Christeast

You take a deep breath. Really feel it in your chest. And when you exhale slowly, letting the drag of air on the way out tickle your nostrils, you lock in as time slows down to a blur all around you.

You scan the room.

Slashed purse at Table Fourteen. Half-filled beer bottle at the DJ’s mixing pad. Fingers thrusted at the bar area.

Index to thumb, you snap. Then it all comes back to life.

You strut over to Table Fourteen and grab the idiot with curly hair by the inside of his belt, preventing his escape. “Huh? What—?”

Smack. You backhand the son of a bitch and take the opportunity to grab the wallet he was just holding as he stumbles backwards onto the floor.

You sift through the I.D. cards and glance at the group of unaware ladies who are now looking at you in confusion. “This must be yours. Keep an eye on your things please. Our staff can only do so much.”

After the ponytailed woman nods at you in silent gratitude, you whistle and call over a triad of bouncers. They immediately swarm the perpetrator and have him pinned with his arms behind his back. “You know the drill. Put his photo up on the wall. Then give these ladies a bottle from the top shelf. On the house.”

The same lady from earlier gasps and shakes her head. “No no, it’s fine. Getting my wallet back’s more than enough.”

But you calm her down with a gesture of your hand and signal to one of the bouncers. “Hennessy. On me.”

When her drunken friends scream in elation over hearing this, the lady smiles and lifts her glass up to you. You salute with two fingers before trudging towards the dance floor.

Cutting through should be easy, but the ongoing rave makes the crowd feel like an actual ocean.

Shoulders bumping. Backs pressing into you. Whispers exchanging at decibels higher than they should be. You don’t part the crowd—you know better than to do that. Instead you run your hand through your hair and get with it. Get with them. You go with the flow. Head bopping. Arms in the air. Swaying and shimmying past person to person. All until you reach the elevated podium.

One of the bouncers stationed at the front sees you and snaps into a straighter posture, but when you lift both your hands at him he learns to relax a bit. “First night?”

He glances left and right to make sure you’re talking to him. “Y-Yeah … s-s-sorry, boss.”

“Relax. Take it easy. Just remember: make sure everyone’s having a good time. The safe way.”

“Y-You got it!” he wheezes, unclipping the velvet cord so you can pass through. You pat him on the back and squeeze his shoulder before jogging up the steps towards the sound booth.

Pressing fingers against your ear to fold it shut, you dip forward and jab your waist at the DJ. You give him no time to complain. This sudden motion makes the wire connecting his headphones to his laptop coil around his bottle of beer and would have sent it toppling onto the mixing pad had you not swiped it up in time.

“Jesus Christ—you fucking scared me. Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a set here?” Hajoon groaned, unraveling the wire. 

“I said no drinks while you’re on set. This is the third time this week.”

He flaps his lips in mockery, snatching the beer back from you. Downs it in one go. Sighs in contentment. Then shoves it back to your chest, dampening the fold of your blazer. “Whatever, bossman. Learn to loosen up a little. Here—ready for the drop?”

As soon as he pushes one of the doodads on his device, you hear the music start to quicken and pulsate throughout the room. You can feel the hastening thrum in the back of your throat. When you think you can’t take the tension anymore, Hajoon flicks his wrist and throws his hands in the air.

“Everybody make some noise!”

Then the drop happens and everyone’s cheering to the beat. Tongues out. Fists pumping. Bodies yielding.

Hajoon jabs you with his waist and wraps an arm around your neck. “You see that, bossman? That’s the kind of magic we fucking enable each night. So will you cut me some slack? If it helps, I’ll cut back on the drinks too. I only got to sneak one in because you sent a newbie to guard me tonight.”

You peel his sweaty arm off you and dust yourself off. “We’ll see. Maybe play some good music first, then I’ll think about it.” 

He hisses. “So fucking cold. But that makes me respect you all the more—not gonna lie.”

You ignore him and duck under the cord to rejoin the shifting masses. The new bouncer doesn’t even get a chance to say goodbye as you slither your way once more through the crowd to get to the other side of the room where the bar is.

“I fucking told you—we paid for our table in advance. What do you mean we need to show you ‘proof of purchase’? Fucking bitch. Your place is already expensive—.”

“Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem here.”

The gravitas you exude is enough to silence the four men trying to overpower and intimidate your bar staff.

“Is there anything we can do for you?” you repeat, making sure they hear you over the second beat drop Hajoon just laid out for the people. “You can relay it to me directly.”

One of the guys tugs on the sleeve of his complaining friend, but he swats him away. He’s the only one who still looks arrogant despite his face being as red as a raspberry. “Ya … who the fuck are you? Are you their manager? I’d like to speak with the fucking manager.”

“You’re talking to him.”

“O-Oh … oh, then good,” he flinches. “Like I was saying—your club’s trying to fucking scam me and my friends. Bleeding us dry, huh? We paid for the table reservation fee AND the three-hour extension for our table. And they say we can’t get more fucking drinks?”

You gesture to the poor girl just trying to do her job. She hands you one of her small tablets and you begin scrolling through records. “Says here you paid in full and still have some credit for your tab. What do you want to order?”

He scoffs. “Was thinking of getting me and my boys a bottle of Bombay Sapphire. Each. But you’re all ruining our fun, so maybe we’ll just—.”

“You can’t afford it.”

The man raises a brow. “Excuse me? The fuck did you just—.”

“I said. You can’t afford it,” you utter once more, diction sharp enough to penetrate through their thick skulls. “The table’s a million won. You already spent nine-hundred thousand on other liquors. Four bottles of this gin will cost you two-hundred-and-forty thousand more—over your cap.”

“I can—.”

You point to the lanyard one of his friends wears. Then to the knock-off Ray Bans on his other friend’s forehead. Then to the crumpled envelope in his right pocket. “Keep burning your stipend money and you’ll be out of college faster than I can kick you out of this club.”

His little group inhales so tensely through clenching teeth over what you just relayed to them that their little leader starts to physically fume in the well-deserved embarrassment. “Y-Yeah? Well fuck you, asshat. Let’s go, guys. We’re leaving—.”

You hold your arm out to stop his lanky body in time, grabbing some middle shelf liquor in the same stroke. “Here. Bit over your tab, but on me. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

You don’t get the privilege to see his dumfounded face. You salute the woman working the bar before heading towards the back wings.

This was you. This is your nightly life as the manager of SAXO. It’s never dull. Not with the constant flow of people like these it isn’t.

When you lean against the wall adjacent to the restrooms, one of the bouncers notices you and offers you a seat by one of the empty tables along the balcony area, but you reject it with a shake of your chin. Hard to patrol when seated. Hard to monitor without a vantage point. There’s never any rest for the wicked, so you don’t allow yourself any either. Instead, you fix the grip of your watch against your wrist and check the time.

Twelve-fifty-three.

Glancing back up, your hairs stand on edge.

You find yourself as if you were on the roof of the building. Atop SAXO. Where the humdrum of the club below can blur enough to the point that it can almost be considered silence. You take what you can get. In this spec of solitude amidst your night to night affairs for work, you enjoy being able to stare up at the evening sky and just gaze. Stargaze.

When you look at the stars, you never really focus on a single fixed point. There are many stars out there, constantly burning, some already having died out, some whose light have yet to reach your eyes. They all look the same to you. Same shining orbs. Same glow and halation. Same patch of freckles that dot the expanse of the universe. But once in a while, once you let your guard down—if you can even let it—you find yourself drawn to a star that calls to you. Grabs your attention. Not brighter. Not differently-colored. Not even more attractive.

It just pulls you in. And before you know it, it’s all you look at. It’s all your weary eyes focus on.

It’s all you see.

That’s the same thing she does to you.

Chests lift and drop. Shoulders form waves that veil her visage. Strobe lights paint everything around her in a light haze. She whips her head around, hair fanning out downwards. Dip of the chin. Rise of the nose. Lock of the eyes.

She isn’t just looking at you. She’s caught you.

And the pull of her lips into a smirk is enough evidence of it.

You know very well that meeting someone’s gaze at the club is a death sentence. You know their appearance now. How they act. What they do. Where they are. You can track them down around the dance floor. Pinpoint their table. Vibe check their company. Note how intoxicated they are. Check to see if they’re hitting on someone. Or if anyone’s hitting on them.

But when someone catches you staring? That isn’t just a death sentence.

It’s an execution. And she drops the guillotine on you the moment she bites her lip.

You look away. You just meant to look respectfully. You hope you did. You didn’t linger, did you? If you did, it was just out of appreciation. Admiration. She’s beautiful. That much you can glean from an initial glance. Not enough to mark her in your mind, but enough to make her relevant in your field of view.

You’re an idiot. You look again.

Honey blonde hair, dark at the roots. Freshly threaded brows. Slender nose—sharp at the tip, softer around the sides. Oval-framed visage that looks soft upon a caress but sharp upon provocation. Lower lip so plump you forget she has two to form the curve of her smirk.

But really. What catches you are her eyes. 

Because they’re staring right at you now.

You look away. For good this time. You’re certain because you push off the wall and walk a few steps away from your initial perching position. Not stopping until you’re sure that she isn’t looking at you anymore

You brush past a pair of heaving girls rushing to the toilets to vomit. 

Nope, still looking at you.

You lean over a group of college kids playing King’s Cup and ask them how their night is.

Nope, still looking at you.

You run a hand across the bar counter to inspect its cleanliness. 

Nope, still looking at you.

She won’t fucking stop looking at you. And you hate it.

Because you can’t stop looking at her either.

She shifts. Hands behind her head, hips swaying in a figure eight to the music. You’re still pissed at Hajoon, but you have to thank him for the boppy track he’s put on now. It makes her thrust her elbows out. Side to side. Doing a little spin. And when she comes back around, she smirks at you again.

It’s only then that you scan the rest of her. Filling out the form of her figure.

Buckled corset tight around her petite frame. Red pants dotted with silver buttons that you just know jingle with even the slightest movements. Nails painted silver. Armband dripped in gold. Boots that cheat her height and allow her to look taller men in the eye.

But really. What catches your attention this time isn’t in the seen. It’s in the unseen.

At the swell around her cleavage that’s threatening to spill out.

You look away. But you’re not sure you’ve done so because you can still see her in your peripheral. Like what happens when you stare at the sun for too long like a dumbass and it imprints its afterimage so fucking deep into your retinas.

You move over to the receiving area where there’s still a line steadily being processed by your diligent staff. A pair of bouncers recognize you and one of them dips their shades to greet you. You hang around them for a moment. Cross your arms. Return to the crowding dance floor. Let out a sigh.

Holy shit she’s moving towards you now.

One guy’s blatantly looking down her top. Another’s grinding against her. But she pushes past them, body still enslaved by the beat. But honing in on you like a beacon. 

You make the mistake of looking her in the eyes again. She smirks wider. Like she’s got you in her clutches with a lasso, she shimmies through the sweaty bodies around her until she’s parted from the crowd.

You snap behind your back, and time pauses.

You scan the room.

Wide hips flaring out of the confines of her fitted leather pants. Gait so resonant you can almost hear its cadence amidst the blasting music. Face dyed a myriad of colors, but her expression remains unchanging.

“Are you just going to keep staring?”

It didn’t work.

She’s right in front of you now. Three steps away. You fail to realize it until she points it out. “Not much of a dancer?”

“I dapple. Just not tonight. Just not here.”

“I’ll only believe it when I see it. Too pompous to join the crowd? Are we not good enough for you?” she remarks, voice lilting like a tease towards the end.

“Got business to attend to—always. Can’t mix work and play.”

“Didn’t seem that way when you were eye-fucking me just now.”

The bouncers on either side of you flinch. You can tell because of the way these two burly buffoons fucking twitched. She can tell too because she’s two steps away now and pressing the matter still.

“I wasn’t eye-fucking you. Just patrolling. Just work.”

“Is your job supposed to be undressing wasted girls like me in your mind? You’re doing a terrible job then. I’m pretty fucking wasted right now, but I don’t feel very naked.”

“You’re not—.”

She’s one step away now.

“Hm?” she raises, and so does her brow. “Too on the nose for you? Or are you still ‘working’?”

Her hand finds its way to your chest as she presses into your clavicle, wiping away that one bead of sweat that rolls down your blazer. Your eyes never leave her face. Even as she tugs on and adjusts the rise of your collar. “What’s it going to take to be supervised by you? Directly.”

You tilt your head to the side. When that isn’t enough, you step as far back as you can before bumping into another velvet cord. Then you sigh. “Respectfully. Hands off. I’m an employee here.”

Her eyes widen like she just caught something. “Part of the background? Boring. Someone like you being off-limits—such a waste.”

You don’t know how to respond to that. That’s fine. Because she doesn’t let you. “Is it company policy to not mingle with your clientele? I just saw you getting real handsy with a group of girls earlier. You’re making me jealous just thinking about it.”

The implication of that statement is something you just keep to yourself.

Before she can move closer, you hold your hand out. “If there’s anything I can help you with, just let me know. But this?” you pause, pointing your finger to her then back to yourself. “Not a chance.”

She clicks her teeth and backs away too. Finally. But her eyes are what do you over. She’s rolling them at you. Mockery. Frustration. Disappointment. “You’re no fun. Keep eye-fucking me then. Hope you get a kick out of it.”

Before you know it, she seamlessly rejoins the crowd, dancing with the masses once again.

What the fuck was that? What the fuck just happened? 

You don’t know. You’re not sure. 

All you can think of is finishing your patrol so you can get some rest. You want to make sure everything’s in order for the evening before you leave the rest to your second. So you continue on your nightly routine. Just like nothing happened.

But god forbid this woman is making it difficult for you to pretend like nothing happened.

You can’t explain it.

When you patrol the lower tables—the ones closer to the dance floor—you see her spiraling around the edges of the crowd. Not really lingering too long at any one spot. Like she’s trailing you. Following you. You had to make one of the customers repeat themselves when you got distracted by the way she ‘fixed’ her top, flashing you enough skin to imagine the rest of what’s hidden beneath it.

Over by the entrance, while you were in the middle of resolving a dispute over fake I.D.s, she was hovering behind you. At a safe distance. Behind the barriers and bouncers. She’s watching you work. Observing how you tell someone off without needing to raise your voice. Smirking at you, twirling her hair, staring at you as she’s playing thoughts in her mind that you can only assume are no good.

Even when you sneak away to relieve yourself at the staff washroom. The moment you come back out, she’s sipping on a glass of whiskey. Staring daggers at your surprised face. With that gaze of hers that short-circuits your brain. She doesn’t say anything. Just sips. Just drinks. Just relishes in your flushed state as you hurry yourself away from her.

She’s not even meddling. She’s not even provoking.

She’s just there.

She’s going around you, but god does it feel like you’re the one orbiting her. Because this woman knows she’s got you.

She’s got you good.

“Anything else I missed? I’ll leave the cleanup and closing to you. Like always,” you tell your second, who’s already writing things down on his notepad. “And Minho, please, for the love of god, will you stop wearing those ridiculous ties?”

Minho peeks up from his sheets and pokes the yellow rubber-ducky tie with his pen. “This? My mother bought it for me, boss. It’d be a waste not to wear it.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “At least wear it somewhere else. Well—whatever. Before I go, make sure to keep an eye out on Table Nine. Got a feeling they’re runners—.”

“Boss!”

The beckon rings like a siren. You register it immediately and are ready to strafe past Minho when you see one of the serving staff runs up to the both of you. Panting. Completely out of breath. “Boss, there’s … ha … there’s a commotion on the dance floor!”

Your eyes first dart over to Hajoon. But oddly enough, he’s not trying to hit on anyone again this time. Instead, he’s watching something. Watching someone.

In fact, everyone on the dance floor’s watching someone. Noticeably so now that you realize there’s a small circular parting in the center of the crowd.

You follow the staff over and freeze at the outer edge of this commotion.

You see her.

She’s dancing like she owns the place. Like she owns the dance floor. Hajoon’s got his hands on the beat, but she’s got her hands all over her body. She’s being a diva right now. Bathing in the glow of the lights shining down on her. Feeling herself. Basking in the attention that’s being dripped all over her.

She ropes in one guy at a time. Dancing with him. Swaying next to him. Grinding on him. She slides her back up and down the front of one of them. Wraps her arms around the neck of another. One of the poor blokes makes the mistake of moving in to kiss her. She immediately bites his lip and gets a kick out of his pained reaction.

Your fist is clenching tightly by your side, and you’re not sure why.

Before you know it, you’re pushing—no, shoving—people aside just to get to the center of it all. Just to get to her. Tugging on the length of your necktie, when you make it to the lady in question, you hold out an arm to stop the next guy from entertaining her, and just grab her by her arm.

“What the hell are you doing?” you demand. She reeks of alcohol and sweat. “You’re drunk. You’re making a scene.”

“Yeah? Is that not allowed?” she prods, stepping closer to you. She shrugs your grip off and crosses her arms. “Didn’t think it wasn’t, but hey, made you look didn’t I? I knew it was the only way to grab your attention.”

You glance past her. To Hajoon. The man scrambles for his headphones and changes up the music, inviting everyone to return to the dance floor and party like there’s no tomorrow once again. Back to the regular routine of things.

But you don’t let up on her.

And she doesn’t let up on you.

Because her hands are now resting on your waist.

“Saw you talking to shorty over there,” she announces, pointing at Minho with her lips. “Thought you’d be off the clock now, manager. Didn’t think you’d eye-fuck me again that quickly though.”

“I was not eye—.”

She pulls you in. Whether it’s with her hands or with her gaze, you can’t tell. “Just shut up and dance.”

You indulge her.

You lied. You’re not a very good dancer. And she notices this. She leads you both. At times she lets you do your stupid little shindig while she’s busting out a move. Other times she’s holding you by the wrist and guiding your hands to either her shoulders or her hips.

And you’re starting to come undone.

How could you not? 

Every run of her fingers across one of your shoulders to the other. Every bump of her butt against your crotch. Every nick of her knee against your thigh. She’s toying with you. She’s building you up. Leading you on. Because she knows.

She knows you can’t do a single damn thing about it.

You don’t keep track of time. But after what feels like an hour of working the dance floor with you, she finally pulls away enough to give you your own personal space again. She walks you over to the wings to where her table is. Table Twenty-Three.

First thing you see are two couples engaged in a contest to see who could be the sloppiest when making out.

“Don’t mind them. They won’t get naked. At least, they told me this isn’t that kind of club,” she explains. She casually reaches over one of the couples, who you are pretty sure are sneaking in some fingering on the couch, and grabs one of their drinks. She sniffs it. She reels. But she downs it anyway.

“Are we done here? Had your fill yet?” you ask. Unsure of where you’re trying to go with that.

“Yeah. Be seeing you.”

What?

You swear you almost hear yourself say that out loud. You don’t know what face you’re making, but it must be an entertaining one—for her at least.

“Was fun. Maybe we’ll come back here again.”

She followed you around. She stalked you like a hawk. She dragged you into her little shenanigans in the middle of work. All for this? All for nothing?

It was your turn to feel dumbfounded tonight. Dumbfounded because you were a fool for expecting anything bigger to have come out of this.

You bit your tongue enough to bleed iron into your tastebuds before nodding stiffly. “Right. Right, be seeing you.”

To add insult to injury, she waves at you with a smirk as you lug your body towards the staff exit.

---

“Boss, Table Eleven’s going red.”

You know that signal. You know that queue.

In moments, you’re already halfway towards said table, when your shoes screech against the polished floor. Stopping yourself.

“Hm? Care to join us?”

It’s her again.

Honey blonde hair pulled behind her. Black ribbed plunging half-sleeve top baring a fraction of her upper midriff. Bandeaux bra on full display. Exposed skin moist from collecting the condensation dripping from her glass.

You clock the empty vodka bottle on the table. You scan the eight different people gathered around the table with her. You take note of her challenging half-lidded stare.

“If you’re done with that drink, I’m taking it.”

“Tsk, we’re just playing spin the bottle. Is that not allowed?”

“Your little ‘game’ is disturbing everyone else. Take a hint,” you warn her, eyes fixed on her face that remains unflinching before you.

“It’s a fucking club. Of course we’ll be loud. Don’t want your customers having fun, manager-nim?”

The way she addresses you makes your blood boil all the more. “Give me that—.”

She beats you to it and spins the bottle. Lo and behold it lands with the snout facing you. The bottom facing her.

Smirking, she taps her lip with her newly painted red nail. “Five shots of scotch. In a row. Think you can do it?”

The crowd around her table is clapping and leering at you. But you ignore them. “I’m not playing—.”

She loops an arm around you and blinks innocently. Twice. For just a moment. “Aren’t you supposed to be the life of the party? Let’s get this night started properly. Shots! Shots! Shots!”

They begin to mimic your chant. “Shots! Shots! Shots!”

The other tables begin to chime in. “Shots! Shots! Shots!”

Soon even some of your serving staff applaud you. Egg you. Even when you give them the eye.

You glance at the bottle of scotch conveniently already at the table. You glance at the clubgoers surrounding you now. Then you glance at her.

“I don’t drink. Not anymore.”

You get booed in a heartbeat.

Shrugging, she dips down and fills up one of the shotglasses for herself. “Suit yourself.” Before you know it, she’s already drank one. Then two. Then five. All down the hatch.

Just as you are about to leave this brewing cesspool, someone tugs you from behind.

You’re not one to take that lying down. Ready to unwrap your arm from them and shove them to the ground. But the lightness of the grip is what throws you off.

And it’s enough hesitation for her to pounce on your lips and kiss you.

You don’t pull away. You can’t. 

She’s holding your face. Both hands. One on each cheek. When you tug upwards, she follows, moaning into your mouth. But where you expect her bare tongue, something liquid is in its place. When you realize what’s happening, it’s already too late.

She just snowballed five shots of scotch right into your mouth.

When the taste of liquor hits your tastebuds, something fires in your brain. Something reflexive. Something ingrained. You rip your lips from her and spray out the alcohol. The two dudes behind you are fucking pissed, but you apologize sincerely and call for some staff to help clean the mess.

Returning to her, you grab her by the elbow. “I told you I don’t fucking drink—.”

“That wasn’t a drink. That was a taste,” she corrects you, smirking once more. Using that fucking gaze on you again. “Taste of me. Don’t get too drunk now.”

You’re unable to react. You let her kiss you once more on the lips and giggle before rejoining her posse for the night.

“Are you alright, boss? You look—.”

“Don’t just stand there, Minho. Get me some damn water,” you snap as you feel the liquor burning your tastebuds still. Thank god it didn’t drip into your throat. A taste was more than enough to give you goosebumps.

As Minho disappears towards the bar, you just watch as this woman pours cognac down her throat. Straight from the bottle. While looking at you.

With a smirk.

“B-Boss …? Boss!”

“What is it newbie? I don’t have all night,” you huff at the bouncer. You could have been nicer to him. Nicer about it. But doing arithmetic manually on a calculator and a physical spread sheet for hours would put anyone in a fuckass mood. “What do you need from me?”

“S-S-Someone’s um … stripping—.”

You don’t even have to ask for context.

As soon as you burst out from the break room, your eyes immediately train on the sound booth. On Hajoon.

On her.

You claw through the crowd. Is it to get closer to the unfolding scene? Is it to stop it? You’re not sure. You don’t fucking know. All you can picture are the things that will spread about your club after tonight if this continues.

When you make it to the divider, the newbie watches your back as you jump over the cord. From the first few steps up towards the elevator platform alone, you get a clear view from the side.

The twin-tailed little brat’s undressing in the fucking DJ booth. And Hajoon’s just letting her. Of course he fucking would.

Her tail point fur jacket hits the floor first. Pools at the ankles like shorn elegance. Pure irony though given the debauchery that persists to unfold. Her hair whips forward. Then back. She’s dancing in place like she’s boxed in a tight circle. Hands draw forwards and slide down Hajoon’s chest as she sways downwards herself too. When she shoots back up, she makes the extra effort to jut her butt out.

If you didn’t have any self-control, you would have slapped the fucking tease out of her voluminous rump.

It’s a miracle they’re still contained within her shorts. Those things are cut closer to her crotch than her knees. You cut her some slack. It compliments her plain white crop top that exposes the expanse of her navel.

Your focus drifts to the jewel affixed above her belly button. Sparkling. Beckoning to you.

When you glance back up again, she’s caught you once more. “Eye-fucking me up close this time? Get in line, manager. This one’s a public show.”

Hajoon notices your arrival and lifts up his beer, nearly fucking spilling it on his setup like an idiot. “Yo, bossman! Where’d you pull this baddie? She said you knew each other? You two banging or something?”

But the woman between you both hushes him with a finger and whispers something you can’t hear from all the music. Hajoon licks his lips when she pulls away and winks at you. “Fine shit, man. Fine fucking shit! Let’s turn this party up!”

As the tempo of the song speeds up, so does her dancing. She’s got a way with her body—you’ll give her that. Even as you walk back down, you can’t help but take a peek. When you do, you see her flex and swirl that torso of hers like she was goddamn built for it.

She locks eyes with you a final time before digging her thumbs into the hem of her top. “Think you can handle this?”

Just when you lunge for her, she chuckles and puts her hands back down. “Did you really think I was a slut? Disappointing. And here I thought you cared about me more than that.”

Clenching your teeth so hard they could shatter, you pick her coat off the floor and dump it in one of the chairs behind Hajoon. The last thing you see before heading back is her playing up the role she’s taken on for the night and acting as Hajoon’s eye candy for his set.

She manages to catch you in the crowd and licks her lips, biting her tongue midway.

“Fucking brat.”

“Fuck me—boss!”

You quite literally snap your pen. The ink fountains forward but you’re faster. You wrap it up in some of your old quarterly reports. Cursing under your breath, you dump the blotting mess beneath you and drag your fingers across your face. “What the fuck is the problem this time, Minho?”

“It’s her. Again.”

That’s not possible. It’s almost five in the morning now. Club’s been closed for an hour at least. What the hell was she still doing here?

No matter. You push out of your chair. Don’t bother to put your blazer back on. Just lower your head and allow Minho to accompany you to the scene of the next crime.

You hear it before you see it—the sound of glass breaking.

Then it all comes into view.

The closing staff standing frozen outside the bar. The three bouncers exchanging looks at each other in an attempt to figure out what to do. Hajoon who’s finishing his order of truffle fries while recording the whole thing.

Not a single one of them dared to stop her.

“All of you. Out. Now.”

Your command echoes throughout the now empty club. All eyes are on you as you tug on your tie and tilt your head to the side. Vein along your neck threatening to pop. “I said. Out. Now.”

“Manager, she’s been causing—.”

You raise your palm up to one of the bouncers. “I’ll take it from here. Leave closing to me. And Minho, go take our closing staff out for some fish sticks. Use my card.”

“Boss …”

You toss him your credit card and gesture for them to get the hell out of here. They look confused. They look concerned. But by the end of it, they all feel relieved. Even Hajoon whose set finished earlier tonight tagged along with your staff to freeload. You let it slide. You have bigger fish to fry.

And she reminds you of this with the sound of another glass item shattering across the floor.

“Oops. That one was accidental this time.”

You saunter over to the bar and lean on the counter. Arms folded against each other. Eyes trained on this little goddamn devil in front of you. 

Her outfit surprises you.

You thought you had her figured out. The more comfortable she got here at SAXO, the less you’ve seen her wear. But tonight, she’s all covered up. Long sleeve leopard print. Matching ankle length tights. Pink nails. Some glitter sprinkled across her eyes just above her splash of blush. For someone’s who’s been clubbing all night, she looks like she just came fresh out of the shower.

She smirks. “You just love eye-fucking me, don’t you?”

“Cut the charade. It’s just you and me. What the fuck is your deal?”

She raises a brow. Runs a finger across the convex surface of a bottle of Patron in her hands. Contemplating. “Does it always have to be something in here?”

“There’s always something with you.”

You could never understand her. Even if you tried. She does everything she can think of to be an absolute thorn in your side. But she never acknowledges you beyond the provocation. She pushes and pulls. But she never reaches. And you’re not sure what irritates you more.

The fact that she keeps doing this each night. Or the fact that you want her to reach you.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t enjoyed the attention.

Looking at that flirty smile of hers that dances dangerously across the boundary of your tolerance, you can’t help but acknowledge it. She’s played you. She’s played you good. Attention-seeking. Body-chasing. Mind-filling. Every night—every fucking night—she’s on your mind. What she’s up to this time. What she’s wearing. If she’s looking at you. Looking for you. Testing you. Teasing you. Tempting you. You’ve thought about what it might be like if you weren’t surrounded by other clubgoers. What you might say to her if you had the chance to pull her away in private. What you might do to her if you were away from any prying eyes.

And now, as you’ve said, it’s just the two of you. There was no need to pull on any acts.

That’s what you want to believe, at least. It’s immediately shattered once you see the bottle smash onto the floor. Spilling alcohol across her boots.

“Oopsie,” she utters without a hint of fucking remorse. “That didn’t taste good anyway. I’m doing you a favor.”

As she reaches out for another battle, you exhale roughly. “What … What do you want from me?”

“Want? From you?” she repeats, swinging her next victim between her knuckles. Just waiting for one wrong move to let it slip and shatter. “You’re already doing what I want you to.”

“Which is—?”

Shatter. “Entertaining me.”

She doesn’t even pick up the bottles anymore. She’s just flicking them off the shelves.

“Ooh, expensive.”

Down goes the Armand de Brignac.

“Expensive?”

Along with the Magnum Moët & Chandon.

“And oh, most expensive.”

And so does the Rosé 1959 Dom Pérignon.

“You see what I mean?” she spins around and leans against the remaining shelf with alcohol still lining the higher echelons. Prodding at you as if you’ve already proven her point. “This is why I’m having so much fun with you. You can’t do anything to me, can you? You’re not allowed to.”

“You just manage—.”

Your hand’s already gripping her wrist. Pinning it to the corner ledge. She gasps. And for the first time since you’ve met this lady, she flashes you a look you’ve never seen before.

Fear.

“You,” you pause, trying to control your breathing. Your eyes are scrambling for something to look at but they’re stuck on her. Just her. “Do you know … how much fucking money … all of this … is going to cost me?”

“H-Hey … relax. If it’s really that much—?”

“Don’t try to slither your way out of this one. I asked you a question. Answer.”

She trembles. You can feel it in her pulse. You can sense it as you tighten your grip. “I-I … I don’t. But I swear, I didn’t think—.”

“What? You didn’t think it was ‘this serious’? Thought you were still ‘playing games’ with me?” you retorted, scoffing mid-sentence. “Where the fuck have you been living all your life? Under a rock? Top shelf liquor is so fucking expensive to import. I bet recovering all of this is going to cost more than the clothes you’ve been wearing here, or the fucking dingy ass pad you live in.”

“Stop, I-I-I was just—.”

“Just? Was just? Just having fun with me?” you fill in. “I run a fucking business here. And god forbid, you have been really bad for it. Just fucking terrible. This?”

You gesture to the liquor seeping into the cracks between cabinets and the counter. Mixed scents of shattered spirits wafting between the two of you.

“This is the last straw. I’m—.”

“Going to punish me?”

What was that? What the fuck was that?

There it goes again. The glint in her eye. The pull of her lips. That snarky tone of hers when she says, “Going to write me off? Report me to the police? Call my parents or something?”

It’s almost like she’s nudging you. Pushing you past your bloody fucking limits. 

Like she’s challenging you.

Like she’s enjoying it.

“Go on. What are you going to do with me? Squeeze an apology out of me? Fine me? Blacklist me?” she lists, shaking off your grip when she knows you’re stunned and crosses her arms. Just under her bust. Highlighting it. “Go ahead and try. I fucking dare you.”

“Make me.”

There’s at least seven different things you could have done in this moment. Each likely more effective than the last as you play them out in your head. But when you’re face to face with her like this, bodies inching closer to one another, you can’t fucking take it anymore.

It’s time to show her who’s in charge. 

It’s time to show her her place.

“Strip.” “What?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” you press, stepping so close to her that your feet are now directly parallel to hers. “You’re right. Maybe I’m here as your ‘entertainment’. Then if so, let me ‘entertain’ you some more. Could bring you to the station down the street. Could make you call your lawyer or something. Could even just ban your sorry ass from SAXO myself. But that’s no fun, is it?”

“Strip. Now.”

Her mouth is taut. But it quivers. And you catch that.

“Ya … Isn’t this harassment, manager? I don’t think you’d want a case against you and your little club now, would you?” she tries to bargain. 

But you see through her chicanery and subterfuge. “After all you’ve done, this is child’s play. Strip. I’m not repeating myself again.”

Growling, she rolls her eyes and pushes you away. “Fine. Pervert. But I’m not doing it with you around—.”

“Oh, you will.”

You turn around only to remove yourself from the slimy pools of spilt liquor on the floor. Vaulting over the bar counter. Dusting your hands off. You face her again. Arms crossed. Eyebrow cocked. Waiting.

“Are you for real right now? Are you fucking serious?”

“I am. You love putting on shows, don’t you? Then put on a show. Just for me,” you fired back. Smirking. “What? You’re the one who said I kept ‘eye-fucking’ you. Shouldn’t you have expected this much from me? Strip.”

You see her knuckles go white. But you also see her mask crack.

Then you see her do as you’ve told.

She whips her hair back. Of course she does. This little princess always has to have her hair fixed. The bangle earrings she’s wearing doesn’t make it any easier for her either. Digging her thumbs against her ribs, the same way she did on the night she got into the sound booth, slowly, she starts to peel upwards. You watch as the cloth of her patterned print top tantalizingly comes undone. And you get an unfiltered view of her compliance.

She hooks the hem of her top around the back of her neck, flashing the elastic band she’s using for a bra. “There. Happy?”

You shake your head. “I said strip.”

“You said strip, and I did. This is the best you’re getting out of me—.”

“How much do you make in a day?”

“What? I’m not some fucking hooker,” she chimes. And you appreciate the sass now. Because the raise of her voice makes the soft spots of her body ripple ever-so-slightly.

“Never said that. I just asked—how much do you make in a day.”

“I don’t work.”

You chuckle again. “Then you’ve got no frame of reference for how much this all costs. How much is your top.”

“My top?”

“Yeah, how much is it.”

“I don’t fucking know. Just bought it off an app. Around ten thousand won I guess?”

“A shot of that first bottle you broke costs six times that amount. A bottle can last about twenty shots. Each. Is the math computing?”

You see the exact moment the life drains from her eyes when the math, indeed, computes.

Whistling, you click your teeth to draw her attention back to you. “Strip. Before I start thinking stripping isn’t enough.”

She’s moving. She’s stripping. But she’s doing so in a way that feels different. As her top fully comes off, she doesn’t throw it. She folds it on the countertop. Not minding your direct view from above her bra. She does the same for the tights, peeling them off like a second layer of skin, folding it on top of the former.

The fur belt around her waist remains for a while. She’s using it to cover her crotch. And you realize why.

She’s wet.

“Do … do I have to also … the underwear …?”

“What part of ‘everything’ do you not understand?” you clarify mockingly. You know she’s not getting away without undressing all the way. She knows it too. “If you don’t hurry up, my second might come back to check on me. Want him to see you like this too?”

She glowers. Even though it’s a lie. “Fuck you.”

The panties come off first. Only because the belt’s in the way. It stretches against her ankles like a spiderweb when she tries to move away from the puddle she’s standing on. You catch a glimpse of the inside. It’s darker and more prominent—the stain.

Leaning forward, she holds the counter for support before grunting to take off her panties fully now. Folds it beneath her previous layers. 

“Now the bra.”

“I fucking know,” she grunts back. You know she doesn’t need a reminder. But you let her know anyway.

Her bra isn’t the usual. Not a hook type. Not a strap type. Not even a clip type. It’s an elastic type. Just comes over the chest. Supports it naturally as gravity does its thing. Your knowledge of women’s undergarments is proven almost immediately right as you watch in utter astonishment at the way her swell of a chest comes loose from her final piece of clothing.

The recoil into one another. The ripples. The gentle sag.

You hate to admit it. But it’s fucking perfect.

She forgets to put it aside. To fold it. She just tosses it to the counter because she’s got her hand and arm across her bare tits now. You let her. Because this allows you to dip forward and tug on the long end of her belt.

“Hey, what—?”

“Walk with me. Walk to me.”

You tug on her belt. Lead her like it’s a leash. And she follows. She resists a bit, and you feel it against the tightness of the garment. But you tug back and she winces. Then moves again. Until she’s all the way out of the bar area and is now hovering next to you by one of the tables in the wings.

You clear the surface of the sturdy glass and gesture to it. “Get on.”

She doesn’t question you. Not while she’s naked. Not when you hold her dignity in her hands. In order to mount the table, she had to let go of her chest, and when she lays down, you finally get to see it.

Her full form. Naked. Unadorned. Natural. All of it for you to see.

All of it laid bare.

“God, if you weren’t such a fucking brat, you’d be perfect,” you whisper. You mean it. 

Her smooth pale skin. The shape of her chest and the sheen of sweat across it. The quiver of her thick full lips. The spread of her legs. The clasp of her thighs against each other. The bare and kempt state of her nether bits. 

They’re all right there. Laid out on the table. On full display.

Just for you.

“Yeah? Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s told me that,” she replies. Halfway between a smirk and scorn. You then realize you had said it out loud. She chuckles. Gestures to you with a finger. A hither-to motion coupled with that stare of hers again. Those ‘make me’ eyes. That ‘fuck me’ gaze. “Gonna do something about it? Or is that against company policy again, manager?”

Oh she’s asking for it now.

You loosen your tie. You kneel on the table. She looks frightened for a moment—worried the glass might break. But you prove her otherwise when you lean forward between her legs so your face is level with hers now. Hovering above it.

“I’ll show you what a fucking tease like you deserves.”

You press your lips against her and feel no resistance. Instead, she welcomes you. Her own soft hydrated folds part for you. Nibble on you. Suck you in. Her tongue is a welcome mat that unfolds into a stretch of red carpet for your own tongue to gloss and strut all over. She whimpers and moans the moment she gets her own tongue caressed in velvet. But she doesn’t complain. Doesn’t react.

Doesn’t resist.

Her hands come around your neck now as she pulls you further in, and you take this opportunity to get a little handsy yourself. 

You go for her tits. God, how could you not go for her tits? 

You’re cupping them. Fondling them. You know better than to just squeeze them like a child—no. You lift them up. You caress down the inner curve of each, polishing down and along her cleavage. If you weren’t kissing her right now, you’d have smothered your face between them. Sniffing them. But you save that for later. For now, you register the sensation of her in your head.

Hefty. Heavy. Fucking heavenly.

She gasps sharply when your right pinky hits her left nipple. You notice when you peek open an eye that she’s hard. Both of them are. Both of her nipples. They’re stiff and rounded little peaks that tempt you to oblivion. So you succumb.

One pinch and she forgets how to kiss you. Another and she’s gasping for air, breathless in your clutches. A third and she’s arching her back upwards.

“Fuuuuck,” she groans, her face getting flushed. “Do that again …”

You press your pointer to her nipple. Thumb on the other side. Wind her up by rubbing them together. Before pinching on the supple tip and pulling it upwards. Polishing it. Relishing it. Treasuring it.

She shudders more intensely now. You do the same to the other side and she’s willingly showing you the column of her neck as her body lifts from the table. “God … shit, you’re … you’re actually good with the—AHHH!”

You lick her neck. 

One stripe. Two. Slow. Tracing over the parts that make her quiver. Prolonging over the parts that make her moan. You lick upwards to her chin. Over her lips. And press a kiss on them before repeating the cycle.

Her eyes flutter open and close, unable to focus. Whenever your gazes meet, she doesn’t turn away. She stares deeper into your soul. The facade from earlier having crumbled completely.

She reaches for your chest. However she can in this tightened position. She runs her hands across your pecs, down to your abdomen, where she then hitches her fingers into your waist and belt, and unbuckles it.

While you’re licking her nipples now. suckling on them, teasing them with the sharp of your tongue alternating with the long flat wall of it, you notice she’s grinding against your thigh. There’s a noticeable dampness. A moisture. Permeating your supposedly waterproof slacks.

You chuckle and bite down on one nipple. And this makes her scream in absolute ecstasy.

One hand moves from your fly to the back of your head, gripping your hair, guiding you to where she wants you to kiss, suckle, and lick across her full fucking tits. The other unzips you. Hastily pushes your pants off. And tries to get you out of your clothes this time. When the back of her palm hits your bulge however, she freezes.

“Wait … wait—NGHHH—stop, I-I want to see this …”

You withdraw from the addiction that are her breasts and wipe the slobber from your lips against the cup of your shoulder. “What?”

“Your dick. I … I just want to see how it looks like, ok …?”

You push up from the table, nearly slipping from how sweaty your palms have gotten, and right yourself so she can sit up against the edge and be leveled with your crotch. Taking a deep breath, she palms over your bulge that’s on the verge of bursting against your boxers.

“Oh. Oh wow, you’re …” she stutters. Fails to find the right words. She looks up at you and blushes. Nothing like the incessant little prick she’s been previously. Instead, she has this yearning look on her. Like she wants to know. Wants to see. Wants to feel.

So you let her.

You don’t even move. You let her do it herself. Nails digging into your waist, prying your black underwear downwards until it slides off. You flick it off once it’s just around one heel, and you present this woman with the unadulterated direct view of your cock.

She doesn’t speak.

Her face hovers closer and closer until her left cheek presses against your semi-erect shaft. “Fuck … you’re bigger than my face … I-I … I don’t know if I can …”

“You’ll work it out. Otherwise, I’ll make sure you manage to.”

She licks her lips and bites her tongue. “Mmmh, yeah? Make me then.”

One palm on the top of her head. Another beneath her chin to angle it the right way. You press your swollen tip against the entrance to her mouth and groan. “Then fucking take it.”

You push open. Burst into the warmth. Get enveloped by the wet velvety walls past her little locked lips.

She whimpers from the first breaching. You take it slow. Knocking down an inch more. Then two. Then she’s taking you halfway in. Then, you’re knocking against her uvula at the back of her throat.

Her neck stiffens rigidly against your persistent hand, but she’s not strong enough to break free even if she tried. So you keep her there. All the way down. Lips forming a tight ring around your base as she gags and hlurks and spews her own saliva out from the small tears in her vacuum sealed mouth. You keep her there for god knows how long, taking pleasure in both the physical sensation of her mouth and the knowledge that you’re finally getting to see her use it for something other than provoking you.

Once her eyes redden beyond reason, you let go of her head, and in moments, she spits you out with a guttural groan as she could breathe properly again.

“Nguh … ha … ha … You fucking psycho … Could have—I could have choked to death on your fucking dick,” she spits out, smudging her hand across her chin. “But … ha … that was good.”

“Good?”

She bites her lip and nods, gripping your cock now with a hand. “Yeah … fucking delicious. I want more.”

“Then suck it like a good little slut.”

Knees spread, bending at an angle now, she closes the gap and licks up from your base to your tip before suckling on the head. Just a few swirls with her tongue. Before she throats your cock herself.

No prompting. No input. No hesitation.

Her head and neck work in tandem to bob her salivating mouth back and forth along the length of your shaft. Lips cruising down your sensitive skin. Tongue flattening and caressing your underside. Whenever her lips meet her hand that’s gripping what she can’t reach, it makes this popping sound that you want to hear more and more.

She’s got no technique. She gags too easily. But fucking hell—the raw and primal energy she exhibits is relentless. It’s fucking intoxicating.

This woman’s moaning in between violent gags, and you notice it whenever her nipples bump into your thighs. You smirk. You push deeper into her, making her eyes go wide, hit the back of her throat, and force her to adjust while sucking you hard and fast still. But this time, her nipples graze your inner thigh each time and you see her eyes melt from their initial panic and hesitation.

When she pulls you out with a loud smacking sound, she’s gasping, panting, eyes wet, lips swollen, but tongue licking up your precum on the tip oh-so-fucking-hungrily.

“You taste so … fucking … good, mmm,” she murmurs, stroking your first few inches, thumb rolling over the head. “Who knew the uptight manager was packing so fucking much?”

“Consider yourself the exception and not the rule,” you barely get out in one full breath as her stroking is getting more intentional rather than lazy.

“Lucky me then,” she mutters, blowing your tip a kiss. She licks up once. Then twice. Then circles around ridge of your head. Playing with it. Toying with you. Face disappearing beneath you as her eyes almost glow. “This is all mine—.”

The doors to the club open and you hear footsteps.

Time doesn’t afford you the luxury to curse. You’re both scrambling. For clothes. For refuge. Anything.

You only manage to put your pants back on. Not even to fix your underwear. Your belt’s not even buckled. When you see who it is walking into the open space of the club, he shoots you a weird look. “Boss?”

“Already done? Thought you’d all be enjoying spending my money a bit more,” you reply, hands in your pockets to stop your slacks from falling down. “Where are the others?”

“Um, home, boss. It’s six in the morning.”

“Right, right.”

“Boss, you haven’t been drinking again, have you?”

You gesture to yourself with a thumb jutting up from your waist. “Me? Why would I be?”

But Minho shakes his head, one hand smoothening the folds of his brown and white checkered tie that reminds you of brownies. “Nothing. Just making sure. Did you manage to sort out the issue? With the lady?”

You nod. That’s all you can give him. That’s all you really want to give him. Because your dick’s being bent at such a bad fucking angle in your tight slacks that you want to just let it free again. It would rather be inside somewhere else too. “Told her off. She got scared easily when I talked to her alone. Said she’ll ‘behave’ more—whatever that means.”

“Is she still here?”

You freeze. Muscles behind your thighs tighten. “She left just after you and our staff did.”

“Then why is her fur thing still there?” he asks, pointing to the peeking belt the woman left behind. If Minho hadn’t pointed it out, you wouldn’t have seen the terrible fucking hiding spot she chose. On all fours behind one of the table’s walled legs. Buck naked.

As Minho approaches, you casually just pick up the belt with your left hand and tug on it. Even when it goes taut. She gasps and shakes her head nervously, but you continue as you stare down at her. “Must have left it. I’ll hand it back when she comes back. I know she will. Leave it to me.”

Those final four words are always enough for your second to stop in his tracks, just a few meters away from your table, and nod. “Got it. You should get some rest too, boss. If, you know, only if you can. I don’t want to pressure you if it doesn’t—.”

“Thanks, Minho. I appreciate it.”

“And hey, if you ever need someone to talk to or share the workload from admin—.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Go home, Minho. I’ll see you tonight.”

He nods and salutes you with three fingers. “See you tonight, boss.”

Once you’re certain your second’s walked out the door and is well beyond the entrance of SAXO, you pinch the bridge of your nose and feel the other end of the belt shifting between your knuckles.

“Is he always like that? Sounds like he sucks your dick more than I do.”

“He’s enthusiastic. He’s a godsend,” you tell her, helping her up to her feet. But you don’t let her go. Not the belt. Not her waist. You pull her in until she’s arching her stomach towards you. Dipping backwards. “And you? I’m not done with you yet. Let’s head to my office.”

Her drool-covered mouth shifts into a smirk. “Yeah? Make me—.”

You crash your lips onto hers and she jumps into your arms. You lift her up by her thighs and support one arm around her lower back as you stumble across the wings of the club to get to the staff-only area.

Kicking the door open, you slip in before it can close. And you feel her tongue lapping at your lips and teeth as she grips your head firmly like she doesn’t want you to leave. Oh boy, do you have no plans to leave her at all.

You hasten down the corridor. Shoulder bumping into the water dispenser. Then, you fish for your keys and unlock your office.

Once you’re both in, your elbow flies to the button and it locks with a click. She pulls away from you and presses her forehead against yours, caressing your cheek. “Hmm, you’re sexy like this. Taking control. Not holding back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she giggles lowly as you put her on your desk. Her ass is compressing against your laptop as she sits on it. She takes a moment to look around. At the only light hovering above you both. The two sofas on either side of the front of your desk. At the pictures, certificates, and permits on one wall. “Never done this before. Banging in the backrooms of a place.”

“Who said I was going to fuck you?”

