rules and scrutiny, continues relentlessly. The distance between Seoul and Tokyo remains vast.

But—she left her number. She asked you not to forget. She reached back.

The frantic panic about work resurfaces, much sharper now. There will be consequences. The weight of your ordinary, monotonous career presses in. Life goes on.

Yet as you stand, still holding the jacket and the precious slip of paper, the dread feels—different. Manageable. It’s merely noise. Background static to the quiet hum of possibility resonating from the number in your hand.

You carefully fold the paper, slipping it into the pocket of your sleep pants, a lucky charm against the mundane hell awaiting you in the office. You drape her jacket back over one of the dining room chairs, not putting it away. Let it stay. A reminder.

You head towards the shower, the hot water a necessity to face the day. The steam rises, filling the small bathroom. As you close your eyes, letting the water sluice over the scratches on your back—her marks—the image that surfaces isn’t of spreadsheets or your boss fuming. It’s Seoyeon’s face in the dim karaoke light, fierce and alive as she sang, then vulnerable and trusting as she fell apart on your couch. It’s her smile, small and real, in the grey dawn after. It’s the lone puppy drawn beside her number.

The day ahead is a gauntlet. Deadlines and apologies and the ruthless grind of an indifferent corporate world. But beneath the surface tension, beneath the fatigue and the lingering scent of her on your skin, something else thrums. A quiet, persistent current. A purpose.

“Don’t forget.”

—————

(A/N: Thank you for the commission! Again, would like to apologize for the inactivity, semester just ended and thesis work is brutal. But I am getting into tripleS a little. A bit too many members to remember, but I really like Sohyun especially. Haven't had time to listen to their new music, but Girls Never Die was one of my favorite 2024 songs. What started as a fun prompt turned into something a bit more emotional and sentimental. I do wonder if I'm just repeating elements from older works, especially since it takes a lot from Instant Crush. Hopefully with more free time, I can post a bit often than usual, even if it's only temporarily. Thank you for reading!)

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thewritingrowlet · 22 days ago

Note

Will you still making fic for the other two girl options?

Hi, hello.

Yes. The plan is to release the fics featuring the other idols in the order of the poll—Sullyoon, Saerom, and then Isa.

We'll see how things unfold.

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thewritingrowlet · 22 days ago

Text

Well, Sullyoon it is.

Actually, I had begun writing the story before I posted this poll. It's just that I didn't know who to make the story about.

Please keep an eye out for the fic.

Hi, there.

Edit: By the way, the story will involve both the poll winner and another member from the winner's group

Edit #2: I'm aware of the ideas that are already sitting in my inbox, and what I can tell you is that this upcoming fic isn't a realization of one of those ideas.

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thewritingrowlet · 24 days ago

Text

Rereading the Mixed Messages [Pt. 2]

Kamimoto Kotone (tripleS) x Male Reader

Part 1

Tags: smut, fluff, creampie, blowjob

Word count: 10k

a/n: hey, it's been a while. life's gotten a little busier than usual, but hey, it's tripleS' comeback era! it's only been almost a week—but I really enjoyed (and still am enjoying) assemble25. without further ado, I hope you enjoy this one.

The sun had already set—but an assemblage of voices inside a particular classroom kept on soaring high in the past three hours, no thanks to the encouraging exchanges and the insights between Professor Kim Myungsoo and five of his much argumentative students, who remained standing in front of the lecture hall and the projector. Somehow, it seems that no one else could make a discussion on Western literature this engaging, especially when it ends up going off on another tangent—like how fanfiction became a much more accepted genre of writing in the last five years—at least more accepted than A.I. writing, something that almost all parties in the room involved would unanimously take a jab at.

“At least the ones they’re putting out have substance. They have soul, and they are ali—”

As soon as the hand of the clock hits six in the evening, the bell rings across the hallway.

“Okay! How about that? As much as our discussions are getting a little more heated, our time’s up, and we managed to make it halfway through our list!” His observation incites audible sighs of relief to the students on the chairs while a few heaves of disappointment is also heard from the five reporters, much to his amusement. In his mind, he knows the group has already passed, but the fact that they got carried away yapping alongside him has only made his final class better than expected.

“The two groups who finished their reports today, both Bongseok and Yeon’s groups, have done a splendid job with their breakdowns and critical analysis,” the professor elaborates with his proud tone. “I’m sure the remaining three will also match their quality with what we’ve all witnessed this afternoon.”

“You better not doubt us, Seonsaengnim!” a student from the front row answers him.

“You might just be surprised at how long we’ve filled out our scripts!” another heckles.

“Hmm… Well, as much as I’d like to ask more about the details of your blocky slides and hopefully your completely-original reflections,” he laughs at them lightheartedly, despite his sincere reminders going straight through their ears. “Just take it easy. You’ll have the weekend to revise and practice, but only if you want to. Now—get yourselves a good rest, all of you... We’ll continue the remaining presentations on Wednesday, arachi?”

From there, the echoes of cheers, laughters and hollers of farewells from his students follow on. “Ne! Kamsahamnida, seonsaengnim! Have a nice weekend, Kim Ssaem!”

Those final words from his own learnder widens his smile more, almost to his cheek.

Walking towards the campus gates, the professor walks alongside various other students and fellow staff, some of whom exchange bows and greetings with him on their way out. It's standard college habits. They're nothing new, but oddly enough, they are one of the things that always give him a simple reason to love his job. Something to expect from day to day in his more than a decade staying in his alma mater as a humble educator.

And right at that moment, his peripherals catch her. Locking his eyes, he finds the one special woman standing from a distance. Waiting for him with her now widening smile, his lips can't help but mirror her expression once more. Until recently, Myungsoo never knew he would have something else, nay someone else to expect to meet with night after night. At almost the same moment, they wave at each other.

With his arms opening wide, Kotone runs to Myungsoo with a warm hug. He pulls her closer, making their embrace a little tighter, much cozier, and longer for each other. “I miss you so much, boo,” the woman mumbles. He laughs at the term she used for him, but it touches his heart nonetheless. He couldn’t feel any luckier. And neither can she.

It has been three months since their relationship became official. A significant change that was made possible by their recent alumni reunion at their university gymnasium. Their fingers interlocked, walking along the pavement, past years of local businesses.

Tonight, the breeze has blown quite strongly, something that catches while holding his beloved’s hand as they take a stroll. “You’re not feeling any cold, are you?”

“Oppa, it’s summer,” she reminds him with a wide grin. A face he can’t get enough of.

“Oh, right,” he just realized what she meant. “Then, you’re not feeling too warm then?”

“I’d start to feel a little hotter these days,” she counters him, nudging his shoulder. “‘Cause that’s a lot more possible.”

His eyes slowly grow as his head tilts. He turns to her with curiosity. “What is that?”

“For a professor, you can't be this slow, Kim Myungsoo-oppa,” she teases him. “You got any ideas on how to beat the heat?” Her eyebrows raise twice on those last three words.

Such a fierce delivery from her only causes him to swallow his throat. “I can get us a couple of drinks… if you like? There’s a convenience store near my place.”

The woman’s playful grin slowly closes, turning upside down, much to his confusion. He’s taking her question way too seriously. But his mind quickly tells him to go on to their ‘contingency’ in hopes of saving the mood. He leans closer. “How about… This? Will it help you forget the heat better than a drink?”

Myungsoo wraps his arms around his girlfriend. She can only hum, satisfied with how he tried to make up with this warm gesture. “It is better… I might need more of this.”

“Even if it’ll get much, much hotter?” he wonders.

“Especially if it’ll get hotter,” she quickly answers, making both of them chuckle.

They’ve taken things slower. Not that they’ve said anything. It must’ve just felt… Right. They were friends for more than eight years, yet their feelings for each other lasted just as long as it endured through the test of time. Through dozens, if not almost a hundred dates and flings, some even consider it a miracle they found their way with each other.

= = =

Meeting each other's newer friends over local hangouts. Malls. Cafes. Restaurants.

“Myungsoo here hasn’t dated anyone in two years,” Sungjin tells Kotone.

“That's not entirely true,” he chuckles nervously, seeing her intrigue at his remark. “That’s an exaggeration… I’ve gone onto a few dates.”

His eyes turn to the side, followed by a smirk he’s trying to cover up from her while taking a sip of her glass of beer beside him.

“But… No matter how many matches I’ve gotten back then,” he continues. “None of them can ever match this woman.”

That same woman can only blush as Myungsoo sneaks up next to Kotone with a swift but passionate kiss on her cheek, inciting cheers from his two buds. “Yah…” she coos, pulled between giddiness and coyness towards him.

At first, Kotone was a little shy and awkward meeting her boyfriend’s closest colleagues, though knowing more about Myungsoo through their word of mouth and teasing slowly made her get along with them more often. In Myungsoo’s perspective, however, Tone’s buddies were perhaps the most welcoming and easygoing bunch to hang out with.

“Tone-chan really tried not to make it obvious,” Suhyeon says while munching on a potato chip. “But she's too much of an F around us to hide her facial expressions—”

Even though Kotone herself found their approach of getting to know Myungsoo to be a little more embarrassing than her boyfriend’s friends.

Kotone places a knuckle on her forehead with a groan. “Oh, enough with that whole T and F thing. You still don’t believe in those things, do you?”

She doesn't necessarily agree with their sentiment, but she simply can’t help but cringe at certain aspects of her past self. Reminiscing the times she would babble about folks’ MBTI personalities through comparisons and contrasts. It was a silly little phase that she had since tried to move past forward from, if it wasn’t for her best friend’s teases.

“Well, I don't think it's a bad way of seeing things,” Myungsoo reasons, remembering that part of Kotone’s personality. Suhyeon and her boyfriend, Sungwoo, watches him in astoundment, since he didn’t directly side with his girlfriend and went for a more devil’s advocate route. “It’s just for fun… It helped a lot of people get to know each other then.”

“Well…” Kotone slides her hair behind her ear. “Now that you've mentioned it. I was, and still am an F. I just can’t help it. It made me a little social butterfly since college.”

“Oh… So you agree with him just now, but not us?” Honggi pokes fun at her retort.

“Shut up!” Kotone exclaims, rolling her eyes at her close friends while they giggle.

“I can’t complain either,” Myungsoo casually comes to his girlfriend’s aid without much hesitation. “Kotone had a habit of comparing other people’s MBTIs back in the day… so I think it’s not too surprising. Even before we were dating—”

“Maja!” Kotone simply chimes in agreement, much to everyone else’s surprise. “And it’s not like I’m the only F in our little group. We had Junghoon too. You know that he’s the most F among us. At times, Honggi can be a little hopeless romantic—”

In the span of those three months, both their worlds began to collide with each other. Mending the time they lost in the last eight years, knowing they’ve also met more and more people before their reunion.

= = =

After a seven-minute stroll from Seoul State University, the couple heads straight to his apartment, one of their two main hangouts, aside from Kotone’s. After half an hour of Chinese takeout while talking over or reacting to the latest drama on TV has been on their night routine in the past month. But sometimes, certain scenes would invoke something in their system. Ones that pull them together. Every warm second.

Their lips have been touching in the last five minutes, sharing each other’s tasty dinner. Kotone couldn’t get enough of the orange chicken on his mouth, moving her tongue to clean the leftovers without leaving any crumbs. Still, Myungsoo, on the other hand…

Something in his mind is telling him to stop, going against his body's hunger. Wait, stop. She might feel uncomfortable… Don't touch her! You’re no different than any other perv! You're an uncivilized deviant! You don’t deserve her—

Overwhelmed by the stream of his own self-deprecating and militant thoughts, his twitching hands stop hers from touching him as well. Their lips part, starting with Tone’s, as their mood quickly fell apart. “What’s wrong?”

“No, umm… It's just, I don't know.” He can't fully explain himself.

“It seems you’re not in the mood…” she surmises, her lips folding into a simper.

“Tone…” he feels more vulnerable, his spirits crumbling with guilt.

“It’s okay… I'll be leaving in a bit too, so I don't mind…”

He maintains his grip on hers, weakening with his voice. “Mianhae.”

“Gwenchana, oppa,” she places her palm on his left cheek—keeping her reason and composure in check. “I’m not mad. It’s okay with me if you’re not ready… With me.”

He wants to say more just to make her stay. Unfortunately, his cowardice has gotten the best of him as the woman bids her farewell for the night with a soft kiss to his left cheek. Oftentimes, she would stay the whole night, snuggling on the couch and binge-watching their favorites on the television or both. Tonight has made the difference and Myungsoo doesn’t blame anyone but himself for not being courageous enough.

= = =

In the day that followed, Myungsoo pays a visit to a nearby cafe with two of his friends. Rather than spending the first hours of his weekend with Kotone like they often do, his own insecurities had driven him to meet up with their mutual buddies.

“I’m surprised Junghoon here even made the time to talk about whatever this will be,” Honggi breaks the ice. “But it’s nice to see the three of us together again.”

“It’s a Saturday,” Junghoon counters right before taking a sip of his teacup.

“That didn't stop you from being busy before… Tone has told us how hard you’ve been working at kitchens, as in plural. We couldn’t believe you even led the catering during the reunion! Like, I get that you must get paid like a lot—but do you still have time for yourself, man?”

“I do… And while your point may be true, Myungsoo-hyung called us here—so it must be about him and Tone-yah, so I wanted to meet with y’all…”

“How did you know?” Myungsoo himself becomes flustered by his guess.

“You called us,” Junghoon points out. “That rarely happens nowadays… Plus, you didn’t sound calm and collected like you usually were.”

“Exactly…” Honggi adds his grievance. “You better make it worth it, hyung.”

Myungsoo gives the two an overview of their awkward and unfortunate situation. In his eyes, he described his girlfriend as someone who’s pure yet passionate. Someone who is innocent while he was still exploring the more adult regions of his own college life, even though she was there too. At least, that's how he mostly saw Tone eight, seven years ago. She’s always been beautiful in his eyes and in his heart. And yet, now that he is living the impossible, he also realizes that innocence has been broken the moment his lips touched hers and yet a part of him still couldn’t accept that for some cosmically absurd reason. A part he’s desperately itching off his mind and skin.

“That’s your problem with her?” Honggi finds his dilemma to be somewhat bewildering.

“So… Are you sure you guys never saw her as a woman?”

“But she is a woman,” Junghoon states the obvious with his monotone voice.

“You get what I mean!” Myungsoo slightly raises his voice in a fit of desperation.

“Well… Since you’re that serious,” Honggi goes first. “I’d say that she was too tomboyish for me most of the time, no offense to Tone. Or you, hyung.”

In his mind, Honggi does have a point. But he didn’t strike her as that mere archetype. Myungsoo’s watched a few of her performances. His answer wasn’t enough to alleviate the unease in his heart. He turns his head to Junghoon, taking his mug of matcha tea.

“How about you, Junghoon-ah?”

“Hyung… I’m not sure where you’re going with this, but aside from being a good friend, Kotone was kind of like an older sister to me, or just a sister in general... I just never got to see her the way you do. And honestly, I like it that way.”

Myungsoo slowly nods with a soft smile. “That’s—ummm—that’s good to know.”

“How about you, hyung..?” Junghoon asks him back. “Since you're together now, I'm sure things will change how you see her in the next level you take.”

“Which shouldn’t even be our business in the first place,” Honggi follows. “But you know what? Junghoon’s got a point. You don’t have to rush anything in your relationship... He doesn’t even have a girlfriend at the moment—and he knows more about this than you!”

With a somewhat awkward, and even confused stare towards his close friend, Junghoon almost raises his index finger, but he is unable to make his voice firm in time. “Actual—”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Myungsoo inadvertently interrupts him, driven by uncertainty. He’s too ashamed to ask them any further questions. Junghoon can only chuckle beside him, softly shaking his head, while Honggi maintains his gaze of disappointment. Those two haven't been through this kind of situation before, not entirely. Still, today, they did their best to help him out without being too intrusive. “Thanks, both of you. Honestly… I don't know if I can get this thing off me without you.”

= = =

He still couldn’t get his mind off after that moment. It was both a small, yet significant mistake. To his overthinking brain, it’s not something he would even consider as small, but since his own closest friends weren’t enough to ease his misgivings, Myungsoo ends up going to someone else for their piece of mind. Despite still being a summer Saturday afternoon, the next meeting would take him to the campus of Seoul State an hour later.

On the same concrete bench, the two of them sit a meter apart from each other, taking refuge under the shade of the nearest maple tree.

“You’re asking me if I know what you did wrong?” She snickers. “Your own ex?”

“Mianhae, Yooyeon-ssi… I really don’t know who else to approach… Well, after Honggi and Junghoon, but it’s just—I’m still lost about our relationship, which I am happy for! But this feels like it’s different, and if I’m gonna mess up taking things to the next level, then I’m scared that I might actually lose her.”

“I’m flattered,” she chuckles. “Gwenchana. Tone-chan’s my close friend, too, you know.”

“I just wanted to hear your side of things,” he fesses up. “I thought that asking for a woman's feedback would make me understand how I can learn and make up with her.”

“And you haven’t seen anyone else since we broke up?” she presses on. “I doubt that.”

“No. They were blind dates and hook-ups, if I even got lucky, but nothing serious.”

“TMI, dude,” she tells him, one of her eyebrows raised and Myungsoo recognizing the dry yet intimidating ick in her delivery.

“Mianhae,” he tells her a second time without realizing it, triggered by disquietude.

Yet her smile remains amidst his somber expression, emanating comfort in his unease. “Again, it’s fine, Myungsoo-yah. But, you know—since you went all the way to visit on a Saturday—without any classes to teach—instead of actually just talking this conundrum out with your girlfriend… Do you really wanna hear what I think about this?”

“If it’s okay with you…” he answers with a slow nod, his smile bracing down to a gloom. “It’s fine if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“Well, I’m not too uncomfortable… And I really can’t say anything about what’s going on with you two, but… Maybe I can give my unfiltered piece of mind about our relationship in the past... I’m sure you wouldn't mind that, would you?”

“The floor is yours.” He spreads his arms wide, as his ears have always been opened.

“When we were together, you weren’t rushing into things with you simply because every other couple was ‘doing it.’ We took our time, Myungsoo—when we felt ready… So why not do the same with her? Or maybe there is something else that's been bugging you?”

“I guess…” His hand left slowly reaches his nape, trying to claw his own tension through his forests of hair. “There is… something… I don’t know, it’s just ridiculous.”

“Hmmm…” Yooyeon contemplates for a moment, interlocking her fingers before placing her chin under them. “Is this… About the whole friendship-to-lovers thing?” she guesses without much effort, tilting her head downwards.

Myungsoo looks up to her in silence, hearing a ding inside his head.

“Ooooooooohhhh…” Yooyeon’s mouth slowly gapes. “Of course… You should know that situations like this are above my pay grade. I teach Natural Science, not Behavioral.”

“Well, one can argue that human behavior is also a kind of natural phenomena, right?”

“You know, for someone who's quite desperate for an ex’s advice, you still know how to joke your way out.”

Myungsoo lets out a scoff, one triggered by pride and embarrassment to admit the truth to her. “I’m not asking you to help me out. And I'm not thaaaat desperate.”

“Whatever you say, Prof,” she rebuts sarcastically. “But… If it helps you fix this weird conundrum that you're having, then I honestly think it's not that uncommon… No matter how many or often someone goes into a relationship, they'll always have something new to explore. Something to solve together. Your problem with Kotone is nothing new for some folks, so you shouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“You know someone with the exact same experience as ours?”

“Well, not exactly,” she clarifies. “It’s more or less the opposite side of the coin in your situation, but I thought of it.”

“In what way?”

“They’ve become much, much friendlier… More of the benefits, and less of the feelings. To the point that the moment she started to catch those feelings, she took it hard when he had to reject her ‘cause he didn't feel the same way.”

“Really?” There's a balance between intrigue and caution in his mind. Maybe even a little bit of sympathy towards the people she mentioned, despite their identities being left out, perhaps out of respect, which he understands.

“Yep…” Her delivery may come off as if she's telling him a cautionary tale. “But they’ve gotten over it, though. They were never in the best position, either. They’ve made some questionable decisions… So it was for the best.”

“Huh…” Yet Myungsoo feels relief, strangely enough, his memory panning back to when they first got together months ago makes him realize just how lucky he is now. That he's not too late.

“I’d say your situation with Kotone is much more ‘blessed,’ to say the least. You may or may not have a little fight about it, but at least, I expect you to be more honest with her by the time comes.”

He cannot wait any longer. That ick towards himself, he wants to get rid of it.

After a sip of her warm cup, a smirk forms on her face. “You know… When we were together, you were so wild and exc—”

“Yah, yah, yah! TMI, noona,” he fires back with his tone of panic as he takes a quick look around the campus, much to Yooyeon’s mischief. She giggles at his reaction.

“You just had to remind me how old I am,” she rolls her eyes, followed by another light chortle. She doesn’t mind honorifics, but he knows that term always triggers something inside her, though with how long he has known Yooyeon, it’s not necessarily a bad thing.

“Nothing’s wrong with that,” he assures her with a banter. “About a year from now, I’ll catch up with y’all tricenarians.”

“Whatever, bookworm. But—anyways, I really think that intimacy shouldn’t be a big problem between you two. I may be able to convince you to slow down, ‘cause I know that your relationship will be different… but I still do hope you remember that all good relationships start with trust. Don’t be nervous when you finally open up to Kotone, just because you’re more than friends now and not to mention, I actually expected you to get closer than before as a couple!”

“Thanks, umm… That’s really reassuring, strangely enough.” Coming from his own ex, he knows she’s right about Kotone. They may be exes—but he’s learned a lot from her, and so has she. Good and bad, on both sides.

“I wish you luck,” she continues, making her voice firmer. “To both of you, hmm?”

“I’d say the same exact thing, but, umm… Still, best of luck to you too, Yooyeon-ssi.”

“I’m already thirty, and everyone else in my circle is starting to settle down with their partners. You two are lucky, you know? Like extremely lucky,” she emphasizes more.

“Come on, cheer up!” he slightly raises his pitch out of enthusiasm. “I’m sure you’ll find someone for you... Also, didn't you say before that marrying at thirty is old-fashioned?”

“This isn’t about marriage…” she scoffs and stays silent for a complete second as an idea lights up in her mind. “How about this… You set me up with one of your buddies at your department? Are you good with that?”

“Why not in your own department?” he fires another question out of curiosity. “I mean, I’d love to ask some of them, but weren’t there rumors about you and that Bio—”

“Aniyo! We had one dinner, and—let’s just say he was a bit too much. I’m not against people enjoying their meal, but half an hour in, he’s forgotten that he was on a date. I even had to pay for both our meals, it was a fever dream of a dinner.”

He lets out a chortle, in disbelief that she went along with him. “Oh—so that was true?”

“I don’t even wanna talk about it,” she shakes her head. “I’d rather talk about how often my students GPT their equation exercises than any of my bad dates. They’re that bad…”

“Oh, don’t get me started on some of my students! They really thought they’d get away by making efforts to just write prompts, instead of constructing their actual works.”

With his spirits lifted and mind reassured, Junghoon feels that he’s had enough voices from some of the people he trusts the most. Now, it’s his turn to make it up to Kotone. He takes out his phone from his pocket, while his mind imagines her ranting towards her close friends about his performance issue.

[Hey, Tone. Can we talk at my place tonight?]

[Of course, oppa!]

[I intended to stop by a little earlier, but whenever is fine.]

[Oh. Well, any works for me.]

[Drop by as early as you want.]

[It's just, I wanted to talk to you about something.]

[Of course.]

[I'll make sure to be there by six.]

[I'm just hanging out with a friend.]

= = =

Kotone’s eyes grow from his assumption. “You thought I was too innocent?”

On the contrary, his plan did not go as he expected this Saturday evening. It has only been a few hours since he went outside to ‘consult’ with friends, but he did not expect his girlfriend to find it out all of the sudden. Of course, his mind would first go for the suspect that snitched to Kotone, fueled by annoyance that things had gone off the rails.

“Where did you—It was Junghoon, wasn't it?” he throws the first question. “I know Honggi doesn’t give in that easily… Waaaaa… You two really are like siblings from another motherland.”

But she shuts it down, not letting him change the subject. “Answer the question, oppa.”

“Don't take it that way,” he lowers his cadence, his conscience now realizing that asking her back won’t help alleviate the tension of this situation any further.

“I'm not…” Thankfully, so does she. “I just want us to come clean… Please.”

“Look, I haven't done this in a long while,” he opens up. “I thought it'd be special for us.”

“Just because it's special doesn't mean it has to be, you know...” she reasons.

“What?” Much to his surprise, Kotone manages to cool herself down first.

“Perfect… Nothing ever is, oppa.” She realizes how pointless this moment will be.

“It's because—” he takes a deep sigh, concluding that there’s no other way he can confess to her how he’s truly feeling, especially with how his girlfriend has simmered down and chosen to be the bigger person, even before an argument would have taken place. “It's because—I thought I'll never be good enough.”

The woman’s heart sinks, hearing those words from his own mouth. “Oppa…”

“I know it’s stupid to admit it… But there’s always this feeling that’s holding me back.”

Myungsoo remembers his own words from that day, when he first confessed. When he reciprocated her. How his own body's response just contradicted them, no thanks to his hesitations. He rejected her and giving her more mixed messages won't allow him to get through this hindrance that has been suppressing more of his physical desires for Tone.

“During those moments, my body must have thought that—we're still friends. Even though I don't feel that way anymore... And I don't want you to feel that way too. But looking back, I think I have always fallen for you in more ways I didn't realize before.”

Her eyes widened, heartbeat accelerating with hope towards her love. “How so?”

“I guess, one that sticks to mind is when you performed that one time at the festival.”

“Oh, gosh…” Her eyes quickly close with a wide smile. “That was kinda embarrassing.”

“No. You were amazing,” he counters, cheering her on with his own enthusiasm. ”Even a lot of hoobaes mistook you for a dance or music major.”

“I know…” Kotone can’t help herself from giggling. “The guys would've teased the hell out of me if they weren't in the military then. But I didn't know you saw me like that.”

As neurons continue to fire throughout his mind, Myungsoo recalls another memory. “You’ve also put so much detail and attention to your looks whenever you’re out on a date,” he chuckles with this confession, maintaining his gaze at hers as if her face has mesmerized her. “That includes the double date you pulled me in... Remember that?”

Her face begins to redden. “Yah... That's just common courtesy. No one would wanna go out with someone without a little makeup. That’s not enough for a common gal like me.”

Common is not a word that he sees of her. “Well… I think you’re enough, Tone.”

No words leave her mouth for three seconds, until she comes up with, “What else?”

“Hmm?”

“What else… Made you fall for me?”

“When we first touched last night…” he stammered, keeping himself composed while answering her question. “I freaked out. And I thought you’re innocent, because I was used to thinking that you were pure. So...”

With her eyes glistening amidst the dim room, Kotone's face is the most beautiful thing in his eyes. A mighty and delicate diamond shining in front of him. “Mesmerizing,” he continues. “Something that I couldn't lay my hands on… Because you’re amazing.”

His hand takes hers, feeling its coldness. Yet it's a smooth sensation that cools him down, even though their touch now produces a warm affection from their hearts.

“I wasn't scared because I thought you were innocent…” he confesses, his eyes darting down on the floor out of shame. “I'm scared that when it’d happen, I’d disappoint you.”

“Well… I don't care if you think someone else is a better fit for me. If you think there’s a better version of yourself. If it's with you… That’s all that matters to me, oppa.”

She takes one step towards him. His sense of reassurance suddenly shifts into surprise.

“Kim Myungsoo…” she asks him straight, her pitch deepening. “All this time, have you not seen me as a woman before?” The same question he tried to answer with both their closest friends. The same confession he told her. Her tone still comes off as serious—yet he notices a slight upward curve on her flat lips. She’s just trying to lighten up his mood.

“Tone-yah!” the man still bursts out in panic. “What makes you think that?”

“It’s just—You know… The conversation you must’ve had with Honggi and Junghoon probably went off like that. Your talk with them made you think about our friendship, and I thought maybe that’s what made you think less of me—”

“No… It’s not like that. In my eyes, there’s a lot from you that enticed me. From the day we met.” She's read his mind. Yet slowly, he leans closer to her face. “Your lips. There’s no way I can resist them. I couldn’t… Why should I feel any different with your bod—”

Feeling something pulling them together, Kotone gives into her primal urges first, launching herself at his lips first. His arms catches her—welcoming her lust-driven pounce as she slowly wraps herself around him, a ravenous python desperate for its target. Sharing the level of her libido with him, Myungsoo trails his fingers down her curves until they reach her plump buttocks, no longer hesitant and threatened by his own voices, which are now silenced by his turbulent body as it’s hellbent on one goal. Her physical satisfaction, fueled by his dissipated impulses.

Myungsoo tightens his grip on Kotone’s ass, triggering a moan in-between their kiss. Such a delightful sound striking his ears provokes him to deepen their lips, while his tongue enters Tone’s mouth through a surge of dominance that possessed him.

“There's nothing to disappoint... How you kiss me now. How you… Touch me now...”

Their lips part, as Myungsoo listens to his girlfriend’s suggestive encouragement.

“Plus, I'm no longer your friend... You can touch me,” the daring woman tiptoes to his ear with her hot breath. “Anywhere you want, oppa... I hope that eases your mind.”

Her whisper alone sends a tingle down to his spine, eventually reaching his crotch. He feels his shaft rising—expanding with curiosity. In this instant, he has never felt more alive while he’s succumbing to her arousing spell.

They slowly undress each other—interrupted by sessions of smooches. Kotone latches her lips onto his neck then his clavicle, salivating on his sweat with her lips and tongue as a mark, that this man is hers, and only hers to share her body with, and she wants it now more than ever. For the first time, they see each other's genitals in astonishment.

Before he can consider taking the lead, she pushes him into the bed, with her eyes already focused on his cock. “Let me, oppa.”

Myungsoo only nods to her with submission, while she ties her hair with a rubber into a ponytail within a few seconds, before moving closer to her. She witnesses her lover take a deep breath, inciting a chuckle from her. “Just relax… Okay?” As soon as she’s done giving him a brief show, she joins him on the bed, crawling to the middle with him.

She takes in his rod. Her mouth isn’t the widest, but him witnessing her engulf half of it without much warning immediately sends shivers through his spine as another second, her throat touches the tip of his cock. “Ngh…” he bites his lip as he groans. “Fuuuuck.”

“Oh?” Kotone takes his cock off her mouth, retaining her smirk. “A professor cursing?”

“Mianhaeyo…” Myungsoo huffs with desperation. “You can… Keep going… Tone.”

“What’s the magic word, oppa?” she tantalizes, seeing the helplessness of her lover.

“Please, Tone-chan…” His grip on her shoulder remains tender, keeping herself from riling her up, as his manhood is under her control. “Punish me if you have to. Jebal.”

“Good boy,” she coos, even though his last plea made her eyebrows raised. There’s more from him that she hasn’t discovered. “And I thought I had to put a little more pressure.”

The woman puts her bangs to the side of her ear, locking in as she puts his cock back inside her widened mouth, with more ease this time. Her head moves in and outward. He loves the sensation of being devoured by this unpredictable woman. He couldn’t be any more exhilarated to witness her prove himself wrong. Her pureness, melting away, shifting into this new face he’s rarely encountered, mixed with hints of lust, curiosity, and carnality, right as her eyes dart towards him, just to give him a wink, her simple gestures just keep expanding the girth of his member beyond its limits.

Despite bobbing her head on his manhood up and down with a faster pace, Kotone manages to smear her fingers on her drools and drippings, spreading them down his balls without looking, yet the results would speak for themselves as Myungsoo howls feeling the sudden cold and tingling moisture of his testicles—jiggling and squishing under the palm of her long and thin salivated hand.

“Tone! I’m—shit,” he whimpers, his eyes slowly rolling to the back of his head while the woman devours him with acceleration. “It’s too fucking—Good… Tone-yah—I’m close!”

With a final trick up her sleeve, the woman applies a little pressure on his testicles with her fingers, pulling the trigger to his stimulation. Right as he feels a popping sound on his pulsating rod, followed by a gust of warm semen gushing directly inside her mouth. Much to his surprise, she keeps her mouth closed and gulps it down once she leaves his manhood. As expected, Myungsoo hears Kotone cough out a few drops of seed that she couldn’t swallow, much to his concern while still catching his breath next to her.

He gives the woman a few pats on her back before caressing it. “You alright, babe?”

“Mm-hmm.” Her smirk widens, despite the struggle. “Never tasted something tastier.”

“Let me… Have a taste,” he retorts, leaning closer to Kotone. Unashamed of tasting himself through her mouth. She cups his chin, deepening their already heated kiss.

Letting out a chuckle, Myungsoo distances himself a few inches away while peppering kisses on her thighs, seeking to return his girlfriend the favor, but right before he can kneel on one knee on the carpet, the heaving woman tugs her grip on his right wrist, prompting him to stop and freeze his burning libidinal excitement for a moment.

“Uh, uh, uh…” she giggles with her limited breath, fully aware of his reciprocal intention, yet she moves her index finger from left to right in amusement.

“You don’t want me to?” he mumbles, radiating unease with his submissive tone.

“I do… Just not tonight, baby… You can pay me later,” she whispers and leaves him a wink before slowly pulling him into bed with her. “This time, I want both of us to feel each other on this one, hmm?”

He never minded her tomboyish charms, and now that she’s embodying some traits on his own bed, it’s driving him insane to witness her guide him with entering her regions. As they both sit in front of each other, Kotone wriggles closer with her bottom until she is close enough to wrap her legs around his waist, locking their now closed distance.

“Oh…kay,” Myungsoo holds onto her hips with caution. “I’ll… Put it in now, Tone.”

