♠

The roar of the crowd still echoed in Jihyo’s ears long after the final encore lights had dimmed. Los Angeles had been electric tonight—fifty thousand ONCEs screaming their names, waving lightsticks in perfect waves of pastel pink and white. The “This Is For” World Tour stop at SoFi Stadium had been one for the history books, another sold-out night in a run that was already shattering records for K-pop girl groups in North America.

Backstage, the usual post-concert chaos reigned. Staff hurried with equipment cases, stylists touched up makeup for final photos, and the members laughed and hugged, adrenaline still pumping. Jihyo, ever the leader, made her rounds—complimenting Nayeon on her ad-libbed high note during “I Can’t Stop Me,” teasing Chaeyoung about the confetti still stuck in her hair, and checking that Mina had iced her ankle properly after all those sharp choreo turns. Her voice was hoarse from singing and hyping the crowd, her shoulders burned from the weight of the harness during the aerial sections, and her legs felt like jelly after hours in heels.

By the time she slipped into a black SUV with tinted windows, Jihyo was running on fumes. She’d changed into a simple oversized hoodie, leggings, and a baseball cap pulled low—her standard “don’t recognize me” disguise for rare moments of freedom in a foreign city. The members were heading back to the hotel for rest and recovery before tomorrow’s flight, but Jihyo had asked for a few extra hours. Management wasn’t thrilled, but after ten years of this life, they knew when their leader needed space.

She met Hye-jin at a quiet Korean café in Koreatown, a late-night spot that stayed open for homesick expats and idols passing through. Hye-jin was an old friend from trainee days who’d moved to the States years ago for university and now worked in entertainment law. They hugged tightly at a corner table, the scent of doenjang jjigae and fresh kimchi wrapping around them like comfort.c923c7

“Unnie, you were incredible tonight,” Hye-jin said, eyes sparkling as she poured Jihyo a glass of barley tea. “I was in the pit—lost my voice screaming for ‘Feel Special.’ The way you hit that belt in the bridge… still gives me chills.”

Jihyo smiled warmly, the kind of genuine, dimpled smile that made fans melt. She leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms overhead with a groan. “Thank you, Hye-jin-ah. It felt good out there. The energy was insane. LA always shows up so hard.” Her voice was a little raspy, that signature powerful tone softened by exhaustion. She took a sip of tea, letting the warmth soothe her throat. “But god… these tours are no joke anymore. Back-to-back shows, time zones, the pressure to make every night perfect. My back is killing me. Shoulders too. I feel like an old lady at 29.”

Hye-jin chuckled, stirring her own drink. She was the type of friend who always had that mischievous glint—sharp-witted, loyal, and a little bolder than Jihyo remembered from their JYP days. “You? Old? Please. You’re out there doing full choreography while carrying the vocal load for nine. The girls rely on you so much. But yeah… I can see it in your posture right now. You’re all knotted up.”

Jihyo nodded, rolling her neck slowly. The café was dimly lit, soft K-indie playing in the background, giving them privacy. “A good massage would fix me right up. Something deep tissue, you know? I’ve been craving that release. The hotel spas are always booked or too public. I just want to melt for an hour without worrying about someone snapping a photo.”

Hye-jin’s lips curved into a smirk. She leaned forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Funny you say that. I know exactly the place. A friend recommended it—super discreet, Korean-owned, caters to high-profile clients who need real relief. Not your basic hotel rubdown. They specialize in full-body work, pressure points, the kind that gets everything flowing again.” She winked. “Trust me, you’ll walk out feeling like a new woman. No schedules, no cameras, just you and skilled hands working out every tight spot.”

Jihyo laughed softly, the sound tired but grateful. “You’re a lifesaver. I’ve been so stressed—mentally too. Leading the group, the solo stuff from Zone still on my mind, keeping morale high on the road… Sometimes I just need to turn my brain off and let someone else take control for a bit.” She sighed, her thoughts drifting to the weight she carried: the trainee years of scolding and doubt, the endless practice, the pride in TWICE’s success, and the quiet loneliness that came with fame.

They chatted more naturally—catching up on Hye-jin’s life in LA, Jihyo sharing funny tour anecdotes like Sana’s endless heart throws to fans or the time Jeongyeon pranked the dressing room. The conversation flowed easily, laced with nostalgia and laughter. Jihyo felt herself relaxing just from the familiar Korean banter, the way Hye-jin teased her about still being the “mom” of the group even across the Pacific.

As they finished their food, Hye-jin pulled out her phone and texted Jihyo an address. “Here. It’s not far from here, about 20 minutes by car. Tell them I sent you—ask for the ‘premium relaxation package.’ They’ll know. Go now while you have the window. You deserve it, unnie.”

Jihyo hugged her friend goodbye, feeling a surge of affection. “Thank you, really. I’ll text you after. Love you.”

The Uber ride through the glittering LA night was quiet. Jihyo stared out the window at passing palm trees and neon signs, her body humming with residual concert energy mixed with deep fatigue. She replayed the show in her head: the powerful opening with “THIS IS FOR,” the emotional swell during ballads, the way the crowd sang back every word. Pride swelled in her chest, but so did the ache in her muscles. A proper massage sounded heavenly—strong hands kneading her calves, her lower back, maybe even her thighs after all that dancing. She imagined the oil, the warmth, the slow release of tension. Her mind wandered innocently at first, then with a faint, guilty flutter of curiosity. What would it feel like to fully surrender?

The driver dropped her off on a quiet side street in a nondescript commercial area. The address led her down a short block, away from the main road. Jihyo adjusted her cap, pulling her hoodie closer. The night air was cool against her flushed skin. She checked the map on her phone again—yes, this was it.

She finally stood in front of the building.