She slaps your neck and points her chin at you. “Really? You worked me up like this just to—.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Her sentence is choked off immediately when you rub two fingers against her clit. Her hand instinctively flies to your neck, holding you for support. You rub steadily in circles, occasionally swiveling over the hood, swiping back and forth over her sensitive little button. And which each motion, you watch her progressively soften her face up from a glower, to a whimper, to a moan.

“Yeah—NGHH MHHH—yeah I think I-I like you like this best.”

“Like what?”

She inhales through her clenching teeth. You’re still swiping down her clit with your thumb like you’re flitting through bills at the bar counter during closing time. “L-Like you … hnghh … like you know just what to do.”

“Do I?”

“I-I-I don’t know. I’ll … mmh—give you a point for the kissing, but—.”

She interrupts herself with a moan. The culprit? Your tongue.

“But what?” you raise, licking once more from her entrance all the way to her hood. Her pussy tastes like it smells. Sweaty. Musky. Bit of tang.

Tastes like need.

You feel her fingers knit through your hair. “But … I nghh … but I was the one doing most of the kissing …”

Palms to her thighs, you keep her legs parted. Eyes up to see her reaction. Nose bumping into her button as a tease at first, but now you’re intentionally grinding the pad of it against her clit. Tongue swiping up and down her slit like a credit card that won’t register at the terminal. “Go on. I’m sure I’ve got more points in there somewhere.”

Her fingers dig into your scalp. “I’d … I’d give you two points for all … the fucking things … mmm you did to my … to my tits …”

You kiss her clit. Suckle on it. Pin the hood between your flaps as you peel it back gently with the sharp of your tongue and swirl around her now-exposed button like it’s your favorite M&M. “I sense a but there.”

As you say that, you grip her ass now, finger jammed between her plush bottom and the edge of your laptop. “Continue or I’ll stop.”

“But it’s not fair because—AHHH—because I-I … I’m always sensitive there anyway …”

You figured. But you don’t excuse her.

Your tongue flattens itself against her and does this perpetual motion that makes her feel like you’re never running out of tongue. Up and down. Side to side. Rotations in both clockwise and in reverse. You don’t let up. You never let up. Not until you feel her dribbling that delicious nectar against your chin. Not until she’s moaning up a storm from just your tongue alone. Not until she’s yanking your fucking head lose.

“Sh-sh-shit … nghh … yes … YES! Fuck—I’m close, I-I-I’m—.”

You press your cheek to the side to catch your breath. Rest your tongue. “How many points am I getting for this?”

She dunks your head back against her pussy. “Shut u-up and just eat me … please …”

You smirk. That’s what you want to hear. You slow down your pace though. No longer giving her endless stimulation. No longer lapping her up like a hungry dog. You take your time. Build your pace. Get her closer and closer to that fucking point of no return. But don’t send her off into the deep end.

“Faster … please faster fuck … nghhh you’re—I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing? Tell me,” you say between medium-paced strokes. Like you’re enjoying a vanilla soft serve. Taking your time. But not letting the cream melt off. “Lost your words? You were so full of them—.”

“You’re teasing me,” she pushes, groaning with her back arching up. “Please … fuck … please …”

“Please what?”

“Please … eat my fucking pussy out like you own it!”

That’s all you need.

You slide your wide palms up from her butt, down her thighs, until they’re behind her knees, pinning both of them next to her face, folding her in half. Her back arches. Just the perfect height for you to lean forward and eat her the fuck out.

“OHHHH FUCK YES! Shit … shit … too much—TOO MUCH!”

But you don’t stop.

Your tongue hones in on her clit. Spreading around your saliva and her juices like a butter knife against smooth toast. She’s trembling, then shuddering, then palpitating. And that’s your queue to keep it steady. You lap at her like you’ve been starving for days. Even when your tongue numbs. Even when your jaw slacks. Even when your mouth is now full of her fucking scent and flavor.

You. Don’t. Stop.

“Fuck—CUMMING!”

She’s a squirter. She’s a goddamn fucking squirter. 

When she erupts she glazes your face with a warm spray. It lasts for more than ten seconds. Not stopping until the mess she’s made is dripping down onto your long-sleeves. She can’t breathe. She’s forgotten how to. So you decide to not be a dick and let her have a moment to herself first.

And the moment she’s regained her senses, she looks up at you and sits up. “That … ha … ha … felt amazing. You were amazing.”

But you hold your hand out against her thigh and push her back into that folded ball, knees to her head, ass up in the air.

“What—?”

“Hold it. Hold yourself like that for me.”

Reddened at the face, she nods and tucks her hands beneath her knees to hold herself in position—in offering—for you.

Now that? That is a picture-perfect moment.

You press your thumbs to the highest button. By your neck. You pop it open. You do the same for the second. Pop it open. You have about eight of these. And you take your time with each one. Because you know she’s watching you. Waiting for you. Wishing she could be the one to just rip your polo from you and finally see your bare body. You know that much. You know it because while her mouth may lie, her eyes? They don’t.

Her eyes never lie.

Once you’re finally pulling your arms through your sleeves and dropping the polo on the floor, she groans when she sees what’s underneath. “Are you kidding me? That must be fucking hot in there. You wear that every night?”

You don’t answer. You pull your undershirt off. Shove your slacks down with your boxers. And step forward. Pressing your hands next to her knees, which are next to her face. You lean in and grin. “Manager’s choice.”

You slap your cock against her pussy like you would her lips, and she responds with a tremble. Her pussy has a life of its own. It’s throbbing. Pulsating. Even after an orgasm. Such a fucking greedy little hole on an insatiable little brat. But no matter. You’ll feed her soon enough.

You grind into her. Rub your length against her folds. Poke your tip into her receding belly button. Make her feel the heat between her legs. Giving her the appetizer. 

Her eyes flicker with the fire of someone who just can’t fucking wait to burn. But you don’t move. Not much. Not anything beyond some grinding and dry humping. If you can even still call it ‘dry’ at that point. Considering your underside is being conveniently lubricated with each caress of her pussy.

“Are you going to fuck me or just stare me to sleep?” she spits. You have to admire her spunk despite how she’s folded on your desk like this. “Maybe I should call your little errand boy to do me instead. Maybe he won’t waste my time—.”

“Beg.”

She falls silent. Like you pushed the right button. 

“No.”

You slap your shaft against her pussy and wake her up. Like you slapped her across the face too. “Beg. Or I can just walk out of here, head to a strip club, and fuck one of the girls there instead.”

“Like hell you could. They don’t allow that.”

“I could. I know people.”

She bites her lip. “Fuck you. I’m not going to beg. You either fuck me or you don’t.”

You pull away. Motioning just the slightest bit for your undershirt. But immediately, you feel a grip against your arm.

“If you put that fucking undershirt back on, I will never forgive you.”

You chuckle. “Yeah?”

She spreads her legs. Wider. Lifts her butt. Higher. Makes it so her body is parted not just in invitation, but also so you can see her face clean down the middle. Past her tits. Resting against the fan of hair draped behind her like a veil.

“Please. Fuck me. Or whatever—.”

You push your dick in.

The enlarged tip meets some resistance already, noted by the pitch of her moan. There’s a ring. A tight fucking ring at the entrance. And for a heartbeat you’re afraid you might rip something. But just like her attitude, her body learns to cave in to you.

You’re in now. Not just the tip that flares at the base of her. Not just the first few inches that part the tight clenching walls of hers. But all the way in.

You’re pressed in so deep that there’s nowhere else to go. And your cock isn’t even fully inside her.

Her eyes widen. Whites glowing as her pupils dilate. “Shit. Fuck. Y-You’re stretching me … T-T-Take it slow—please—AHHH!”

You don’t take it slow.

Pressing her hands firmer against the back of her own knees, using that grip to slide her closer to you. You pull out and then ram your cock deep inside her. Once. Twice. Repeatedly. Faster. Gaining pace. Gaining momentum. Knocking on her womb with everything you’ve fucking got.

And she is just a mess.

“Is this what you fucking imagined when you were messing with me? Is this what you fucking wanted when you were acting like a little brat every night? Answer me,” you demand, pressing into her thighs now, gripping them, pounding incessantly. You haven’t had sex in god knows how long. It only felt right to dissolve completely into the temptation of her. “What? Lost your words?”

Her eyes can’t focus on any one thing, drifting here and there. Mouth agape. Tongue firmly planted between her lips. She’s moaning with each of your thrusts. So you fuck into her faster to hear it. To hear more. You’re immediately rewarded by the change in pitch, the change in frequency, and the added percussive of her tits slapping together.

Sweat dripping down your face and neck, you grip her ass from the side and slap it. Watching the pink blossom. Feeling her skin heat up. You spank her again. And again. And again. Until she finally screams her reply.

“YES! Fuck … fuck … FUCK—YES! Pound me like this. Keep fucking going. NGHHH you’re going to fucking ruin me!”

“Yeah? Then get fucking ruined.”

You press your thumb to her clit and start rubbing it fast. No direction. No patter. Just fast flicks and rotations.

“FUCK! YOU’RE—.”

Smack. Smack. Smack. Your hips meet the swell of her ass as she’s bouncing on your dick. Matching your pace. Meeting each upward thrust of yours with a downwards stroke of hers.

“C-CLOSE! Don’t stop—DON’T FUCKNG STOP!”

You pull her ass off the edge just to knock her knees into your desk. Her eyes are glazed over. Pure fucking bliss. You’re working double time with your heels and your waist to deliver blow after blow deep into her pussy. She’s clenching. Squeezing you. Craving your fucking release. But you don’t stop. You don’t give her that luxury. Not yet.

“Who’s fucking your little pussy right now?”

“MMMH … wh-what—?”

“Answer me! Who’s fucking ruining your little pussy right now?” you grunt, fucking the daylights into her while fiddling with her clit.

“Y-You … AHH!”

“Yeah? And who’s going to make you cum? Answer me.”

There’s less hesitation this time. She spits it out, “You! Fuck ….fuck I-I-I can’t—.”

“And who fucking owns you? Tell me. Say it. Moan it. Fucking scream it—.”

“YOU FUCKING OWN MY PUSSY, MANAGER!”

That was it.

You smudge your thumb against her button, really grind into it. You force whatever remaining strength you have left to thrust specifically upwards into the soft spongy spot that kept making her lose her breath. And you lean in to kiss her. Passionately. Sloppily. Possessively.

Claiming her. As you claim her squirting orgasm all over your cock.

She can’t even moan. Just whimpering into your kiss as she lets go of her shaking legs. You grab her ankles and feel her feet tensing into a point. But she slaps your arms and pulls them closer to her, tugging on them like reigns so she can feel your full erect length stretching her pussy down to the final spasm of her release.

Then, it’s your turn.

“Fuck … fuck that—wait … wait wait wait—AHHHH SHIT—!”

One arm behind her back, holding her close. The other lifting her leg up so her knee’s hooked over your shoulder. One hand gripping her waist. The other palming her clit. You send her into a state of borderline catatonia as she moans and groans and scrambles to try and break free as you overstimulate her senses. But you don’t stop. You chase after your own release while inside her clenching and spasming death-grip of a pussy.

“Going to fucking—.”

“GIVE IT TO ME! GIVE ME YOUR FUCKING LOAD!”

You burst.

Your whole body’s tensed. Did you know that? You didn’t up until you allowed yourself to let go. To let it all loose. The first shot burns your tip with how rapid it fired out. With how tight she’s clamping around you. The next few shots spread pleasure all over your stomach, racing up your spine, and then finally scattering across the back of your head. The last few shots send your mind into a daze as your first orgasm in arguably months finally escapes you. Finally finds its place. Finally fills her the fuck up so bountifully.

Unsheathing yourself from her warm, sweating, and pulsating orifice, you let your cock droop against your thigh. Semi-erect still. Sensitive to the cool air of your office. Dripping an ounce or two of leftover cum.

And she’s there. On your desk. Unmoving. Naked, heaving mass. Sweaty all over. Arms flayed out to the side. Chest rising and falling unsteadily. Nipples perking from the cool. Ass hanging off the edge. One knee pointed upwards. The other outstretched with her leg to keep her steady.

There she is. Cum dripping out of her like a mark. Like a signature.

There she fucking is. No masks. No games. No resistance.

Completely laid bare.

---

The door to your office bursts open. But you’re not flinching this time. You’re focusing on transferring your hand-written computations from the pile of papers next to you. Digitalizing them.

“What’s the matter this time, Minho? We haven’t even opened yet.”

“Sorry for not knocking boss, but it’s Hajoon. He … let’s just say he ‘pre-gamed’ a little too hard and is um, throwing up all over Table Thirty-One—.”

“Well, clean it up. Do I have to be the one to deal with every single mess?”

Minho’s eyes lower to his polished shoes. “I … You’re right. I’ll handle this myself.”

He pauses. Looks at you now. You know this despite being deep in your sheets. You can see him from your peripheral. “And?”

“Boss, are you … eating something?”

You shrug. “Haven’t had a meal all day. Haven’t caught any shuteye either. All the damages. All the losses. Marking them all down first.”

“Want me to grab some food then before we open? What are you craving?” he asks with a smile. And you can sense that he’s quite hungry too.

“Think that American place a few streets down’s still open? I could go for a sloppy joe right about now.”

He snaps and winks at you. “You got it boss. I’ll be on my—huh. There’s that sound again.”

“Must be a leak in the vents. I’ll call plumbing later.”

Minho grins and nods. “Always one step ahead, aren’t you, boss?”

You nod in reply and return to your sheets. There’s a brief pause. Then, Minho’s finally disappeared behind your closing door.

In moments, her head resurfaces from underneath your desk. Face sweaty, half dripping with cum half drying in it, thick lips pursing and bubbling over the tip of your cock.

“You like it sloppy, don’t you? Mmmmh,” she teases while wiping your thick shaft against her softer features. “Who could have guessed?”

You reach down to lift her chin and say, “If you’re going to pay off your debt, you might as well get back to it. We’re opening in two hours. So unless you want my staff to wonder why one of our clubgoers is walking around ruined like a cheap little whore, I suggest you make it worth my while.”

Giggling with that same teasing energy of hers, but just converted into something else now, she nods and kisses your tip again.

—

By the time they were in their second year of high school, everyone knew Y/N.

It was not because he tried. It was because he breathed and walked through the hallways like the universe had forgotten to give him an awkward phase.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, all clean lines and a smile that showed one chipped tooth from when he fell off his bike in third grade. His hair fell into his eyes in that way stylists tried to recreate idols. He laughed too loud in the cafeteria, made teachers reluctantly smirk when he cracked jokes, and somehow remembered everyone’s names.

He did not know any of that.

Karina did.

She watched girls straighten their backs when he walked by, watched underclassmen linger at the stairwell a little longer if they heard his voice, watched boys drift toward him during lunch because it was fun to orbit someone like that.

What she hated most was that he did not change at all.

He ruffled hair, shared notes, lent out his pen that had half its grip chewed off, and never once looked like he knew people were staring. He only seemed flustered when teachers called on him in math.

“You know everyone likes you, right?” Karina said one afternoon, the words slipping out sharper than she meant.

They were on the school rooftop, legs dangling through the metal railing, cheap bread from the vending machine in their hands. The wind tugged at his hair and blew hers into her lip gloss.

He blinked up from the chocolate milk carton.

“Huh?”

Karina rolled her eyes. “You are not stupid. You know.”

“Know what?” He took a sip and squinted at her. “You are being weird about something again.”

“People like you.”

“I hope so.” He shrugged. “It would suck if they all hated me.”

She glared. “You know what I mean.”

He only grinned, lazy and bright. “You like me too. So I must be doing something right.”

It was infuriating how easily he could say that and not realize it made her heart skip.

She made a face to cover it up. “You are barely tolerable.”

“You were not saying that when I carried your bag up five floors because your legs were ‘weak from PE’.”

“The elevator was broken. I am short, not weak.”

He laughed and leaned back on his hands, head tipped to the sky. The afternoon sun softened the angle of his jaw, and the breeze tugged at his shirt.

Karina stared a second too long and then looked away, annoyed at herself.

Everyone liked him. Of course they did. He was easy to like. Easy to talk to. Easy to fall for.

And he was stupidly, stubbornly hers.

At least, she intended to keep it that way.

—

Their relationship had never had a clean border between “friends” and something else.

They were the kind of kids teachers automatically seated together because they worked well in pairs. They went to each other’s houses often enough that both sets of parents stopped asking when or why. His mother kept a pair of indoor slippers for Karina by the door. Her father grumbled less when Y/N was the one walking her home late.

They had their first fight in middle school when a boy from class 2–B confessed to Karina behind the gym.

He had been red to his ears, clutching a crumpled letter, stuttering through practiced lines. Karina had listened politely, heart pounding with nothing but discomfort, and then said, “I am sorry. I like someone else.”

She did not. Not properly. Not yet.

But she could see Y/N through the window, face smashed against the glass, wearing an expression like someone had stolen his lunch. Later he claimed he had been “just curious” about what a confession looked like in real life.

She had gone home that night and stared at the ceiling for hours, realizing that her first instinct, when a boy told her he liked her, was to look for Y/N’s face.

Years later, in their final year of high school, that instinct had not changed.

Their classroom was loud with end-of-day chatter. Exam season meant everyone was half hysterical, half resigned. Some kids took pictures, some slept on their desks, some copied homework they had conveniently “forgotten.”

Y/N sat sideways in his chair, one leg stretched out, twirling a pen between his fingers. There was a smear of ink across his knuckles. He was asking if she wanted to hit the convenience store before going home, already listing the snacks they could get.

Karina watched his mouth move and suddenly could not hear anything over the thud of her own pulse.

It occurred to her then, with the bluntness of a thrown brick, that nothing outside that classroom felt solid without him. Not graduation. Not college. Not her secret daydreams of singing on stage.

Every future scene she imagined had his laugh in it.

The thought terrified her.

People left. Friends lost touch. She had moved schools twice as a kid and watched faces blur together into old class photos. But not him. Never him.

Unless someone took him.

Unless he woke up one day and realized someone prettier, smarter, kinder was waiting with both arms open.

The idea made something bitter twist under her ribs.

She slapped her notebook closed.

“Be my boyfriend,” she said.

Y/N blinked. “Huh?”

The classroom noise dimmed in her ears. She leaned forward across the shared desk, eyes locked on his, daring him to misunderstand.

“Date me,” she clarified. “Starting today.”

He stared at her, searching her face for the punchline.

There was none. Her cheeks were warm, but her eyes were steady. No laughter, no teasing curve of her mouth.

“Why?” he asked, honest as always.

Karina’s fingers curled around her pencil so hard the wood creaked.

Because I cannot stand the thought of you with someone else. Because I have been saying “mine” in my head since we were six and I need it to be true in a way that does not disappear when we graduate.

“Because I want to,” she said instead, blunt, almost brusque. “Is that not enough?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, then laughed under his breath, like he still half expected someone to jump out and shout a prank.

“Sure,” he said.

No stars. No fireworks. No dramatic buildup.

Just that. Sure.

He said it like she had asked if she could copy his notes. Like this was inevitable. Natural.

“Really?” she pressed, eyes narrowing. “Do not say it if you are joking.”

He put down his pen, propped his chin in his hand, and gave her a look that had always been reserved for her when nobody else was listening.

“I am not joking,” he said. “I like you. So… yeah. Let’s date.”

Heat flooded her chest, sharp and dizzying.

From then on, “mine” was not just a word in her head anymore.

—

Dating Y/N turned out to be exactly like being his best friend, but with more hand holding and less pretending she did not want to lean into his side all the time.

He carried her bag even when she insisted she was not weak. He stole the pickles off her burgers and rolled his eyes when she put melon soda on top of instant ramen and called it “gourmet.” He walked her home, fingers curled around hers like second nature. They shared airpods and playlists and increasingly shameless amounts of skinship.

He had never been touch shy with her. But now there was a quiet intention behind every brush of his thumb over her knuckles. A new warmth in the press of his palm against the small of her back.

If people stared before, they stared more now.

“About time,” was the general consensus. Some classmates clapped when they first saw them holding hands in public. Someone tried to start a betting pool over how long they would last and got chased off when Karina fixed them with a deadpan stare.

For once, she did not mind the attention.

He was hers. Officially. Publicly. Everyone knew. It should have been enough to silence the old fear.

But sometimes in the hallway, when girls from other classes called his name with too-familiar smiles, that ugly, sour feeling still crawled up her throat.

“Your fan club is noisy today,” she muttered one morning as they pushed through a knot of first years obviously pretending not to look at him.

“Fan club?” He choked on a laugh. “There is no fan club.”

“Sure.” She tugged on his sleeve, forcing him to walk closer to her. “Maybe they can form a line and get your autograph later.”

He slung an arm over her shoulders in that easy way he had, pulling her into his side. “You sound jealous.”

“I am not jealous.” She clicked her tongue. “I am realistic.”

“Realistically,” he said, leaning down until his breath brushed her ear, “I am walking to school with my girlfriend and not with them. So they can be as noisy as they want.”

Her heart flipped. She scoffed to cover it up.

“Corny.”

“You like it.”

She did.

That was the problem.

—

The man in the suit appeared on a Wednesday.

They had just finished cram school and were cutting through the back street behind the main road. It was one of their usual routes, lit by a flickering streetlamp and the neon wash of the convenience store sign at the corner.

Karina was scrolling through her phone, complaining about homework. Y/N was balancing a carton of banana milk on his head for reasons known only to himself.

“Stop that,” she said without looking up, catching the carton before it fell. “You are going to waste it.”

“Art requires sacrifice.”

“Art can pay for its own snacks next time then.”

He was laughing when a shadow stepped into their path.

“Excuse me.”

They both stopped.

The man was in his thirties, clean cut, black suit pressed so sharp it caught the light. He had a leather bag slung over his shoulder and a lanyard with an ID peeking out from under his blazer.

Karina tensed automatically, body shifting half in front of Y/N without thinking.

“We are not interested in religion,” she said flatly.

The man blinked, then chuckled. “I am not here about that.”

He took out a wallet, flipped it open, and showed them his card.

SM Entertainment. Casting Manager.

Karina’s brain stuttered.

She knew the logo on sight. Everyone did. Trainee reality shows, debut announcements, legendary senior groups. SM was not just an agency. It was a myth machine.

“We have been observing the area around this station for a while,” the man said smoothly. “Looking for potential talent.”

He looked at Y/N then. Really looked. His eyes sharpened with something like satisfaction.

“You,” he said. “Have you ever considered auditioning?”

Y/N glanced over his shoulder, like there might be someone else behind him.

“Me?”

“Yes.” The manager stepped closer, professionally polite. “Great proportions, good face. You stand out in a crowd. Have you had any experience singing or dancing?”

Y/N scratched the back of his neck. “Um. Not… professionally. Just karaoke and… YouTube? And school festivals, I guess.”

Karina could not breathe.

She had watched trainee videos in secret for years. Practiced choreography in her bedroom when everyone was asleep. Built silent castles of fantasy around stages she had never stepped on.

To hear those words directed at him with such easy confidence hurt and thrilled her at the same time.

The manager’s gaze flicked to her for a moment.

“You too,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “You have a good look. Sharp features. You would show up well on camera.”

Almost.

Y/N’s brow furrowed. “Is this… real?”

The manager smiled like he had heard that question a hundred times.

“You can call the company number if you want to verify,” he said, handing each of them a card. “Auditions are open, but a recommendation from scouting helps your profile stand out. We are holding first–round evaluations next month.”

He turned to walk away, then paused and looked back at Y/N again, eyes gleaming.

“You especially. It would be a waste if you did not at least try.”

When he disappeared down the street, the world felt slightly tilted.

Y/N stared at the card in his hand. The SM logo glinted under the streetlight.

“Holy shit,” he said.

Karina did not say anything.

Her heart was beating too hard, her palms slick. SM. The company she had seen in every late night search bar. The one she had never had the courage to approach.

She had always imagined that if this moment ever happened, she would explode with joy or cry or scream.

Instead, her first thought was ugly and selfish.

Of course they notice him first.

He was still looking at the card, mouth parted in faint disbelief. “Do you think it is fake? Like a scam?”

“No,” she said quietly. Her voice did not sound like hers. “It is real.”

He glanced up at her then, eyes bright, boyish excitement starting to dawn.

“This is crazy,” he murmured. “Me? An idol?”

You would be perfect, she thought bitterly. Of course you would.

“How about you?” he asked. “You love music. You should try.”

Her head snapped up.

He was not mocking. His eyes were warm. Encouraging. Like he genuinely wanted her there.

“I…” Her throat tightened. Stage lights. Crowds. Cameras. Panic.

“I cannot,” she said, too fast. “I would die of embarrassment.”

“You will not.” He bumped her shoulder with his. “You sing better than half the people on those shows anyway.”

“That is not true.”

“It is. I have ears. I use them sometimes.”

She stared at the card. It felt heavy.

All those nights of practicing choreography in front of her mirror with the sound turned low came back in a rush. All the times she had fantasized about someone, anyone, looking at her and saying I see something in you.

Now that moment was here and it hurt like a bruise.

He had not come for her. Not really.

But he had looked. And he had said potential. And Y/N was watching her with that open, earnest face, waiting for her to say yes so they could jump into this new world together like they always had.

If she said no, what would happen? He might still go. Alone. Into a place full of people who would see every good thing about him and want a piece of it.

She pictured trainees crowding around him, laughing at his jokes, girls confessing backstage, older idols patting his shoulder. Pictured herself outside, watching through a screen while someone else became his default.

Her grip on the card tightened.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “If it sucks, we can quit together and pretend this never happened. At least you will know you tried.”

He always talked like that. We. Together.

He had no idea how much she had built her life around that word.

“Fine,” she said. “I will do it.”

—

Audition day smelled like sweat and cheap perfume.

Dozens of kids lined the hallway, some clutching lyric sheets, some fixing their hair in tiny compact mirrors. There were girls in full makeup and heels, boys in practice clothes and branded sneakers, a few parents hovering anxiously near the doors.

Karina’s stomach churned so much she wondered if she should have skipped breakfast.

Y/N sat beside her on the waiting bench, bouncing his knee like an excitable puppy. He was in a simple black T–shirt and joggers, hair pushed off his forehead. He looked stupidly good without trying, which irritated her and steadied her in equal parts.

“Number 43,” an assistant called.

Y/N glanced at his number tag. “That is you.”

Karina swallowed.

She stood on wooden legs. Her palms were slick.

“You will be fine,” Y/N said. He reached up and squeezed her hand. “Pretend it is just karaoke. With some men in suits staring at you.”

“That is not helpful.”

“You are going to kill it.” His smile was so confident it was almost offensive. “I promise.”

She wanted to say I am only here because you are. Instead, she nodded and walked into the audition room before she could talk herself out of it.

Three judges behind a long table. A camera pointed at her. A mark on the floor for her to stand on.

She introduced herself, voice shaking a little, then forced herself to breathe, the way she had practiced.

When the music started, her body moved automatically.

She sang a song she had never admitted out loud was her dream debut track. Her voice was not perfect, but it did not crack. Her hands did not shake. She hit the high note clean.

By the end, her lungs were burning and her heart felt strangely light, despite the nerves.

The middle judge scribbled something on his paper. The one on the right hummed thoughtfully.

“You have a pleasant tone,” the left one said. “You are stiff and your breathing needs work, but there is potential.”

That word again.

“Thank you,” she managed, bowing.

Outside, Y/N was pacing.

“How was it?” he asked immediately, searching her face. “Did they like you?”

She blinked. “I… I think so. They said I have potential.”

His grin lit up. “Of course you do. See? I told you.”

His name was called then.

He bounced to his feet, made a face at her, then walked in with that same easy posture he wore to school.

Karina sat down, pressed her hands between her knees to stop them from shaking, and stared at the closed door.

Through the wall, she could barely hear the echo of his voice when he greeted the judges, confident and clear.

When it was over, he came out smiling.

“And?” she demanded.

He shrugged, too casual. “They said my singing is rough and I need breath control. But they liked my dancing. One of them said my expression was good.”

Of course it was. Looking at him felt like watching a stage director’s dream even in practice videos. He moved like music lived under his skin.

“They said they will call in a few weeks,” he added. “If we pass.”

He said we again without thinking.

She hung onto it like a rope.

—

They both passed.

Karina found out from an email after school, her hands trembling so badly she nearly dropped her phone. Her parents were skeptical. Her mother frowned at the contract. Her father asked if this was some kind of elaborate scam.

But when she said SM, their expressions shifted.

“You still have to finish school,” her mother said. “You are not dropping everything for a dream.”

“I know.”

“And if it affects your grades…”

“I know,” she repeated, firmer this time. “I will handle it. Please. Let me try.”

Her father studied her for a long moment. It was the first time she had sounded so certain about anything that was not Y/N.

“Fine,” he said at last. “You get a year. If it is all nonsense, you focus on university.”

She nodded.

Y/N called that night, voice crackling over the line.

“You got in too, right?”

“Yes.”

He whooped so loudly she had to hold the phone away from her ear.

“See? We are going to be idols,” he crowed. “You and me. I told you this would be fun.”

His joy was contagious. For a little while, it drowned out the small, mean part of her that whispered they wanted him more than they wanted you.

—

Trainee life was hell with shiny floors.

The SM building was intimidating from the outside, all glass and chrome, but inside it smelled like disinfectant and effort. Practice rooms with mirrored walls, corridors with posters of seniors who felt like distant gods. A cafeteria where everyone looked either exhausted or too awake.

On their first day, they were given ID cards and schedules.

“Y/N,” the coordinator said, sliding his across the desk. “You will be in the male vocal and dance classes. You are in the B batch for now.”

He turned to Karina. “Karina, right? You are in the female dance C batch and vocal C as well.”

C.

She told herself it meant nothing. Just letters. Just a starting point.

They changed into practice clothes and stepped into their separate rooms.

Karina’s first dance class left her gasping, knees weak, T–shirt drenched. The trainer did not raise his voice, but his comments cut sharp and clean.

“You are thinking too much. Your upper body is stiff. Loosen your shoulders. If you cannot breathe, your lines look dead. Again.”

Each “again” felt like a hammer.

She saw the other trainees. Some younger. Some older. Some clearly already at a high level, bodies moving with a crisp snap she could not replicate yet.

In the mirror, her own face looked pinched.

When class ended, she dragged herself into the hallway and nearly collapsed against the wall.

Y/N found her there, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead.

“You survived,” he said, dropping down beside her.

“Barely.” She wiped her face with her towel. “How was yours?”

He scratched his cheek, sheepish. “Vocal was rough. They said I have good color but no control. Dance was… okay.”

“Okay” turned out to mean the trainer had made him demonstrate steps for the others by the end. Within two months, he was moved from B batch to A.

“Monster trainee,” one of the boys muttered under his breath once, not unkindly.

Karina heard it from the open door as she walked past for her own class.

Monster.

Of course.

He took to this world like he had been born for it. His body responded; his rhythm sharpened; his voice, under proper training, grew steadier. That same natural charisma that made classmates flock to him now drew trainees too.

“Y/N sunbaenim, can you help me with this step?”

“You hit that note so clean, did you always sing?”

“You should audition for the next boy group, you would get in for sure.”

She watched from the periphery, hands knotted in the strap of her bag.

At first, she was happy for him. Proud. This was good. This was what he deserved.

But pride curdled on the days when trainers asked him to stay back and practice with seniors, while she was told to run basics again. When she saw girls from vocal class laughing with him in the hallway, shoulder to shoulder, too close.

“Your boyfriend is popular,” one of the trainees commented to her in the locker room, tone light.

Karina forced a smile. “He is just friendly.”

“Still.” The girl giggled. “If my boyfriend was that handsome and talented, I would not let him out of my sight.”

Karina laughed too, as if playing along.

The words stuck like a thorn.

—

“Is this about that girl again?”

They sat in the tiny convenience store near the station, the one that had become their unofficial post–practice crash site. It was almost midnight. The fluorescent lights buzzed. The clerk was half asleep behind the counter.

Karina stabbed a fish cake on a stick and glared at him.

“I am not ‘about’ anyone.”

“You get weird every time she talks to me.” He slurped his ramyeon, oblivious to the soup splashing onto the table. “She is just a classmate.”

“She touches your arm a lot for ‘just a classmate’.”

He blinked. “Does she?”

“You do not notice because you are an idiot.”

He laughed. “Hey. I am not an idiot. Just clueless sometimes.”

She set her chopsticks down harder than necessary.

“What if,” she muttered, staring at the stew instead of his face, “one day you stop being clueless and realize you like someone else?”

The words came out more fragile than she intended.

The question hung between them, heavy.

He chewed for a moment, oblivious at first. Then he saw her expression and his gaze softened.

“Jimin,” he said quietly.

She hated how much that name could still calm her down.

He reached across the table and hooked his pinky finger around hers.

“When have I ever not picked you?” he asked. “Since we were kids. Every group project, every game, every stupid thing. It is you. I am not suddenly going to wake up and forget that.”

“That is not how it works,” she muttered, but some of the ice in her chest melted.

He squeezed her pinky. “I picked you as my girlfriend too, remember?”

“You only said yes because I asked out of nowhere,” she said. “You did not even think about it.”

“I did.” His voice was so serious she had to look up. “Maybe not in that exact second. But I thought about it a hundred times before without noticing. It felt… obvious. When you asked, it just clicked.”

Her throat went tight.

“You are so cheesy,” she whispered.

“You like it.”

She did.

She also liked hearing him say I picked you, as if it was a choice he kept making, not a default he could get bored of.

She held onto that, even as the gap between their growth in the company slowly widened.

—

The break came during a holiday.

Most trainees went home for a few days. SM’s schedule eased slightly around the national break, but the serious ones stayed to practice. Y/N was one of them, of course.

“You should rest,” Karina told him that morning, standing in the empty dance room with her hands on her hips. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, cutting the room into stripes.

“I will rest when I am a superstar,” he replied, grinning. “Come on. One more run–through.”

He had found a new choreography on YouTube the night before. Some insane routine from a senior boy group that involved spins, jumps, and footwork that made her ankles ache just watching.

Karina followed him as best she could. They were both tired from the week, but moving together felt familiar. Safe.

Halfway through the song, her lungs started to burn. Sweat ran into her eyes. She made a mistake on the turn, bumped into him, muttered an apology, and kept going.

He did not complain. He only pushed harder, effort etched into the line of his shoulders.

On the final chorus, there was a jump. A full spin and land.

They did it once. Twice. Three times.

On the fourth, Y/N’s foot slid on a patch of sweat on the floor.

Karina saw it in slow motion. His leg extended, weight wrong, knee twisting grotesquely to the side as his body went down.

There was a sound like someone snapping a thick branch. Then his scream.

“Y/N!”

The music cut off as she fumbled for her phone with shaking hands. He was curled on the ground, clutching his right leg, face white, sweat suddenly cold on his skin.

“It hurts, it hurts, fuck, it hurts,” he gasped, voice ragged.

She knelt beside him, useless, trying not to panic.

“Do not move,” she said, though he clearly could not. “I am calling someone. Hold on. Just hold on, okay?”

He gritted his teeth, eyes squeezed shut. Tears leaked out despite his effort.

By the time staff rushed in and an ambulance was called, his breathing had turned shallow. He went quiet with the kind of stillness that felt worse than the screaming.

Later, at the hospital, a doctor in a white coat said the words “multiple ligament tears” and “surgery” and “six to twelve months minimum recovery.”

“Will he dance again?” Karina asked, voice thin.

The doctor hesitated. “We will do our best. But he should not rush. If he pushes too hard, he could cause permanent damage.”

Y/N stared at the ceiling. His fingers clenched in the bedsheet.

“I am sorry,” he said, voice shaking. “I am so fucking sorry.”

Karina did not understand why he was apologizing until he looked at her, eyes wild.

“I ruined it,” he said. “We just started. We were going to do this together and I ruined it. You could have been practicing instead of babysitting me in a hospital.”

“Shut up,” she snapped, because the alternative was crying. “None of this is your fault.”

That night, she sat in the uncomfortable visitor chair and watched him sleep through the pain medication, his leg wrapped in bandages and metal.

He looked small for the first time in years.

It hit her then, with ugly clarity, that he might not come back from this the same. Physically. Mentally.

He had thrown himself into this dream for her. Because she asked. Because he always went where she went.

Guilt twisted with a quieter, more shameful feeling.

If he could not dance anymore, if he decided to quit, he would be free from this world that wanted too much from him. He would go back to school. Back to being just hers.

The thought made her sick.

She hated herself for even thinking about it.

But she did.

—

Recovery was brutal.

The first days post–surgery, Y/N could barely move without cursing. Physical therapy made him sweat through shirts he was not even allowed to stand in. His muscles atrophied quickly. The leg that had once carried him through endless choreography now refused to cooperate, stiff and untrustworthy.

SM sent get–well baskets. Trainers visited once or twice. The casting manager came, patted his shoulder, and said, “Focus on healing. We will reevaluate later.”

The word later stretched into something fragile.

Karina’s schedule did not pause. She still had dance classes, vocal drills, monthly evaluations. She siphoned every free minute to visit him, carrying class gossip and ramen and stupid jokes to fill the silence.

He tried to stay upbeat, but sometimes, late at night when the pain was bad, his mask slipped.

“What if this is it?” he whispered once, staring at the dark ceiling. “What if I never get back to where I was?”

“You will,” she said reflexively.

“You do not know that.”

“I do.”

“Jimin.”

She flinched.

He turned his head, eyes tired.

“You always say that,” he murmured. “Like if you believe hard enough, the universe has to listen.”

“Has it not worked so far?” she shot back, too sharp.

His mouth twisted. “We are in a hospital, and I might lose the only thing I am good at. I do not think it is working this time.”

She had no answer for that. Only her own selfishness coiled in her chest.

“You were good at things before this,” she said finally. “You are not… only a trainee.”

He laughed without humor. “Yeah. Class clown. Neighborhood dog–walker. Very impressive.”

She reached out and took his hand.

“You were mine,” she wanted to say.

Instead: “You came here because of me. If you decide this is not worth it anymore, it is okay.”

His eyes searched hers, sharp.

“Do you want me to quit?” he asked.

The question cut her open.

“No,” she lied automatically. “Of course not.”

“You hesitated.”

“I was thinking.”

“About what?”

She swallowed.

About how walking into the practice room without you makes me feel like the floor is gone. About how every time a trainer praises me now, I hear their unspoken but not as good as him. About how the idea of you coming back and being surrounded again, shining, terrifies me in a way I do not know how to name.

“About your future,” she said instead. “If you push your leg and hurt it more, then what? You will not even be able to dance at karaoke.”

He snorted. “Tragic.”

“I am serious.”

“So am I.” He squeezed her fingers back weakly. “We started this together. It feels wrong to stop now.”

There it was again. We.

He did not see what she saw. That this thing, this dream, wrapped around him easier than it did around her. That with or without her, he would have been scouted if he stood on any other street on any other day.

The guilt swelled, hot and acid.

“Maybe,” she said slowly, “this is a sign.”

He frowned. “A sign of what? That gravity is a bitch?”

She managed a humorless smile. “That you were never meant to be here in the first place.”

His eyes stilled.

“You only auditioned because of me,” she pushed on, quiet. “You had plans. University. Music production. That business major you pretended you did not want but your mom kept talking about.”

“So?”

“So maybe this was never your path. Maybe… maybe it is better if you go back. Before it gets harder to leave.”

It sounded almost reasonable out loud. Logical. Concerned.

Inside, something ugly sneered at her own hypocrisy.

He stared at her for a long moment.

“Do you want me there alone?” he asked. “In the company?”

The way he phrased it made her feel like dirt.

“You think everything is about what I want?” she said weakly.

“Is it not?” He tried to make it a joke, but the edge was there.

She bit her lip until she tasted blood.

“I am saying,” she whispered, “I do not want you to hurt yourself more because of me. If you decide this was just… an experience, that is okay. You do not owe this place anything.”

He closed his eyes.

The worst part was that he heard concern in her voice and believed it. It was concern. It was also a quiet, desperate attempt to keep him from stepping back into a room where everyone else seemed to want a piece of him.

“I will think about it,” he said eventually. “After the therapy. After school decisions.”

Karina nodded.

She left the hospital that night feeling like she had swallowed glass.

—

He did not go back.

It did not happen all at once. There were months of rehab, stretches where it looked like he might heal faster, days when he joked about stage names and fan chants.

But when the year mark approached, when his leg finally bent and straightened without a knife of pain, he stood at a crossroads.

SM asked him to come in for reevaluation.

He looked at the text for a long time. Then at his acceptance letter to a good university’s music production and business program.

Karina sat beside him on the park bench where they had eaten ice cream through half of middle school, watching his profile as he thought.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

He blew out a breath.

“When I think about going back,” he said, “I remember the injury first, not the dancing. The panic. The way it hurts to move. It is like… something in my brain rewired it from joy to fear.”

She listened in silence.

“I do not want to be scared every time I step into a practice room,” he confessed. “I do not want to flinch every time I jump.”

“You could get past that,” she said quietly.

“Maybe,” he replied. “But I keep coming back to what you said. About signs.”

Her stomach twisted.

“This feels like a sign to try something else,” he went on. “I still love music. I still want to be around it. But maybe my place is not under a spotlight. Maybe it is behind it.”

He smiled then, small but surprisingly peaceful.

“I think I will focus on college,” he said. “At least for now.”

The words were a relief and a gut punch at once.

“You are sure?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

He looked at her, eyes warm.

“You are staying, right?” he asked. “You are… happy there?”

She thought about the endless drills, the stress, the hierarchy. The trainers who had started nodding at her more. The one time a vocal coach told her, “You are starting to sound like a singer, not just a trainee.” The way her body had started to move when music played, not stiff but almost free.

She thought about the posters on the wall she still sometimes touched with her fingertips.

“Yes,” she said, and this time it felt true. “I think I am.”

“Good.” He bumped his shoulder into hers. “Then I will be your biggest fan.”

He said it easily. Without irony.

She smiled back and leaned her head against his shoulder, ignoring the way guilt gnawed somewhere far beneath her ribs.

It would be years before she admitted to herself that she had nudged him toward that choice. Softly. Gently. For his sake. For hers.

For both.

—

Karina debuted in aespa on a cold November day that smelled like hairspray and nerves.

The build up felt like drowning slowly. Years of training, monthly evaluations, cuts. New girls coming in, old ones disappearing without goodbye. The constant hovering threat of injury, of being “not quite what we are looking for.”

Then one day, the company called her into a room and told her she was in a new girl group.

“You will be Karina,” they said. “This is your concept. Here is your teaser schedule. Here are your members.”

Winter, sharp eyed and deceptively soft looking. Giselle, loud laughter and quick comebacks. Ningning, a voice like liquid gold and a mischievous streak.

They became a second kind of family.

The day their debut MV dropped, Y/N sent a screen recording of the YouTube page to their old group chat with nothing but a string of capslocked swearing.

“Look at you,” he wrote after, spamming emojis. “Are you even real? Proud of you.”

She watched the video in the practice room bathroom on break, staring at her own reflection in the polished tiles as she mouthed along to her own lines.

The girl on screen did not look like the one who had clung to a boy’s sleeve on a playground and declared him “mine.”

This one was sharp, ethereal, eyes lined black, lips painted. She stood in formations that made use of her height. She moved with control she had bled for. Her voice slid into harmonies and hooks people might hum without knowing her name.

aespa exploded faster than even the company had dared to hope.

Staggering streaming numbers. Variety shows. Award shows. Stage after stage. Fancams. Trend videos.

Karina’s life became schedules, cameras, and snatched hours of sleep. Managers knocking on van windows to wake them. Stylists fussing with hair while their artists ate kimbap between makeup touches.

Sometimes, at two in the morning, she would lie in a hotel bed in another city, phone screen dim on the nightstand, and watch old photos of her and Y/N from high school.

Him holding an umbrella over both their heads. Her making a disgusted face as he tried to feed her tteokbokki. His arm slung around her neck like a human scarf.

It felt like looking at someone else’s dream.

They stayed together. Somehow.

It became harder.

He juggled university life, part time jobs, and their relationship. She juggled comebacks, training, and the constant threat of fans or reporters seeing them together.

They texted. They called. They met in hidden corners of the city, hoods up, masks on.

“You are losing weight,” he would say, thumb brushing under her cheekbone.

“You are getting eye bags,” she would retort.

He would laugh, but his eyes would stay worried.

He supported everything. Sent her flowers secretly to the company building when she got her first solo magazine cover. Stayed up to watch music show live streams and texted reactions like a fan.

“You looked fucking insane today,” he wrote once after a particularly intense performance. “That last dance break? I am suing.”

She basked in it. In him.

Even when their calls were short. Even when she snapped at him out of exhaustion and he went quiet on the other end.

She always expected him to be there when she reached.

He always was.

—

He went viral on a night she was not there to see it.

She was overseas for a concert. Another city, another hotel room that looked like all the others.

aespa had just finished a chaotic V Live. Her throat hurt from singing and laughing. Her shoulders ached from the weight of the mic pack. She showered, changed into pajamas, and collapsed onto the bed, scrolling through social media on autopilot.

A video popped up on her explore page.

No caption. No tags. Just a screengrab of a familiar profile under neon karaoke lights.

Karina froze.

She pressed play.

The clip started mid–song. The sound quality was shit, muffled and uneven, but his voice cut through clean.

Y/N was in a cramped karaoke room, holding a mic in one hand, the other gesturing loosely as he hit a high note most people would have murdered. He wore a casual oversized sweatshirt, hair pushed off his forehead, sweat darkening the fabric around his collarbone.

Two friends sat on the couch behind him, cheering. One idiot was yelling, “Look at this guy! Why is he not an idol?” in the background.

The song shifted into a dance track. Someone shouted for the instrumental to play. Y/N laughed and obliged.

He moved.

Not the half–hearted jokey moves people did at parties. Real choreography. Sharp, clean angles. Footwork is smooth but precise. Expression on point, eyes lit up in a way she had not seen in years.

He hit the chorus perfectly, voice and steps both aligned.

Karina’s chest squeezed.

He looked like he belonged on a stage. Even in that stupid cramped room with peeling wallpaper and colored lights, he looked like someone the camera wanted to follow.

The video cut abruptly. Then replayed.

She checked the view count.

Five hundred thousand. No, wait. Refresh.

Eight hundred thousand.

Comments scrolled down faster than she could read.

Who is this???  

He is hotter than half the idols out now  

SM HOW DID YOU LET THIS ONE GO  

His dancing is crazy and his voice too???  

The fact that he said “I was a trainee but quit” casually??? Sir what  

Her blood went cold.

She scrolled further.

There he was in the comments, under his own username, replying to someone.

“I used to be an SM trainee,” he had written. “I stopped because of a leg injury and decided to focus on college instead.”

Someone had screenshot that too. It was trending on a smaller forum already.

Former SM trainee. Viral video. Insane visuals.

The algorithm smelled a story and sank its teeth in.

Karina dropped her phone onto the bed, heart hammering.

The door clicked open. Winter poked her head in.

“Unnie, did you see that video? The guy in the karaoke room? People are saying he was from SM. He is hot.”

Karina’s nails dug into the mattress.

“Yeah,” she said, voice tight. “I saw.”

—

JYP contacted him first.

Not SM, which stung in a petty way she knew was irrational. SM had moved on years ago. Trainees came and went. Injuries happened. People disappeared from the system all the time.

She heard about it from him, on a call that felt too calm for what he was saying.

“They want to meet,” he said. “JYP. For a solo artist contract.”

Karina sat at her dressing table in the green room, surrounded by half–finished makeup, the hum of other staff in the background.

“A solo?” she repeated.

“Yeah.” There was a note of disbelief in his voice. “Not a group. Not ‘we will see if you fit anywhere.’ They want to build something around me.”

She swallowed.

“Did you tell them no?” The words were out before she could catch them.

Silence.

“I am going to hear them out,” he said slowly.

“Y/N.” Her voice came out too sharp. “You know how this industry is.”

“I know,” he said. “I watched you go through it, remember?”