“That’s it,” the woman peppers his chest and collarbone a few kisses, taking a breath as more of him enters her folds. Sliding as slowly and steadily as he can, Kotone gradually tightens her hold on her lover, welcoming the girth of his lubricated manhood with her walls. “Fuck… Nggghhh…” Leaning her forehead closer on his shoulder, her howls rise while slowly closing her eyes, allowing herself to receive the waves of pleasure he’s giving her with his entry.

Inside Myungsoo's rummaging mind, the man immediately assumes how he may not be the longest she has seen, but it is no small accomplishment for him to hear her moaning without stopping for seconds. Her pitch becomes higher, surprising Myungsoo as he has rarely heard her yell or holler at this sky-shattering range, even whenever she sings with their pals at the noraebang. Her voice already sounds like an angel from day to day, yet this new level gives him a new perspective. A new realm of satisfaction he’s accessing… He can only move his hips inward and outward, yet each pound rewards him with an intensifying sensation that takes him to a higher state of gratifying unconsciousness.

“Tone—Fuck!” He feels his sense of coherence falling apart, his endurance slows down his own member while his thrusts still maintain their balance and strength in her cunt.

On the other hand, she can still keep up with his now dwindling and stuttering thrusts, perhaps with even more stamina than him, while she keeps squirting a few more juices from her bladder while also awaiting the big one on her nether. “Just do it,” she shrieks, feeling her own climax catch her partner’s. “Pleeeease—fucking cum—inside me, baby!”

Myungsoo surrenders to his own climax, busting his load inside her for the first time without restraint. Within the next three seconds, Kotone comes next with all her holler, cumming as well without any sense of worry about his seed inside her womb.

They find themselves plummeting on the bed, with Kotone laying her head on his chest. Myungsoo slowly strokes the side of her hair from its disheveled state, while they heave. He feels an irk of disappointment for giving into his climax too soon, but not discontent. Pulling his cock out of her when it stopped leaking—he muses about reinstating his gym membership or simply pushing himself to jog at a nearby park, like some of his friends. But now’s not the time to wallow in regrets. His impulses pressure him to do it again.

“How was it, baby?” Kotone coos under her breath. Her smirk and cadence still keeps Myungsoo up, in his mind and in his member, even though it has left her walls.

“I'll, uh, I need one more exercise to reassess things,” he admits, making her chuckle at his answer. Another round is in session and now, it starts with him taking the next lead. Gently, Myungsoo takes her by the hand and bends her over while maintaining their eye contact. He leaves her a few more kisses on her nape, initiating a second round with her due to his dissatisfaction about his “performance.”

“Ssaem...” she mutters, the same time they're feeling his cock expand. She's got a wild idea accumulating while receiving his cock again, now from behind. The possibility of his shaft plunging inside her other hole only elevates her expectations and accelerates her drive for his body elevenfold. “I want to... Have you, inside... my fucking—butt!”

“Next time, baby.” It's now his turn to say it, his inflection deepening like hers during their first time. “That'll—ngghh—be another lesson for–us.” His thrusts arise with his groans while Kotone slowly bends her bottom for him to reach. Seeing her butt closer makes him take one hand. A smack would be his first suggestion, yet another idea has taken over, thus forcing him to give her left cheek a squeeze.

The longer she feels a spot of her cheek tightening and heating up under the grasps of his hand, Kotone’s bursts of yelps turn into howls of gratification. “Ooooooh—Fuck!”

The fact that Myungsoo is also entertaining, nay feeding into her fantasy in real time suddenly makes Kotone yelp out subconsciously, even surprising herself and making Myungsoo let out a hoarse chuckle while his thrusts quicken and strengthen with his hand returning to her waist. “That one must have made you excited—did it—baby?”

“Ne!" she complies; his arms still holding hers from behind. “Tight—er—oppa!” Kotone screams. Myungsoo only nods, holding in his chortle as her request compels him to pull her arms closer to him. Her walls constrict around his cock as her back arches, reveling in delight down her nether, which compensates all the stress and tension on her arms— like a rubber band being pulled—as Myungsoo rams her from behind back and forth like a ravenous beast who had been released from his cage, thirsting for this woman’s touch.

The more their bodies pulsate along with their growing moans, his lover’s brown hair keeps on striking his face, like a whip, several times. But instead of finding it to be an unsettling situation, the scent of her hair only drives him to maintain his movement.

Nevertheless, Kotone feels his hindrance from her back, forcing her to mumble “Take it—off… My tie!” with a heavy breath. Before he can comply, however, his eyes land on her exposed nape, a sight that immediately tempts him to lean in and plant his drooling lips on her. “Uggghhhh!” she yelps as her neck bends, facing the ceiling as she now finds herself on cloud nine. He circles his tongue on her damp skin, briefly imagining what he would’ve done to her cunt if she had given him a chance earlier.

Perhaps next time, he tries to assure himself, unaware that Kotone is also yearning for the same desire in her lust-crazed mind, somewhat regretting her decision to skip to the main show. For now, they happily settle on this moment: his cock plunging in and out of her cunt, with him devouring the back of her neck while she muffles her groans.

“Sooooo… Goood…” she murmurs, taking delight in the sudden lukewarm, if not chilling sensation of Myungsoo’s tongue, slithering on her nape like a snake that tastes the sweat that has accumulated on that spot in the past several minutes. Now that he’s more than satisfied with her praises, the man finally raises one hand and slides the hair tie off her, revealing her full hair to him like a princess. A fervent princess who he’s making love to.

With his manhood now reaching deeper than before, Tone's mouth slowly gapes, with her eyes half closed and tongue sticking out, a sight that propels Myungsoo to lean his head closer and latch his lips, seizing the chance to kiss her once again with insatiable appetite. “Ngggghhhhmm… Mmmmmm…”

Their saliva has become a mix of sweet and salty taste blended through the rhythm of their tongue. Myungsoo can still taste his own seed through their kiss, but Kotone’s drool, mixed in with her passion fruit lipstick, and the scent of her perfume, which always entices him, makes it too hard for him to resist.

Paralyzed by pleasure, Tone’s mouth also welcomes him with abandon while Myungsoo lets go of his arm, wrapping it around her waist once again. With both their moans and grunts muffled, their smacking lips and dancing tongues sync in with the noise of their genitals clashing against each other, yielding both ethereal and devilish satisfaction.

But eventually, her primal instinct overcomes her yearning for his touch, Kotone parts her lips from his, leaving a trail of saliva between the two as she gasps for air and gives him the ultimate signal with the words… “I’m… Oppa—please—I’m—close! Do… it!”

Knowing her reminder to him, Myungsoo lets out a groan with his final pound, bursting his seed inside her for the second time. Now, he manages to make Tone cum at the same time, her tongue still sticking out in ecstasy. Instead of letting her plummet straight into the carpet below, the man maintains his grip around Tone’s waist while she catches her breath alongside him. “Gwen…chana…yo?” he mumbles out of concern, also panting.

The woman slowly holds onto her partner's arms and turns around. Despite her flushed skin being poured into the puddle by her own sweat, Kotone reassures him with a wide smile, with her hand rubbing on his right cheek. “Never felt better, oppa…”

Still taking a breather, Kotone takes the first step to the bed, pulling Myungsoo with her as they walk and lie on the mattress without any words. Within the silence, their bodies huddled together to keep them warm amidst the prickling breeze of the room’s air con.

“Oppa… It wasn’t just Junghoon,” she confesses to him out of the blue.

He looks down to her. “Huh?” And yet, unlike a while ago, that sense of betrayal has long left his system, replaced by wonderment as they’re both opening up at their will.

“Yooyeon-unnie also told me,” she adds. “About your little serious counseling.”

At this point, they’re now all caught up with their secrets for the whole day. “Jinjja?”

“She knew you’d hesitate, so she kinda gave me a heads-up. It just freaked me a little… And, I also had my own talk with my friends.” She turns her head from him, giggling out of embarrassment before her mind recalls the personal meetings she’s held on that same morning and afternoon. As it turns out, this couple isn’t as different as they once felt and thought they were before this night.

= = =

“Girl… Just go for it!” the tall woman seated in front of Kotone tries to lift her spirits up. “And it’s not like he friendzoned you… Some friends would even do it without feelings.”

“I don’t know unnie…” She scratches her hair. “I’m not even sure why you’re so pumped up to help me. You’re practically my boss. I mean, you’re the boss of your own team, but still… You’re Zhou-freaking-Xinyu!”

“Okay,” she raises her finger. “First of all, I’m not your boss, technically speaking, even though there’s no work today… And second—we’re old friends! Just chatting about our personal problems and thinking of solutions out of it. So I’m not Zhou Xinyu, let alone Felicia Zhou.” She follows with a sigh. “I’m just your Xinyu-unnie, hmm?”

“Well, unnie… How did you and, you know…” Kotone tilts her head. “How’d you two work things out? With your history and all, you've made the impossible–Possible...”

“We just did…” she shrugs, forming a smile that radiates warmth. “We owned up to our mistakes, embraced our faults without trying to change what we like about ourselves… The more we realized that, well, we knew that we just wanted each other even more. Besides, it’s not like your situation is that different. You and Myungsoo are literally living a friends-to-lover tale!”

A part of Kotone needed to hear those words. Those voices of insecurity and reservation whispering in her brain begin to wither, at least most of it. She couldn’t be any happier for Xinyu being in a relationship of her own, but Kotone can’t help but admit that her circumstances are not really the same as hers, in a thousand ways.

“You don’t have to overthink it, Tone-chan,” Xinyu places her hand on her left shoulder, sensing the echoes of her misgivings through her posture, somber eyes, and downward lips. “Look… I may not be the best woman to ask about relationships… but I’d say that you can learn a lot when you just let some things go with the flow.”

Nevertheless, the older woman’s words manage to ease the part of her self-worth. Prior to her current profession here, Xinyu had her own fair share of trials and tribulations.

“That’s… Not a bad thought… Huh,” Kotone realizes, but something is still irking her. “Thank you for that, unnie.”

As the words of her old friend weren’t enough, she also confided in another’s second opinion about later that afternoon. Contrasting the cafeteria of ModHaus, this friend’s apartment is a little smaller, yet arguably the more confined atmosphere and tangerine walls of the living room makes it a little cozier. Kotone is seated on one of the chairs in the dining table, allowing her friend to listen to her from the vegetable-filled counter.

“That fear. That hesitation... How did you two get past those feelings, Suhyeon-ah?”

The right corner of Suhyeon’s lips raises. “Are you asking me for more details or?”

“Oh, God…” Kotone’s mind quickly went places due to her friend’s reaction, her hands waving rapidly. “No, no! Not like that, Suhyeon-ie… I mean, Xinyu-unnie herself gave TMI when I asked for her advice, but, I’m just asking how you and Sungwoo-ssi have managed to move past your doubts. Before, you know, it happened.”

“Well… I’m not sure about Sungwoo, but for me, it just felt right that we did it—that we wanted to do it, you know—regardless of how different our lives are. I’ll always love my son and be there for him—but that doesn’t mean I can’t start over with someone else…”

With a closed smile, Suhyeon looks down on her damp hands, a few crumbs of carrots and cabbage scattered across her palms and fingertips. Even in silence, Tone senses the aura of passion and perseverance emanating from her. “Dongwon’s father left before he was born—but you and the gang, heck even my fam, reminded me that I have a life too.”

She looks at Kotone—her eyes glowing with hope. “Like you and Myungsoo-oppa… You may have been friends for a long time, but the two of you being together is a new thing that I’m sure will be scary and exciting and like when it was with Sungwoo and me, I’d rather face those things than to never be with him at all, you know?”

From her profound words, she knows it’s simple, but her own hesitation still creeps up to her, something that she tries to shake off. Kotone’s heart begins to feel warmer with appreciation, gratitude towards her close friend—both of her friends, to be exact. This hesitation is something she’s going to have to deal with herself, by facing it head-on.

“How about you, Tone-chan? I’m not asking you if you’re willing to go to the next level with oppa… but how does he make you feel? I’m sure you’ll find your answer yourself.”

Her heart starts to race. Just at the thought of her lover, as they are in each other’s arms. Their lips locking for minutes—savoring each other’s taste as their saliva exchanges and filling the silence of the air with their tongues smacking. His rough yet irresistible skin sliding with her soft skin the longer they stay on the couch. Even the times he’s tickled her almost makes her giggle. The possibility of him carrying her to his bedroom. Tone’s imagination alone makes her swallow her own throat—thirsting for this sensation, and combined with having Ji Suhyeon witness her reaction only makes her embarrassed.

A smirk forms on Suhyeon’s face. She knows. “That’s it… You better have fun, you two.”

Kotone’s throat still feels dry as her heartbeat grows louder. “May I get a glass of water?”

“Help yourself, Tone,” Suhyeon tells her from the kitchen, continuing dicing a whole onion on the counter with her smile still intact. Beside her, the steam on the pot begins to rise. Kotone walks to the cupboard, reaching the nearest glass and maintains her gaze on the water dispenser. “Something tells me that you’re gonna need more of it later.”

= = =

Listening to Tone’s counsels, Myungsoo also agrees with their sentiments. This moment feels right. That’s enough. She’s enough. She’s perfect, even if she doesn’t believe she is. He shakes his head, as relief, disbelief, and gratitude fills his mind.

“Oh… Well, I’m still sorry…” he huffs—pushing himself to complete his sentence in front of her. “I’m sorry I misread you, Tone-chan. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you enough.”

“No,” she counters with her own guilt. “I’m sorry for freaking out over nothing, oppa.”

He pulls him into his arms. She’s always loved this move from him. “Hey, hey… It wasn’t necessarily over nothing, Tone… Look where that’s gotten us now… When I’ve chickened out of following what my body desires, you’ve taken the lead first, like you always have.”

“Yah…” she giggles at his wholehearted confession, even though it’s making her heart beat a little louder than usual. “You’re complimenting me like I’m your student.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” he admits, almost embarrassed. “Must be a force of habit.”

She nuzzles on his chest, her giggles vibrating on the surface of his chest. “Cheer up. It’s not something I’m against… Since, you should know I also have a lot to learn from you,” she retorts to him, forming a provocative smirk. “—Kim Ssaem.”

“So do… I…” he takes a much deeper breath, keeping himself from giggling at her tease. “Right now, I’ve learned a lot tonight.”

“Hmm?” her eyebrow raised while she hums with lustful intrigue. “Like what?”

“Just now… he puffs. “You've given me an experience I never expected—in a long while.”

“You’re being overdramatic,” she shakes her head, giggling. “You know I can do better.”

“You’ve already rocked my world,” he chuckles. He’s already confessed that he hasn’t had sex in a long time, yet she couldn’t care less. “Whatever you’ll do, whatever we do, I’ll love and cherish it. Whatever we’ll explore—I’ll explore it with you… Because I love you, Kamimoto Kotone.”

Within a second, Kotone’s face of amusement and flirtatiousness simmers down with her smile slowly crumbling. Yet her heart couldn’t feel any more elevated. “O--ppa…”

“Why are you crying?” Worry begins to flow through his veins as he sees her eyes glisten and her voice trembles and stutters. “Tone-chan…”

“You said it… first,” she mutters, while holding the sniffle through her nose. In spite of her mix of emotions, the woman’s lips slowly recurve upwards. “Myungsoo–op—pa…”

He puts his hand on her cheek, placing his thumb where her tears are falling down. “With how long we've known each… I feel like I should've told you sooner.”

“Me too… I love you, Kim Myungsoo,” she continued to sniff with her bawling, albeit now with a sweeter smile. Following only his heartbeat, Myungsoo comforts Tone with a long, sweet tender kiss on her lips, thus allowing her to express herself through her tears of gratitude and warm reciprocation with her beloved.

Wrapped under the gray comforter, the two would still remain in each other’s arms, rubbing their noses side to side and humming amidst the blissful silence for the next several minutes next to the dim lamp on the nightstand until a certain memory flashes back to Kotone just as her tears subside. She noticed those two omamori, the ones she gave him, on his drawer right next to the bedroom door. The sight of those two items trigger another memory she can’t help but share with him at this moment.

“Oppa…” she tugs on his shoulder softly. “I, uhh, just remembered something…”

“Hmm?” his eyes moved down to her face, still sparkling as usual. “What is it, babe?”

“Your birthday’s in two weeks… Isn't it?”

“Oh…” He attempts to keep his own smile from being too obvious. Not even he himself remembers such a momentous personal detail. “You remember?” But she does. Right during the aftermath of their first time, he braces his body from reacting to his mind from conceiving certain carnal ideas, now that the chains of his platonic hindrances have been broken through this passionate night.

“How could I not?” She peppers kisses on his chest, although she keeps the very trigger that made her remember. “I know that ruins any possible surprise—”

“I don’t need surprises, Tone-chan,” he assures her, evoking humility and contentment around her presence despite feeling the appropriate response of his own member, right under their blanket. “Tonight might as well be the greatest gift I’ve had.”

“Yah… Is it because we did it?” she coos, flustered by his sentiment. Despite harboring some ideas for him on his special day, Kotone brushes them off and only feels at ease.

“That’s one factor,” he simply affirms, grinning to the teeth. “I’m still… Sorting out the rest, but they’re all because of you, beautiful.”

She giggles at his bold remark. “So… Do you mind if I stay for the night?” she asks with a much coyer tone, concealing hints of shyness as she anticipates his response.

“Is that even a question?” he scoffs, but a sigh of uncertainty leaves his breath, not much about her, but himself. “I was—umm—I was actually hoping you’d stay… A little longer.”

“Well… You got it, oppa,” Kotone finally affirms to her boyfriend, holding her sniffs for a moment. Wiggling upwards like a worm, the woman levels her gaze with Myungsoo on the same pillow as his, closing their distance as her lips touch his once more, relishing the mix of saltiness and sweetness which their hearts and bodies have been craving the whole night. But, just as their prolonged kiss would have once again progressed into an uninhibited makeout session, both parties would slowly feel a slow rumbling on the woman’s stomach.

Kotone herself becomes startled by her body’s warning. As their lips part with a short trail of saliva that quickly breaks, both are unable to conceal their laughter at her own bodily warning. “That was, uh, embarrassing,” Kotone shakes her head. “I just realized that we did it on an empty stomach… Mianhae.”

“It’s not that embarrassing, babe…” he reassures her with two pecks, one to her nose and another on her forehead. “I’m kinda hungry too now that your tummy has brought it up, so how about we order dinner? It’s your pick… And it’ll be my treat for tonight.”

“How about some galbi?” she suggests, the trembles on her voice and sniffles subsiding.

“You want a side of samgyupsal with that one, too?” he suggests. “I'm kinda in the mood for a heavier meal.”

“Kol!” she quickly raises her hand in the air, giving him a thumbs up. “We'll just burn those calories at a later time, won't we?”

“Tone-chan!” His eyes widen as he bursts into laughter alongside her. “You perverted red panda! Aigoo… I ought to do something with you.”

“We’ve got the rest of the night, oppa,” she snickers, playing along with his proposition while giving his moist stomach four playful pats. “No need to worry about it.”

“Worry about what?”

Despite him still being a little slow in processing her remark, the woman looks up, sliding her legs on the mattress to inch herself centimeters closer to him. Her warm breath brushes in front of him, directly sending her pheromones. “Doing something with me… To me.”

Realizing what she means, Myungsoo chuckles, slowly placing his thumb on Kotone’s lower lip and whispering “I feel the same way, love,” right as they seal their love with another, sweeter smooch.

= = =

it's not as fleshed out as I wanted it to be, but I still hope you liked it. while I struggle to complete some of my current wips, I might start dropping another series, one that's not yet on my masterlist, but one that's been stuck on my drafts since forever. it'll be a little more fluff and angst at first since it's a longer series, but I hope you stay tuned for it. but for now, I hope you're having a great day! until next time.

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thewritingrowlet · 24 days ago

Text

The Spirit-lifter, ft. Red Velvet Seulgi

tags: nothing particular with this one

length: almost 14k

author's note: This is the continuation of The Heart-lifter, but it's not as sexually charged as that one anon's suggestion.

---

The weight of the cuffs in his hand feels different now. No longer a symbol of justice served: they are a stark reminder of the line he has crossed. Hyunwoo stares out their apartment window at the city lights, each one a potential witness to his transgression. He has let a thief go. Hell, not just let her go, but brings her into his life—into his bed.

The memory of Seulgi's tear-streaked face, the desperate tremor in her voice as she speaks of her past, still tugs at his empathy, but empathy is a dangerous thing for a police officer. A slippery slope that erodes the very foundations of his duty. Is this love, as they have so hastily declared, or a twisted consequence of his authority meeting her vulnerability? This very question gnaws at him, a constant unease that shadows the moments of tenderness they share.

“Oppa…” Her soft voice is heard from behind, but Hyunwoo dares not turn his head. “Oppa, are you okay?” she asks, concern carried with every word. He nods slowly, his mind racing with all kinds of thoughts, silence gripping him hard. “No, please, don’t lie to me. I know that look,” she counters, not convinced by his small gesture and tense body.

Seulgi wraps her arms around him from behind, her hands resting on his belly, offering comfort and warmth to ease his mind and body. “Oppa, please, say something…” she says, the soft voice contradicting the weight of her demand. Hyunwoo places a hand on hers, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “I’m alright, baby,” he says, attempting to hide his stress from her. “It’s just that, erm, my mind is taking me places,” he adds, hinting at the truth behind his turmoil.

Seulgi moves to stand before Hyunwoo, filling the small gap between him and the window, guiding his chin downwards to look him in the eyes. “Oppa, please, what is it? You know you can tell me everything, right?” she demands, growing frustrated yet understanding, wishing Hyunwoo would let her help carry the burden. Realizing there’s no other way but to tell the truth, he relents, letting his worry be laid bare before his lover’s eyes.

Hyunwoo takes a deep breath, piecing together an answer for his beloved. “The superintendent wants to see me tomorrow morning,” he begins, stringing each word together carefully. “Something about my... unorthodox handling of a recent case—your case.” Seulgi’s eyes turn glassy with unshed tears: the superintendent must’ve heard about Hyunwoo’s misconduct in handling her shoplifting incident, about him abusing his authority, and karma is out to get him.

“Will you… lose your job?” she asks, her voice shaking with thoughts of potentially being the cause of his downfall. Hyunwoo shrugs, as clueless as she is. “That’s definitely a possibility,” he answers. “Perhaps they’ll even send me to prison for failing to enforce law.” A heavy sigh flows out of her lips. “Law,” she mutters. “The only thing that separates us from the animals, or so they say.” A shiver runs down his spine, getting flashbacks to the first time he heard that phrase during his training period. “Yeah, precisely, and I’ve failed.”

The silence that follows Hyunwoo's words is thick with unspoken fear. Seulgi's grip on his arm tightens almost imperceptibly. "No," she says, her voice low but firm, the earlier tremor replaced by a sudden steeliness. "No, I won't let that happen. You did what you did because of me—because you understood. I won't let you face the consequences alone."

A new determination sparks in her eyes, pushing back the tears. "We'll figure this out. Together. What can we do? Is there someone we can talk to? Someone who would understand?" She searches his face, her gaze intense, seeking a solution, a way out of this looming crisis. The thought of Hyunwoo behind bars sends a cold dread through her, a feeling far more terrifying than her own potential arrest. “I think we can look for an attorney if that’s necessary. I think I still have that right,” he says, a sense of strength surging within at her supportive stance. “Give me the attorney’s number,” she says. “I’ll reach out to them myself if I must.”

Hyunwoo stares at Seulgi, a complex mix of emotions swirling within him. Gratitude, yes, and a profound sense of awe at her fierce loyalty, but also a pang of guilt. He, the supposed protector, is now being shielded by the very person he initially apprehended. "Seulgi-yah..." he begins, but the words catch in his throat. He doesn't deserve this, he thinks. “Yes, that’s me,” she repeats, a smile taking root on her features. “We can do this, oppa.”

Seulgi lifts his hand, her gaze glued to the cuffs in his hand. “Think of it like this,” she places a hand on the rigid cuffs, “we’re sharing the burdens of life as if we’re cuffed together with no other way but forward, and we move forward together—always together.” Hyunwoo’s lips slowly curl into a smile, her words reaching the deepest parts of his heart, the tenseness of his body gradually dissipating. “You’re right,” Hyunwoo answers, strength and determination to keep fighting surging within him.

Hyunwoo reaches out, his thumb tracing a line on her soft cheek. “You always know what to say, don’t you, baby?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, carrying emotions with every word. “I’m so lucky to have you in every sense of the word.” Seulgi presses a tender peck to his knuckles, a testament to the love for this man before her. “I don’t think it’s simply luck, though,” she counters. “It was fate, oppa. We found each other when we needed each other the most.”

She leans closer towards him, her gaze locked on his. “Besides…” she adds, her voice getting smaller, “the sex is amazing.” A soft chuckle escapes his lips, the first genuine laugh he’s had since receiving the summons letter this afternoon. In this moment, surrounded by a comfortable intimacy, the fear fades, replaced by a fragile yet tenacious hope. They have each other, and they are what each other needs.

Alas, the reprieve is fleeting. The memory of the superintendent’s summons lingers like a shadow in the corner of the room, a reminder of the storm that threatens their peace. Hyunwoo slowly, hesitantly, pulls away, his brow slightly furrowed with a sense of urgency. “We need a plan,” Seulgi suggests, her voice regaining the edge from earlier. He pecks her on the forehead, staying longer than usual, transferring the stress she has promised to help carry. “I don’t think there’s a ‘we’ here, baby. I mean, I can’t bring you to the superintendent,” he says. Seulgi’s eyes grow shiny, tears pooling and threatening to spill. “But… but I can’t let you go alone. Can I not wait outside or something?” she counters.

Hyunwoo cups her face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away the first tear that escapes. "Baby," he says softly, his gaze filled with a mixture of love and concern. "This is an official matter. It's about my conduct as a police officer. Your presence there... it could make things worse. They might see it as further evidence of my..." he trails off, unable to voice the word "failure" in front of her.

Seulgi shakes her head zealously, more tears dropping onto her cheeks. “Worse than you going alone? Worse than you possibly losing everything because of me?” she presses him further, her voice shaking with emotions. “At least let me be nearby. Let me be the first person you see as soon as they’re done with you, no matter what anyone says.” Seulgi grips his uniform hard, her knuckles turning white. “Please, don’t shut me out now, oppa. Did we not promise to face this together?"

Hyunwoo’s resolve erodes at the raw vulnerability in her voice. He knows she’s right and having her nearby would help, but his police-trained instincts keep screaming at him, urging him to make her stay at home. Weighing his options, he just looks at her—really looks at her—his mind racing with different scenarios that might happen if Seulgi is spotted near the headquarters.

Eventually, he can only sigh, conceding to the basic needs as a person: he’s going to take her along, even if she can’t directly see the superintendent. “The café,” he mutters. “You can wait for me at the café across the street.” Releasing the tight grip on him, Seulgi quickly wipes her tears with the back of her hands, relieved by him giving her the green light to be close to him while he faces the unknown. “I’ll be there, and I won’t leave until I see you step out of the building,” she says, determined and resolute.

The café across the street is small and unassuming, the kind of place where the aroma of stale coffee hangs heavy in the air. Seulgi chooses a table by the window, her gaze fixed on the imposing gray building that houses the superintendent's office. Each passing minute stretches into an eternity, filled with a gnawing anxiety that claws at her insides. She sips her lukewarm latte, barely registering the bitter taste. Her mind races, replaying the events of the past few days, the unlikely turn their lives have taken. From a desperate act of survival to an unexpected intimacy, and now, the looming threat of professional ruin for the man she loves with everything she has.

Minutes pass by, and Seulgi finally catches the police car that is assigned to Hyunwoo. “That’s him,” she thinks, her heartbeat growing quicker. Her fists clenches, gripping the end of her sweater, wishing she could give him a hug or a kiss before—

“Oh, he’s getting in…”

A small sob slips through her lips at the sight of Hyunwoo being greeted by a pair of men wearing a different uniform than him, their serious expressions cold and stern. “Please, be kind to him like he is to me.” Seulgi leans her head against the window, only able to watch helplessly while Hyunwoo disappears behind the two big doors in the front. “I love you, Kang Hyunwoo. I will always love you, no matter what happens today.”

All Seulgi can do is wait, watch, and pray for the man who is always able to lift her heart in the most unexpected ways.

…

The big, heavy doors close behind Hyunwoo with a solid thud, the sound piercing the quiet interior of the headquarters. As he’s escorted to the superintendent’s office, he catches some fellow officers stealing glances at him, murmuring among themselves and shaking their heads, accusing him of failure without saying a word. “No one else to blame but myself,” he thinks, making peace with his choices, even if they are perceived as incorrect.

One of the men escorting Hyunwoo knocks on Superintendent Park’s door, the sound of his knuckles on the wood chipping away at his persistence. The door opens slightly, a signal that Hyunwoo’s judgment is about to start. With an open palm, the officer gestures to him to enter, and after taking a deep breath to steel himself, Hyunwoo pushes the door, closing it behind him, his nostrils picking up the scent of Superintendent Park’s favorite essential oil from the diffuser on his desk.

“Kang Hyunwoo, Metropolitan Police Unit,” he introduces himself. “Ready to report, sir.” With a flick of his finger, Park signals Hyunwoo to come closer, straightening his sitting posture at the same time, his expression plain and unreadable. “Officer Kang,” he begins, his voice smooth but firm. “You are aware of the reason as to why you’re here, are you not?” Hyunwoo nods firmly. “Yes, sir, I am. It pertains to my handling of the shoplifting incident of Miss Kang Seulgi, a former celebrity,” he answers, keeping his voice steady, avoiding showing emotions. This isn’t the time to be vulnerable or sentimental. This summons is about facts, as cold as they may come.

"Yes, Officer Kang," Superintendent Park replies, his gaze unwavering. "Your report states that you apprehended Miss Kang Seulgi for shoplifting, yet no charges were filed. No report was officially lodged. Can you explain this discrepancy?" Park's voice remains calm, but there's an undercurrent of steel that sends a shiver down Hyunwoo's spine. He knows this is the crux of the matter.

Hyunwoo takes another deep breath, carefully choosing his words. "Sir, upon further investigation, it became apparent that Miss Kang's actions were driven by... extenuating circumstances. Severe financial hardship, coupled with a desperate need for essential goods." He pauses, gauging Park's reaction. "I exercised my discretion, sir, prioritizing a resolution that addressed her immediate needs while considering the... mitigating factors." He avoids mentioning the personal connection that has formed between them, knowing that would only complicate matters further.

“Is that so, son?” Park asks, his features relaxing by the minute. His body doesn’t look as tense, and his forehead isn’t furrowed as tightly. Hyunwoo nods slowly, keeping the truth of their connection tucked away in the depths of his mind. “Okay, so,” he continues, sighing briefly, “why did she pay her fine with your card?” The next question makes Hyunwoo swallow hard. “She… she didn’t have money, sir, so I… paid for it upfront, and she’s been paying me back little by little,” Hyunwoo answers, adding lies to mix in with the truth, playing a dangerous game with his superior.

“I see,” Park leans back in his big leather chair, “that’s quite the generous gesture for an officer apprehending a suspect, wouldn’t you agree, Officer Kang?” Hyunwoo forces himself to maintain his gaze locked on Park’s, his heart pounding in his chest. “With all due respect, sir,” he begins, his voice steady despite his racing heart. “I was trying to defuse the situation and ensure the well-being of those involved. Miss Kang was clearly in distress, and… I felt that letting her return the stolen goods and have her fined was the correct course of action,” Hyunwoo adds, offering an elaborate reasoning to support his stance.

Park leans forwards again, his elbows planted on the smooth surface of his desk. “Let’s cut to the chase, son, and be honest with me: were you or were you not biased towards Miss Kang Seulgi?” he asks, no longer interested in rhetorics. Hyunwoo takes a deep breath, mustering up the courage to answer truthfully as demanded. “Sir, I…” he trails off, unsure if he should simply confess that he was indeed biased towards Seulgi.

The silence stretches, thick and heavy with the weight of the unsaid. Hyunwoo's gaze flickers, a brief, involuntary glance towards the window, as if seeking Seulgi's presence for strength. Then, he forces himself to meet Park's eyes again, his jaw tightening.

“Yes, sir. I was biased towards Miss Kang,” Hyunwoo eventually admits, his tone low and measured. “I believe that my... sympathy for Miss Kang's situation did influence my decisions. However,” he rushes on before Park can interrupt. “My primary concern was that the situation could be resolved quickly and efficiently. I did not act with malicious intent, nor was I seeking personal gain.”

Hyunwoo ends his explanation, leaving the true extent of his “bias” unspoken, hoping that it’s good enough for Park. After all, the fate of his career, perhaps also his freedom, is in the hands of the superintendent.

“Sympathy,” Park echoes. “A commendable trait in a police officer, but if that very trait leads to a complete disregard of protocol… Then that is a liability, Officer Kang.” Park sighs, letting his head rest against the back of his chair. “Tell me one last thing, son: after all the things you’ve done when handling Miss Kang Seulgi’s case, what do you expect to happen to you?” Hyunwoo lowers his head, feeling the weight of the question, his life hanging in the balance. “I… I expect punishment, sir. Anything other than dismissal from my post.”

Park studies Hyunwoo for a long moment, his gaze intense and unreadable. The silence in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife, amplifying the weight of Hyunwoo's admission and his plea for leniency. Finally, Park leans back in his chair, a sigh escaping his lips.

"Punishment," he echoes once more, his voice softer now, almost contemplative. "Yes, Officer Kang, there will undoubtedly be consequences for your deviation from protocol. However..." He pauses, his eyes still fixed on Hyunwoo. "Your honesty, while belated, is noted, and your explanation... it suggests a degree of compassion that, as I said, can be valuable, if properly channeled." He reaches for a file on his desk, his gaze momentarily shifting away from Hyunwoo, leaving the young officer in a state of tense anticipation. The sound of the folder opening seems deafening in the quiet room.