It was a single-story structure tucked between a closed laundromat and a storage facility, unassuming from the outside with a plain beige facade and frosted windows that revealed nothing. A small, elegant sign above the door read “Lotus Serenity Spa” in both English and Korean, with soft ambient lighting glowing faintly from within. No flashy advertisements, no menu posted outside—just a discreet wooden door with a small bell and a security camera. It looked professional enough, yet something about the seclusion and the late hours made her pause. She stared it up and down, taking in the details: the carefully manicured small plants by the entrance, the faint scent of incense or essential oils drifting out when a breeze stirred, the heavy curtains visible through the glass. Her heart beat a little faster—not from fear, exactly, but from that edge of the unknown. Hye-jin had said it was special. Different.

Jihyo took a slow breath, her tired body craving relief, her mind buzzing with the remnants of stage adrenaline and the quiet thrill of doing something just for herself.

Jihyo pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside Lotus Serenity Spa. The air was thick with the warm scent of sandalwood and lavender, a subtle haze of essential oils hanging in the low lighting. Soft instrumental music played from hidden speakers—slow, rhythmic, almost hypnotic.

An American woman sat behind a sleek reception desk, her dark hair pulled into a neat bun. She looked up with professional poise, her eyes widening slightly in recognition. “Ms. Jihyo?” she asked, a questioning tone in her voice.

“Yes,” Jihyo replied in English, offering a small polite smile.

“Ms. Hye-jin booked an appointment for you. Please come this way.” The receptionist stood and gestured down a narrow, dimly lit hallway lined with frosted glass doors. Despite the receptionist’s somewhat accented English, Jihyo understood enough and followed quietly.

They stopped at the last door on the right. The receptionist opened it and motioned for Jihyo to enter. “Enjoy, Ms. Jihyo,” she said with a knowing little smile before gently closing the door behind her, leaving Jihyo alone in the VIP room.

The space had an unusual vibe—relaxing yet undeniably intimate. Warm amber lighting cast soft shadows across dark wood paneling and deep burgundy accents. A large, padded massage table dominated the center, draped in crisp white sheets with a circular face cradle at one end. Thick towels were folded neatly nearby. The walls held shelves of oils and lotions, and a faint mirror on one side reflected the low glow of candles. The air felt heavier here, warmer, with a subtle sensual undertone that made Jihyo’s skin tingle. It was more private than any hotel spa she’d visited.

She walked slowly around the room, trailing her fingers along the edge of the massage table, feeling the smooth vinyl and imagining the relief her aching muscles would soon get. Her shoulders were still tight from the harness, her legs heavy from hours of sharp choreography.

The door opened quietly behind her.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped inside, closing the door with a soft click. He had a strong, manly physique—thick arms that strained slightly against his black short-sleeved uniform shirt, a well-groomed mustache and attractive beard framing a chiseled, handsome “Chad” face with confident dark eyes. His presence filled the room.

“Hi, Ms. Jihyo. How are you doing?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth with a slight American accent.

Jihyo turned, offering a slight bow out of habit. “I’m doing great… a little tired,” she replied in her relatively awkward but decent English.

“You’re in the perfect place to relieve all that stress and exhaustion,” the masseuse answered, his tone warm and reassuring. He gave her a professional once-over, noting her posture. “We’ll take good care of you tonight.”

He walked over to a small side table and picked up a small, folded white towel—short and standard for coverage in full-body sessions. He handed it to her with a calm, steady gaze.

“To get the best results from the premium relaxation package, it’s best to work directly on the skin. Please get comfortable and remove your clothes. You can use this towel to cover yourself. Lie face down on the table when you’re ready, and I’ll step out for a moment to give you privacy. Take your time.”

He offered a small, polite nod and turned toward the door, waiting for her confirmation before stepping out.

Jihyo stood alone in the warmly lit VIP room, the soft instrumental music weaving through the air like a gentle caress. Her body still hummed from the concert—muscles tight, skin flushed. She was 29 now, a woman who had grown into her fame with curves that fans obsessed over in candid photos and stage outfits. Her breasts were especially prominent: heavy, massive cups that sat full and rounded but with that natural, slight sag from years of intense performances, gravity, and the realities of an adult woman's body. Online fan discussions and leaked concert photos often highlighted how they strained against her bras and tops, soft yet weighty, with a realistic bounce and subtle droop that made them look all the more sensual and human.

She took a deep breath, heart fluttering with a mix of nervousness and anticipation. The masseuse's instructions echoed in her mind. Best results from working directly on the skin. She peeled off her oversized hoodie first, revealing a simple sports bra that barely contained her heavy tits. Next came the leggings, sliding down her thick, toned thighs—strong from years of choreography but soft in the right places, her ass full and plush. She stood there in just her underwear, the cool air kissing her skin.

Jihyo paused, glancing at the towel. Her hands moved almost instinctively to her breasts, cupping their heavy weight. She squeezed gently, feeling their fullness and the slight natural sag, thumbs brushing over her nipples through the fabric. They were sensitive tonight, already perking up from the adrenaline and the intimate atmosphere. Should I keep the bra and panties on? she wondered, a flush creeping up her neck. It would be safer, more modest. But the ache in her back, shoulders, and legs screamed for full relief. Hye-jin's words rang in her ears: skilled hands working out every tight spot. She wanted to melt completely—no barriers.

"Fuck it," she whispered to herself in Korean, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Just go all out and relax to the fullest."

She reached back, unclasping her bra. Her massive tits spilled free, heavy and swaying with the motion, the slight sag making them hang beautifully as they settled against her chest. She hooked her thumbs into her panties and slid them down, stepping out to leave herself fully naked. Her pussy was neatly trimmed, a soft mound above smooth lips. Grabbing the small white towel, she climbed onto the massage table, lying face down. She adjusted the towel to drape modestly over her round, plump ass, the fabric just barely covering the lower curve while leaving her back, shoulders, and legs exposed. Her heavy breasts pressed softly against the padded table beneath her, squishing outward. She nestled her face into the cradle, exhaling deeply. The position felt vulnerable... and thrilling.

The door clicked open a minute later. The tall, broad-shouldered masseuse returned, his presence commanding yet professional. He didn't comment on her state, simply nodding with quiet approval as he saw her ready. "Good. We'll begin."