“Then why would you jump back in?”

“Because I am not eighteen and clueless this time,” he shot back, uncharacteristically impatient. “I took a business degree for a reason. I know how contracts work. I know what to ask for.”

“Your leg…”

“Is fine,” he said. “I would not even consider this if it was not.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting for calm.

“You already have a path,” she tried. “You are good at what you are doing. Music production, right? Why risk all of that for… for some viral video hype and an offer from a company that will eat you alive if you let it?”

On the other end of the line, he went very quiet.

“Wow,” he said after a moment, voice flat. “Okay.”

Guilt pricked her skin, but the words kept tumbling out, driven by a fear she did not know how to name gently.

“You said it yourself. Trainee life is brutal. Being an idol is worse. You see all the shit I deal with. The schedules, the fans, the scrutiny. You really want that?”

“Do you regret your debut?” he asked.

The question cut her off.

“No,” she said instantly.

“Then why is it okay for you but not for me?”

“Because I have been doing this for years,” she argued. “Because I built my whole life around it. You have options.”

“And you do not?”

“That is not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?”

She paused, floundering.

She could not tell him the truth. The thought of him on stage, under lights that were not SM’s, with people screaming his name and claiming pieces of him, made her feel like the floor had vanished under her feet. That some paranoid, poisonous part of her was whispering He will outshine you without even trying. He will be everywhere and nowhere near you.

“That you only came into this world because of me,” she said instead, softer. “I do not want you to sacrifice yourself again for something that is not even your dream.”

“This is my dream,” he said quietly. “Now it is. Not because of you. Not for you. For me.”

She sucked in a breath.

Before she could respond, someone knocked on her dressing room door.

“Karina–ssi, standby in five minutes,” a staff member called.

“I have to go,” she said, forced back into professional mode.

“Of course,” he said. “You are busy.”

“Y/N, I am not saying this to hurt you, I just–”

“We will talk later,” he cut in. “Good luck on your stage.”

The line went dead.

She stared at her reflection, makeup half done, eyes too bright.

In the mirror, the girl in lashes and glitter bit her own tongue.

—

He accepted.

Of course he did.

JYP trained their idols differently than SM. A different flavor of polish, a different kind of pressure. But they knew how to make a soloist. They had history.

He told her in person, sitting on the same rooftop where she had first asked him to be her boyfriend.

“They made a good offer,” he said. “Creative control. Time to develop. They want to build me, not squeeze me dry. At least, that is what the contract looks like.”

Wind tugged at his hair. The sky was gray.

She stared at him, feeling the ground tilt.

“So you are really doing this,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“For you.”

“For me,” he said firmly.

She laughed, brittle. “You sound so proud of that.”

“I am.” He watched her carefully. “Is that so bad?”

The answer was no. It was good. It was healthy.

It scraped against every selfish thing in her chest.

“You are going to be competing with me,” she blurted. “Do you get that? People will compare you. To me. To aespa. To everyone.”

“People compare you already,” he pointed out. “You do not let it stop you.”

“That is different.”

“How?”

“Because…” She flailed. “Because I am used to it. Because I chose this a long time ago. Because I thought if one of us was on stage and one of us was not, that would be… simpler.”

“How convenient,” he said dryly. “For you.”

She flinched.

His gaze hardened slightly, the way it did when he was really, truly angry, which was rare.

“You keep saying this is about me,” he said slowly. “My health. My options. My happiness. But every time you talk about it, all I hear is how it affects you.”

“That is not fair,” she snapped, hurt and stinging. “I have been supporting you since day one. I was the one in the hospital with you. I was there when you were depressed. I pushed you to go to therapy. I told you to chase what you wanted before you even knew what that was.”

“And I am grateful,” he said. “I always have been. But this is the first time I have wanted something this big for myself. Really for myself. And the only thing you have done since is look like you are waiting for me to change my mind.”

Her hands fisted in her lap.

“Because I am scared,” she said, the truth bursting out, ugly and raw. “Okay? I am scared. I watched this industry chew people up and spit them out. I watched people go crazy from the pressure. I am terrified you will get hurt again, and I am so tired of being the reason why.”

“The reason why?” he repeated. “You think you are the reason I exist?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” He leaned back, eyes on the sky. “Sometimes it feels like you want me to stay small. Where you can reach. Where nobody else can see what I can do.”

“That is not fair,” she said again, weaker this time.

“Is it not?” He looked at her, gaze sharp. “You loved it when I supported your dream, Jimin. When I put college on hold to be your backup dancer in practice rooms. When I quit SM and told you to stay. You called me your biggest fan.”

“You are,” she whispered.

“What about you?” he asked. “Can you be mine? Or do you only like my dreams when they do not collide with yours?”

The silence between them hummed.

He had never spoken to her like this. Not with this much frustration, this much tired hurt.

Fear crawled up her throat.

“Y/N,” she started. “I just do not want to lose you.”

He laughed once, without humor.

“You know what is funny?” he said. “That is exactly what this feels like from my side. Like I am losing you by daring to want something you do not control.”

Her breath hitched.

“Do you think I am controlling you?” she asked, voice so small it disgusted her.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I think you are scared,” he said. “I think your fear makes you say things that sound like support but feel like shackles. I think you love me. I know you do. But sometimes it feels less like love and more like you are holding on for dear life, even if it chokes us both.”

The words landed like blows.

She wanted to cry. To scream. To tell him he was wrong, that she had always, always tried to be good for him. That everything she did was because she loved him so much her bones hurt.

Instead, she stared at her own hands and realized he was not completely wrong.

“Are you breaking up with me?” she whispered.

The question came out so quietly that if the wind had been louder, it would have swallowed it whole.

He was quiet for a long time.

“I do not want to,” he said finally. “I have never wanted that.”

Her heart lurched.

“But I cannot do this?” she finished for him.

He closed his eyes.

“I am about to walk into something huge and terrifying,” he said. “I need people around me who will hold my hand and say, ‘Go. I have your back. I will be there when you fall.’ I did that for you. Gladly. For years. I did it when it was not even my dream.”

He opened his eyes again, meeting her gaze dead on.

“If the best you can manage is to tell me all the reasons I should stay small, then no,” he said. “I cannot do this. Not as your boyfriend.”

The hurt was numb for a moment. Then it came in a wave.

“So this is my fault,” she said dully.

“It is not about fault,” he said. “It is about… what we have become to each other.”

His voice broke a little on the last words.

“I love you,” he added, almost angrily. “You know that, right? You are not… some fling. You are my entire childhood. You are every memory that matters. Breaking this is the last thing I ever wanted to do.”

“Then do not,” she said, desperate. “I can change. I can–”

“You should,” he cut in gently. “For you. Not to keep me.”

Tears blurred her vision.

“What if I cannot?” she choked.

“Then at least I am not helping you hurt yourself or me anymore,” he said quietly.

He stood up.

Panic clawed at her chest.

“Y/N,” she said, reaching out.

He stepped just out of reach.

“I am going to debut,” he said, voice steady now, lined with something like resolve. “I am going to do it with or without your support. I hope you can be happy for me. Someday. Even if it is from far away.”

He hesitated, every muscle in his body screaming reluctance.

“I am not doing this because I stopped loving you,” he said. “I am doing it because I finally started loving myself enough to not let your fear decide my life.”

Then he turned and walked away.

She did not chase him.

Her legs would not move.

She sat there on the rooftop where they had once decided a relationship in a single, casual “Sure” and realized things did not break all at once.

Sometimes they cracked over years, under the weight of words like mine, mine, mine.

The wind was cold.

For the first time in years, she was alone in a way that felt real.

—

He debuted the following year.

She watched it happen through a screen first, then through endless clips shared by people who had no idea who he was to her.

Stage name different. Styling sharp. Vocals strong. Dancing better than ever, refined by time and intention rather than panic and fear.

He looked incredible.

Karina hated him a little for it, in the way people hate what they cannot stop looking at.

JYP knew what they were doing. They built his concept around contrast: clean visuals, sharp performance, lyrics that cut deep. He wrote some of his own songs. They let him talk about fear, about failure, about getting back up.

Fans ate it up.

Her staff started playing his debut track in the waiting room before she even had a chance to ask them not to.

“Have you heard this?” a makeup artist asked one day, dabbing concealer under her eyes. “This new JYP soloist. He is insane. My little sister is obsessed.”

Karina looked at her own reflection as his voice filtered in from the speakers.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I know him.”

Outside, the world spun on. Schedules piled. aespa kept climbing. He did too. Interviews, variety shows, special stages. Collabs with other idols she passed in hallways but never stopped to talk to.

They did not speak.

At first, it was because everything was raw and every notification with his name felt like a blade.

Then, slowly, it was because she did not know what to say anymore.

She watched from afar as he navigated the same storm she did, but on a parallel track.

When reporters asked him about his time as an SM trainee, he smiled and gave neutral answers. When fans asked if any of his songs were about someone specific, he laughed and said, “Aren’t they always?”

Sometimes in the car, between schedules, she would pull up fancams of his performances. Alone. No screaming fans in the background. Just him and the stage.

He looked free.

It hurt like hell.

It also made something inside her crack in a way that felt… necessary.

She started seeing a therapist.

At first, it was for “stress.” The company liked to pretend that was a progressive move. Idols taking care of their mental health made for good PR.

Karina told the therapist about schedules, about pressure, about panic.

Eventually, she told her about a boy on a playground and the first time she had said “mine” in her head.

She told her about the buzz she got from his attention. About the way fear had wrapped around that buzz like barbed wire. About how every girl who looked at him felt like a thief, even before they did anything.

“I thought loving someone meant never letting go,” she said once, voice hoarse. “I thought if I held on tight enough, they could not leave.”

“What did you think would happen if he did?” the therapist asked.

She thought about it. Really thought about it.

“I would disappear,” she whispered. “I did not know who I was without him.”

“Who are you now?” the therapist asked.

Karina did not have an answer.

Not yet.

—

Growth was slow and ugly.

It came in little realizations. In late night thoughts that made her cringe at herself. In remembering arguments and seeing her own words from his perspective.

She remembered the hospital room, her voice planting ideas about signs and college. Remembered the way his brows had furrowed. The way relief and shame had warred in her chest when he chose university over the practice room.

She remembered every time she had used “I am just worried” as a way to steer him away from things that scared her, not him.

She remembered his face on that rooftop when he had asked, “Can you be my fan?”

She cried, sometimes. In bathrooms with the fan on. In vans with her face turned to the window. On her therapist’s couch, when the facade finally cracked and she said, “I was selfish,” out loud for the first time.

“You were scared,” the therapist said. “And you coped with that fear by clinging. It does not excuse the ways you hurt him. But understanding why you did it is the first step to changing.”

“Is it too late?” Karina asked once. “To change? To… fix anything?”

“For him?” the therapist asked. “Or for you?”

“Both.”

“For him, I do not know,” the therapist said honestly. “That depends on where he is now and what he wants. For you? It is never too late to be better.”

She clung to that.

aespa’s schedules did not slow down. She did not get a neat sabbatical for self discovery. Growth had to happen in the cracks between comebacks, in tired moments in hotel rooms, in quiet talks with her members who had seen enough to know something was wrong.

“You are hard on yourself,” Winter said once, sitting cross–legged on the bed with a sheet mask on. “And on him, I think.”

“I am not anymore,” Karina said. “He is… gone.”

“He is not dead,” Ningning called from the bathroom. “He is just across town on a bigger stage.”

Giselle threw a pillow at the door. “Insensitive.”

“I am just saying,” Ningning protested, head peeking around the frame. “If you still like him, you could talk to him. We do collab stages with JYP. It is not like he is on another planet.”

Karina stared at her phone.

She still had his number. Of course she did. She had hovered over it more times than she could count, thumb shaking over the call button.

“What would I even say?” she asked.

“Sorry,” Winter said simply. “And then… whatever else comes after.”

Easier said than done.

—

They saw each other again for the first time two years later.

Not by design.

It was at a year–end music festival. One of those sprawling events where every group, soloist, and their stylists congregated backstage in a massive, chaotic maze of hallways and dressing rooms.

aespa performed third in the lineup. He performed fifth.

She knew his set time. She had checked the schedule unconsciously the moment they had arrived.

“Do not freak out,” Giselle murmured, bumping her shoulder as they waited in the wings. “You do not have to talk to him if you do not want to.”

Karina focused on the stage. The roar of the crowd. The familiar rush of adrenaline.

Their performance passed in a blur of movement and sound. When they came off, hearts pounding, she barely registered the staff crowding around them with towels and water bottles.

“Great job,” their manager said, voice distant in her ears. “Stay nearby. We have interviews later.”

Karina drifted toward the corridor where the monitors were set up, intending to watch the next stage on autopilot like she usually did.

His face filled the screen.

The cheers were deafening.

He stepped onto the stage alone, bathed in sharp white light, wearing a fitted black outfit that made his lines look even cleaner. The intro to his latest single thrummed through the floor.

He smiled at the crowd. The same smile he used to give her over convenience store ramyeon. More polished now. More controlled. But underneath, she could still see the boy who had once balanced banana milk cartons on his head.

He performed like the stage belonged to him.

Every move precise. Every note steady. Expression alive, drawing the camera in. At the bridge, his voice cracked slightly on a sustained note, not out of pitch but out of emotion, and the crowd roared.

Karina’s throat closed.

He was doing exactly what he had said he would. He was chasing his dream. For himself. Without her.

He finished to a wall of sound.

“Please look forward to more from me,” he said into the mic, bowing. “Thank you.”

He turned to walk off stage.

And saw her.

She had not realized she had drifted so close to the entrance. For a second, it was just the two of them in that narrow space, separated by five meters and years of history.

He stopped.

Their eyes met.

His expression flickered. Surprise. Something like pain. Something like… softness. It passed too quickly to name.

He nodded once, a small, polite gesture, then moved on, swallowed by staff.

Her chest ached.

Later, in the chaos of the dressing room, she stared at her phone again.

Her thumb hovered over his contact.

This time, she pressed call.

It rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

She almost hung up.

Then he answered.

“Hello?”

His voice was deeper than she remembered and exactly the same.

Her own caught in her throat. For a moment, she could not speak.

“Hello?” he repeated, cautious. “Who is this?”

“Me,” she forced out. “It is… Karina.”

Silence. Then a faint, disbelieving laugh.

“Jimin,” he corrected automatically.

Her heart twisted.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “Hi.”

“Hi.” The word felt absurdly small.

They stood on opposite sides of the same building, phones pressed to their ears, separated by walls and people and the things they had never said.

“I saw your stage,” she blurted.

“Yeah?” He sounded wary.

“It was… incredible,” she said, fists clenching to keep her voice steady. “You were… I mean, you are always good, but… you looked… happy.”

He exhaled slowly.

“Thank you,” he said.

The words that had sat in her chest for two years crowded her throat. Apologies. Explanations. Half formed sentences.

“I am sorry,” she managed finally. “For… everything.”

Silence stretched.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I could tell. From… the outside. From how you are now.”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You talk about other people differently in interviews,” he said. “About your members. About fans. About… old trainees. You used to sound like the world was something you had to keep in your hands or it would run away. Now you sound like you are willing to share.”

Heat burned behind her eyes.

“You watch my interviews?” she asked, stupidly.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Old habits.”

She sat down on the nearest chair, knees weak.

“I was scared,” she said. “Back then. More scared than I can explain. I did not know how to keep you without… keeping you.” She laughed, shaky. “That sounds insane.”

“It sounds human,” he said. “Does not make it right. But… I get it a little more now.”

“I pushed you away from SM,” she whispered. “In the hospital. I made it sound like concern. I was concerned. But I was also relieved. Because if you stayed with me there, I was terrified everyone else would see what I saw in you and take you.”

He did not respond right away.

“I know,” he said eventually.

“You do?”

“I thought about it a lot too,” he said. “Therapists are dangerous like that. They make you replay everything.” He chuckled weakly.

“You went too?” she asked.

“Yeah. Different reasons. Same couches.” He paused. “I was angry at you for a long time. For… making me feel small. For making my dreams feel like a threat to you. But I was also angry at myself. For letting your fear weigh more than my own desires.”

“I am so fucking sorry,” she said, voice cracking. “I do not expect you to forgive me or… or to want anything to do with me. I just… needed you to know that I know. That I see what I did. That I am trying not to be that person anymore.”

He sighed.

“Jimin,” he said slowly. “Look. I… I forgave you a while ago.”

She almost dropped the phone.

“What?”

“Forgiveness is for me too, you know,” he said. “I did not want to carry around that much resentment. It was heavy. We were kids. We fucked up. You were selfish. I was passive. We both hurt each other.”

Her vision blurred.

“That does not mean we can just go back,” he added gently. “I do not even know who you are now. You do not know me.”

“I want to,” she said, the words out before she could stop them. “Know you. Again. Not the version in my head. The actual you.”

He was quiet.

“I do not know if that is a good idea,” he said honestly. “Our patterns were… not great. I do not want to fall back into them.”

“I do not either,” she said quickly. “That is the last thing I want.”

Footsteps echoed outside her dressing room. Someone called her name. She ignored it.

“How about this,” she said. “Not… dating. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Just… one conversation. In person. Somewhere we are not being watched. No expectations. If after that you decide you never want to see me again, I will respect it. I swear.”

He let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped for a long time.

“Where?” he asked.

—

They met at a small, out of the way music festival two weeks later.

No idol lineups. No cameras. Just indie bands on rickety stages, food trucks, and people in mismatched outfits dancing in muddy fields.

He wore a plain cap and a mask, which he took off once they were swallowed by the crowd. She did the same.

Nobody looked twice. It was almost disorienting.

They stood awkwardly at the edge of the main stage area for a moment, both at a loss.

Then he nodded toward a patch of grass.

“Sit?” he suggested.

“Yeah.”

They sat.

The band on stage was mid song, some dreamy track about lost summers. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in colors that did not look real.

“I used to hate festivals,” she said suddenly. “Too many people.”

“You are an idol,” he pointed out. “You are people’s festival.”

“That is different.”

He smiled faintly. “I like this kind.”

“Me too,” she admitted.

They listened to the music for a while. It filled the space between them so they did not have to fill it themselves.

“I did not support you,” she said eventually. “Not when it mattered.”

He did not argue.

“I want to,” she went on. “Now. Not because I am scared you will leave if I do not. Not because I think I have to keep you. Just because… I like seeing you on stage. Even if it is not my company’s logo behind you.”

He glanced at her, something like surprise and cautious hope flickering through his eyes.

“I watched your last comeback,” he admitted. “The one with the crazy dance break. You looked… free. Less like you were trying to prove you belonged. More like you knew you did.”

She thought of the nights on her therapist’s couch, of the members’ support, of the long road from that girl who had needed one boy to define her worth.

“I am starting to know,” she said softly. “Who I am. Outside of you.”

“That is good,” he said.

They were quiet again.

“Do you… hate me?” she asked, because she needed to hear it out loud.

“No,” he said. “I did. For a while. But not now. I do not think I could ever fully hate you.”

“Do you…” Her mouth was dry. “Still… love me?”

He stared at the sky.

“I do not know,” he said honestly. “I love who you were to me. I care about who you are now. I am… scared of what we could be if we are not careful.”

She nodded, throat tight.

“Me too.”

“But,” he added, turning to look at her fully, “I am willing to… see. Slowly. As friends. As… something that does not try to own each other this time.”

Her heart stuttered.

“You are?”

“On one condition,” he said.

She held her breath.

“We promise to be each other’s fans,” he said. “Not managers. Not puppet masters. Just… people in the crowd. Cheering. Even when we do not understand every decision.”

It was simple. It was everything they had never managed to do before.

She smiled, small but real.

“Deal,” she said, and held out her hand.

He looked at it for a second, then took it.

The music swelled. The crowd cheered for a band that did not know who they were. The sky darkened, stars peeking through.

They sat there, hands clasped not like chains, but like something they both could let go of if they needed to.

For the first time, love did not feel like possession.

It felt like choosing.

—

Two years later, fans lost their minds when SM and JYP announced a special joint stage for the year–end festival.

“A once–in–a–lifetime collaboration,” the posters read. “Two generations of excellence on one stage.”

Online, people guessed.

BoA and some JYP veteran? NCT and Stray Kids? Red Velvet and Twice?

No one guessed it right.

When the lights went down and the VCR ended, the opening beat of a brand new, unreleased track shook the arena.

Karina stepped into the light first.

She wore a black and silver outfit that cut clean lines along her body, hair pulled back, eyes rimmed in glittering shadow. The crowd screamed.

On the second verse, as she hit a turn, another voice cut in over the track.

Familiar. Powerful.

Y/N walked out from the opposite side, mic in hand.

For a heartbeat, the arena went silent in shock.

Then it erupted.

They moved together like they had been doing this for years. Because they had. Just not in front of this many people.

His voice slid under hers in harmonies that felt inevitable. Her footwork complemented his, sharp where he was smooth. There was tension in their choreography, a push and pull that told a story without hitting anyone over the head.

The lyrics talked about fear. About breaking chains. About letting go enough to be held properly. About standing on different stages and still calling out to each other.

When the final chorus hit, they met in the center, backs almost touching, gazes turned outward to the crowd.

They did not need to face each other to show how far they had come.

The last note rang out.

They bowed.

Backstage, amid the chaos of congratulations and staff herding them to interviews, they found a quiet corner.

Karina’s heart was still racing. Not from nerves. From something like joy.

“You were crazy out there,” she said, grinning despite herself.

“So were you,” he replied. “As always.”

She hesitated, then stepped a little closer.

“Thank you,” she said. “For… letting me share that stage with you.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” he countered. “It was your idea, right?”

She shrugged, suddenly shy. “It felt… right.”

He smiled, soft.

“It did.”

They stood there in comfortable silence for a moment, the echo of the crowd still buzzing in their bones.

Then she leaned in, close enough that no mic could pick it up, and whispered, “I used to be scared you would leave me. Now I am just grateful you came back.”

His eyes softened.

“I did not come back,” he said quietly. “We both just finally walked in the same direction.”

He held out his hand, palm up, not demanding, not pleading.

She took it.

Not because she was afraid he would vanish if she did not.

But because she wanted to.

Love, this time, did not feel like a cage.

It felt like a stage big enough for both of them. 

—

He shook the thought away.

By the time he reached the family estate in Hannam-dong, the house was lit up like a museum. His mother was waiting in the formal dining room, already seated at the long table. His father stood by the window with a glass of whiskey.

"You closed the deal," his father said without turning around. There was approval in his voice, but it carried the same weight as a command. "Good. That puts us ahead of schedule."

"Thank you, Father."

His mother studied him with sharp eyes. "You look tired, Y/N. Are you sleeping enough? We cannot have you burning out before the board meeting next month."

"I am fine, Mother."

Dinner was served. They discussed his future the same way other families discussed the weather. Which subsidiaries he would oversee first. Which political connections needed strengthening. Which eligible daughters from allied families he should consider meeting for coffee in the coming weeks.

Y/N nodded at all the right moments. He had perfected the art of being present without actually being there.

Later that night, after his parents had gone to bed, he stood on the second-floor balcony overlooking the garden. The silence pressed down on him until he felt like he might suffocate. For the first time in years, the urge to do something reckless crawled under his skin.

His phone buzzed again. This time it was a message from his university friend, Minho.

Velvet Eclipse tonight. Come with us. You need to loosen up, man. Stop living like a robot.

Y/N stared at the invitation. Velvet Eclipse was the kind of place his parents would never approve of. An ultra-exclusive nightclub in Gangnam known for its beautiful hostesses, expensive liquor, and complete disregard for rules. The kind of place where rich boys went to forget their last names for a few hours.

He had never been.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard. The responsible part of him, the part that had been shaped since childhood, told him to decline. To go to bed. To prepare for tomorrow's agenda.

Instead, he typed back.

What time?

—

The bass inside Velvet Eclipse hit Y/N like a physical force the moment he stepped through the doors. The lighting was low and seductive, shifting between deep violet and blood red. Beautiful women moved through the crowd like predators dressed in designer clothes. Expensive champagne flowed freely. In the VIP sections, men in suits laughed too loudly and touched too freely.

Y/N immediately regretted coming.

Minho and two other friends had already secured a large booth upstairs. They waved him over with bottles in their hands and grins on their faces.

"Look who finally decided to join the living," Minho shouted over the music. "I thought you were going to die a virgin to your father's expectations."

Y/N forced a smile and sat down. He ordered a whiskey neat, hoping the burn would settle the unease in his stomach. His friends were already half-drunk, talking about their latest conquests and the hostesses they wanted to call over.

That was when he saw her.

She moved through the VIP area like she owned it. Tall, confident, with striking silver-blonde hair that caught every flash of light. Her makeup was sharp and glossy. Dark liner, blood-red lips, and a shimmering highlight that made her cheekbones look lethal. She wore a tight black dress that left very little to the imagination. Every step she took drew eyes.

One of the hostesses leaned over to Minho and whispered, "That's Giselle. She's one of our best. Expensive, though. Worth every won if you can afford her."

Minho whistled. "Bring her over. And a couple of her friends."

Y/N watched as Giselle approached their table. Up close she was even more intimidating. Her eyes scanned the group with professional interest, but there was something colder underneath. Something tired.

"Good evening, gentlemen," she said, voice smooth like honey poured over broken glass. "Looking for company tonight?"

Her gaze passed over Y/N and lingered for half a second longer than the others. He wondered what she saw. Another rich idiot, probably.

The next hour passed in a haze of alcohol and forced laughter. Giselle sat close to their group, playing her role perfectly. She laughed at Minho's terrible jokes, let one of the other guys rest a hand on her thigh, and kept the energy high. But Y/N noticed the way her smile never reached her eyes. The way her fingers tightened around her glass when someone touched her without permission.

At one point, their eyes met across the table. She raised an eyebrow at him, almost like a challenge.

"You do not look like you are having fun," she said, leaning closer so only he could hear. Her perfume was intoxicating. Something sweet and expensive. "Did Daddy force you to come here too?"

Y/N blinked. No one spoke to him like that.

"I came by choice," he replied.

Giselle smirked. "Sure you did. You have that look. The good boy who is pretending not to be bored out of his fucking mind."

Before he could respond, one of the drunk VIPs at the next table called her over. The man grabbed her wrist too hard. Y/N saw her flinch for a split second before she covered it with a dazzling smile.

Something protective stirred in his chest. He did not like it.

The night continued. Minho and the others grew louder and sloppier. Y/N stayed relatively sober, watching everything with quiet detachment. Eventually his friends stumbled out to find another club. He told them he would stay a little longer.

He was not sure why.

When he looked up again, Giselle was standing near the railing overlooking the dance floor. Her glossy facade had slipped slightly. She rolled her shoulders like they ached. The bright hair and heavy makeup suddenly looked less like seduction and more like armor.

Y/N stood up and walked over before he could talk himself out of it.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She turned, surprised to see him still there. The professional smile returned instantly.

"Why would I not be? You should go home, rich boy. Places like this are not for people like you."

Y/N studied her. "You looked uncomfortable earlier. When that man grabbed you."

For a moment her mask cracked. Irritation flashed in her eyes.

"You think you are some kind of hero because you noticed?" She let out a bitter laugh. "I deal with worse every night. Go back to your perfect life and stop pretending you give a shit about girls like me."

She started to walk away.

"Wait," Y/N called after her.

Giselle stopped. She looked back at him over her shoulder, silver hair catching the neon lights.

"What is your name?" he asked.

She stared at him for a long time, as if deciding whether he was worth the breath.

"Giselle," she finally said. "And trust me. You do not want to know anything else."

Then she disappeared into the crowd, leaving Y/N standing there with a feeling he had never experienced before.

—

Three nights later, Y/N found himself back at Velvet Eclipse. This time he came alone. No Minho. No loud friends. No excuse except the nagging feeling that refused to leave him alone. The silver haired hostess with the sharp tongue had stayed in his thoughts longer than he cared to admit. He told himself it was simple curiosity. Nothing more.

The club felt different without the buffer of alcohol and company. The music still pulsed through the walls, but tonight it felt heavier. More invasive. Y/N paid for a private VIP booth on the second floor, one that overlooked the main dance floor but offered some distance from the chaos. He ordered a single whiskey and waited.

He did not have to wait long.

Giselle appeared twenty minutes later, dressed in a deep crimson outfit that clung to her body like liquid. Her hair was styled even more dramatically tonight, falling in glossy waves past her shoulders. The makeup remained flawless. A glittering shield she clearly wore like armor. When she spotted him sitting alone, her perfectly shaped eyebrows rose in genuine surprise.

"You again," she said, stopping at the edge of his booth. "I thought you would have run back to your castle by now."

Y/N gestured to the empty seat across from him. "I wanted to talk to you."

Giselle laughed, but there was no warmth in it. "Talk? Baby, men do not pay what you paid for this booth just to talk. What is it? You want me to sit on your lap and tell you how strong and powerful you are? Or maybe you are the type who likes to hear about my sad little life before you try to fuck me."

Her words were crude and direct. Y/N did not flinch. Instead he met her eyes steadily.

"I am not here for any of that," he said. "I just want to know who you really are under all of that makeup."

Giselle stared at him for several seconds. Then she slid into the booth with the graceful movements of someone who had done this a thousand times. She crossed her legs and leaned back, studying him like he was some strange creature behind glass.

"You want the truth, rich boy? Fine. My name is Aeri. Uchinaga Aeri. But nobody calls me that here. Here I am Giselle. I make enough money in one good month to pay for most people's rent for a year. I dance when they ask me to. I laugh at terrible jokes. I let disgusting men touch my thigh if the tip is big enough. And at the end of every night I go home, scrub all this shit off my face, and try to forget tomorrow is going to be more of the same."

She tilted her head, silver hair catching the light.

"Your turn. What the fuck is a guy like you doing here alone? Should not you be closing billion won deals or marrying some proper girl your parents picked out?"

Y/N felt the words hit closer than he expected. He took a slow sip of whiskey before answering.

"My parents have decided almost everything in my life. What I study. Who I associate with. What I do with my future. I have never fought them on it. I always thought they knew best."

Giselle's lips curled into something between a smirk and a sneer.

"And now the perfect son is having a crisis. How original. Let me guess. You saw me the other night and thought I looked like a fun rebellion project. Save the poor club girl. Teach her how to be respectable. Is that it?"

"No," Y/N said firmly. "That is not it."

"Then what do you want from me?"

He hesitated. The truth felt ridiculous even in his own head.

"I want to know what it feels like to want something for myself. And for some reason I cannot explain, I keep thinking about you."

Giselle went quiet. For the first time since he had met her, the confident mask slipped. She looked almost vulnerable for half a second before she covered it with a bitter smile.

"You are dangerous," she muttered. "Guys like you come in here thinking they can handle girls like me. Then they get bored and go back to their real lives. Meanwhile I am left cleaning up the mess."

She stood up suddenly.

"Go home, Y/N. Go back to your perfect world. I do not have the energy to be your midlife crisis."

She started to walk away, but Y/N called after her.

"I will be here again tomorrow night."

Giselle stopped but did not turn around.

"Then you are even more stupid than I thought."

—

He returned the next night. And the night after that.

By the end of the week, it had become a pattern. Y/N would arrive around ten, secure the same VIP booth, and wait. Sometimes Giselle came over immediately. Sometimes she made him wait an hour while she worked other tables. Each time she sat with him, their conversations grew longer. Sharper. More honest.

She told him pieces of her past without ever giving the full picture. How she ran away from home at eighteen after her father raised his hands one too many times. How she had once worked as a fashion merchandising intern at a small but promising brand in Hongdae. How that dream had collapsed when she could no longer afford rent and her so called friends introduced her to the club scene as an easy way to make money.

"Easy," she had laughed bitterly one night. "What a fucking joke."

Y/N listened without judgment. In return he told her things he had never admitted to anyone. The crushing weight of his parents expectations. The fear that if he ever stepped out of line they would see him as a failure. The terrifying realization that he was almost thirty years old and had never made a single major decision for himself.

One night the club was particularly crowded. A group of loud businessmen in the neighboring VIP section had clearly overindulged. They kept calling Giselle over, waving thick stacks of cash and demanding she dance for them. Y/N watched from his booth as she tried to keep control of the situation with professional smiles and careful deflections.

Then one of the men, a heavy set guy in his late forties with a gold watch that looked ridiculous on his wrist, grabbed her wrist hard enough to make her stumble.

"Come on, you little tease," the man slurred. "Stop acting like a stuck up bitch and twerk that ass for us. That is what we paid for."

Y/N was on his feet before he even realized what he was doing.

"Take your hands off her," he said, voice low but carrying over the music.

The man turned, eyes bloodshot with anger and alcohol. "Who the fuck are you? Her boyfriend?"

Giselle tried to pull away, but the man's grip only tightened. "Y/N, do not. I can handle this."

But Y/N had spent his entire life swallowing his words. For once, something inside him refused to stay quiet. He stepped closer until he was directly in the man's face.

"I said let go. Now. Or I will make sure every person in this club knows exactly who you are and what you just did. My family name carries more weight in this city than whatever dirty money you crawled out of."

The threat landed. The man looked at Y/N's expensive watch, his tailored clothes, and the absolute certainty in his eyes. Slowly he released Giselle's wrist. She immediately stepped behind Y/N, rubbing the bruised skin.

Security finally arrived and escorted the entire group out. When they were gone, Giselle grabbed Y/N by the sleeve and pulled him into one of the private rooms at the back of the club. She shut the door behind them. The music became a dull throb through the walls.

"You idiot," she hissed. "Do you have any idea who that man was? He is a regular. He has connections. You do not just threaten people like that here."

Y/N looked at the red marks on her wrist. Something protective and angry burned in his chest.

"He had no right to touch you like that."

Giselle stared at him. Her breathing was uneven. The glossy makeup, usually so perfect, had started to smudge slightly at the corners of her eyes. For the first time she looked like a real person instead of the fantasy she sold every night.

"Why do you keep coming back?" she whispered. "What do you actually want from me, Y/N?"

He took a step closer. "I want the real you. Not the girl who twerks for money. Not the one who hides behind bright hair and heavy makeup. I want to know the person who once dreamed about fashion. The one who is still fighting even after everything."

Giselle's eyes filled with tears she refused to let fall. She turned away from him, shoulders tense.

"You have no idea how fucked up my life is," she said quietly. "You think you can just walk in and fix me? That is not how this works."

"I am not trying to fix you," Y/N replied. "I am trying to know you. And maybe in the process you can show me how to live for once."

Silence stretched between them. When Giselle finally turned back around, something had changed in her expression. The walls were not gone, but a small crack had appeared.

She took a deep breath.

"Fine," she said. "One chance. Meet me outside the club tomorrow at four in the morning after my shift ends. No drivers. No fancy cars. Just you. And if you are even one minute late, I swear to god I will never speak to you again."

Y/N felt something loosen in his chest for the first time in years.

"I will be there."

Giselle gave him a small, tired smile. The first real one he had ever seen from her.

"We will see, perfect boy. We will see."

—

The next morning at exactly four o'clock, Y/N stood outside the employee entrance of Velvet Eclipse wearing jeans and a simple black coat. No driver. No luxury car. He had taken a taxi three blocks away and walked the rest of the distance like a normal person. It felt strangely liberating.

Giselle emerged at four fifteen. She had changed out of her club outfit into an oversized hoodie, black sweatpants, and sneakers. Her silver hair was tied up in a messy bun and most of the heavy makeup had been removed. She looked younger. More fragile. But no less beautiful.

She stopped when she saw him waiting.

"You actually came," she said, sounding almost impressed.

"I told you I would."

They started walking down the quiet street. The city was still asleep except for the occasional delivery truck and early morning joggers. For a while neither of them spoke. Then Giselle broke the silence.

"I usually get fried chicken and beer after bad nights," she said. "You eat that kind of thing, Mr. Perfect?"

Y/N smiled. "Of course I do. Who doesn't like fried chicken?"

They found a small twenty four hour chicken spot tucked behind a side street. The owner clearly knew Giselle. He greeted her warmly and gave them a quiet table in the back. They ordered a large platter of fried chicken, two cold beers, and some pickled radish.

As they ate, the conversation flowed easier than it ever had inside the club. Giselle told him more about her past. How her father had been an angry drunk who blamed her for every problem in his life. How she had gotten the internship at the fashion company through pure stubbornness and talent, only to lose it when she could not keep up with both work and the growing pile of bills. How the club had seemed like the only answer at the time.

"I hated it at first," she admitted, picking at a piece of chicken. "But after a while you get numb. You put on the makeup, the bright hair, the fake smile. You become Giselle. She does not get hurt. She does not cry. She just survives."

Y/N listened carefully. "And who is Aeri?" he asked gently.

She looked down at her beer for a long moment.

"Aeri is tired," she said quietly. "Aeri wants to draw clothes again. Aeri wants to feel safe for once in her fucking life. But Aeri does not know how to trust anyone anymore."

Y/N reached across the table and gently touched her hand. She did not pull away.

"I am not asking you to trust me overnight," he said. "But I would like the chance to earn it. Let me help you. Not because I want to save you. Because I think we both need saving in different ways."

Giselle looked at him with eyes that had seen too much for her age. Then she gave a small laugh that sounded dangerously close to a sob.

"You are going to ruin me, Kim Y/N. Or maybe I am going to ruin you. I have not decided yet."

They stayed in that small chicken restaurant until the sun began to rise. For the first time in his life, Y/N did not check his phone once. He did not think about his parents waiting at home or the board meeting scheduled for next week.

He simply sat across from a girl with messy silver hair and no makeup, eating fried chicken and feeling more alive than he had in years.

When they finally stepped back onto the street, Giselle turned to him.

"Actually, I never felt this peace when talking to people. Same time tomorrow?" she asked, trying to sound casual but failing.

Y/N nodded. "Yeah, I would love to."

As he watched her walk away, hood pulled up over her bright hair, he realized something dangerous.

He was already falling.

And for once in his carefully controlled life, he had no desire to stop himself.

—

The weeks that followed their first meal together became a secret world that belonged only to them. Y/N began to structure his days around the moments he could steal with Giselle. He would finish his assigned tasks at the company with mechanical precision, attend the meetings his father demanded, and then slip away under the excuse of late night networking or solo workouts. Each lie felt heavier than the last, yet the reward was worth every risk.

They met at odd hours. Sometimes at four in the morning after her shift. Sometimes in the early afternoon when she had recovered enough to face daylight. Giselle showed him parts of Seoul he had never known existed. Narrow alleyways filled with street vendors selling hotteok and tteokbokki. A small park near the Han River where they sat on cold benches and watched the water move under moonlight. A hidden record store in Hongdae that stayed open until dawn.

In return, Y/N slowly began to open the doors to his own world. He took her to a quiet art gallery after closing hours through a connection he had. He brought her books on fashion design and watched her eyes light up as she traced the pages with careful fingers. The more time they spent together, the more the glossy version of Giselle faded away. She stopped wearing the heavy club makeup when she met him. Her silver hair was often tied back simply. She looked softer this way. More dangerous to his heart.

One night in late October they sat on the roof of an old building Giselle knew about. The city spread out beneath them like a sea of lights. A half empty bottle of soju rested between them. The air had grown cold enough that their breath fogged slightly.

Giselle leaned her head against his shoulder. It was the closest they had ever been physically.

"I keep waiting for you to get bored," she said quietly. "Rich boys always do eventually. They realize a girl who used to dance on tables does not fit in their world."

Y/N turned his head and looked at her. Without the heavy makeup he could see the faint freckles across her nose and the small scar near her left eyebrow. He reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"I am not bored," he said. "I have spent my whole life feeling nothing. With you I feel everything. Anger at your past. Joy when you laugh. Fear that I might lose this. I do not want to go back to being numb."

Giselle lifted her head. Her eyes searched his face for any sign of deception.

The air between them had grown thick and electric. For weeks they had been holding back, but tonight the dam finally broke.

Giselle shifted closer, her thigh pressing firmly against his. The oversized hoodie slipped off her shoulder, exposing smooth skin and the thin strap of her top. Y/N’s gaze darkened as he stared at her lips, then lower, watching the way her breasts rose and fell with each breath.

He couldn’t wait anymore.

He cupped the back of her neck and pulled her into a kiss. What started as something tentative quickly turned filthy. Their mouths opened hungrily. Tongues slid hot and wet against each other as years of pent-up lust exploded between them. Giselle moaned loudly into his mouth, a needy sound that went straight to his cock.

Y/N gripped her face with both hands and kissed her harder, devouring her. Giselle responded just as desperately, sucking on his tongue while her hands fisted the front of his coat. She swung one leg over him and straddled his lap without breaking the kiss, grinding her clothed pussy down against the hard bulge in his pants.

“Fuck…” she gasped against his lips, rolling her hips in slow, dirty circles. “You’re already so hard.”

Y/N groaned deeply, his hands sliding under her hoodie to grip her bare waist. He could feel the heat of her cunt through both their clothes as she rocked against him. His cock throbbed painfully, trapped under her grinding pussy. He bucked up instinctively, pressing his thick length against her clit, drawing a sharp, filthy moan from her throat.

“Ahh— Y/N…”

He attacked her neck, sucking and biting the sensitive skin while one hand moved up to squeeze her breast, pinching her hardened nipple through her thin top. Giselle’s head fell back as she moaned louder, grinding faster against his cock. Her panties were already soaked. He could feel the wetness seeping through his pants.

“Shit… you’re dripping all over me,” he growled against her neck.

Giselle whimpered at his dirty words. She reached between them and boldly palmed his cock through his pants, stroking him firmly as she continued grinding her soaked pussy against his thigh.

“I want you so fucking bad,” she breathed, voice hoarse with lust. “I’ve been wet for you for weeks.”

Y/N cursed under his breath. He shoved his hand into her sweatpants from behind, bypassing her soaked panties. His fingers immediately found her slick folds, rubbing her swollen clit in tight circles.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he groaned. “Such a wet little pussy for me.”

Giselle cried out, her hips jerking hard as two of his thick fingers sank inside her without warning. She rode his fingers desperately while still stroking his cock, her moans growing louder and more shameless. The wet sounds of his fingers pumping into her drenched cunt filled the quiet rooftop.

“Y/N… oh my god— right there,” she moaned, her walls clenching around his fingers. “Don’t stop… fuck, I’m gonna cum—”

He kissed her again, swallowing her moans as he curled his fingers inside her, stroking that perfect spot while his thumb rubbed her clit. Giselle shook in his lap, her hand tightening around his throbbing cock as her orgasm crashed into her.

She came hard with a broken cry of his name, her pussy gushing around his fingers. Her whole body trembled as she rode out the waves of pleasure, moaning filthily against his mouth.

When she finally came down, she looked at him with glazed, lust-drunk eyes. Her breathing was ragged.

Y/N pulled his fingers out of her and brought them to his lips, tasting her. The sight made Giselle whimper again.

“I think I am falling in love with you,” he whispered against her swollen lips, voice rough with need.

Giselle let out a shaky laugh that sounded close to tears, even as her hand continued slowly stroking his painfully hard cock.

“You are such an idiot,” she breathed, kissing him deeply. “I fell first. Weeks ago. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

She rested her forehead against his, still gently grinding her soaked pussy against his cock as the sky slowly turned pink around them.

They stayed on that rooftop for a long time, wrapped in each other, exchanging slow, filthy kisses while the city woke up beneath them. For the first time, their relationship had been named. Confirmed.

It was no longer two broken people carefully circling each other.

It was raw, desperate, and real.

And it was only the beginning.

—

Their confirmed relationship brought new challenges. Giselle began to pull away from the more dangerous aspects of club work. She reduced her hours and focused on studying for her GED during the day. Y/N paid for her textbooks and a quiet tutor, despite her initial fierce protests.

"You are not my sugar daddy," she had snapped one afternoon in his secret apartment that he had rented just to have somewhere private with her.

"I am not trying to buy you," he answered calmly. "I am trying to help the woman I love reach her dreams. Let me do this one thing."

She had cursed at him in both Korean and English for ten straight minutes before finally accepting with tears in her eyes. That night they made love for the first time. It was slow and intense. Giselle cried afterward, not from sadness but from the overwhelming feeling of being truly seen and wanted for who she was beneath everything.

Y/N began to rebel in small ways. He missed two family dinners. He turned down a golf outing with important investors. When his father questioned him, he gave vague answers instead of the detailed reports he used to provide without hesitation. His mother noticed the changes immediately.

"You seem distracted lately," she said during one breakfast. "Is something wrong at the company?"

"Everything is fine," Y/N replied. But his voice lacked its usual certainty.

Meanwhile Giselle was transforming. She started sketching again. Simple designs at first. Then bolder ones. She dyed her hair back to a more natural dark brown with only subtle silver highlights. The heavy makeup became something she wore only when necessary. Each change made Y/N fall harder.

"I am scared," she admitted to him one night as they lay tangled in sheets. "What if I am not enough for your world? What if I drag you down?"

"You are not dragging me anywhere," he told her, kissing her bare shoulder. "You are pulling me up. For the first time I am choosing my own life. And I choose you."

Those words would soon be tested.

—

The illusion of secrecy could not last forever.

Y/N's mother had always maintained a network of discreet contacts throughout Seoul. When her son began coming home at strange hours with unfamiliar scents on his clothes, she grew suspicious. One phone call to a manager at Velvet Eclipse was all it took. The information she received made her physically ill.

A club hostess.

Not just any hostess. One with a well documented history of entertaining wealthy men. A girl who had once worked as a fashion merchandising intern before falling into that pit of sin and glitter. The dossier her investigator brought her was thorough. Photos. Bank records. Even testimony from former clients.

Y/N's father read the file in silence. His face grew darker with every page.

"This is who he has been wasting his time on?" he said coldly. "After everything we have given him. This is his rebellion?"

They waited for the perfect moment. It came two nights later when Y/N arrived home earlier than usual. His parents were waiting in the formal living room like judges preparing a sentence.

His mother spoke first. "We know about the girl. Giselle, is it? Or should we call her by her real name? Aeri. The club whore."

Y/N froze. The word hit him like a slap.

"Do not call her that," he said, voice low and dangerous. It was the first time he had ever spoken to his mother with real anger.

His father stood up. "You will end this immediately. We have already begun arranging meetings with appropriate young women from good families. This nonsense has gone on long enough."

Y/N looked at both of them. Years of suppressed resentment rose to the surface.

"No," he said.

His mother blinked. "What did you say?"

"I said no. I am not ending anything. I love her. And tomorrow night I am bringing her here for dinner. You will treat her with respect or I will walk out that door and never come back."

The silence that followed was deafening.

His father laughed bitterly. "You would throw away your future for a girl who twerks for money?"

Y/N met his father's eyes without flinching. "She is worth more than every deal you have ever made."

He left the room before they could respond. His hands were shaking. For the first time in his life he had directly defied them. The feeling was both terrifying and exhilarating.

That night he called Giselle.

"I am bringing you home tomorrow," he told her. "It is time they meet the woman I am going to marry."

Giselle was quiet for a long time on the other end of the line.

"I am going to ruin your life," she whispered.

"No," Y/N answered. "You are saving it."

—

The dinner was set for eight o'clock.

Giselle arrived at the Hannam-dong estate wearing a simple but elegant black dress. Her hair was its natural dark brown with subtle silver tones. The makeup was light and tasteful. She looked nervous but determined. Y/N held her hand tightly as they walked through the front doors.

His parents were already seated at the long dining table. The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. Servants moved silently, placing dishes with perfect precision. No one spoke until the first course had been served.

Y/N's mother spoke first, her voice icy.

"So you are the girl who has been distracting our son from his responsibilities."

Giselle lifted her chin. "Yes, ma'am. My name is Uchinaga Aeri. Though most people know me as Giselle."

The questions began immediately. His father asked about her family. His mother inquired about her education. Every answer Giselle gave seemed to disappoint them further. When they learned she had dropped out of university and worked at Velvet Eclipse for nearly four years, the mask of civility began to crack.

"You worked at that place," his mother said with clear disgust. "Dancing. Entertaining men. And you think you are suitable for our son?"