“Officer Kang Hyunwoo, I hereby declare that you are temporarily discharged for one month for your failure to follow protocol. During that period, you will receive a 50% pay cut. Is there anything you’d like to address before I send you on your way?”

A wave of relief washes over Hyunwoo, so potent it almost buckles his knees. A month's suspension and a pay cut are harsh, but it’s not dismissal, and it certainly isn’t jail. He manages a shaky nod, his throat tight with a mixture of gratitude and lingering anxiety. "No, sir," he says, his voice hoarse. "I understand. Thank you for your... leniency." The word feels inadequate, considering the potential consequences he braced himself for.

Park observes him for another moment, his expression still unreadable. "Use this time wisely, Officer Kang," he advises, his tone softening slightly. "Reflect on your actions and remember the oath you took. The trust we hold is fragile, and it must be earned and maintained." He gestures towards the door. "You're dismissed." Hyunwoo straightens his posture, his legs feeling strangely weak but eager to leave, nonetheless.

As he turns to leave, a single thought dominates his mind: Seulgi. He needs to see her, to tell her. He hopes the news won't devastate her, knowing how much his job means to him, and how much she blames herself for his current predicament. However, he also understands that he can’t just see her at the café across the street—hell, it is across the street from the headquarters.

Having received his phone back from the guards, Hyunwoo is tempted to send her a text, but he’s promptly reminded about that particular case where a backdoor was installed on a suspect’s phone which allowed the police force to access messages and calls. “Fuck,” he curses silently, gripping his phone hard in frustration.

Hyunwoo heads out from the main doors, standing still in front of the headquarters, his gaze darting towards the café where Seulgi must be waiting for him. Eventually, he spots her: she’s leaning against the window, looking rather calm from where he’s standing. He quickly formulates a plan to show, not tell, Seulgi that he’s fine.

“I guess I can use a cup of iced latte.”

Hyunwoo straightens his uniform and hat, putting on a charade, as he crosses the street to reach the café. The little bell hanging on the door frame rings as he enters the establishment, punctuating his grand entrance that is meant for one person and one person only: the stressed woman in a terracotta sweater sitting by a window.

“One large, iced latte with less sugar, please,” Hyunwoo places his order, making sure his voice is loud enough for both the barista and Seulgi. “Of course, officer. Please, have a seat,” the barista replies, her finger pacing around on the small monitor before her.

Hyunwoo's eyes never leave Seulgi's as he places his order, the emphasis on "latte" and "large" deliberate. It's a small detail, a shared joke from a late-night coffee run a few days ago, a code only they would understand. Latte means no one is hurt. Large means things are okay. He hopes to God that she gets it.

Seulgi's gaze sharpens; her initial anxiety is replaced by a flicker of understanding. The corners of her lips twitch in reflex, a silent acknowledgment of his message. The tension in her shoulders eases slightly, but she maintains her composed facade, aware that they're still in a public space, under the watchful eyes of anyone who might be observing them.

The barista calls out his order, and Hyunwoo turns to pay, his heart pounding with a mixture of relief and anticipation. “Ah, thank you for the quick service,” Hyunwoo says out loud, drawing quite the attention of the café’s patrons to himself. “My cat will be missing me soon, and I appreciate how quick you were with my latte,” he adds, doing his best to get Seulgi to catch on to the signal lying beneath his words. “Tell your cat I said pspsps, officer,” the barista jokes, unaware of the true intentions behind his seemingly innocent sentence. “Of course, my cat is very friendly anyway.”

Seulgi's eyes flick down to her own hands for a brief moment, a small, almost imperceptible smile gracing her lips before she schools her expression back to neutral. “Cat means me, and this cat does miss him,” she thinks. The pieces click into place. She takes another slow sip of her latte, feigning disinterest in Hyunwoo's exchange with the barista.

Seulgi keeps her eyes fixed on Hyunwoo as he makes to leave the establishment with a cup of latte in his hand, she herself ready to bolt out and head home to see him in a more private setting. “I’m coming, baby. Wait for me, okay?” she thinks.

“Have a good day, madam, and always stay safe,” Hyunwoo greets her briefly right before exiting. Seulgi gasps slightly, not expecting to have an interaction with him here and now. “Y-you too, officer,” she replies quickly, the heavy beats of her heart bumping against her ribs, wishing she could just hug him here and now.

Seulgi waits for a while, allowing a few seconds to pass before gathering her bag. She stands up, her movements deliberately casual as she heads towards the exit. The bell above the door jingles again as she steps out onto the street, her gaze immediately locking onto Hyunwoo's. A silent understanding passes between them. They can't linger here, not so close to the lion's den. Without a word, they begin to walk in the opposite direction of the police headquarters—Hyunwoo to his unit car; Seulgi to the bus stop—their pace quickening with each step, the unspoken urgency of their situation propelling them away from the prying eyes and potential surveillance.

Hyunwoo reaches his unmarked police car, his eyes scanning the rearview mirror as he starts the engine. He needs to appear like any other officer heading out on patrol, but his mind is racing. He has to get to Seulgi as soon as his shift allows, to hold her and reassure her that they will face this together. The image of her worried face in the café window is etched in his memory.

Seulgi hurries towards the bus stop, her terracotta sweater doing little to ward off the sudden chill that grips her. Each passing car makes her jump, her mind hyper-aware of any potential surveillance. The relief of Hyunwoo's coded message is now overshadowed by a renewed sense of anxiety about the future. What will happen to him? What will happen to her? The uncertainty hangs heavy in the air as she waits for the bus, her gaze fixed in the direction Hyunwoo's car disappeared.

Seulgi presses the buttons on their door with urgency, her finger racing to get the door unlocked as quickly as possible. With a satisfying click, it unlocks, and she immediately pushes the door open, unwilling to spend one more second outside the safe space that is their shared apartment.

“Oppa!” Seulgi enters the apartment screaming his name, looking for the only person who can soothe her anxious heart and mind. “One second, baby,” he replies, his voice coming from the kitchen along with sounds of sizzling. She drops her bag on the floor, running towards him, seeking the comfort only he can provide.

Seulgi crashes into him from behind, her hands stacking on top of each other on his firm stomach, her face pressed against his back. “Oppa…” she calls to him in a whisper, her voice trembling, starting to break into tears. “It’s okay, baby,” he sighs—out of relief, not stress. “We’re okay, trust me,” he offers an assurance, but it does little in calming the sobbing girl.

Hyunwoo turns off the stove, the sizzling ceasing abruptly, and immediately pivots to face Seulgi, wrapping his arms around her tightly. He buries his face in her hair, inhaling her familiar scent, a small anchor in the storm of his own emotions. "Hey, hey," he murmurs, his voice soothing. "It's alright. I'm here." He rocks her gently, the way he does when she's had a particularly rough day.

"What... what happened?" she finally manages to choke out between sobs, her grip on his shirt tightening. Hyunwoo pulls back slightly, cupping her face in his hands, his gaze tender. "It's... it's not the best news, baby," he admits, his thumb gently wiping away her tears. "But it's not the worst either." He hesitates, gathering his thoughts, knowing he needs to choose his words carefully. "I've been suspended... for a month, and… I’ll be receiving only half my salary during the suspension."

Seulgi buries her face in his chest, crying out of control, smacking him with her fist repeatedly. Not out of anger, but rather out of regret and self-blame. All she wanted was safety and comfort during a tough time, but she’s brought him crashing down with her, and the weight of the guilt is crushing down on her.

Hyunwoo holds her tightly, letting her tears soak into his shirt. He understands the source of her anguish. She sees herself as the catalyst, the reason his life is now disrupted. "Shh, baby, shh," he murmurs, stroking her hair. "It's not your fault. I made my choices. I chose to..." Hyunwoo hesitates, the word "help" feeling inadequate. "I chose to do what I thought was right."

He pulls her back slightly, looking into her tear-filled eyes. "Listen to me, Seulgi-yah. My job is important to me, yes, but you... you are more important. A month will pass. We'll manage the pay cut. We'll get through this, together. This isn't the end, it's just... a bump in the road." He tries to sound reassuring, but the uncertainty of their future still lingers in the back of his mind. He just hopes his words can offer Seulgi the comfort she desperately needs.

“I’m… I’m sorry, oppa,” she mumbles, her voice barely intelligible because of the tears. “I-I’ll leave if you want me to. Just say the word and… and I’ll be out of here,” she adds. Hyunwoo shakes his head. Deep down, he knows that her leaving would devastate him. “No, baby, I don’t want you to leave,” he strokes her cheeks softly, “I don’t want me or you to be alone in this hard time.”

Seulgi plants her face in his chest once more, her arms wrapped tightly around him, as if afraid that he’ll disappear if she lets go. “I love you, oppa, and I’m sorry for everything,” she mutters, her tiny voice barely reaching his ears. “I love you too, baby, and I’m sorry for everything too,” he replies, his mind going back to the day they agreed to carry this burden together.

The memory of that day, the day they stood and agreed to face the odds together, solidifies Hyunwoo's resolve. He will not let this setback break them. He will not let Seulgi's guilt consume her. He will not let their shared dream of a life together fade.

He pulls back slightly, his hands framing her face, his gaze intense. "We made a promise, remember?" he says softly, his voice a low rumble. "We said we'd face this together, hand in hand. A month is nothing, Seulgi-yah. We'll get through it and come out stronger." He manages a small, reassuring smile, hoping it reaches her through the haze of her tears. "We have each other, and that's all that matters." He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, a silent vow to protect her heart and their bond, no matter what the future holds.

Seulgi slightly pushes back against him, asking to have some space to catch her breath. “I… I accept,” she says, wiping off the tears herself. “I will stay here and… and support you in every way I can.” A bigger smile blooms on their faces at this moment of mutual understanding and agreement to be each other’s rock. “Sounds great to me, my love,” Hyunwoo says, his heart flooded with gratitude and love for the woman in his arms.

The apartment feels different now, charged with a new kind of intimacy born from shared vulnerability. The mundane tasks of daily life take on a deeper meaning: cooking dinner, cleaning up, simply being in each other's presence. There's an unspoken understanding that they're both drawing strength from the other, preparing for whatever the next month may bring. The world outside may be uncertain, but within these walls, their love is a constant, an anchor that holds them down amidst the raging storm.

The month of Hyunwoo's suspension has passed in a blur of quiet intimacy and unspoken worries. They navigated the financial strain together. Seulgi's unwavering support has been a constant source of strength for him. Now, the morning of his reinstatement dawns with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation hanging in the air of their apartment. Hyunwoo lays in bed, the sunlight filtering through the curtains illuminating the familiar lines of Seulgi's sleeping face beside him.

A sense of normalcy, something they have both longed for, is finally within reach. Beneath the surface of his relief, however, a knot of anxiety tightens in his stomach. Returning to the force means stepping back into a world that now feels complicated, a world where his loyalty has been tested and his judgment questioned. He wonders how his colleagues will treat him, what his new assignments will be, and most importantly, how his relationship with Seulgi will be perceived in the eyes of the law and his peers.

“Good morning,” Seulgi greets him with closed eyes, her voice slightly hoarse from the sleep. “It’s that day, isn’t it?” Hyunwoo nods at her question, knowing what she’s referring to. “Yeah, it is,” he says. “I’m so rusty, though.” She chuckles, amused by his choice of words. “Don’t worry. You might be rusty, but you’re my rusty.” Hyunwoo laughs. The joke might be lighthearted, but the weight of the emotions behind the joke is anything but light.

Hyunwoo pulls Seulgi closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "My rusty, huh? I like the sound of that." He lingers in the warmth of her embrace for a moment longer than necessary, drawing on her strength before the day truly begins. The familiar comfort of their apartment, the soft light, and the quiet intimacy are a stark contrast to the rigid, public world of service he is about to re-enter.

He eventually pushes himself out of bed, the cool air hitting his skin. The uniform, freshly pressed and hanging on the closet door, seems to hum with a quiet authority he hasn't felt in a month. As he dresses, each button, each buckle, feels like a step back into a different skin. He glances at Seulgi, who is now sitting up, watching him with an expression he can't quite decipher—a mix of pride, worry, and an unwavering belief that steadies him. He knows this day is not just about his job; it's about proving that their unconventional bond can withstand the scrutiny of the world he serves.

“You’re going to be okay, right?” Hyunwoo swallows a gulp at her question, he himself uncertain if he is indeed going to be okay. “Honestly, I don’t know, but I’ll try my best. For us both,” he says, regaining the resolve he once had. “If you need anything, oppa, just call me. I’ll come running to the headquarters if I need to,” she offers, unwavering in her support for him. “No, that won’t be necessary, sweetheart.”

"I know," Seulgi whispers, her hand reaching for his, their fingers intertwining. "But I'll be waiting, and I'll be thinking of you every second." She squeezes his hand, a silent promise that transcends any physical distance or official protocols.

Hyunwoo finishes fastening his uniform, the weight of the badge now feeling heavier than before, not just with duty, but with the fragile hope of their future. He leans down one last time, capturing her lips in a deep, lingering kiss that promises his return. "I'll be home as soon as I can, my love," he murmurs against her mouth, a silent echo of the anchor she is for him.

Taking a deep breath, Hyunwoo prepares to leave, tapping around his body to check if he’s forgotten anything. Confident that everything is sorted, he begins to approach the front door. Not as a regular guy he has been for the past month, but as a police officer who is taking another chance at public service.

“You forgot something, oppa,” Seulgi calls to him. “Yeah? What is it, baby?” he asks, looking around him to check. “A piece of me, oppa,” she tucks her favorite hairpin in his back pocket, “something to remember me by. Something to remind you what you’re fighting for.”

Hyunwoo reaches back, his fingers brushing against the cool metal of the hairpin in his pocket. A warmth spreads through him, anchoring him to her even as he prepares to face the day. He turns to Seulgi, his eyes filled with love so profound, it almost hurts. "Thank you, baby," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "I won't forget."

Then, with a final, lingering look that promises his prompt return, Hyunwoo opens the front door and steps out. The click of the lock behind him sounds like the closing of one chapter and the hesitant re-opening of another. The familiar scent of their apartment, a blend of Seulgi's perfume and the lingering aroma of their favorite candle, fades as he descends the stairs, replaced by the crisp, cool air of the morning. He straightens his shoulders, the uniform feeling both heavy and right. The world outside awaits, and he knows that with Seulgi's piece of him tucked safely away, he is ready to face it.

“Kang Hyunwoo, Metropolitan Police. Reporting for reinstatement,” Hyunwoo says to the officer attending the administration desk. The officer grabs a folder with his name written on it, looking through some documents, her finger tracing lines along the papers as she reads each one. “Welcome back, Officer Kang Hyunwoo. Please head to the superintendent’s office, and after that, please head to the armory.” He nods firmly, the reality of returning to duty settling in his mind, his fist clenching with nerves. “Certainly. Thank you for the help.”

Hyunwoo turns from the desk, the polished floor of the main lobby stretching before him. Every familiar face he passes seems to offer a fleeting glance, a silent judgment he tries to ignore. He focuses on the superintendent's office, a destination that still carries the weight of his disciplinary summons. The scent of disinfectant and stale coffee, so characteristic of the building, fills his nostrils, a sharp reminder of the world he now re-enters.

He knocks on Superintendent Park's door, the sound echoing louder in his ears than it should. This time, there's no escort, no sense of impending doom, but a new kind of anxiety hums beneath his skin—the anxiety of the unknown. The door opens, and Park's face, as unreadable as ever, greets him. "Officer Kang," Park says, his voice devoid of any warmth. "Come in. We have some matters to discuss before your full reinstatement."

A shiver runs down his entire body, his mind racing with thoughts of these “matters” that need to be addressed before his actual return. “Yes, sir.” Hyunwoo stands before Park in a steady, proper stance of a police officer, and that is when a small laugh, feeling somewhat warm to Hyunwoo’s ears, escapes Park’s lips. “I remember the day I first met you when you were a rookie, son,” Park says. “Your eyes were basically aflame, burning with passion to serve the public.”

A thin smile forms on Hyunwoo’s face, rekindling the day when he was first initiated into the police force. “A rookie’s innocence, sir—typical, wouldn’t you say?” Hyunwoo replies, feeling a bit shy at the memory of his naiveness way back then. Park laughs, the corners of his eyes creasing, his posture relaxed. Such a stark contrast to his energy during their last meeting. “Typical, yes, but nice to see, nonetheless.”

"Sit, Hyunwoo-yah," Park gestures to the chair opposite his desk, his smile softening further. "No need for formalities among old acquaintances. Though, of course," his tone regains a touch of its professional edge, "this is still an official meeting." Hyunwoo takes the seat, the leather cool against his uniform, his gaze still fixed on Park, trying to discern the true intent behind this sudden shift in atmosphere.

Park leans back, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Your file shows a strong record before this, say, incident. Dedication, good instincts, but also, as we’ve seen time and time again, a tendency towards... unconventional solutions." He pauses, letting Hyunwoo absorb his words. "The department values integrity, Officer Kang, and adherence to protocol. However, it also values good judgment and, yes, even empathy." He picks up a pen, tapping it lightly on the polished wood. "So, let's talk about what we expect from you, now that you're back."

Hyunwoo straightens in his seat, ready for the parameters of his return. He understands this isn't simply a formality; it's a re-evaluation of his worth, his perspective, and his place within the force. "I'm ready to listen, sir," he says, his voice firm, conveying both respect and quiet determination.

Park leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "First, your return probationary period will last for six months. During this time, you will be under direct supervision, and any further deviation from protocol will result in immediate and permanent dismissal." He pauses, letting the severity of the statement sink in. "Second, we've had a request from the District Chief's office. You're being assigned to a new unit: the special one. One that deals with sensitive cases. High-profile individuals. Cases that require a delicate touch, and perhaps…” Park trails off, his eyes gleam with a look that might be a challenge, or a warning. "Unconventional solutions, which you’re awfully terrific at."

Hyunwoo takes a deep breath, the implications of Park's words settling over him. Six months under the microscope, a new, highly visible unit, and the implicit expectation that his "unconventional" approach, while dangerous, is precisely why they need him. He doesn't miss the subtle irony, or the weight of the trust—or perhaps the test—being placed upon him.

"I understand, sir," he says, his voice steady. "I'll do my best to meet those expectations." Park clicks his tongue, seemingly unsatisfied by Hyunwoo’s promise. “No, no, no. What was it you used to say when assigned to a new job?” he asks, looking for a specific answer.

Hyunwoo’s thoughts swirl in his head, his eyebrows furrowing, trying to remember what he once said, and a smile is starting to take form on Park’s face, eager to hear the old mantra. “Erm, I will excel in my duties, sir?” Park’s lips curve into a smile, finally getting the answer he desires. “Yes, that. I like it when you say it, Hyunwoo-yah.” Hyunwoo nods firmly, his resolve now firm like it once was, his straight posture a semblance of that very persistence. “Yes, sir. I will excel in my duties.”

"That's what I like to hear, son," Park says, his smile lingering. He rises, walking around his desk to clap Hyunwoo firmly on the shoulder. The touch is heavy, not entirely paternal, but loaded with expectation. "Now, go get your badge back, get your gear. Captain Lee is expecting you in his unit room on the fifth floor—and remember, excel." A pleasant shiver runs down Hyunwoo’s back, eager to excel, like his superior has commanded him to. “Excellence is what we seek, is it not, Superintendent?” he thinks.

Hyunwoo offers a crisp, respectful bow, a muscle working in his jaw, before he turns and strides out of the superintendent's office. The door clicks shut behind him, sealing off the conversation and the lingering scent of essential oils. The hallway, which had felt like a gauntlet minutes ago, now seems like a path. He doesn't glance at the other officers this time; his focus is singularly on the armory.

The heavy metal door of the armory swings open with a familiar groan. The smell of gun oil and polished steel is almost comforting, a scent of purpose and capability. The armorer, a gruff veteran with more years on the force than Hyunwoo has been alive, merely nods, already pulling Hyunwoo's service weapons—a long-barrel, automatic assault rifle and a handgun—and a set of holsters from a locked cabinet.

As he straps on his gear, the familiar weight of his sidearm settling against his hip, and the cool metal of his badge clicks into place on his uniform, a sense of belonging washes over him. He's not just a man trying to do right; he's Officer Kang Hyunwoo, the newly appointed personnel of the Special Police Unit, back where he belongs with the force.

A nervous shudder flows through him at the sight of the new assault rifle he’s been assigned to. The clean paint, signifying its minimal wear, and the bigger bullets in the magazine feel… daunting.

“What’s wrong, rookie?” the armorer asks, still using the same epithet from the past. “Nothing; just admiring my new toy,” Hyunwoo answers, trying to play it coy. The armorer scoffs, more playful than demeaning, slightly amused by his answer. “Your new captain wants you to start training with your new toy immediately, so you better get used to it.” Hyunwoo nods firmly, his fingers running along the length of the barrel. “Oh, I will get used to it alright,” he says, now finding the confidence he’s been lacking recently.

As Hyunwoo takes the assault rifle, its cold, ergonomic weight feels alien yet strangely familiar in his hands. This isn't the patrol weapon he's used to; this is for a different kind of war, a silent acknowledgement of the gravity of his new role. He checks the safety, the action smooth and precise, a testament to the meticulous maintenance of the armory. The armorer watches him, a flicker of something unreadable in his veteran eyes.

“You know I take good care of my toys, rookie,” the armorer quips, his weary eyes gleaming with playful boast. Hyunwoo chuckles. Out of all the men and women in the force, the armorer is the one he’s been the closest with, taking Hyunwoo under his care since day one. “I know, boss,” Hyunwoo quips back. “You might be old, but at least these things stay young on your watch.” The armorer huffs, his forehead furrowing, annoyed every time his age is brought up. “Just get out of here before I smack you.”

With his new gear secured, Hyunwoo makes his way towards the fifth floor. Each step echoes in the quiet hallway, a stark contrast to the bustling energy of the lower levels. The "Special Police Unit" office doors are unmarked by purpose, a symbol of their discretion. He pauses before one such door, taking a deep breath, the subtle feeling of having Seulgi's hairpin in his back pocket a grounding presence. He's ready to excel, to face whatever "unconventional solutions" Captain Lee is seeking out of him.

Hyunwoo knocks on the door a few times, but no immediate answer is heard. “Is no one in?” he wonders, looking around to look for clues, finding none. He knocks a few more times, this time a bit harder than before. “State your name,” someone from the other side demands. “My name is Kang Hyunwoo,” he introduces himself, and the door is opened for him, revealing a deceptively big room with men in black inside. “Kang Hyunwoo, huh? Well, welcome to the 131.”

The man who opens the door, dressed in a sharp, dark combat shirt that seems out of place for police headquarters, steps aside. Hyunwoo enters, his eyes quickly adjusting to the subdued lighting of the large room—well, it’s clear that this isn’t an ordinary office.

A long, sleek conference table dominates the center, surrounded by ergonomic chairs. On the walls, digital screens display complex network maps and blurry surveillance footage, their faint glow casting long shadows. Several other figures, dressed similarly in dark attire, are scattered around the room, some hunched over keyboards, others observing the screens with focused intensity. There is not a single uniform in sight.

"Take a seat, Officer Kang," the man who greeted him says, his voice smooth and authoritative, indicating the chair at the head of the conference table. "I'm Captain Lee Jungwon, and these are your new colleagues,” he gestures to the surrounding individuals, “we’re the 131. Our work here isn't about upholding public order on the streets, Officer Kang. It's about working in the dark to serve the light." Lee chuckles, rubbing his forehead while sighing, seemingly amused by something. “Whoever came up with that last line plays video games too much,” he quips.

Hyunwoo’s lips quirk in a small, involuntary smile at Lee’s self-deprecating humor. It eases some of the tension that has coiled in his gut since stepping onto this floor. He takes the indicated seat, placing his assault rifle carefully on the floor beside him, its black form a stark contrast to the sleek, modern aesthetic of the room. The other agents remain focused, their movements economical, their faces unreadable, a silent testament to the intense concentration their work demands.

“In the 131, we don’t go around calling people by their ranks; we just say their name as if we’ve known in each other for decades,” Lee adds. “So, Hyunwoo-yah, any questions right off the bat?” Hyunwoo’s eyes remain on the screen with the map of the country, intrigued by the dots and the lines connecting them. “What is that, captain?” he asks, gesturing to the map with his lifted chin. Lee turns around, pointing at the big screen behind him. “That? That’s the drug smuggling chain, and those dots are known warehouses that these scums operate out of. Oh, and it’s Jungwon-ie to you, Hyunwoo-yah.”

Hyunwoo steps closer to the massive screen, his gaze tracing the intricate web of connections. The sheer scale of the operation laid bare before him is staggering, far beyond anything he has encountered in his regular patrol duties. "So, these warehouses," he muses, "are they under surveillance? Have we got teams on the ground?" He can feel the familiar buzz of a case beginning to take shape, the thrill of the hunt sharpening his senses.

Jungwon leans against the table, observing Hyunwoo with a keen, assessing gaze. “Yeah, all of them are. We’ve been deploying agents to keep an eye on each one, and it’s almost time to go guns blazing.” Hyunwoo swallows a gulp, unready to hear such a revelation on his first day at this new unit. “Guns blazing, huh?” he mutters. Jungwon approaches his new teammate, resting his elbow on Hyunwoo’s shoulder. “We brought you here for your ability to come up with unconventional approaches, but your first assignment is to raid a warehouse with us,” he explains, his tone kind and patient.

"A warehouse raid," Hyunwoo repeats, the words tasting different than “arresting a shoplifter." This is familiar territory, just on a much larger, more dangerous scale. The adrenaline begins to pump, pushing out the last vestiges of his morning's anxiety. "Understood, Jungwon-ah. Any specific intel on resistance or defensive setups?" He looks back at the screen, no longer just intrigued, but actively analyzing.

Jungwon grins, a flash of approval in his eyes. "That's what I like to hear. We'll download the full operational brief onto your comms, but in short: heavily armed, well-funded. They don't play nice. We're hitting them before dawn tomorrow. You'll be part of the initial entry team, front line. Get acquainted with your new rifle, Hyunwoo-yah, because you'll be using it." He turns to a nearby console. "One of our intel specialists, Minho, will set up your comms and walk you through the details. He’s the guy over there," Jungwon points at a fellow operative who is fiddling with field laptops and radios.

Hyunwoo nods, the taste of impending action sharp and metallic on his tongue. This isn't the kind of 'excel' Park spoke of in abstract terms; this is raw, immediate, and potentially deadly. He turns towards the operative Jungwon indicates, a lean man with sharp features, his fingers flying across a keyboard. Minho looks up, his expression serious but not unwelcoming.

"Minho-yah, this is Hyunwoo," Jungwon states, his elbow still briefly on Hyunwoo's shoulder. "Get him set up. Access codes, comms, the full brief for Operation Sunrise." Minho offers a curt nod, gesturing to an empty workstation. "Follow me, Hyunwoo-yah. There's a lot to cover before your wake-up call tomorrow." Hyunwoo follows, the rhythmic tapping of Minho's keyboard already a part of the intense symphony of the 131. He is officially in.

The familiar click of the lock echoing in their apartment has never sounded sweeter to Hyunwoo. He peels off his uniform, shedding the weight of command and responsibilities of the 131. The day has been a whirlwind of intensity: new faces, a new unit, and the chilling reality of Operation Sunrise looming just hours away, but here, in the soft glow of their living room, that world feels distant.

"Oppa?" Seulgi's voice, warm and melodic, drifts from the kitchen. She emerges, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her eyes immediately finding his. A small, relieved smile touched her lips, mirroring the one that blooms on his own face. She doesn’t ask about his day—not yet. She just walks into his open arms, pressing herself against him as if reaffirming their anchor in the face of the raging storm outside.

They move through the evening in a quiet rhythm, a shared understanding of the precious hours they have. Dinner is simple but laced with an unspoken tenderness. Later, wrapped in each other's arms in the comfort of their bed, the world outside fades into insignificance. His fingers trace the curve of her spine, her breath warm against his chest. It is in that intimate stillness, just midnight, that the weight of his duty presses down on him again.

He shifts slightly, and Seulgi hums, snuggling closer. "I will start a new case before dawn," he murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper against her hair. "It's... big. A warehouse raid." He feels her stiffen imperceptibly. "Heavily armed. Front line." He waits, bracing himself for her fear, for the tears, but when she finally speaks, her voice is steady, though laced with undeniable concern. "You'll be careful, right, oppa? You'll come back to me in one piece, right?" Her hands find their favorite spots on the small of his back, just right over his waist. “Of course I will, baby. I will come home right after the operation is finished.”

Seulgi buries her face into his chest, her breath a soft, warm sigh against his skin. She doesn't need to ask for more details; the weight of his words, the mention of being heavily armed, and the description of this operation are enough. His promise, however, settles deep within her, a fragile shield against the fear that still gnaws at the edges of her mind. She tightens her arms around him, as if to physically hold him to his vow.

“Oppa,” she murmurs. “What do you need from me tonight—you know, before you head out and start shooting at… at… erm, guys.” Hyunwoo looks at her tenderly, touched by her selflessness to prioritize him before the big, likely very dangerous, operation. “If it’s not too much…” he begins, “I’d like to touch you, baby.” Seulgi nods, a soft, beautiful eye smile decorating her features. “Of course, oppa. Vanilla, perhaps?” she asks, her thumb making circles on his cheek. “Yes, vanilla.”

He pulls her closer, and in the familiar embrace, the tension that has been coiling in his stomach all day slowly begins to unravel. "Vanilla," a word that, for them, means far more than just a flavor. It is a shared language of comfort, a return to basics, a deep, gentle intimacy that always soothes his frayed nerves and grounds him in their love. It isn't about fireworks or wild passion tonight; it is about reaffirming their connection, drawing strength from the safety of their bond.

“I’m ready for you, oppa,” she whispers, guiding his hand towards her growing wetness. Seulgi moans softly as his fingers run over her sensitive area, touching her over the soft fabric of her pants. “Oppa, don’t tease me too much, please…” she mumbles.

Hyunwoo's breath hitches, the playful plea a spark that ignites a deeper need within him. He sheds the last remnants of his duty from his mind, focusing solely on the warmth of her skin, the soft sounds she makes, and the urgent desire to lose himself completely in their shared world. His hand moves under the fabric, exploring the damp heat he finds there, eliciting a soft gasp from Seulgi as she arches into his touch.

“I… I will smack you if you don’t put it in within the next minute,” she threatens, each word carrying her desire for something greater—something more carnal. A low chuckle escapes Hyunwoo, his amusement growing at the sight of her demanding want. “That won’t be necessary, baby,” he whispers back. “I want you so bad myself.”

He pushes forward, a soft groan escaping his lips as he finally buries himself inside her. The fit is perfect, a familiar homecoming that sends a wave of relief through him, melting away any lingering tension from the day. Seulgi gasps, her legs instinctively wrapping around him, pulling him closer, deeper. The rhythmic creak of the bedsprings becomes a silent testament to their shared need, their desperate desire for connection before the impending chaos.

They move together, a primal, ancient dance of two souls intertwined, each seeking and giving profound comfort, pushing away the looming danger for this precious, fleeting time. In the hushed darkness of their room, their lovemaking becomes a desperate act of reaffirmation, a silent promise to return to this sanctuary, to each other, no matter what tomorrow brings. When the last tremors subside, leaving them breathless and spent, Hyunwoo holds Seulgi tightly against him, their bodies slick with sweat, their hearts pounding in unison, a fierce, defiant beat against the quiet encroaching dawn.

Seulgi can only chew on her nails as she watches Hyunwoo prepare, her heart thumping at the sight of her better-equipped man. No longer is he a regular street policeman: he’s now a special operative within the force. She’s proud of him, yes, but just thinking about him being in the front line with bullets flying by, terrifies her beyond words.

“It’s amazing how you can act so professionally, as if you didn’t just try to put a baby in me,” she jokes, trying to steal his attention and distract herself from her worries. Hyunwoo turns his head to the side, showing her a calm smile, his hands still busy strapping things on. “Always quick with the jokes, as if I didn’t just try to put a baby in you,” he counters. Seulgi chuckles a little as her concerns gradually disappear. “You got me, oppa.”

Hyunwoo steps away from the closet, now fully geared, minus the firearms. He walks over to Seulgi, pulling her into a tight embrace, feeling the soft tremor in her body despite her earlier attempts at levity. He buries his face in her hair one last time, breathing in her familiar scent. "I'll be careful, baby," he murmurs, his voice rumbling low. "I promise. For you, and maybe for our baby."

The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken fears and profound affection. When the discreet vibration of his comms unit signals its time, Hyunwoo reluctantly pulls away. He takes her face in his hands, his gaze locking with hers, a silent vow passing between them. He gently presses a kiss on her forehead, lingering for a moment, then turns. As he heads for the door, he feels the familiar weight of the hairpin in his back pocket and the comforting presence of the strand of her hair over his heart—his twin anchors in the storm he's about to enter. He opens the door, the pre-dawn chill biting at the edges of their warm apartment, and he steps out into the silence of the hallway.

He steps into the cold silence of the hallway, the faint hum of the building's ventilation system the only sound. The warmth of their apartment and the soft scent of Seulgi, already seem miles away. Each step he takes towards the elevator feels heavier than the last, a steady march away from comfort and towards the sharp edge of duty. He presses the button for the ground floor, watching the numbers light up, counting down to the moment he steps out into the pre-dawn dark.

The police vehicle waits, engine idling, a dark, silent beast in the empty street. Inside, Jungwon is already in the driver's seat, his profile stark against the faint glow of the dashboard. "Right on time, Hyunwoo-yah," he says, his voice low and dry, lacking any humor. The atmosphere in the car is taut, charged with the quiet intensity of men preparing for battle. Hyunwoo slides into the passenger seat, the heavy weight of his rifle settling between his legs. He looks straight ahead, already mentally reviewing the operational brief, the world of his home receding into the distance, replaced by the grim reality of Operation Sunrise.