He prepared his equipment with calm efficiency—warming a bottle of scented oil between his large hands, arranging extra towels, and dimming the lights just a fraction more. The rich aroma of lavender and sandalwood intensified. Then he approached the table.

He started by pouring a generous stream of warm oil directly onto her upper back. The liquid felt like liquid silk, sliding down her spine in slow rivulets. His strong hands followed immediately, spreading it with firm, masterful strokes. He was exceptionally skilled—thumbs digging into the knots along her spine with perfect pressure, palms gliding in long, sweeping motions from her lower back all the way up to her shoulders. The oil made everything slick and heated, his fingers working deep into the muscle tissue, releasing tension she didn't even know she carried from the harness and endless dancing.

Jihyo let out a soft, involuntary moan as he kneaded her shoulders. The touch was therapeutic yet undeniably sensual—the way his large hands enveloped her, thumbs circling and pressing into tight spots while his fingers brushed the sides of her ribcage, grazing the outer swell of her heavy breasts where they spilled against the table. Heat bloomed under her skin, a delicious mix of deep relaxation and building warmth that pooled lower in her belly. Her massive tits felt heavier, more sensitive as they were compressed, nipples hardening against the sheet.

He moved lower, pouring more oil along her spine and working her lower back with powerful, rhythmic kneads—almost like he was molding her body. His hands ventured to her hips, strong fingers digging into the glutes just beneath the edge of the towel, lifting and separating the plush flesh in ways that made the towel shift teasingly. Her thick thighs received the same treatment: long, gliding strokes from knee to upper thigh, the oil making her skin glisten as his palms pressed firmly, thumbs tracing inner lines that came dangerously close to her core without touching. Every motion was professional precision laced with erotic undertone—the steady pressure, the heat of his body near hers, the occasional low murmur of "Breathe and let go" in his deep voice.

Jihyo's breathing grew heavier, her body melting into the table while a different kind of heat built. She felt relaxed to her bones... and undeniably hot, her pussy tingling with subtle arousal as his hands continued their magic, teasing the boundaries of pure therapy.

The masseuse continued his masterful work on Jihyo’s lower back, his large, oil-slicked hands gliding with expert pressure. Without warning, he boldly hooked his fingers under the small white towel covering her plump ass and set it aside completely, letting it drop to the floor. Her round, full cheeks were now fully exposed—soft yet toned from years of intense dance practice, with that natural jiggle and fullness that fans admired in stage outfits.

Jihyo’s eyes widened in surprise, her body tensing for a split second. “Wait—” she started, but the words dissolved into a low groan as his strong hands immediately cupped and kneaded her ass cheeks with perfect, deep pressure. His thumbs dug into the muscle, spreading her plush flesh apart and then pressing it back together in slow, rhythmic circles. The oil made everything slippery and hot, sending waves of relief mixed with electric pleasure through her core. It felt heavenly—better than any professional massage she’d ever had. The tension from hours of choreography melted under his skilled palms.

Soft, involuntary moans escaped her lips despite her efforts to contain them. “Mmm… ahh…” She bit her lower lip, trying to stay quiet, but another deep knead made her groan louder, her voice raspy and breathy from the concert. The masseuse smirked confidently, clearly enjoying her reactions as he worked her ass with firm, possessive strokes—lifting, squeezing, and rolling the heavy flesh in ways that made her hips subtly push back against his hands.

Then, without pausing, one of his hands slid boldly between her thighs. His slick fingers found her pussy, cupping the soft, warm mound before beginning to massage it with the same professional prowess—slow, circular rubs that pressed against her outer lips, then gently parted them to stroke the sensitive inner folds. The warm oil mixed with her growing wetness made the glide smooth and intoxicating.

Jihyo’s body reacted instantly and intensely. Her pussy compressed and tightened around the intrusion of his fingers, clenching rhythmically as heat flooded through her core. A fresh rush of slick arousal coated his hand as her body betrayed her surprise. “W-wait… that’s too much…” she protested softly in her awkward but decent English, her voice laced with moans. “Ahh… you… you shouldn’t…” But the words came out weak and trembling, more like encouragement than refusal as another wave of pleasure hit her.

Her hands clenched into fists on the sides of the table, knuckles turning white. Her toes curled tightly, feet flexing as the sensations shot up her legs. Her breathing grew ragged and heavier—short gasps mixed with longer, shuddering exhales that fogged the face cradle. Her heavy, massive tits (DD-cups with that natural slight sag) pressed harder against the table as her back arched slightly, nipples stiff and aching from the friction. Her thick thighs trembled, instinctively parting a little wider despite her soft protests, allowing his skilled fingers better access. The combination of deep therapeutic pressure and direct stimulation on her clit and folds left her mind hazy, torn between the professional relaxation she came for and the building erotic heat that made her pussy throb and leak.

The masseuse leaned in closer, his deep voice calm and reassuring while his fingers never stopped their expert massage—stroking, circling, and pressing her swollen clit with masterful rhythm. “Just relax and go with the flow, Ms. Jihyo. This is part of the premium package. Let my hands take care of everything… you’re so tight here. Breathe and enjoy it.”

Jihyo moaned again, louder this time, her body surrendering even as her mind spun.

The masseuse slowly withdrew his hand from between her thighs, leaving her pussy throbbing and slick with a mix of warm oil and her own arousal. Jihyo let out a shaky, disappointed whimper at the sudden absence, her hips twitching once before settling. He remained composed, his strong hands returning to her plump, oil-glistened ass cheeks. He kneaded them deeply once more—firm, professional strokes that still sent sparks of pleasure radiating through her core—before gliding upward along her spine in long, sweeping motions. His palms pressed firmly into her lower back, then mid-back, working out the lingering knots from the concert harness with expert precision. Each pass of his large, heated hands made her melt deeper into the table, her heavy breasts squishing sensually beneath her.