Giselle's hands tightened around her napkin. Y/N could see the old defensive walls rising rapidly.

His father piled on. "We know everything. The bright hair. The dancing. The men who paid you to twerk your ass for them like some cheap performer. Our son deserves better than a glorified prostitute."

That was the moment something inside Giselle snapped.

She slammed her hand on the table and stood up. Her eyes burned with years of pain and anger.

"Yes, I was but now I am with better man, and my man does not deserve a bright hair girlfriend who can twerk her ass. He deserves better. So if the thing that me learning to be better bothering you, then go fuck yourselves."

The words echoed through the dining room like gunshots. Y/N's mother looked genuinely shocked. His father turned red with rage.

Y/N stood up beside Giselle, placing a protective hand on her lower back. He had never felt prouder of anyone in his life.

Before his parents could respond, Giselle took a deep, shaky breath. The fire in her eyes dimmed and was replaced by something much more vulnerable. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes but she refused to let them fall.

"I am wholeheartedly sorry for your son to date a girl like me," she said, voice trembling. "But I will not give up on him, ma'am. Your son offered me a way out of my pathetic life and I have promised to make him happy. So please. Can you give me a chance?"

The room fell into heavy silence.

Y/N's mother studied her for a long time. The older woman seemed to be weighing something carefully. Finally she spoke again.

"You said you once worked as a fashion merchandising intern before you worked for the club, right?"

Giselle nodded slowly. "Yes, ma'am."

Y/N's mother folded her hands on the table. Her expression remained cold, but there was a calculating look in her eyes.

"You can consider working for that same position or one similar to it. Start from the bottom and I will have my secretary keeping an eye on you. Let us see how you progress from there. If you fail, you will leave my son alone. If you succeed, perhaps we can revisit this conversation."

It was not acceptance. It was a test. A conditional lifeline wrapped in control.

Giselle looked at Y/N. He gave her a small nod, pride and love clear in his eyes.

She turned back to his mother.

"I accept," she said firmly. "Thank you for the opportunity."

Y/N's father looked ready to argue further, but his wife raised a hand to silence him. The rest of the dinner passed in uncomfortable silence. When it finally ended, Y/N walked Giselle to the car he had waiting outside.

The moment they were alone in the backseat, she collapsed against him and began to cry.

"I am sorry," she whispered between sobs. "I should not have cursed at them. I ruined everything."

Y/N held her tightly and kissed the top of her head.

"You were perfect," he said. "You showed them both sides of you. The fighter and the woman trying to grow. I have never loved you more than I did in that room."

As the car drove away from the estate, Y/N knew the real battle had only just begun. His parents would not surrender control so easily. But for the first time in his life he was ready to fight.

And he would fight for her until the end.

—

The days after the dinner became a battlefield veiled in cold politeness.

Y/N's mother followed through on her word. Giselle was given a junior position in the merchandising department of one of their smaller fashion subsidiaries. She started at the very bottom. Early mornings. Menial tasks. A secretary who reported her every move directly to Y/N's mother.

The pressure was immense. Some days Giselle came home exhausted and defeated, convinced she would fail their test. On those nights Y/N held her and reminded her why she was doing this. He watched her sketches fill entire notebooks. He saw the quiet determination in her eyes grow stronger each week.

His father refused to speak to him beyond necessary business matters. The disappointment was constant and heavy. Yet Y/N felt strangely free. He began making decisions at the company that his father did not approve of. He took on projects that interested him rather than ones chosen for him.

The relationship between Y/N and Giselle grew deeper through the fire. They fought sometimes. The stress brought out ugly sides of both of them. But they always found their way back to each other. She taught him how to argue without shutting down. He taught her how to accept help without feeling weak.

One night, three months after the dinner confrontation, Giselle came home with her first major success. A small design suggestion she had made had been approved and implemented in the upcoming line. She was glowing.

Y/N pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply.

"We are really doing this," she whispered against his lips. "We are actually building something real."

Y/N smiled. "We are. And we are not stopping. We will prove to them no matter what."

However, unknown to them, Y/N's parents were preparing one final test. A decision that would force both of them to choose once and for all between the life they had been given and the life they were building together.

—

The final test came without warning on a rainy Thursday evening. Y/N had just returned from the office when both of his parents requested his presence in the study. The room felt colder than usual. His father stood by the window with a glass of whiskey. His mother sat behind the large oak desk like a judge.

"We have been patient," his father began. "We allowed the girl to work in one of our companies. We have watched her for months. But this rebellion has gone on long enough. You will end the relationship. You will marry someone appropriate. You will take your rightful place as heir without any further distractions."

Y/N stood perfectly still. The old version of himself would have nodded. He would have swallowed his feelings and obeyed. That version no longer existed.

"No," he said clearly. "I will not end anything. I love Giselle. She is not a distraction. She is the best part of my life."

His mother’s eyes narrowed. "Then you will choose. Continue this foolish relationship and we will remove you from all company positions. You will receive nothing from us. No money. No connections. No inheritance. You will be on your own."

The threat should have terrified him. Instead Y/N felt an odd sense of relief. He looked at both of them with calm determination.

"If that is what you want, then I accept. I would rather build a life with the woman I love than live in a golden cage without her."

His father slammed his glass down. "You are throwing away everything we built for some club girl who will eventually show her true colors."

"She already has," Y/N replied. "And her true colors are more beautiful than anything you could ever understand."

He walked out of the study without another word. That night he drove straight to the small apartment he now shared with Giselle. When he told her what had happened, she stared at him in disbelief.

"You gave up everything? For me?"

Y/N pulled her into his arms. "I did not give up anything. I finally chose something for myself. We will be okay. I have some savings. I can start consulting independently. You are already doing so well at the company. We will build from the ground up together."

Giselle cried that night. Not from fear, but from the overwhelming realization that someone truly loved her enough to burn every bridge behind him.

—

The first six months after Y/N was cut off were brutal. They moved into a smaller apartment in a modest neighborhood. Y/N started a small consulting firm from their living room, taking on whatever clients he could find. Many doors that used to open easily for him remained closed now that his family name no longer protected him.

Giselle worked even harder. She arrived at the company every morning at seven and often stayed until nine at night. The secretary assigned to watch her slowly stopped reporting negative things. Instead she began reporting genuine progress. Giselle’s eye for trends was exceptional. Her sketches were fresh and commercial at the same time. She volunteered for every extra project. She learned from every mistake.

There were nights when they ate instant ramen because money was tight. There were mornings when Giselle woke up exhausted and doubted herself.

"What if your parents were right?" she asked one particularly hard day. "What if I am just dragging you down?"

Y/N cupped her face gently. "You are not dragging me down. You are the reason I get up every morning excited about life. We are doing this together. No matter how long it takes."

Their love deepened through the struggle. They fought sometimes. Stress made them sharp with each other. But they always apologized. They always chose each other again. Giselle began to sketch late into the night after work, creating an entire portfolio of original designs. Y/N supported her completely. He believed in her even when she struggled to believe in herself.

Slowly the hard work began to bear fruit. A senior director at the company noticed one of Giselle’s designs during a presentation. He asked to see more. Within weeks she was moved from the bottom rung to the creative team. Her ideas started appearing in actual product lines. Customers responded well. Sales numbers proved her instincts were correct.

Y/N’s consulting business also began to grow. He refused to rely on his family name and instead built his reputation on honesty and results. The couple celebrated every small victory with cheap wine and homemade dinners. Their apartment might have been small, but it was filled with laughter, sketches, and the kind of genuine happiness Y/N had never known in the mansion he grew up in.

—

One year after Y/N had been cut off, Giselle’s career exploded.

It started with a single collection. The creative director had given her a chance to lead a small capsule line aimed at young professional women. Giselle poured everything she had into it. She worked eighteen hour days. She listened to customer feedback. She combined her knowledge of street style from her club days with the technical training she had received. The result was a collection that felt fresh, wearable, and empowering.

When it launched, it sold out in three days.

Fashion magazines began calling. Industry veterans who had once dismissed her wanted meetings. A major department store chain approached the company wanting exclusive rights to her next line. Within six months Giselle was promoted to Associate Creative Director. She was only twenty seven years old.

She no longer needed the silver hair or heavy makeup to feel confident. Her natural beauty, paired with her sharp talent, made her a force in the industry. Interviews called her a rising star. One magazine featured her on the cover with the headline "From Nightlife to Runway: The Relentless Rise of Uchinaga Aeri."

Y/N framed that cover and hung it in their new, slightly larger apartment.

"I told you," he said one night as they lay in bed together. "I always knew you would become a big shot. This was never about me saving you. You saved yourself. I just got to watch it happen."

Giselle traced patterns on his chest. "I could not have done it without you. When I wanted to quit, you reminded me why I started. You gave me stability when my whole life had been chaos."

Their success was not without challenges. Old clients from her club days occasionally tried to resurface with ugly rumors. Giselle faced them head on with grace and honesty. She never hid her past. Instead she spoke about it in interviews as a period of survival that taught her resilience. The fashion world respected her for it.

Y/N’s own business had grown into a respected boutique firm. He no longer needed his family’s name. He had created his own reputation.

But the final piece still missing was his parents’ approval. Giselle still carried the quiet fear that they would never accept her. Y/N told her repeatedly that it did not matter. They had built a beautiful life without them. Yet he knew deep down that reconciliation would bring her peace.

—

The call came on a warm spring afternoon two years after the disastrous family dinner.

Y/N’s mother requested a meeting. Not at the family estate, but at a quiet cafe near Giselle’s company. When they arrived, both of Y/N’s parents were already seated. There were no dossiers this time. No cold threats. Just two older people who looked strangely tired.

His mother spoke first, looking directly at Giselle.

"We have been following your progress. The capsule collection. The sales numbers. The way you have conducted yourself. We expected you to fail. Instead you have become one of the most promising talents in the industry."

Giselle sat very still. "I worked hard, ma’am. Not to prove anything to you. But because Y/N showed me I was worth believing in."

His father cleared his throat. "We were wrong about you. We saw your past and assumed the worst. We did not see the woman willing to fight for our son. We did not see how much he has grown since meeting you."

Y/N’s mother reached across the table and placed a small box in front of them. Inside was a beautiful engagement ring that had belonged to Y/N’s grandmother.

"We withdraw our opposition," she said quietly. "You have both proven that your relationship is not a rebellion. It is something real. We would like to be part of your lives again. If you will have us."

Giselle looked at Y/N with tears in her eyes. He nodded.

"We would like that," Giselle answered. "Thank you for giving me a chance to prove myself."

His mother actually smiled. It was small and hesitant, but it was real. "You have more than proven yourself, Aeri. Welcome to the family."

The conversation that followed lasted for hours. Old wounds were acknowledged. Apologies were made. His father admitted that watching Y/N build success without him had been both painful and impressive. His mother confessed that Giselle’s determination reminded her of herself when she was young.

Healing would take time. But the door was finally open.

—

One year later, on the rooftop where they had shared their first kiss, Y/N got down on one knee.

The city sparkled beneath them just as it had that night years ago. Giselle stood in front of him wearing a simple white dress. Her hair was its natural dark brown and fell softly around her shoulders. No heavy makeup. No armor. Just the woman he loved more than anything.

"Aeri," he said, voice thick with emotion. "You taught me how to live. You taught me how to fight for what matters. You turned my world upside down in the best possible way. I do not want to spend another day without you as my wife. Will you marry me?"

Giselle covered her mouth with both hands as tears spilled down her cheeks. "Yes," she whispered. "God, yes. A thousand times yes."

He slipped the ring onto her finger and stood up to kiss her. The kiss tasted like salt from happy tears and the sweetness of fulfilled promises. Below them the city continued its endless rhythm, but up here on the roof, time seemed to stop.

Their wedding was beautiful and intimate. Y/N’s parents attended and sat in the front row. His mother even helped choose the flowers. Giselle’s designs were featured prominently in the ceremony. She had become a genuine big shot in the fashion world. Her own brand was launching the following season. Critics called her collections revolutionary. She gave interviews where she spoke openly about her journey from survival to success.

Y/N continued growing his consulting firm. They bought a house with a garden where they planted vegetables together on weekends. They took spontaneous trips on motorcycles just like they had in the early days. The perfect son had become a man who chose his own path. The rebel with the messy past had become a respected artist and wife.

On their first wedding anniversary they returned to the same small chicken restaurant where they had eaten after her shift years ago. They sat at the same table and laughed about how far they had come.

Giselle reached across the table and took his hand.

"Thank you for saving me," she said softly. "When I was all gloss and armor, you fixed me."

Y/N kissed her knuckles. "Thank you for teaching me how to feel alive. I was sleepwalking through my own life until I met you."

They left the restaurant holding hands. The night air was cool and full of possibility. As they walked toward their future, bright lights of the city stretching out before them, both of them knew one simple truth.

They had not just found love.

They had built an entirely new life together.

One that was messy, real, passionate, and completely their own.

—

“Is that what you want?” You ask.

“It’s what we need,” she says after a while. “We— we can’t be apart, but when we’re together, it’s like we’re suffocating each other. Like we’re walking on threads.”

“We didn’t even fight last night”

“We sat on my couch for 6 hours. We barely talked, barely looked at each other.”

Your voice goes thin. “I don’t want to lose you Hanni.”

“But we’re losing ourselves. I— I don’t even know how to be me anymore.”

You try to push whatever it is you need to out, to beg, to apologize, to tell her you love her. But the line stays silent.

“I don’t want to lose you either.” She says.

“Then why?”

“I think that’s what we have to figure out.”

Your bed feels like thorns.

“It’s late. I’ll call you. When I do. Figure it out,” she says when the silence feels too close.

“Han—,” but the line is already dead and the tears have already started.

You look at the phone, now just a phone and not a 7 inch box burning a hole into your heart. It’s 2:52 in the morning, and you want to call her back. But you don’t. Instead, you do what you always do. Lay there.

And the blackness is painful but familiar.

No, not blackness, you realize. Because your brain is doing that thing it does. In the back of your mind, you can almost see it. A little timer, dropping in ticks like acid burning through a beaker.

You’ve been to the doctor about it. They say it’s just a psychological response, something your mind does when your stressed, or excited, or anxious; when you’re waiting for something. It’s something your brain does to give yourself some sense of control, to not have to wait in agony. They say it’s not accurate— but it is. Every single time.

I’ll call you. When I do. Figure it out.

2 weeks, 3 days, 7 hours, and 23 minutes.

That’s when she’ll call.

A near 3 weeks. You’ve not gone 48 hours without talking to her since, well, you’ve met her.

You don’t sleep tonight

---

You didn’t even check who was calling when you answered. It was 11:11. She always called at 11:11.

“Morning,” Hanni said.

“What happened to not calling? I thought we called too much,” you teased.

“You don’t seem that mad, you’re smiling!”

“How would you know?”

“I can hear it.”

“You can hear me smiling?”

“Of course I can. I missed your voice.”

“I called you last night.”

“That doesn’t count, I was walking home alone.”

“So?”

“So it doesn’t count. What are you doing?”

“Cleaning.”

“Perfect, you’re free!”

“No, I’m cleaning.”

“I want to see you.”

You looked around your living room, littered with hoodies and an empty coffee mug. That TV needed dusting too. Plus that bookshelf was definitely not organized.

“I’ll be there in 10.”

---

It’s 11:11. You can barely close your eyes, lest you see the timer, still mockingly counting down the 2 and a half weeks before Hanni calls.

She hasn’t called you at this time in over 2 months, and today would be no different, you’re on ‘a break’ after all. Your timer confirms it. Hanni won’t call you until it ends. Still, you can’t help but stare at your phone, hoping it buzzes. The Sun shines through your apartment windows, softened by the blinds you’ve kept drawn for the past who knows how long.

You throw your phone down on the couch, standing up and kicking the takeout box you still haven’t thrown out from last night. It’s still on the floor. Because apparently you keep takeout boxes on the floor now.

You keep replaying the conversation, the NOT breakup in your head. Over and over. We’re suffocating each other. We’re losing ourselves.

You love Hanni; Hanni loves you. You know that, you know in your hearts very cells that it’s true. So why? What good would taking a break do? She says she’s losing herself, that she doesn’t know who she is anymore. So why couldn’t you help her with that? You close your eyes.

2 weeks, 2 days, 23 hours, and 4 minutes

She’s gonna call, you remind yourself. She’s gonna call and you’ll talk it out, and you’ll get back togethe—

Your phone rings and you nearly trip on the cardboard boxes you’ve been storing near your door— kept there to remind you to take them out next time you leave. They’ve been there for 2 weeks.

You’re at your phone in a second, answering it before you can process who it is.

“Hanni I—” you start.

“Hanni?” A familiar voice questions.

“Oh, sorry Danielle. I—”

“Yeah, I heard,” your oldest friends voice pierces through the phone. It was a different type of tightness, to hear someone else confirm your situation. If it was just you, if it was unknown, you could pretend, pretend like everything was okay, like you and Hanni were still happy.

“What did she say?” You asked, though you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

Danielle’s cheerful inflection never leaves. Maybe it’s mockery, but probably not. This is Danielle. “She just said she needed— both of you needed time.”

“And? Did she say anything else?”

“No, that’s why I called. But you better not let her go. I didn’t introduce you two for you to break up 2 years later!”

“We won’t,” you say, closing your eyes to the timer. “We won’t. I just wish I could talk to her. But maybe it’s best— to, I don’t know, figure things out.”

“Maybe,” Danielle ponders. “Things have been different lately— between you two I mean.”

“I hadn’t even noticed,” you lament.

“Well, maybe that’s the problem.”

---

Lemon. That’s what it needed.

You squeezed some over the chicken piccata. Something she’d never had. You closed your eyes, welcoming the blackness, welcoming the enhancement it brought to your other senses. The smell, fragrant and rich.

It was 10:30. Hanni’s shift ended at 11. The timing, perfect. Save for the dishes, you’d have to do those later. Still, you gave the counters a wipe down, organized the pans by size, and put them in the sink to soak.

You stepped outside, Tupperware wrapped in a plastic bag. Feeling the chill, you turned back and grabbed the black wool cardigan hanging on your coatrack. Colder than yesterday. The walk to the diner was short if you took the back alleys. It was nice, walking in the dim glow of the streetlights and looking at the graffiti, of the harsh lines of spray paint coalescing into beautiful murals.

You passed the old park, the one you and Danielle used to play at with the other kids your age, the park you got the small scar above your eye at, and the park where you and Hanni had your first kiss. 10:42, still time. The diner wasn’t too far now.

Hanni always described the diner as shitty. It’s décor corny and outdated, with the checkered floors, bright red vinyl booths and tables that seemed to be perpetually sticky. You thought that’s what gave it character.

Still, you could tell she loved working there— everyone could. You watched through the window as she delivered a plate to an elderly couple, smile full and bright. She said something to them, and the old man laughed so hard he almost spat his sprite. You imagined he was drinking sprite, for whatever reason.

You circled around to the back, close enough to the back door, but far enough from the trashcans to wait. It was times like these you would’ve lit a cigarette in the tranquility of the night air. Not anymore, though. Hanni didn’t like it.

Soon enough the backdoor opened. She hadn’t noticed you yet, so you just watched. Her hair tied up in a loose pony tail above her head, thick bangs covering the forehead she thought was too big even when you showered it with kisses. She wore the blue button up shirt and long skirt that fell down below her knees like it wasn’t just a diner uniform, like it was something more, something elegant.

You watched her shiver in the cool air, watched her brush a lose strand of hair back behind her ear.

“Cold?”

Hanni perked up at your voice, running towards you with arms outstretched.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, pulling you in, head sinking into your chest.

“I missed you.”

“You saw me on Sunday.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Why not?”

“Mmm, I don’t know, just doesn’t,” you teased, wrapping her black cardigan around her shoulders. “Plus, it’s late. I don’t want you walking home alone.”

“I wouldn’t have walked home alone! I was just about to call you.”

“You’d still be alone.”

“No, you would be there.”

“How could I be there on a phone?” You grabbed your hand in yours, fingers interlocking.

Hanni fake sighed, but the smile that could bring you to your knees still lined her face. “You don’t get me, do you?”

You returned the fake sigh. “I get you Hanni.”

She gave your hand a squeeze. “I know you do. What’s that?” She asked, pointing to the plastic bag in your hand.

“I made dinner.”

“What’d you make?”

“It’s a secret,” you said.

Hanni ran off, hand still intertwined in yours dragging you away. “C’mon, I’m hungry.”

---

Your routine hasn’t changed much, really. You still wake up past noon most days, order some shitty take out that costs too much, turn the TV on and sit until the Sun starts to come down.

Except now it comes with an anxious vision in your head.

1 week, 6 days, 14 hours, and 39 minutes

And of course, a gnawing at your chest replacing the spot Hanni - all of her - used to occupy. You’ve barely touched the pasta you ordered. A couple of bites from the place you love. It doesn’t taste much.

You almost don’t get up when the ring of your doorbell interrupts your show— something about regular people? You never bothered remembering the title. Too melancholic anyway.

It’s only when you hear the unmistakable charm of your best friends voice that you answer.

“I know you’re in there! Open up,” Danielle knocks.

It’s only about a 6 second walk from your living room to the front door. It takes you about 45 second to haul yourself off the couch and shuffle your way there.

“Danielle?” You ask, covering your eyes from the light.

“What the vampire?” She asks, looking at the sky. “The Sun’s not even out. It’s sunset. The sky is literally purple.”

“It’s not literally purple,” you say annoyed.

“No, it literally is. Otherwise I wouldn’t have said ‘the sky is literally purple’”.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m your next door neighbour. I haven’t seen you in like 5 days. It was trash day today, and your bin hasn’t moved an inch. I thought you were dead!” And she smiles, for some reason.

“I forgot.”

And she does that thing she does where she rests her her hands on her hips like a teacher. “You forgot? Before I introduced you to Hanni, what did I tell you?” You just stare at her for a second, incredulous. “What, did you forget that too?”

“No— you said, you said I’d want to marry her.”

“And has that changed?”

“No! Of course not!” You say.

“There’s the passion I know from you. And what, do you think she’s gonna marry some slob?”

“I’m not a slo—”

“You weren’t.” Her expression softens as she looks at you. “You’re not. But look at you! It’s Hanni too. You’ve grown too comfortable.”

“What’s wrong with comfortable?” You ask.

“What’s wrong with comfortable,” she says all highbrow, “is that you forgot to take your trash out! And I think Hanni realized that. That she— both of you, were growing comfortable.”

“It’s not Hanni,” you say in reflex.

“2 weeks ago she didn’t leave her house for a week! She took time off from work just to rot in bed.”

“That’s just self care.”

“That is not self care.”

“Then what is?” You ask.

She smiles. You roll your eyes, but really, you’re glad she came. Of course she would have the answers. She turns heel and runs down your front steps, grabbing something before running back.

“This is self care!” She says, shoving a guitar into your hands.

“Is this my guitar?”

“Yup. I took it, like 2 months ago.”

The weight of it feels familiar in your hands. “I didn’t even notice it was gone.”

“Exactly!” She says.

“Exactly what?”

“Self care!” She yells before dashing off back to her house.

And you’re left there, standing in your doorway confused.

---

“I want a snack,” Hanni said.

“Yeah, but you’re comfy,” you retorted, head lolled on her lap, Hanni’s hand stroking your hair. “What do you want?” You said, caving in. You knew she knew you would cave in anyway.

“Mmm, I don’t know.”

“You never know.”

“Yeah, because you know for me.” Her hand finds your cheek, resting there in a gentle cup.

“I have chips.”

“I don’t want chips. Let’s just go to the convenience store.”

“But you’re comfy.” You said, eyes still closed.

Her other hand found your other cheek, squishing your face together. “C’mon, we skipped date night last week.”

“That’s ‘cause you said you were tired,” you teased, hands finding hers and rubbing the back of her palms as she continued to squish you.

“I want a fruit sando,” she decided. “Doesn’t that sound good right now?”

“Mmm, no. I had one yesterday.”

“When did you have a fruit sando?”

“Yesterday. Me and Danielle went.”

“Danielle? When?”

“I don’t know, it was late.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked.

You opened your eyes, sitting up from her lap. “Are— are you mad I went out with Danielle?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You look mad.”

“I’m not.”

“She’s my next door neighbour, Hanni. She’s your best friend— she introduced us.”

“I told you, I wasn’t mad. But I would’ve told you if I went out.”

“It was late, and I was going anyway. She was already outside, so I asked her if she wanted to come. I don’t see the problem,” you said defensively.

“There is no problem,” Hanni said, voice raised.

“It sounds like it’s a problem.”

“You’re making it a problem.” She retorted.

“There’s nothing going on between me and Danielle, if that’s your problem.”

“Are you even listening to me? I know there isn’t. I’m just saying, you could’ve told me you went out.”

“Fine. I’ll let you know,” you sighed.

Hanni looked at you, searching. Eyes flicking to each of yours, her own, watery. She plopped back down on the bed. “Just get me the chips.”

---

For some reason, you’re at a pottery studio.

Scratch that, maybe you started to realize what Danielle was saying. Maybe. Because honestly, you haven’t touched the guitar she gave you. Well, gave back to you.

But it was Sunday. Historically, date night for you and Hanni. Recently, though, it was the times you and Hanni would lie on your couch, or her bed and not talk for 6 hours. Still, you missed the way she felt in your arms, or the way her lap more comfortable than any pillow.

There was that word again, comfortable. You close your eyes, feeling the soft wet clay in your hands. Better to not look at the mess you’re making anyway.

1 week, 1 day, 21 hours, and 59 minutes.

A rush of excitement fills you. 1 week! The timer dropped by almost a whole week! You almost topple over your mound of clay still attached to the pottery wheel.

“Remember,” the soft voice of your pottery teacher says. One of phony transcendence. “Mistakes are okay.”

Why did the timer drop? This has never happened before, not when Hanni was on her 3 week vacation to Australia, not when you were waiting for your thesis grade, not even when your father was stuck in the hospital bed, cancer slowly witling him away.

Was she doing okay? Was she getting better, less comfortable, and ready to talk it out and make up? Or did she realize something? Realize she was better off without you? Was she ready to call you back to rip your heart out of your chest?

You slowed your breathing. This doesn’t— shouldn’t change anything. You’ve still committed to giving Hanni space, to respecting her wish to think things over, timer or not.

You look down at your mound of nothing. A plate should be easy, right?

---

“Where should we go?” Hanni asked, clinging to your arm. You always loved her style. Date night, but the yellowish-green top that slanted up to only cover one shoulder and layered translucent skirt that fell to her ankles still screamed chic and coziness with that backdrop of elegance.

“I already made reservations,” you said smugly.

Hanni hits you playfully. “Without asking me? What if I wanted—”

“That new Italian place that just opened?”

Her face went into the cutest pout you’d ever seen. But her smile still etched her face, even brighter if that was possible. “How did you know?”

“I always know,” you said, squeezing the arm wrapped around yours even tighter. “You sent me a Tiktok. Said you liked the plates, as if that’s a reason to go to a restaurant,” you said in response to the pout that still lined her face.

“Mmm, sure. You booked it for me. Not because you want their tiramisu.”

It was your turn to smile. “You caught me,” you said, as you ran playfully away of her.

“Get back here!” She chased.

---

It’s 11pm. Miraculously, you’re already in bed. You still wonder if Hanni is okay. If she’s eating properly, if she’s remembering to plug her phone in every night, if she’s getting home safely. You scour over every memory you’ve ever had with her. Interestingly, it’s the little things you remember, the way she rolled her eyes, the way she would play fight you whenever you took her side of the bed. It’s the simple things that make you long for the call she promised.

5 day, 11 hours, and 38 minutes

So soon now.

But the sound of your phone’s ring jolts your hand to it despite the timer you’ve been staring at, still ticking down the days..

“It’s Danielle, FYI.”

“I know.”

“Oh. Thought you’d think Hanni was calling.” It’s meant to be teasing, but Danielle says it as fact.

It’s already been over a week since your break, and hearing her name, hearing ‘Hanni’ said so casually feels as if you’re drowning in knee deep water.

“Have you seen her? Hanni I mean?”

“I’m seeing her tomorrow.”

“Oh,” you say, because you don’t know what else to. “Tell her—,” you stop yourself. “Or, no. Just, I hope she’s alright.”

“Are you alright?” She asks, with none of the facetiousness she usually carries.

“Yeah,” you blurt. “Yeah, I’m alright?”

“How’s that guitar?”

“Haven’t touched it.”

“You haven’t— what did I say about self care? Hanni won’t want to get bac—”

“I took a pottery class.” Danielle’s laugh doesn’t help you feel better. Maybe it does, though. “It’s just, I think I know what you meant. About self care.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” she says.

---

“You’ll have fun, trust me,” Danielle said, annoyed.

“Who’s going again?”

“Minho’s going. So is Minji—”

“Minji doesn’t like me,” you pointed out.

Danielle’s voice grew even more impatient, said, “you keep saying that, she doesn’t hate you,” then clicked her tongue at you.

“I never said anything about hate. Who else is going?”

“One of our other friends.”

“I know them?”

“They’re nice. You know, cool. Chill,” she reverted to a less annoyed but still annoying voice, probably hoping it would help convince you.

“I think I’ll pass.”

Danielle grabbed you by the collar. “You have to come!”

“And why do I have to come?”

“To meet our friend.”

“Oh because they’re nice? Cool? Chill?” You mocked.

“Just trust me. She’s kind of perfect for you. You’re gonna want to marry her.”

You laugh, but really it’s more of an annoyed exhalation.

“Seriously.” She said, and for some reason, you believed her. Not the part where you thought you’d want to marry a girl you’d just met, but just that Danielle believed it.

“Fine,” you sigh. “I’ll go.”

“What’s the hold up, we’re outside.” Danielle bellowed into your cars speakers. “We’re gonna be late.”

Minho’s voice pierced through your cars sound system. “Just a sec, the new girl forgot to charge her phone.”

Hmm, the car. That’s probably why Danielle wanted you to come so bad, you realized. For your car.

“Who, Hanni?” Danielle smiled.

“Yeah,” Minho replied annoyed.

“Just tell her she can charge it in my car,” you yelled too loud, before ending the line— something about talking on the phone in cars tricked your voice.

“You think I’m gonna want to marry a girl who can’t remember to charge her phone?”

“Just wait until you meet her.” She was confident— smug. You didn’t believe her. But when Minji, Minho and the new Hanni exited the house, Danielle rushed out of the car. “Minji! Hanni! Go sit in the front so you can charge your phone,” she said before turning back to you with a wink.

She climbed in sheepishly, and maybe you were starting to believe Danielle. Her hair tied in a loose ponytail, her impeccably chic fasion, the way she looked so effortlessly cool but approachable at the same time.

“Hey, it’s okay if I use your charger right?” The new Hanni asked.

Safe to say, you wanted to marry her.

---

You’ve been cleaning your place again. Not that it was dirty, just messy; you used to not like messy. You did it in waves, figuring if you organized it all at once you’d let it get messy again. Binge cleaning, you’ve heard it called somewhere. So instead, day by day, you organize. Taking out the boxes here, organizing your pantry there.

Other times you would just sit, closing your eyes and focusing on that damned timer in the back of your head. It didn’t exactly bring you comfort, but it was nice, nice knowing you and Hanni’s story wasn’t over, that there was still a chance.

3 days, 18 hours, and 19 minutes.

You think of her often, constant. Not in an ‘I need to get her back’ kind of way, just about… her. You never resent her for her choice to take a break. But still, the thoughts of her are consuming, so you commit to this self care nonsense Danielle pushed on you. And although your thoughts linger on the thing you know you want most, Hanni, your days are getting better. You no longer stay awake until the ungodly hours of the morning, no longer sleep in until the afternoon on the days you don’t work.

And today, you decide to deal with the mess that is your front yard. You always wanted a garden. Now’s as good a time as ever, you decide. You’re knee deep in the dirt, wrangling overgrown weeds in the 5 o’clock Sun, when it’s heat less overbearing when Danielle’s voice sings behind you.

“So he does leave his house.” She mocks, standing on the sidewalk in front of your lawn.

You silently thank her for the distraction from the weeds, tossing your trowel on the grass. “I told you, I went to pottery. Did you—”

“I saw her.”

“How is she?” You ask, and you drop the pretense. Your voice is hoarse and desperate.

“She’s good. Better, like you,” she says, and it’s weird to hear that you’re doing better when a week and a half ago you thought everything was okay. “Here,” she says, crossing the lawn. It’s a small Tupperware.

“What’s this?”

“Muffins. Chocolate chip. Hanni made them, she’s learning to bake!”

You stare at the container like it’s gold. “Hanni made them?”

“She told me to give you some.”

You don’t know what your heart does. Maybe it’s yearning, to see her again. Maybe it’s relief, to know she still thinks about you, or maybe it’s something else. Something you can’t say. “Hanni made them,” you repeat, soft.

Danielle eyes you like you’re a lost puppy. “Yeah… they’re good,” she says before turning off.

“Wait did you— did you guys talk about me?”

She turns, just her head, before smiling. “Only a lot!” She cheers before walking off.

The cupcakes were indeed good.

---

11:06pm, a call from Hanni. That was weird, she told you she was fine walking home from work alone now. You had told her it was fine, you liked being there when she walked, even if it was just on the phone. Weirder in fact because your fight the previous night wasn’t exactly resolved. You and Hanni just snacked on the bag of chips in silence.

It took you longer to answer than you’d want to admit. “Look, if this is about yesterday, I still don’t think—”

But when she says your name her voice is filled with urgency.

“Hanni? Hanni, what’s wrong?

“I think,” pauses, voice going quiet. “I think someone’s following me.”

You stood up, knocking the takeout box you’d been eating from to the floor. “What? Where are you?”

“I just left work,” she said, voice barely audible.

“Go to the convenience store,” you rushed, gathering your things at the same time. “I’ll be there.”

“It’s fine,” she mumbles, trying to mask the fear in her voice. “Just— stay on the line with me.”

But you ignored her, leaving anyway, still clutching the phone to your ear. Hanni just breathed, assured you that she made it to the convenience store. You assessed the situation once you arrived. A man, middle aged, wore a dark sweater, hood strings drawn tight lingered outside the door, walking side to side with practiced patience. He was eerily calm. He looked dangerous.

You strolled past him into the convenience store, rushing to find your Hanni. She flinched at the sound of the chime when you entered. “It’s just me, Hanni,” you said through the phone. She turned to the front, locking eyes with you, and relief flooded her system. You hung up, and ran to her. The hug felt warm and present, but you weren’t paying attention to that. You just held her. “Are you okay?”

“I am now.” She breathed into you.

Another chime of the bell and the man was inside. He didn’t seem so calm now. You gripped Hanni close as the man wandered the aisles with faux interest in the snacks that lined them. But his eyes kept darting to Hanni. You were starting to get nervous, even here, in the light of the convenience store with the burly cashier standing at the register. You could only imagine how Hanni had felt.

You gripped Hanni by the waist now, exiting the building. You didn’t know the plan, but you couldn’t just walk Hanni home, revealing her residence to the guy. So you crept along the edge of the window, Hanni still in your arms, until you were in eyeshot of the cashier.

You had seen him before, knew him well enough to know his name was Marc, had even seen him at the gym a couple of times, back when you went at least. He locked eyes with you, and you gestured over to the hooded man. He had completed his fake round of the store, and was headed to the exit. Marc understood the gesture, nodding to you, and before the hooded man could leave, Marc’s hands were on his shoulder. You’d need to thank him later.

Before you could register what had happened, you and Hanni dashed. Back to a main street, back to safety. You imagined Marc would have just distracted him, said he thought he saw him steal something and needed to confirm before letting him go; you hoped he’d punched him.

---

You did a lot of reflecting the past near-2 weeks. How you and Hanni would fight but brush it off, let your words sit unresolved as you pretended everything was okay. How she would brush off date night because she was tired, or how you would let her texts go unanswered for hours.

Danielle was right: you two were too comfortable. Too okay with not progressing, too fine with letting yourselves forget what it was like before you’d gotten comfortable. Until Hanni asked for a break.

And she was right too. Because you don’t think you would’ve realized it if you hadn’t had this separation.

You scrub the dishes from the dinner you just cooked, something simple. Sometimes you close your eyes, letting the timer tick down.

12 hours and 14 minutes.

The call is right there. You don’t know if you dread it, you just know you miss her voice. It’s been great, up until now, ever since Danielle reintroduced self care to your life. Scratch that, not great, just okay. You’ve just always kept track of it, that little timer in your head, but you never let it consume you.

But tonight is different. It’s the only thing on your mind. Everything you want to tell her, everything you’ve realized, it sits there on your mind like fire. You think of calling her, you have the whole break, but tonight the action sits there on the tip of your fingers. But you can’t let up this far into it. Plus, she’s at work right now, if her schedule hasn’t changed within the past couple of weeks.

You haven’t done much today, really. Just watched the time tick away. It’s only 10pm and you’re already in bed, jittering at every phantom ring of your phone. The anxious yearn is killing you. You don’t know when sleep starts or ends today. The timer is there either way.

---

“You’re late, it’s 11:17,” you said in a faux disappointed voice, but when Hanni chuckles it wipes away all pretense of the feeling.

“Sorry, I slept in~”

“That’s okay baby,” you let up.

And Hanni yawned through the phone, asking you: “What do you think love is?” As if she were asking you the time.

“Love? Well, it’s this, isn’t it. Us.”

You could almost hear her smile through the phone. “Well yeah, dummy. But what about us.”

“Well, we talk every day; I tell you I love you every day. I can’t help to wait for Sunday’s because I know every week, come rain, work or sickness, I get to see you. You’re in my thoughts and my dreams, my heart and my mind.”

Hanni giggled and you wished you could hug her through the line. “I know baby. But isn’t that the result of love?”

“The result?” You thought of a second. “I guess.”

“Then what is love?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted.

“Me neither. Usually you know for me.”

“Well I know I love you. Isn’t that enough?”

“It’ll always be enough,” she cooed.

---

You wake up to perfect blackness. You keep your eyes closed, let your mind slowly crawl out to consciousness. You’ve gotten used to waking up early, but still, on days like these you keep your—

Where’s the fucking timer?

Your body acts like a spring, shooting up. Please, please let her have called during the night. In the scramble you barely find your phone. Under your pillow, in case she called. But there’s nothing there. Hanni, from your phone background just stares up at you, notifications clear.

Okay, calm down, what could this mean? Did she decide she was done with you? And wouldn’t end up calling like she promised? No, she wouldn’t do that, not your Hanni. So then why?

She had work last night. You try not to think of the worst, but the memory of the hooded man following her home not a month ago sits in your mind like a brick.

And you don’t care anymore, don’t care that you’re on a break.

You call her with shaky hands, and it barely goes to voicemail before you’re out your front door, rushing, running to Hanni’s with her spare key in hand.

It doesn’t matter that you’re out of shape; that you just started going back to the gym this week, your legs work like wheels.

You’re running through every scenario in your head. You’re hoping to God she blocked you, she decided she didn’t need you anymore and cut you off, because the alternative— the alternative is something you won’t even think.

You’re up her front steps in a second, jamming the key in the lock with precision. You dash up the stairs.

And swinging her door open, your worst fears are stifled. She’s there, safe, asleep. And she looks so peaceful.

But it’s replaced with another fear. Is this what she can be? Without you? Sound and safe, and most importantly, happy? She lies there with a smile on her face, sprawled out in true comfort.

You shouldn’t have come, should’ve just called Danielle, asked her to check up on her and left her to live her life. A life without you.

Your hand is still on the doorknob, lingering there as if to say goodbye.

You try to turn to leave, but your hand can’t find respite. But then she stirs in the way she always does when she wakes up. With a yawn, first, then a stretch of her back as if she’s a cat after a particularly refreshing nap. She sits up, leaning back on her palms before her eyes open, and her irises are already locked on you.

“Oh,” she says, and it’s loaded, but you know what none of it means.

“I— I shouldn’t be here,” you say out loud. “I’m sorry.” You tear your hand away from the doorknob, even harder now that she’s looking at you.

“You can stay. If you want,” she says.

You turn to her, searching, searching for any hint of what she wants. But she acts as if all is right, as if the man she’s on a break with hasn’t just barged into her room unannounced. “What time is it?” She asks, noticing the high Sun shining through her window, like it’s the most important thing of note.

She reaches for her phone. “Oh, I forgot to charge it. It’s dead.”

Relief washes over you. She forgot to charge her phone. Like always. Is that why the timer disappeared? Was it linked to the phone, and not her? Usually you would scold her, but today, you smile. She notices.

And she puts your heart back to where it should be with an “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” is what you say, but it’s not enough. You want to run into her arms, to hold her again, to stroke her hair and tell her everything, every little detail of the two weeks you hadn’t seen her. “I’m sorry Hanni.”

It’s loaded too, but Hanni was never one to let things hold in the air, until you lost yourselves. Something on her face breaks. “Come here.”

You cross the room with unrestrained need, and she takes you in her arms as you fall into her bed.

“I missed you so much, Hanni. I’m so sorry, sorry I let you get away from me, so sorry I let us lose ourselves,” you cry, and you can tell by the wetness on your shoulder and her shuddering that she is too. “I thought you were— I thought you’d—”

“I’m right here.”

Her hold feels like warm liberation, like honey on oats, and you quench every moment of it.

“I should’ve realized— that I was pushing you away.”

“It wasn’t just you,” she says, pulling away so she can look in your eyes, and they’re deep and wet but they’re also what you’ve been craving. “It was both of us— it was me too.” She takes the sleeve of her shirt and wipes your tears away. “But,” and she stutters, “but I can’t do this if nothing changes— I can’t do this if we continue like we’ve been.”

“I know,” you say, and she she rests her forehead on yours. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About what love is.”

“I asked you that like, 8 months ago,” she chuckles.

“And I didn’t know the answer then. But I think I do now.”

Her hands find yours, fingers interlocking. “What is it?”

“It’s choosing each other every day. It’s taking care of each other, it’s two people coming together to form one. Two wholes in one unit. But we can’t do that if we’re not taking care of ourselves, if we ourselves aren’t whole. I can’t put you first when I’m putting me last, can’t take care of you if I’m not taking care of myself. I think that’s why we started to resent each other.”

“Self-care,” Hanni laughs.

“Danielle?” You laugh as well.

“Mm-hmm. I guess we should thank her, for getting us back together.”

You break your forehead away from her, just a little. “Does that mean you want to get back together?”

“If you’ll have me. The new-old me.” You stay there for a moment, eyes locked. But when her eyes flick down to your lips, you close the distance.

And she tastes like she always has, like tea and rain and Hanni.

The kiss is slow and deep, but your heart is racing. You’ve felt— you’ve tasted these lips a thousand times, but you savour them. It’s pure and it’s raw, the kiss. No pretense of anything more, other than ‘I miss you’, and ‘I love you’.

She breaks away, breathy, uncomposed. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she says with her forehead still on yours.

“I know,” and your voice is equally breathy.

“I just— I needed to think—”

“I know.”

“And I’m sorry, I wanted to call you every day—”

“Hanni, I know.” You bring your hand up to her cheek, brushing it with your thumb.

“Come here,” she says again, but this time you don’t leave a shred of restraint. You take her lips again, and this time it’s passionate and soft, but unfiltered. Your tongues dance in each others mouths, hands in each others hair. She holds you tight, but her comforter is still wedged between you despite the closeness of your bodies.

You manage to break a way for a second. “Maybe we should slow down. Talk things out more,” you throw out.

“We can talk later,” she says, voice still laced with desperation. “I need you right now,” and she pulls you back in. Her hands claw at your shirt, still the one you slept in, and through tangled limbs and tongues, you manage to get it off. Her hands roam your chest with practiced knowledge, as if she already has the whole thing mapped, but the vigor of someone exploring something new.

Your hands work to slide the blanket from between you to, and eventually, you do. The contact of her on you is ecstasy, just her thin sleeping shirt separating you two. But you need to feel her, feel her flesh on yours. But your lips barely separate, only the few short breaks saving you from suffocation.

She wants it too, to feel your skin on hers, but your hands are in her hair, on her cheek, wrapped around her— everywhere. So when she eventually slides it up you’re forced you to tear away. And the sight of her is everything you need. Her toned midriff, her skin so smooth it could be frictionless, climbing up the breasts that always fit perfectly in your hands, her otherworldly collarbone. You can see her legs, her black lace panties framing her hips, because she never did wear pants to sleep. You stare for a moment, and she stares back.

And it’s like you’re still waiting for the call, still yearning for her. But she’s right in front of you. She reaches out again, and you take her hand in yours, your other sliding your pajama pants off of your throbbing member. It springs free, already lined up perfectly with her.

Her other hand slides the strings of her panties to the side, revealing her light stubbled and already wet pussy.

You can’t wait anymore, can’t put it off any longer. With a squeeze of your hand, she signals it too. You enter, feeling the wet hotness inching up your member. You almost lose it, almost release right there, but Hanni’s eyes are trained on yours and you know you must keep your composure.

There’s no words— they’re unnecessary. Her soft breaths, wanting moans say it all as you slide ever slowly deeper. The feeling engulfs you, her tightness wrapping perfectly around you.

Hanni shudders as you bottom out, hand squeezing yours.

Every movement conveys a feeling, every shudder a response as you continue your pace. Slowly, her hips match your rhythm and her hands reach out to your body once again. Your hands find her breasts, nipples like gems in your hands, and the sensation proves overwhelming. Hanni’s moans grow more frequent, every flick of her nipples causing her to tighten.

You fall into her, latching your mouth onto hers again. Your rhythm increases as she tightens and she breaths moans into your mouth.

Pressure starts to well up through your hips, crawling up your spine. “I’m gonna come, Hanni.”

“M-me too,” she manages.

Your bodies connect in the pleasure, and she compresses around you as you burst your load. The sensation is blinding, and all you can do is collapse into her, your load spewing into her in waves.

She gasps, throwing her head back in an arch of her back.

The comedown is a haze of breath and pecks. You collapse beside her, and she crawls up beside you. The two of you just lay there, letting the sex, the admittance, the two weeks sit between you. And none of it matters, because Hanni is beside you, leaning her head on your chest and looking up at you, eyes dreamy and brown. Just like it should be.

---

It’s 11:11 in the morning. You’re tending the garden. Finally, you can plant some flowers, weeds having been cleared.

You wish you stayed with Hanni, wish you could’ve spent the night just laying with her on your chest. But alas, she had plans with Danielle. And you weren’t the type of couple to stop living life for each other anymore.

Your phone rings. Your head doesn’t jolt, your body doesn’t react on its own, scrambling for your phone.

Instead, you slowly pull off your gardening gloves, smiling all the way.

You pick up the phone without checking who it is.

“You called,” you note.

“I did,” Hanni admits. “Do you want to come over? I learned how to make tiramisu.”

“Funny, I have the perfect plate for that.”

---

A/N 3: Really wanted to practice dialogue in this fic, so yeah. Wrote this a while ago so IDK what to say but Hanni so cute n pretty n perfect. I love you all!

Yujin had texted you that morning with a simple "pick me up at 2 <3" and you'd thought—fine, easy. Lunch, maybe walk around, watch the sunset over dinner. Standard relationship stuff. You should've known better the second you pulled up and saw what she was wearing.

The sundress is light blue, thin cotton that does absolutely nothing to hide the fact she's not wearing a bra. It hugs her waist before flowing down to mid-thigh, and when she bounces over to the car, you can see everything move in ways that make it very clear she planned this outfit specifically to fuck with you.

It's working.

"Hi baby," she says sweetly, sliding into the passenger seat and leaning over to kiss your cheek. Innocent enough, except her hand lands directly on your thigh and stays there while she buckles her seatbelt.

"You're evil," you tell her.

"I'm adorable." She grins, adjusting the dress that's already riding up her thighs. "Where are we going?"

"That café you wanted to try."