“Alright, let’s go!” Jungwon exclaims, banging on the roof of the vehicle, sending signals to those present to prepare for the worst while attempting the best. Hyunwoo closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, erasing the lingering thoughts about Seulgi and the intimacy they shared, clearing his mind for the operation ahead. “Nervous?” Jungwon asks, noticing his new partner’s behavior. “Something like that,” Hyunwoo answers, sighing heavily. “I mean, I went from a street cop to a special ops guy. I think I have the right to be nervous.” Jungwon chuckles and sighs after. “Yeah, I think you do. First times are always nerve wracking.”

"So, how do you deal with it?" Hyunwoo asks, turning his head slightly towards Jungwon, a genuine curiosity in his voice. "The nerves. The first times." The vehicle begins to move, the low rumble of the engine a counterpoint to the quiet tension inside.

Jungwon glances at him, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips, barely visible in the dim light of the dashboard. "You remember why you're doing it, Hyunwoo-yah. You remember the faces of the people you're protecting, even the ones you've never met, and then," he pauses, shifting gears as they pull onto the main road, the city lights a distant blur, "you just do your job. You trust your training, you trust your team, and you trust yourself. Everything else is just noise, and you’ll learn to shut it out." He turns his full attention back to the road, his grip firm on the steering wheel. “We’re going to be just fine, man,” Jungwon adds, offering assurance to Hyunwoo, his calm voice carrying genuine qualities.

The cars stop one block over as an attempt to be discreet, and the men cover the rest of the distance on foot, each person moving with purpose and fully understanding what to do and how to do it. The concrete pavement of the sidewalk creates echoes as their boots thump against it, the sound filling the dark that is silent otherwise.

“This is Gamma 1. Comms check,” Jungwon whispers into his radio, awaiting confirmation from his teammates. One person after another answers, whispering back their number and callsign—everyone but Hyunwoo. “Gamma 9, come in. Say something,” he demands. His captain’s voice snaps him out of his stupor, his eyes blinking rapidly as focus is regained. “Gamma 9, solid copy,” Hyunwoo finally answers. “Focus, Strider. This is not the time to fall asleep,” Jungwon reminds him.

"Understood, Gamma 1," Hyunwoo replies, his voice now crisp and devoid of any lingering hesitation. He takes a deep, steadying breath, feeling the cold metal of his rifle's foregrip against his gloved hand. The images of Seulgi and their apartment, which have flickered at the edge of his awareness, are consciously pushed back. His world shrinks to the immediate environment: the dark warehouse, the silent shadows of his team, the low static of the comms.

Jungwon's voice, relayed through the earpiece, is all business. "Teams are in position. Stone, Bone, report status." Muffled confirmations follow, along with a glint of a sniper scope that is seen on a nearby roof. "Gamma team, prepare for breach. On my mark." Hyunwoo drops into a low crouch, his eyes scanning the big metal door ahead, his training kicking in with an almost instinctual precision. The silence stretches again, broken only by the rapid thump of his own heart, a drumbeat counting down to the explosive beginning of Operation Sunrise.

“Mark!”

The slap charge blows the door open with a bang, the loud noise piercing the silent darkness, drawing the attention of those present from both sides of the operation. From other sides of the warehouse, sounds of shattered glass are heard, courtesy of the teams Stone and Bone, and one thing is clear now: the only way is forward.

“Flash out,” Jungwon commands. A couple of flashbangs are tossed around, disorienting those who get caught in the radii. Taking the small window of advantage that they have created, Gamma operatives begin moving, taking down the lesser-armed men around the perimeter.

Hyunwoo moves instinctively, his new rifle shouldering perfectly as he clears the doorway. The flashbangs' disorienting echo still rings in his ears, but his vision quickly cuts through the haze. He spots two figures, weapons raised, struggling against the blinding light. A quick, precise double tap from his rifle drops them silently. The familiar scent of cordite fills the air, a grim perfume of combat, reminding him he's truly back in the fray, deeper than ever before.

"Clear left!" Hyunwoo shouts, his voice sharp and controlled, sweeping his rifle around to scan for potential threat. Jungwon is a shadow beside him, moving with fluid efficiency, his own weapon spitting controlled bursts. They push deeper into the warehouse, the vast space dimly lit by emergency lights and the occasional muzzle flash. Boxes stacked high cast long, deceptive shadows, turning every corner into a potential ambush. The distant shouts and sporadic gunfire from Stone and Bone's sectors confirm the chaos has begun, solidifying their immediate objective: secure the perimeter, eliminate resistance, and find something to expose The Comrade and their pawns.

Hyunwoo takes cover behind a concrete pillar, peeking his head out slightly to see ahead, and his eyes widen at the massive threat in the back area. “Machine gun, machine gun, machine gun,” he warns his teammates, and they immediately take cover behind solid, less penetrable things. “Guardian, do you have visual?” Hyunwoo frantically asks for support. A confirmation rings in his ear; Guardian has his sniper rifle aimed right at the gunner. “Taking the shot,” he says. “Machine gunner down. I repeat, machine gunner is down.”

"Pushing forward!" Jungwon yells, his voice cutting through the comms. With the machine gunner neutralized, the immediate pressure eases, but the warehouse remains a labyrinth of danger. Hyunwoo sprints from his cover, his rifle sweeping, his eyes tracking movement in the oppressive shadows. Scattered gunfire still echoes from other sectors, indicating fierce resistance across the sprawling complex.

They advance systematically, clearing sections, checking behind crates and derelict machinery. The air is thick with the smell of dust, sweat, and something acrid – perhaps the lingering scent of chemicals from the drug operation. Suddenly, a figure darts from behind a stack of barrels. Hyunwoo's instincts take over, his finger already tightening on the trigger, but Jungwon barks a command: "Hold fire! Blue! Blue!" The figure, a young operative in dark tactical gear, spins to face them, his face smudged with grime but his eyes alert. "Yah," he pants, "we've got movement in the back. Heavy foot traffic heading towards the south end. Looks like they're trying to evacuate something."

“Stone team, listen,” Jungwon says to the comms, his voice laced with urgency and tension. “Prepare to engage; they’re coming your way.” Acknowledgments are heard through the comms, and the Gamma men make their way towards the back exit, hoping to pinch the bad guys between a rock and a hard place.

Hyunwoo moves with renewed purpose, his gaze fixed on the south end of the warehouse. The thought of them evacuating something crucial, possibly The Comrade himself or vital evidence, fuels a fresh surge of adrenaline. The metallic tang of anticipation fills his mouth. He can already hear the distant, muffled thud of footsteps rapidly approaching, accompanied by the clatter of what sounds like heavy equipment being dragged.

"Move! Move! Move!" Jungwon barks, urging the Gamma team forward. They sprint past towering stacks of crates, the shadows flickering around them, testing their discipline. The south exit looms ahead, a single, reinforced bay door that looks suspiciously quiet. Just as they reach it, the door suddenly snaps open, revealing a line of rifle barrels aimed at them. “Shit, take cover!” Jungwon screams, trying to get his teammates to look for safety in the face of immediate danger.

Bullets fly past them, and some are close enough to the point where Hyunwoo can hear them zipping over his head. His heart races, banging inside his chest, his breathing ragged and short. It is at this moment that he realizes he’s hiding behind a wooden crate, and before long, those gunners will try shooting through this crate to get him. In a state of panic, he sprints towards a concrete pillar that is similar to the previous one, hoping to be safe, but it was enough for one of the bad guys to put a bullet in his shoulder.

A searing pain explodes in Hyunwoo's shoulder, ripping through him and sending him sprawling against the cold concrete pillar. The impact knocks the wind from his lungs, and for a terrifying moment, all he can hear is the roar of blood in his ears, drowning out gunfire. His rifle clatters uselessly beside him. He presses his uninjured hand instinctively to the wound, his fingers coming away slick and warm.

"Strider! Status!" Jungwon's voice, strained with urgency, rips through his earpiece. Hyunwoo tries to respond, but a grunt of pain is all that escapes him. The world spins for a second, the dimly lit warehouse blurring, but a surge of adrenaline, cold and sharp, cuts through the pain. “Fuck—yah, cover Gamma 9!” Jungwon screams into the radio, trying to prevent his teammate from getting shot again.

The bullets continue to fly, impacting the pillar around Hyunwoo with sharp cracks, sending chips of concrete showering over him. He curls tighter, trying to make himself as small as possible, the pain in his shoulder now a dull, throbbing ache intensified by every jarring impact. Through the haze, he sees Jungwon’s shadowy form moving swiftly, laying down suppressing fire, forcing the enemy to pull back slightly.

Then, a heavy hand clamps down on his uninjured shoulder. "Can you move?" It's Jungwon, his face grim, eyes darting between Hyunwoo and the firing line. He doesn't wait for a full answer, already pulling Hyunwoo roughly but carefully back, away from the immediate line of fire, towards a larger, more secure barricade. "Gamma team, look to flank! Gamma 9 is down!" Jungwon yells into his comms, the urgency in his voice cutting through the ringing in Hyunwoo's ears. Hyunwoo grunts, forcing himself to his feet, leaning heavily on Jungwon, his vision still swimming, but the immediate threat of another bullet finding him spurs him onward.

Jungwon puts Hyunwoo behind a solid cover where he’s confident that he won’t get hurt again. “Hey, hey, stay with me, man,” Jungwon slaps his cheek multiple times, trying to get Hyunwoo to stay conscious. “I’m… trying,” Hyunwoo stammers, fighting the immense, searing pain on his shoulder. “M-medic… plea-please,” he begs. “They’re on their way, man. Just stay still for now.”

Hyunwoo presses his good hand harder against his shoulder, trying to stem the flow of blood, but it still seeps through his fingers, warm and sticky. His vision tunnels, narrowing to Jungwon’s grim face, then flickering to the distant flashes of gunfire. He can feel the cold creeping in, a dangerous numbness that isn’t just from the pain. He needs to stay awake. He needs to fight.

"Jungwon-ah..." Hyunwoo rasps, forcing his eyes open wide, fighting against the encroaching darkness, gripping Jungwon’s arm as hard as he can. “T-tell Seulgi, I… I love her with… everything I have.” Jungwon shakes his head vehemently, not entertaining his rambling. “Tell her yourself, man. You’re going to see her after this.” Jungwon grabs his radio, screaming into it, calling for medical help for his injured mate. “Fucking finally—hey, man, they’re almost here. Just stay with me for a minute.”

Hyunwoo’s grip on Jungwon’s arm loosens slightly, his eyelids fluttering, fighting the heavy pull of unconsciousness. The distant sounds of the raid, the shouts, the gunfire, all begin to fade into a muffled roar. He tries to focus on Jungwon's face, a blurred image against the chaotic backdrop, but the darkness is winning.

Suddenly, a new presence is beside them. Hands are on him, tearing at his uniform, and a voice, clear and concise, cuts through the haze. "Bullet's clean, through and through. Minimal arterial damage, but he's losing blood fast. Pressure here!" A tight, cold pressure clamps down on his shoulder, a different kind of pain, but one that promises relief. Hyunwoo grunts, a mix of agony and unconscious acknowledgment. He feels himself being carefully lifted, the ground shifting beneath him. He vaguely registers Jungwon's voice, now further away, giving orders, and then, the world finally dips into silent, velvet black.

Firm knocks are heard from the front door, and the loud sound stirs Seulgi from her slumber. “One second…” she mutters, dragging her feet towards the source of sound to greet whoever the hell is on the other side. She takes a look through the fisheye: there’s a woman in a police uniform at the door, the badge on her shirt similar to Hyunwoo’s. Seulgi rubs her eyes and tidies her hair, quickly removing signs of having just woken up.

“Good afternoon, officer,” she greets her, maintaining a straight face while her mind runs amok. “You must be Kang Seulgi, Kang Hyunwoo’s partner,” she says. Seulgi nods slowly, biting her lip nervously in reflex. “He has been hurt but is recovering. He asks to see you, so please follow me to the hospital,” the officer says, her voice nearly barren of emotions.

Seulgi's blood runs cold. The quiet hum of the apartment, which just hours ago was a sanctuary of shared intimacy, now feels hollow and vast. "Hurt... how badly?" she manages to ask, her voice barely a whisper, betraying the controlled composure she tries to maintain. Her earlier attempts at tidying her hair felt ludicrous, irrelevant.

The officer's eyes remain impassive, betraying nothing. "He's stable. The doctor will brief you fully at the hospital." She offers no further details, merely a slight tilt of her head, indicating the way. Seulgi swallows hard, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She grabs her phone, purse, and a sweater from the nearby hook, her movements stiff, almost mechanical. His promise to her—that he would come back in one piece—echoes in her mind, a fragile mantra against the sudden, overwhelming fear. Without another word, she steps out of her apartment, following the impassive officer into the chilling uncertainty of the afternoon.

The ride to the hospital is a blur of traffic and ringing silence inside the police vehicle. Seulgi stares out the window, but her mind is replaying snippets of the morning: the feel of his skin on hers, his warm embrace, and his hot release during their shared intimacy. Each memory is a painful counterpoint to the dread coiling in her stomach. The officer drives efficiently, occasionally glancing at her in the rearview mirror, but never offering comfort or explanation.

When they arrive, Seulgi is directed to follow a nurse to Hyunwoo’s room. As they walk together, the air in the hospital seems to grow colder and colder, forcing Seulgi to hug herself tightly, her sweater doing its best to block the cold. “He’s in this room,” the nurse points at a closed door at the end of the hallway, “please be careful around him; he’s injured, after all.”

Seulgi nods weakly, her gaze fixed on the closed door before her. She pushes the door open slowly, the soft click echoing in the quiet room. Her eyes immediately find him. He's pale, lying in the hospital bed, a pristine white bandage stark against his shoulder, a tube running from an IV drip into his arm. His eyes are closed, his breathing shallow, and for a terrifying moment, her heart stops. Then, just as tears begin to sting her eyes, his eyelids flutter open, and his gaze, though weary, finds hers. A weak, familiar smile touches his lips. "Seulgi-yah," he rasps, his voice rough. “I love you, baby.”

Seulgi instantly breaks down crying, crumbling under the weight of those four words that are otherwise lighthearted if said under any other circumstances. She puts her head on his chest, unable to bear the sight of him, usually so strong and steadfast, lying in bed in a hospital after getting injured in duty. “Baby…” he whispers, his hand searching for hers. “Please don’t cry. It’s not as bad as it seems,” he adds, trying to make the stress more bearable for her.

Seulgi sniffles, lifting her head slightly, her tear-streaked face finding his. "But... but you said you'd come back in one whole piece, oppa," she whispers, her voice thick with unshed tears. She holds his searching hand, her fingers trembling slightly as they interlace with his. His skin feels warm, reassuringly so, despite the cold hospital air.

Hyunwoo manages another weak smile, his gaze steady despite the fatigue etched around his eyes. "I mean, I did come back in one piece, baby. This is just... a minor inconvenience." He squeezes her hand gently, trying to inject some of his usual playful charm into his voice, though it's still rough. Seulgi lightly smacks him on the chest. “Very funny, Kang Hyunwoo,” she snarks, but a smile is starting to bloom on her tear-streaked face.

"See? That's what I like to see," Hyunwoo rasps, his weak smile strengthening slightly as her tears begin to subside. He looks at her, his gaze filled with a profound love that transcends the sterile hospital room. He then glances towards the door, his professional urgency flickering to the surface even in his weakened state.

“Did you see any of my colleagues out there?” Seulgi follows his gaze, looking at the door like him. “I mean, just… just the female officer who brought me here.” Her gaze returns to him quickly. “Why, is there anyone you’re looking for?” He manages a small nod. “My captain,” he says. “I’m just wondering if the operation was successful.” Seulgi sighs deeply, not entirely liking him still thinking about the operation. “Let’s not think about that right now.”

Hyunwoo manages a small, rueful smile, acknowledging her unspoken concern. "I know, baby, but... it's important. We were right in the middle of it when I went down. Jungwon-ie was covering me." He winces slightly as he tries to shift, the movement tugging at his bandaged shoulder. "Did the doctor or nurse say anything else?"

Seulgi gently places her hand over his, stilling his restless movements. "No, oppa. Just that you're stable, and that the doctor will brief me properly when they come." She squeezes his hand. "Please, just rest now. You're safe. That's all that matters to me." Her gaze is unwavering, a silent plea for him to let go of the mission for a moment and focus on himself. Feeling content in the knowledge that he’s loved and cared for, Hyunwoo closes his eyes, seemingly trying to get some rest. “You’re all that matters to me, baby,” he echoes.

Seulgi watches him, a fresh wave of tears stinging her eyes, but these are tears of relief now, not terror. She gently strokes his hair, her fingers tracing the contours of his forehead, pushing away the stray strands. The room fills with a quiet calm, broken only by the soft beeping of the IV machine and the rhythmic sound of Hyunwoo’s breathing, which slowly deepens as he drifts into a much-needed, pain-medicated sleep.

“Operatives Kang Hyunwoo and Lee Jungwon,” Superintendent Park says their names out loud in front of the crowd. “For your bravery and selflessness in service with Unit 131, I present you both… the Sentinel Star.” Claps, from both fellow officers and civilians in attendance, fill the field in which they are gathered.

Hyunwoo stands tall beside Jungwon, the crisp lines of his uniform a stark contrast to the hospital gown he'd worn just weeks ago. His shoulder still twinges, a constant reminder of the chaos of Operation Sunrise, but the pain is a dull echo compared to the pride swelling in his chest. Superintendent Park's voice rings out, clear and strong, acknowledging their names in front of the assembled crowd of fellow officers, uniformed dignitaries, and a scattering of civilians.

The Sentinel Star medal, cool and heavy, settles against his chest as Park pins it on. The applause that follows is deafening, a wave of genuine appreciation that washes over him. He glances to his left, catching Jungwon's eye. His captain's usual wry humor is replaced by a solemn pride, a silent acknowledgment of the crucible they had been through together.

In the sea of faces, Hyunwoo's gaze finds Seulgi. She stands near the front, her eyes shining with tears, a proud, tender smile blooming on her lips. He offers her a small, private nod, a silent reaffirmation of his promise to always come back to her. This medal isn't just for him; it's for them, for the life they're building, for the sacrifices they both make.

Stepping off the podium, Hyunwoo makes his way towards the crowd of civilians, and Seulgi is quick to find him. She crashes into him, hugging him tightly and peppering pecks on his face, not caring about making such an affectionate scene in public. “I’m so proud of you, oppa,” she declares without even the smallest trace of hesitation in her voice. “Thank you, love. I’m so thankful for you, you know.” Seulgi giggles, her cheeks tinted in a pink hue. “You’re so—wait, what are you doing?"

Seulgi can only look at him as Hyunwoo gets down on one knee, her mouth stuck open at the sight of a velvet box in his hand. “Kang Seulgi, will you marry me?” he asks, his voice calm yet emotionally charged. Tears—an abundance of them—begin to freely flow onto her cheeks, taken completely aback by the abrupt nature of his proposal. “Yes! One thousand times yes!” Seulgi exclaims, her voice shaking with emotions.

The crowd, which has momentarily hushed in stunned silence, now erupts into a fresh wave of cheers and applause, far louder and more personal than the commendation ceremony. Seulgi throws her arms around Hyunwoo, pulling him up from his knee, her joyful sobs muffled against his neck. He holds her tight, burying his face in her hair, feeling the tremor of her happiness and relief. The ring, now gleaming on her finger, felt heavier and more precious than any medal.

Later, as the crowd thins and the formalities begin to wind down, Jungwon approaches them, a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips. "Took you long enough, Strider," he quips, clapping Hyunwoo on the shoulder, careful of his still-healing wound. "Congratulations, Seulgi-ssi. You have a good one, even if he did get himself shot on his first day." Seulgi laughs, wiping away the last of her tears. "I know, Captain Lee, and thank you—for everything." Jungwon gives them a firm nod, holding back tears of his own at the sight of an emotional moment. “Again, congratulations, you two. I wish you good life together.”

That evening, after a particularly productive physical therapy session for Hyunwoo and a quiet dinner, the reality of their engagement truly settles in. The apartment is bathed in the soft glow of twilight, a hushed intimacy filling the air. Seulgi, who has been tracing lazy circles on his bandaged shoulder, looks up at him, her eyes soft with a mixture of tenderness and unyielding desire.

"You're a hero, you know," she murmurs, her fingers moving from his shoulder to his cheek. "My hero." She leans in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, a gentle invitation for something greater. "And tonight, my hero owes me some good sex." Her voice is a playful whisper, but beneath it, Hyunwoo hears the raw need, the unspoken relief that he is here, whole enough to be touched.

Hyunwoo chuckles, the sound a low rumble in his chest. "Is that so?" he rasps, his own desire stirring to life, his good arm pulling her closer. "Considering what I went through to get here, I'd say I've earned it." His fingers find the hem of her sweater, slowly gliding underneath, teasing her skin. This isn’t about comforting nerves or facing fear tonight; this is a celebration. A celebration of survival, of commitment, of a future they fight to secure.

Seulgi gasps as his touch spreads warmth through her. "Absolutely earned," she breathes, helping him shed his shirt, her gaze lingering on the scar tissue blooming on his shoulder. There is a moment of tender reverence as her fingers lightly traced the edge of the bandage. He pulls her down onto the bed, their bodies meeting with a familiar comfort, a deep sigh escaping them both. Their kisses grow more ardent, tasting of shared joy and undeniable passion. Hands explore, rediscovering familiar contours and secret places, each touch a testament to their enduring love and the vibrant life they now embraced without hesitation. The soft moans that filled the room were not of fear or pain, but of pure, unadulterated pleasure, a triumphant symphony of their engagement night.

#girl group smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader #male reader smut #smut #red velvet smut

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thewritingrowlet · 2 months ago

Text

The Art of Unwinding, ft. Red Velvet Irene

tags: deepthroat, anal, fingering

length: 7k

author's note: Yes, it's another Irene fic. Please bare with me.

---

“I will see you all again in two weeks after my leave,” the vice president says. “Good evening, everyone.”

Those last three words sound like the most beautiful ballad in Irene’s ears, as exhaustion promptly dissipates from her body and is replaced by a tremendous sense of relief that makes her shoulder drop almost imperceptibly. Twenty-two relentless days and nights dedicated to the project are finally over, and the promise of a week of simultaneous leave with her superior feels like a lifeline.

Her footsteps, which dragged with the weight of deadlines just moments ago, now feel lighter against the cool tile floor. The knot of tension in her neck and shoulders begin to loosen as her mind, finally freed from spreadsheets and presentations, drifts towards the simple luxury of lying horizontal in bed. Rounding the corner towards the parking lot, the familiar frown that has etched itself onto her forehead softens at the sight of Marco. He leans against their car, the soft glow of the parking lot lights catching the sharp lines of his jacket. He looks as effortlessly put-together as always, seemingly untouched by the kind of stress that has been Irene’s constant shadow.

“Hi, love,” he greets her, his gentle tone relaxing, a soothing balm to her drained soul. He opens his arms, and Irene takes her rightful place between them. “Hi,” she mutters, the scent of his perfume a welcome distraction. “The project is done, isn’t it, baby?” She nods to his question, her cheek rubbing against the soft fabric of his shirt. Marco presses a tender kiss to the top of her head, a wordless expression of his undying affection. “You’ve done so well, love. I’m so, so proud of you,” he says to her, his voice always the first to offer praise and the last to even hint at criticism. “Thank you, love. I couldn’t have done this without you,” she replies, her voice full of warmth, just like this embrace is.

Pulling away from the hug momentarily, Marco opens the passenger door for Irene, signaling her to get in. “Can we get dinner out?” she asks, the thought of facing pans and spices feeling utterly overwhelming. A kind smile stretches across Marco’s face, carrying understanding and empathy for his beloved wife. “Of course, love. Any idea what to get?” he asks back, open to any suggestion. “What about noodle soup?” she suggests, longing for something warm. “Noodle soup sounds like a good idea,” he puts the car in drive, “well, noodle soup it is, then.”

A soft giggle escapes Irene, the light sound a welcome change from the strained sighs of the past few weeks. “What is it you usually say—I’m happy to eat anything as long as I eat it with you?” Marco grins, the corners of his eyes creasing. “Yeah, something like that,” he confirms, his gaze meeting hers briefly before pulling out of the parking space.

The drive to the restaurant is a brief one, filled with comfortable silence and sights of Magnolia’s glittering downtown. As Marco smoothly makes a turn, Irene’s gaze lands on a towering office building that is similar to the one she spends her days in. High up, in several brightly lit windows, she can see small figures moving around within. “I hope they get to relax one day,” she points out, understanding all too well the late nights and relentless pressure those illuminated rooms likely hold.

Marco reaches over and squeezes her hand gently. “I hope they have a good and safe space to come home to—a haven like you have,” he adds softly, his gaze returning the road ahead. Irene pecks the back of his hand, her heart swelling with affection and gratefulness for the safety and comfort that Marco provides. “There would be no haven without you, my love,” she says affectionately.

Marco and Irene enter the restaurant, her arm wrapped around his, letting him lead her towards the register to place an order. “Two noodle soup, please. One regular and one spicy,” he says, his tone dropping to a lower register, a habit reserved for interactions with strangers. Even after all these years, the heavier timbre still sends a pleasant shiver tracing its way down Irene's spine, a subtle reminder of the very charms that captured her heart long ago.

Marco takes Irene to an empty table by the window, knowing well that she likes to glance outside when eating. “Come, baby,” he says, pulling a chair for her. “No, I want to sit next to you,” she protests with a playful pout, crossing her arms for extra mischievousness points. He chuckles, his eyes gleaming with amusement at her behavior. “Alright, let’s sit together, then.”

Irene beams as she takes a seat next to him, leaning against his strong shoulder that is most dependable, literally and figuratively speaking. She lets out a sigh, content in the knowledge that she is truly under his careful, adoring watch.

“My love…” she mutters, her finger tracing circles idly on the sleeve of his shirt. “Thank you for everything, seriously. Especially the last month, and the previous one, and the one before that,” she adds. Marco chuckles, the low rumble vibrating through her. “Of course, baby,” a kiss from him lands on her head once more, “after all, I promised you and your parents that I would take care of your every need.” Irene nods slowly. “You did, and you’re doing a damn good job,” she says, her voice honest and heartfelt.

Through the faint reflection in the window, Marco sees that Irene’s eyelids are getting heavy as sleepiness is starting to claim her exhausted body. He pulls her closer, closing the little gap there is, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her safe. “Rest if you can, baby. I’ll keep an eye out for us,” he whispers, casting a mantra to send her to sleep. Irene hums quietly, slowly losing herself to slumber, her grip on his arm loosening. “There we go,” he mutters. “That’s my good girl.”

Minutes after Irene has fallen asleep, the waiter arrives with their food in a tray, the blowing steam a clear indication of how hot it is. After the bowls are placed on the table, Marco carefully takes a sip, testing the temperature. “Too hot. I’ll let it sit for a bit,” he thinks, not wanting to give Irene food that would surely burn her tongue. “Just a moment, baby; let’s wait until it’s a bit colder,” Marco says in his head. Irene hums: she must’ve heard his thoughts. A fond smile grazes his features as a surge of adoration rises within. “Easy, baby. We’re not in a rush at all,” he whispers.

After a few more minutes, Marco tests the noodle soup once more, satisfied by how the temperature has gotten down to a more suitable level for her. “Irene, baby,” he taps her arm gently, “wake up, please.” Irene’s eyes slowly flutter open, and as she inhales deeply to get herself together, her nostrils get filled with the pleasant smell of broth from the bowls on their table. “Oh, it’s here,” she mutters. “Should we… should we eat now?”

Irene picks up a spoon, but Marco quickly grabs her hand, halting her movements. “I’m going to stop you right there,” he says softly, his eyes full of tenderness. “Let me feed you, love.” Sleepy she might be, but the kind gesture still touches the deepest point of her heart, a content smile tugging at her lips. “Thank you, love,” she says.

Irene takes a sip of soup from the spoon Marco is guiding towards her lips, sighing in satisfaction at the warmth that is spreading within. “Just what I imagined,” she muses, feeling the moderate heat in her belly. “It’s good, isn’t it?” Marco asks. Irene smiles as her cheeks grow warm. “It is, especially when I’m with you,” she confirms.

Marco patiently tends to his wife, feeding her spoonful by delicious spoonful, each pass as tender as the previous one, until her bowl is empty. After swallowing the last mouthful, Irene burps rather loudly, turning the head of a nearby visitor who glances at her seemingly in disgust.

“What are you looking at?” Marco glares at the stranger, protecting Irene behind his piercing gaze. “Your bitch, dude. She’s got no manner or what,” the man dares talk back, going as far as using a dirty word. A muscle twitches in Marco’s jaw. “Hold on, Marco. Ignore him,” he thinks briefly, but the derogative term ignites a fire within him.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Marco rises from his seat abruptly. Feeling immensely pressured, the stranger looks away, his bravado faltering instantly, folding under the sudden rise of Marco’s anger. Marco stands solid, though, his chest rising and falling as he waits for the guy to say something again, his clenched fists ready to be unleashed.

“Marco, please,” Irene pleas, her eyes getting teary at the sight unfolding before her. “I-it’s okay, love—please.” The sincerity in her voice snaps him out of his rageful trance, and he slowly, reluctantly, settles into his seat again. “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers right into her ear. “I just didn’t like hearing him say that.” Irene’s hand runs along his spine, as if trying to physically wipe away his anger. “I know, but please, just let it go,” she urges him softly.

Marco begins digging into his own bowl, his sharp stare still locked on the nape of the stranger. Occasionally, he catches the woman sitting across the stranger stealing nervous glances at him before whispering something. “Go on, escalate this—I fucking dare you,” Marco thinks, taunting the pair in his own head. “Marco…” Irene’s soft tone cuts through his mind that is still clouded with rage. “Marco, my love, I know that look,” she whispers. “Please, just… just let it go.” He nods slowly, letting his anger be washed away by her soothing voice. “Yeah, I suppose I should let it go,” he echoes, understanding Irene’s urge to calm down.

Marco finishes his noodle soup swiftly, unwilling to waste another second in this establishment. “Let’s go, baby,” he urges Irene. “We’re done here, aren’t we?” Irene nods, gathering her belongings and following closely behind him.

As they stand at the register to pay, Marco feels an unfamiliar arm draping around his shoulder. “That’s not Irene,” he thinks, so he slaps it away. “Don’t touch me, please.” When he turns to see who it is, the anger makes a quick comeback. “The fuck you want?” he barks, his voice laced with venom, instinctively moving Irene, who stays silent to prevent further escalation, to stand behind him.

“Nothing, man; I just want to say sorry,” the man says, the hostility from earlier completely gone. “No, you’re not fucking sorry. You’re only saying it because you’re scared,” Marco spits out, rejecting his apology. The man shrugs, realizing there’s no way to make amends with Marco and Irene, especially with the former. “Alright, man, whatever you say,” he turns around, quickly making his way back to his seat.

After going through the exit, Marco takes Irene to a secluded spot in the alley next to the restaurant. “I’m sorry, baby,” is the first thing he says. “I just hate hearing that term, especially when it’s aimed at my loved ones,” he reasons. Irene hugs him, holding him close, soothing him in her arms. “I know, love, but surely, we can learn from this. Maybe we can pay attention to our manners more when we’re in public,” she says, not only understanding his stance but also acknowledging her improper mannerism.

Irene pulls away from the hug, her hands drifting to find his. “Maybe we can sit at the park and relax?” she suggests. Marco’s lips begin to curve into a smile as the bitterness disappears without trace. “Alright, baby, let’s go to the park.”

With arms around each other’s back, they begin making their way to a nearby park, drawn to the allure of the round lamps like moths to a flame. Knowing that things will likely take a turn towards intimacy, they agree to sit on a bench that is not as brightly lit.

“Marco,” she calls to him, “thank you for protecting me, even if it was so scary to watch you be so angry.” He pecks her on the temple, both accepting her gratitude and apologizing for providing such an unpleasant sight. “You’re welcome, love, but let’s not bring this up again. I’m still sick to my stomach,” he begs, reluctant to visit the sour memory that is still very fresh. Irene nods, returning the peck back to him. “You’re right; it’s better to focus on ourselves.”

Irene’s gaze roams around the park, looking for pleasant things to look at, and— “Wait, did you hear that?” she asks, scanning her surroundings. “What? Hear what?” Marco looks around too, unsure of what she’s referring to. “A cat, love. I heard meows.” The meows become clearer to his ears now that he knows what they’re looking for. “Oh, yeah, it sounds like it’s pretty close to us.”

Marco thinks he sees something underneath that tree, squinting to make it out. “Is that it?” He rises from the bench, inching closer to the perceived source of the faint sound. “Oh hi, little kitty,” he bends down, looking at the kitten intently. “Are you separated from mommy?” As he inspects it further, he’s starting to get convinced that it’s not a regular street kitten, but rather one that someone has discarded—no street kitten has fur like this.

“Irene, baby, come here,” he calls to her, and she quickly joins him in looking at the kitten. “That’s a special breed, no?” In a moment of uncertainty, Irene tilts her head, trying to decide if the kitten is indeed of a certain breed. “Maybe,” she says, still unsure. “Can you grab it, love?”

Marco takes little steps towards the kitten, trying his hardest to not startle it. “Easy, little one. We’re not trying to harm you,” he says. As if able to understand him, the kitten just stays there, sitting on its hind legs, looking at him with its little eyes while still meowing endlessly. He reaches over and carefully holds the kitty in his hands; it doesn’t look too small now that he’s got it in his palms.