“Time to flip over, Ms. Jihyo,” he said in that deep, smooth American accent, his voice calm and professional. “Let’s take care of the front.”

Jihyo’s mind was already hazy, her body buzzing with unfulfilled heat. She nodded weakly and turned over onto her back, her movements slow and languid. As she settled, her tits—full, heavy, and naturally a bit saggy from their generous weight—settled heavily against her chest, spreading slightly outward with that soft, realistic bounce. Her nipples were stiff peaks, dark and sensitive, begging for attention. She looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. That tall, broad-shouldered Western “Chad” look—chiseled jaw, well-groomed beard and mustache, confident dark eyes—made her pussy clench visibly. A fresh rush of wetness leaked from her as pure lust hit her harder. God, he’s so fucking hot… she thought, biting her lip.

The masseuse kept his expression professional, though his gaze did linger appreciatively for a brief moment on her magnificent, exposed body. He poured more warm oil onto his palms and started at her lower abdomen. His large hands spread the slick oil in slow, firm circles across her soft stomach, thumbs pressing gently along her sides, working the muscles there with perfect pressure. The heat from his touch radiated inward, making her belly flutter.

He gradually worked upward, his palms gliding just beneath the heavy undersides of her tits. He lifted and kneaded the soft, weighty flesh from below—cupping the natural sag and gently rolling it upward in slow, deliberate motions that made her breasts jiggle and sway erotically. The sides of her massive tits received the same treatment: his strong fingers stroking and pressing into the outer curves, thumbs tracing the sensitive line where breast met ribcage. Every touch sent jolts of pleasure straight to her core. Her pussy throbbed rhythmically, clenching around nothing as her arousal dripped slowly down onto the sheet.

Jihyo’s breathing grew heavier, her chest rising and falling as her heavy tits moved with each breath. Soft, breathy moans escaped her despite her efforts to stay quiet—“Mmm… ahh…”—each one raspier than the last. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, trying to ease the aching emptiness between them, but it only heightened the sensitivity of her swollen clit. Her hands gripped the edges of the table, toes curling again as waves of heat washed over her. The contrast between his perfectly professional technique and the intimate, erotic way her body was responding left her dizzy with desire. Her nipples ached, painfully hard, and every time his fingers came close without quite touching them, she felt a fresh pulse of need deep in her dripping pussy.

He continued upward to her shoulders, his strong hands working the tension there while his forearms occasionally brushed against the outer swells of her breasts, sending sparks through her. The air felt thicker, hotter. Jihyo was lost in the sensation—relaxed yet burning, her body a live wire of anticipation.

The masseuse’s hands lingered on Jihyo’s shoulders for a few more moments, his strong thumbs working deep circles into the tense muscles while his forearms brushed teasingly against the heavy outer curves of her breasts. Jihyo’s breathing was already ragged, her massive tits rising and falling with each exhale, the soft natural sag making them spread invitingly across her chest. Her dark nipples stood painfully erect, aching for attention, flushed a deep pink from the building heat flooding her body.

He finally gave in to the inevitable. With a low, appreciative hum, the masseuse poured a fresh stream of warm oil directly over the tops of her heavy breasts. The slick liquid cascaded down their full, rounded slopes, tracing glistening paths over the soft, slightly drooping undersides before pooling in the valley between them. His large, powerful hands followed immediately, cupping her magnificent tits fully for the first time.

“Oh… fuck…” Jihyo gasped in a breathy mix of English and Korean, her back arching instinctively off the table as his palms enveloped her. His fingers sank deeply into the plush, heavy flesh—kneading, lifting, and squeezing with expert pressure that was somehow both therapeutic and devastatingly erotic. He lifted the weighty orbs, feeling their natural sag and fullness, then let them settle heavily back into his grasp, rolling them slowly in circles. The oil made every motion slippery and obscene, her tits jiggling and bouncing softly with each deliberate stroke.

His thumbs swept upward, teasing the sensitive undersides before circling her stiff nipples without quite touching them yet. Jihyo’s pussy clenched hard at the sensation, a fresh gush of wetness leaking from her swollen lips onto the sheet beneath her ass. Her toes curled tightly, fingers gripping the edges of the massage table as waves of pleasure radiated from her chest straight down to her dripping core.

The masseuse smirked faintly, his chiseled, bearded face hovering above her as he focused on her nipples. He caught each hard peak between his thumbs and forefingers, pinching lightly at first—gentle tugs that made her whimper—then rolling them slowly. He flicked the left nipple with a quick snap of his finger, then the right, alternating in rhythm while continuing to knead the heavy, oily flesh of her breasts. Each pinch and flick sent electric jolts through her body. Her massive tits quivered in his hands, the soft sag making them sway heavily as he manipulated them.

“Mmm-ahh! Yes… there…” Jihyo moaned louder, no longer trying to hold back. Her voice was hoarse and raspy from the concert, but the sounds coming out of her now were pure lust. Her heavy breasts felt hypersensitive, every squeeze making her pussy throb in time. She could feel how wet she was—her inner thighs slick, her clit swollen and pulsing with need.

After several long, indulgent minutes of worshipping her tits, the masseuse’s hands began to glide downward. He poured more oil over her lower belly and thick, toned thighs. His palms smoothed down her sides, then onto her powerful legs, kneading the muscles with the same masterful pressure. Jihyo’s thighs parted almost instinctively as he worked, but he helped them along—his strong hands gripping her inner thighs and slowly spreading her legs wider, exposing her glistening, needy pussy completely.

The cool air of the room kissed her soaked folds as he opened her up. He massaged higher and higher up her inner thighs, his thumbs pressing firmly into the soft, sensitive flesh just inches from her dripping entrance. Every stroke brought his hands closer, brushing teasingly against her outer lips before pulling away again, building unbearable anticipation. Jihyo’s hips rolled upward subtly, chasing his touch, her heavy tits jiggling with the motion, nipples still glistening with oil and standing obscenely hard.