The drive is only ten minutes, but Yujin makes it feel like an hour. Her hand doesn't leave your thigh, fingers tracing lazy patterns while she chatters about her week. Every time you glance over, she's doing something designed to distract you—adjusting her hair so the dress pulls tighter across her chest, crossing and uncrossing her legs, biting her bottom lip while she looks out the window.

At the café, she orders an iced vanilla latte and immediately wraps her lips around the straw in a way that's just absolutely not necessary for drinking coffee.

You watch her take a slow sip, eyes locked on yours.

"What?" she asks, like she doesn't know exactly what she's doing.

"Nothing," you mutter, taking a drink of your own coffee and trying to focus on literally anything else.

She leans forward on her elbows, and the neckline of her dress dips low enough that you can see the curve of her tits. "You seem tense."

"I'm fine."

"Mm." She doesn't believe you, and that little smirk says she knows exactly why you're tense.

You finish your coffees and decide to walk through the nearby park since the weather's nice and you're clearly a masochist. Yujin loops her arm through yours, pressing close enough that you can feel the heat of her body through that thin dress.

"Isn't this romantic?" she says, full of fake innocence as her free hand traces up your arm.

"Very," you say flatly.

She's already sliding that hand down, lacing her fingers with yours, bringing your joined hands to rest at her hip where the dress cinches.

The park is busier than you expected—couples on blankets, families with kids, people walking dogs. Yujin doesn't seem to care. She steers you toward a quieter path lined with trees, and the second you're out of immediate sight, she stops and turns to face you.

"I want a picture," she announces, already pulling out her phone.

"You take like fifty pictures a day."

"And I'm going to take fifty-one." She steps close, arm around your waist, phone up for a selfie. You're about to smile when her ass presses back against your crotch—a deliberate roll of her hips.

You grab her waist on reflex.

The camera clicks.

Wow. That is not a graceful expression.

"Perfect," she says, grinning at the photo before tucking the phone away.

She doesn't move away from you. You don't let go of her waist. She leans her head back against your shoulder.

"You're being very well-behaved so far."

"I'm being patient."

"And how long do you think that'll last?" She turns in your arms, and suddenly you're face to face with her, close enough to kiss. Her hands slide up your chest, fingers playing with the collar of your shirt. You can smell her perfume, feel her breath against your mouth.

"Yujin—"

"What?" Those big, innocent eyes blink at you, like she's never done a thing wrong her entire life. Her thigh presses between your legs, just enough pressure to make her point. "We're just taking pictures, baby."

Someone walks past on the main path and you step back, mostly to maintain some semblance of dignity in public. Yujin just laughs, bright and delighted, before grabbing your hand and pulling you back toward the park exit.

"Come on, I want to look at the shops before dinner."

The boutique she drags you into is small, full of expensive clothes and a bored-looking attendant who barely glances up when you enter. Yujin immediately starts browsing through racks, pulling out dresses and holding them up against her body.

"What do you think of this one?" A black one that would barely cover her ass.

"It's short."

"That's not a no." She grins and drapes it over her arm, moving to the next rack. You follow behind. Her fingers trail over the different materials, hips swaying just a little more than necessary.

She disappears into the dressing room with three dresses, and you lean against the wall outside to wait. The curtain doesn't close all the way—you can see flashes of movement, the sundress pooling at her feet. Then her hand appears, crooking a finger at you.

"I need a second opinion," she calls out.

You glance at the attendant, who's fully absorbed in her phone, and slip behind the curtain.

Yujin is standing in just her panties. Holding up one of the dresses in front of her body.

Not wearing it.

The dressing room mirror shows everything—the curve of her bare tits, those panties sitting low on her hips, the cheeky smile that says she knows exactly what she’s doing.

"Well?"

"You're not even wearing it," you point out.

"I wanted to see your reaction first." She drops the dress entirely, closing the small distance between you. Her hands find your belt, fingers tracing the leather. "Are you going to do something about it?"

"There's a person right outside."

"So you'll have to be quiet." She's already popping the button on your jeans, and fuck, her hand sliding into your boxers is not helping your resolve.

You grab her wrist, stopping her before this gets completely out of hand. "Get dressed. We have dinner reservations."

The look she gives you is pure frustration, but there's need underneath it. "You're no fun."

"I'm RESPONSIBLE."

"I don't like responsible," she pouts, but she lets you pull her hand away and picks the sundress back up. You slip out before you do something stupid.

She emerges a minute later. Doesn't buy any of the clothes she tried on.

She does, however, grab your ass when you're walking out of the store.

"An Yujin."

"Hand slipped!"

The restaurant is one of those places with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the water. You'd picked it specifically because Yujin mentioned wanting to watch the sunset over dinner.

Romantic as hell. Seemed like a good idea this morning.

You’re having second thoughts.

The golden light of the sunset coming through the windows catches in Yujin's hair when she sits down, makes her skin glow in a way that's entirely unfair. She's gorgeous in normal lighting, but with a sunset behind her she looks… unreal.

"This place is beautiful," she says, and she actually sounds genuine for once, looking out at the water where the sun is starting to paint the sky in shades of orange and pink.

"Yeah," you manage, trying to focus on your own menu and not the way the light is hitting her.

The waiter comes by and you both order—she gets the salmon, you get the steak, and she requests a wine she definitely can't pronounce but sounds expensive. (She knows you’re paying, after all).  She's suspiciously polite, ordering without any funny business.

Then the waiter leaves and you feel her foot slide up your calf.

"Yujin."

"What?" She’s staring at the sunset like she’s never done a thing wrong in her life.

"We're in public."

"I'm just getting comfortable." She blinks at you as her foot reaches your thigh and stays there, and you become very aware of how thin her dress is, how the sunset behind her makes it… almost see-through in places…

The wine arrives and she takes a slow sip, eyes on you over the rim of the glass. When she sets it down, her hand disappears under the table, and a second later you feel her fingers on your knee, sliding up your thigh with clear intent.

"Can't you just wait for the food," you plead, grabbing her wrist under the table.

"I'm not hungry for food." She leans forward, and the neckline of her dress dips dangerously low. The sunset behind her creates this halo effect that would be romantic if she wasn't currently trying to get her hand on your cock in a public restaurant.

You don't let go of her wrist, keeping her hand firmly on your thigh and nowhere else. "Behave."

"Make me," she says, and there's that fucking smirk again.

The food arrives. You let go of her hand so the waiter can set down the plates.

Yujin thanks him sweetly. He's barely gone before her hand is back—making it all the way to your crotch before you can stop her.

She palms you through your jeans, and fuck, you're already half-hard from her teasing all day. Her fingers trace the outline of your cock while she cuts into her salmon with her other hand like nothing's happening.

"How's your food?" she asks conversationally.

"Yujin, I swear to god—"

"You should try the salmon, it's really good." She takes a bite, and her hand squeezes you just enough to make you bite back a groan.

The sun is almost touching the horizon now, the entire sky turning brilliant shades of orange and red. The light hits her face and she looks like a fucking angel. 

An evil little cock-teasing angel who’s decided getting you off under the table is way more fun than eating.

"You're so hard already," she murmurs, leaning closer like she's sharing a secret. Her hand works you through the denim, and you're trying to keep your expression neutral while she's clearly enjoying watching you struggle.

"Stop," you say, but it comes out strained.

"You don't want me to stop." Her thumb finds the head of your cock through your jeans, rubbing in slow circles. "You've been wanting to fuck me since I got in your car."

She's not wrong, and you're done.

You grab her wrist, pull her hand away. Harder than necessary. "We're leaving."

"But we haven't finished—"

"Now, Yujin."

Pure triumph on her face. This is exactly what she wanted.

She doesn't argue, just grabs her purse while you flag down the waiter and hand him your card without even looking at the bill.

The sun is halfway below the horizon when you walk out, the sky on fire with color, and Yujin is practically skipping to the car.

She beats you to the passenger side, slides in with that pleased smile still on her face.

You're barely in the driver's seat. She's already leaning over the center console, hand on your thigh again.

"That was mean," she says, not sounding very sorry at all.

"You started it." You turn the key and pull out of the parking lot faster than necessary, and the sky is deepening now—brilliant orange fading to pink and purple at the edges.

"So you're admitting I won?"

"I'm admitting I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk."

The way her breath catches is supremely satisfying, but she recovers quick. "Promises, promises."

Her hand slides higher on your thigh and you grab it, pinning it in place. "You're going to make me crash."

"Then drive faster."

"You… want me to make our crash worse?"

"Just drive, idiot!"

The sunset is in your rearview mirror now, the sky ahead darker where night is already creeping in. You make it maybe two minutes before her other hand finds your belt, and you have to move your grip to catch that one too.

"Yujin."

"What? I'm just sitting here." She's absolutely not just sitting there—she's shifted in her seat so that dress is riding up her thighs, and when you glance over at a red light, you can see the lace edge of her panties.

"You're insane."

"You love it," she says again, and manages to get one hand free to palm you through your jeans. You're fully hard now, have been since the restaurant, and her touch makes you grip the steering wheel hard enough that your knuckles go white.

The light turns green. You have to let go of her to shift gears.

She takes full advantage—gets the button of your jeans open before you can stop her.

"Jesus Christ, Yujin—"

"Keep your eyes on the road, baby." Her hand slips into your boxers, fingers wrapping around your cock, and the feeling of her actually touching you after hours of teasing makes you groan.

You catch her wrist but don't pull her away, too far gone to pretend you don't want this. The sky outside is streaked with the last colors of sunset, deep purple and orange, and her hand is stroking you slowly while you're trying to drive through downtown traffic.

"Let me reiterate. You, me, a semi-truck, all meeting in less than a second if you don't get your stupidly smooth hand off my cock."

She laughs but settles back in her seat, pulling her hand away with clear reluctance. You make it three more blocks before you have to pull over at another red light, and the second the car stops you're hauling her in for a kiss.

It's messy and desperate, her mouth opening for you immediately, and your hand finds her thigh, pushing that dress up until you can feel the heat of her through those thin panties. She's soaked, and when you press against her she makes this needy sound that goes straight to your cock.

Someone honks behind you and you realize the light's green.

"Fuck," you mutter, pulling back and trying to focus on driving. Your hand stays on her thigh though, high enough that your fingers brush against the lace edge of her panties every time you shift.

The sun is gone now, just the afterglow painting the sky, and you can see your building up ahead. Yujin sees it too, and her hand goes right back to your cock, stroking you through your open jeans.

"Almost there," she purrs, and you don't know if she means the building or something else entirely.

You pull into your spot and kill the engine, and then you're both out of the car and you're crowding her against the door, kissing her hard while she fumbles with your keys. She gets the door open and you're inside, kicking it shut behind you, and her back hits the wall in the entryway.

"Now?" she asks breathlessly, and there's triumph in her voice even now.

You don't even dignify her with an answer.

The dress hits the floor before you've even moved away from the door, and Yujin's hands are already pulling at your shirt, yanking it over your head while you work your jeans down. She's in just those lace panties now, and you can see the wet spot where she's been soaked for hours.

"Took you long enough," she breathes, but you shut her up by shoving her harder against the wall and kissing her like you're trying to devour her whole.

Your hand slides between her legs, fingers pressing against the soaked lace, and she gasps into your mouth. "You've been wet all fucking day, haven't you?"

"Since the car," she admits, hips rolling against your hand. "Maybe before."

You hook your fingers in her panties and drag them down her legs, and the second they're off you're dropping to your knees. Her eyes go wide.

"Wait, I thought you were going to—oh fuck!"

Your mouth is on her pussy before she can finish the sentence. Tongue dragging through her folds.

She tastes as good as she looks.

Your hands grip her thighs, holding her against the wall while you eat her out like you're starving for it. Maybe you are, after the torture she's put you through today.

"Oh god, oh f-fuck, yes—" Her hands fist in your hair, and she's trying to grind against your face, shameless and desperate. You focus on her clit, sucking it between your lips, and her whole body jerks.

"Right there, don't stop, please don't fucking stop—"

You don't. You work her with your tongue until her thighs are shaking, until she's practically sobbing, and when she cums it's with your name broken on her lips and her pussy clenching against nothing.

She's still trembling when you stand up and kiss her, letting her taste herself on your tongue. "Bedroom. Now."

"Fuck the bedroom," she pants, already reaching for your cock. "Right here."

Her hand wraps around you and strokes, and you're so fucking hard it almost hurts. But you catch her wrist, spin her around so she's facing the wall, and kick her legs apart.

"You wanted this so badly," you growl against her ear, lining yourself up. "So take it."

You push into her in one thrust and she cries out, hands splaying against the wall for balance. She's so wet and tight that you have to pause, breathing hard, trying not to cum immediately like a teenager.

"Move," she demands, pushing her hips back. "Fuck me already."

"Greedy, aren't we?"

You pull out and slam back in, and the sound she makes is perfect—broken and needy and so fucking desperate. You set a brutal pace, one hand on her hip and the other sliding up to grip her throat, not squeezing, just holding her in place while you fuck up into her.

"Yes, yes, fuck, harder—"

The angle is incredible, and you can feel her getting wetter with every thrust, slick dripping down her thighs. Your grip tightens on her hip, hard enough to leave marks, and she loves it, pushing back to meet you.

"Is this what you wanted?" you ask, voice rough. "Teasing me all day just so I'd fuck you like this?"

"Yes," she gasps. "Knew you'd—ah!—knew you'd s-snap eventually."

You pull out suddenly. She whines at the loss.

Then you're turning her around, lifting her up. Her legs wrap around your waist automatically. You push back inside her, using the wall for leverage.

"Oh fuck, so deep—" Her nails dig into your shoulders, and you can feel her pussy clenching around you, tight and perfect.

You kiss her while you fuck her, messy and hard, and she's moaning into your mouth. The angle has you hitting the spot inside that makes her gasp every time, and her tits are pressed against your chest, nipples hard.

"Gonna cum again," she warns, "don't stop, please—"

"Cum on my cock," you tell her. "Let me feel it."

She does, her whole body tensing and then releasing, pussy spasming around you in a way that almost takes you over the edge. You carry her to the couch—fuck the bedroom—and lay her down, pulling out just long enough to flip her onto her stomach.

"Ass up," you command, and she scrambles to obey, presenting herself to you.

The view is impeccable—her pussy swollen and dripping, cum already leaking out of her. You push back inside and she moans into the cushions, and this angle lets you go even deeper.

You fuck her hard, hands gripping her hips. The wet sounds of your cock driving into her pussy fill the room.

She's babbling now—words barely coherent, just broken pleas and your name and "yes" over and over.

"So fucking perfect," you groan, watching your cock disappear into her. Wet coating your shaft. Dripping down to make a mess on the couch. "Look at you, taking it so well."

"More," she gasps. "Harder, p-please, I need—"

You give her what she wants, slamming into her with enough force that she has to brace herself against the arm of the couch. Her pussy clenches around you, still sensitive from cumming twice already, and you can feel how close you are.

Your hand slides around to find her clit. She practically screams, body jerking. "Can't, too much, I can't—"

"Yes you can." Your fingers rub tight circles. "Cum with me."

She's shaking, thighs trembling, and you can feel her getting tighter. You lean over her, changing the angle, and she sobs out something that might be your name.

"Gonna fill you up," you warn, thrusts getting erratic. "Gonna cum so deep inside you."

"Please," she begs, "please, I want it, want you to—fuck!"

She cums first, pussy spasming around your cock, and that's all it takes to drag you over with her. You slam in one final time and cum hard, spilling deep inside her while she moans. You can feel it flooding her, so much that it starts leaking out around your cock even while you're still inside her.

You stay buried in her for a long moment, both of you breathing hard, before finally pulling out. Your cum immediately starts dripping down her thighs, obscene and perfect, and she's so thoroughly fucked that she just stays there, ass in the air, too wrecked to move.

"Bed," you finally manage.

She makes a sound that might be agreement. You both stumble to the bedroom, collapse onto the sheets.

You should probably stop.

You don't stop.

You're on her immediately, pinning her wrists above her head, and she gasps when you push back inside her. She's oversensitive and so fucking wet—cum from earlier mixed with how turned on she still is—and the slide is almost too easy.

"Sure you can handle one more round?" she teases, but her legs are already wrapping around your waist, pulling you deeper.

"You started this," you remind her, rolling your hips. "We finish when I say we finish."

She moans, head falling back against the pillow, and you take the opportunity to bite down on her neck, hard enough to leave another mark. Her pussy clenches around you in response, and you can feel how swollen she is, how thoroughly fucked.

You let go of her wrists, brace yourself above her.

Her hands find your back. Nails dig in immediately, dragging down your shoulder blades as you thrust into her.

The sting is perfect.

"Fuck, Yujin—"

"Harder," she demands, and her nails scrape down your back again, definitely breaking skin this time. "Give it to me harder!"

You shift the angle, driving deeper, and she cries out. The bed frame is hitting the wall with every thrust, and the sheets are getting soaked beneath her—sweat and cum and her pussy dripping everywhere.

"Look at me," you tell her, and when her eyes meet yours they're glazed and desperate. "This is what you wanted all day, isn't it? To get fucked until you can't think straight?"

"Yes," she gasps, nails carving new lines down your back. "Yes, god, don't stop—"

You don't. You fuck her hard into the mattress, one hand gripping her hip while the other slides up to wrap around her throat. Not squeezing, just holding her there while you fuck her apart.

She's babbling again, that incoherent mix of your name and "fuck" and "please," and you can feel her getting close. Her nails are brutal on your back, scratching hard enough that you know you'll be marked for days.

"Gonna cum again?" you ask, and she nods frantically.

"Can't help it, you're so deep, I can't—"

"Do it," you command. "Cum on my cock one more time."

She does, and it's like her whole body seizes up. Her nails rake down your back viciously as she screams, pussy clamping down so tight around you that it's almost painful. The sensation drags your own orgasm out of you, and you bury yourself as deep as possible, filling her up for the second time.

You can feel it mixing with the first load, so much cum that it's leaking out around your cock, soaking into the sheets beneath you. When you finally pull out, the evidence is everywhere—her thighs covered in it, the sheets stained, her pussy absolutely wrecked and dripping.

You collapse beside her, and she immediately sprawls out, chest heaving. Her makeup is completely destroyed now, smeared down her face, and her hair is a disaster. She looks thoroughly, completely fucked.

Perfect.

Your back is on fire where she scratched you, and when you shift, the sting reminds you of every mark she left.

"You lasted longer than I thought you would," she says between breaths, and even now—completely fucked out, thighs still trembling—she's got that fucking pleased little smile on her face.