Irene puts her hands on her chest, overwhelmed by the cuteness of the little cat. “Oh, aren’t you gorgeous,” she says. “Can we keep it, love? Please? Pretty please?” she begs Marco to agree to keep the kitten. “I suppose we can,” he says. “But I think we’ll need to take it to the vet first.” Irene looks at her watch, the smile on her face faltering. “I don’t think there’s one that’s open right now.”

Despite the initial hesitation to take in an unchecked kitten, Marco eventually concedes; they will take this kitten home tonight and take it to the vet on Saturday. Irene hops around, excited at the thought of having a cat at home, something to distract her from the burden of life in pleasant, perhaps even mischievous, ways.

During the ride home, Irene cradles the little cat in her lap, petting its head gently with her finger and eventually managing to have it fall asleep. “Goodness me,” she exclaims, her eyes getting teary at the cuteness before her. “It’s so cute, love—look at it!” Marco chuckles, her vibrant enthusiasm rubbing off him. “I know, baby. It’s so cute and tiny,” he says, already falling for the small animal.

Once home, Irene rushes to find something to keep the kitten in, and her choice lands on an unused container from back when they were moving into this house. “Whoa, whoa, hold on there, madam,” Marco stops her, “not that one, please; that one is quite expensive.” Irene pouts, but she complies, opting for a smaller container that is less expensive. “That one is fine, yeah,” Marco expresses his approval of the revised choice.

Irene puts pieces of cardboard on the inside, serving as a mattress for the cat. Perhaps it can also function as a scratching mat since cats love scratching things. “Alright, little one, you’re going to sleep here for now,” Irene says as she carefully places the kitten in the container.

“Oh my God, you’re so cute,” she can’t resist its charms, petting it endlessly, “what should we name you, hm?” “Let’s name it Rora—you know, like roar,” Marco suggests. “You hear that, cutie? We’re going to name you Rora,” Irene echoes, relaying the news to the cat.

Irene rises to her feet, leaving Rora behind, and pads over to Marco, her face glowing with genuine excitement. “Thank you, love.” She kisses him on the lips, her hands cupping his face, happy for the chance to keep the cat. “Maybe it’s not the time for us to have children yet, but it’s definitely time to have a pet.” Marco nods, his thumb stroking her cheek. “I mean, we can try for a child if you want one that bad,” he offers. Irene chuckles, shaking her head as she does. “Give me one more year, please. I’m so close to the top,” she reasons. “Sure, baby. After all, we’re not exactly in a rush.”

Irene arrives at work in high spirits, looking forward to a particular thing that has been waiting for her for a few days now. As she approaches her office, her gaze lands on a cardboard box sitting on her desk, waiting to be opened. “Oh, there it is. That must be it,” she thinks, resisting the urge to scream simply out of excitement.

She sets her belongings on the desk, leaving them as is, her attention stolen by the box that is promising something grand. With a cutter, she slashes the tape that is keeping it closed, her heart pounding hard and fast in her chest. “Goodness me…” she mumbles. The content of the box is exactly what she’s been anticipating: a new, shiny plaque, signifying her new post at the company.

“Mrs. Irene Bae-Moretti. Vice President of Product Compliance and Regulatory Affairs,” she reads the text out loud, her voice breaking as each word leaves her lips. Irene holds the name plaque to her chest, her mind taking her on a nostalgic trip, showing glimpses of the things she has gone through to get here.

After wiping the tears off her cheeks, Irene places the plaque on her desk, her hand digging through her handbag to find her phone. Once found, she quickly searches for Marco’s number, and he’s quick to pick up.

“Hello, this is—"

“Marco, my love!” she talks over him, unable to contain her excitement any longer. “I’ve got it! The new plaque with the new title!” The crisp sound of his old money laugh vibrates over the call, and Irene can’t help but break down crying as she’s getting overwhelmed with emotions. “T-thank you… for… just absolutely everything,” she says in a trembling voice, pushing through the tears. “I… I could have never done this without you, love,” she adds a heartfelt declaration, making sure Marco knows how much he means to her.

“Congratulations, baby. It’s been so amazing to see you rise through the ranks,” he replies. “The sky is truly the limit, isn’t it?” Irene shakes her head, familiar with the test lying beneath the question. “N-no, it’s not,” she says. “We… we don’t have any fucking limit.” Marco laughs once more, his pride of her woven in the sound. “That’s my girl.”

As Irene cries to her heart’s content, Marco stays with her from the other side of the call, offering sweet affirmations that do not help her calm down at all. “My dear, I’m so sorry, but my meeting is about to start. How about we talk again later, hm?” Irene takes a deep breath, collecting herself just enough to properly say goodbye. “Y-yeah, that… that sounds good. See you later, Marco, and good luck with the meeting.”

Irene sinks into her chair as soon as the call ends, and as luck would have it, one of her subordinates passes by in front of her office, seeing her through the glass door. She waves at Irene, concern etched in her face. Irene waves her off, putting on a smile to assure her that she’s okay. “These are tears of joy, Melanie—tears of absolute joy.”

Marco cracks open a can of soda right as Irene’s car pulls into the driveway, the sound of it too familiar to him. “Ah, perfect timing,” he says to himself. He stands right between the kitchen and the living room so that Irene will catch him as soon as she steps through the front door.

Irene’s frown of exhaustion gets replaced with a beautiful beaming smile when she sees him, his rolled-up sleeves adding more allure factors to his appearances. She quickly closes the door behind her and jogs straight towards him, longing for the comfort only he can provide.

“I’m home,” she mumbles into his chest, her voice muffled by it. “Welcome home, my love.” Marco holds her tightly, sharing the warmth of his body with her. “How was work, Madam Vice President?” he asks, his manner teasing but genuine. Irene giggles, blushing slightly at hearing the new title she’s been given. “It was good, Mister Vice President,” she answers, using his job title back against him.

Marco loosens his embrace, putting enough distance between them to look at each other in the eyes. “I’ve prepared dinner for us, baby,” he tilts his head towards the kitchen, “I made everything myself—well, everything but the wine.” Irene turns her head to the side, saliva pooling in her mouth at the sight of such an appealing formation of dishes with mac and cheese in the center. “I’m not hungry, though,” she kids, but her stomach isn’t cooperating; the subtle rumbling sound just blows her cover out of the water. “Yeah, you’re definitely not hungry,” he mocks her playfully.

With fingers entwined, Marco leads Irene to the kitchen, taking her closer to the source of the pleasant smell that is swirling around them. “Mac and cheese, baby. Three types of cheese and breadcrumbs on top, exactly how you like it,” he points at the dish, particularly proud of his work. Irene beams as the steam coming out of the mac and cheese calls her name. “Did you put chili flakes in there?” she asks, trying to make sure Marco didn’t miss the single most important detail. “I did, baby,” he whispers, his hand finding its spot on the small of her back. “Just so you know, we’re now out of chili flakes.”

Marco pulls a chair back for her, and Irene mutters a soft thank you at the kind gesture. “Why don’t you have taste, baby, hm?” he urges. Irene wastes little time to take a spoonful of mac and cheese, her eagerness drawing a smile on Marco’s face. “Oh, yeah, that’s just perfect,” she says. She’s quick to follow up with another spoonful, enthusiastic to keep stuffing her mouth with this creamy, slightly spicy, goodness. “This is amazing, love,” she turns her head around, looking at him with appreciation shimmering in her eyes, “thank you so much.”

The rest of the dinner goes with a comfortable silence, both Irene and Marco savoring each mouthful of mac and cheese. Pushing her plate to the side, she reaches across the table, her hand searching for his. Marco catches on quickly, meeting her halfway. “Yes, baby?” She lifts his hand towards her mouth, pressing a soft peck to his knuckles, thankful for the simple yet hearty dinner. “You’re welcome, love,” he says, understanding the unspoken words so well.

Letting the dirty plates and mugs still sitting on the table, Marco leaves his seat, extending his hand towards Irene in invitation to spend some time in more intimate ways. Irene takes his inviting hand with a smile, the stress from work melting away with each step they take. She squeezes his hand tightly as they approach the bedroom door, her heart pounding with exciting anticipation.

“After you, my love,” Marco steps to the side, letting Irene enter first, and her nostrils immediately pick up the fragrant scent of aromatics from the diffuser. She asks, “Jasmine again?” Marco approaches her from behind, his hands resting on top of each other on her belly. “Yes, baby; jasmine again,” he confirms. “After all, this was your favorite out of the 6 scents we’ve tried.”

Irene leans back against him, letting her body be supported by his firm torso. “Marco…” she whispers. “Can we… get comfortable, please?” The peck that lands on the side of her neck sends shiver down her spine, flooding her mind with thoughts of losing herself between the walls of the most private section of the haven that is their bedroom, where they have done all sorts of things in.

Irene shivers slightly as she loses her blazer to Marco’s deft hands, the no-sleeve dress providing little protection from the cool bedroom air, but the way he promptly hugs her again warms her up right away. “You know, it’s like you’re trying to get me between your legs,” Marco whispers, his voice hoarse, hinting at how luscious she looks in this black dress.

Irene catches her faint reflection on the glass wall, the sight mixed with the scenery of their backyard. Beyond her ghostly outline, the gentle sway of trees in the evening breeze and the subtle shimmer of their small pond creates a private oasis, a natural extension of the intimacy blooming within the room. It is in this liminal space, where her own image is intertwined with the serene world outside, that she turns fully into Marco's embrace, the cool glass a silent witness to the warmth that envelopes them.

“Marco…” she calls to him, desperately longing for intimacy. “Marco, baby, undress me, please.” Irene exhales heavily when the zipper on her back begins to part, thus revealing the smooth skin of her back to his hungry gaze. With skillful and experienced moves, Marco frees Irene from her dress, letting it pool on the floor, leaving her only in her underwear.

“Is this enough, or do you want to be completely naked before me?” he asks, his whispered words hot against her ear. “I-I want to be totally bare, m-my love,” she stammers. “A-after all, I-I’m your good girl.” Marco smirks, pleased with her answer, even if she’s stuttering a little bit. “As you wish, then.” He makes quick work of her panties, yanking it down her legs, before turning his focus to freeing her plentiful tits. “Can’t be any more naked than this, can you, sweetie?” he teases.

Irene’s heart pounds in her chest, the beat fast and hard, as Marco’s hand slides down towards her crotch. He chuckles; his fingertips reach the dangerous triangle area that is covered with a small patch of pubic hair. “You’re perfect like this, baby,” he praises, still as attracted to his wife today as he was when they first started dating.

Irene yelps when Marco touches her sensitive lips, squirming around in his arms as if trying to escape. “Shh, easy, baby,” he whispers once more. “We’ll take this nice and easy, okay?” Swallowing a gulp that is stuck in her throat, Irene nods. “Y-yes, please. I-I’m not ready to go too fast just yet,” she says.

Marco’s touch on her “dangerous triangle” sends a fresh wave of shivers through Irene. He traces the delicate curve of her hipbone before his fingers dip lower, parting the soft curls with a gentle exploration. Irene’s breath hitches as his fingertips find the slick heat waiting there, a silent testament to her arousal. He presses lightly at first, familiarizing himself with her readiness, and Irene leans further into his touch, her head falling back against his shoulder as soft moans escape her lips. The rhythmic pressure begins to build, each stroke deliberate and knowing, coaxing forth a deeper response from her body.

A low groan rumbles in Irene’s chest as Marco’s fingers dance with increasing intimacy. He finds the small, sensitive nub hidden within the folds and begins to tease it with a feather-light touch, sending jolts of pleasure through her. Her hands tighten on his arms, her body swaying slightly with each exquisite sensation. The world outside the glass wall fades away as her entire focus narrows to the building pressure within, Marco’s knowing touch expertly guiding her closer and closer to the edge.

The breath catches in Irene’s throat, a strangled gasp escaping her lips as the gentle teasing intensifies into a more insistent rhythm. Waves of pleasure crash through her, each one stronger than the last, tightening her muscles and stealing her focus. Her body begins to tremble, her grip on Marco’s arms growing fierce as she rides the escalating sensations. A soft cry breaks free as the peak washes over her, a series of intense pulses radiating outward from the core of her being. Her head lolls to the side, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as the echoes of the climax reverberate through her, leaving her limp and utterly sat in his arms.

Noticing her trembling legs and shaking knees, Marco guides her towards the bed, having her sit on his lap while he offers soothing touches. “Easy, baby. Easy does it,” he whispers, his hand running gently in circles on her belly. He holds her tight as she collects herself, smirking to himself at the fact that he can still pleasure her thoroughly with just his fingers. “Just like when we were 26, isn’t it, baby?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement. Irene nods feebly, still riding the last bits of her climax. “Y-yes, my love. J-just like when we were 26,” she continues.

Marco helps her lie flat on the bed, and Irene looks at him with loving eyes and a beautiful, content smile. “I don’t want to stop here, Marco,” she says. “I… I want you inside me.” Marco replicates that smile, tucking a stray strand of hair on the back of her ear. “Gladly, baby, but let me get you some water first.” He quickly makes a trip to the kitchen, filling a bottle of water for his beloved, and returns to the bedroom. “Here, baby.” He watches her intently as she takes small sips of water from the bottle and wipes the excess off her lips.

Rising from the bed, Marco begins undressing, letting Irene see his good physique without restrictions, and she can’t help but lick her lips at the sight of his erect manhood. “Can I have you in my mouth first?” she asks, missing the sensations of having her mouth filled with his sizable member. Marco nods, moving Irene around the bed until her head hangs off the edge. “Mm, yes, take my mouth, love.”

Irene opens her mouth as wide as she can, allowing Marco to fill the space with his shaft. He sighs deeply in pleasure as his shaft enters her mouth centimeter by delicious centimeter, pushing his hips forwards until the entirety of him disappears in Irene’s mouth and throat. “My God…” he mutters, his fingers tracing lines along her bulged throat. “You’re amazing, baby girl…”

Marco begins moving back and forth, rubbing his shaft against her soft lips. Irene, being used to this, doesn’t gag at all; she just lies there, letting Marco use her mouth and throat cavities for his own pleasure, offering muffled moans to signal to him that she’s content with this.

Marco continues his rhythmic movements, his hips gently thrusting as Irene’s mouth and throat work their magic. He lets out a series of low groans, his hands now gripping her breasts, his knuckles turning white with the intensity of the pleasure building within him. Irene’s hands reach up, finding purchase on the back of his thighs, deepening the connection. The sounds in the room are now solely the wet, sucking noises of her mouth and Marco’s increasingly ragged breaths.

The pace intensifies, Marco’s thrusts becoming deeper and more urgent. He can feel the tightness of her throat, the insistent pressure that is driving him closer to the edge. His vision starts to blur at the edges, and he lets out a strangled groan, his body tensing. A series of involuntary spasms wrack his frame as his climax washes over him, a potent release flooding Irene’s mouth. He groans loudly, his body shuddering, his grip on her tits tightening even further as the waves of pleasure subside, leaving him weak and panting above her.

Marco retreats from her mouth, positioning Irene in a more comfortable way, and wipe off the mess on her beautiful face. “Thank you, love,” he offers a heartfelt gratitude for her, still panting heavily from his high. Irene laughs softly, touched by his simple but genuine thanks. “Of course, love,” she says. She reaches for his face, her thumb stroking his cheek, adoring this man before her. “I love you,” she mutters. “I love you more, baby.”

“Give me a moment, please. We can continue after this,” she adds, exhausted but keen to keep going. Marco nods in understanding, punctuating it with a fleeting kiss to her lips. A gesture that is uncomplicated yet meaningful; he’s never the one to shy away from kissing her, even if her mouth was filled with his release just moments ago.

Marco joins her in the spacious mattress, cradling her from the side and offering pecks. “You know,” she begins. “I think I want something more tonight.” Intrigued, Marco asks, “Yeah? Such as what, baby?” Irene’s smile carries the desire lying underneath it, her nails lightly scratching his chest.

“I want you back there, daddy.”

Marco’s jaw clenches: it’s been some time since he’s granted access to her rear hole—and the eccentric name tells him that she’s serious. “Is that so, baby?” he asks, getting very aroused at the thought of being connected in such a naughty manner. “I mean, if you feel like it. I was just... expressing my desire,” she says.

Marco’s hand moves from her butt cheek towards her tight pucker, his mind running wild with imaginations of getting in that hole again. Irene’s heart begins racing once more as she feels Marco’s finger tracing the shape of her anus. “You want it too, don’t you?” Marco nods, his finger pushing slightly into the snug ring, trying to find its way in. “You bet I do,” he answers, no hesitation in his voice.

Irene moves to straddle his thighs, stroking his member to make sure he stays hard. “How long has it been since we last had anal, love?” she asks. Marco’s breath quickens as her soft hand traces a path along his cock. “Two months, maybe three?” he offers his estimation. She giggles. “Well, it’s been long overdue, hasn’t it?”

Irene turns around, showing him the bubble butt she’s very proud of, and uses her hand to guide his cock towards her ass. She gasps when her muscles give way to his invading member, almost out of practice after about two months of not taking him back there. She keeps lowering herself, taking more and more of him, the stretch bordering on pain and pleasure at the same time.

“Oh, God, so deep, so full,” she blurts, savoring the fullness of being penetrated in the asshole. Irene lifts herself off Marco’s lap slowly: the way her tight anal walls drag along his length oh-so-tightly never gets old.

The friction intensifies with each of Irene's deliberate movements, the slickness easing the initial tightness into a pleasurable burn. Marco’s hands explore the curve of her waist, his thumbs pressing into the small of her back, urging her deeper. He can feel the exquisite clench of her inner muscles around his shaft, a sensation that sends shivers of pure sensation through him. His breath hitches, and he lets out a low growl, his hips instinctively meeting hers, thrusting upwards in a primal rhythm.

Irene throws her head back, her hair cascading down her spine, her eyes half-closed in ecstasy. The feeling of being so completely filled, so intimately connected, sends waves of pleasure radiating through her entire body. She increases the pace, her movements becoming more frantic, her soft cries echoing in the room. The intensity builds, a tightening coil of sensation in her core mirroring the building pressure within Marco.

Marco’s control begins to slip as the pleasure overwhelms him. His thrusts become deeper and more forceful, his groans louder, his body arching with each upward surge. He can feel the precipice nearing, the point of no return. His vision tunnels, and every nerve ending in his body is focused on the intense friction and the exquisite tightness gripping him.

With a final, guttural cry, Marco’s climax erupts, a powerful surge of release flooding his senses. He grips Irene’s hips tightly, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm as he continues to thrust deeply within her. Irene, caught in the wave of his pleasure, cries out as well, her own climax joining his in a shared explosion of sensation that rocks them both to their core.

Irene shudders as her forbidden hole gets flooded by Marco’s virile seed, a feeling that is truly like none other. Still intimately connected with him, she falls backwards onto him, his firm torso supporting her weakening body. “Irene…” he whispers right into her ear. “Thank… thank you, baby.” A small smile plays on her lips, satisfied with both the pleasure and his appreciation of her efforts. “You… you’re welcome, love,” she replies, her breath ragged and heavy.

The soft morning light filtering through their bedroom window illuminates the peaceful stillness of their bodies intertwined beneath the sheets. Marco stirs first, his gaze falling upon Irene's sleeping face, a serene smile gracing her lips. A wave of pride washes over him as he remembers the previous day's news and their passionate celebration. He carefully brushes a stray strand of hair from her forehead, careful to not wake her, and slips out of bed, eager to start the day and subtly acknowledge her new title.

Perhaps he can prepare her favorite breakfast, leaving a small, elegant note addressed to "Madam Vice President" beside her plate?

With lighthearted and swift movements, Marco quickly whips up some toast and latte, along with her favorite blueberry jam and peanut butter to complement them. “Hehehe.” He can’t help but laugh at himself, his heart swelling with excitement and pride at the fact that she’s managed to reach the top, all by her own efforts and supported by his tireless, steadfast presence by her side.

Marco takes the food to the bedroom, hoping that the smell alone will be enough to wake Irene, and he can’t be more right: she begins opening her heavy eyelids as her nostrils pick up the pleasant aroma of toasted bread and freshly made coffee. Marco sets down the tray on the bedside table and joins her in bed, cradling her from the side.

“Good morning, baby,” he greets her, punctuating it with a tender peck to her head. “How did my favorite vice president sleep?” She chuckles, smacking his chest lightly. “The vice president is sore,” she quips. “Her husband was… quite passionate last night.” Marco laughs, squeezing her more tightly in his arms. “Well, the vice president’s husband must love her so much, huh?”

Irene stretches languidly, a contented sigh escaping her lips. "The vice president appreciates the breakfast in bed, Mister..." she trails off, mirroring his earlier tease. Marco leans in, a playful glint in his eyes. "Mister... what, my love?"

Irene reaches out, tracing the line of his jaw with her finger. "Mister... vice president who knows exactly how to celebrate a promotion," she whispers, her gaze softening as she meets his eyes. "Thank you, Marco. For everything. Never could have done this without you, and you know I’m not lying."

He captures her hand in his, pressing a kiss to her palm. "Anything for you, Madam Vice President. Now, eat up. You have a big day ahead of you." He gestures to the tray laden with her favorites.

As they eat, their conversation flows easily, touching on Irene's excitement and slight nervousness about her new responsibilities. Marco offers words of encouragement and unwavering belief in her abilities, reminding her of all the hard work and dedication that brought her to this point. The air in the room is filled with a quiet joy and mutual admiration, a perfect start to Irene's new chapter.

As Irene prepares to leave for work, Marco stands by the door, his eyes filled with pride and affection. He straightens her blazer, a small, loving gesture that speaks volumes about his unwavering support.

"Go get 'em, Madam Vice President," he says, his voice filled with genuine admiration. Irene leans in for a lingering kiss, a silent promise of their continued partnership and love. “Yes, sir,” she answers, her voice firm and steady. “See you later, Mister Vice President.”

Marco offers her a wry smile, a hint of guilt rising within him. “I’m sorry, but I’ll probably come home late.” Irene’s second kiss erases that guilt quickly, the gesture carrying the assurance that he needs. “Please be safe out there and come home to me in one piece,” she says. He nods, energized by her words. “Of course, baby. Thank you.”

Stepping out into the bright morning, newfound confidence radiates from her. The city, bustling with its usual energy, seemed to hum with a different tune, a soundtrack to her ascent. With Marco's love as her anchor and her own hard work as her wings, Irene steps forward, ready to embrace the challenges and triumphs of her new role, their shared journey continuing, stronger and more intertwined than ever before.

#girl group smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader #male reader smut #smut #red velvet smut #irene smut

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thewritingrowlet · 2 months ago

Text

The Renewed Slate, ft. Kep1er Chaehyun

tags: anal, rough sex

length: 7k+

author's note: it was quite difficult to get the ball rolling, but here it is.

The warm glow of the morning sun fills the bedroom, casting a shadow of the weird position you two are in. Chaehyun is leaning against your body while you’re against the headboard, an open diary still lying in her hands. You didn’t intend to fall asleep this way, but the night-long exploration of shared memories took its toll before you could settle in a proper sleeping position.

You take a deep breath as you collect yourself, your nostrils getting filled with her scent. A loud, unintentional yawn escapes your lips, and the sound makes Chaehyun stir awake. “Oh, sorry, love,” you say, your voice hoarse from the sleep. “Mm, it’s fine,” she mumbles, absentmindedly tracing odd lines on the diary’s cover. “Did you sleep well, by the way?” You chuckle a little, a genuine warmth rising within you. “I think I made the most of this position,” you quip.

Chaehyun turns her head, her gaze meeting yours over her shoulder. “Can we sleep in, love?” The thought of spending more time wrapped in her arms is indeed tempting, but your responsibilities at work demand your presence today. “You can, but I need to go to work,” you say, hoping she will understand. “Work, of course.” She sighs as a flicker of disappointment crosses her face, but she quickly masks it with a smile. “Well, I won’t hold you back too long, then.”

Chaehyun pulls you out of the bed despite wishing for you to stay at home with her. “I’ll steam some frozen dumplings for you,” she says. Usually, frozen food meant that you had no other option, but now that she’s returned, frozen food is actually good. Chaehyun has prepared a box full of plump, meaty dumplings to reheat when needed.

“Sounds great, baby,” you say, your hands taking their favorite spots on her waist, “perhaps the chef would like a kiss first?” She laughs, lightly hitting your chest as her cheeks turn a delicate pink. “Alright, fine—just one kiss, okay?” Chaehyun parts her lips slightly as she closes her eyes, bracing for intimate contact. She gasps quietly when your lips claim hers, losing herself in the gentle heat of the kiss. When the tangle finally breaks, she mutters a quiet thank you. “That’s perfect, love,” she looks up at you with a tender smile, “I’ll get going now.”

In the kitchen, Chaehyun hums to the melody of her own thoughts, moving around the space efficiently to prepare breakfast for you. “Coffee or tea?” she thinks, eyeing the two containers sitting on the shelf before her. Eventually, she reaches for the jar of chamomile tea, her nose picking up the blissful scent as soon as the lid is open. “Mm, yes, definitely tea.”

After arranging the plates and mugs, she takes a seat at the dining table, her eyes glued to the brown bedroom door. She can’t help but bite her lip when you emerge from the bedroom with only a towel around your waist, admiring your good physique as a familiar urge whirls within. As you step closer towards her, she quickly shifts her gaze towards the other direction, because even when you’re not aroused, the clear evidence of your masculinity can’t simply be hidden—if anything, it does not let itself be hidden.

“Y-your breakfast is ready, love,” she says, trying her hardest to not stare at your crotch. Pretending to have missed her mischievous gaze, you take a seat next to her, your knee brushing against hers. “Before I start eating and forget, I just want to say thank you,” you say. You reach to the side towards her hand, rubbing the back of it affectionately while looking into her eyes. “One of my biggest sins in our marriage is how little I appreciated your efforts, and I plan to make it right with you on this… renewed slate, I suppose.”

Chaehyun, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone, can only look back at you, her lips parting slightly in puzzlement. “Okay…?” She scratches her temple, unsure of what else to say. “You’re… welcome, I guess?” You nod slowly, satisfied by her response despite the underlying hesitation behind it. “Right, well, I’ll start eating now.”

She looks at you intently as you dig into the dumplings on your plate, enjoying the sight of you devouring them as if they were the best dumplings of all time. She leans forwards a little, drawn to the genuine excitement for the food that you’re exuding, her hand finding a spot on your bare thigh. “Are they that good?” Your free hand finds its way around her back, hugging her tenderly from the side. “Yes, my dear; they’re that good,” you say, making sure that she knows how appreciated her efforts are. “If it’s okay with you, baby, can you reheat some more, because I want to take some to work?” She nods vehemently, her heart swelling with affection because of your simple request. “Of course, love,” she replies, her tone high in excitement. “In fact, I’ll make more of them while you’re at work. That way, we will always have dumplings in stock.”

“We’re going out for lunch, director—want to come along?” Mr. Kim offers, not knowing that you’ve brought your wife’s delectable dumplings to work. “I’m fine, Mr. Kim,” you show him the pink food container that is uniquely yours, “my wife made these dumplings for me, so I’ll have them for lunch.” A smile plays on his lips, hiding his envy behind it. “Well, I hope you enjoy your lunch, sir.”

As you bite into the first one and cause an explosion of flavors in your mouth, your phone rings: it’s your beloved wife checking in on you. “Hi, hello,” you greet her with a full mouth, your voice barely intelligible because of it. “Hi there,” she replies, seemingly excited to catch you eating the food she’s made this morning. “Enjoying your lunch, baby?” You hum in response, unable to say words while you’re busy chewing. “Aw, that’s cute,” the satisfaction is evident in her voice, “well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Call me back after you’re done eating, okay?” You nod to yourself, taking a mental note to get back to her later, and the call ends soon after.

You sink into your chair as you savor the last remnants of this special, delightful lunch. “Oh, Kim Chaehyun…” Her name rings in your mind, secretly wishing you could just hug her tight right here, right now. “Wait, actually,” you’re reminded that she wanted you to call her back, “let’s call her now.”

It takes but a second for her to answer the call, greeting you with a high tone that is thick with excitement. “Hi, baby!” Her high spirits are always infectious, often leaving you with no choice but to feel the same. “Hi, love. Can I just say that I loved, loved, loved those dumplings?” A giggle is heard from the other side, a sign that she’s flattered by your appreciation. “You’re sweet, you know,” she says. “Also, I’ve made a dozen more—all for you, my love.” You swallow a gulp that is stuck in your throat, wishing you could have more now. “That’s wonderful, baby.”

“By the way,” Chaehyun changes the subject. “I’ve read our diaries again. Can we talk about it a bit?” Your eyebrows rise, intrigued by her request to talk about those records from the past. “Sure, what about them, baby?”

“Just how crazy were we when it came to sex?”

Your heart begins pounding in your chest, each beat bumping against your ribs. Thinking about those passionate—sometimes even wild—nights at work feel inappropriate, but you’re not dodging her question. Chaehyun might feel like you’re being dismissive about the past if you avoid answering her. Coming across as being disparaging about the only thing she can use to get a glimpse of her old self is definitely not among the things you want to do to her.

“We… we’ve always been crazy for each other,” you answer, stringing each word carefully. “We’ve done things that some might think are beyond the lines of normalcy.” Chaehyun falls silent, processing your answer as she presumably holds the sex diary in her hands. “Is that so?” she asks, her voice almost disappearing. “Yeah, I mean, these… entries do sound wild—not all of them, but almost.” You nod along, and you can only think about how you have managed to persuade her into committing these naughty, borderline verboten, acts with you time and time again.

“I feel like I owe you some apologies,” you say, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly. “But I always consented, right?” she asks. “Yes, you did,” you answer firmly, not leaving any room for doubt about your moral correctness, even if the sex was often anything but. “I’d like to talk when you get home tonight, if that’s okay,” she inquires, hoping that you’ll give her the time and space for a discussion. “I’ll do my best, love.”

“I’ll see you later then, daddy.”

Hearing that name always makes you hard. You know the underlying meaning it carries, and if the past is anything to go by, tonight will end with you and Chaehyun out of breath and energy.

“Don’t tempt me, please,” you warn her, your words not carrying threat. “Or what?” she taunts. “Will you bend me over the dining table and take my anus like in page 9?” You sigh deeply, gradually losing your grip on the reins of lust. “Kim Chaehyun, please don’t push me,” you warn her again, this time a bit more serious. “Yeah, okay—look, I’ll go now, okay? I love you.” With a click, the call ends, leaving you alone with your growing arousal. “Yeah, I love you too,” you say belatedly, not reaching her ear.

Chaehyun stretches around, only getting herself together now after falling asleep on the couch, the sex diary still cradled in her hands. She then checks the time: only around an hour to go before you step through the front door. “I should prepare dinner,” she thinks, fighting the urge to stay seated. Closing the diary and leaving it on the sofa, Chaehyun makes her way to the kitchen, ready to whip up a quick meal for dinner.

The sex diary is now replaced with the recipe book, and her choice lands on the beef teriyaki recipe. Her finger taps on the little sticky note that says, “No onion, please,” and she chuckles to herself. “Someone doesn’t like onion, huh?” After grabbing the necessary ingredients and organizing them on the counter, she begins cooking, her skills from the olden days resurfacing with every recipe she’s trying out.

The cooking has gone rather swiftly and smoothly, and she’s managed to finish it before you arrive. As soon as Chaehyun settles on the couch again, beeps are heard from the front door, a sign that someone is about to emerge from the other side. “Has to be him,” she thinks. She maintains a smile as she waits for the door to swing open, and her smile only widens when you step inside the house.

“Hi there,” she waves at you with a smile, her forehead shiny with sweat she’s gotten from cooking, “you arrive just in time; I just finished making dinner.” You place your backpack in its usual spot on the shelf by the door, a gesture of leaving work at the front door and not letting it cloud the tender domesticity in this house.

“Thank you for cooking, baby,” you say, peppering her face with kisses, thus getting a bit of her sweat on your lips. “Are we eating now, or?” You eye the closed diary on the couch, hoping that she’s willing to postpone the scheduled discussion until you have some food in your belly. “Yeah, let’s eat now while everything is hot like me.” Your eyes blink rapidly, caught off guard by her last few words. “Hot like me, hey?” you repeat, and you’re met with her cheeks that are turning light pink.

You let Chaehyun lead you towards the dining table, and when she’s close enough to it, you bend her over, her covered breasts pressed against the wooden surface. “Page 9,” you say. “If I remember correctly, I took you just like this in that entry.” Chaehyun laughs softly, the sound vibrating through you. “Are we jumping straight into the deep end?” she asks, feeling the surge of arousal in the air. Your peck that lands on her nape sends a shiver down her spine. “No, not yet,” you whisper. “We’ll have the time for that.”

With a hand on her shoulder, you help her get back up, silently making a promise to indulge in some heated sexual encounter for the sake of reminiscing. “Can you prepare the food, please? I’ll join you after this.” Chaehyun nods without saying anything, her heart still racing at the thought of getting taken roughly over the table as the diary portrays. “Great, I’ll be right back.”

Chaehyun swiftly arranges the table, moving with a purposeful rush as if trying to finish dinner as quickly as possible, and you come out of the bathroom just as she’s filling some mugs with water. She puts the glass jug on the table and looks at you with a small smile and pink cheeks. “Dinner is ready,” she gestures at the set table, the big bowl of beef teriyaki serving as a center piece.

Chaehyun can only look at you as you step towards her, and your towering presence causes her to swallow a gulp. “I-I said dinner is ready, m-my love,” she stammers, unsure of your intentions. “Oh, I heard you the first time, baby,” you whisper, your breath hot against her face. “It’s just that I crave for a bit of… appetizer.” Once again, she swallows the gulp that is stuck in her throat.

“What appetizer—mph!”