While his hands were busy between her spread thighs, Jihyo’s hazy mind and burning desire pushed her to act. Her right hand released the table edge and reached out blindly toward him. Her fingers found his waist, then slid lower, boldly cupping the massive, rock-hard bulge straining against his black uniform pants.

She gasped at the size of it—thick, throbbing, and impressively long even through the fabric. Her hand squeezed gently, stroking the outline with curious, needy fingers. “So… big…” she whispered in awkward, aroused English, her eyes half-lidded as she looked up at his handsome Western face. Feeling his hardness made her pussy clench visibly, a fresh trickle of arousal dripping down between her spread cheeks. Her hand continued exploring, tracing the length of his cock through his pants, feeling it twitch and throb under her touch.

The masseuse let out a low, deep groan, his professional facade cracking slightly as her hand worked him. But he didn’t stop the massage. Instead, he rewarded her boldness by finally sliding his right hand fully between her spread thighs. Two thick fingers glided along her slick pussy lips, parting them slowly while his thumb found her swollen clit and began rubbing firm, perfect circles.

Jihyo cried out, her back arching sharply. Her massive tits bounced heavily with the motion, nipples pointing toward the ceiling. “Ahhh! Yes… oh god…” Her hand tightened around his clothed cock, stroking faster as pleasure overwhelmed her. His fingers on her pussy were masterful—spreading her wetness everywhere, teasing her entrance without pushing inside yet, while his thumb kept perfect pressure on her clit. The dual sensation of her hand on his huge erection and his skilled fingers between her legs left her mind blank with lust.

He continued kneading her left breast with his free hand, pinching and flicking the nipple in time with the strokes on her clit. Her body was a live wire: heavy tits heaving, thick thighs trembling and spread wide, pussy dripping and clenching rhythmically around nothing, toes curled so tight they hurt. Sweat and oil mixed on her glowing skin. Every breath came out as a moan or whimper. The scent of lavender, sandalwood, and her own arousal filled the warm room.

The masseuse leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, “You’re so fucking wet, Ms. Jihyo… Your pussy is gripping at my fingers. These perfect heavy tits… so soft and full in my hands.” He emphasized his words by squeezing her right breast harder, rolling the nipple between his fingers until she moaned loudly. His other hand kept working her soaked cunt—sliding his fingers up and down her slit, occasionally pressing just the tip of one finger against her tight entrance before pulling back, teasing mercilessly.

Jihyo’s hand rubbed him more desperately through his pants, feeling the heat and thickness of his cock. She wanted it. Needed it. Her hips bucked against his hand, chasing more friction as her massive, oiled tits jiggled with every movement. The slight natural sag made them look even more erotic as they moved—full, womanly, bouncing heavily under his relentless kneading and pinching.

Time seemed to stretch. He kept the exquisite torture going: massaging her breasts, teasing her nipples with pinches, flicks, and rolls, while his other hand worked her spread thighs and dripping pussy with expert, erotic precision. Jihyo was lost in a haze of pleasure, moaning openly, her body trembling on the edge of release but not quite there yet. Her hand never left his throbbing bulge, stroking and squeezing as if promising what she wanted next.

The room was filled with the wet sounds of his oiled hands on her body, her breathy moans, and the occasional low growl from deep in his chest. Jihyo’s pussy was soaked, her clit throbbing under his thumb, her heavy tits aching deliciously from his constant attention. She was completely surrendered to the sensations, body glistening, legs spread wide, one hand shamelessly feeling his hard cock while he pushed her closer and closer to the brink.

The masseuse kept teasing her relentlessly—thick fingers gliding through her soaked folds, thumb circling her swollen clit with perfect pressure, while his other hand kneaded and pinched her heavy, oil-slicked tits. Jihyo was trembling on the edge, her massive cups heaving, pussy dripping, mind hazy with desperate need.

She couldn’t hold back anymore.

With a shaky, determined breath, Jihyo pushed herself up from the massage table. Her oiled, glistening body moved with surprising urgency. She swung her thick thighs over the side, heavy tits swaying and bouncing heavily with the motion, nipples stiff and aching. Her bare feet touched the warm floor as she slid off completely, leaving the table behind. The cool air kissed her soaked pussy and flushed skin as she turned to face him fully.

Without hesitation, Jihyo dropped to her knees right there in front of him. The movement was smooth yet eager—her plump ass settling back on her heels, thick thighs pressing together, massive breasts hanging forward with that natural, sensual sag as she looked up at him. Her face was now level with his newly freed cock, flushed and throbbing heavily just inches from her lips. The position made her feel exposed, submissive, and incredibly turned on—kneeling naked on the floor of the private spa room, oil and her own arousal still slick between her legs.

Jihyo stared at his thick, veined cock with hungry eyes. She reached out aggressively with both hands, wrapping her fingers tightly around the impressive girth. Her small hands barely closed around it. She gave it a firm, possessive squeeze, stroking slowly from base to swollen head as she leaned in.

“Fuck… so big…” she whispered hoarsely.

She pressed her nose against the warm, musky shaft and inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as she savored his raw masculine scent. The smell made her pussy clench hard, another trickle of wetness running down her inner thigh. She nuzzled her cheek and lips along the length, kissing the thick vein underneath, before finally opening her mouth.

Jihyo dragged her warm, wet tongue slowly up the underside from base to tip, then swirled it around the glistening head, tasting the salty precum. With a needy moan, she parted her full lips and took him into her mouth, sucking the first few thick inches with wet, eager sounds. Her heavy tits rested against his thighs as she bobbed her head, using both hands to stroke what she couldn’t swallow yet. Saliva quickly dripped down her chin and onto her swaying breasts as she worked him harder, hollowing her cheeks and moaning vibrantly around his cock.

The masseuse groaned deeply, one hand resting on the back of her head as she worshipped him on her knees

The masseuse kept his strong grip in her hair after pulling his cock from her messy mouth. Jihyo was still gasping, lips swollen and shiny with thick strands of saliva, when he suddenly tightened his fist—grabbing a thick handful of her hair close to the scalp with dominant authority.