You don't have the energy to respond, just managing to flip her the bird while you stare at the ceiling, pulse still racing.

~~~

Sorry for the wait! I have a big project waiting to go, and also maybe another Twice smut that should be out within the next week or two :)

The doors glide open straight into your suite - no hallway, no buffer. That’s the kind of place this is. Forty-two floors up, with a private elevator that answers only to you, and floor-to-ceiling windows framing a city that feels curated for your view. You’re standing in the bedroom doorway, halfway through buttoning your shirt, fingers lingering on the third button, when you hear footsteps on marble in a place where you’re supposed to be alone.

Two girls stride out of your elevator like they own the entire building.

You lift an eyebrow. “…How exactly did you two get in here?”

The taller girl moves in first, posture unshaken, like self-doubt has never been part of her vocabulary. Her shoulders are squared, chin angled with precise control - refined, yet quietly intimidating. “I’m An Yujin,” she says, holding out her hand.

You shake it. Her grip is firm, unwavering

The other one, a few centimeters shorter, shifts the briefcases to one hand and gives a small bow that's almost endearing in how formal it is. "Naoi Rei. Pleasure to meet you."

"It was easy to get in here," Yujin continues, already scanning your suite with the casual appraisal of someone who's been inside a lot of expensive rooms. "We can get into anywhere. Think of us like the Men in Black, but without being men."

"And without wearing black," Rei adds, glancing down at her navy blazer.

"Right. We also don't handle UFO events. Or alien immigration. Or memory wiping. Although," Yujin taps her chin, "that last one could be useful sometimes."

You finish buttoning your shirt and fold your arms. "So you have literally nothing in common with the Men in Black."

Yujin pauses. Thinks. "Yeah. That sounded better in my head.”

"My underwear is black, Yujin. That's already a start."

Yujin points at Rei without looking at her. "See? She's committed to the bit. I respect that."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. There are two strangers in your penthouse, one of whom just volunteered information about her underwear, and it's not even noon yet. "Look. As much as I love pretty girls trespassing on my private property, and I want to stress that this is extremely private property, what the hell are you doing here?"

"We're here on behalf of Jang Wonyoung," Yujin says, your eyebrow rises slightly. Now that she's said it, you actually do recognize Yujin. You've seen her at a few events, always orbiting Wonyoung, always laughing too loud at things that probably weren't that funny. Part of the entourage.

"What's this about, exactly?"

Yujin doesn't answer right away. She walks over to your sofa, a twelve-thousand-dollar Italian leather piece you've sat on maybe three times, and drops herself onto it without a shred of hesitation. She crosses her legs and leans back like she's been living here for months. Rei bows slightly, murmurs a quiet "excuse me," and sits down next to her with considerably more grace, placing both briefcases on the coffee table with the care of someone handling evidence.

"So here's the thing," Yujin begins, folding her hands in her lap. "Your relationship with Wonyoung is coming to an end. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this. Well, actually, I'm not that sorry, because I barely know you. But professionally speaking, I'm sorry."

You stare at her.

"It didn't perform as well as she hoped. There were metrics, projections, social media engagement targets, public perception polling, a whole spreadsheet situation. And the numbers just didn't hit. The relationship underperformed across every key indicator." She shrugs. "In other words, you're a flop, darling."

"Thank you for your kind assessment," you say, the sarcasm obvious in every word. "I bet you love what you do, don’t you?”

"Hey, chill, I'm just the messenger. Think of me as the Hermes of the situation." She wiggles her feet. "My winged sandals are by Prada, though…"

You lean against the wall and try to process this. You knew. Somewhere in the back of your mind, past the optimism and the carefully curated date-night photos and the way she sometimes smiled at you when cameras were around, you knew. The relationship was a strategy from the start, something cooked up between Wonyoung's management team and the political arm of your family. Good optics on both sides. You were useful, and she was beautiful, and for a while that felt like enough.

But you'd been hoping, stupidly maybe, that she'd eventually come around. That the dinners would start feeling real. That the hand-holding would stop being choreographed...

Wonyoung is so goddamn gorgeous she fried your brain.

"She could've at least come and told me herself," you say. "Or called. A text, even. Carrier pigeon. Smoke signal. Anything."

"Wonyoung doesn't have time for that," Yujin says, completely matter-of-fact. "She's a global star. Schedule's packed. And to be blunt with you, she doesn't care enough about the relationship to handle this personally. That's what we're for."

That one stings, but it's not a surprise. You exhale through your teeth. "Fine. I get it. But why both of you? With all due respect, it feels like you’re more here to mess with me than actually handle any legal issue.”

Yujin reaches over and pops open one of the briefcases. Inside, a thick contract sits nestled in foam like it's a piece of jewelry. She slides it toward you across the coffee table. "Part of the original relationship contract included a breakup-sex clause. Section fourteen, subsection C. If one of the involved parties declines to personally fulfill the obligation, a consenting third party may represent them."

You blink. "I do not remember that clause."

"It was in the fine print," Rei says, speaking up with the tone of someone who genuinely finds contract law interesting. "It's always important to read and review every document with a qualified attorney before signing. These things have layers. The legal world is full of traps."

"The little bird is right," Yujin nods sagely. "You really should have had better representation."

You run a hand through your hair and try to assemble the sentence correctly in your head before you say it. "So if I'm understanding this correctly, you two came here to have sex with me. In the name of Wonyoung."

Rei nods. "Yeah, that’s pretty much the idea."

"Sorry, I can't do that. That's unethical. That's professional abuse. You're being exploited. Wonyoung is sending you here to sleep with a stranger because she can't be bothered to handle her own breakup. Do you not see how messed up that is?"

Yujin holds up a finger. "First of all, darling, we read our employment contracts. Every word. Every footnote. Unlike some people in this room." She glances at the breakup contract on the table and back at you. "Second, we're both here willingly. One hundred percent. Nobody's being exploited. This is a task we accepted with full knowledge and enthusiastic consent."

"Then it's fine. You can go home. I'm not going to hold a grudge. I'll survive."

"It's not quite that simple." Yujin uncrosses her legs and leans forward, elbows on her knees. "Our job is to make sure you leave this relationship completely satisfied and without resentment. The goal is to prevent any future public bitterness, accusations, tell-all interviews, leaked texts, the works. Wonyoung's PR team was very specific."

"I promise I won't say a single bad thing about Wonyoung. I never have. I wouldn't."

Rei shakes her head gently. "Unfortunately, a verbal promise doesn't constitute a legal guarantee. You need to fulfill the terms of the contract, or there could be litigation."

"Litigation," you repeat.

"Litigation," she confirms, not blinking.

You take a breath. "Wouldn't it have made way more sense to just put a mutual non-disparagement clause in the contract? No public criticism from either side after the breakup. Done. Simple."

Yujin and Rei look at each other. A beat passes.

"That… would have been better," Yujin admits.

"That would have been much simpler," Rei agrees.

"Honestly, that feels like a plot hole." Yujin scratches behind her ear. "But it is what it is. The contract says what it says. We need to make you cum, man. That's the rule of the game. Them's the terms. You’ll be king for a day, so live it up." She slaps both her thighs and stands up. "Besides, Rei already shaved everything for this occasion. Don't let that effort go to waste."

Rei's cheeks flush a shade of pink that's almost impressive in how fast it appears. "I shaved because I wanted to. It had nothing to do with this!"

"Sure it didn't."

"It didn't…”

You look at the two of them. You're tired. It's not even lunchtime and you've been dumped by proxy, threatened with a lawsuit, and propositioned by two women you met four minutes ago. This is, without question, the last thing you needed today.

But you'd be lying if you said they weren't both stunning. Yujin is tall, almost catching up to your height, with long legs that her tailored slacks do absolutely nothing to hide. Dark hair falls past her shoulders, thick and straight, framing features that seem built for trouble.

Rei is different. Softer. Her face is rounder, her features more delicate, with wide dark eyes that make her look endlessly curious. She's shorter than Yujin by a handful of centimeters, and her frame is slimmer, more compact. Her hair is long and dark, parted neatly, falling past her chest. Something in her reads as gentle and careful, as though she’s constantly anticipating what comes next but keeping that knowledge to herself. The blush is still sitting on her cheeks, making her look even more endearing.

Together, standing in your living room in their formal wear, they look like a legal team that accidentally wandered into a very inappropriate comedy movie.

You sigh. A long, defeated, resigned sigh. "Fine. Let's just get this over with."

Yujin grins and claps her hands together once, all business. "Rei. Open the black briefcase again. Get the contract."

Rei nods, turns to the coffee table, and pops open the latch on the nearest briefcase. The lid flips up, and you all three stare at its contents in a brief moment of shared silence. Inside, nestled in neat little compartments, is a full spread of lace lingerie in various colors, two bottles of lubricant, a silk blindfold, a set of what appear to be very expensive restraints, and a few other items you don't even want to identify right now.

"That's the other briefcase, idiot."

"Both briefcases are black, Yujin!”

"One has a silver clasp and one has a gold clasp. I told you this in the car."

"You told me a lot of things in the car. You talked for forty-five minutes straight about how a hotdog is technically a sandwich."

"Because it is. Open the other one."

Rei closes the sex briefcase with a firm snap and reaches for the second briefcase. This one, mercifully, contains a thick stack of legal documents and a matte black pen. She pulls them out and hands them to Yujin, who fans through the pages with ease before turning the whole thing over to you.

"Sign here." She points. "Here." She flips a page. "And here. This document certifies that we have completed our objective and that you agree to all terms and conditions outlined in the original relationship contract between yourself and Jang Wonyoung." She flips to the last page and taps a highlighted section. "And in case of non-compliance, you will be sued for millions."

"How many millions?"

"Many millions. You’d probably have to sell this place to help cover the costs."

Whatever. You read approximately none of the fine print, which is ironic given the conversation you just had about reading fine print. You scrawl your signature across all three lines, grumbling the entire time about how this is the most absurd Tuesday of your life. You hand the contract back. Yujin slots it into the briefcase with the reverence of someone archiving a sacred text.

"Beautiful. Now." She turns to face you fully, hands on her hips. "Do you have any preferences? Sexually, I mean. We'll do basically anything. I personally won't do anal." She jerks her thumb at Rei. "But maybe this one will. She looks like she'd be quite the little slut given the chance."

Rei's back straightens. "Hey, I am not doing anal. That's too kinky. And filthy..."

"Nobody needs to do anal," you say, rubbing your temples. "I don't need to fuck anyone's ass. Can we just… not talk about asses for a second?"

A silence settles over the three of you. It is, without exaggeration, one of the most awkward silences you have ever experienced. You're standing in your own living room with two women you met less than ten minutes ago, a signed sex contract on the table between you, and absolutely no idea what the appropriate next move is. Do you offer appetizers? Put on music? Is there a Spotify playlist for "breakup sex mandated by your ex-girlfriend's legal team"?

"Do you guys want something to drink?"

Rei perks up instantly. "I want a Coke."

"We're not drinking anything," Yujin cuts in. "You can have a Coke on the way home."

"You said that last time and I didn't get a Coke."

"I forgot. I bought one later."

"You bought Pepsi. I don't like Pepsi."

"They taste the same, Rei."

"They absolutely do not taste the same. Coke is better. It's always been better. It's scientifically proven."

You hold up a hand. "I'll give you a Coke before you leave. I have a whole fridge full."

Rei beams at you like you just promised her a pony. Yujin rolls her eyes and snaps her fingers twice, redirecting the room's energy back to the task at hand.

"We should start. Right now. Before this turns into a beverage debate." She reaches back into the first briefcase, the fun one, and pulls out several sets of lingerie, holding them up for your inspection. A red lace set. A black number with straps that seem architecturally impossible. Something white and sheer that leaves less to the imagination than a clear window. "Which one do you prefer?"

You look at the options. You look at Yujin. You look at Rei. "You don't have to wear any of that. I’m fine."

Yujin's face falls. She stares at the lingerie in her hands, then slowly, mournfully, folds each set and places them back in the briefcase. "I arranged all of this for nothing. I spent an hour picking these out. An hour. At La Perla."

"I'm sure they're very nice."

"They're gorgeous. You have no taste." She closes the briefcase. "Fine, Mr. Vanilla. Let's go."

You lead them down the hallway to your bedroom. It's large, open, and minimal. King bed against one wall, floor-to-ceiling windows on the other, clean surfaces, muted colors.

You turn to face them. "So. How do we start?"

Rei raises a tentative hand, half like she's in a classroom. "Maybe a few kisses? To break the ice?"

Yujin is already unbuttoning her blazer. "You two get started. I'm going to warm up."

You watch her shrug off her jacket and toss it onto a chair. "Why do you need to warm up before sex?"

"To avoid joint problems." She rolls her shoulders in slow circles. "Warming up is a fundamental part of any physical activity, including sex. Especially sex. I don't want to wake up tomorrow with neck pain and a tweaked hip because I went in cold." She drops into a lunge, stretching her right quad with absolute seriousness. "You can’t mess around when it comes to your health.”

You sit on the edge of the bed. Rei sits next to you, close but not quite touching. Her hands rest on her thighs, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. You look at her, and she gives you a small, shy smile that makes her round cheeks push up slightly.

"I've never seen you before," you say. "Are you new?"

"I started working with Wonyoung pretty recently. This is actually my first time doing something like this." She glances over at Yujin, who is now doing push-ups in her underwear on your bedroom floor. "Yujin is supervising me. She says I need field experience."

"Field experience."

"That's what she calls it."

In the corner, Yujin knocks out another push-up, perfectly controlled. Her arms flex, and her dark hair pools on the floor beneath her. The girl has form; you'll give her that.

You turn back to Rei. "Can I kiss you?"

She nods. Just a small dip of her chin. With her permission, you reach up and cup her face with one hand, your thumb resting just below her cheekbone. She's warm. Her skin is impossibly soft. You lean in and press your lips to hers, gentle, unhurried. Her mouth is full and plush, and there's a faint sweetness there, something glossy and almost fruity. The kiss stays soft for a few seconds before it deepens, just slightly, her lips parting, the tip of her tongue brushing against yours with a tentativeness that's almost careful. Like she's still figuring out how much of herself to give.

When you pull back, you drag your thumb slowly across her lower lip. The gloss smears just slightly.

"You're pretty," you tell her. "Cute, too."

"Thank you." A faint blush creeps up from her neck. "You're very polite. Most guys just skip straight to grabbing."

"I'm a gentleman. For now."

She bites the inside of her cheek, fighting a smile. "Can I take my clothes off now?"

You nod. Rei stands and starts with her blazer, folding it neatly over the back of a chair. You help her with the buttons on her blouse, fingers working down the front while she unzips her skirt and lets it slide down her legs. She steps out of it, and there she is. Black panties. Black bra. Just like she said.

Her body hits different without the corporate layers hiding it. She’s curvy in a way those formal clothes were clearly trying to keep in check. Full hips, a soft waist, thick thighs that brush together when she shifts. Her chest fills out her bra easily. Her face hasn’t changed though - round cheeks, wide brown eyes, lips still faintly smudged from your kiss. That contrast, innocent face and everything beneath it, makes your pulse spike.

You pull her gently back onto the bed and kiss her again, slower this time, your hand sliding to the back of her neck as you ease her down against the mattress. Her hair fans out across your sheets, dark against white. When you settle over her, careful to hold your weight, she looks up at you and there's this brightness in her eyes, something electric and new.

“You’re a really good kisser,” she murmurs. “Even more handsome in person, too.”

"Rei." Yujin's bark comes from the foot of the bed. She's finished her push-ups and is standing there in nothing but a matching navy bra and panties, hands on her hips, a thin sheen of sweat across her collarbones. "Tone it down with the sweet talk. You're here to accomplish a task, not fall in love with the target."

"What happens if she falls in love?" you ask, still hovering over Rei.

"I'll have to kill her."

Rei's eyes go wide.

Yujin holds the serious face for exactly two seconds, then breaks into a grin. "Kidding! But seriously, this is a professional engagement. Keep it professional."

"You just did push-ups on his floor in your underwear, Yujin. How professional is that?"

"Extremely. That was occupational health and safety." Yujin climbs onto the bed, and the mattress dips under her. She's lean and long, toned arms, flat stomach, legs that don't seem to end. She crawls toward you with a confidence that borders on territorial. "Move over, little bird. I want to see if he's really that good."

She grabs your jaw with one hand, not rough but not gentle either, pulls you off Rei and onto your back, and swings a leg over you. Before you can get a single syllable out, she's kissing you. And where Rei was tentative and sweet, Yujin is immediate and aggressive, her mouth hot against yours, her tongue pushing in without asking permission. She kisses like she's trying to win something. You match her energy, one hand gripping her waist, the other sliding up her back, and she makes a small sound of approval against your lips.

When she pulls back, she's slightly breathless. She wipes the corner of her mouth with her thumb and tilts her head, evaluating. "Not bad. Eight out of ten. Room for improvement."

"Tough grader."

"I have standards." She looks down at Rei, who's propped up on her elbows watching the whole thing with mild fascination. Yujin's gaze drags over Rei's body with open appreciation. "She does have a really nice body, though. For someone who only drinks Coke."

"I don't only drink Coke! And I work out."

"When?"

"Sometimes..."

"Wow, that's fucking convincing." Yujin leans down and kisses her. Rei's hand comes up to rest on Yujin's shoulder, and for a moment the two of them are just tangled together on your bed, all lips and skin. Then Yujin pulls away and turns back to you.

"Clothes off. Rei, help me."

They work in tandem. Rei handles the buttons on your shirt while Yujin goes straight for your belt. Your shirt comes off first, and Rei's fingers trail briefly across your chest before she catches herself and pulls back. Your pants follow, Yujin yanking them off your legs with zero ceremony and tossing them somewhere behind her.

Both girls sit back on their heels and look at you. Just your boxer briefs left, and they're not doing a great job of hiding anything.

"Wonyoung picks her boyfriends very well," Yujin says, her gaze traveling across your torso, your arms, down your stomach. "At least she's got good taste in bodies."

Rei's head tilts. "Is it true that you and Wonyoung never actually had sex?"

"Yeah. We kissed a few times, tops. It never went further than that."

Yujin snorts. "That's pathetic."

“Hey, don’t be so harsh,” Rei says.

"No, she's right," you admit. "It was a pathetic relationship. The whole thing was for show."

"Okay, that's enough moping." Yujin flicks your forehead with her finger. "Stop crying. You've got two girls to fuck today. That's a net upgrade from zero. Rei, calm the baby down."

Rei leans over you and starts pressing small, quick kisses all over your face. Forehead. Cheeks. Nose. Chin. The corner of your mouth. Each one leaves a faint lipstick mark on your skin, and she giggles between them. Yujin joins in from the other side, stamping little prints across your jaw and temple.

You can feel them both laughing, their breath warm against your skin, and despite everything, you have to press your lips together to stop yourself from smiling. "Okay. You can stop now,” you say, and they obey, still laughing. “You’re gonna leave me looking like a passport full of stamps.”

Yujin's hand slides south. Her fingers trail down your stomach and settle over the front of your boxer briefs. She palms you through the fabric, and her eyebrows lift, not dramatically, just a little. Her grip adjusts, fingers curling slightly, testing the thickness, the length. You feel yourself twitch against her hand.

Rei reaches over too, her smaller hand pressing against you from the other side, and her lips part just slightly. "It's really big."

"The little bird loves a big cock in her mouth, don't you, Rei?" Yujin squeezes you gently through the cotton, not taking her eyes off Rei's face.

"Maybe..."

Yujin takes Rei's face in her free hand, squishing her cheeks gently between her fingers, and angles her toward you like she's presenting a product. "Look at this adorable little face. These brown eyes. These full lips. Tell me they don't look perfect wrapped around a cock."

The blush on Rei's cheeks darkens, spreading down her neck. She pulls her face free from Yujin's grip. “You’re way more of a slut than I am,” she says flatly.

“Hard disagree,” Yujin shoots back. “That title’s yours.”

“No,” Rei pushes. “You.”

“Still you,” Yujin says.

“Not even close,” Rei pushes back.

They continue this back and forth while their hands work together to tug your boxer briefs down your thighs, over your knees, and off your ankles. Your cock springs free, fully hard, thick and flushed and straining against your stomach.

Both of them go quiet for about half a second.

"Well," Yujin says.

"Yeah," Rei agrees.

Your cock sits between them, heavy and at their complete disposal. Rei makes the first move. Her fingers wrap around the base of your cock, tentative at first, like she's testing the weight of it. Her grip is soft, polite even, and she gives a slow experimental stroke from root to tip. Yujin's hand joins a second later, wrapping around the upper half, and together their fingers overlap and slide in a lazy, uncoordinated rhythm that somehow still feels incredible.

"Okay, he's really hard," Rei murmurs, more to herself than anyone else. Her thumb swipes across the head, spreading the bead of precum that's already gathered there. She watches it with a focus that borders on academic.

"What did you expect? We've been touching him for ten minutes." Yujin adjusts her grip, tighter, more purposeful. She strokes you with a confidence that suggests she's done this more than a few times, her wrist rolling at the top of each stroke. "Rei, match my pace. You're going too slow."

"I'm being gentle."

"He doesn't need gentle. He needs results." They find a rhythm eventually, both hands working you in tandem, Yujin's grip firmer and faster, Rei's softer and more exploratory. The contrast alone is enough to make your hips shift against the mattress. Two different touches, two different temperatures, four hands on you at once. Your cock throbs between their fingers, thick and flushed, and you let your head fall back against the pillow.

Then Yujin leans forward and spits directly onto the head of your cock. A thick, wet strand that rolls down the shaft and over both their fingers. Rei blinks. "Yujin!"

"What? It needs to be wet. I'm providing lubrication. This is a professional service."

Yujin doesn't wait for further commentary. She dips her head and takes you into her mouth, her lips stretching around the tip, her tongue pressing flat against the underside as she slides down. She's sloppy about it on purpose, generating as much spit as possible, pulling back to let long strings of saliva connect her lips to your cock before diving back in. She bobs her head with an efficiency that matches the rest of her personality: fast, aggressive, no wasted motion. Her hand works what her mouth can't reach, twisting on each upstroke.

She pulls off and nudges your cock toward Rei. "Your turn. Show me what you've got, little bird." Rei tucks her hair behind both ears, lowers her head, and takes you in. And immediately goes deeper than Yujin did. Significantly deeper. Her throat opens and your cock slides in past the halfway point, then further, her nose nearly touching your pelvis before she pulls back with a slow, controlled drag. Your stomach clenches. Your fingers grip the sheets.

"What the fuck," Yujin says, watching Rei's throat work.

Rei comes up for air, a thin line of spit trailing from her lower lip. She wipes her chin with the back of her hand. "What?"

"Since when can you do that?"

"I've always been able to do that."

The two alternate. Yujin takes the left side, her tongue tracing the length from base to tip, getting you soaked, spreading spit everywhere with a shamelessness that's almost admirable. Then Rei swallows you deep again, her throat constricting around your shaft, and holds there for a count that makes your toes curl before pulling back.

It's been a long time since anyone has put their mouth on you. Months. Maybe longer. You stayed faithful to Wonyoung through the entire relationship, which in retrospect was probably the stupidest form of loyalty you've ever demonstrated. You very much doubt she showed you the same courtesy, but that's a thought for another day, because right now two beautiful girls are sharing your cock and your brain is having trouble forming complete sentences.

"So," you manage, your breathing a little uneven as Rei takes you deep again. "What do you two usually do when you're not, uh. Working?"

Yujin pulls her mouth off the side of your shaft and gives you a flat look, saliva glossing her chin. "Don't try to engage in personal conversation. This is a professional engagement."

"You're literally licking my dick."

"And it's a perfect dick, by the way. I mean that professionally." She drags her tongue from your balls to the tip in one long stripe. "Professionally perfect. Five stars on the dick Yelp."

Rei surfaces, catching her breath, her lips swollen and shiny. "I like watching anime," she says casually, like she's not kneeling between your legs with your cock an inch from her face. "And I play my Switch 2 a lot. And I listen to music."

"Yeah? Who do you listen to?"

She wraps her hand around you and strokes slowly while she talks, absentminded, like she's forgotten what her hand is doing. "I really like Noah Cyrus. Aphex Twin. Gracie Abrams. Björk. A lot of different stuff."

Yujin groans. "Here we go. She's so performative with this indie shit. She even has a Letterboxd."

"What's wrong with having a Letterboxd?" Rei asks, visibly offended.

"You probably fakelist all those weird movies. There's no way you actually watched Mulholland Drive and understood it.”

"I understood it."

"What's it about then?"

Rei opens her mouth, pauses, then puts your cock back in it instead of answering. A tactical retreat.

"That's what I thought." Yujin grabs a fistful of Rei's hair, gently, and guides her pace. "Stop talking and keep sucking him off. Earn your five stars for best blowjob giver." She leans down and joins her, both their mouths working you simultaneously. Yujin shifts lower, her tongue finding your balls, lapping at them with broad, wet strokes while her hand holds the base of your cock steady. She takes one into her mouth and sucks gently, and you feel it all the way up your spine.

Meanwhile Rei has you deep in her throat again, her nose pressed against your lower stomach, swallowing around you in a way that makes your abs tense involuntarily. She holds there, eyes watering just slightly, then pulls back with a gasp and immediately goes back down.

"She can swallow the whole thing," Yujin observes, pulling off your balls to watch. "She must have sucked a lot of dick to get this good. That's just math."

Rei comes up, flushed. "That's not true. I just have a good throat."

"That's what they all say."

"It's what I say. Because it's true."

"Sure, Rei. And Mulholland Drive makes sense." They both come together at the tip, their tongues meeting around the head of your cock, lapping at it from opposite sides. Rei's tongue slides across the sensitive underside while Yujin circles the ridge, and then their tongues touch, slick and pink, and they kiss over the head of your cock, slow and messy. Yujin bites Rei's lower lip gently before pulling away. Rei's eyes are glazed, her cheeks are red, and there's spit all over her chin.

They pull back. Your cock stands between them, absolutely drenched, twitching against your stomach. Rei leans in one more time and presses a soft, almost tender kiss to the very tip. Just a peck. She looks up at you through her lashes. "Do I deserve five stars?"

"Absolutely,” you reply, sounding slightly breathless. “I'd write a review praising your technique. Detailed. With specific examples."

Her smile is genuine, bright enough to crease her whole face. It’s achingly cute, at odds with her puffed lips and the messy trail of spit and precum glistening on her chin. “That’s so sweet.”

Yujin sits up and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "Okay. Enough of the customer satisfaction survey. It's time to put this cock to work." She pats your thigh firmly. "Let's see if it's just for show or if it has some practical use."

"It has practical use,” you inform Yujin.

"We'll be the judges of that." She settles back on her heels and looks at you expectantly. "So who do you want to fuck first?" Before you can answer, Yujin turns her head sharply to the side and sneezes. Hard. She sniffles, blinks, and waves a hand in front of her face. "Sorry. My rhinitis flares up when I give head. Something about the angle." She pinches the bridge of her nose. "I really need to get that deviated septum surgery. I've been putting it off."

"Take your time."

"I'm fine. Answer the question. Who do you want first?"

"I don't mind. Whoever wants to go."

Yujin gestures at Rei with a tilt of her head. "Rei goes first, then. Since she's already head over heels for you."

Rei straightens up, indignant. "I am not head over heels for anyone. I'm just an affectionate person."

"You kissed the tip of his dick like it was a puppy."

"That's just how I am."

"Great. Then you can be very affectionate eating my pussy while he fucks you from behind. Put all that affection to good use." Yujin is already reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra. "Clothes off. Both of us. Let's go." The two of them strip. Yujin's bra comes off first, and her breasts are small but firm, her nipples already stiff. She hooks her thumbs into her panties and peels them down her legs without an ounce of self-consciousness, kicking them off the side of the bed. She's lean all over, slim hips, toned stomach, long legs, with a neat strip of dark hair between her thighs.

Rei takes a little longer. She reaches back and undoes her bra with careful fingers, letting the straps slide down her shoulders before pulling it away. Her breasts are fuller than Yujin's, round and heavy, and they settle against her chest with a softness that makes you stare. She wiggles out of her panties, and true to her earlier claim, she's smooth everywhere. Her hips flare wider than Yujin's, her thighs thicker, her whole body built along softer, rounder lines. She looks like a Renaissance painting someone accidentally dropped into the twenty-first century.

Both of them naked, side by side on your bed, are a sight that your brain is going to be replaying for the rest of your natural life.

Yujin catches you staring. "Have you never seen two naked girls at the same time before?"

"No. Never."

"Seriously? With your money?" She shakes her head with genuine disbelief. "If I had your bank account, my bed would be full of whores every single day. I'd have a subscription service."

"I had a girlfriend."

"You had a business partner. There's a difference." She crawls up the bed and settles against the headboard, sitting upright with her legs parted. She pats the space between them and looks at Rei. "Come on, little bird. Get in position."

Rei gets on all fours. She lowers herself, her elbows resting on the mattress, and settles her face between Yujin's open thighs. Her back arches naturally, pushing her ass up and out toward you. The curve of her spine is ridiculous, dipping down from her shoulders to the swell of her hips, and from this angle you can see everything, the smooth skin between her thighs, the pink of her pussy already glistening. She shifts her knees apart slightly, adjusting, and looks back over her shoulder at you. You're on your knees behind her, your cock still slick and hard, and the two of them are spread out in front of you like something your subconscious could never have conjured on its best night.

You're halfway to lining yourself up when a thought hits you. You pull back slightly. "Wait. Condom. I need a condom."

Yujin doesn't even blink. "Not necessary. We're both clean and on the pill. It's a job requirement. Wonyoung's team is very thorough about health compliance."

Rei turns her head, her cheek resting against Yujin's inner thigh. "We prefer to fuck raw anyway."

Yujin strokes Rei's hair once, almost affectionately. "The little bird is right. Besides, we've already had access to your medical records. Full panel. You're clean too."

You stare at her. "I think it's better if I don't ask how you got access to my medical records."

"Yeah, that would be wise."

You settle back into position behind Rei, your knees sinking into the mattress between her spread thighs. Her ass is pushed up toward you, round and full, and the arch in her lower back deepens the curve of her hips into something that makes your cock twitch. You reach down and run your index and middle fingers together along her entrance, slow, tracing the seam of her. She's soaked. Her lips are plump and pink and slick, and when your fingers drag through the wetness gathered there, she trembles. Not a big shudder, just a fine vibration that runs through her thighs and up her spine. Your fingers slide easily, parting her, feeling the heat radiating off her.

"Please put it in," Rei says, her grip tightening on the sheets near Yujin's hips. "Quickly. Sir."

Yujin's eyebrows shoot up at that. She looks down at Rei, then up at you, and a grin tugs at the corner of her mouth. She says nothing, but the look on her face says plenty. She threads her fingers into Rei's hair and guides her head gently between her legs. "Focus here, little bird. You've got a job to do too."

You take your cock in one hand and press the tip against Rei's entrance. The heat alone is staggering. You push forward, just the head at first, and her body resists for a second before opening around you, tight and slick and deliciously warm. You sink in an inch and stop, letting her adjust. She's so fucking tight it's almost difficult to move. Every fraction you push deeper, her walls grip you, squeeze you, like her body is trying to memorize the shape of you.

Rei exhales shakily into Yujin's thigh. Her fingers curl into the sheets. "My god, his dick..." You give her another inch. Then another. You can feel every ridge of her around you, the wet heat pulling you in, her muscles clenching and releasing in tiny flutters as she stretches to accommodate your thickness. By the time you're halfway inside her, Rei's forehead is pressed against Yujin's pelvis and her breathing has gone shallow and ragged.

"Breathe, Rei," Yujin says from above, her fingers still laced through Rei's hair. "And start licking. Multitask, babe."

Rei lifts her head slightly and lowers her mouth to Yujin's pussy. You watch her tongue extend and make contact, a slow, flat stroke from bottom to top, and Yujin's stomach muscles tighten visibly. Rei licks again, finding her rhythm, her tongue working in careful, measured passes while you continue feeding your cock into her from behind.

"Good girl," Yujin murmurs, and her hips shift against Rei's mouth.

You bottom out. Your hips press flush against Rei's ass, every inch of you buried inside her, and the sensation is so overwhelming that you have to hold still for a moment and just breathe. She's tight and hot and wet and alive around you, her walls pulsing, adjusting, gripping. You pull back slowly, watching your cock slide out of her, glistening, before pushing back in with a long, steady stroke. Rei gasps against Yujin's pussy, and you feel the vibration of it through your own body somehow.

You set a slow pace. There's no rush. Each thrust is full and deep, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in to the base, and you savor every single second of it. The way her body yields to you, the wet friction, the obscene sound of skin meeting skin. You grip Rei's hips with both hands, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh above her ass, and use that leverage to control the depth and angle of each stroke. Her ass ripples slightly every time your hips connect, and the sight of it alone is enough to keep you hard for the rest of the afternoon.

Your eyes lift from Rei's back and find Yujin's. She's sitting against the headboard, legs spread wide, Rei's face buried between them, and she's looking right at you. Not at Rei. Not at the ceiling. At you. Those dark eyes are half-lidded and sharp at the same time, full of something that isn't quite challenge and isn't quite invitation but sits in that dangerous space between the two. She bites her lower lip, slow, letting her teeth drag across the pink of it, and holds your gaze.

"You look good like that," she says. "Behind her. Holding her hips. All that control." Her chin dips slightly. "It suits you."

You thrust into Rei again, unhurried, and watch Yujin's expression flicker as Rei moans against her. "You look pretty good yourself. Legs spread. Holding her hair while she eats your pussy." You push in deep and hold there, grinding slightly, and Rei whimpers. "Speaking of which. How's she doing down there?"

Yujin's breath catches. A low, unguarded moan slips out of her before she can stop it. She recovers quickly, tipping her head back against the headboard. "Pretty good. The little bird has a very skillful tongue. I'll give her that."

"I know. I just had that mouth on my cock. She's talented."

"Mm. Multi-talented." Yujin's hips roll forward against Rei's face, a slow, grinding motion she's clearly trying to keep subtle and failing. Her fingers tighten in Rei's hair. "She's doing this thing right now with the tip of her tongue that's... yeah. That's really good."

You pull back and thrust into Rei harder. Not brutal, but firm enough that the impact travels through her entire body, pushes her face deeper between Yujin's legs. Rei moans, a muffled, desperate sound that vibrates directly against Yujin's clit, and Yujin's thighs clamp around Rei's head for a split second before she forces them open again.

"Fuck," Yujin breathes. "Do that again."

You do it again. A deep, intentional thrust that buries you to the hilt inside Rei, and her whole body rocks forward. She moans louder this time, the sound smothered by Yujin's pussy, and you can see the effect it has in real time: Yujin's stomach flexing, her toes curling against the sheets, her fingers pulling Rei's hair tighter.

"You're using her as a vibrator," Yujin says, and there's a breathlessness in the way she says it that wasn't there before. "That's very resourceful."

"I'm a problem solver."

Rei pulls her head up just long enough to gasp for air, her chin slick, her lips swollen and shiny. "You two are going to break me and I haven't even been here an hour." She sounds wrecked already, her eyes glassy, her cheeks flushed so deep they're almost red.

"Get back to work," Yujin says, pressing Rei's head back down. "You're on the clock."

You settle into a rhythm. Each stroke is measured and full, your hips meeting Rei's ass with a steady, wet impact that echoes off the bedroom walls. You're not rushing. You're not chasing anything. You're just enjoying the feel of her, tight and slick and trembling around you, and the view in front of you is so fucking good it almost doesn't feel real. Rei's back, arched and glistening with the faintest sheen of sweat. Her ass, round and pushed back against you, taking every inch of you like she was built for it. And beyond her, Yujin, watching you with those dark, sharp eyes, her chest rising and falling a little faster than she'd probably like to admit.

You change the angle slightly, tilting your hips upward on the next thrust, and Rei's entire body jolts. She pulls off Yujin's pussy and her mouth falls open, a choked, guttural sound pouring out of her that she clearly wasn't expecting. "There," she pants. "Right there. Please."

"You found her spot," Yujin says, looking at you over Rei's trembling body. "You're getting warmer."

You hit the same angle again, a slow grind that presses the head of your cock against that swollen ridge inside her, and Rei's arms give out. Her chest drops to the mattress, her face turning sideways against Yujin's thigh, and her fingers grip Yujin's hips with a desperation that leaves white marks on her skin. You keep going, maintaining that exact angle, that exact pressure, and Rei is falling apart beneath you in a way that's almost too satisfying.

"Use your tongue, Rei," Yujin reminds her, tugging her hair. "Don't forget about me." Rei, with visible effort, turns her head back and buries her face between Yujin's legs again. Her licking is messier now, less precise, all broad strokes and sloppy enthusiasm, but from the way Yujin's abs keep clenching, it's working just fine.

You lean forward slightly, one hand still on Rei's hip, the other bracing on the mattress, and fuck into her with a slow, grinding pace that never lets her catch her breath. Every time you bottom out, you hold there for half a second, letting her feel the full depth of you, before pulling back and doing it again. Rei is shaking. Her thighs are quivering. And the sounds she's making into Yujin's pussy are getting louder, needier, more broken with every thrust.

"She's dripping all over your sheets," Yujin observes, glancing down between Rei's legs. "Absolutely ruining them. I hope you have a good dry cleaner."

"I'll manage."

"You better. Egyptian cotton isn't cheap." Yujin's hips buck forward against Rei's mouth, just once, a sharp involuntary movement she immediately tries to play off by adjusting her position against the headboard. But you saw it. You saw the way her jaw tightened, the way her fingers gripped a fistful of Rei's hair and held on, the way her thighs tensed and trembled for a fraction of a second.

She catches you watching and narrows her eyes. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Stop smiling."

"I'm not smiling."

"You're smiling with your eyes. Stop it." You thrust into Rei again, deep and firm, and the moan Rei produces into Yujin's pussy makes Yujin's head fall back against the headboard with an audible thud. Her eyes flutter shut. Her chest heaves. And for just a moment, the cocky, controlled, chaos-agent exterior cracks, and underneath it there's just a girl getting her pussy eaten really, really well.

She opens her eyes and finds you still looking at her. Something shifts in her expression. Something warm and a little bit dangerous. "Your turn is coming," she says. "And I'm not going to be as easy as she is."

"Looking forward to it."

Rei lifts her head, breathless, chin soaked, and manages to look over her shoulder at you with half-lidded eyes. "Can you go a little harder? Please, sir?" You grab Rei's hips with both hands and give her exactly what she asked for. The pace shifts from slow and teasing to firm, constant, each thrust landing with purpose and weight. Your hips snap forward and drive deep, pulling back just enough to slam home again, and the wet, rhythmic slap of your skin against hers fills the room like a metronome set to filthy. Rei's whole body rocks forward with every stroke, her knees sliding on the sheets, her fingers clawing at whatever she can reach.

You spread her cheeks with both thumbs, pulling them apart, and the view opens up completely. Her pussy stretched around your cock, pink and swollen and glistening, gripping you on every outstroke like she doesn't want to let you go. Her tight little asshole on full display above it, clenching involuntarily every time you bottom out. Everything wet, everything exposed, everything yours to look at while you fuck her at a pace that's making her lose the ability to form thoughts.

"Don't stop," Rei pants into Yujin's thigh, her face turned sideways because she can barely hold herself up anymore. "Please don't stop. Your dick is too fucking good."

Yujin looks down at her with undisguised delight. Her eyes are wide and bright and she's grinning in a way that suggests she's witnessing something she's been waiting to see for a very long time. The sweet Rei. The polite Rei. The girl who watches anime and plays her Switch and listens to Björk and blushes when someone mentions her underwear. That Rei is currently face-down between another girl's legs, getting railed from behind, and begging for more. Yujin reaches down and strokes Rei's hair away from her flushed, sweaty face like she's petting a cat.

"Look at you," Yujin says, and her tone is somewhere between pride and amazement. "Little miss 'I just have a good throat.' Little miss 'I'm just an affectionate person.' You're a complete slut, Rei."

Rei's fingers tighten on Yujin's thigh. Her back arches deeper, pressing her ass harder against you. "I can't help it." Her eyes are squeezed shut and her mouth is hanging open and the flush on her face has spread all the way down her neck to her chest. "His cock is just too fucking good. It's so thick and it's hitting everything and I can't think straight."

You thrust into her hard enough that her body lurches forward and she lets out a sound that's half gasp, half moan, entirely desperate. You bring your hand down on her right ass cheek, a sharp, clean slap that leaves a pink print on her skin and makes her whole body clench around you. The tightness is staggering. You feel it from the tip of your cock to the base of your spine. "Moan for me," you tell her.

Rei's head drops. Her shoulders tremble. And when you thrust into her again, she lets it out, a raw, unfiltered moan that she doesn't even try to contain. It's loud enough to bounce off the walls of your minimalist bedroom, and it's the most genuine sound you've heard all day.

"Yes, daddy!" The word falls out of her mouth like it's been sitting there waiting for permission. "Spank my ass more. Please. Harder."

You slap her left cheek this time, harder, and Rei's pussy clenches so tight around you that your rhythm stutters for a second. Her skin blooms red under your palm and she pushes back against you, grinding herself onto your cock with a desperation that's completely unrecognizable from the shy, formal girl who handed you a briefcase forty minutes ago.

"Again," she begs. "Please, daddy, again."

You give her another one, right across the curve where her ass meets her thigh, and the moan she produces is broken and raw and so loud that Yujin stops even pretending Rei is going to eat her out anymore. Rei's face is buried in the mattress between Yujin's legs, her mouth open, drool soaking into the sheets, and every thrust you deliver makes her entire body shake.

Yujin shifts her position, sliding her back up the headboard so she can see better. She spreads her legs wider, her left hand drifting between her own thighs, two fingers finding her clit and starting to rub in slow, tight circles. Her right hand stays in Rei's hair, gripping loosely, more for contact than control now.

"Fuck her good," Yujin tells you, her fingers picking up speed between her legs. "Harder. Reset her brain. I want to see her forget her own name."

You grab Rei's hips and pull her back onto your cock as you thrust forward, and the collision draws a sound out of her that isn't even a moan anymore, it's just noise, raw and broken and high-pitched. Her hands are fisted in the sheets so hard her knuckles have gone white. Her back is arched so deep her stomach nearly touches the mattress. And she's babbling, a stream of fragmented, barely coherent pleas that tumble out of her in between gasps. "So deep, you're so fucking deep, I can feel you in my stomach, don't stop, please don't stop, daddy, please..."

"She called you daddy," Yujin says, rubbing her clit faster, her chest rising and falling with quickening breaths. "Twice. The sweet little rookie is calling you daddy. This is the best day of my professional career."

You maintain the pace, steady and relentless, your cock driving into Rei with a consistency that never lets her come down. Every time she thinks she's caught her breath, you're already bottoming out again, filling her completely, your hips pressed flush against her ass. The wet sounds between you are constant and obscene, and Rei's pussy is so slick that every thrust produces an audible squelch that would be embarrassing in any other context but right now just makes you fuck her harder.

"I think I'm gonna cum," Rei gasps suddenly, and her whole body goes rigid. Her walls clamp down on you so hard you can barely move. Her thighs are shaking violently, her toes curling, her fingers tearing at the sheets. "Holy shit. Holy shit, I'm going to cum on your dick. I'm going to cum, I can't stop it, it's right there..."

"Cum for me." You grip her hips and keep your pace exactly where it is, deep and firm, hitting that spot inside her with every stroke. "Cum like a good girl."

"Yes, daddy." Her entire body is vibrating. Her head lifts off the mattress and her back arches and her mouth opens and nothing comes out for a second, two seconds, three seconds. "Yes, daddy, I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I'm—"

Yujin exhales sharply, her fingers a blur between her own legs. "Fuck, it's so hot watching her like this. She's completely gone. I'm almost cumming just from looking at her."

Rei's orgasm hits her suddenly and all at once. Her body locks up completely, every muscle tensed, and then she lets out a sharp, sustained moan that breaks in the middle and keeps going. You feel it around your cock, intense rhythmic contractions that squeeze and release, squeeze and release, her pussy pulsing around you in waves. Her thighs clamp against your hips. Her fingers claw the sheets so hard you hear fabric rip. The flush on her skin darkens to a deep, blotchy red that spreads from her cheeks down her neck to her shoulders.

You slow your pace, dragging it out. Long, deep, lazy strokes that keep her trembling, keep the contractions going, coax every last tremor out of her. Every slow thrust draws another whimper from her, smaller now, softer, her body twitching each time you push in. You can feel the aftershocks rippling through her, her walls fluttering weakly around your cock, and the wet heat between you is almost unbearable.

Gradually, Rei's body goes slack. Her knees give out and she melts onto her stomach, sinking into the mattress with the boneless grace of someone whose skeleton has temporarily left the building. She's still shaking, tiny little aftershocks running through her limbs, and her breathing is ragged and uneven. You lean over her, your chest close to her back, and press your lips to her shoulder. She's warm and damp with sweat and she smells faintly like floral fruity perfume and sex.

Rei turns her head on the pillow and looks up at you. Her eyes are glazed. Her lips are parted. Her hair is plastered to her forehead in sweaty strands. And she's smiling. It's the dumbest, happiest, most sex-drunk grin you've ever seen on a human face, the kind of smile that only happens when someone's brain is still rebooting after a catastrophic pleasure event. "I can't believe Wonyoung never tried your cock," she mumbles, still catching her breath. "What a waste. What an absolute waste. She had this the entire time and she never once sat on it."

"Her loss,” you say.

"Her monumental loss." Rei shifts slightly, wincing at the sensitivity, then settles back into the mattress with a contented sigh. "I barely had one orgasm and I already want more. My legs don't work though. Give me a minute."

"Take your time."

"Nope." Yujin is already moving. She crawls across the bed with the energy of someone who's been watching the previews and is ready for the main feature. She nudges Rei's leg out of the way and settles between yours, her fingers wrapping around your cock, still slick and hard and coated in the evidence of Rei's orgasm. She looks at it for a second, appraising, then lowers her mouth and takes you in.

The taste of Rei's cum on your cock makes Yujin hum appreciatively, a low, sustained vibration around your shaft that sends a shockwave through your hips. She sucks slowly, savoring it, her tongue swirling and pressing, cleaning every inch of you with a thoroughness that's almost meditative. She pulls off with a wet sound and licks her lips.

"Tastes so good," she says, stroking you lazily, her thumb smearing Rei's slickness along the shaft. "Like Coke."

From somewhere behind her, Rei grunts. "Stop it!"

A pillow flies across the bed and catches Yujin in the side of the head. She catches it one-handed before it falls, laughing so hard her shoulders shake, and tosses it onto the floor. "Chill! I’m kidding..." She gives your cock one more long, slow lick from base to tip, then releases you and crawls forward, positioning herself above you.

Yujin straddles your hips, her knees on either side of your waist, her hands flat on your chest. She's lean and warm above you, her dark hair hanging around her face, her small breasts catching the light from the windows. Up close, you can see the thin sheen of sweat on her collarbones, the slight flush across her chest, the way her pupils are blown wide despite the composed expression she's wearing. She reaches back with one hand and takes hold of your cock, angling it upward, and you feel the head press against her entrance, hot and slick. She's wetter than she probably wants to admit.

She holds you there, right at the edge, not letting you in. She looks down at you with an expression that's part challenge, part warning. "Let's see what all the fuss is about." She rolls her hips slightly, teasing, the tip of your cock sliding through her wetness without entering. "I should tell you upfront. I'm not easily impressed. Not like Rei."

From across the bed, Rei lifts her head just enough to protest. "I wasn't easily impressed, his dick is just really good."

"You called him daddy within five minutes."

"He earned it." Yujin ignores her. She adjusts her grip on your cock, positions it exactly where she wants it, and locks eyes with you. "Ready?"

"Yes. Let's see if the professional is really that good."

Yujin's eyebrow lifts. A slow, dangerous arch. "Are you challenging me?"

"I am."

She grins. "You just made a very big mistake." She shifts her weight above you, her thighs flexing on either side of your hips. "New rule. Whoever orgasms first loses. And the loser has to fulfill one request from the winner. Anything. No limits, no negotiations, no backing out. Are you in?"

"Yeah, I'm in,” you say, confidently.

"Good." Yujin sinks down onto your cock. Her jaw tightens and her eyes narrow but she doesn't make a sound, taking you inside her with a controlled patience that's almost defiant. She's tight, not as tight as Rei but tight in a different way, her muscles gripping you with an intentional squeeze that tells you she knows exactly what she's doing with her body. When she bottoms out, her ass flush against your thighs, she lets out a single measured breath through her nose and rolls her shoulders.

From the other side of the bed, Rei is lying on her stomach, chin propped on her hands, watching the two of you with the satisfied, dreamy look of someone who just got thoroughly fucked and is now enjoying the show. She catches your eye and gives you a small, conspiratorial nod. "I'm rooting for you."

Yujin's head whips toward her. "Traitor. Traitor to the entire gender. I'm writing you up for this."

"Write me up all you want. I want him to win."

"You've known him for an hour. I expected a bit more from you.” Yujin turns back to you and starts to move. Torturously slow. She lifts her hips until just the head of your cock is inside her, holds there for a count that feels like an eternity, then sinks back down in one fluid, rolling motion. It's sensual in a way that's almost aggressive, every movement calculated to make you feel as much as possible while she gives away nothing. Her stomach flexes. Her thighs tense. She keeps her eyes locked on yours the entire time, watching for any crack in your composure, any twitch, any tell.

"So," she says, rolling her hips in a slow circle that makes your fingers dig into the sheets. "Do you know what you'll ask for? If, hypothetically, by some miracle, you manage to win this bet?"

You look up at her. At both of them. "I wanna get to know you two better. I want to take you both out. Get dinner. actually having a real conversation instead of just this… transactional sex."

Yujin laughs. "A date? That's your big ask? You could ask for anything and you want to take us to dinner?" She shakes her head, still riding you with that agonizing slowness. "Smart aleck. Trying to charm us. Well, it doesn't matter, because you're not going to win. We'll finish the job today and you'll never see either of us again. We serve Wonyoung."

"I can treat you both better than she does,” you argue.

Yujin's rhythm falters for just a fraction of a second. Barely noticeable. She covers it immediately. "Oh yeah?"

"As people. Not tools for her to dispatch whenever she can't be bothered to handle her own life."

The room goes quiet for a beat. Just the wet, slick sound of Yujin moving on you and the soft rustle of sheets. Then she starts bouncing. Properly bouncing, lifting herself up and dropping back down with a snap of her hips that drives your cock deep and draws a sharp exhale from your chest. Her ass connects with your thighs on every downstroke and the impact sends ripples through her body that you can feel in your teeth.

She's good. She's really fucking good. The way she angles her hips, the way she squeezes you at the top of each bounce, the way she uses her weight on the drop. Her ass is incredible, firm and round, and watching it work as she rides you is pure bliss.

"What about you?" you manage, keeping your breathing even through sheer willpower. "What's your request if you win?"

Yujin's grin turns feral. She leans forward, her hands on your chest, her face close to yours. "I'm going to fuck your ass." You swallow hard. "There's a strap-on in the briefcase in the living room. You're going to be my slut." She punctuates this with a hard downward thrust that buries you to the hilt. "I'm going to bend you over this very expensive bed and make you call me mommy."

Across the bed, Rei buries her face in the pillow. Her ears are bright red. You can hear her muffled squeak of shock through the cotton.

You hold Yujin's gaze. You keep your expression perfectly flat, perfectly unbothered, even though she's riding your cock like she's trying to break it. "Then maybe you'd better try harder. I've had better rides from girls before."

Her face changes instantly, the playful confidence slipping away as raw irritation takes its place. Her jaw clenches, her eyes narrow, and she starts riding you harder, slamming herself down with a ferocity that shakes the entire bed frame. Her pace doubles, then triples, her hips working furiously, the wet slap of skin against skin filling the room in a relentless rhythm. She's going to make you cum through sheer force of will and spite, and honestly the strategy isn't bad.

But it's costing her. Her breathing is getting ragged. Short, sharp inhales through her nose, quick exhales through parted lips. And the moans, the ones she's been holding back since this started, are beginning to leak out. Small ones at first, barely more than breathy gasps, but they're growing in volume and frequency with every passing second. Her thighs are trembling. The flush across her chest is deepening. "Rei." Yujin's composure is cracking and she knows it. "Help me. Do something. Get over here."

Rei lifts her head from the pillow and looks at you, questioning. You give her a small nod. It's fine. She crawls across the bed to your side, her body still flushed and marked from her own session, and lowers her mouth to your chest. Her lips close around your left nipple and she sucks gently, her tongue flicking across the sensitive skin, and the added sensation sends a jolt straight down your spine to your cock. Rei's hand rests on your stomach, warm and grounding, and she alternates between soft licks and gentle suction, her eyes closed, completely content in her supporting role.

You place both hands on Yujin's waist. Your thumbs press into the grooves of her hip bones and you guide her rhythm, not changing it, just steadying it, controlling the angle so that every time she drops down your cock hits exactly where it needs to. Yujin lets you, too focused on maintaining her pace to fight the direction, and the adjustment makes her next moan come out louder than the ones before.

You watch her. The way her stomach flexes with every movement. The way her small breasts bounce with each impact. The way her dark hair swings and sticks to the sweat on her neck and shoulders. The way her lips part and her brow furrows with concentration and barely contained pleasure. She's stunning. Absolutely, unreasonably stunning, in a way that's completely different from Rei's softness, all sharp angles and lean muscle and controlled power that's currently losing its grip. "You're gorgeous," you tell her.

Her eyes snap to yours. "What?"

"You're gorgeous. I'm looking at you riding me and you're the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen." Something complicated happens on Yujin's face. She tries to smirk but it comes out uneven, one corner of her mouth lifting while the other trembles. Her rhythm stutters and she has to reset, grinding down on you to find her pace again. "More gorgeous than Wonyoung?"

"Yes. A lot more."

The reaction is subtle but it's there. A softening around her eyes. A looseness in her shoulders that wasn't there before. Her fingers, braced on your chest, press a little harder, like she's anchoring herself to something. She liked it. She liked it a lot, and she's going to go to her grave before she admits that out loud. "You just broke up with your girlfriend," she says, and her attempt at a dismissive tone is undercut by the breathlessness in every syllable, "and you're already hitting on someone else. You're a slut. All men are the same. Every single one."

Rei detaches from your nipple, her chin resting on your chest, and looks up at Yujin with raised eyebrows. "You're being too bratty."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Rei's hand squeezes your stomach once, encouraging. A grin spreads across her face, still loopy from her own orgasm. "Daddy, put her in her place."

You tighten your grip on Yujin's waist. She sees the shift in your expression half a second before she feels it, and her eyes widen just slightly. "Wait, what are you..." You plant your feet flat on the mattress and thrust upward. Hard. A single, powerful stroke that drives your cock deep inside her and lifts her knees off the bed for a fraction of a second. The sound that comes out of Yujin's mouth is loud and unguarded and completely involuntary, a full, open moan that she claps her hand over a second too late.

"Oh fuck," she whispers behind her fingers.

And you don't stop. You grab her hips and start fucking her from below, driving up into her with a pace that's fast and punishing and completely controlled. Every thrust is deep, the kind of deep that makes her stomach clench visibly, and you're not letting her set the rhythm anymore. She's riding you but you're the one in charge now, using your grip on her waist to pull her down onto every upstroke, meeting her body with a force that turns her controlled bouncing into something messy and desperate.

The transformation is immediate. Yujin's hands drop from her face to your chest for stability, her fingers splayed, her nails digging in. Her head falls forward, hair curtaining around her face, and the moans are coming freely now. Real moans. Loud, surprised, helpless moans that she couldn't stop if she tried. Her thighs are shaking against your sides, her abs are twitching, and the wet sounds between you have gotten louder, sloppier, more urgent.

"Oh my god," she breathes, and her hips jerk involuntarily. "How are you... what the fuck, how are you this..."

"This what?" you ask, not slowing down.

She grits her teeth, refusing to finish the sentence, but another deep thrust pulls a whine from her that answers the question anyway. Her back arches and she grinds down onto you, trying to find some control, some leverage, and you give it to her for exactly two seconds before slamming up into her again and watching her composure shatter.

You shift the angle slightly, tilting your hips, and on the next thrust you feel Yujin's entire body seize. Every muscle locks, her nails claw into your chest, and the moan that tears out of her throat is so raw and so loud that it makes Rei's eyebrows shoot up. You found the spot. You keep the angle and fuck into it relentlessly, steady and deep and unforgiving, and Yujin's composure doesn't just crack, it collapses.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chants, her head thrown back, her throat exposed, her body bouncing on you helplessly. She's not riding you anymore. She's holding on. "You're so fucking deep, oh my god, you're so fucking deep and hard and I can't..."

She catches herself. Bites down on her lower lip so hard it goes white. Straightens up and plants her hands on your stomach, trying to wrestle back control. Her hips start moving again, grinding in slow circles, and she looks down at you with an expression that's equal parts furious and aroused. "I'm not losing this bet," she says, and the tremble in her thighs says otherwise.