Before she can complete her sentence, your lips claim hers in a searing kiss, and in a moment of submission, she presses her curves against your firm torso, melting into the mind-consuming contact. Eventually, after having tasted enough of her lips, you slowly pull away.

“Oh my God, you…” she trails off, not bothering to finish her words.

While it’s true that she’s been back for a few months, this level of fiery passion still feels rather unfamiliar to her—she’s trying her best to get up to speed, nonetheless.

“I what, baby?” Chaehyun looks at you with a steady gaze, but her chest is anything but; her heart that is pounding within has her chest rising and falling in quick succession. “I… I can’t keep up with you,” she says in a tiny voice. You ask, “Too fast?” and she nods slowly in response. “I’m sorry, love—look, let’s have dinner first, and then we can think about how we want to continue.”

Usually, you sit across the table, but tonight, you opt to sit next to her, and your arm instinctively takes a spot on her lower back, showing possessiveness even when there’s no crowd. “Dinner,” she points at the dish on the table while looking at you, “c-can we start eating now?” You give her a peck on the temple, the more tender touch soothing her nerves. “Of course, baby. Actually, if you want to, I can give you some space to eat, and I’ll eat after you.” Chaehyun takes a few deep breaths, finishing the job of calming herself down, and shakes her head after. “No, that is against the point of me cooking for you,” she says, her resolve strengthening again.

As the two of you start eating, the initial tension begins to dissipate, and in its place blooms a sense of comfortable domestic intimacy. You savor each bite of the teriyaki, offering genuine praises for her cooking that are punctuated by soft smiles and touches. She reciprocates these praises with smiles of her own that are twice as sweet.

A new habit that the two of you have picked up is sharing dish washing duties; Chaehyun washes them, and you wipe them dry. Tonight is a bit different, though: you’re the one getting wet while Chaehyun stays dry.

“So, erm,” she attempts to start a conversation. “When can we talk about them?” You glance at her, pretending to not know what she’s getting at. “Talk about what, baby?” you ask. She sighs, her spirits slipping away at your less enthusiastic response. “Please, don’t do that to me; those diaries are the only things that can help me learn my past.”

Taken aback by the sudden change in tone, you freeze momentarily, letting the water run into waste. “Can I not learn about my past? Do you not want me to?” Chaehyun presses further. Having regained composure, you quickly turn off the tap and dry your hands. “Baby, that’s not what I meant…” You cup her soft cheek, stroking it gently with your thumb. “You want to talk about the diaries, yeah? Let’s settle in bed and talk about them, then.” She nods, rubbing her cheek against your hand, as a small smile plays on her lips. “I’ll wait for you in the bedroom, then.”

When you enter the bedroom, Chaehyun is waiting for you, leaning against the headboard with some diaries on her lap. She extends a hand, inviting you to join her in the soft mattress, adding to the irresistible draw of the already alluring atmosphere of the dimly lit bedroom. When your hand touches hers, fingers tangling together, a bigger smile spreads across her face, her eyes filled with hopefulness and anticipation of taking a trip to the past.

You lean against the headboard beside her, pulling her closer to you as she picks up the first diary she wants to address. “I saw some more names,” she begins, her voice a bit hesitant, “and I want you to tell me who they are, okay?” You nod, preparing yourself to be as honest as needed, committing to not hiding anything from her. “Read the names, baby, and I’ll tell you.”

“Kim Jiyoon,” she starts.

“Your friend from college. Stole a potential boyfriend from you.”

Chaehyun sighs, not expecting things to take such a drastic turn so soon. “Off to a great start,” she says, sarcasm thick in her voice. “No further questions—let’s move on to another name,” you urge her, not wanting to let her slip into sourness.

Chaehyun flips the page and finds another name. “Next one: Choi Jiwon.”

“A former employee at our company. Quit to get married to a guy who also worked for us. As far as I know, they already have a child—a son, I think.”

Her expression softens at this better revelation, a fond smile tugging at her lips. “That’s cute,” she says, her finger tracing small circles over Jiwon’s name on the diary. “I assume one of them had to quit because of company policy?” You sigh at the cold reminder of losing such a valuable employee to an outdated rule. “We’ve changed the policy, though,” you say. “Such a rule still exists, but it’s less… constraining, I suppose.” She nods, seemingly in approval of the change. “That sounds good, love,” she adds.

“Anyway, next one: Kim Chaewon.”

Your smile disappears promptly at the mentioned name, one that you used to say with a lot of love and care; one that took so much to forget. “Kim Chaewon…” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper. “What about that person, hm?” she presses on. You sigh, silently wishing she hadn’t found this name. You’re still committed to telling the truth, though.

“Kim Chaewon wanted me to give her 50 grams of gold as a dower,” you say, plain and truthful. Chaehyun’s eyebrows rise as she turns in your arms, looking at you with curious eyes. “O…kay? And what did you give me?” she asks. “Well, 50 grams of gold,” you say again. She scratches her head, befuddled by the spin that the story is taking. “I don’t understand, honestly.”

“Look, baby,” you start over from the top. “Chaewon made it very clear that it was 50 grams of gold or no marriage, and I knew it wasn’t just her wish, but also her parents. Something about testing my resolve and commitment to the relationship with wealth.” Chaehyun nods slowly, gradually getting a grip on the story. “Okay, so?” she asks, curiosity getting the better of her. “So, I said no, because it felt like it was her price tag so I could take her hand in marriage, and I didn’t want any of that.”

You lean back against the headboard, your arm loosening its hold on Chaehyun. “It wasn’t easy,” you mutter, your mind going back to the day you severed your ties with Chaewon—what an eventful day that was. “I cared for Chaewon, but I wasn’t going to compromise my principles just so I could get married.” You pause, your gaze meeting Chaehyun’s, your hand reaching for hers. “But then I met you,” you whisper, “and all those pain and regret just melted away, and I was more than happy to give you 50 grams of gold, because you deserved every gram of it.”

Chaehyun’s fingers tighten around yours, an adoring smile spreading across her features. “I’m glad you found your way to me,” she says, her voice thick with affection. “So am I, baby,” you press a tender kiss to her knuckle, “I’m beyond grateful to have you by my side for all these years.”

The diary closes with a subtle thud as Chaehyun leans closer against your side. “Oh, are we done, baby?” you ask, secretly relieved that she’s closed the book. “With that one, yes, but we’ll look at the sex diary after this.” You chuckle, realizing that you’re not out of the woods just yet. “Okay, I’m game for whatever you want to do, baby.”

The first diary soon loses its place in Chaehyun’s hands to the sex diary, one that is filled with another type of history. The entries of this diary are shorter, more focused on the specific encounters of each entry, and the language is often raw and unpolished.

As she opens the cover, the room’s temperature seems to start rising at the expectation of reliving into the sensual entries of this particular diary. A blush creeps up to her cheeks at the sight of the first page: a depiction of being taken from behind while standing up in front of a mirror. “Oh my…” she mutters. “You know, I’ve read this page so many times, and I blushed every single time,” she adds. Naughty as you are, you nibble her exposed earlobe teasingly. “Did you perhaps get wet too, baby?” Chaehyun exhales deeply, trying her best in maintaining her resolve. “Y-yes, I did,” she admits.

Chaehyun gently pushes her elbow against you, signaling her need to have some space for herself. “T-there are some… positions that I want to talk about,” she says, the blush on her cheeks still not disappearing. “Sure, baby.”

Chaehyun flips the dairy to the twenty-sixth page, titled “The Butterfly.” The page has a little sticky note stuck on the edge, serving as a marker.

“This one,” she places a finger on the title, “this entry sounds very naughty, love.” You chuckle, your mind going back to the night you first did this position with Chaehyun. “Does it, baby? Well, what if I told you that you were the one who came up with the name?” She shakes her head, amused by the creativity of her past self. “Anyway, can you, like, show me how we’re supposed to do this?” she asks. “Oh, I can—please, stand up.”

You guide her to stand in front of the mirror, taking a position behind her yourself. “Here, baby,” you then guide her to wrap one arm around your neck, facing away from you. “A-are you going to lift me like the diary says?” You nod, a fond smile playing on your lips. “On three, baby—one, two, three.” You lift her into the air, supporting her with your hands that are planted on the insides of her thighs.

“Here we have it, baby. The Butterfly,” you say, meeting her gaze through the mirror. Her cheeks turn red hot as she scans the sight of the reflection, taking in every detail of it. “S-so, you just… take me from behind while I’m in the air?” You give her a peck on the nape, praising her for quickly catching on. “Precisely, baby—from here, I can either put it in the front or the rear, depending on our agreement.” Chaehyun nods slowly, her mind imagining how it would be if you were to take her in this position right here, right now. “I think… I think I want to do this soon.”

“Soon, hey?” you echo, your low voice seductive. “Like, tonight soon, or…?” Chaehyun’s eyes sparkle, a mix of excitement and shyness swirling in them. “Maybe…” she whispers. “But… can we talk about this first, because I think doing it like this requires everything each of us has?” You nod, agreeing with her assessment. “It does, but usually, all I need from you is your moans,” you say, adding a little teasing remark for extra seduction point.

The heat in your voice, the temptation lying beneath it, and the suggestive smile on your lips are enough to ignite a flame of desire within Chaehyun. “My moans, huh?” she repeats, gradually surrendering to the lure of raw, unrestrained desire. “I’m a simple man, baby,” you say. “Besides, your moans sound like music to me.” She nods with firm resolve. “Alright, let’s do it, then.”

You carefully lower her onto the floor, giving both of you the chance to undress. Chaehyun takes off everything rather swiftly, kicking the discarded clothes to the side after she’s completely bare before you. She then takes a few steps, closing the gap between bodies, and reaches for your half-erect member, stroking it to hardness.

She looks up at you with a smile that’s more cute than sexy, more pure than seductive. “Whatever we do tonight,” she begins, her hand running along your length, “I want to emphasize on our love for each other than a simple man-in-woman encounter.” You plant a soft, fleeting kiss on her lips, making a promise to make this more than a physical connection. “Of course, sweetheart. After all, we did all those positions out of love, not mere lust.”

Satisfied with how hard you are, she turns around, facing the mirror once more. “I’m ready,” she says, no hesitation in her voice. You cradle her right hand against your nape as you lift her, your hands firm beneath the soft curve of her parted thighs, suspending her weight in the air. “Vaginal or anal, baby?” you ask, making sure both of you are on the same page. “Vaginal for now, please.”

“Okay, here I go, baby.”

You feel Chaehyun's muscles tense and then relax as you fill her, her soft moan a confirmation of your connection. The mirror reflects the intimate dance of your bodies, your movements synchronized, your breaths mingling in the air. You deepen the kiss on her nape, your hands still fixed on the soft flesh of her thighs, guiding her rhythm. The sensation of her heat around you is intoxicating, driving you to explore the boundaries of pleasure.

The pace quickens, your thrusts becoming more insistent, each movement a testament to the raw desire that consumes you. Chaehyun's moans intensify, her head falling back as she surrenders to the sensations. The world narrows down to the feel of her skin, the sound of her breath, the primal rhythm of your bodies entwined.

A surge of pure sensation washes over you both as you reach the finish line. You feel Chaehyun's body tighten around you, her moans reaching a fever pitch. You whisper her name, your voice thick with passion, and she cries out in release, her body shuddering in ecstasy. You hold her firmly, supporting her weight as the waves of pleasure subside, the shared climax a powerful apex of intimacy.

You slowly remove yourself from her heat, letting your excess seed drip onto the floor in waste. With cautious and precise move, you carefully lower her onto her feet, your hands planted on her hips to keep her steady. “You’re alright, baby. You’re so amazing,” you whisper, calming her down and praising her simultaneously.

Seeking comfort and safety, Chaehyun leans back against you, her chest heaving at every deep breath. “You… you’re insane…” she says, signs of exhaustion drawn all over her features. “H-how… how did you do that?” You chuckle, pressing a tender peck to the back of her head. “I don’t know; I just did what I thought would be best, and boy was it the best thing we’ve ever done.” Chaehyun weakly smacks your hand that is resting on her belly. “Next time, you should prepare me more,” she adds. You grin, catching the hint of a chance for a second try. “Sure, baby. Next time.”

Instead of lingering too long in the afterglow, you gently guide her back to bed. You pull the cover over her, wrapping her drained body under the soft material. “I’ll get you some water, baby, okay?” She nods, so you fetch a glass of water and bring it back to her. You caress her head softly as she takes small sips, her eyelids too heavy to keep open. The intensity from The Butterfly has completely disappeared, replaced by a relaxed, soothing tenderness, a reminder that this relationship is built on much, much more than sex—it’s built on the love and care you have for each other.

Chaehyun stirs in the middle of the night after having fallen asleep a few hours prior out of exhaustion. “Hi, sweetheart,” you greet her, your tone gentle. “Are you okay?” She nods, her cheeks rubbing against the pillow. “Just a bit sore—wait, why aren’t you asleep?” she asks. You put your tablet to the side, cradling her in your arms. “I just thought I could read some reports while you rested, baby.” She pouts, more playful than annoyed. “You wrecked me and read a report after that? You’re out of your mind, husband,” she continues.

A wave of tenderness washes over you as you hold Chaehyun close. “I didn’t wreck you, sweetie,” you protest, your voice laced with anything but irritation. “You said you wanted to relive some of the entries in the sex diary, so I granted your wish.” She hides her face in your chest, pressing her face against the firm muscles. “Doesn’t change the fact that you’ve made me so sore,” she argues.

As you stay in this warm cuddle with her, a memory from a few months ago resurfaces. “Chaehyun, baby,” you call to her, “didn’t you say you wanted to try doing page 5?” Chaehyun’s forehead furrows, trying to remember if she indeed said it. “Did I? What’s on page 5 anyway?” You shrug, not particularly attentive to the content of said page. “We’ll have to check.”

Chaehyun pulls away from the embrace, quipping, “Curiosity kills the cat, and I’m a very curious cat.” She reaches for the diary once more, quickly navigating to the referred page. She chuckles a little as she reads the entry, shaking her head in amusement. “It’s me sitting on a stool while getting fucked from behind,” she reveals, “God, we’re so… so… oh, what’s the word, naughty?”

While Chaehyun is still stuck reading the entry, you watch her with a smile on your face. It’s both relieving and arousing to see Chaehyun so eager to explore her own sexuality, to embrace the naughty—her word, not yours—things you’ve done together. Eventually, with a sigh, Chaehyun closes the diary and returns it to the bedside table.

“We can do that soon. Besides, I think I want to practice anal sex again.” Your eyebrows rise in surprise, not expecting her to bring up anal sex this soon. “Anal? Really?” Chaehyun chuckles. “I mean, sitting on a stool and sticking my butt out—that’s the perfect position for you to take my ass, no?”

There’s a handful of things that haven’t changed from Chaehyun, and this is one of them: she still doesn’t mince her words.

“I suppose so,” you answer. “You know what, why don’t we talk about it next time—you know, when our heads are… clearer, I guess?” Chaehyun smiles as she returns to her previous position in your arms. “Sure, let’s talk about it. After all, we’re doing all these things out of love and not simple lust, aren’t we?” You peck her on the lips, praising her for her understanding of the significance of this connection between the two of you. “Yes, my love; we are doing these things out of love,” you echo, confirming the mutual understanding between you and her.

You stir to the feel of Chaehyun's fingers tracing patterns on your chest. Her touch is light and lingering, a sensual reminder of the passion you shared last night. You open your eyes to find her looking right back at you, her expressions a mixture of affection and desire. "Good morning," she murmurs, her voice husky. "I was just thinking about... last night." A wave of heat washes over you as you recall the intensity of your connection. The weekend morning feels heavy with unspoken desires, a promise of further exploration hanging in the air.

You trace odd lines along her spine, the memory of the smooth skin of her back pressed against your torso still vivid in your head. “Good morning, beautiful,” you whisper, your voice as husky as hers. “What are you thinking about, baby?” Her hand slides along your stomach, its final destination unquestionable. “Are we perhaps going to try that anal-on-a-stool position today?” she asks.

A slow grin spreads across your face as the promise from last night resurfaces. “I think we can give it a try,” you say, keeping a straight face, pretending to be nonchalant. Chaehyun smirks, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “You could sound a bit more excited, you know,” she counters, seeing right past your façade. “I mean, think about it; the way you’d be positioned… the access it would provide…” Chaehyun trails off, letting the words hang in the air for you to fill in the blanks with your own imagination.

“Before I let myself run wild, let me ask you this, baby: do you consent to doing anal sex?” you ask, digging deep within yourself to find some clarity of mind amidst the growing sexual tension. Chaehyun smiles, her heart swelling with affection, touched and satisfied by your sense of responsibility in making sure she’s on board. “Of course, love. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have offered you my anus,” she assures you, making clear of her stance.

You walk to the kitchen together, fingers intertwined. You help her onto a stool near the kitchen counter, having her sit in a proper position for now. “The original stool broke a few years ago, and this is what we have now,” you say. Chaehyun looks at you and herself, making estimations about the height situation. “I don’t think this is high enough,” she says. You chuckle, amused by her judgement. “Don’t worry, baby; I can just bend my knees,” you assure her, determined to make the most of what you have.

Maintaining eye contact with you over her shoulder, she shifts to let her butt hang off the edge. “Yes, baby?” you ask, your hands already finding their resting place on her hips. “Can we test if this angle is comfortable for us?” You nod at her question, and you guide your manhood by hand towards her rear, bending your knees as necessary. “This is manageable, I think,” you offer your estimation.

Chaehyun turns around to face you, cupping your face with her soft hands, her thumb stroking your cheek affectionately. “I’ll be honest with you, love, I’m actually quite nervous about this,” she admits, being as genuine as can be. “Can we… can we, like, set boundaries or something?”

You nod solemnly, understanding the apprehension from her side. After all, she hasn’t been penetrated in that hole for so long at this point. “Of course. What boundaries? Safe words?” Chaehyun looks deep into your eyes as she carefully thinks about a way to balance safety and pleasure. “I think safe words can work,” she says. “Did we have safe words back then?” “We did, baby. Yours was pine—short for porcupine.” Chaehyun cracks a small laugh at the explanation. “So, I would just scream pine if I wanted to stop?” You nod, and she starts shaking her head, both amused and relieved by the agreement you once shared. “Yeah, okay, that sounds great.”

Chaehyun turns around again, resting her elbows on the counter. “Oh, we’ve come to an agreement, haven’t we?” you ask, pointing out her perceived readiness, a surge of anticipation warming your blood and stiffening your member. “Should I go grab some lube, just to make it easier?” Her expression becomes thoughtful. “Do we… really need it?” She glances at you over her shoulder again. “Can we try doing it without lube first? Please?” You fall silent momentarily, weighing the option to go in her anus raw and dry. “Alright, let’s give it a try,” you eventually relent. “Let’s try using spit, okay?”

You spit onto your hand and coat your erect manhood repeatedly with your own saliva. “Excuse me, baby,” you say as you apply some saliva on her tight pucker, and Chaehyun arches her back in reflex, a shiver running down her spine. “No going back now,” she thinks. “There, nice and somewhat wet. I hope that’s enough.”

Chaehyun inhales sharply when your tip touches her tight forbidden entrance, but she quickly tries to relax. “Slowly, please,” she whispers as her muscles start to part to make way for your invading member. She takes deep breaths to steady herself as more of your cock enters her, the burn of the stretch nearly unbearable. Eventually, when the entirety of your cock is fully seated inside her tight ass, she… moans.

“Does this hurt, baby?” you ask her, your fingers running along her spine. She takes a few more deep breaths, getting used to the intrusion in her most private part. “Kind of, but nothing… nothing I can’t take,” she answers, shifting her butt around to fully feel the way your cock is parting her anal muscles.

“God, this is… this is…” she trails off, unable to find the words to describe the sensations. “Can you start moving a little, please?”

You slowly retreat, only leaving the first few centimeters of your cock inside her, before pushing forwards once more, savoring the tightness of her stretched muscles as centimeter after centimeter gets swallowed by her ass.

“Oh, fuck…” you mutter, losing yourself in the heat of the moment. You look down at the intimate connection; this looks like it hurts so bad. “Baby, you okay? Want to stop?” She shakes her head to your question, her will to see this through still standing strong. “Can I try moving faster?” This time, she nods, giving you the green light to take her. “Alright, let’s do this, baby.”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Give me your hands,” you demand, holding onto her hands like they were some reins. “Let’s do it like we did the first time around.” You deepen your thrusts, your rhythm becoming more primal, more demanding. Chaehyun's moans escalate, her body tightening around you. As you take on this wild pace, the stool begins to wobble, adding an element of precariousness to the encounter, heightening the thrill. She can only stay bent like this, left with no other choice but to take the punishing thrusts that short her brain every single time.

Soon, you stop your pumps to catch your breath, and Chaehyun, with her chest bumping with heavy breaths, looks at you over her shoulder. “D-daddy?” she calls to you, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, baby?” you answer, your tone gentle despite your ragged pants, letting go of her hands which you have been holding for so long. “W-why… why stop?” You bend forwards just enough to land a peck on the back of her head. “Just giving both of us some… some time to breathe,” you reason, your voice getting breathy. “We’ll start again after this.”

A few minutes have passed. Your breathing has somewhat returned to normal, and Chaehyun seems to have recovered as well. “Chaehyun, baby,” you call to her. “Ready to go again?” She nods, returning to her previous position of bending over the counter, offering her hands to be held again. “Actually, can we do something else?” you ask. She glances at you, asking herself what something else means. “What is it?”

“Let’s head to the sofa, baby. I’ll show you.”

You guide Chaehyun, whose anus is getting very sore, towards the sofa, each step heavy but careful. “Kneel on the floor and bend over the sofa, baby,” you direct her, and Chaehyun follows without asking twice. “Alright, that’s perfect.” You spit on her ass a few more times for good luck, and you lodge your cock into her pucker once more for the final stretch.

Her asshole offers far less resistance now that you’ve gaped it, thus letting you slide in with less difficulty than before, but that doesn’t take anything from her; she’s still very, very tight back there. “By the way,” you just remember something, “can I finish inside?” She nods. “Sure.” You give her another peck, this time on the center of her back. “Thank you, baby.”

You start off slow once more, but that’s not for long, as you’re quick to return to the previous pace when you were in the kitchen, your hips crashing into hers while your cock hits the deepest points of her asshole. “Fuck, I’ve missed this, baby—I’ve missed taking your ass,” you blurt, letting your longing for anal sex be known to her.

Having teetered on the precipice of orgasm for too long, your cock sends signals, telling you that your orgasm is very near and approaching rapidly. “I’m going to fill your ass, baby,” you say to Chaehyun, who has lost herself in this all-consuming anal sex.

With one last pump, you stick your cock balls deep, a wave of pure ecstasy flooding your head, her clenching muscles adding more to the bliss, and Chaehyun screams as your hot semen fills her anal cavity to overflowing.

As you ride the high of your orgasm, splashing sounds are heard. “Baby? Are you squirting?” She nods weakly as stray strands of hair get stuck to her face. “Y-yes, daddy,” she admits with no shyness in her voice, only remnants of pleasure from the unbridled encounter. “Ngh!” Chaehyun grunts as more and more of her juice flows out in abundance, drenching the carpet of the living room. “You know, it almost feels like your body remembers some of these things,” you offer her an observation. “I… I guess it does.”

You slowly withdraw, letting your excess seed spill onto the carpet. With cautious and precise movements, you help her climb onto the sofa, lying her square on her back. “You’re alright, baby. You’re so amazing,” you whisper, calming her down and praising her at once. Seeking comfort, Chaehyun opens her arms, inviting you to take your rightful spot in her embrace.

“How… how did you do that?” You chuckle at her question, pressing a tender kiss on her lips. “I just did what my old self would do, baby,” you answer her. “Were you in pain, by the way? Do you want to never do this again?” At first, she doesn’t answer, but eventually, she says, “I mean, you were very deep in my anus.” You nod as a surge of guilt stirs within. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Look, I promise we’ll prepare ourselves better next time, if there is a next time.”

She takes her turn to peck you on the lips.

“There is a next time, yes. After all, I want to remember the bliss of anal sex, daddy.”

You grin, already looking forward to the next time you gape her ass again.

“That’s my good slut,” you whisper, letting the degrading term slip out.

“Yeah, I’m your good slut.”

#girl group smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader #male reader smut #kep1er smut

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thewritingrowlet · 3 months ago

Text

The Fractured Grace, ft. Red Velvet Joy

Warning: Depiction and mention of abuse

tags: abusive relationship, rekindled love

length: exactly 9k

author's note: Trying a different POV with this one. Oh, and that warning isn't there without reason.

“Sooyoung.”

One word from Eric’s lips is enough to cast a shadow in the bedroom, the darkness all too familiar to Sooyoung.

“E-Eric, m-my love,” Sooyoung forces a smile, hiding fear behind a curl of her lips, “erm, is there anything you require from me?” Eric moves closer towards Sooyoung, his presence filling the space that is shrinking at an alarming rate, her smaller frame stuck between his and the wall behind her. “You know what I want, Sooyoung,” his voice is deep, frightening.

“I want your body.”

A nervous shiver runs down Sooyoung’s spine, but once again, she manages to force a smile. “Certainly, my love; you will have me as usual.” Eric smirks, his face a mask of anything but love. “Erm, I-I’ll undress myself now.” With trembling hands, Sooyoung reaches for the shoulder straps of her negligee. Her gaze flicks towards Eric's trousers, a flicker of defiance in her eyes before she schools her expression into one of practiced submission.

Sooyoung frees herself from the humble fabric, now standing bare in front of Eric. “H-how do you—ngh!” Before she can finish her words, Eric forces Sooyoung to bend over, pressing down on her nape, thus planting her face into the mattress. “Such a noisy little thing, aren’t you?” Eric says, his voice dangerously low. “Always have something to say.” Eric’s palm strikes her butt, the cracking sound bouncing on the bedroom walls. “I-I’m s-sorry, l-love; I-I just wanted—ngh, please!” Once again, Eric interrupts her. The only difference is how he does it: with a slap to butt.

“Say one more word and I’ll hit anything but your ass—am I fucking understood?”

With tears running down her cheeks, Sooyoung nods wordlessly, crumbling under Eric’s cruelness. “Good,” Eric swiftly lowers his zipper with one hand, “now spread your rear for me; show me your slutty holes.” Sooyoung obediently does as ordered, parting her butt cheeks for his… inspection.

“Hmm,” Eric hums as he examines Sooyoung’s most private areas, “you’ve prepared your ass too, haven’t you, pet?” She nods slowly as her mind is flooded with memories of the excruciating pain from warming up her anus with an oversized dildo. “Y-yes, sir; I-I tried my best.” Sooyoung bites her lip hard when Eric’s finger suddenly pushes through her tight pucker, trying her hardest to not show weakness. “Still tight but also loose enough to take my cock—good job, pet.” A small wave of relief washes over her at his praise; he could’ve told her that her efforts were still lacking, but he didn’t, and that’s the most important thing for Sooyoung right now.

Sooyoung’s breath becomes ragged and rapid as she feels Eric’s thick tip pressing against her puckered hole, forcing it to stretch around his thickness. “Let me in, pet,” he demands, pushing his hips forwards with force. Adhering to his command, Sooyoung relaxes her muscles as much as she can, because she knows that failing to obey will bring Eric’s most cruel side out. “S-sir, I-I’m… trying,” she says in a pained voice. Eric smacks Sooyoung in the butt. “Try harder, then.”

Eric exhales deeply when he finally manages to force his way into her tight anus. “Good job,” he says, his words anything but praise. “Now I’m going to pound your little ass, and you’re going to beg for me to keep going.” Sooyoung can only nod as her mind is too occupied with the burning stretch in her rear. Eric, evil as ever, yanks her hair firmly. “Fucking say something, pet—when did you become so ungrateful, huh?” A tear rolls down her face as she tries to cope with the intense pain from having her hair pulled. “T-thank you f-for using me, sir; I-I exist only f-for your pleasure.” Much to her relief, Eric lets go of her hair, letting her face free-fall onto the mattress. “There you go—wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Sooyoung’s nails dig into the mattress as Eric slams his cock into her anus repeatedly, and amid all this, she still manages to keep moaning. Not out of pleasure, however, but out of fear of his punishment. The sounds of skin-on-skin contact fill the bedroom as Eric takes her ass relentlessly, the low moans from his lips adding to the noise.

Sooyoung is hoping that the pace will remain relaxed just like—

“FUCK, SIR, PLEASE—PLEASE, IT HURTS!”

Her desperate screams fall into deaf ears; Eric doesn’t seem to care about whether Sooyoung is in pain. If anything, she feels like Eric is enjoying the fact that she’s not enjoying this. “Just fucking take it, slut,” he says with heavy breaths. No matter how hard Sooyoung convinces herself that she needs to keep her obedience, the pain is simply becoming unbearable. “M-master,” she pulls out the ultimate name, “p-please, i-it hurts so bad.”

Sooyoung exhales deeply in relief when Eric pulls his cock out of her anus, the emptiness giving her much-needed chance to relax. She can’t be bothered to look at the commotion happening behind her, too busy catching her own breath.

“I’m going to fucking punish you, slut.”

Her eyes promptly widen at Eric’s declaration, her body trembling from fear of his intense promise. Sooyoung glances at Eric over her shoulder; he has a leather belt in his hand, his eyes dark with anger, and he’s about to unleash it against her poor, helpless body.

“FUCK!”

Sooyoung screams from the top of her lungs when Eric’s belt lands on her butt cheek, the pain intense and long-lasting. “P-please—FUCK!” Another strike lands, and in a moment of weakness, Sooyoung pees herself. Eric smirks, evil as always, a twisted sense of amusement spreading across his face. “Look at you, pissing yourself while getting punished—admit it, pet, you enjoy getting punished.” She shakes her head weakly as tears flow out of her eyes torrentially. “I-I don’t, sir; I-I don’t enjoy getting punished.” Not satisfied with her answer, Eric strikes her repeatedly, “Say it again?” Sooyoung catches on his intention; he wants her to say yes. “Y-yes, I-I enjoy getting punished, master,” she says, even when her mind screams otherwise.

“Sleep tight, master,” Sooyoung says, her voice a hollow echo in the dimly lit room, as Eric settles into the mattress. “I will join you after this, if you’ll allow me.” Eric ignores her, closing his eyes right away. Sooyoung maintains her straight posture for a few minutes, waiting for him to fully lose consciousness to the slumber.

Sooyoung carefully takes a few steps back, closing the bedroom door as gently as she can as to not disturb his peace, and then…

She runs.

She runs as fast as she can, bare feet slapping against the cold pavement, desperately resisting the exhaustion of her body.

She runs as far as she can, fiercely putting as much distance as possible between herself and Eric, between her old life and her new hope.

Then she stops; her legs are too heavy, her body is too sore, her breaths are heavy as she pants— her soul is too battered.

She leans against the wall of exposed brick next to her, crying to her heart’s content, hoping that someone, anyone, would come save her.

“Jordan.”

A name appears in her mind: the name of her ex-husband whom she left for Eric years ago.

“Jordan.”

A name rings in her mind: the name that she used to say with so much love and fondness years ago.

“Jordan.”

A name slips out of her lips. A name that gives her sudden surge of strength, a sudden urge of longing. A name that makes her feel… safe. He’s the one—he has to be. No one else but Jordan.

But… but how? Hell, it’s been so long since she last saw Jordan. “Would he want to see me, after all I did?” Doubt, a cold, dementing wave that erases the warmth of hope like a tsunami. Sooyoung wraps her arms around herself, seeking comfort in the chill night air. Her stomach growls, and she’s promptly reminded of how long since she last ate. “Fuck, this isn’t the time,” she curses.

As she stays leaning against the wall, a pair of head lamps of a bus appear in the distance, a resemblance of inspiration for the desperate Sooyoung. “That’s it,” she thinks. “That’s my way back to Jordan.”

Sooyoung waits until the bus stops in front of her, until the driver opens the doors for her. “Last bus for the night, miss—are you getting on or not?” Sooyoung gathers her might, pushing her back off the wall. “Y-yes, please.” She drags herself to get on the bus, severely hoping that the driver won’t ask too many questions.

Sooyoung settles herself in the front seat. She swears that the seat, despite forcing her to sit upright, is more comfortable than the mattress at Eric’s house. She keeps her gaze aimed out the window as the bus takes her away. Her eyelids grow heavy, a hollow reminder of her exhaustion, but she fights to keep them open. “Can’t sleep now,” she tells herself, steeling her body and mind ahead of the unfinished journey.

“Jordan.”

The name appears again, a lifeline that is pulling her through this suffocating grimness. Sooyoung pictures the old house she and Jordan used to call home: the bench in the front garden, the vibrant arrangement of flowers, and the window of the bedroom in which they used to sleep in peace every night. Everything is a stark reminder of the safety and warmth she traded for… for…

“I left him for nothing.”

As the bus rattles to a stop with its metal brakes screeching, Sooyoung finds herself in a familiar neighborhood. “We… we lived on the cul-de-sac.” She drags her legs towards her destination, a house at the end of the street, the most prized location in the area.

Sooyoung stops on the sidewalk right in front of the house, scanning the exterior. There is a bench in the garden but that’s not the same one. The flowers are replaced with a bland hedgerow. The window doesn’t have the same warm glow as it once did—if anything, it feels… lifeless.

A knot of unease tightens in her stomach, a cold dread creeping in. “Everything has changed.”

Sooyoung presses the bell beside the gray front door that used to be painted in a warm brown. Before long, she hears someone approaching from the other side, and Sooyoung’s pulse quickens at the anticipation.

“Hello? Can I help you?”

Her smile falters: it’s not Jordan who is opening the door for her, but rather a woman around her age.