“Up,” he commanded in his deep voice.

Jihyo let out a sharp, surprised moan as he pulled her firmly to her feet. She wasn’t used to this. Jihyo was TWICE’s leader—confident, in control, the one who directed everything and everyone. She had never been the type to submit so easily. But tonight, in this private room, something was different. The exhaustion from the concert, the oil on her skin, the overwhelming arousal, and his commanding presence had completely melted her resistance. A thrill she rarely allowed herself ran through her body as he took control.

He didn’t give her time to think. Still fisting her hair, he spun her around and pushed her forward toward the massage table. Jihyo’s heavy tits swayed pendulously as she stumbled the few steps. He bent her over the padded table with firm pressure, pressing her upper body down until her soft, massive cups squished hard against the sheet. Her cheek rested against the warm surface, ass pushed up and presented to him.

Jihyo’s breath hitched. Then, willingly—almost greedily—she spread her legs. She shifted her thick, toned thighs wider apart, planting her feet firmly on the floor and arching her back to offer her soaked pussy. The movement made her plump ass cheeks spread naturally, exposing her dripping wet folds completely. Her pussy glistened obscenely, clit swollen, inner thighs shiny with her arousal.

She twisted her head to the side, looking back at him over her shoulder. Her face was flushed, eyes hazy with lust, strands of hair stuck to her sweaty forehead and tear-streaked cheeks. The strong, responsible leader was gone. In her place was a woman who desperately needed to be fucked.

“Please…” she whispered hoarsely in that raspy post-concert voice, pushing her ass back toward him. “I want it…”

The masseuse smirked, his chiseled bearded face dark with desire. He kept one hand fisted tightly in her hair, holding her head in place so she stayed looking back at him. With his free hand, he gripped his thick, spit-slicked cock and rubbed the fat head up and down her slippery pussy lips, teasing her entrance and coating himself in her wetness.

Then he pushed in.

Jihyo’s mouth fell open in a loud, broken moan as he stretched her open. Inch after thick inch sank into her tight, dripping cunt, filling her completely. Her walls clenched hard around his girth, fluttering and squeezing as he buried himself to the hilt. The sudden fullness made her toes curl and her thick thighs tremble.

“Fuck—! So deep…” she gasped, eyes rolling slightly.

He didn’t wait. Still gripping her hair possessively, he started fucking her with deep, powerful strokes—pulling back until just the head remained inside, then slamming forward again. The wet, rhythmic sound of his hips slapping against her plump ass filled the room. Her heavy tits squished and dragged against the table with every thrust, nipples scraping pleasurably against the sheet.

Jihyo moaned shamelessly, pushing back to meet his thrusts, her ass rippling with each impact. She kept her head twisted to look at him, eyes locked on his dominant gaze as he claimed her from behind.

The masseuse kept his fist tightly wrapped in Jihyo’s hair, yanking her head back slightly as he slammed into her from behind with long, powerful strokes. The wet slap-slap-slap of his hips against her plump ass echoed through the room, her thick cheeks rippling with every impact.

Jihyo moaned loudly, her usual confident persona shattered. She pushed her ass back harder to meet his thrusts, pussy clenching greedily around his thick cock. “Ahh—fuck… yes!”

He suddenly pulled her hair harder, using it like a rein to yank her upper body off the table. At the same time, he hooked one strong arm under her left thigh and lifted it high, spreading her wide while still buried deep inside her. Jihyo’s foot left the floor as he shifted them both into a standing doggy position — her bent forward over the table, one leg raised and held open, giving him an even deeper angle.

The new position made his cock hit spots that made her see stars. He immediately started pounding her mercilessly — harder, faster, more aggressive. His hips slapped loudly against her ass as he drove into her dripping cunt with brutal force.

SMACK!

His free hand came down hard on her plump right ass cheek, leaving a red handprint. Jihyo cried out in pleasure, her walls fluttering wildly around him.

SMACK! SMACK!

Two more firm spanks landed as he railed her, his grip on her hair keeping her head pulled back so she stayed arched for him.

“Fuck—! Too deep… I’m—ahhh!” Jihyo’s voice cracked, raspy and broken. Her massive tits swung heavily beneath her with every violent thrust, the natural sag making them bounce and slap together obscenely.

He reached around with his free hand and grabbed one of her heavy swinging breasts roughly. His large palm squeezed the soft, oily flesh hard, fingers sinking deep into the weighty mound. He slapped the side of her tit, making it jiggle wildly, then pinched and tugged her stiff nipple while continuing to pound her soaked pussy.

“These fat fucking tits,” he groaned, slapping the other breast as well. “So heavy and soft… perfect for a good fucking.” He kneaded them aggressively, switching between rough groping, slapping, and pinching her sensitive nipples as he railed her standing up with one leg held high.

Jihyo was completely lost. Her thick thigh trembled in his grip, pussy gushing around his pistoning cock. She had zero control — just taking his dominant pounding, hair pulled tight, ass spanked red, massive tits being mauled and slapped while he stretched her deep. The contrast with her normal strong-leader self only turned her on more. Her moans grew louder and more desperate, eyes half-rolled back as she took everything he gave her.

The masseuse stood tall beside the table, his muscular body glistening with a light sheen of sweat and oil. He kicked off his shoes, then shoved his pants and underwear the rest of the way down his strong legs, stepping out of them completely. His massive cock stood proudly erect — thick, veined, and still slick from Jihyo’s saliva and her pussy juices. His heavy balls hung below, and his chiseled abs and broad chest were fully exposed now. He looked every bit the dominant, masculine figure as he climbed onto the large massage table, lying on his back in the center. The padded surface creaked under his weight.

Jihyo watched him with heavy-lidded, lust-drunk eyes. Her massive breasts rose and fell rapidly with her breathing, nipples still red and shiny from his sucking. She pushed herself up, swung her thick thighs over, and climbed onto the table after him. She straddled his waist eagerly, her plump ass hovering above his throbbing cock as she looked down at him.