Rei rolls onto her side, propping her head up on one hand, watching Yujin bounce on your cock with the serene satisfaction of someone who already got hers. "You really don't look like someone who's winning, Yujin."

"If I don’t peg his ass," Yujin pants between thrusts, her thighs trembling around your hips, "I'm fucking yours."

"Mm, I don't think so." Rei stretches lazily, running her fingers along the damp sheets. "After daddy makes you cum, you're not going to have the strength to get out of this bed. Trust me. I speak from very recent experience."

Yujin grinds down on you, her jaw tight, sweat rolling down her neck into the valley between her breasts. She shakes her head, stubborn to the bone. "His dick isn't even that good. Very overrated. All this hype for a solid six out of ten at best."

You plant your feet and drive up into her so hard that her hands slip off your chest. Her eyes roll back, her whole body jolting, and the moan that comes out of her is guttural and helpless and completely involuntary. She catches herself with both palms flat on your stomach, fingers splayed, panting, and for a second she just stays there, impaled on you, her brain clearly buffering.

You look at Rei. "Give me some space." Rei scoots back immediately, pulling a pillow with her, settling in cross-legged near the foot of the bed with the eager posture of someone who just got front-row seats to the best show of her life. You turn your attention back to Yujin, who's still trying to reassemble her composure above you. "You sound a lot better moaning than you do talking all that bullshit."

"That's so fucking rude,” she grumbles. “You don't get to tell me when to talk and when to..."

You tighten your grip on her waist. Both hands, firm, fingers digging into the lean muscle of her hips. In one fluid motion, you lift her off your cock, shift your weight, and flip her onto her back on the mattress. The air leaves her lungs in a sharp gasp as her shoulders hit the sheets, her hair fanning out around her head, her legs falling open on either side of you. Before she can process the change in position, you're already between her thighs, one hand pressing her hip into the mattress, the other guiding your cock back inside her. You push in with a single, deep stroke that fills her completely, and Yujin's entire body arches off the bed.

"Oh, fuck—" Now you're on top. Now you're in control. And from the way Yujin's eyes have gone wide and glassy, she knows it too. You set a pace that's fast and hard and unrelenting, your hips slamming into hers with a force that shakes the headboard against the wall.

Each thrust drives deep, bottoming out, and the wet, obscene sound of your cock pounding into her fills the room alongside Yujin's increasingly desperate moaning. Her legs wrap around your waist instinctively, her heels digging into the small of your back, pulling you closer even as her hands push against your chest in a confused, contradictory bid for some kind of control she's already lost.

"You're such a fucking asshole," she spits, but her pussy is clenching around you so tight with every thrust that the insult loses all its teeth. "You absolute piece of shit, you think you're so fucking special because your dick is big and you can last a long time, you arrogant, smug, insufferable..."

"Keep going." You thrust harder, deeper, angling your hips to hit that same spot that made her fall apart earlier. "Every time you insult me, I just want to fuck you harder."

"You're the worst lay I've ever had." Another thrust. She chokes on a moan. "You have no technique. Zero finesse. You're just a rich boy with a big cock and no personality."

"That's a lot of talking for someone who's shaking."

"I'm not shaking." She's shaking. Her entire body is trembling beneath you, her thighs quivering against your ribs, her stomach muscles twitching every time you bottom out. The insults keep coming but they're getting shorter, more fragmented, punctuated by moans she can't swallow anymore.

You bring your right hand up and place it on her throat. Not squeezing. Not choking. Just resting there, your fingers curled around the column of her neck, your thumb against her pulse point, a firm, steady pressure that says everything without applying any real force.

Yujin's reaction is nuclear. Her eyes blow wide, her back arches so sharply that only her shoulders and hips are touching the mattress, and the sound that comes out of her mouth is raw and loud enough to make Rei flinch at the foot of the bed. Her hands fly up and grab your wrist, not to pull your hand away, but to hold it there. Her fingers wrap around your forearm and grip so hard you can feel her nails leaving crescents in your skin.

"Oh my god," she breathes, and her pussy clenches around you so hard your vision blurs for a second. "Oh my fucking god."

"Holy shit," Rei whispers from the foot of the bed. She's sitting forward, her eyes huge, her lips parted, her thighs pressed together. "That's so hot. That's so incredibly hot. Fuck her, daddy. Fuck her harder." You maintain the hand on Yujin's throat and pound into her, your hips relentless, each stroke driving so deep you can feel her cervix, feel the full length of you burying inside her again and again. Yujin's legs tighten around you, her heels locked behind your back, and she's pulling you into her on every thrust, her body working against her brain's protestations.

She's fighting it. You can see the battle playing out in real time on her face, the way she bites her lip, the way she squeezes her eyes shut, the way she tries to slow her own breathing. She's fighting the orgasm with everything she has, refusing to let it happen, refusing to lose. Her jaw is clenched so tight the muscles in her neck cord beneath your palm. "I'm not going to cum," she says through gritted teeth, but it comes out like a plea, not a statement. "I'm not. I refuse. I don't lose. I never lose."

"Cum on his cock, Yujin." Rei has crawled closer now, kneeling beside the two of you, her face flushed, her eyes bright with a wildness that wasn't there an hour ago. "Just let it go. It's going to be the best orgasm of your life. I promise."

"No." Yujin shakes her head against the pillow, her hair sticking to her face. "No, no, no, I'm not going to..." You hit the spot again. Hard. And hold there, grinding the head of your cock against that swollen ridge inside her while your thumb presses just slightly firmer against the side of her throat. Yujin's mouth opens. Her eyes go wide. Her hands fly from your wrist to the sheets, fisting the fabric.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck..." It pours out of her in a continuous, panicked stream, each repetition higher and more desperate than the last. Her hips are bucking up against you, meeting your thrusts with involuntary, frantic movements she's clearly not controlling anymore. The flush on her chest has spread to her face, her neck, her ears. "You're going to make me cum. Damn it. Damn it, you're going to make me cum."

"That's it," Rei breathes, leaning close to Yujin's ear, her hand finding Yujin's thigh and squeezing. "Cum for him. Make her cum, daddy. Fuck it out of her."

Yujin's body goes rigid beneath you. Every muscle locks. Her back arches, her thighs clamp around your waist like a vice, the orgasm hits her and her mouth opens in a scream that your hand on her throat compresses into a strangled, ragged moan, muffled but still audible, still raw, still the loudest thing in the room. You feel it around your cock, a violent, rhythmic clenching that squeezes you in waves, her entire body convulsing beneath you, her hips jerking against yours in uncontrollable spasms. Her eyes are squeezed shut and there are tears at the corners, not from pain, from intensity, from the sheer overwhelming force of what's ripping through her.

You release her throat.

The sound that erupts from Yujin is unholy. A full, unrestricted moan that tears itself from her chest and fills the room, followed immediately by a series of gasped, broken syllables that aren't really words anymore. Her hands fly to your arms, gripping your biceps, and her whole body starts shaking, genuine, full-body tremors that make the bed vibrate beneath you.

"You won." It comes out wrecked, barely intelligible. "Damn it. You won. Fuck. I can't take it anymore. Stop. I can't..."

But you don't stop. You keep the same pace, your cock driving into her still-spasming pussy, and the hypersensitivity hits her like a second wave. Her eyes snap open and they're unfocused, pupils blown, tears tracking down her temples into her hair. Her mouth moves but nothing coherent comes out for a few seconds, just gasps and whimpers and fragments of sounds.

"She can take it." Rei's kneeling beside Yujin with a grin on her face that borders on feral. "She's a slut. Keep going."

"No no no no, fuck, please." Yujin's head thrashes on the pillow, her nails dragging red lines down your arms. "Daddy, no. Please, daddy, stop. You're going to make me cum again if you keep going like this. I can't. My body can't. Please."

That's exactly what you want. You grab her thighs and push them wider, opening her up completely, and fuck into her with everything you have. Deep, hard, constant, targeting that same angle, that same spot, and Yujin's protests dissolve into a continuous, high-pitched moan that climbs in pitch with every thrust. Her hands grab at everything, your arms, the sheets, the pillow behind her head, the headboard. Her body is arching and writhing beneath you, completely out of her own control.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm cumming, oh god I'm cumming again, I can't stop it, it's happe—”

The second orgasm slams into her harder than the first. Yujin screams, a real scream, sharp and loud and broken, and her body bows off the mattress. You feel a sudden rush of warmth around your cock, slick and hot and forceful, and then you see it. She's squirting. A hard, pulsing spray that soaks your stomach, your thighs, the sheets beneath her. It just keeps coming, her pussy clenching and releasing in violent contractions around your cock, each one pushing out another warm jet.

Rei's eyes go enormous. For exactly one second, she stares. Then she moves.

Her hand shoots between Yujin's legs and two fingers find Yujin's clit, exposed and swollen and drenched, and she starts rubbing. Fast. Hard. Aggressive circles with her fingertips pressed flat against the sensitive nub, and the effect is immediate and devastating. Yujin's squirting intensifies, the spray arcing higher, soaking Rei's wrist and forearm, splashing against your abs. Yujin's screams have gone silent, her mouth open, her body locked in a sustained convulsion, only her heels and shoulders touching the bed.

Rei giggles, bright and delighted, watching the chaos Yujin is making with the same breathless fascination as someone mesmerized by a burst of fireworks. "Look at all of that. Look at her go. She's making such a mess." Her fingers don't stop, rubbing Yujin's clit with a relentless enthusiasm that borders on cruel, and every pass of her fingertips draws another gush from Yujin's trembling body. "Come on, Yujin. Give us more. I know you've got more."

Yujin's hand grabs Rei's wrist weakly, trying to push her away, but there's no strength behind it. Her body is spent, wrung out, every muscle exhausted from the sustained intensity of two consecutive orgasms. She's making sounds that aren't moans or screams but something in between, small, broken, hitching gasps, her chest heaving, her stomach flexing with each aftershock.

You pull out. Slow, careful. And as your cock slides free, one last jet of clear fluid pulses from Yujin's swollen, flushed pussy, splashing against your thigh before trailing down between her legs and pooling on the already ruined sheets. Rei finally pulls her hand away, her fingers glistening, and wipes them on the sheet next to Yujin's hip with a casual nonchalance that makes you shake your head.

Yujin lies there. Breathing. Trembling. Her legs are still spread, too heavy to move, and her arms are limp at her sides. Her hair is a dark, tangled mess across the pillow. Her skin is flushed from her face to her navel, blotchy and pink and damp with sweat. Her eyes are closed and her lips are parted and her chest rises and falls in deep, unsteady rhythms that gradually, slowly, begin to even out.

You lean down and press your lips to her cheek. Soft. Unhurried. You can taste the salt of her sweat on her skin. "Looks like I won."

Yujin's arms come up and wrap around your neck. She pulls you down against her, tight, her face burying into the crook of your shoulder. She's holding you like someone who just survived something, her fingers gripping the back of your neck, her body still trembling in small aftershocks against yours. The embrace is fierce and needy and completely at odds with everything she's projected since she walked out of that elevator. You let her hold on. You settle your weight carefully, not crushing her, and let her take what she needs.

Rei tilts her head, watching the two of you with a soft, teasing smile. "Look at that. Daddy softened up the bratty girl."

"Shut up," Yujin mumbles into your shoulder, but there's no harshness in it. There's barely any volume.

You pull away slightly, just enough to meet her gaze. Her eyes are open now, softer, different - no more sharpness. Just a stunned, wide look, like she’s still trying to piece together what just happened. Her lips are swollen and her mascara has smudged slightly at the corners of her eyes and she looks completely, thoroughly, beautifully wrecked.

She grabs the back of your neck with one hand and pulls you down into a kiss. Not teasing, not competitive, not calculated. Hard. Deep. Her mouth opens against yours and she kisses you with a hunger that tastes like surrender, her tongue pressing against yours, her teeth catching your lower lip. Her other hand comes up to cup your jaw, holding you there, and when the kiss finally breaks she doesn't let you pull away. She keeps your face close, her forehead against yours, and brushes her nose against yours. Once. Twice. An almost unbearably tender gesture from someone who, five minutes ago, was calling you every name in the book.

A small, mischievous smile curls the corner of her mouth. Her thumb traces your jawline. "That was the best orgasm of my life," she murmurs, her breath warm against your lips. "Motherfucker. Congratulations."

Yujin turns her head on the pillow and looks at Rei, who's sprawled out on her stomach beside you both, chin resting on her folded arms, looking entirely too pleased with herself. Yujin narrows her eyes. "You were way too harsh on me back there. The little bird has claws."

Rei shrugs one shoulder, not even a little apologetic. "It was really fun. And you had it coming."

"I had it coming?"

"You called me a slut like four times today."

"That's because you are one. But fine." Yujin's mouth twitches. Something almost warm passes through her expression. "I'm proud of you. You were vicious. I respect vicious."

"Thank you. I learned from the best."

"Damn right you did."

You shift onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow. "So. I won."

Yujin groans and presses the pillow over her face. Her response comes out muffled through Egyptian cotton. "Yes. You won."

"Which means you owe me a date. Both of you."

She pulls the pillow down just enough to glare at you with one eye. "You're going to complicate my life so badly."

"That seems fair. You two showed up at my apartment unannounced, broke up with me on behalf of my fake girlfriend, threatened me with a lawsuit, and then fucked me. I think one dinner is a pretty mild complication by comparison."

Yujin lets the pillow drop and stares at the ceiling. She exhales slowly, her chest still rising and falling a little faster than normal, the flush on her skin only now beginning to fade. "If Wonyoung finds out, Rei and I are done. Not just fired. Done. She's not the forgive-and-forget type."

"She really isn't," Rei agrees, but her tone is remarkably casual for someone discussing career annihilation. She traces a pattern on the sheet with her fingertip.

"I know she isn't," you say. "Wonyoung's petty. Always has been. She wouldn't care that she dumped me. She'd care that you two are seeing me, because in her head, everything that was hers stays hers. Even the stuff she threw away."

Yujin looks over at you, a subtle flash of surprise in her eyes, as though hearing her own thoughts echoed back in a way she didn’t expect. "That's... exactly right, actually. She'd do so much worse than fire us."

"I know. But she's not going to find out anytime soon. And if she does, I'll handle it. That's my problem, not yours." You hold her gaze. "I've dealt with petty rich people my entire life. I come from a family of them. I know how the game works."

Yujin chews the inside of her cheek, considering. She turns to Rei. "What do you think?"

"Yes!" Rei says instantly.

"Girl, I hadn't even finished the question."

"You were going to ask if we should go on the date. The answer is yes. I don't need to think about it."

Yujin squints at her. "Fifteen minutes ago you were a nervous intern who couldn't open the right briefcase. Now you're making life-altering decisions in half a second?"

"I've had a productive afternoon." Rei rolls onto her side to face both of you, tucking one arm under her head. "I thought I admired Wonyoung. Before I started working with her, I really did. She was this incredible, untouchable person and I wanted to be around that." She pauses, picking at a loose thread on the pillowcase. "Then I actually started working with her, and I saw how she treats people behind closed doors. The way she talks about them. The way she throws them away when they stop being useful." Her eyes drift to yours briefly. "My admiration kind of eroded after that."

The room sits with that for a second. Nobody fills the silence.

"Okay." Yujin pushes herself up on her elbows. "One date. Just one. To see how it goes." She points at you with a finger that still isn't entirely steady. "Don't get your hopes up. I just need to add some variety to my life. Everything's been work, Wonyoung, work, Wonyoung, repeat. A girl needs some seasoning."

"Noted. No hopes. Very low expectations."

"Extremely low. Rock bottom. Subterranean."

"Got it."

Yujin shifts her weight and her hand drifts down between you. Her fingers find your cock, still hard, still flushed and thick against your stomach, and she wraps around it loosely. She gives it a slow, lazy stroke, and then stops. She looks down at it. She looks up at you. "You didn't cum."

"Nope."

"How." It's not a question. It's an accusation. She strokes you again, slow, her thumb circling the head, and watches your cock twitch against her palm. "No guy has ever lasted through me riding them. I've broken every man I've been with. Every single one. And you just... sat there and flipped me over and kept going."

"I've always had good stamina." You fold your arms behind your head, casual, even though her hand on your cock is making it hard to project total nonchalance. "I can get pretty competitive sometimes. Especially when someone threatens to peg me."

Yujin's teeth catch her lower lip. She's trying not to smile and failing at it, a slow, reluctant grin spreading across her face that she absolutely cannot contain. Her hand keeps stroking you, absentminded, her fingers exploring your length and girth like she's cataloguing it for future reference. "I like that," she admits. "I like a guy who doesn't fold."

Rei yawns and stretches, her back arching, her body unfurling against the sheets. The movement is lazy but it draws your attention to every curve, every line, the fullness of her thighs, the soft weight of her breasts shifting as she moves. She catches you looking and doesn't shy away from it this time. "Anyway," Rei says, rolling her neck. "This is all very sweet, but I'm still really horny."

Yujin releases your cock and rolls her eyes so hard her whole head moves. "She's insatiable. One orgasm and she turns into a monster."

"Your fault. You brought me here."

"Fine. Since you're so worked up, go ahead and let him fuck your ass then."

Rei pauses. Looks at you. Looks at Yujin. takes one brief, unashamed look down and shrugs. "Okay."

You sit up slightly. "Hold on. I thought anal was too kinky and filthy. Your exact words."

"I changed my mind." Rei says this with the serene conviction of someone announcing they've decided to try a new restaurant. "A girl can change her mind."

Yujin barks out a laugh. "Please. She's always liked anal. The whole innocent act was bullshit. I knew it the second she said it." She gestures at Rei like a prosecutor presenting evidence. "Look at her. That angelic face. Those big brown eyes. That thick ass." She shakes her head. "Anyone with a functioning brain can see that girl loves a cock in her ass. It's practically tattooed on her forehead."

Rei blinks, and for the first time, she looks genuinely caught off guard. "Is it that obvious? Can people actually tell?"

"Rei. Babe. Everyone who has ever looked at you knows immediately."

"Everyone?"

"It's the combination. The sweet princess face and the body that won't quit. It broadcasts a very specific frequency." Yujin swings her legs off the bed and stands, still naked, still glistening faintly with sweat. "I'm getting the lube from the briefcase. Don't start without me."

She pads out of the bedroom on bare feet, moving with the easy confidence of someone who's entirely comfortable being naked in a stranger's penthouse. The view from behind is excellent. Her ass, round, full, juicy and still faintly pink where the sheets creased against her skin, disappears around the corner.

The second Yujin is out of earshot, Rei scoots closer to you. She puts a hand on your chest and leans in, her lips near your ear, she murmurs: "She called you daddy."

You look at her. "I caught that."

"While you were fucking her. Multiple times." Rei pulls back and grins at you, her nose scrunching. "She was begging. Actual begging. 'Daddy please, daddy no, daddy stop.' She's going to pretend it didn't happen."

"Probably."

"She likes to act all tough and unbothered, like nothing gets to her. But she loves being put in her place. She needs it." Rei taps your chest once with her index finger. "She's been waiting for a guy who wouldn't buckle. Every other guy she's been with folded the second she started pushing. You pushed back harder. That broke her brain."

"You figured all that out in one afternoon?"

"I'm observant." Rei smiles, and there's nothing shy about it anymore. "Also, she talks in her sleep during naps at the office. Very revealing stuff."

You hear Yujin's footsteps coming back down the hall. Rei immediately scoots to a respectable distance and adopts an expression of pure, guileless innocence. The transformation is so seamless it's almost frightening. Yujin rounds the corner holding a bottle of high-end lubricant. She tosses it onto the bed, where it bounces once and lands between Rei's knees. Her gaze flicks between the two of you, eyes narrowing.

"You were talking about me."

"We absolutely were not," Rei says, and she sounds so sincere that even you almost believe her.

Yujin stares at her for two full seconds, then decides she doesn't care enough to pursue it. She climbs back onto the bed and grabs Rei's shoulder, spinning her around. "All fours, little bird. Show's about to start."

Rei catches your eye one more time as she moves into position, and the look she gives you is quick and private and full of mischief. Then she turns, plants her hands on the mattress, and arches her back. Yujin pops the cap on the lube with her thumb. She squeezes a generous amount directly onto Rei's ass, a thick, clear line that drips between her cheeks, and then another dollop onto her own palm. She rubs her hands together, warming it up.

"This one heats up," Yujin says, spreading the lube across Rei's skin with slow strokes. Her fingers glide over the curve of Rei's ass, working the slick between her cheeks, coating everything thoroughly. "High-end stuff. Wonyoung's company card paid for it, so you know it's premium."

Rei shivers. Her back dips and her fingers curl into the sheets. "That feels really good. The warming thing is nice."

"Of course it does. You love being pampered." Yujin's thumb traces a slow circle around Rei's tight hole, spreading the lube, not pushing in yet. Just getting her used to the contact. "And your absolute favorite pampering is a thick cock in your ass. Isn't that right?"

Rei presses her face into the mattress and says nothing, which is an answer in itself. You lean back against the headboard, watching Yujin work. Her fingers are careful, attentive, making sure every inch is slick and warm. It's the kind of consideration that comes from actually giving a shit about someone, not from following a job description. "You don't seem like Wonyoung's biggest fan," you say.

Yujin doesn't look up from what she's doing. "Wonyoung is my boss. I do what she tells me to do. End of story."

"I don't know. Seems like there's more to it."

Her fingers pause on Rei's skin for just a fraction of a second. "Who are you, Sherlock Holmes?" She resumes, her thumb pressing gently against Rei's rim, applying just enough pressure to tease without entering. "Put the magnifying glass away."

"Just making conversation."

Yujin stays quiet for a few seconds. The only sounds are Rei's soft breathing and the wet, slick noise of lube being worked into skin. Then, without prompting, Yujin says, "We used to be closer. Me and Wonyoung. It wasn't always a boss-and-employee thing. There was more to it than that."

You wait. Don't push.

"If you're going to ask what happened, don't bother. Better question is what didn't happen." She squeezes more lube onto her fingers and slides one fingertip just barely inside Rei, who exhales slowly and pushes back against the intrusion. "I don't like talking about it. It's boring and depressing and I've spent enough energy on that woman for one lifetime."

The subject closes itself. You let it go. Yujin works her finger deeper into Rei with a patience that borders on surgical, rotating slowly, letting her adjust, and Rei's breathing gradually shifts from tense to steady to something that sounds a lot like enjoyment. She's rocking her hips back in small, barely-there movements, instinctive, chasing the feeling.

After a moment, Yujin speaks again. Quieter this time, her eyes still on her own hand. "Did you mean what you said earlier?"

"About what?"

"That I'm prettier than Wonyoung."

There it is. Past all the attitude, the sarcasm, the Theatrical indifference - this. A question she couldn't bury, surfacing again the moment she convinced herself enough time had gone by to make it seem offhand. "Yeah. I meant it."

"Why, though?" She adds a second finger alongside the first, scissoring gently, stretching Rei open. Rei whimpers into the mattress, her toes curling. "Wonyoung is one of the most beautiful women on the planet. That's not even an opinion. There are rankings."

“Rankings are bullshit.” You keep your eyes on her. “There’s something in your eyes, Yujin. The way you look at people, the way you talk, even when you’re being a pain in the ass. There’s a spark there. You feel… I don't know, alive? Present?” You pause, choosing your words. “Wonyoung’s stunning, yeah, but she’s like a photograph. Perfect, but still. You’re not. You’re always moving. That’s why it’s so hard to look away from you.”

Yujin's hand goes still inside Rei. For a couple of seconds she just stares at you, and something passes across her face that she doesn't manage to hide in time. Her throat bobs with a swallow. Then she blinks, resets, and the classic Yujin is back, smooth as ever. "Jesus Christ." She looks away, her mouth twitching. "You could've just said I'm hotter than her. You didn't need to write a whole TED Talk about my eyes."

"That too. You're way hotter than her."

"Obviously." She pulls her fingers out of Rei and wipes them on the sheet. The flush on her cheeks has nothing to do with exertion. She slaps Rei's ass with a crisp, ringing smack that makes Rei yelp. "She's ready. All warmed up and stretched. Now all that's missing is your dick."

Yujin turns to you, grabs your cock, and squeezes the bottle directly onto the shaft. The lube is warm, almost hot, and it runs down your length in thick rivulets. She strokes you with both hands, one twisting at the base while the other slides up and over the head, spreading the slickness everywhere, making sure every inch is coated. "You're not small," she says, matter-of-fact, her fist gliding up your lubed shaft. "So go slow or you'll break her."

"I'm right here," Rei says from all fours, looking back over her shoulder. "And I'm not fragile."

"Your ass is about to have a very different opinion on that."

Yujin gives your cock one final stroke, root to tip, and releases it. She wipes her hands on the sheets, already ruined beyond salvation, and scoots to the side, settling into a cross-legged position near the pillows with a clear sightline to the action. Supervising.

You move behind Rei. She's on her hands and knees, her back arched, her ass pushed up and out toward you. The lube is everywhere, glossy and warm, catching the light from the windows. Her hole is slick and relaxed from Yujin's prep work, pink and tight and glistening. You run one hand up the back of her thigh, over the swell of her ass, and she pushes back against your touch, eager.

You grip the base of your cock and press the head against her. The contact alone makes her tense, a reflexive clench that tightens everything, and you hold still. Just the tip against her, not pushing, letting the warmth of the lube and the pressure do the work.

"I'm going to start. Tell me if you need me to stop."

Rei nods. Her fingers are bunched in the sheets, her head hanging between her shoulders. "Go ahead."

You push forward. Gentle. Steady. The head of your cock presses against her ring and meets resistance, firm and tight, her body instinctively clenching against the intrusion. You hold the pressure, not forcing, just a constant forward push, and after a few seconds you feel her start to relax. The muscle yields, slowly, incrementally, and the head slips inside.

Rei sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth. Her back goes rigid and her knuckles go white in the sheets. She's impossibly tight around you, her ass gripping the head of your cock with a pressure that's almost painful, hot and slick from the lube but so constricting it takes genuine effort not to just shove forward.

"Breathe," Yujin says from her perch near the pillows. She's watching with her head tilted, clinical and attentive. "Don't tense up. Push out, not in. Let him in."

Rei exhales slowly. You feel the shift, a conscious relaxation that eases the grip around you just enough to move. You push another inch inside her and Rei's mouth falls open, a long, shaky exhale escaping her.

"How's it feel?" Yujin asks.

"Big," Rei manages. "Really, really big."

"I told you." Yujin looks at you. "Slower."

You give Rei a moment. Your hands rest on her hips, thumbs tracing small circles on her skin, grounding her. When you feel her body soften again, you push deeper. Another inch. The lube does its job, the warming sensation easing the slide, and Rei groans low in her throat. It's a sound of fullness, of being stretched in a way that walks the tightrope between too much and exactly enough.

"That's it," Yujin murmurs. "Keep going. You're doing great, little bird."

Another inch. You're halfway in now, and the tightness is unreal. Nothing like her pussy. This is a different kind of grip entirely, relentless and uniform, squeezing every millimeter of your cock with equal, crushing pressure. The heat is staggering. Rei's thighs are quivering, her breathing short and fast, and every tiny movement you make sends a visible tremor through her body.

"More," Rei whispers. "Keep going." You push deeper. So slow it's almost painful for you, the urge to thrust fighting against every ounce of restraint you have. The lube squelches obscenely as you slide further in, and Rei lets out a broken, stuttering moan that builds in volume the deeper you go. Her ass is swallowing you inch by inch, her body opening for you, and the visual alone, your thick, glistening cock disappearing into her tight little hole, her round ass pressed against your hips, is enough to make your pulse hammer in your ears.

"Almost there," Yujin narrates, leaning to the side to get a better angle. "About two inches left. She's taking it like a champ."

"I can feel every single inch of him," Rei says, and her tone is dazed, almost drunk. "Every ridge. Everything."

You push the last two inches in slowly, steadily, until your hips press flush against her ass. All of you. Every inch buried inside her. Rei's body shudders beneath you and she lets out a sound that's half gasp, half sob, her face dropping to the mattress, her fingers twisted in the sheets so hard the fitted corner pops off.

"There you go," Yujin says. "All of it. How do you feel?"

Rei doesn't answer right away. She's breathing in short, shallow bursts, her body adjusting to the fullness, the stretch, the sheer overwhelming presence of your cock lodged deep in her ass. You hold completely still, giving her time, and you can feel her pulse throbbing around you, fast and heavy.

Then she lifts her head. Turns to look at you over her shoulder and says: "I'm ready, daddy." Her hips push back against you, taking you deeper, and the moan that leaves her mouth is filthy and absolutely nothing like the girl who asked for a Coke two hours ago. "Please fuck your good girl's ass."

You pull back. Feel every inch of her gripping you as you slide out until just the head remains inside, her rim stretched tight around the thickest part of you. Then you push forward again, steady, controlled, and Rei's whole body sinks into the mattress as you fill her. Her fingers claw the sheets and a long, trembling moan pours out of her, muffled against the pillow, a sound that starts in the gut and doesn't stop until there's no air left.

She's perfect on all fours. Back arched deep, ass pushed up and round and full, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders and sticking to the sweat on her skin. Every slow thrust makes her body rock forward, her breasts swaying beneath her, her thighs trembling with the effort of holding position. The lube has made everything slick and warm and the friction is sinful, that impossible tightness squeezing you on every stroke, hot and constant and so good your jaw aches from clenching it. "Deeper," Rei breathes. Her hips push back against you, greedy, impatient. "Go deeper. I want all of it."

You give her all of it. Bottom out with a slow grind that makes her toes curl and her spine flex. She lets out a choked, guttural sound and her arms give out, her chest dropping to the mattress, face turned sideways, mouth open. "Fuck, your cock is so good in my ass," she moans, pushing back onto you, taking you deeper even though there's nowhere deeper to go. "It's so thick. I can feel you stretching me open. Every single inch."

Yujin is sitting cross-legged beside the two of you, close enough to touch, her chin propped on her fist. She's watching Rei with an expression that's somewhere between a proud older sister and a director reviewing her best actress's career-defining performance. Her eyes are bright, engaged, drinking in every moan and tremble with obvious relish.

"Look at you, little bird." Yujin reaches over and traces a single finger down Rei's spine, from the nape of her neck to the small of her back, and Rei arches into the touch. "All that 'it's too kinky and filthy' bullshit. Too kinky for her. Can't do anal. Absolutely not." She laughs. "And now you've got a fat cock balls deep in your ass and you're begging for more. You're a natural."

"I am," Rei pants, and there's zero irony in it. "I'm a natural. I love it. I love his cock in my ass."

"Tell him that. Don't tell me. Look at him and tell him how much you love it."

Rei cranes her neck to look back at you over her shoulder. Her lips are swollen, parted and there's a strand of saliva connecting her lower lip to the pillow. She looks absolutely ruined. "I love your cock in my ass, daddy." She pushes back against you again, a slow, rolling grind that takes you deeper. "Please don't stop. Please keep fucking me."

You grip her hips tighter and pick up the pace. Not fast yet, but firmer, more rhythmic, each thrust landing with a slap of skin that punctuates the wet, obscene sounds between you. Rei drops her head and moans into the mattress, long and loud and completely uninhibited, and her hands slide forward on the sheets, reaching for something to hold onto, finding nothing, her fingers just clawing at empty fabric. "Harder," she begs. "I can take it. I promise I can take it."

You give her harder. The pace builds gradually, your hips snapping forward with more force, more speed, and Rei starts making sounds you didn't know she was capable of. Deep, throaty moans that break into whimpers at the peak of each thrust, her body jolting forward with every impact, her ass rippling where your hips collide with it. The lube is doing its job beautifully, everything warm and slick, and the tightness of her ass around your cock is relentless, gripping you from every angle, so snug it's almost unbearable.

"Oh my god," Rei gasps, her fingers twisted in the sheets, pulling them off the corner of the mattress. "Oh my god, oh my god, I can't believe Wonyoung never tried this. She had this the whole time. She had this cock and she never even let you fuck her. She never even let you inside her."

"Wonyoung is a fucking loser," Yujin says, casual and absolute. She shifts closer to Rei, settling onto her knees beside her. "The biggest loser in this whole city. She had a man who could make two girls fall apart in one afternoon and she used him for photo ops."

Yujin brings her hand down on Rei's right ass cheek with a clean, sharp smack that echoes through the bedroom. Rei's whole body clenches, her ass squeezing your cock so hard you have to grit your teeth, and the moan she lets out is wild and broken and grateful.

"Say it," Yujin tells her. She leans close to Rei's ear, her hand resting on the reddening handprint she just left. "Say Wonyoung is a loser. A stupid rich girl playing pretend. Say it, little bird." Another smack, harder than the first. Rei's back arches violently and her hips jerk back onto your cock, taking you deep, her body spasming around you.

"Wonyoung is a loser," Rei moans, her face pressed into the sheets, drool pooling on the cotton. "She's a stupid rich girl who throws people away. She doesn't deserve him. She never deserved him."

Yujin's hand smooths over the red mark on Rei's skin, soothing, possessive. "Good girl. That's my girl." Her fingers trail down between Rei's cheeks, brushing the stretched rim where your cock is splitting her open, feeling the slick junction of the two of you. Rei whimpers at the added touch, pushing back against both of you. "Now say you're hotter than her. Say you're better. Say Wonyoung could never give a blowjob like you gave today. That prissy bitch wouldn't even know where to start."

You thrust harder into Rei, punching deep, and the sound that rips out of her is raw and savage and nothing a polite girl would ever produce.

"I'm hotter than Wonyoung!" Rei practically shouts it into the mattress, her hips bucking back against you. "I'm so much fucking hotter than her. She could never suck a dick like I do. She could never take a cock in her ass like I do. She'd tap out in thirty seconds. She doesn't have the range." Her head lifts, hair falling in sweaty tangles around her face, and her eyes are wild. "And I give better head. Way better. She probably just lies there like a starfish. I bet she's never even made a guy cum with her mouth. I could make him cum three times before she even figured out what to do with her tongue."

Yujin's face lights up with pure, unadulterated glee. She grabs Rei's chin and angles her face upward, looking into those blown-out, frenzied brown eyes. "That's my fucking girl. Don't you dare stop. You hear me?" She slaps Rei's ass again, a stinging crack that makes Rei's whole body seize. "Fuck that cock. I want to see your ass moving. Show daddy what you can do."

Rei plants her palms on the mattress and starts rocking back onto you. Hard. Aggressive. Her hips snap backward, her ass slamming against your pelvis with a force that catches you off guard, impaling herself on your cock with a desperate, single-minded hunger. She's not just taking it anymore. She's fucking herself on you, driving back into every thrust you give, meeting you in the middle, and the combined force of both of you sends shockwaves through her entire body. Her ass bounces against your hips, round and full and glistening with sweat and lube, and the wet, filthy slap of impact fills the room in a constant, accelerating rhythm.

"That's it," Yujin breathes, her eyes locked on where your cock is disappearing into Rei's ass over and over. "That's fucking it. Look at her go. She's a goddamn machine."

"Don't stop, daddy," Rei pants, slamming herself back onto you. "Fuck my ass. Use me. Use my tight little ass. It's yours. Everything is yours." You grab her hips and start meeting her pace with your own, thrusting forward hard every time she pushes back, doubling the impact. The collision of your bodies is brutal, wet, loud and Rei screams into the mattress, a sustained, guttural wail that breaks into stuttered gasps with each thrust. Her ass is clenching around you in frantic, involuntary pulses, so tight you can barely pull out before slamming back in.

"Harder," Yujin commands, and she's talking to both of you. Her hand comes down on Rei's ass again, a rapid series of slaps, one two three, each one drawing a sharp cry from Rei. "I want her stupid. I want her drooling. Fuck her brains out."

You grab a fistful of Rei's hair and pull her head up off the mattress, and what you see confirms that Yujin's already gotten her wish. Rei's face is a wreck. Her mascara has smeared into dark streaks beneath her eyes. Saliva trails from her lower lip to the pillow in a thin, glistening string. Her jaw is hanging open, slack, her tongue half out, her eyes rolling and unfocused. She's trying to say something but the only thing coming out is garbled, fragmented nonsense punctuated by moans that sound barely human.

"More," she manages, and even that single syllable comes out slurred and broken. "More more more more more."

"She's gone," Yujin says, and there's a kind of awe in her expression. "Her brain is completely fried. Look at her. She's drooling on your thousand-dollar pillowcase." She cups Rei's face in both hands, tilting it toward her, examining the damage with a grin that's equal parts cruel and affectionate. "Hey. Rei. What's your name? What year is it? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Rei blinks at her, unfocused. A string of drool stretches from her lip. "Fuck me," she whispers. "Just keep fucking me."

"That's not an answer to any of my questions, but I respect the commitment."

You increase the pressure. Each thrust is deep and hard and unrelenting, your cock driving into her ass with a force that pushes her entire body forward on the mattress, her knees sliding on the sweat-damp sheets. You pull her hips back onto you every time she slides away, keeping her pinned, keeping her full, and Rei has stopped trying to form coherent thoughts entirely. She's just noise now, raw and animal, her body shaking and clenching and trembling beneath you. You can feel it building in her. The way her muscles are tightening, the way her thighs are quaking uncontrollably, the way her ass is gripping you in rhythmic, desperate spasms that are getting shorter and faster and more intense. She's close. Her whole body is a coiled spring about to snap, every nerve ending firing, every muscle tensed to the breaking point.

Her fingers are white-knuckled in the sheets, her toes curled, her back locked in a rigid arch that presses her ass up against you as hard as her body can manage. The moans have gone high and thin and continuous, a keening sound that wavers with each thrust, building and building toward something massive. Yujin sees it too. She's leaning close, one hand still on Rei's face, the other resting on the small of Rei's back, feeling the tremors running through her. Her own breathing has quickened, her nipples hard, her thighs pressed together. She strokes Rei's hair, almost tender, and watches her unravel with hungry, fascinated eyes.

"She's about to blow," Yujin murmurs, looking up at you over Rei's quaking body. "Whatever you're doing, don't you dare stop."

Your hips keep their rhythm, steady and deep, your cock driving into Rei's ass with a force that shakes her entire body. Your balls swing forward with every thrust, slapping against her soaked pussy. Rei's face is buried in the mattress, her fingers twisted in the ruined sheets, her entire body trembling with a vibration that's getting worse, tighter, closer.

"I'm gonna cum," Rei chokes out, and her back arches so deep her stomach nearly touches the bed. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna cum like this. From my ass. I'm gonna cum from your cock in my ass, daddy."

"Cum for daddy." You grip her hips and drive deep, holding there, grinding against that spot deep inside her that makes her whole body clench and spasm. "Let go. Give it to me."

Yujin leans in close to Rei's face, her hand on the back of Rei's neck, fingers threaded through damp, tangled hair. "He said cum, little bird. You heard him. You're his good girl. You deserve this." She strokes Rei's cheek with her thumb, almost maternal, while her other hand reaches under Rei and finds her clit, swollen and slick, and presses down. "Cum for your daddy. He earned it. You earned it."

You pull back and slam forward, burying yourself to the hilt, and Rei's scream is instant and raw. You don't stop. You keep that depth, that angle, fucking into her with short, punishing strokes that never let the pressure drop, your balls slapping against her drenched pussy with every impact. Rei's thighs are shaking so violently her knees are sliding apart on the sheets, and Yujin's fingers on her clit are relentless, rubbing in tight, fast circles that make Rei's whole body jolt and twitch.

"I can't, I can't, I can't," Rei babbles, but her hips are pushing back against you harder than ever, her body chasing what her mouth is trying to deny. "It's too much, it's too much, I'm gonna—"

The orgasm tears through her hard. You feel it before you hear it, her ass clamping down on your cock with a crushing, rhythmic pressure that squeezes you in violent waves. Then the sound hits, a scream that starts in her chest and rips its way out of her throat, high and sharp and sustained, her entire body locking up beneath you.

Her back goes rigid, her toes curl so hard her feet cramp. She convulses against you, her hips bucking in frantic, involuntary jerks, and you feel a rush of wetness flood against your balls as her pussy clenches in sympathy, her whole body detonating at once.

"Yeah, cum," Yujin breathes, her fingers still working Rei's clit through the orgasm, extending it, dragging it out. "Cum like the little slut you are. That's it. All of it. Every fucking drop."

Rei's scream breaks into a series of sobbing, gasping moans, each one weaker than the last, her body shuddering through wave after wave of contractions that you can feel rippling along every inch of your cock. Her arms collapse and she goes flat against the mattress, twitching, her fingers opening and closing on nothing.

You slow down. Pull back, inch by inch, letting her feel every ridge of you as you slide out. Her swollen rim clings to you, stretched and pink and glistening, and when the head finally slips free, Rei's body sags into the mattress with a full-body shudder that runs from her shoulders to her toes.

Rei rolls over onto her back, and the sight of her is extraordinary. Her face is flushed scarlet, her makeup destroyed, mascara streaked in dark smears beneath both eyes. There's drool on her chin, trailing down her neck, and her lips are swollen and parted and curved into the stupidest, most blissed-out smile you have ever seen on a human being.

"This is the best day of my life," she mumbles. "Nothing will ever top this. I peaked. It's all downhill from here."

Yujin leans over her friend's wrecked face and licks a stripe up her chin, collecting the drool on her tongue and swallowing it without a shred of hesitation. Then she cups Rei's face in both hands and peppers her with quick, firm kisses, lips pressing against her cheeks, her forehead, the bridge of her nose, the corner of her mouth.

"You were incredible, babe,” Yujin says between pecks, and there's no sarcasm in it. None. Just genuine, unfiltered pride. "That was beautiful, Rei. You took it so well. You're amazing." Another kiss, on the lips this time, lingering. "My little bird."

Rei's stupid grin gets even stupider. "Thank you, Yujin… Thank you, daddy."

You lean down and brush a strand of sweat-damp hair off her forehead. "Don't thank me. That was all you. You were amazing."

Rei hums contentedly, her eyes drifting shut for a moment, basking. Yujin's gaze drops to your cock. Still hard. Still slick and flushed and thick, jutting up from your hips with an insistence that borders on unreasonable. She stares at it. "You still haven't cum."

"Nope."

"How is that physically possible? You just fucked her ass for..." She trails off, trying to calculate the timeline, and gives up. "A long time. You fucked both of us. Multiple orgasms. Squirting. Anal. And you're still hard."

"Girls cum first. That's always been my rule. I like making sure they're taken care of before I worry about myself."

Yujin's lips part slightly. "That's... actually really hot. You keep surprising me. I came here today expecting some spoiled rich kid who couldn't find the clit with a map and a flashlight. You're nothing like what I expected."

"Good surprises?" You ask.

"Really good surprises. Now wait here, both of you. Don't move."

Yujin climbs off the bed and walks out of the bedroom. You watch her lean figure disappear around the corner with her stride purposeful and quick.

Rei lifts her head. "Where's she going?"

No answer. Just the sound of the briefcase clicking open in the living room. Rei lets her head fall back against the mattress and turns to look at you. That loopy grin is still plastered across her ruined face. "I'm excited for the date," she says softly. "I already know what I'm going to wear. I have this dress that I bought months ago and never had a reason to put on."

"Yeah?"

"It's dark green. It makes my eyes look good." She rolls onto her side, facing you, tucking her hands under her cheek. "Yujin's going to pretend she doesn't care. She's probably going to complain the whole time about how we're being reckless and how it's a terrible idea. But she's excited too."

"You think so?"

"I know so. The way she looks at you." Rei pauses, searching for the right way to say it. "She found somebody who can actually keep up with her. Someone she can't bulldoze. She's been running over every guy she's ever been with, and she's bored of it. You pushed back. You didn't fold." She smiles. "She'll never tell you this, by the way. If you mention I said any of it, I'll deny everything."

Footsteps in the hallway. Yujin rounds the corner and walks back into the bedroom, and between her legs, strapped snug against her hips with black leather harnesses, is a silicone cock. It's not comically large but it's not modest either, a smooth, dark-colored shaft that bobs slightly with each confident step she takes.

Rei pushes herself up on her elbows. Her eyes go wide. "Oh. Holy shit."

Yujin stands at the foot of the bed, hands on her hips, looking like a general surveying a battlefield. "Time for the fatality." She slaps the strap-on once, letting it bounce. "Today is a day you are never going to forget, little bird."

"It's already extremely memorable, Yujin. I've already had two orgasms."

"This is just to make absolutely sure." Yujin climbs onto the bed, the strap-on jutting forward, and kneels behind where Rei is lying. "You need to cum with two dicks in your holes. Full completion. Hundred percent achievement unlocked."

Rei sits up, her expression oscillating between terror and excitement with a healthy dose of horny delirium mixed in. "You're going to kill me."

"You're going to die happy. And when it's all over, you can have an ice-cold Coke. Straight from the fridge. That's your reward."

Rei looks at Yujin. Then at you. Then at the strap-on. Then at your cock. She chews her lower lip, and something sparks behind those big brown eyes, something calculating and mischievous that looks remarkably like a trait she picked up from Yujin. "Fine," she says. "I'll do it."

Yujin nods, satisfied. "Good girl."

"But." Rei holds up one finger. "Only if we spend the night here."

"You've lost your mind," Yujin says flatly.

"We stay here tonight. Both of us. We leave tomorrow morning." Rei crosses her arms over her bare chest, and despite the fact that she's naked and covered in sweat and her makeup looks like a Rorschach test, she projects a surprising amount of authority. "Those are my terms."

"That's insane. We need to go back. We have schedules. We have obligations. Wonyoung's expecting a debrief."

"Wonyoung can wait until tomorrow. The debrief isn't going anywhere."

"I can make dinner for everyone," you offer. "I'm a good cook."

Yujin's head swivels toward you. "Of course you're loving this idea."

"I make a really good pasta. From scratch."

"Nobody asked about your fucking pasta!" Yujin exclaims.

Rei tilts her head at Yujin. "You want to stay. I can see it on your face."

"You can't see anything on my face."

"Your left eye twitches when you want to say yes but your pride won't let you. It's twitching right now."

Yujin slaps a hand over her left eye. Holds it there for a second. Drops it. Takes a breath that contains the weight of every professional boundary she's crossed today, which is all of them.

"Okay! Fuck it!" She throws both hands up. "The plan's already gone to hell. Everything's gone completely off the rails. We've violated about thirty company policies. Who cares anymore." She points at Rei. "Fine. We sleep here tonight. But I am going to make you regret this idea later. That's a promise." Rei beams. "Wipe that grin off your face and get on top of him."

Rei climbs over you and settles on your hips, straddling you. She looks back over her shoulder at Yujin, who's kneeling behind her, adjusting the straps on the harness. That victorious, shit-eating smile is still spread across Rei's face like she just won the lottery and the Nobel Prize on the same day.

Yujin meets her eyes and smiles back. It's not a warm smile. "I'm going to fuck that grin right off your face tonight, little bird. Enjoy it while it lasts."

You reach down and take your cock in hand, lining the head up with Rei's pussy. She's still soaked, swollen and sensitive, and when the tip presses against her entrance she shudders visibly, her thighs clenching around your hips. Behind her, Yujin squeezes a fresh line of lube along the strap-on and presses it against Rei's ass, the tip nudging her already stretched, tender hole.

"Ready?" Yujin asks, one hand on Rei's hip, the other guiding the silicone cock. Rei nods. Her hands are flat on your chest, her fingers spread, steadying herself. She takes a breath.

You push up. Yujin pushes forward. Simultaneously. Rei's mouth falls open but nothing comes out. Her eyes roll back, the brown disappearing behind her lids, and her entire body goes taut, every muscle locking as both holes are filled at once. Your cock sinks into her pussy, hot and tight and clenching, and you can feel the strap-on through the thin wall separating her holes, the hard ridge of silicone pressing against your shaft through her body. The fullness must be staggering. Rei's fingers curl against your chest, her nails biting into your skin, and a thin, reedy whine escapes her throat.

Yujin pushes deeper, slow and steady, one hand on the small of Rei's back. "Breathe, little bird. Open up for us."

You sink in further. So does Yujin. Inch by inch, together, filling Rei from both sides until your hips are flush against her ass and Yujin's thighs are pressed against the back of hers. Both of you completely inside her. The tightness is absurd, her pussy squeezed even tighter by the presence of the strap-on in her ass, gripping your cock with a pressure that makes your stomach clench.

Rei is frozen above you. Trembling. Her eyes are still rolled back and her mouth is open in a silent oval. She's not breathing. You put a hand on her cheek and she blinks, focuses, sucks in a ragged gasp of air like she just surfaced from underwater. "There you go," you murmur. "Breathe. We've got you."

Yujin leans forward, pressing her chest against Rei's back, and wraps an arm around her waist. "You're doing so well. Just relax. We'll go slow."

The three of you hold there, connected, waiting. Rei's breathing gradually steadies. The trembling doesn't stop but it changes, shifting from shock to anticipation. Her pussy clenches around you in slow pulses, testing, adjusting, getting used to the impossible fullness of being stuffed in both holes at once.

"Okay." Her hips shift, just barely, a tiny experimental rock that makes all three of you feel it. "You can start. Just... go slow." She exhales shakily. "I really hope I survive this."

You start to move first. A slow, shallow thrust upward into Rei's pussy, feeling the tight, slick grip of her around your cock, made even tighter by the strap-on filling her from behind. A second later, Yujin follows, pulling her hips back and pushing the silicone cock forward into Rei's ass with a careful, exploratory rhythm that's clearly out of practice.

"It's been a minute since I've done this," Yujin admits, adjusting her grip on Rei's hips, finding her angle. "I'm relearning the choreography. Bear with me."

Rei is between you, suspended, her chest against yours, her face buried in the crook of your neck. Every movement from either direction makes her entire body shudder. Her fingers are digging into your shoulders so hard you're going to have bruises tomorrow, and the sounds coming out of her are small and constant, tiny whimpers that pulse with every thrust.

"It's really intense," Rei manages, her lips moving against your collarbone. "Both of you at the same time. I can feel everything. Every inch of both of you. It's so much."

"Having second thoughts?" you ask, running a hand down her spine.

"No. Just... recalibrating." She shivers as Yujin pushes deeper. "It looks so much easier in porn. Those girls are just bouncing around like it's nothing. They lied to me."

"Welcome to the harsh reality of having two cocks in your holes," Yujin says, settling into a slow, steady rhythm. "Porn is propaganda, little bird. This is the real thing."

You and Yujin find each other's rhythm. It takes a few strokes, a couple of adjustments, a silent negotiation between your bodies that happens through Rei, but after a minute you're moving in sync. When you thrust up, Yujin pulls back. When you pull out, she pushes in. Rei is never empty, always full of one of you, and the alternating pressure is making her lose her grip on reality one thrust at a time.

You cup the back of her head and tilt her face toward yours. Her eyes are glassy, unfocused, her lips wet and parted. You kiss her. Your tongue slides against hers and she moans into your mouth, the vibration traveling through your chest. She kisses you back with a sloppy, desperate hunger, her teeth catching your lower lip, her tongue chasing yours, and when you pull away she tries to follow, whining softly when the distance opens between you.

"You're doing so well," you tell her, brushing your thumb across her cheekbone. "You feel incredible. Both holes squeezing me. I've never felt anything like this."

Rei's cheeks flush even deeper, which shouldn't be possible given how red she already is. "Really?"

"Really. You're unbelievable."

Behind Rei, Yujin leans to the side, admiring the view. She reaches down with both hands and spreads Rei's cheeks apart, watching the strap-on slide in and out of her stretched, lubed hole. The sight makes her bite her lower lip and push in harder on the next stroke.

"The little bird was truly born to take it in the ass," Yujin says with the conviction of someone stating scientific fact. "Look at this. It's art. Someone should put this in a museum."

Rei whimpers into your chest. "That's not a museum-appropriate activity."

"Everything is museum-appropriate if the curator is brave enough." Yujin gives Rei's spread ass a long, appreciative look, then lifts her gaze to yours. That mischievous spark is back in her eyes, brighter than before. "So. What do you think of your first threesome?"

You thrust up into Rei and feel her clench around you. "I'm having a great time. Really enjoying the company."

Yujin snorts. She actually giggles, a sound you didn't think she was capable of producing. "I genuinely can't tell if you're describing a threesome or a picnic in the park."

“I love picnics,” Rei mumbles into your shoulder.

Yujin lets out an incredulous breath. “Nobody asked you anything, Rei."

“Sorry,” Rei says quickly, shifting slightly, almost sheepish. “I just… really like picnics. With sandwiches.”

Yujin actually pauses, then exhales a short, disbelieving laugh. “I’m literally inside your ass right now,” she says flatly, “and you’re talking about sandwiches. My fake dick almost went limp.”

Rei winces faintly at that, her fingers tightening where they rest. “Sorry,” she murmurs again. “didn’t mean to kill the vibe.”

Yujin's face softens. She runs her palm up Rei's back, gentle, grounding. "I'm just teasing, babe." Then her hand comes down on Rei's ass with a sharp crack that makes Rei's whole body jolt. "Now moan for mommy, okay?"

Rei obeys. A long, unfiltered moan that starts in her belly and spills out hot and broken against your skin. Her pussy clenches hard around your cock, and you feel the pressure of the strap-on through the thin wall between her holes, the silicone pressing against your shaft from the other side. "Good girl," Yujin purrs. "Louder."

You pick up the pace from below. Your hips drive up with more force, more speed, and Yujin matches you, the two of you falling into a faster rhythm that has Rei gasping and writhing between your bodies.

She's pinned. There's nowhere to go, nothing to do but take it, and the realization seems to hit her all at once because her body goes slack against your chest and she just surrenders. Completely. Every muscle releases and she becomes soft and pliant and open, her hips rocking between you in small, involuntary movements, her moans coming on every exhale.

"There she goes," Yujin murmurs. "She stopped fighting it. Now she's just taking it."

"That's it, Rei." You grab her ass with both hands, spreading her, giving Yujin a better angle. "Just feel it. Let us take care of you."

"Both of you," Rei pants, and her hips grind down onto your cock with a needy, circular motion. "Both of you feel so good. I'm so full. I've never been this full in my life."

You thrust harder. Yujin matches you. The rhythm is faster now, the bed rocking beneath the three of you, the headboard tapping the wall in a steady beat. Rei is sandwiched between your bodies, skin against skin, sweat mingling, and every thrust from either direction makes her cry out. The sounds she's producing are raw and uncontrolled, a continuous stream of moans and gasps and fragments of words that don't connect into sentences.

"Come on, little bird," Yujin says, snapping her hips forward, driving the strap-on deep. "Take it. Take both of us. You wanted this. You asked for this."

"I love it." Rei's nails score lines down your chest. "I love both of you inside me. Please don't stop. Daddy, please don't stop. Mommy, please."

You grab Rei's face in one hand and make her look at you. Her eyes are barely tracking, rolling and glassy, her pupils blown so wide the brown is nearly gone. There's drool on her chin again, her mascara is a lost cause and she is the most beautiful wreck you've ever seen in your life.

"Who makes you feel this good?" you ask, thrusting up hard enough to make her whole body bounce.

"You do, daddy." She can barely get the words out between moans. "You and Yujin. Nobody else. Nobody has ever made me feel like this."

"That's right,” Yujin says. “And nobody else is going to."

Yujin increases her pace. She's gripping Rei's hips hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises, her own breathing getting heavier, her thighs slapping against Rei's ass with every forward snap. She leans over Rei's back, pressing close, her mouth near Rei's ear. "You're taking it so well, babe. Both holes stuffed full and you're still begging for more. You're our perfect little slut."

"I am," Rei sobs. "I'm your slut. Both of yours."

The three of you are moving together now, a single organism of tangled limbs and sweat and noise. You and Yujin have locked into a brutal, alternating rhythm, never letting Rei rest, never giving her a moment without one of you buried deep inside her. Your cock drives up into her pussy, thick and hard and relentless, while the strap-on fills her ass from behind, and Rei is caught in between, overwhelmed, overloaded, every nerve in her body firing at maximum capacity.

You feel her start to tighten. Not just her pussy, her whole body. Every muscle drawing taut, her thighs clamping against your sides, her fingers digging into your shoulders, her teeth sinking into the meat of your chest hard enough to sting. The moans are getting higher, tighter, more desperate.

"She's close," you tell Yujin.

"I know. I can feel her shaking." Yujin pounds harder, the strap-on driving deep. "Come on, Rei. Finish. Give us everything."

"I'm gonna cum." Rei's entire body is vibrating against yours, a fine, uncontrollable tremor that runs through her like an electrical current. "I can't hold it. Both of you are too much. It's too good. I'm gonna cum with both of you inside me."

"Then cum, babe," you tell her, grabbing her hips and driving up into her so hard she bounces off your pelvis. "Cum for us."

Yujin slams forward at the same time you do, and for one brutal, perfect second, Rei is completely filled from both sides at once. Maximum depth. Both holes stretched and stuffed and speared on cock.

Rei detonates. The orgasm is violent. Her body seizes above you, rigid as steel, and the scream that comes out of her is inhuman, a raw, tearing sound that doesn't stop, that just keeps pouring out of her throat as her body convulses. Her pussy crushes your cock in rhythmic, crushing contractions, so tight it's almost painful, and you can feel the strap-on jerking on the other side of that thin wall as her ass clenches just as hard.

She's shaking so violently that Yujin has to grab her waist to keep her from bucking off both of you, and wet heat floods around your cock as she cums so hard her body can't contain it, her juices spilling out around your shaft and running down your balls.

"Holy fuck," Yujin breathes, holding Rei steady, still buried inside her. "Holy fuck, she's still going."

Rei's orgasm keeps rolling, wave after wave, her body clenching and releasing in violent spasms that you feel through every inch of your cock. Tears are streaming down her face, mixing with the drool and the smeared mascara, and she's making sounds that have stopped resembling anything human, just raw, primal noise, her body expressing what her brain no longer can.

You and Yujin slow down together. Easing off. Letting the aftershocks ripple through her without adding to the overload. Yujin pulls out first, slow and careful, and Rei whimpers at the withdrawal, her body twitching. Then you ease your hips down, letting her feel you soften your rhythm to a gentle rocking, just enough contact to keep her grounded while the tremors gradually subside.

Rei collapses onto your chest. Completely boneless. Dead weight. She's breathing in ragged, hitching gasps, her whole body still twitching with aftershocks, and she doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Just lies there, draped across you, her face pressed against your neck, her heartbeat hammering so hard you can feel it against your own ribs.