“Erm, h-hello,” Sooyoung stammers as she collects her thoughts. “I… I used to live here with… with my husband—erm, his name was Jordan, Jordan Trace.” The woman scratches her temple, her forehead furrowing in thought.

“Wait, Jordan Trace? The surgeon?”

Sooyoung’s heart swells with pride. “He did it—he actually did it!”

“Yes, that’s precisely him,” Sooyoung answers, hopefulness drawn on her features.

A kind, warm smile spreads across the woman’s face. “I’m sorry, but Doctor Trace no longer lives here—we did buy this house from him, though.”

Hope might be as small as a candle’s fire, but it burns bright as ever, an undying source of light in her dark heart. Sooyoung is not giving up on finding Jordan; he’s the only one who can save her now. “Erm, d-do you know which hospital he practices in?” Much to her delight, the woman says yes. “My husband talked to him a few days ago, and if I remember correctly, Doctor Trace said he’s still working at the National Hospital.”

A single tear of joy drops onto Sooyoung’s cheek. “He made it to the National Hospital,” she thinks, a smile tugging at her lips. “Well, thank you for your help; I’ll look for him there.” With a nod, the woman closes her front door, thus disappearing behind it.

“The National Hospital—I’m coming, Jordan.”

The hospital’s big glass doors slide open for Sooyoung, the cold air from the wind wall washing over her exhausted-but-excited body. She scans the bustling interior, her eyes looking for familiar faces in the sea of white. Nurses and doctors alike pace around, their steps driven by an urgency that is unknown to Sooyoung.

Driven by her own urgency, Sooyoung approaches the front desk who is attended by a busy operator whose eyes are moving rapidly across the computer screens on her desk. “E-excuse me,” Sooyoung says softly, her voice barely audible in the busy environment. When the operator focuses on her, she continues, “C-can I see a doctor? I… I’ve been hurt.” She pulls up her sleeves, revealing the bruises on her forearm. “Of course, madam. Please, have a seat for a moment.”

Sooyoung settles into a seat in the waiting area. Then, her ears pick up a commotion from the hallway to her right. “Doctor Trace! Someone, find Doctor Trace!” Her pulse quickens, a surge of adrenaline flowing within her as she anticipates seeing Jordan in action. “Trace, come on, quick!” A woman’s voice echoes in the hallway, and Sooyoung instantly rises to her feet, her body acting before her mind can stop it. Hurried footsteps are heard from the other direction: Jordan is running full speed across the hospital right before Sooyoung’s eyes. In this moment, Sooyoung realizes something: Jordan is indeed here, but he’s on duty, his focus on others, as always.

“Some things just don’t change, do they, my love?”

Jordan pauses his steps as if able to hear Sooyoung’s thoughts and looks in her direction. His eyebrows furrow, and he begins approaching her. “Soo…young?” he mutters with hesitation in his voice, his eyes searching hers for confirmation. “Doctor Trace, OR 1—right now!” The nurse’s urgent voice pierces through the hospital’s interior, sharp and demanding. “Yeah, on my way.” Jordan quickly changes direction, and before he disappears behind the operating room’s door, he shoots Sooyoung another glance.

Sooyoung’s butt falls onto her seat once more, her heart pounding in her chest. “He saw me,” she thinks. “H-he recognized me.” Her heart wishes the moment lasted longer, but his demanding work comes first. “What now?” she wonders, her eyes stuck on the floor at the exact spot that Jordan stood on. Sooyoung lifts her chin, hoping that Jordan would magically appear out of the operating room, but he doesn’t—of course he doesn’t.

Lost in her own sea of thoughts, Sooyoung fails to notice a nurse approaching her. “Excuse me, madam,” she says in a soft tone. “You said you were looking for help with your wounds?” Sooyoung’s gaze swiftly meets hers. “Y-yes, please. M-my partner wasn’t so kind.” The nurse offers Sooyoung a sympathetic look, nodding in understanding of her situation. “Please follow me, madam; Doctor Thorn will help you.”

Sooyoung gathers the strength of her legs, rising to her feet to see Doctor Thorn. The nurse patiently guides her step as if she knows what it’s like to get the brunt of an abusive partner, and they stop in front of the doctor’s door. “I will give you space to talk with Doctor Thorn, madam,” the nurse says, opening the door on Sooyoung’s behalf. She nods slowly, thankful for the sympathy that is being shown to her. “Thank you so much, nurse.”

“Good evening,” Doctor Thorn greets Sooyoung warmly with a smile on his face, a difference that cannot be more contrast to her daily life. “Please, have a seat, madam,” he gestures at the inspection bed in his office. Sooyoung does as suggested, letting herself sink into the mattress that is firm yet comfortable. “Doctor, if I may,” she begins, “c-can I lie down?” The doctor nods, his smile yet to falter. “Of course, as long as you’re comfortable.”

Sooyoung grunts as her back lands softly on the mattress. The feeling of finally being able to catch her breath is beyond words. The doctor rises to his feet and approaches Sooyoung carefully. “Madam, I have been briefed about your… situation,” he says, his tone calm but hesitant. “If I may, I can help you call the police.”

A cold, nervous shiver runs down her body. While she hopes that justice will meet Eric, she’s scared about the potential of having Eric hold a grudge against her. “I-I’m scared,” she admits, her eyes wide with fear, “w-what if he comes after me?” Doctor Thorn shakes his head as he offers assurance that Sooyoung will be safe no matter what happens to Eric. “O-okay, but… maybe not now; I-I’m more worried about myself at the moment.”

The doctor proceeds to ask some questions about her background, hoping to find insights into her life. “W-well, my name is Sooyoung. Maiden name was Park, a-and then it was Trace, and now… I-I don’t even know.” Doctor Thorn’s eyebrows rise, intrigued by the reveal of information. “Trace? As in Jordan Trace?” Sooyoung nods slowly, worried about whether she has revealed too much. “Y-yes, precisely that Trace.” Thorn’s expressions turn serious and thoughtful. “Trace didn’t do this to you, did he?” Sooyoung shakes her head with fervor, trying her hardest to not put any dirt on Jordan’s name. “No, not at all, doctor. J-Jordan was always very kind to me,” she assures him.

The rest of the checkup is filled with tranquilizing silence, and a wave of exhaustion washes over Sooyoung, both physical and emotional. The events of the day, the escape, the encounter with Jordan, and the vulnerability she’s feeling in Doctor Thorn's office have taken their toll. She drifts in and out of awareness as Doctor Thorn tends to her wounds, her mind a swirl of conflicting emotions: hope, fear, and a desperate longing for safety.

When she finally comes to, a sense of calm has settled over her. The pain is still there, but it is dulled, and a strange sense of peace fills her. Doctor Thorn is finishing up, his movements gentle and efficient.

“Mrs. Trace, do you have anywhere to sleep?” Sooyoung’s heart pounds in her chest because of both the question and the name Thorn is referring to her with. “N-no, I don’t think so,” she answers nervously. “Erm, d-do you have a solution?” Doctor Thorn smiles, gentle as ever. “You can sleep in the waiting room if that’s okay with you. I’ll tell the nurses about your situation.” Sooyoung, feeling a rush of adrenaline, decides to shoot her shot. “D-doctor, c-can I… can I talk to Jordan for a bit?” He nods, understanding the weight of her emotions. “I will tell him to see you, Mrs. Trace.”

Sooyoung returns to the waiting room with a mix of hope and anxiety filling her mind. She settles on one of the benches, letting her back lie flat on it. As she lies still, her gaze remains fixed on the door of the operating room where Jordan is, waiting for him to come out and approach her. Time seems to bend and warp as she waits, the urge to sleep growing irresistible for her exhausted body. “Jordan, please…” she mutters, each word a desperate plea as sleepiness claims her, forcing her to close her heavy eyelids.

Jordan steps out of the operation room with heavy legs. The surgery has drained him, both mentally and physically, but this is just another day at the office for him. As he leans back in a chair, he’s reminded of another loose end that is yet addressed. “Sooyoung.” The name echoes in his head as worry grows in his heart. “I’m heading out,” he says to the head nurse, not bothering to provide more context.

His heart sinks when his eyes lands on the sleeping woman. Even from a distance, he can tell how battered she is, body and soul. Jordan approaches Sooyoung slowly, his steps noiseless as to not disturb her peaceful slumber. Jordan then gets down on one knee in front of her, his eyes getting teary at the sight of her bruised arm.

Jordan hesitantly reaches out towards her shoulder, his touch light and careful. “Sooyoung…” he says her name in a whisper, hoping that it won’t startle her. Sooyoung’s eyes slowly flutter open, still disoriented from her sleep. “Jordan…?” As she fully realizes who is kneeling before her, her eyes snap open, and she lifts her back off the bench with a sudden movement.

“Oh my God, Jordan!” Tears flow down her cheeks in abundance, leaving wet trails on their wake. “J-Jordan, I-I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about everything, about leaving you for that asshole. Please, please take me back, Jordan—I-I’ll do anything to earn your trust again, I swear,” she begs, desperate for his understanding and forgiveness, as her hands reach for his face. “My love, what happened?” Jordan asks, the endearment leaving no room for doubt about his feelings.

Sooyoung presses her forehead against his, not caring about making a scene. “H-he was… terrible, Jordan; h-he… used me…” Sooyoung trails off, her mind racing with memories of the grim moments she had to endure with Eric. Jordan instinctively wraps his arms around her, offering her the comfort that reminds her of the olden days. Sooyoung gasps in shock at the contact, but her body promptly relaxes from the familiar warmth that she has been longing for.

Jordan sighs heavily, a mix of conflicting emotions stirring within him. On one hand, he’s glad that Sooyoung has learned her lessons, but on the other, he wishes things hadn’t gotten this bad. After all, Jordan only let her go because he wanted her to chase after her own happiness, not paying too much regard for his own.

In the past, Jordan has heard her cries and sobs, but there’s something about hearing them tonight that wrings his heart worse than ever. “Sooyoung, listen, please,” he says, his voice steady despite the pain in his soul. “You’re safe now, my love. Eric can’t touch you here,” he tells Sooyoung, offering heartfelt assurance to her.

Sooyoung wraps her arms more tightly around Jordan, afraid that he will disappear if she lets go. “Jordan, please, help me—don’t throw me out like some unused garbage,” she pleas, hoping to reach his good conscience. Jordan nods slowly, feeling the weight of each word. “I’ll help you, love, but there’s a condition,” he says, his tone firm. Sooyoung instantly pulls back, looking at him right in the eyes. “Name it, Jordan, and I’ll follow it to the letter—I’ll do anything to earn your love again.” Jordan cups her face, his thumb making idle circles on her cheek. “You must promise that you won’t leave me again, and I’m sure you know why.” Sooyoung nods firmly as she quickly wipes her tears. “I promise, my love. I will never leave you again, not even for a second,” she replies, a surge of belonging rising in her soul.

Jordan wishes that he could stay with Sooyoung longer, but his shift is not yet done. “My love,” he says softly to her. “I’m sorry, but you will need to stay here for a few more hours; I’m still working, you see.” Sooyoung nods, a small smile spreading across her features. “Of course, love. Please, don’t let me distract you from your work.” Jordan chuckles a little. “Well, you are distracting me, but I get what you mean—please, go back to sleep if you can.” Still keeping her gaze locked on Jordan’s, Sooyoung lies down on the bench again, this time with uplifted spirits. “I will wait here for you, my king,” she says, using an endearment from way back, when they were… happier.

“Sooyoung, hey,” Jordan taps her arm gently, carefully waking her up. “Can I take you somewhere?” Sooyoung, barely awake, says, “Take me home, Jordan—your home.” A warm, loving smile stretches over his face, a sign of sincere willingness to take care of Sooyoung. “Sure,” he says, no hesitation in his mind. “Can you walk, or do you need a wheelchair?” With a grunt, powering through her exhaustion, Sooyoung stands up. “I think I’m okay.”

Instinctively, Sooyoung wraps her arm around Jordan’s as they walk to his car. “Old habits die hard, don’t they, sweetie?” Jordan teases, a hint of playfulness in his voice. Sooyoung looks away to hide her blush. “S-something like that…”

Throughout the ride, Sooyoung can’t stop fidgeting with the end of her sweater, her fingers twisting the soft fabric, her mind racing with things she wants to say. She occasionally steals glances at Jordan, admiring his calm demeanor that has not changed since they last met. Her gaze lands on his hand that is gripping the shifter. “His fingers look skinnier,” she thinks. “Is this stress, Jordan?” Pushing through the hesitation in her head, Sooyoung decides to ask about him.

“Jordan…” she begins, her voice barely a whisper. “How have you been, m-my love?” Jordan sighs, and she already can tell he has so much on his shoulders. “Alright, I suppose,” he gives her a short one. “I-I’m glad, Jordan,” she says again. Jordan was about to ask if Sooyoung has been well, but his tongue is stifled as he remembers why she’s here with him. “Oh, congratulations on becoming a surgeon, by the way.” A small smile appears on his face. “I wish you had been there, but at least you’re here now, so thank you for coming back.”

Touched by his words, Sooyoung can’t help but cry, letting tears drop onto her sweater. “Oh, Jordan… I-I’m so sorry,” she wails, “I-I’m so sorry for leaving you, hurting you.” Jordan nods, his lips trembling from held-back emotions. “Shh, love, no need to apologize,” he says, his eyes glassy from unshed tears, his hand offering a soothing touch to Sooyoung’s knee. “You’re here now, and you’re safe with me—you’re always safe with me.”

The car gently slows into a stop, sounds of crunched gravel heard from inside the car. Sooyoung lifts her head, and her jaw drops at the sight in front of her: Jordan’s house stands proudly in the end of a long, tree-lined cul-de-sac. A two-story house that is painted in white—grand yet comforting. A shiver runs down her spine when she sees something on his front lawn: the bench from their previous house that still looks pristine, a contrast that cannot be any starker to her own battered self.

“Jordan…” she mutters, her voice thick with awe. “You… you live here?” Sooyoung, initially not paying attention to him, yelps softly when his hand touches hers. “We live here, my love—this is our home.” At his gentle correction, her heart swells with newfound affection for him. “Yes, Jordan, w-we… we live here,” she says, her words hesitant but full of hope.

Jordan, the kind, attentive man he is, offers Sooyoung an open palm to assist her in getting out of the car. She grips his hand firmly, letting him guide her to their destination, content in the knowledge that she is always safe with him. Jordan places his thumb on the biometric scanner, the lock unlatching with a subtle click, thus letting them enter the grand haven.

“Please, have seat somewhere; I’ll join you after this.” As she slowly pads over to the living room, Sooyoung scans the interior, taking in the sight of the fancy and modern details of his house. “Wow,” she mutters repeatedly, awed by his keen eye for perfection. Sooyoung lets her butt sink into the plush armchair, leaning against the soft backrest. “Goodness me,” she thinks, appreciating the physical comfort she has been desperate for.

Keeping his words, Jordan joins her in the living room, taking a comfortable position in the long sofa to her left. “So, Sooyoung,” he starts, “is there anything you want to talk about first?” Sooyoung lifts herself off the armchair, taking hesitant steps towards him, and she gets down on her knees between his spread legs, her eyes filled with emotions.

“Jordan, please forgive me,” she says, each word charged with emotions. “I-I was so fucking stupid to leave you, leave the safety and comfort only you could provide.” Jordan looks at her with a steady gaze, his silence deafening. “Jordan, please, say something,” she begs, scared and frustrated by his muteness.

“Do you know what I did after you had gotten on that taxi that night?” His firm tone strikes her right at her heart, her shoulders slumping at the weight of his words. “N-no, sir, I-I don’t know.” Jordan closes his eyes as he inhales sharply, desperately getting fresh air into his system, trying to hold the reins of emotions before they overwhelm him. “I cried, Sooyoung—I cried all night long, calling your name, hoping that you would suddenly appear before me, until I fell asleep.”

As the immense weight of his revelation settles over her, Sooyoung lets her head lean weakly against the inside of Jordan’s thigh, not daring meet his gaze. “Jordan, please,” she begs with tears threatening to escape her eyes. “Please, forgive me for my cruelness, my love."

Jordan’s chest tightens, a wave of conflicting emotions washing over him. The memory of those lonely nights, the raw ache of loss, battled with the sight of Sooyoung, broken and pleading before him. He reaches out, his hand trembling slightly, and gently lifts her chin. His eyes, though still holding a trace of pain, soften with a flicker of compassion.

“Sooyoung,” he says, his voice heavy. “I won’t pretend it didn’t hurt—it did, more than you know.” He pauses, his thumb tracing a gentle circle on her cheek. “But seeing you like this… knowing what you’ve been through…” He swallows hard, his gaze searching hers. “I can’t just turn you away—not again.”

A fragile hope blooms in Sooyoung’s eyes, tears still clinging to her lashes. “Does… does that mean…?”

Jordan manages a small, weary smile. “It means we have a lot to figure out, a lot to talk about, but it also means… you’re home, Sooyoung.”

Sooyoung quickly rises to her feet with tears all over her cheeks, crashing her body into Jordan’s in a rushed embrace that is laden with emotions. “Oh my God, Jordan, thank you—thank you so, so, so much!” Her arms wrap more tightly around him as she lets go of everything else, letting herself be bare and vulnerable before the only man who can provide a semblance of comfort to her, the only one who has ever made her truly feel safe.

Sooyoung pulls away from the embrace just enough to look him in the eyes. “B-but… where will I sleep, though?” Jordan’s features soften, a tender smile taking root on his face. “The guest room is over there, and you’ll have your privacy, but if you’d like to not be alone…” he trails off, letting Sooyoung piece it together. Sooyoung’s heart flutters; the prospect of being close to Jordan, lying in bed next to him like the good old days, is akin to a warm blanket to her hurt soul and body.

“J-Jordan, if I may, I… I would like to sleep next to you tonight.” Her heart pounds in her chest as she delivers the request, hoping that Jordan will accept her presence in his bed after years of being apart. “Sure, as long as you’re comfortable with it.” A wave of relief washes over her, and Sooyoung places her forehead on his. “Thank you, Jordan, and I love you.” Jordan gives a fleeting peck to her lips, the contact quick but sincere. “You’re welcome, Sooyoung—or should I say, Joy.” A small chuckle escapes Sooyoung’s lips at the old nickname they used to share, a reminder of a better past. “Joy, yes,” she says, her voice lighter than before. “That’s what I feel when I’m with you.”

“Anyway,” he says, disrupting the moment of intimacy. “I believe you haven’t eaten in so long.” Sooyoung bites her lips as she nods. “Do you… do you want to me to make breakfast, Jordan?” “No, I don’t” he says. “I’m going to make us breakfast, so if you’d let me go for a few minutes, that would be great.” Sooyoung reluctantly loosens the embrace, slowly pulling away from him. “Of course,” she says as she gets off his lap.

Sooyoung sits still on the sofa while Jordan is busy whipping up breakfast, and if things are still the same, it’s guaranteed to be good, especially now that she hasn’t eaten in so long. The fragrant smell of cooked garlic floods the room, a familiar scent from way back when. “Pasta, Jordan?” He looks at Sooyoung over his shoulder with a smile on his face. “Yes, the usual.” Excitement grows within her, but at the same time, a flicker of pain crosses her features. “I used to make pasta for Eric too, you know, but… he threw it in the trash every time,” she reveals in a pained voice.

Jordan, taken aback by the story, immediately stops what he’s doing, a heavy sigh flowing out his lips, a mixture of anger and sadness swirling within him, his mind unable to comprehend the embodiment of cruelness that is Eric fucking Cowden. “Fucking bitch—what the fuck kind of man is that?” he curses, his fists clenching because of the anger. Sooyoung notices the way his body is tensing up, silently cursing herself for ruining the moment. “Oh, no, Jordan,” she thinks.

“J-Jordan…?” she calls to him, her voice trembling slightly, scared about what he will do next, the same way she used to fear Eric. “No,” he says, his resolute tone cutting through the smell of cooked pasta. “No, I’m not evil like Eric at all, and you know this better than anyone else,” he says. His tone, though strong, carries a sense of gentleness, a soft reassurance. Sooyoung nods without a doubt in her heart and mind that Jordan is a far better man than Eric. “Y-yes, I-I do know it better than anyone else,” she repeats his words, instilling within herself that she’s safe in his care, a mantra to combat the lingering pain from the past.

“Alright, it’s done—come, baby, let’s have some breakfast.” Sooyoung lifts her butt of the sofa, already missing the soft sensation of the cushions, and joins Jordan at the dining table where a large plate of carbonara pasta is waiting for her. “Wow,” she blurts, “this is exactly the same, isn’t it?” Jordan chuckles slightly as he nods in acknowledgment that this pasta is indeed the same from years ago, a gentle commemorative of a better life.

“You know, sometimes I would think about you whenever I had pasta, wondering if you were safe and happy,” he reveals, being as honest as can be. “Then, imagine how I felt when Thorn told me about your… conditions.” Sooyoung closes her eyes, her hand reflexively moving towards her bruised arm, right where it hurts the most. “You’ve… heard from Doctor Thorn, Jordan?” He nods slowly, his gaze still locked on the plate before him, his appetite momentarily forgotten. “Thorn thought I should know, since you’re my ex-wife and all that.”

Jordan shakes his head to shake the disturbing thoughts off his mind, shifting his focus towards providing a hearty breakfast for Sooyoung. “I think it’s best to start eating now—I… I want to look at you after this, though.” The thought of standing bare before him, letting her wounds be exposed to his watchful eyes, is scary, but if there is anyone in this world that she would let herself be vulnerable in front of, it’s Doctor Jordan Trace, her ex-husband who is most kind. “He won’t ever hurt me,” she reminds herself, casting the mantra once again to calm herself.

Forks clink against plates as Jordan and Sooyoung enjoy the wonderful serving of pasta, and before she knows it, she’s down to the last bite. She’s elated about finally being able to fill her belly with good food, but she’s reminded of Jordan’s promise from earlier: he’s going to look at her wounds personally. Without being told, Sooyoung lifts the end of her sweater, lifting it up over her head until she’s down to her bra, stepping closer towards him to give him a better look. “Please, inspect me, Doctor Trace.”

Jordan’s heart shatters into a billion pieces; the sight of Sooyoung, the woman he once loved so fiercely, now marred and broken, is a devastating blow to him. His breaths hitches, his fists clenching, as an urge for protectiveness rises within him. Sooyoung, the woman he once knew for being vibrant and cheerful, is now covered in bruises and cuts, a clear testament to the brutality she has endured. Circles of deep purple paint her skin, a constellation of pain. Despite the heartbreaking sight, the urge to shield her from any harm that might threaten her again, he stays solid, his voice controlled and calm, his expressions a mask of professionality. “Pull through, Jordan—do it for her,” he tells himself, battling the immense rage and sorrow that are stirring within.

Jordan takes a few deep breaths, desperately trying to get himself together. “Turn around, please,” he says, his voice gentle as intended. “Fuck,” he curses; her butt cheeks are also covered in bruises, twisted souvenirs of Eric’s punishments. “Please… bend over,” he instructs, placing a hand on her back, guiding her to show her most private parts to him, his professionality nearly crumbling due to the turmoil inside.

He sighs in relief; her vagina doesn’t look like it has been injured, but knowing Eric, it’s her anus that is more likely to be injured. Jordan breathes heavily, his heart racing between his ribcage, as he carefully parts her buttocks. Her puckered ring is showing signs of… of…

“Fuck.”

The word is a raw cry, coming from the deepest points in his heart, the weight of the discovery a crushing blow to his already crumbling resolve. With tears running down his cheeks, he gently places a finger on her anus, making circles around the ring of muscles. “Does… does this hurt, my love?” Sooyoung gasps in shock at the contact, but she quickly relaxes her body, now able and willing to feel his touch on her most private area. “N-not really, doctor—I… I think my body has gotten used to it,” she says, each word laced with a heartbreaking acceptance of her terrible past.

That’s it for him. Jordan can no longer keep his professional charade, the carefully constructed facade crumbling before the brutal reality laid bare before him. He breaks down into tears, hot and stinging against his skin, his body shaking with sobs, his palms supporting his forehead, his fingers digging into his scalp as he bends down, his knees buckling beneath him, to cry. The lingering aroma of pasta becomes a sickening reminder of the violation she has endured.

“I failed her—I failed her again,” he thinks, the guilt a crushing weight on his chest. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he curses repeatedly, the words ragged and broken, each one a testament to his pain, a desperate attempt to purge the horror from his mind. “I-I shouldn’t have let you go—I should’ve known better than to let you go.” His voice is thick with tears, choked with remorse, the words a self-inflicted punishment for his perceived failure.

Sooyoung, amidst Jordan’s mental collapse, the sound of his anguish a mirror to her own, drops onto her knees, her legs giving out beneath her, breaking down into tears herself. Her body shakes with sobs, the weight of her trauma finally crashing down upon her. “J-Jordan,” she manages to stammer out his name, a desperate call for comfort. “J-Jordan, hold me—please, I’m begging you.”

Jordan pulls Sooyoung into a tight embrace, his strong arms wrapping tightly around her body, his muscles tight with a sense of protection for his beloved. “You’re safe with me, my dear—you’re very, very safe with me,” he says despite the torrent of tears that is yet to stop. Jordan’s assurance of her safety shatters whatever resolve she has left, melting into the embrace, fully trusting herself in his hands. “I… I hate him, Jordan—I-I hate him with my life,” she stammers, smacking Jordan’s back in frustration and anger. “Please, Jordan, don’t kick me out; I-I need you, my love. I need you more than ever.” Sooyoung’s every word carries the depth of her pain, stabbing Jordan’s heart mercilessly. “Never, my love. I will never let you go,” he vows silently, holding her tighter.

Jordan’s arms stay tight around Sooyoung, a fierce embrace of protectiveness that seems to physically shield her from the horrors of her past. His nose gets buried in her hair as she nuzzles against the crook of his neck, the faint scent of cheap shampoo a poignant reminder of her recent hardship. “Shhh, baby, shhh,” he murmurs, soothing them both amidst the raging storm within. He rocks her gently, a primal instinct to comfort the wounded, desperately wishing he could absorb her pain into himself.

For a long moment, they simply hold each other. These two broken souls are finding solace in each other’s arms. The sobs that have been wracking Sooyoung’s body are finally subsiding, replaced by shuddered breaths and occasional hiccups. Jordan continues his tender assurances, and as meaningless as they might be, his tone conveys the depth of unwavering care, sympathy, and love, nonetheless. He doesn’t try to pry, doesn’t ask questions; he simply holds her. Everything else—their fragrant pasta, the chill atmosphere of the house, the grandness of the interior—is forgotten, fading to the background, as if not having meaning.

“My love,” Jordan whispers softly into her ear. “May I… may I help you shower?” Sooyoung whimpers; there’s this lingering fear of sharing such a small private space with a man, even when she knows that Jordan will never harm her. “P-promise me that you’ll be gentle,” she begs, her red eyes seeking his for confirmation. With a forced smile, Jordan nods as he wipes the remnants of her tears with his thumb. “Certainly, my love; I will be gentle and careful.” His gaze is soft yet unwavering, an unspoken promise of protection and care.

After a quick shower with Jordan’s help, Sooyoung steps out of the bathroom with his robe wrapped snug around her, its softness and warmth perfect for her exhaustion-torn body. “May I take you to bed, my love?” Jordan offers an open palm, an invitation to get some much-needed rest. “Erm, y-yes, please,” she accepts without thinking twice, the thought of letting herself sink into a comfortable mattress too tempting to resist. At her acceptance, Jordan takes her hand, guiding her with patience and care towards the bedroom, the safest, most comfortable place in the house, if not the world.

Sooyoung moans when her back lands on the soft mattress, her muscles properly relaxing after sleeping on the cold, hard bench of the hospital. “Jordan,” her hand taps around, searching for his. “I think… I want to sleep for a bit,” she says, hoping that Jordan won’t mind having her in bed with him so soon. Sooyoung sighs in contentment when she feels Jordan’s hand on the top of her head, petting her softly like he used to. “Of course, love; I’ll watch over you while you sleep.”

A comfortable silence settles in the air, broken only by their occasional soft sighs. Jordan remains beside her, his hand not stopping the gentle ministrations, and with it, Sooyoung lets herself be claimed by the exhaustion, closing her eyes slowly, content in the knowledge that she’s safe. Jordan, while being very careful as to not disturb her peace, shifts around, tangling his limbs with hers. “Sleep tight, my dear,” he whispers softly, casting a spell to send Sooyoung deeper into her slumber. A smile spreads across his face at the sight before him, the sight of his beloved finally getting the peaceful rest she deserves.

As her vision clears, Sooyoung realizes that she’s nestled against Jordan. His arm is draped over her belly while his legs are woven with hers. “Jordan,” she murmurs, still in disbelief that she’s lying with him, sharing warmth with each other. Her expressions soften at the sight of Jordan’s chest rising and falling with each breath, his exhaustion clear for her to see. She hesitantly places a hand on the side of his neck, gasping slightly at the heat it’s exuding. “You must be so tired, right, Jordan?” she whispers, her eyes shining with adoration for the man beside her.

Sooyoung shifts towards him, closing whatever little gap she has with him. “Thank you, my love,” she says, her thumb gently rubbing his cheek. “Thank you for saving me, for taking me back in your arms—I’m forever indebted to you, my king.” Her eyes widen when she hears a grunt from him, shivering slightly at the sudden fear of getting scolded for disrupting his sleep. “I… love you…” Jordan mutters, and a wave of relief washes over her. After what felt like a lifetime, she’s not getting yelled at, a most welcome contrast from her days of hardship. “I love you too, Jordan,” she whispers back.

Jordan’s eyes finally flutter open, still heavy with sleep, and the first thing his vision registers is Sooyoung. Her expressions are soft, filled with admiration and love for him, a mirror of his own feelings. His lips slowly curve into a smile, the warmth of their pressed bodies a comforting reality after the long hours of worry.

“Joy…” he mutters, the old nickname slipping out naturally without resistance nor hesitation, a familiar endearment that burns the bridge of separation. “You’re awake,” he mumbles as he pulls her closer to him, closing whatever gap there is. “Yes, my love, I’m awake,” Sooyoung presses a soft peck to his forehead, “I’ve been awake for while now.” Sooyoung nuzzles her face in the crook of his warm neck, pecking it generously. “Thank you, Jordan,” she says, her voice muffled by his skin. “Gladly, my love.” Sooyoung melts when a peck lands on the top of her head, an expression of his unwavering love and support for her.

After a few minutes of quiet contentment, Sooyoung pulls back, looking up at him with affection. “Jordan,” she mumbles, “what are we going to do now?” The question hangs in the air, spoken not with fear, but rather genuine curiosity and a sense of trust in the man in her arms. “We can do whatever you want, baby,” he says, prioritizing her comfort above all else. “Well, in that case…” Sooyoung trails off as she fights the heat on her cheeks. “Can we… can we make love, Jordan?”

A soft gasp escapes his lips as his eyes widen slightly. Not with surprise, but with a kind understanding about her underlying needs beneath her question. Warmth spreads through him. Not with arousal, but rather a sense of profound connection, a sense of coming full circle.

Jordan reaches for her face, his fingers gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his expressions filled with love that has endured the tests of life. “Joy,” he murmurs, using the cherished nickname once more. “Are you sure, my love? I don’t want to make you feel pressured.” Sooyoung’s hand reaches for his cheek, her thumb stroking his face with a gentle insistence. “I’m sure, my love,” she whispers. “I want to be close to you, intimate with you.” Jordan’s lips slowly form a smile, tender and affectionate. “Then yes, baby.”

Jordan claims his rightful spot on top of her, leaning down to capture her lips in a searing kiss, his arousal growing rapidly by the second. Sooyoung isn’t just lying there without a fight, though; she’s fighting back, her tongue wrestling with his. It’s only when she realizes that she’s no match for Jordan that she breaks the tangle, admitting her defeat before his immense desires.

“J-Jordan,” she mumbles, her eyes dark with want. “Take me, please; I can’t hold back anymore.” Sooyoung gasps when Jordan latches his lips on the sensitive skin of her neck. “Jordan, please, I’m begging you—I need you, Jordan,” she begs, getting desperately impatient. Without saying a word, Jordan slides his manhood into her waiting and willing sex, her wet walls stretching around him just enough to not hurt. “Mmph…” Sooyoung moans at the first contact, her body sinking deeper into the mattress. “Yes, that’s it, my king,” she airs her satisfaction, letting Jordan know that she’s comfortable with him.

Jordan groans softly against her neck, basking in the feel of her body yielding beneath him. He moves slowly, savoring the sensation of being reunited with Sooyoung. She meets his gentle thrusts with soft moans as her hands are on his shoulders and her body is arching against his. The rhythm soon settles into an urgent and consistent one, their movements matching each other’s, driven by the pent-up longing and the raw, primal need to reconnect on such an intimate level.

Sooyoung’s yelps as the entirety of Jordan’s manhood fills her completely, hitting the deepest points in her body. “Yes, Jordan, just like that,” she whispers to him, encouraging him to repeat such a movement. She whimpers when Jordan bottoms out inside her, the impact of the contact heightened by memories of sharing such intimacy after being separated for so long.

“Make me yours again, Jordan.”

These simple words seem to have flicked a switch in Jordan’s head, making him turn up the pace. Soon, the room is full of sounds of their lovemaking: Sooyoung’s soft moans, Jordan’s grunts, and the rustling of the sheets underneath them. All these sounds create a symphony. One of passion and love, a testament to their enduring bond that can’t be broken even in the face of hardship.

The rhythm grows faster and is more demanding. Their bodies move together as one, chasing that elusive peak together as they used to. Sooyoung’s moans become louder, more unrestrained, each one a proof of the pleasure that is coursing through her. Jordan’s grunts echo in the room, a vocal expression of his desires and delight of being reunited with the woman whom he gave his heart to. In this moment, nothing else matters to them; they are lost in the intoxicating pleasure of their love, a powerful affirmation of the type of connection they share and the promise of a new beginning.