She was completely in love with his massive cock.

Jihyo reached down with both hands, wrapping her fingers around the thick shaft and stroking it reverently. “So fucking big… so perfect,” she whispered hoarsely in that raspy, post-concert voice. She lifted herself higher on her knees, positioned the fat, swollen head right against her dripping entrance, and slowly sank down.

Her pussy lips stretched obscenely around his girth. The thick head pushed her soft, puffy folds apart, spreading her wide as she lowered herself inch by inch. Jihyo’s mouth fell open in a long, shuddering moan. “Ahhh… fuck… it’s splitting me open…” The sensation was intense — a delicious burning stretch as her tight walls yielded to his thickness. She felt every vein, every ridge dragging along her inner walls as she took him deeper. Her juices coated him generously, making the slide smoother but still incredibly tight.

The masseuse groaned deeply, feeling her scorching hot pussy envelop him. Her walls fluttered and clenched rhythmically around his cock, gripping him like a velvet vice. The heat, the wetness, the way her pussy kept pulsing and sucking him in deeper made his balls tighten. “Shit… you’re so fucking tight and wet,” he growled, his hands gripping her thick hips.

Jihyo kept sinking until her plump ass finally rested against his thighs — his entire massive length buried inside her. She paused there, eyes rolled back slightly, savoring the full, stuffed feeling. Her heavy tits hung forward, swaying with her trembling breaths. Then she began to ride.

She started with slow, deep rolls of her hips, grinding her clit against his pelvis while his cock stirred deep inside her. Her pussy made wet, squelching sounds with every movement. She leaned forward, planting her hands on his chest for leverage, and started bouncing. Her massive, slightly saggy tits bounced heavily in his face — soft, heavy, and hypnotic.

“God… I love this cock,” Jihyo moaned shamelessly, completely lost in pleasure. She rode him harder, her thick ass slapping down against his thighs with every drop. The feeling of her pussy being stretched so wide, filled so completely, made her mind hazy. Every time she bottomed out, the head of his cock pressed firmly against her cervix, sending sparks of overwhelming pleasure through her core.

Then she shifted into a full squat cowgirl. Jihyo planted her feet flat on the table on either side of his hips, squatting low over him. Her thick, powerful thighs flexed beautifully as she used her leg strength to ride him aggressively. She bounced up and down with deep, rapid strokes — her plump ass rippling each time she slammed down, taking every inch of his massive cock.

The new position made her pussy spread even wider. The masseuse could see everything: her stretched lips gripping his thick shaft on every upstroke, creamy juices coating his cock and dripping down his balls. He groaned loudly, hands gripping her ass cheeks and spreading them as she fucked herself on him.

Jihyo was addicted. Her head tilted back, moans growing louder and more broken. “It’s so deep… filling me so much… I can’t get enough…” Every squat drove him balls-deep, her pussy clenching and fluttering wildly around his throbbing length. The masseuse felt her walls massage him perfectly — hot, silky, and incredibly tight — while her heavy tits bounced wildly above him.

The masseuse gripped Jihyo’s thick hips tighter, his fingers digging deep into her soft flesh as she squatted and bounced on his massive cock. Her powerful thighs flexed with every aggressive drop, her plump ass rippling loudly against his pelvis, wet squelching sounds filling the room as her soaked pussy swallowed him balls-deep over and over.

“Fuck yes—ride that dick, you horny little Korean star,” he growled, voice low and rough. “Big artist back home but here you’re just a dripping slut for American cock, huh?”

Jihyo’s face flushed deeper, half-lidded eyes rolling as she moaned brokenly. “Ahh—! Too big… neomu kip-eo… mmmph!” Her English came out shaky and limited. “You… so deep inside me… ahh!” She tried to keep riding hard, but her legs started trembling from the intense stretch and the building orgasm.

He suddenly bucked up hard, meeting her downward slam with a brutal thrust that made her heavy tits bounce wildly. “That’s right. Keep bouncing those fat tits in my face.” He slapped the side of one swinging breast hard, then the other, watching them jiggle with that natural sag. Jihyo cried out in pleasure, a mix of English and Korean spilling out: “Ahh! Yes—! More… please…!”

Without warning, he sat up, wrapped both strong arms around her waist, and flipped them. Jihyo yelped as her back hit the padded table, the masseuse now on top in full missionary. He hooked her thick legs over his broad shoulders, folding her almost in half, and drove back inside her with one savage thrust.

“Fuck—! So deep!” Jihyo gasped, her raspy voice cracking. Her huge cups squished between them, nipples rubbing against his hard chest as he pounded her mercilessly. The new angle let him slam even deeper, his heavy balls slapping against her ass with every aggressive stroke.

“Yeah? You like that, celebrity pussy?” he taunted, sweat dripping from his beard as he railed her. “All that stage dancing and you still this tight? Gonna wreck you.” He pinned her wrists above her head with one large hand and used the other to roughly grope and slap her bouncing tits while hammering into her soaked cunt.

Jihyo’s body shook under the assault. “A-ahh! Strong… too strong—! Nae mom-i… ahhh!” Her Korean moans mixed with broken English as her pussy clenched and gushed around him. She was completely overpowered now, dominated, her thick thighs quivering beside her head as he folded and fucked her senseless.

He leaned down, biting and sucking on her neck and tits, leaving marks while his hips never slowed—long, punishing strokes that made the table creak. “Cum on this cock like a good girl. Let me feel that famous Korean pussy squeeze me.”

Jihyo’s eyes rolled back, body arching as the orgasm crashed over her hard. She came with a loud, hoarse cry, walls pulsing wildly around his thick shaft.

But he didn’t stop. He kept pounding through her climax, turning wilder—pulling out suddenly only to flip her onto all fours and mount her again from behind, yanking her hair like reins as he railed her even harder, ass rippling with each impact, tits swinging heavily beneath her.