Yujin unstraps the harness and tosses it off the bed. It lands somewhere on the floor with a thud. She lies down beside you both, propping herself on one elbow, and looks at Rei with something that transcends amusement and enters the territory of reverence.

"Rei. You alive?"

A long silence. Then, muffled against your neck: "I'm going to need a wheelchair from now on." Yujin laughs. "My legs don't work," Rei continues, her face still hidden. "My brain doesn't work. Nothing works. I'm broken. Both of you broke me."

"You're welcome,” Yujin says proudly.

Rei slowly, painfully, rolls off your chest and lands on her back beside you. She lies there spread-eagled on the destroyed bed, staring at the ceiling, chest heaving, body glistening. Every few seconds a residual shudder passes through her and she twitches, her thighs squeezing together involuntarily.

"Tell my Switch 2 I loved it a lot," she mumbles. "We had some amazing moments. Sadly, I won’t be finishing Pokopia..."

Yujin is grinning at Rei when you feel a hand on your jaw. She turns your face toward hers and kisses you. It's unexpected, and that's what makes it hit different. Her lips are soft against yours, warm and unhurried, and she kisses you like she's taking something for herself rather than proving a point. When she pulls back, her eyes are clear and steady. "Good job."

"You did pretty well yourself. Tag team of the century."

She grins, but it fades into something else. She leans close, her lips brushing the shell of your ear, her hand resting on your chest. Her breath is warm and her whisper is low enough that Rei can't hear it. "Can you make me cum again?" She traces a small circle on your chest with her fingertip. "I'm kind of obsessed with your cock. It's becoming a problem."

You turn your head and catch her eye. No guarded expression this time, just a lingering heat, a flicker of want, and something raw she isn’t covering up. "Of course I can,” you say.

Yujin grins again, grabs your hand and pulls you off the bed. Your feet hit the hardwood floor and she positions herself in front of you, standing at the edge of the mattress, her back to your chest. The late afternoon light is cutting through the floor-to-ceiling windows and painting gold stripes across her skin, across the lean lines of her shoulders and the sharp curve of her waist.

On the bed, Rei rolls onto her stomach and props her chin on her fists, settling in. Her legs kick up behind her, crossed at the ankles. "Go ahead. I'll just watch and enjoy the show."

Yujin glances back over her shoulder at Rei. "Didn't know you were into voyeurism."

"After today? Voyeurism is all I've got left." Rei shifts and hugs a pillow to her chest. "Everything else has been thoroughly explored. I'm retiring from active duty. Observer status only."

You put both hands on Yujin's waist. She's warm under your palms, her skin damp and smooth, and you can feel her pulse ticking fast beneath the surface. You pull her hips back against you, your cock settling between her thighs, sliding through the slick heat gathered there. She inhales sharply but doesn't move, letting you take the lead. You angle yourself and press the head of your cock against her entrance. She's wet. Embarrassingly wet, from everything she's watched and done and felt over the last however many hours this has been.

You push inside her. Slow. Steady. And Yujin exhales like she's been holding her breath since the last time you were in her, a long, shuddering sigh that drops her shoulders and tips her head forward. "I missed this," she murmurs. "It's been like thirty minutes and I missed this. That's pathetic."

You slide your hands up from her waist. Over the flat plane of her stomach, up her ribs, until your palms cover her breasts. They're full, firm and her nipples are stiff against your palms, and when you squeeze, gentle but possessive, she pushes back against you and takes you another inch deeper.

Your lips find the side of her neck. You kiss the spot just below her ear, then lower, along the tendon, tasting salt and perfume, and she tilts her head to give you more room. You mouth your way down to her shoulder, teeth grazing skin, and feel the goosebumps rise under your lips.

"You have the most incredible body," you tell her, squeezing her breasts again, rolling her nipples between your fingers. You thrust into her, slow and deep, and feel her clench around you. "Every single part of you. Your stomach. Your hips. These legs." You press deeper and she gasps. "You're so fucking hot it's hard to concentrate."

Yujin laughs, breathy and unsteady, her composure fraying at the edges. "You're so obsessed with me. It's borderline clinical."

"It's the truth. Why would I lie about it?" You pull back and push in again, a long stroke that fills her completely, and her laugh cuts off into a moan. "I've been with one woman for over a year and she never once made me feel anything close to what I feel when I'm inside you."

"Stop being smooth while you're fucking me. It's not fair. I can't think of comebacks."

"Then don't think." You start thrusting deeper. Not faster, just deeper, each stroke reaching further, grinding at the peak before pulling back. Yujin's head falls back against your shoulder, her hair spilling over your skin, and she stares at the ceiling with her lips parted and her eyes half-shut.

From this angle you can see everything. The way her throat works when she swallows a moan. The way her stomach clenches with every thrust. The way her hands hang at her sides because she doesn't know what to do with them, because she's given up trying to control the situation and she's just letting you have her.

"Damn… you’re fucking me so good," she says, voice low, stripped of anything but pure feeling. "You're hitting something in there that I didn't even know existed. How are you doing that?"

"Trade secret."

"Asshole."

"You two look really good together," Rei says, and her tone has a roughness to it that wasn't there a minute ago. "Like, unreasonably good. The height difference. The way she leans into you. The way your hands look on her body." She shifts again. "Maybe I'm more into this voyeurism thing than I thought."

Yujin moans, long and open, as you thrust particularly deep. "Enjoying the view, little bird?"

"Very much."

You keep fucking Yujin. Slow, measured strokes from behind, your hands exploring her body with a thoroughness that's making her squirm. Every time you squeeze her hip, she clenches around you. Every time you kiss her neck, she tilts into it. Every time you murmur something against her skin, her breathing gets shorter.

There's no pretense anymore. No competition, no performance, no score-keeping. She's just here, with you, feeling everything, and for the first time today she's letting herself have it without a fight.

"Wrap your arm around me," she says, quiet, tentative even. You slide your arm around her waist and pull her flush against your chest, and she makes a small, satisfied sound and reaches back to grip the back of your neck, holding you close. The position is intimate in a way that nothing else today has been. Your chest against her back, your arm around her, your cock buried deep inside her, the two of you moving together in the golden afternoon light.

After several minutes, the mattress creaks. Rei has gotten tired of watching. She pushes herself up, swings her legs off the bed, and stands in front of Yujin on unsteady legs. She's still flushed, still wrecked, still marked with the aftermath of everything that's happened to her body today, but there's a renewed energy in her eyes.

She steps close and cups Yujin's face in both hands. Yujin looks at her, surprised, and Rei kisses her, their lips meeting softly, tongues touching, Rei's thumbs stroking Yujin's cheekbones. When they part, Yujin's eyes are glassy. "Looks like the little bird got her strength back."

Rei smiles. "Watching you get fucked is like spinach. Instant recovery."

"Don’t ever let those words come out of your mouth around me again."

"Stop being so grumpy,” Rey says, then her mouth travels down. She kisses Yujin's jaw, her throat, the hollow of her collarbone. Her lips close around Yujin's left nipple and she sucks softly, her tongue flicking across the stiff peak. Yujin hisses through her teeth and her hand comes up to cradle the back of Rei's head, fingers threading through dark hair. You keep fucking Yujin from behind, your pace steady, and between the two of you she's starting to shake.

Rei kisses lower. Down Yujin's sternum, across her stomach, her lips tracing the faint lines of definition there. She drops to her knees between Yujin's thighs, looking up at both of you, and the angle gives her a perfect view of your cock sliding in and out of Yujin's pussy. "Let me help," Rei says, licking her lips.

You lift Yujin's left leg and place it on the edge of the mattress, opening her up. The new angle drives you deeper and Yujin gasps, grabbing your arm for balance. Her pussy is spread wide now, everything exposed, and Rei leans in and presses her tongue flat against Yujin's clit.

"Fuck—" Yujin breathes. "Oh, fuck."

Rei licks her in slow, broad strokes, her tongue running from where your cock enters Yujin all the way up to her clit and back down again. She's licking both of you, tasting Yujin's wetness and the slick coating your shaft, her tongue sliding along the underside of your cock every time you pull back. The sensation is staggering, Rei's hot, wet tongue dragging along your cock while Yujin's pussy grips you from every angle, and you have to lock your jaw to keep your composure.

"This is too fucking good," Yujin gasps, her head falling back against your shoulder again. "Both of you. Her tongue and your cock. It's too much. I can't handle this."

"You can handle it," you tell her, thrusting harder. "You're handling it right now."

"I'm barely surviving."

Rei focuses her attention on Yujin's clit, sucking it between her lips, flicking it with the tip of her tongue in quick, precise strokes. Her hands grip Yujin's thighs, holding her open, and every few seconds she dips down to drag her tongue along the stretched rim of Yujin's pussy where your cock is splitting her apart. The wet sounds are filthy and constant, Rei's mouth and your cock working together in a symphony of slick, obscene noise.

You increase your pace. Harder, faster, your hips driving into Yujin with a force that makes her whole body rock forward with each thrust. Rei adjusts, staying close, her tongue never leaving Yujin's clit. You grab Yujin's hip with one hand and her breast with the other, pulling her back onto your cock as you slam forward.

"I'm not going to last," Yujin pants. Her fingers are tangled in Rei's hair, pulling her closer, grinding her pussy against Rei's face. "Both of you at once is cheating. This is fucking cheating."

"Complain about it later," Rei says against her clit, the words buzzing against sensitive flesh, and Yujin's legs buckle for a second.

"Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god." Yujin's hand shoots back and grabs the back of your neck, nails biting into your skin. Her body is tensing up, that familiar full-body clench, every muscle drawing tight. "I'm close. I'm really close. Don't stop. Neither of you stop. Please, daddy, don't stop—"

You pound into her, relentless, your cock driving deep on every stroke. Rei sucks her clit hard, her cheeks hollowing, her eyes squeezed shut in concentration. Yujin is caught between the two of you, shaking, gasping, her body coiling tighter and tighter. "Cum for us," you growl against her ear. "Let go, babe."

Yujin cums. Her whole body seizes, her spine arching away from your chest, her mouth opening in a silent scream that hangs in the air for one eternal second before the sound catches up. A raw, shattered moan rips out of her, and then the flood. She squirts hard, a forceful spray that catches Rei directly in the face.

Rei flinches back, eyes flying open, sputtering. Her face is drenched. Her hair is drenched. She's blinking rapidly, mouth open in shock, Yujin's release dripping off her chin and running down her neck.

Yujin sees Rei's face through the haze of her orgasm and starts laughing. A breathless, broken laugh that mixes with her moans, her body still convulsing around your cock. "Oh my god. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, little bird. But your face right now..."

Another jet pulses out of her, arcing through the air and hitting Rei square in the chest, splashing across her breasts and running down her stomach. Rei looks down at herself, then up at Yujin, her expression caught between outrage and disbelief. "Yujin!"

"I can't control it!" Yujin is laughing so hard she can barely stand, her legs wobbling, her body still twitching through the tail end of her orgasm. "It just happens!"

You ease your pace, slowing to a gentle rocking, letting her ride the last waves. When you finally pull out, Yujin shudders one last time and exhales a breath that seems to empty her completely. She leans against you for a moment, catching her balance, then looks at Rei, who is kneeling on the floor absolutely soaked from the chest up.

Yujin's mouth twitches. "Okay. Since little bird got a surprise facial..." She pushes herself off you and lowers to her knees beside Rei, both of them on the floor in front of you. Yujin wipes a streak of wetness off Rei's cheek with her thumb and grins. "Let's finish the job properly."

Yujin's fingers wrap around the base of your cock. Rei's hand joins hers, overlapping, both of them stroking you in tandem. Their faces are inches from the head, looking up at you, and the visual alone almost does you in. "Look at these balls," Yujin says, her free hand cupping them, weighing them, rolling them in her palm. "So fucking full. You've been holding it in this whole time while you made both of us cum how many times? You're gonna explode. There's gonna be so much."

Rei runs her tongue along the underside of your shaft while Yujin strokes, a long, slow lick from base to tip that makes your thighs tense. "He deserves it. He's been so patient."

"Patient isn't the word. This man has the self-control of a monk." Yujin leans forward and takes the head into her mouth, sucking hard, her cheeks hollowing, tasting herself on you. She pulls off with a wet sound. "I can still taste my pussy on your dick. That's so hot."

Rei takes over, swallowing you deep, her throat opening around your shaft with that natural ease that made Yujin's jaw drop earlier. She holds there, her nose pressed against your pelvis, then pulls back slowly, a thick string of saliva connecting her lip to your cock. "You taste like both of us now."

They alternate. Rei goes deep while Yujin works the shaft. Then Yujin takes you in her mouth, sloppy and aggressive, while Rei dips lower and sucks your balls, taking one into her mouth, rolling it gently with her tongue. The combined sensation of two mouths, two tongues, four hands, all of it focused on your cock with a coordinated intensity that borders on worship, is pushing you toward the edge faster than anything has all afternoon.

"You two are so fucking good together," you manage, your hand finding the back of Yujin's head, your other hand tangled in Rei's hair. "The best mouths I've ever had. Nothing even comes close."

Yujin pulls off long enough to grin up at you. "Tell us more."

"Fishing for compliments with my dick in your mouth. Classy."

"Always." She runs her tongue in a circle around the head. "Now tell us how bad you want to cum."

"Pretty fucking bad."

Rei releases your balls and licks her way back up, joining Yujin at the tip. Both their tongues meet at the head, lapping at the sensitive ridge, their lips brushing against each other and against you in a wet, messy tangle that makes your abs clench hard enough to ache.

"Then cum for us, daddy," Rei says, looking up at you with those wide brown eyes that have no right to look that innocent given what her mouth is doing. "Please. We want it."

"We need it," Yujin adds, stroking you faster. "Cum on our faces. Give us what Wonyoung would never let you have." She spits on your cock and twists her fist on the upstroke, her grip tightening. "That prissy bitch would never let you cum on her perfect little princess face. Too messy. Too dirty. Too beneath her."

"But we're not her," Rei breathes, her tongue flicking across your slit. "We actually want it. We're begging for it."

"We're so much better than her." Yujin's pace increases, her fist pumping your slick cock fast and relentless. "We let you fuck our pussies raw. We let you fuck Rei's tight little ass. We let you do anything you want with us. Wonyoung could never."

"She could never," Rei echoes, sucking the tip between her lips briefly. "She doesn't deserve this cock. We do."

"So give it to us." Yujin's hand is a blur now, her wrist snapping on every stroke, your cock drooling precum that she smears across the head with her thumb. "Cum all over us. Paint our faces. We want to wear it."

Your grip tightens in both their hair. Your thighs are shaking. Your balls are drawn up tight and the pressure is building, building, a coiling heat in your lower stomach that's about to snap. Both of them are focused on the tip now, their tongues overlapping, licking, their lips kissing the head of your cock from either side.

"Cum, daddy," Rei whispers.

"Fucking cum," Yujin demands.

You break. The first rope hits Yujin across the bridge of her nose and her right cheek, thick and white and hot. She doesn't flinch. Doesn't close her eyes. Just keeps stroking, her fist pumping your cock through the orgasm, milking every drop. "More," she says. "Give us more. Don't stop."

The second shot catches Rei across her forehead and her left eye, which she squeezes shut just in time. It drips down her brow and along her cheekbone. The third hits them both, streaking across Yujin's lips and Rei's chin. You're cumming harder than you've ever cum in your life, weeks and months of pent-up frustration and loneliness and faithfulness to a woman who couldn't be bothered to break up with you in person, all of it pouring out of you in thick, pulsing ropes that keep coming and coming.

Yujin's hand doesn't stop. She keeps stroking, fast and tight, pulling every last drop from you while your cock throbs and kicks in her grip. "That's it. Keep cumming. Fuck, there's so much. Look at all of it, Rei."

Rei is a mess. Her face is glazed with it, white streaks across her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, dripping off her chin onto her chest. She opens her good eye and looks up at you with that stupid, blissed-out grin. Your cock pulses one more time, a final weak spurt that lands on Yujin's collarbone, and then you're done. Empty. Completely and thoroughly spent.

Yujin smiles up at you. Her face is covered. It's in her eyelashes, across the bridge of her nose, on her upper lip. She looks like a glazed donut and she couldn't look more satisfied about it. "Amazing… And to think I'm getting paid for this."

Rei scoops a thick line of cum off her cheek with two fingers and slides them into her mouth, sucking them clean. She considers the taste for a moment, like a sommelier evaluating a vintage, and nods approvingly. Yujin runs her tongue across her upper lip, collecting what's gathered there, and swallows.

You sit down on the edge of the mattress. Your legs feel like they've been deboned. You lean back on your hands and let out a breath that comes from somewhere deep in your chest, somewhere that's been clenched tight for months. "That was fucking awesome."

"The best part," Rei says, still kneeling on the floor, still dripping, "is that we're sleeping here tonight. So we can do it again later."

Yujin groans from the floor. "Do we really need him? What if he's a serial killer? We don't know this man."

Rei looks at her flatly. "I just let the serial killer cum on my face, Yujin."

Yujin purses her lips. Opens her mouth. Closes it. "You have a point."

You lean forward and offer both of them a hand up. "How about a bath? I've got a tub big enough for three."

"You made the mess," Yujin says, taking your hand and pulling herself to her feet. "You clean it up." She touches her hair and her fingers come away sticky. "There's cum in my hair. This is a two-hundred-dollar blowout."

"I'll wash it for you."

"Damn right you will."

—

A few hours later, the penthouse feels calmer. Golden daylight has slipped into a cool evening blue, and the city beyond the windows begins to glow.

Yujin is in your kitchen. She's wearing your shirt, a white oxford that hangs to the top of her thighs, the hem just barely covering the curve of her ass, which peeks out whenever she reaches for anything above counter height. Her legs are bare, her hair is damp from the bath and starting to curl at the ends, and she's got your wireless headphones clamped over her ears.

She's singing, her hips swaying as she opens the freezer and pulls out a tub of ice cream. Her bare feet pad across the kitchen tile and she grabs a spoon from the drawer, scooping out a bite and eating it while she sings between mouthfuls.

"Hey, Miss Sun, what can I say?" She twirls the spoon between her fingers, bobbing her head. "I tried to hold you, but the moon got in the way..." She does a little spin, sliding on the tile in her bare feet, and catches herself on the counter. "It won't be long before the morning has you back in my arms—"

The music cuts out. Her phone buzzes on the counter, the screen lighting up. She glances at it and the spoon freezes halfway to her mouth.

Jang Wonyoung

Yujin sets down the ice cream. Pulls off the headphones. Takes a breath. Answers. "Hey, boss."

Wonyoung's tone comes through tinny and sharp, even from across the room. Yujin leans against the counter and examines her nails while she listens.

"Where are you two? You've been off the grid all day. I tried calling Rei three times."

"Yeah, sorry about that. Rei hurt her ankle. Fell down some stairs on the way out of his building." Yujin picks at a cuticle. "That girl doesn't look where she's going. I keep telling her. She just spaces out and trips over everything."

"Is she okay?"

"She's fine. It's just a mild sprain. I took her back to her apartment to keep an eye on her. We'll probably be in tomorrow."

A pause on the other end. "How did it go? Everything run smoothly?"

"Smooth as silk. Textbook operation. Contract signed, obligations fulfilled. All wrapped up."

"Did he cry?"

A flicker of tension pulls at Yujin’s jaw before she smooths it over. “No,” she says, light as ever.

"Seriously?" Wonyoung sounds genuinely annoyed. "He should have cried. I expected at least some tears. I would have cried."

"I think he wanted to. He was definitely holding it back. Didn't want to cry in front of two girls, you know? Fragile masculinity. Big ego, small emotional range. The usual."

"Men..." Wonyoung sighs with the weariness of someone who has never once been inconvenienced by her own behavior. "How was the sex?"

"Everything went according to plan. He was satisfied by the end. No complaints. No resentment. Mission accomplished."

"Perfect. Great work, Yujin. Now we just have to wait about six months." Wonyoung's tone shifts into something brighter, more animated, the sound of someone admiring their own strategy. "The breakup's going to generate tons of attention. Everyone loves a fallen romance. Sympathetic press for me, speculation, mystery. And then in six months, we get back together. Reconciliation arc. The public eats that up. Engagement numbers will be through the roof."

Yujin stares at the far wall. "Sounds like you've got it all figured out."

"I always do. Just keep the documents safe. I want everything on my desk tomorrow."

"Of course. You can count on me, boss."

"I know I can. Goodnight, Yujin."

"Goodnight."

The call ends. The screen goes dark. Yujin stands there for a moment, phone in hand, staring at nothing. Then she puts the headphones back on. The music starts again, Miss Sun picking up where it left off. She grabs the ice cream tub and turns toward the hallway. On her way past the kitchen trash can, she glances down.

Inside, sitting on top of crumpled paper towels, is a small pile of ashes. Gray and black and still faintly warm. The edges of a few charred paper fragments are still visible, corners of thick, expensive legal stock, the kind used for contracts that were meant to be kept in briefcases and filed in offices and presented to bosses who think they run the world.

Yujin takes a bite of ice cream and looks at the ashes for a long, satisfied moment.

“That bitch has no idea what’s coming,” she murmurs around the spoon.

On the right, the friends the girls had chosen over a decade. Managers, stylists, a few fellow idols who had slipped in under the radar, people who knew enough to keep their mouths closed and their blessings loud.

In the front row, alone on the right side, sat Soo-ah.

She wore a simple pale lavender dress that brushed her knees, hair curled softly, a small jasmine corsage at her wrist. She looked both like a bride’s sister and like something more important: the keeper of the story that had led everyone here. Her hands were folded around a small bouquet of white tulips that YN had given her that morning with a quiet kiss to her forehead.

The officiant stood beneath the jasmine arch. An old friend of YN’s from his early music days. Now a registered officiant with laugh lines deep enough to hold decades. He held a simple leather folder and kept glancing toward the sliding glass doors that led from the living room to the backyard.

Music drifted out first.

A piano version of Playing with Fire, slowed and turned tender, played through small speakers hidden behind pots of hydrangeas. A nod to their past lives, rewritten for today.

Everyone rose.

The glass doors slid open.

YN stepped out first.

He wore a simple black suit, no tie, white shirt open at the throat. He had insisted on that part. No choking collars today. His dark hair was threaded now with more silver than two years ago, temples streaked in a way that only made him look more solid. More real. He held a single jasmine blossom pinned at his lapel.

He walked slowly down the aisle and took his place beneath the trellis.

For a heartbeat he closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of jasmine. He could almost see Min ji’s bare feet in the grass, hear her laughing at how nervous he looked.

Look at you, she would have said. Such a handsome idiot. Do not faint. It is bad for the photos.

His mouth twitched.

He opened his eyes as the living room doors parted again.

The song shifted into a gentle medley. A quiet thread of Rosé’s voice in the instrumental, recorded secretly weeks ago when she had locked herself in the basement studio and told no one what she was making.

They came out not in a line of hierarchy, but together.

Four hands held the edge of the sliding door for a second like they were bracing themselves, then released.

The first to step into the light was Jisoo.

She wore a satin dress in soft ivory, the neckline clean and simple, the skirt falling in a straight elegant line to her ankles. Her hair was twisted into a loose low bun, a few dark strands framing her face. She carried a small bouquet of jasmine and pale pink roses. Her eyes were already shining.

Beside her walked Rosé.

Her dress was similar in cut but with a slightly softer drape, the fabric catching the light with each step. Her honey blonde hair fell in waves down her back, a few jasmine flowers tucked above her ear. She carried white lilies mixed with eucalyptus, the greens a gentle contrast to her flushed cheeks.

Behind them, in perfect, unplanned synchronicity, came Lisa and Jennie.

Lisa wore a dress that hugged her figure at the waist before flaring slightly, slit just high enough to let her move with her usual easy stride. Her dark hair was long and straight, a single jasmine tucked at the nape of her neck. She clutched a bouquet of orchids, bright and playful. Beside her, Jennie’s dress was minimalist, almost severe in its clean lines, but softened by the soft wave of her hair and the tiny diamonds at her ears. Her bouquet was made of white peonies, full and lush.

They did not come one by one.

They came in pairs, then all four, walking down the aisle like the universe had decided that the rules of weddings could be rewritten for them.

The murmur of guests faded. The music seemed to quiet, even as it played.

YN felt his chest pull tight.

He had seen them in every state. Sweaty in practice clothes. Half asleep in his kitchen. Crying into his chest on the basement floor. Laughing on his couch with soju flushed cheeks. But now, walking toward him in ivory and flowers and sunlight, it hit with a different weight.

This is real.

This is happening.

They reached him and took their places in front of him. Two on each side, then shifting instinctively until they made a loose half circle, all facing him.

The officiant cleared his throat, smiling.

“I will admit,” he said, voice gentle, “in all my years doing this, it is my first time marrying one man to four women. But when I look at you all together, I see something I recognize. Not a spectacle. A family.”

A soft ripple of laughter moved through the guests, easing some of the tightness in the air.

He continued.

“Today is not about what the world thinks is normal. Today is about what you know in your bones is right. You walked into this backyard over and over again, each time leaving a little less lonely than when you arrived. You cooked together. Fought together. Cried together. You healed here. And you chose each other. That is what we are honoring today.”

He looked at YN.

“YN. Do you have vows you would like to say?”

YN had not wanted something written. He had tried, pen hovering over paper for nights, but nothing felt like it fit. In the end he had folded the blank sheet and thrown it away. Today, looking at them, he was glad he had.

He took a breath.

“I used to think,” he said slowly, “that I had used up all my chances at happiness before I hit thirty. That I had ruined my life and someone else’s and that the rest of my days were just… atonement. When Minji died, I thought that was part of what I deserved. To be alone. To raise Soo-ah and make sure I did not pass on any of the worst parts of me. To cook dinners for two and pretend the silence did not swallow me at night.”

Four faces watched him. Behind them, Soo-ah’s shoulders shook once.

“Then you started showing up,” he said, looking at each of the girls in turn. “Loud. Hungry. Tired. Laughing. You invaded my kitchen, my studio, my weekends. You brought noise into rooms that had forgotten the sound of it. You let me teach you how to flip a pancake without burning it. You let me listen when the world was too heavy. Somewhere along the way, without asking permission, you made me want to live again. Not just exist.”

He swallowed, eyes blurring for a second, then focused on Jennie.

“Jennie. You taught me that strength is not pretending you are not scared. Watching you walk through this world with your armor up and still choosing to trust me with the soft parts… that is one of the biggest honors of my life. I promise to be the man who will always step between you and the things that try to hurt you. I will never ask you to be less than you are. Only to lean on me when the crown feels too heavy.”

Jennie’s lower lip trembled. A tear escaped, tracking down her cheek. She did not wipe it away.

He turned to Lisa.

“Lisa. You remind me what joy looks like when it moves. You crash into rooms like a storm, hug first and ask later. You made it impossible for me to keep walls up. You make me laugh when I forget how. I promise to give you a place you can always come back to, no matter how far you roam. A couch to crash on. A bed to steal all the blankets in. Arms that will hold you when the lights go down after the loudest show of your life and you just need to be someone’s girl, not everyone’s idol.”

Lisa sniffed hard, eyes shining, a watery grin breaking through.

He looked to Rosé.

“Rosie. You carry your heart in your songs even when you think you are hiding it. You let me hear the parts of you that never make it to the radio. You trusted me with your unfinished melodies and your doubts. I promise to listen. Really listen. To your music, to your silences, to the things you do not know how to put into words yet. I will be your safe place to fall apart and the arms that help you put yourself back together.”

Rosé bit down on a sob, shoulders shaking, tears spilling freely now as she clutched her bouquet a little tighter.

Then Jisoo.

“Jisoo. You have spent so long being composed, the unshakable one everyone leans on. You showed me the parts of you that are tired. That want to rest. That want to be held and told it is okay to step back. I promise to be your quiet. To be the place where you do not have to smile if you do not feel like it. I will protect your peace, even from the parts of you that think you are only worth something if you are performing.”

Jisoo’s lashes clumped with tears. She let them fall, making no move to hide them.

YN drew a slow breath.

“And to all four of you together,” he said, voice rough, “I promise to never take what you are giving me for granted. I promise to be honest, even when it is ugly. To communicate. To listen when you are jealous, or scared, or hurting. To hold your hands, one by one or all at once. To show up. To cook too much food. To be the man you can be proud to say you chose. I am not perfect. I never will be. But every day you give me, I will spend trying to be worthy of this life we are building.”

He fell quiet.

The officiant gave the girls a small nod.

“Would the four of you like to speak?”

The plan had been for one or two to say something short.

Instead, Rosé stepped forward first, eyes red, voice shaking a little but clear.

“When I first came to this house, I thought it was just a place with good food and a comfy couch,” she said, sniffing. “Then I realized it was more. It was a place that smelled like jasmine and garlic and safety. YN, you made me feel seen without asking for anything back. You never looked at me like a product. You looked at me like a person who could be tired, or silly, or wrong. You gave me a space to write songs that were not designed for charts but for my own heart. I promise to keep bringing my messy drafts to you. I promise to be there when your past feels heavy. To remind you that you are not that man anymore. To sing with you in the kitchen until we burn the toast.”

Soft laughter rippled through the guests, breaking some of the tension.

Lisa stepped up next, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“You know me,” she said, lips wobbling. “I joke. I tease. I climb you like a jungle gym. But it is because when I hug you, I feel ten again. Safe. Not judged. Not performing. Just… me. You never told me to calm down or act more ladylike. You just told me to take my shoes off before I ruined your floors. When the tour offer came and I thought I would drown in the pressure, you did not tell me what to do. You told me you would be here whether I went or stayed. That kind of steady? I did not know I needed it until you. I promise to keep making you laugh when you get too serious. I promise to send you dumb dance videos from whatever city I am in. And I promise to come home. Always.”

She looked like she might crumble, but Rosé squeezed her elbow, steadying her.

Jisoo stepped lightly forward.

“I have played a lot of roles,” she said quietly. “Funny unnie. Responsible member. Good daughter. Good sunbae. With you, I learned I can be just… Jisoo. The girl who likes bad jokes and worse puns. The woman who sometimes wants to drop all the expectations and just breathe. You looked at me like I was enough even when I was doing nothing. I promise to bring you bad jokes for the rest of our lives. To make sure the house is always stocked with snacks. To pull you away from your guilt when it tries to drag you under. And to let you hold me when mine tries to do the same.”

Finally, Jennie.

She took a breath like she was steadying herself before a stage she could not see past the lights.

“I have a hard time trusting people,” she said, voice low but strong. “Everyone wants something. Everyone has an angle. That night in Gangnam, when you pulled over and stepped out of the car without even thinking twice, you could have gotten hurt. You did not care. You just saw someone in danger and moved. Later, you did not make it a big thing. You just checked if I had eaten and waited in your car until my lights turned on. You have never used it against me. Never made me feel small for being scared. That is when I started falling. I promise to be honest with you even when it is ugly. To tell you when I am jealous or spiraling instead of punishing you for it. I promise to protect what we have from anyone who tries to cheapen it. Including parts of myself that still think I do not deserve this.”

The officiant cleared his throat quietly, suspiciously shiny eyed.

“Do you,” he said, looking at YN, “take these four women, each of them, as your partners? To love, to honor, to support and to cherish, in whatever ways you all agree, for as long as this love lives?”

“I do,” YN said, without even a moment of hesitation.

“Do you,” he asked, turning to the girls, “take YN as your partner? Do you promise to communicate, to respect each other in this unusual shape of family you are choosing, to love him and each other with honesty and care?”

Four voices answered in overlapping harmony.

“I do.”

Soo-ah’s breath hitched audibly from the front row.

The rings were not traditional either.

No perfect matching set.

Instead, they had decided months ago, giggling over samples at the kitchen table, to choose something that fit each of them.

First, YN took Jennie’s left hand. Slid a slim band of white gold with a tiny black diamond flush in the center onto her ring finger. Strong. Understated. A secret only visible up close.

He turned to Lisa next. Her ring was a simple yellow gold band with a tiny engraving of a smiley face on the inside where only she would feel it. She laughed wetly when she slid it on and saw the engraving, shoulders shaking.

Rosé’s was rose gold, thin and delicate, with microscopic notes etched along the side. A bar of sheet music, the notes forming the beginning of the melody she had written for today.

Jisoo’s was platinum, clean and straight, but with a tiny jasmine flower engraved on the inside curve. She traced it with her thumb when she felt the cool metal slide home.

Then, together, they each took a simple band from the padded box on the small table.

One by one, they slid them onto YN’s finger. Four slim bands of different metals that stacked together. Gold from Lisa. White gold from Jennie. Rose gold from Rosé. Platinum from Jisoo.

Not identical.

But together, they made something new.

The officiant smiled.

“By the power vested in me by the government that does not technically recognize this but can mind its own business,” he said, earning a low rumble of laughter from both sides, “and by the love you have all clearly chosen, I pronounce you… a family.”

He closed his folder.

“You may kiss your… husbands, wives, each other. Just do it quickly before the parents faint.”

Laughter broke the tension entirely.

They did not choreograph it. Had tried, then given up, deciding to let it happen.

Unsurprisingly, Lisa moved first.

She lunged forward and kissed YN square on the mouth, both hands on his cheeks, laughter tickling at the edges of the kiss. He kissed her back, one hand on her waist.

When she pulled back, Rosé leaned in, slower but no less sure. Their kiss was soft, lingering, tasting of tears and jasmine. She whispered something against his lips that only he heard.

Jisoo stepped closer, hands light on his shoulders, kissing him with a tenderness that made something in his chest ache.

Jennie waited until last again.

She took his face in her hands, kissed him with a quiet intensity that promised tonight would not be quiet at all. When she broke away, her thumb swiped at the wetness at the corner of his eye.

For a moment, beneath the jasmine trellis, it was just them.

Four women, one man, all of them holding some piece of each other.

The applause washed over them like a tide.

Soo-ah was on her feet before anyone else, hands clapping, tears streaming freely down her face and a grin wide enough to split it.

He caught her eye over the heads of the girls crowding him, mouthed thank you.

She shook her head, mouthed back you are welcome.

The reception was not some grand hotel ballroom.

It was their backyard.

Long wooden tables set under string lights, simple white plates, food brought in from the places that meant something to them. The tiny pojangmacha where YN used to sneak off at twenty three. The Thai place Lisa swore tasted closest to home. The brunch café Rosé loved. The family restaurant in Gunpo that Jisoo had taken them all to once on a rare free day. The bakery in Cheongdam that still sent Jennie birthday cakes no matter where in the world she was.

There was no seating chart.

People found their own places. Parents mingled cautiously at first, then, after a few glasses of wine and seeing how happy their children looked, relaxed.

Lisa’s mother pulled YN aside halfway through the meal. Her eyes were damp but clear.

“Take care of my daughter,” she said, voice thickly accented. “She is big on stage but small in here.” She tapped a finger to her own chest.

“I know,” he said softly. “I promise.”

Rosé’s father gripped his hand hard, English lilting. “You seem like a good man,” he said. “Unusual situation. But my girl smiles different when she is here. That is enough for me.”

Jisoo’s mother was more reserved.

“This is not what I ever pictured for my daughter,” she admitted. “But then, I did not picture her standing on stages in front of tens of thousands either. She has always chosen her own path. She looks… peaceful. I cannot argue with that.”

Jennie’s mom hugged him wordlessly. When she pulled back, she patted his cheek like he was nineteen.

“You saved her twice,” she said quietly. “Once in that alley. Once from herself. Take care of her stubborn heart. It matches yours.”

The girls stole him back whenever they could.

Jennie dragged him to the side of the yard near the jasmine trellis for photos, insisting on at least one where he kissed her forehead.

Lisa made him dance, badly, to an old 2NE1 song playing from the speakers. She laughed until she had to wipe her eyes again.

Rosé sang.

Not on a stage.

Standing on the grass with a cheap wired microphone they had dug out of a cupboard, her guitar slung over her shoulder. She sang the song she had written in the basement studio, the one she had almost been too scared to show anyone.

This time the lyrics were complete.

Verses about jasmine and midnight soju and a man who learned to forgive himself.

The chorus about choosing a love that did not fit in any neat box but fit perfectly around their bruised hearts.

By the time she finished, YN was not the only one clapping through tears.

Later, long after the food had been picked over and the parents had begun to stand and stretch and hug and make their way toward taxis and quiet streets, the five of them slipped away.

Not upstairs.

Not yet.

To the basement studio.

It felt right, ending the night where so much had begun.

The fairy lights cast a soft glow over the mixing console, the worn leather couch, the rug where they had once sat in a knot of limbs and tears and heavy confessions.

Now, they stood facing each other.

Suits and dresses. Rings catching the low light.

Soo ah had gone to sleep two hours earlier, insisting she would be fine alone, that she had a midterm next week and needed to actually rest sometime between all this history. She had paused at the top of the basement stairs though, turned back and said:

“Do not be too loud. I have an exam. And we have neighbors.”

Her grin had made a liar of her scolding.

In the studio, no one spoke at first.

Lisa finally broke the quiet, rocking back on her heels.

“So,” she said softly. “We really did it.”

Rosé let out a shaky laugh. “We are all legally still single, technically, but emotionally very much not.”

Jisoo touched the jasmine engraving on her ring, idly. “The government cannot handle us. Their loss.”

Jennie stepped into YN’s space, fingers pressing against his chest just above his heart.

“We get to go home with you,” she murmured. “No drivers. No early call times. No managers waiting in vans. Just… us.”

He lifted his hands, one settling at the small of her back, the other reaching out for whoever wanted to take it.

They all did.

For a moment there was nothing complicated about it.

Lisa’s fingers twined with his left hand, thumb stroking the back of it.

Jisoo slid her smaller hand over his knuckles, their rings clinking softly.

Rosé stepped in behind Lisa, pressing her chest to YN’s arm, cheek against his shoulder.

Jennie leaned into his front, forehead resting against his collarbone.

They stood there, in the heart of the house that had heard their worst and best, wrapped around each other.

No cameras.

No curated version.

Just five people who had decided the world’s rules did not get the final say on their happiness.

Tears came again.

Quieter this time.

Relief more than anything.

YN bent his head, pressing his lips to Jennie’s hair.

“Thank you,” he whispered, voice rough. “For choosing me. For choosing this. For giving me a second life.”

Jennie sniffed, laughing a little. “You are stuck with us now, old man.”

Lisa lifted her head, smirking even as her eyes shone. “We are going to ruin your back. And your sleep schedule.”

Rosé hummed softly. “We will also stretch with you and make you tea, so it balances.”

Jisoo smiled, slow and sure. “We will grow old together. That is the point.”

He looked at them.

Saw his past, his present, his impossible future.

Four women who had walked into his kitchen one weekend and slowly dismantled every wall he had learned to live behind.

He tightened his arms.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let us go home.”

They went upstairs together.

—

The master bedroom had never looked like this before.

Soft lamps glowed from either side of the bed, their shades turned down low so the light washed the room in warm gold instead of harsh white. The windows were open just enough for the jasmine-scented air to drift through the curtains. On the dresser someone, probably Soo-ah, had left a small vase of white blooms and a handwritten card that simply said:

Do not break the bed.

Love,

Your favorite child.

Rosé laughed when she saw it, her hand flying up to cover her mouth.

“I am framing that,” Lisa said, already kicking off her heels one by one, toes sinking into the thick rug.

They were all quiet in that particular way that comes after a long, perfect day. Happy. Drained. Deliciously dazed.

The room felt smaller with all five of them inside it, not cramped, just deliciously full. The bed dominated one wall, a broad, solid thing that had seen too many lonely nights. Tonight the crisp white sheets were turned down neatly, the soft gray duvet folded halfway back. The sight of it made something hot and possessive twist deep in YN’s gut.

He had slept here alone for so long that his body still expected emptiness.

Now four breathtaking women in ivory silk and soft perfume stood barefoot on the same rug, looking at him like he was their favorite meal.

For a second he forgot how to breathe.

Jennie noticed first.

She stepped close, reached up, and popped the top button of his shirt open with nimble fingers. Her nails grazed his skin.

“Breathe,” she murmured, voice already husky. “You look like the one about to be ruined tonight.”

He let out a rough laugh, tension bleeding away.

“I kind of am,” he admitted. “First time as your husband.”

“Well,” Lisa grinned, wiggling her toes deeper into the rug, “you did good for our husband.”

Rosé moved to the window, brushing the curtain aside to glance at the glittering city lights below. When she turned back, her hair spilled over one shoulder and her eyes were soft and hungry.

“We are really here,” she whispered. “No cameras. No guests. Just us… and this bed.”

Jisoo had already drifted to the bedside table, absently straightening the lamp, fingers trailing over the wood. She looked up at him with that calm, knowing smile.

“We should get out of these dresses,” she said, laughter dancing at the edges of her voice, “before Lisa rips hers trying to do a cartwheel.”

“Hey,” Lisa protested, eyes sparkling, “I only do cartwheels when I am trying to get fucked.”

The words snapped the last thread of ceremony. The room filled with easy, filthy laughter and the rustle of fabric as they moved.

They slipped into the adjoining bathroom two at a time. Giggles floated out, the hiss of zippers, soft curses when hooks caught, and one sharp yelp from Lisa followed by Rosé’s bright laugh.

“You are stepping on the train, you clumsy slut.”

Outside, YN sat on the edge of the bed and worked his tie loose, then shrugged off his jacket. He unlaced his shoes slowly, watching his own hands, heart pounding with a new kind of hunger.

He had been nervous during the vows.

This felt different. This was the raw need to claim and be claimed by all four of them at once.

He was still in his shirt and trousers when the bathroom door opened.

Jennie stepped out first, barefoot, wearing nothing but a tiny cream camisole and matching shorts that barely covered the curve of her ass. The thin cotton clung to her nipples, already hard and poking against the fabric. She climbed onto the bed without hesitation, settling on her knees between his spread thighs, palms sliding up to rest high on his legs.

“Hi, husband,” she purred.

His cock twitched at the word.

“Hi, wife.”

Jennie’s thumbs traced slow circles dangerously close to his growing bulge. “You okay?”

“Getting harder by the second.”

Behind her the others emerged.

Rosé wore one of his old white t-shirts and nothing else. The hem barely reached the tops of her thighs; every time she moved he caught a flash of smooth, bare pussy. Lisa had on a tight ribbed tank that hugged her perky tits and tiny cotton shorts riding high enough to show the bottom curve of her ass cheeks. Jisoo wore a pale beige silk slip that skimmed her full breasts and hips, the thin straps slipping slightly off her shoulders.

They crawled onto the bed around him like hungry cats.

Rosé curled against his right side, pressing her soft tits against his arm, one bare leg sliding over his. Lisa sprawled on his left, knee up, thigh draped possessively over his lap so her warm core pressed against his hip. Jisoo knelt at the foot of the bed between his legs, hands resting on his thighs, eyes dark with intent. Jennie stayed right where she was, straddling one of his thighs now, slowly rocking her barely-covered pussy against the muscle there.

For a long moment they simply breathed each other in.

Then Jennie leaned in and kissed him, deep and filthy from the start. Her tongue slid into his mouth, tasting of champagne and pure want. He groaned into her, one hand fisting in her hair while the other grabbed a handful of her ass and squeezed hard.

Rosé’s small hand slipped under his shirt, nails raking lightly down his abs. “We waited all day for this,” she whispered against his neck before sucking a mark just below his jaw.

Lisa nipped at his earlobe, then licked the shell of his ear. “Gonna ride you so good tonight, oppa. All of us.”

Jisoo’s fingers worked open his belt and zipper with calm precision. She tugged his pants and boxers down just enough to free his thick, heavy cock. It sprang up, already leaking at the tip, veins pulsing. Jisoo wrapped her elegant fingers around the base and gave one slow, firm stroke.

“Fuck, look at him,” she murmured, voice low and reverent. “So hard for his wives already.Do I have to mention about his size?”

Heat flooded his body. Four sets of hands, four mouths, four perfect bodies all focused on him.

Jennie broke the kiss only to pull her camisole over her head, freeing her full tits. Her dark nipples were tight and begging. She cupped them, offering them to him. He leaned forward and sucked one into his mouth, tongue flicking roughly while his hand pinched the other. Jennie moaned, grinding her soaked pussy harder against his thigh, leaving a wet streak on his pants.

Rosé tugged his shirt open, buttons flying. She kissed and licked down his chest, teeth grazing a nipple before she continued lower. When she reached his cock, Jisoo kindly held it upright for her. Rosé licked a long, slow stripe from balls to tip, then swirled her tongue around the head, tasting the precum beading there.

“Mm, so sweet,” she hummed.

Lisa shimmied out of her tiny shorts, revealing her smooth, glistening pussy. She climbed higher, straddling his chest facing away from him so her ass was right in front of his face. “Eat me while they suck you, husband.”

He did not need to be told twice. He grabbed her hips and pulled her back until her dripping cunt covered his mouth. He licked broad and messy, tongue fucking into her tight hole before sucking hard on her swollen clit. Lisa cried out, grinding down on his face, her juices coating his lips and chin.

Jisoo and Rosé took turns sucking his cock. One would deep-throat him until her nose pressed against his pelvis while the other licked and sucked his balls. They passed him back and forth like a toy, spit dripping down his shaft, making wet, obscene sounds that filled the room.

Jennie watched for a moment, then straddled his hips properly. She reached down, lined his cock up with her soaked entrance, and sank down in one slow, greedy motion. Her tight, velvet pussy swallowed every inch until her ass rested against his hips.

“Fuck… so full,” she gasped, head falling back.

She started riding him hard, tits bouncing with every slam of her hips. The wet slap of skin on skin mixed with Lisa’s moans as he ate her out and the wet slurping sounds from Rosé and Jisoo worshipping his cock and balls whenever Jennie lifted up.

They rotated.

When Jennie’s thighs started shaking, Lisa took her place, bouncing on his cock with wild energy, her ass clapping loudly against him. Rosé climbed onto his face next, grinding her sweet pussy against his tongue while Jisoo sucked on her tits.

Jisoo was last. She rode him slow and deep, rolling her hips in sensual circles, letting him feel every ripple of her inner walls. Her silk slip was pushed up around her waist, tits spilling out of the top as she fucked herself on him with perfect control.

They took turns riding his cock, his tongue, his fingers. Sometimes two at once: Jennie on his dick while Rosé sat on his face. Sometimes all four of them touching him, kissing him, marking him with teeth and nails.

He lost count of how many times they came. Jennie first, screaming his name as her pussy clenched and gushed around him. Then Lisa, squirting messily all over his stomach while she rode him like a woman possessed. Rosé came with a broken sob, thighs trembling around his head. Jisoo milked him with slow, devastating rolls of her hips until she shattered, whispering filthy praises in his ear.

Finally, when he could not hold back any longer, they knelt around him, faces close, tongues out, hands stroking him fast and tight.

“Cum for us, husband,” Jennie ordered, voice wrecked.

“Fill our mouths,” Rosé begged.

“Paint your wives,” Lisa grinned.

Jisoo just squeezed the base of his cock and leaned in to suck the head.

He came with a guttural groan, thick ropes of hot cum shooting across their beautiful faces and tongues. They moaned and licked it up, sharing messy, cum-covered kisses, swallowing every drop they could reach.

Afterward they collapsed in a sweaty, sticky, satisfied tangle.

Rosé curled half on his chest, one leg thrown over his thigh, her cum-smeared lips brushing his nipple. Lisa draped herself over his side, fingers lazily playing with his softening cock. Jennie tucked under his chin, one leg hooked over his, her pussy still leaking his cum onto his hip. Jisoo lay along his other side, arm across his stomach, their wedding rings glinting together in the low light.

The room smelled of sex, jasmine, and pure bliss.

He pressed soft kisses to each of their heads, tasting salt and cum on their skin.

“My wives,” he whispered into the dark, voice rough with exhaustion and love.

Four soft, contented murmurs answered him.

—

By the time the jasmine bloomed again, the house on the hill had changed in ways no one could have predicted.

It started, like most big things in that home, quietly.

Rosé was the first.

It was a chilly morning in late autumn, two years after the wedding. The kitchen smelled like coffee and toasted bread, the usual Saturday orchestra of clinking mugs and soft music humming from the living room speakers.

YN stood at the stove in sweatpants and a white tee, flipping eggs with the ease of a man who had cooked breakfast for too many people for too many years. Jennie sat at the island scrolling through her phone, hair up in a loose bun, Yoo-hoo, look at this tone of half distraction. Lisa was perched on the counter, legs swinging, trying to dip her toast directly into the pan until he smacked her hand away with a spatula. Jisoo leaned against the fridge sipping coffee, eyes still heavy with sleep, smiling at the chaos.

Rosé had not come down yet.

At first no one thought much of it. She was often the slowest in the mornings if there had been a late studio night.

But when YN called up the stairs for the third time and got only a faint, muffled answer, something in his chest tightened. He turned off the stove and wiped his hands.

“I will check,” he said.

He pushed open the bedroom door to find Rosé sitting on the edge of the bed, still in an oversized gray tee, hair a tangled halo, elbows on her knees, staring at the floor.

“Hey,” he said gently, stepping in. “You okay?”

She looked up at him, eyes wide in a way that made her seem younger for a second. There was a white stick in her hand.

He knew what it was before he saw it properly.

His heart stuttered.

“I… I did not feel right,” she said, voice small. “Late. Tired. I thought it was just… tour stress. Jet lag. But Jess unnie made a joke yesterday about me eating like a pregnant woman and I…”

She held the stick out with trembling fingers.

He sat beside her, the mattress dipping. The little plastic window was impossible to misread.

Two clear lines.

Bold. Sure.

Positive.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

He felt his throat tighten. Old memories hit with surprising force: the sterile smell of the clinic two decades earlier. The grainy black and white of Soo ah’s first ultrasound. The knot of terror and awe.

Those days had been wrapped in so much guilt that he had not given himself permission to really feel the joy. He had been too busy wondering if he deserved any of it.

Now he looked at Rosé. At the fear and hope warring in her eyes. His own hand shook a little when he reached out to curl his fingers around hers.

“How do you feel?” he asked quietly.

“Scared,” she whispered. “Happy. Really… really happy. But scared. I have schedules. Tours. The label will freak out. The fans… I do not know. And you… the others…”

“Hey.” He squeezed her hand, firm. “We will figure that out. Together. The label, the fans, all of it. You are not alone in this. And me?”

He swallowed, letting the truth swell in his chest until it had to come out.

“I am happy,” he said. “So happy it hurts. If you want this, if we choose this… I am here. Every step.”

Her lower lip trembled.

“Really?” she asked. “You are not… overwhelmed? You already raised one. Now there is four of us and…”

He laughed, soft and a little shaky.

“I am definitely overwhelmed,” he admitted. “But in the best possible way.”

Tears spilled over her lashes.

He pulled her into his arms.

She folded against him, forehead pressed into his shoulder, her breath hitching once, twice before settling into a pattern between laughter and sobs.

They sat like that until the door burst open without a knock.

“Yah, did you two elope without us? Breakfast is getting cold,” Lisa announced, then stopped dead when she saw Rosé’s face and the way YN’s arms were wrapped around her.

Jennie and Jisoo were right behind her, peering over her shoulder.

“What is wrong?” Jennie’s voice sharpened instantly. “Who do I have to kill?”

Rosé turned in YN’s arms, still clutching the test in one hand. Her cheeks were wet, but she was smiling now. Small. Disbelieving.

“I am pregnant,” she said.

The room froze.

Even the air stilled, somehow.

Lisa’s mouth fell open.

Jennie’s eyes went huge.

Jisoo’s coffee cup wobbled in her hand before she set it very carefully on the dresser.

“Pregnant,” Jennie repeated, like she had never heard the word before. “Like… with a baby.”

Lisa made a small strangled sound that might have been an attempt at a cheer, then half tripped over her own feet in her rush to cross the room. She flung herself down beside them and wrapped both arms around Rosé’s shoulders from the other side.

“A baby,” she said into her hair. “Our baby. Oh my god.”

Jennie sat down on the floor at their feet, as if her knees would not hold her. Her hand, almost on instinct, moved to Rosé’s stomach, though there was nothing visible yet.

“How far along?” Jisoo asked, voice soft but clear, perching on the other side of the bed.

“I do not know,” Rosé sniffed. “A few weeks maybe? I only realized I was late last night.”

She looked up at YN again, searching.

His gaze was steady.

“We will see a doctor,” he said. “Today if we can. We will do this properly.”

Lisa’s eyes were wet now too, tears spilling down even as she laughed.

“I am going to be the hottest aunt in Seoul,” she declared, then corrected herself quickly. “No, wait, we are not doing that aunt thing. I am going to be… what are we?”

Jennie let out a small watery laugh.

“Moms,” she said. “We are going to be moms.”

The word hung in the air like a new constellation.

Moms.

Rosé burst into fresh tears, nodding, half laughing, clutching the test and YN’s shirt like lifelines.

Jisoo’s hand settled gently over Jennie’s on Rosé’s belly.

“Then let us be good ones,” she said simply.

—

The months that followed rearranged their world in the gentlest, most relentless way.

The first ultrasound was an exercise in controlled chaos.

The five of them squeezed into the small room, four women and one man clustered around the examination table, Rosé in a hospital gown, bare stomach slick with cold gel. The obstetrician, a middle aged woman with kind eyes and the resigned air of someone who had seen every possible shape of family, barely blinked at the crowd.

“As long as no one faints,” she said dryly, “you are all welcome to stay.”

Her English was clear enough that Rosé’s parents, on a video call propped up against the wall, understood too. Their faces filled the small phone screen, beaming from a different hemisphere.

The grainy toll of the machine filled the room as the probe slid across Rosé’s skin.

Then there it was.

A flicker.

A small, pulsing light on the screen.

“That is the heartbeat,” the doctor said. “Healthy. Strong.”

The sound came a second later, a rapid whoosh whoosh whoosh that filled the space like a secret revealed.

Rosé covered her mouth with her hand, shoulders shaking.

Lisa’s hand found YN’s and squeezed so hard his fingers popped.

Jennie blinked rapidly, tears spilling anyway.

Even Jisoo, who had seen lives being made into stories on scripts for years, looked undone.

YN stared at the screen until it blurred. His own heart raced in his chest in time with the small one.

He remembered standing in a room like this once, terrified he would not be enough.

This time, the fear was still there, but it was balanced by something else: four other adults whose hands he could feel on his skin, on Rosé’s arm, on each other.

They walked out of the clinic that day a little dazed.

On the sidewalk, under a pale blue sky, Lisa suddenly grabbed Rosé’s free hand and lifted both their arms.

“Baby’s first sky,” she announced.

Rosé laughed, wiping her eyes. “She cannot see it.”

“Or he,” Jennie said.

YN looked at them. At Rosé holding the little black and white sonogram printout like a holy object. At Jennie already googling prenatal vitamins on her phone. At Lisa bouncing on the balls of her feet as if she might burst with excitement. At Jisoo steady, already mentally color coding schedules for check ups and rest days.

He felt something unclench deep inside him.

They would make it work.

They did more than make it work.

They built a new rhythm.

Schedules were rearranged. Secret meetings were held with labels and managers and PR teams. There were negotiations and compromises and at least one heated argument in a conference room where YN, very calmly, told an executive that if they tried to push Rosé on a world tour in her third trimester he would personally see that every detail leaked to the press.

He did it politely.

Firmly.

The message was received.

The fandom found out in little bursts and then all at once, as they always did. There were think pieces and hashtags and opinion wars. But there were also oceans of congratulatory messages, fan art of tiny jasmine crowned babies, trending tags celebrating “Rosie’s baby” and “Appa YN.”

At home, the baby grew.

So did the house.

—

The room that used to be a rarely used guest room on the second floor became the nursery. Over the span of a month, the white walls turned a soft pale green. A crib was assembled in the middle of the room after a three hour battle with instructions in four languages and Lisa trying to use a screwdriver as a drumstick. A mobile of little stars and clouds hung from the ceiling, each one a different pastel color, chosen half by aesthetics and half by who got to the display first.

Bookshelves appeared, filled with picture books in Korean, English, Thai, and the occasional one in French that Jisoo insisted on because “it sounds pretty, they do not have to understand it yet.”

The jasmine vines outside the nursery window bloomed early that spring, as if in anticipation.

They decided not to know the sex ahead of time.

“Too many opinions,” Jennie said, wrinkling her nose at the thought of everyone projecting pink or blue onto a person not even born yet. “She or he or will tell us when they are ready.”

Instead, they called the little life “Bean.”

Bean kicked for the first time during a quiet evening in the basement studio.

Rosé sat on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table, head resting on YN’s thigh while he absentmindedly combed his fingers through her hair. Jennie sprawled on the floor with a notebook, scribbling lines. Lisa and Jisoo were going through a folder of old demo tracks.

Rosé suddenly went still.

“Wait,” she said, eyes going wide.

Everyone looked up.

She pressed a hand to the curve of her stomach, now clearly rounded under her oversized tee.

“Bean?” Lisa asked, already half off the couch.

“There,” Rosé whispered. “Something… moved.”

She grabbed YN’s hand and pressed it to the same spot.

At first he felt nothing.

Then, faint but unmistakable, a little thump against his palm.

Like a knock from the inside.

His breath caught.

“Hello,” he said softly, words aimed at the curve of her belly. “I am your dad. We are a lot. Sorry in advance.”

Lisa laughed, then pressed her own hand in next to his, crowding.

“Let me feel, let me feel.”

Jennie crawled up onto the couch, joining the cluster, her hand layering over his.

Jisoo watched for a moment, expression melting into something that made her look very young and very old at once, then moved closer and rested her fingers on the other side.

The baby kicked again.

Louder this time.

All four women erupted into a hush of delighted sounds. Gasps, soft curses, laughter.

“You feel that?” Rosé asked, tears in her eyes.

“Yes,” YN said.

He had never believed in second chances from the universe.

But the universe, apparently, did not care what he believed.

It gave him one anyway.

When the time finally came, it was in the middle of the night in June.

The jasmine scent was heavy in the air through the open windows, the heat settled and humming. Everyone was home, for once: schedules aligned, flights delayed, a minor miracle of timing.