“Joy, baby, I… can’t hold on.”

“Just… let go, Jordan—let it all go for me.”

Their world narrows into just this bedroom and this moment as they both reach their limits. Sooyoung cries out, her warm walls clenching around him as an unending series of spasms shake her body as she finds her release. Jordan follows swiftly, a deep, guttural groan escaping his lips as he lodges his manhood as deep as he can into her and pour every last bit of himself. They hold each other tightly, panting in each other’s arms as they ride the high of their shared release.

“I… I love you, Joy—I love you so much.”

Tears prick at the corners of her eyes at his simple yet powerful declaration; it has been so long since she last heard a man say something so sincerely, and the fact she’s come full circle and heard it from Jordan again is just wonderful.

“I love you too, Jordan. Thank you for accepting me again.”

A tender peck lands on her lips, the sweetness lingering insistently even after their lips have parted. “Oh, Jordan, you’re just… so perfect to me.” Jordan puts his hand on her cheek, his thumb drawing circles on it, and Sooyoung leans into his relaxed, mellow touch. “You’re perfect to me too, my love—so attractive, so sexy,” he murmurs, still high on arousal. “Well, anyway, thank you for being amazing, my love.” Sooyoung’s eye smile makes a return as she chuckles, a sight Jordan has missed so dearly. “You’re amazing too, Jordan, so thank you for that.”

The soft glow of the sun filters through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue in the bedroom. Sooyoung’s eyelids flutter open, heavy with the peaceful slumber she just had. She stretches around languidly, and she promptly moans as a realization settles in her mind: she’s still intimately connected to Jordan. Sooyoung’s cheeks are flushed both with embarrassment and contentment that his member is still comfortably seated inside her.

Jordan soon follows, a soft groan flowing out of his lips with ease as he blinks his eyes open. “Baby…” he calls to her in a whisper, his hand reaching for her face. “Good afternoon, my love.” Sooyoung snuggles closer, burying her face in the crook of his neck, filling her system with his scent. “Good afternoon,” she whispers back.

The sun’s bright yet warm light cuts through the dark world they once lived in separately. The horrors of the abuse still linger, yes, but now, it feels less like strangling misery and more like a memory that they can face together. Sooyoung pulls back slightly, just enough to look at him, her eyes filled with newfound strength thanks to this very man. “Jordan, we’ll be okay, right?” Her question is not one of doubt or uncertainty, but rather a statement of hope, a request for assurance.

Jordan’s hand tightens around hers, flames of unwavering and unconditional love shining bright in his eyes. “Yes, we will, my dear Joy,” he says, his tone firm and resolute as always. “We will be more than okay; we have each other again, and that’s all that matters right now.” Sooyoung closes her eyes in satisfaction as Jordan leans closer and presses a tender kiss to her forehead, an unspoken promise of protection, love, and loyalty that will stand the test of time.

“Thank you, Jordan—my Jordan.”

“Thank you, my dear Joy.”

#girl group smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader #male reader smut #smut #red velvet smut

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thewritingrowlet · 3 months ago

Text

The Trembling Heart, ft. FIFTY FIFTY Chanelle

tags: first time, creampie

length: 6k+

author's note: I tried a more show-not-tell approach with this—let me know if you like it.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” you greet your men.

“We’re going to head to Pioneer Heights this morning. We will be taking over evacuating the earthquake victims, and since most of the big rubbles have been cleared a few hours ago, we won’t use as many heavy equipment this time.” As you speak, you notice the way some men are getting uneasy; your best guess is they have loved ones they haven’t heard from since the event of the quake. “I won’t waste more of your time; you already know what to do—let’s roll, gentlemen.”

After putting on your helmet, you get in the passenger seat of one of the rescue trucks. “Captain,” the man holding the wheel calls to you. “I’ll be honest, I really want to look for my wife and child.” You ask if he knows where they were around the event of the disaster, and based on the phone locator app he has, they were in the downtown area when the earthquake struck.

“I understand that you’re concerned, but we already have a ton of people there; your family will be found in no time,” you attempt to assure him, placing your hand on his shoulder for good measure. The man nods slowly, his eyes remain fixed on the steering wheel. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” he sighs, “alright, let’s head to Pioneer.”

Before long, you and your convoy are on your way to Pioneer Heights, and it’s only a couple of blocks away before you reach the edge of the area. While it’s true that heavy machinery has cleared most of the heavy wreckage, there are still some high piles you and your crew need to get through. “Alright, let’s get off here and spread around.” The men on the back of the truck catch the signal as you get off, following your gesture and doing the same. “Four hours of search and one hour of break for two shifts for now.”

You let your crew spread around the area while you opt to take on this sizeable pile of ruins in front of what used to be a high-rise apartment building. “Time to test this new toy.” You pull out a ground-penetrating radar that was recently developed by a high-tech contractor, and you’re glad to see that it allows you to get an idea of what’s trapped underneath all of this mess. “That… looks like a person.” As you put your ears against the rubble, rhythmic, nearly inaudible knocks are heard—only a person is capable of making such rhythm.

“Someone’s here!”

With the help of a fellow rescuer, you lift the big debris, putting your backs to it to free this trapped person who turns out to be a woman around your age; her hair is a mess, her body is bruised and cut, and her clothes are damaged in various spots. “Let’s get you out of here, miss.”

“M-my brother,” she mutters weakly. “F-find him.” You nod firmly. “Of course, it’s what we’re here for.” You help her get on a stretcher, and as she gets carried away to receive medical help, you turn your focus back on the pile. “Alright, mister brother, where are you.”

After a few minutes of scanning, another void is detected in the pile. “I hope that’s him,” you think. Since the pile he’s stuck under consists of smaller pieces, you can dig through it yourself, and before long, you see a glimpse of skin through a tiny gap. “Someone’s here!” you announce again. You focus on pushing the rocks aside until more of the victim’s body can be seen. “Hold on, mister; help is coming,” you say to him.

“Ah, fuck—someone get me a drill, please.”

You stick your hand out, and a handheld drill is handed over to you by one of your crew members. You use the chisel-like tip to break the boulder into smaller pieces that are easier to handle. Soon, there is enough room to pull the man out of the mess, and based on the similar facial features, you guess that this is the brother of the woman from earlier. “You’ll be tended to by the medics now, mister,” you say to the weak, out-of-oxygen man.

A few days after the evacuation operation, you’re invited by one of the doctors of a nearby hospital to visit the recovering evacuees. She says that you should wear your duty attire, since that will likely help them recognize you.

You arrive at the hospital in your high-vis orange operative uniform, donning a radio on your chest for some extra appearance points. A doctor wearing a mask welcomes you at the front desk. “Good morning, Captain Morris.” You shake her hand firmly. “Good morning to you too, doctor.” As she guides you to your destination, the doctor, whose last name is Arnot (based on the name tag on her chest), proceeds to ramble about how everyone at the hospital has been working restlessly to tend to the survivors. “Doing God’s work as always, Doctor Arnot.”

The doctor stops at a slightly ajar door at the end of the second-floor hallway. “Let’s start here.” She opens the door for you and guides you in to see this survivor. “Miss Moon, this is the SAR operative you wanted to meet.” Your heart skips a beat. “Wanted to meet me, hey?” you thought.

The doctor soon leaves, giving you and this Moon lady a chance to catch up in private. “Hello, good morning,” you wave at her with a smile, “my name is Morris, Gerald Morris, from the Search and Rescue unit.” She returns the smile twice as sweetly. “Chanelle, Chanelle Moon,” she introduces herself. “Please, have a seat.”

You take her invitation, dragging a chair to sit close to her. “How are you, Miss Moon?” Her lips curve into a warm smile. “I’ve been well, and so has been my brother, all thanks to you.” Your cheeks warmed, and a flush crept up your neck thanks to her praise. “I don’t mean to brag, miss, but I was just doing my job.” Chanelle chuckles. “Sure, but you did your job so well, and for that, I’m thankful.”

Chanelle asks if you have time to spare to listen to her. “Well, yes, but if duty calls, I’m out of here.” Her face turns serious for a moment. “Oh, are there still evacuation operations?” You tell her that there are still open reports of missing loved ones submitted by the people, and the SAR department is busy turning every rock to find them. She nods, seemingly deep in thoughts. “Well, I wish all of you good luck. If there’s anything I can help you with, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” You thank her for the kind words and intentions.

“Yeah, that’s enough talk about work—do you have any other thing to talk about?”

“Not really, but I still would love to have you here with me,” Chanelle’s beautiful smile makes a return, “so, would you stay for a while?”

You offer a tentative smile as you think about the hidden intentions and unspoken words, and eventually, you decide to reply, “I will be honest, I don’t want to make us a subject of gossip by lingering around for too long.” Chanelle sighs as a flicker of disappointment crosses her features. “You’re… brutally frontal,” she says.

“I mean… I can give you my number, if that’s okay with you.”

Chanelle chuckles at your offer. “Are you interested or are you not, because I’m getting mixed signals here.” Her words have you scratching the back of your neck awkwardly. “I don’t know, really—I do know I enjoy being with you, though.” The way you’re saying these words oh-so-brazenly makes you think you’re not in control of yourself. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be so presumptuous,” you try to save yourself. Chanelle shakes her head. “You weren’t, so please, write down your number somewhere.”

There’s no paper or pen in the hospital room, so you head out to the nurse’s desk to get one. “Excuse me, can I get a pen and paper, please?” Lucky for you, the nurse doesn’t ask any question; she just hands you what you’re asking for. With them in hand, you return to Chanelle’s room.

As you write down the digits of your number, your satellite phone rings, and because of the panic, your handwriting becomes rushed and ugly towards the end. “I’m sorry, but I’m needed somewhere else,” you say. She nods in understanding. “Of course—save them all, tiger.” You and Chanelle look at each other, as if waiting for one party to say something first. Her chuckle tells you that she has nothing else to say. “Right, well,” you hand her the paper with your number on it, “see you soon, Chanelle.”

Around a week has passed since the earthquake, and the city is slowly getting back on its feet. Shops and offices are reopening, remnants of debris are getting cleared, and sirens are heard less often. Compare this peacefulness to the chaos from a few days ago when things are a mess; it’s almost fascinating how quickly people move on. While you enjoy such peace and sitting around in your office, it’s getting… boring.

So, to combat this boredom that’s getting unbearable, you decide to head out of your office, and since it’s close to downtown—thank God for that promotion two years ago—you don’t have to walk far to reach civilization. You make your way to this minimalistic coffee shop called Memories at The Intersection that is located at the intersection opposite you, hoping to find one of two things: something that can warm your body or someone to chat with.

Your eyes pick up nothing extravagant inside the shop; wooden furniture is spread around the interior, the barista is at the back, and there are stools going around the counter. You approach the counter while looking at the no-frill menu shown on the overhead TV.

“Hello, welcome to Memories at The Intersection. What would you like to have, officer?” You have a habit when visiting a new coffee shop to test its quality, which is to get a large iced americano and a large latte with no sugar. “Of course, that would be $10 for both.”

You pull out your wallet from your pocket, and that’s when the woman sitting at the counter next to you says something. “No, he’s with me; I’ll pay for his stuff.” Without looking at her, you (politely) insist on paying yourself—the woman insists back, though. “Please, that’s the least I can do for someone who saved my life.”

Your gaze leaves your wallet and moves towards this woman, and your heart skips a beat. “Chanelle? What are you doing here?” She chuckles. “I mean, this place is mine.” You see the barista blushing at the movie-like scene that is unfolding before her eyes, and you can’t help but chuckle. “Well, isn’t this just convenient.”

Chanelle invites you to join her in her room upstairs, and you take the offer without thinking twice. “Send his orders upstairs, Athena,” Chanelle says to the barista as you leave with her. “Oh, and be sure to knock first—don’t walk in on us while we’re… talking.” Heat creeps up to your cheeks due to her suggestive words. “Of course, Miss Moon,” Athena says.

Chanelle takes you to her private space that almost feels like a living room at someone’s house. “Sorry about the mess, but nonetheless, welcome to my office, Gerald.” You break out a laugh. “Believe me, baby, my office is much messier than yours.” She turns around and looks at you straight in the eyes. “Baby, huh? You’ve gotten comfortable with me, haven’t you, SAR Operative Gerald Morris?” You slap your own mouth for letting the endearment slip out. “My, I’m so sorry, that was very rude of me.” Chanelle smiles sheepishly. “Oh, it’s fine—I mean, I would be lying if I wasn’t attracted to you.”

You’re stuck in a stupor. “She’s attracted to me, huh,” you ask yourself. Chanelle snaps her fingers in front of you. “C’mon, it’s not the time to lose focus.” She turns around after getting you unstuck, but her steps are halted when you catch her wrist in your hand. “What—” Before she can finish her sentence, a fleeting peck lands on her lips. “Thank you for everything, Chanelle.” She licks her lips, savoring the taste you left on them. “Sure, Gerald,” she smiles warmly, “thank you for everything too—I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

After easing the tension between the two of you, Chanelle makes her way towards her desk. “What’s that for,” you ask, pointing at the microphone that’s fixed on a stand. “Singing, of course,” she answers, excitement woven in her voice. You ask if she’s down to sing right now, but she says no; she’s not in the mood and isn’t feeling well enough to sing. “I will sing for you next time, though.”

Chanelle sighs deeply as her butt lands on her chair. “Gerald,” she calls to you. “Can I ask some things about your work?” You headed out of your office to take a break from thinking about work, but Chanelle wants to talk about work—eh, whatever; let’s entertain her for now. “Yeah, sure.”

“What was the most difficult operation in your career?”

“Physically or mentally?”

Chanelle pauses momentarily.

“Both.”

You take a few deep breaths as you formulate an answer for her. “Saving that drowned child was… very rough,” you reveal. Her features soften as she imagines what it must have been like for you. “Drowned child, huh? Can I ask why it was difficult?” You nod. “He was the only child of a couple who had been childless for 13 years.” Chanelle stays silent, giving you the chance to keep talking if you wish. “Talking more about the operation would kill the mood, so I’ll stop here.”

It seems that she regrets asking that question. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go that deep right out the gate.” You close your eyes as you try to shake off the resurfacing images from that operation. “Yeah, well,” you sigh heavily, “that mission was both successful and unsuccessful at the same time.”

Some knocks are heard from the door, and you get on your feet to answer it. “No, no, let me,” she says, opting to answer it herself. Chanelle returns to you with your orders in her hands. “Here,” she hands them over to you, “let me know if you like it.” You first take a sip of the iced americano. “Pretty good,” you say. Chanelle lightly smacks you on the shoulder. “If you wanted to test us, at least do it properly—get a pour-over or something like that,” she says. Your cheeks turn red as you chuckle. “Sorry, I just like iced americano a lot.”

She then urges you to try the sugar-less latte, and your comment is the same as the americano. “Ugh, you’re so annoying—y’know, we should have a coffee date one day; I’ll teach you everything about coffee.” There is an opening to be bold here. “So, you’re saying that you want to see me again?” Chanelle, having been caught slipping, bites her bottom lip. “Maybe I do.”

As you enjoy the coffee and Chanelle’s company, rain starts pouring out of the night sky, falling hard right from the start. “Should’ve ordered something hot,” you blurt, thus causing Chanelle to laugh. “I mean, we have the best cappuccino in the city, if I do say so myself.” “Oh, yes, please,” you take her up on the offer right away. Chanelle calls the barista downstairs with the landline on her desk, ordering on your behalf. “Hey, uh, do you want some snacks too?” You say yes, so Chanelle orders a mixed snack platter for you. “Alright, they’ll be here soon.”

Before long, a cup of cappuccino and a plate of fried snacks appear before your eyes, delivered by the same barista from earlier. “You’re going to need to pay if you keep this up,” she quips. “Oh, don’t worry about it; I’ll even pay interests if I must.”

You take a piece of potato wedge from the plate and dip it into the sauce. As you munch on it, Chanelle looks at you intently while leaning against her propped-up arm. “I like garlic, and I hope you do too,” she comments. You show her two thumbs up. “Awesome sauce—just the perfect amount of garlic.”

Chanelle leaves her chair and joins you on the couch. “Do you mind sharing?” she asks. “No, not at all; have at it.” She replicates your gesture of picking up a piece of potato wedge and dipping it in the sauce, but she doesn’t look as satisfied as you. “Something’s off…” Chanelle trails off as she thinks about it. “Is it, though, because I think this is good?” Her forehead creases. “You don’t think this tastes bitter?” Well, you do, but you thought it was part of the charm. “Yeah, no, it’s not supposed to be like this.”

Chanelle offers you to get another sauce, but you decline, saying that you like this one despite the bitterness. She scoffs. “You like bitter? Is your life not bitter enough?” You chuckle a bit. “My life isn’t bitter now that you’re here with me.” She smacks your arm. “Oh, aren’t you the charmer,” she counters.

The satellite phone in your back pocket buzzes, a call to get back to reality. “Ah, shit,” you say in your head. “Not now,” you think. “Hello, this is Morris,” you greet the caller, forcing a calm, professional tone. “A landslide? Where?” A nervous shiver runs down Chanelle’s spine as she listens to the conversation you’re having; the thought of getting caught in a landslide triggers her trauma of being caught in an earthquake. Not only that, but the way you shift away from her does nothing to ease her nervousness.

“Hey, I—” The tenseness in her body is clear for you to see; her knuckles that are gripping her knees are white, and her gaze is long yet empty. “Chanelle, I’m sorry, but—” “Go, Gerald,” she says with urgency in her voice. “Do you need me to take you there?” You quickly consider the practical aspect of her offer, since your squad mates must have taken the truck. “Yes, please.”

Chanelle turns out to be quite the fast driver, zipping through traffic and cutting people off at every chance she gets. “Just a few kilometers to go, baby.” The endearing term flies out of your lips without restrictions—your mind is too occupied with thoughts of evacuating people out of the landslide.

As soon as the car stops, you quickly thank Chanelle for the help and sprint towards the evacuation site, not even bothering to put on a helmet first despite getting yelled at by your team members. “Then get me a damn helmet, why don’t you?” you bark back. Someone puts a helmet on your head from behind, and you make quick work with the strap, thus fixing it in place.

Chanelle steps out of her car after getting herself calm. Her gaze darts around, following your every movement as you scurry around the site. “C’mon, Gerald, save them like you saved me,” she thinks. She unconsciously steps closer towards the site, only stopping because a police officer reminds her to keep her distance. “Please, that’s my boyfriend,” she blurts. Insistent, the officer raises his hand, but his expressions are softening. “Your boyfriend is in safe hands, miss; these guys are the best we have,” the officer replies. Pride soars in her heart at the officer’s words. “Yeah, well, my boyfriend is the one with safe hands,” she says to herself, her eyes still stuck on you.

Time has passed by, and your legs finally give out, thus causing your butt to land on the rough asphalt. “Fuck, man.” Your chest heaves, each breath ragged and heavy. “W-water, please,” you say to a police officer who’s staring at you. With a firm nod, he turns around to find some water for you, and before long, you have a bottle of water in your hands. “T-thanks,” you say weakly.

“Gerald! Gerald, over here!” Chanelle’s voice cracks as she calls you over. You turn your head towards the source of the sound; Chanelle is waving her arm with fervor to get your attention. With a grunt, you gather your strength and walk towards her with heavy steps, dragging your legs along the way. You collapse near her, and Chanelle promptly gets down to her knees on the ground, her arms running on your body, trying to drive exhaustion away from your body. “You’ve done well, baby; you’ve done all you could,” she says, offering support and praise. Your eyes are closed as you nod. “T-thanks, baby.”

The blaring sounds of the ambulance siren pierce through the night, but they resemble the most comforting musical arrangement to your ears. “Yeah, take them,” you mutter weakly. Your racing heart gradually slows down as the sounds of the siren fade away, and now you’re able to open your eyes again.

“C-Chanelle,” you weakly lift your hand to reach her face, your voice barely audible, “t-thank you, seriously.” Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over as she cups your dirty face. “No, baby, thank you—thank you for saving them,” she replies, her voice shaking from the emotions. The endearment wraps around your exhausted body like a warm blanket. “I’m sorry but let me catch my breath for a minute.”

“Baby, let me take you home—you look like you can’t even stand,” Chanelle offers you some help. You nod, grateful for her generous offer. “That… would be great, actually.” With her help, you lift your back off the ground and get in a sitting position. You then call one of your teammates over. “Wrap things up quickly and RTB,” you say to him. “Yes, sir,” he replies, leaving your side to spread the command around. After making sure that everyone gets the message, you shift your attention to Chanelle. “Alright, I-I think we can go home now.”

Chanelle wraps her arm around you, guiding you back towards her car. “You know,” she breaks the silence, “I’m so, so proud of you, baby—you were incredibly brave, you know.” Fighting the heat on your cheeks, you thank her for the supportive words. “Alright, I’ll take you home now, baby,” she says. “I promise you will have the best sleep tonight.”

You groan as you settle yourself into the passenger seat. “Oh, God, my back.” Chanelle looks at you, studying your expressions intently. “Patience, please—look, I’ll drive fast like earlier.” As the car starts rolling, you lean against the window, your eyes getting heavy. “I’ll… get some rest.”

Chanelle taps your forearm to wake you up. “Babe, we’re here,” she whispers softly. Sleepy you might be, but you know this isn’t the neighborhood you live in. “This is my place,” she confirms. “C’mon, I’ll help you inside.” You shake your head, determined to get yourself on your feet. “I’ll be just fine, baby,” you say, your voice heavy.

Once again, Chanelle puts her arm around you as she guides you around the interior of her house. “Look, that’s our destination right there,” she points at a closed door, and you’re relieved that you don’t have to go up some stairs.

Chanelle props you up on the edge of the bed. “Undress, baby,” she demands. “Don’t sleep in your uniform.” You pause as you’re hesitant to oblige, considering the type of dynamics you currently have with her. “I-I only have my boxers underneath this,” you say. She looks nervous to have you nearly naked in front of her, but it’s the best in her opinion. “Just… just do it, please,” she says, her voice firm yet tender.

You make quick work of your uniform, leaving them discarded on the floor by the bed. “Good, baby, now lie down for me,” she says. Chanelle's eyes widen slightly as she takes in the sight before her; the way the fabric of your boxers stretch with your every move steals her attention. “Not now, Chanelle—he doesn’t need it right now,” she tells herself, doing her best to resist the growing urge.

Fighting the hesitation in her head, Chanelle climbs onto the bed, hugging you from the side. “Oh my God, you’re hot.” You chuckle a little. “Excuse me?” She blushes at the realization of the ambiguous nature of her statement. “No, I… I didn’t mean it like that—your body is literally hot, Gerald.” A small laugh leaves your lips. “Yeah, I got what you meant,” you say, amusement drawn on your face.

Chanelle stirs awake when she feels you jolt out of nowhere. “Baby,” she calls to you in a whispered voice. Through her sleepiness and the darkness of the bedroom, she scans your body for signs of discomfort, and she finds plenty of them; your body is tense, your veins are popping under the skin of your neck, and your forehead is coated with cold sweat. Her heart clenches with worry as she touches your heaving chest, her hand trembling from the unease in her belly.

A tear rolls down her cheek as you keep shaking violently in your sleep. “G-Gerald,” Chanelle rubs your chest tenderly, “Gerald, please, it’s just a nightmare.” Her attempt at soothing you is futile; you’re still tossing your head around as if trying to dodge something. “Gerald, please, baby,” she voices her distress at your condition. In a moment of desperation, Chanelle shakes your whole body with all her might until you wake up.

“Gerald, just wake the fuck up already—please!”

“H-huh? W-what?”

Seeing you wake up, Chanelle falls limply onto your body, still unable to stop crying. “G-Gerald, y-you were having a nightmare, weren’t you, baby?” Your gaze roams the dim bedroom. “Y-yes, I-I think so,” you reply. She presses a kiss onto your chest. “Y-you’re safe with me, baby; y-you don’t have anything to worry about, trust me.” Your hand subconsciously lands on the small of her back just above her hips. “I-I’m sorry, baby; I… I didn’t mean to worry you like that.”

Chanelle’s sobs die down eventually, but her embrace isn’t losing its warmth at all. She snuggles closer while looking up at you. “Do you… want to talk about it?” You take a deep breath; talking about it will help ease the emotional strain. “I saw… people,” you begin, your voice shaky. “They were screaming, so desperate for help, but no matter how hard I tried, they just… they kept getting swallowed by the ground—I… I couldn’t save them.” Chanelle keeps her gaze while her fingers softly tap your chest as she listens to you, creating a safe space for your vulnerable self.

“You know what, though, baby,” she says in a loving, tranquilizing tone. “There are a ton of people out there who were so lucky to have you save them, and I’m one of those people.” Your mind goes back to the day you pulled her out of the rubble, comparing her looks then and now. “You were so… weak,” you mutter. Chanelle sighs at the cheerless memory. “I was holding on to dear life, and suddenly, you freed me from the debris. You’re a hero, Gerald—you’re my hero.”

Despite the dimness of the bedroom, Chanelle’s glassy eyes are clear for you to see. “I love you, Gerald—I want to be with you when nightmares invade your sleep.” You place your hand on hers, savoring the little electric shocks from the contact. “Nightmares won’t haunt me ever again, baby; they’ll be scared of you, my guardian.” A chuckle escape Chanelle’s lips as a tear cling onto her cheek. “No, that’s really cute, actually,” she says. “Now, let me take you to sleep again, Gerald.”

Chanelle, fighting the heaviness of her eyelids, looks around the bedroom that is subtly lit by the morning sun. She sighs in contentment as her body relaxes, the tension from the previous night melting away. She looks up towards you, and when your gaze suddenly meets hers, her heart skips a beat.

“Goodness me, I thought you were asleep.” Your lips curve into a smile. “I mean, I was—I woke up not long before you,” you say. Chanelle hides her face deep in the crook of your neck, filling her system with your scent. She silently wishes you had taken a shower before you slept, though.

“I won’t lie; I haven’t slept this good in a while.” “Must be because you slept next to your hero,” you quip, a hint of teasing in your voice. “Oh, yeah, absolutely,” she says. “It felt so safe, and I’m sure you felt the same.” You nod slowly, having no intention of disagreeing. “Thank you, baby, for everything you’ve done so far.” Her cheeks turn soft pink; hearing such an endearment feels rather overwhelming when it’s said in a relaxed situation compared to a heated one.

Chanelle slowly untangles her limbs from yours, gracefully sliding out of bed. “We should start the day soon—what if you’re called to duty again?” Your grin falters, but you quickly regain control of your expressions. “Well, you know the drill; if I get a call, I’m out of here.” She looks at you with a smile, her heart swelling with pride for what you do. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but I hope you don’t get a call today; I think you deserve some rest.”

You keep your eyes on her swaying hips as she leaves you alone in bed. “Oh, by the way,” she suddenly turns around, catching you staring at her asset, “I’ll make you some coffee, give you a taste of perfection.” You chuckle, already excited at the prospect of having Chanelle make you coffee. “Surprise me, baby.”

After getting yourself together, you step out of the bedroom, and the smell of coffee invades your nose unforgivingly—it’s dark with a subtle hint of chocolate. “It smells much better than your coffee shop.” Chanelle laughs, amused by your comment. “It’s far better and more expensive than the stuff I sell there,” she says.

Before your eyes comes this warm, magical brew that might as well be a love potion, the steam carrying every bit of aroma. “Wow, the smell,” you take a quick sniff, “that’s just incredible.” Chanelle watches you intently, a wide smile spreading across her face, her eyes sparkling with pride and affection.

You close your eyes as you savor the flavors that linger on your tongue; the coffee is rich yet smooth, and the chocolaty edge gives more character and depth to it. In a moment of speechlessness, you let your body melt into the chair of the dining table, sighing in contentment over and over again.

“Wow—just wow,” you’re simply in awe, “can I buy this somewhere, because I would love to start every single day with this?” Chanelle pads over to you with her fists on her waist. “Why buy it if you can get it from me every morning, baby, hm?” Your cheeks are almost as hot as the cup of coffee. “Oh, stop, you’re going to make me burst.” Her fingers on your chin have your heart racing as she tilts your head upwards. “Now you feel more like a regular person than a no-bullshit SAR guy.” A smirk graces your features. “Do I also feel more like a boyfriend to you now, baby?” Amused, Chanelle pinches your cheek lightly. “Yeah, you totally do.”

“In fact…” Chanelle climbs onto your lap and places her hands on your shoulders, her crotch hovering dangerously close over yours. “You’re a very, very hot boyfriend to me right now.” A shiver runs down her spine as your warm exhale hits her skin. “Say, baby, am I attractive to you just like you are to me?” Chanelle asks, her eyes dark with want and need. “Yes, baby; you’re insanely attractive,” you say, slowly losing yourself in the intimacy.

“Then kiss me…”

Her eyes close as she leans closer towards you, and as soon as your lips meet hers, Chanelle sinks into your muscular frame, surrendering herself to your touch. “Gerald…” she says your name in a whisper. “Make love to me, please.” Chanelle presses her forehead against yours, her breaths short and rapid. “Please, Gerald, I-I’ll do anything as long as you’ll touch me.” She moans when a fleeting peck lands on her neck.

Chanelle reflexively wraps her legs tightly around your waist when you lift her into the air out of the blue. “Yes, Gerald, take me to the bedroom just like this.” As she’s being transported to the bedroom, Chanelle’s mind races with thoughts of feeling your hot skin against hers, and the prospect alone is making her more desperate and eager.

Chanelle gasps softly when her back lands on the soft mattress. “Chanelle, baby,” you whisper right into her ear. “I love you.” Tears pool in her eyes, blurring her vision. She has been dying to hear those three words from you. As simple as they are, those words carry a bigger, deeper meaning for her—a promise of something real, something everlasting. “I… love you too, Gerald,” she replies, her voice trembling from the emotions.

You reach for the first button of her pajama top, your fingers shaking slightly from the nerves. “Take your time, Gerald; we have all day.” A small smile spreads across your face. “Of course, baby,” you punctuate your words with a quick peck to her lips. One by one, her buttons become undone, thus allowing you to have a tantalizing peek of her skin.

When your palm grazes her bare belly, Chanelle’s breath hitches, her back arching instinctively. “Baby, fuck,” she mutters with a hint of impatience in her voice. “Why must you tease me this much—why can’t you just take me right away?” Your other hand cups her cheek, your thumb tracing small circles on her face. “I’m not teasing you, baby; I’m just basking in the intimacy.” Chanelle sighs as she rubs her face against your hand. “You’re right; I should be more patient,” she looks at you with a tender smile, “after all, you’re my beloved, not my fling.”

Chanelle places her hands on the waistband of your boxers, hooking her fingers on the inside. “I’m glad you didn’t have anything to wear—it’s way easier like this,” she quips. You chuckle, impressed by how she’s able to make such witty comments amidst the intimate nature of the encounter. “I suppose you deserve credit for your quick-thinking last night,” you reply with a sly grin.

The banter fades into the cool bedroom air, in its place blooms a more profound intimacy. “Gerald, can we…?” Without saying anything else, you quickly free yourself from the constraints of your boxers, and seeing you undress swiftly with intent makes Chanelle do the same, tossing her unbuttoned pajamas to the floor. Chanelle gasps when your bare skin meets hers. “Yes, finally—now, take me, Gerald,” she urges you, too eager to lose herself in the sauce of want only you can offer.

Chanelle’s eyes slam shut as your manhood slowly penetrates her, her breath rapid and ragged, as she savors the sensual stretch of her glistening, sensitive flesh. “G-Gerald—” Your lips capture hers in a passionate tangle, adding more intimacy to the hot encounter. “Mmph…” Chanelle moans into the kiss as your tongue wrestles with hers.

Your thrusts become deeper, stronger, your rhythm matching the frantic beat of your hearts. Her cries fill the room, echoing your own ragged breaths. Her nails dig into your back, urging you on, her body arching to meet your every move. You feel yourself getting closer to the edge, the world narrowing down to this moment, this connection, this impending explosive release.

“Chanelle…”

With a soft whisper of her name, you come undone, flooding her insides with your hot essence.

“I love you, Chanelle—I love you so, so much.”

Tears, plenty of them, flow down her temples, leaving a wet trail in their wake. “Chanelle, what’s wrong, baby? Did I hurt you?” you ask while your thumbs are busy wiping her tears. She shakes her head as she tries to force a smile, but her trembling lips betray her. “That was… my first time, Gerald, a-and… I’m so glad I did it with you.”

You pull her closer, your heart swelling with a mix of emotions: protectiveness, tenderness, and a profound sense of belonging. “Oh, baby, thank you for granting me this honor,” you say, your voice shaking because of the genuine feelings you have for her. “I… I will never take you for granted, Chanelle.” Chanelle wraps her limbs more tightly around your body, afraid that you’ll disappear if she lets go. “I-I love you, Gerald. I love you so much.”

The first rays of the morning sun fill the bedroom, providing a gentle, warm blanket for both of you. You slowly open your eyes, and the first thing your gaze lands on is your cock, the remnants of last night’s encounter still visible; the tip of your manhood is coated with crimson streaks, proof of Chanelle’s lost innocence.

You reach out to the sleeping beauty, your touch firm yet careful. “Chanelle, baby,” you call to her in a whisper. Chanelle slowly stirs awake at your touch, a smile tugging at her lips at the sight of you. “Good morning, my love,” she says, no longer showing a first-timer’s vulnerability. She shifts closer to you, pressing her face against your firm chest. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Gerald.” You give her a gentle peck to the top of her head. “Nor would I, my dear love.”

In the quiet warmth, Chanelle knows that nothing, not even earthquakes, can shake the ground on which this love is built.

Hell, even if it crumbles, she knows that you will save her out of it, just like you have.

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