The masseuse kept pounding Jihyo through her shattering orgasm, her pussy spasming wildly around his thick cock, but he wasn’t done. With a deep growl, he suddenly pulled out, leaving her gaping and clenching around nothing. A thick string of her creamy juices stretched from her swollen pussy to his glistening shaft.

“On your knees. Clean your mess off my cock, you filthy celebrity slut,” he commanded, voice rough with lust.

Jihyo, still trembling and breathless, slid off the table on shaky legs. Her massive DD-cups swayed heavily with that natural sag as she dropped to her knees obediently. “Y-yes… I clean…” she whispered in broken English, face flushed with shame and arousal. She wrapped both small hands around his massive, vein-ridged cock—still slick with her own cum—and leaned in. Her full lips parted, and she dragged her warm tongue slowly from base to tip, tasting herself mixed with his musk. “Mmm… ahh… neomu jjaritan…” she moaned in Korean as she licked every inch clean, sucking her juices off his heavy balls before swallowing the head again with wet, sloppy sounds.

He didn’t let her stay gentle for long. Grabbing a thick fistful of her hair, he forced more of his cock into her mouth. “Deeper. Suck it like you mean it.” Jihyo gagged as he pushed past her tongue, her eyes watering while she hollowed her cheeks and bobbed messily. Saliva dripped down her chin onto her oily, heaving tits. He started face-fucking her with controlled aggression—hips thrusting forward, using her mouth like a toy while she moaned and slurped around him.

After several deep thrusts that made her throat bulge, he yanked her up by the hair. “Enough. Face down on the table.”

He spun her around and shoved her forward. Jihyo’s heavy breasts squished hard against the padded surface as she lay flat in prone bone position, thick thighs pressed together, plump ass slightly raised. He climbed on top, his muscular body pinning her completely. His weight pressed her down deliciously as he lined up and slammed back into her soaked pussy in one brutal thrust.

“Ahhh—! Kip-eo! Too deep—!” Jihyo cried out, voice raspy and broken. Her body was trapped under him, completely helpless as he started pounding with long, powerful strokes. Each thrust made her ass ripple and her tits drag against the sheet. He wrapped one strong hand around her throat from behind, applying light pressure that made her head spin with submissive pleasure.

“Take this dick, big star. All that power on stage and you’re just getting pinned and fucked like a whore in my spa,” he taunted, hips snapping harder. His heavy balls slapped against her clit with every deep plunge. Jihyo’s moans turned into desperate, muffled Korean whimpers—“Eung… ahh! Joah… more…!”—as her pussy clenched rhythmically around him. The position was overwhelming; she could barely move, only feel every thick inch stretching and claiming her.

After several minutes of merciless prone bone, he pulled out again, flipped her onto her back, and straddled her chest. “Time to use these fat fucking tits.”

Jihyo looked up at him with hazy, lust-drunk eyes as he poured more warm oil over her heavy breasts, making them glisten obscenely. He pressed his throbbing cock between the soft, pillowy mounds and squeezed them together around his shaft with both hands. The natural slight sag made them envelop him perfectly—warm, heavy, and yielding.

He started thrusting aggressively, titfucking her with deep, sloppy strokes. The head of his cock punched up toward her face with every forward motion, smearing precum on her lips and chin. Jihyo obediently stuck out her tongue, licking and sucking the swollen tip whenever it reached her mouth. “So big… my tits… for you…” she gasped between licks, her hands pressing her own breasts tighter around him. The sight of her massive, oiled DD-cups being fucked hard—jiggling and rippling with every thrust—drove him wild. He slapped the sides of her tits repeatedly, watching them bounce and turn red while she moaned and drooled.

The full domination finale began when he grabbed a nearby towel and quickly tied her wrists together loosely above her head, securing them to the top of the massage table. “You’re mine now. No escaping this cock.”

Jihyo tested the light restraint, tugging weakly, her body trembling with fresh arousal at being fully bound and helpless. He used her relentlessly—flipping her into every position imaginable. He fucked her in missionary with her tied wrists pinned down, legs over his shoulders, pounding so deep her belly bulged slightly. Then back to doggy, yanking her bound arms back like reins while spanking her plump ass bright red. He made her squat and ride him again, but this time with his hand around her throat, choking her lightly as she bounced desperately on his massive length, tits flopping wildly.

Every movement was emphasized in raw detail: the wet squelch of her dripping pussy stretching around him, the heavy slap of her ass against his thighs, the way her saggy yet full tits bounced and swayed with every brutal thrust, nipples stiff and hypersensitive. He bit, sucked, slapped, and groped them constantly while talking dirty. “This is what you needed after your big concert, huh? Getting dominated and stretched by real cock.”

Jihyo was a complete mess—sweat, oil, and tears mixing on her flushed skin, hoarse voice cracking between English pleas and Korean moans: “Please… more…! Fuck me harder—! Ahh! Nae pussy… breaking…!” Her body shook through multiple orgasms, pussy gushing around him as she lost all control.

Finally, he untied her wrists, flipped her back into a deep mating press—her thick thighs folded all the way to her shoulders, ass up, pussy completely exposed and presented. He railed her with savage, jackhammer strokes, the table creaking violently under them. His heavy balls tightened as he felt his own climax building.

“Gonna fill this famous Korean pussy up,” he growled, beard brushing her ear. “Take every drop.”

Jihyo could only nod frantically, eyes rolled back. “Yes—! Inside… cum inside me… please!”

With a deep, animalistic roar, he buried himself to the hilt and exploded. Massive, thick ropes of hot cum flooded her womb in powerful spurts—pulse after pulse, more than she could handle. Her belly slightly swelled from the sheer volume as it overflowed, creamy white seed leaking out around his cock and dripping down her ass. Jihyo screamed in ecstasy, her final orgasm crashing through her as she felt him pumping her full.

They collapsed together, bodies slick and heaving, his cock still twitching inside her as the last spurts filled her.

After several long minutes of heavy breathing, the masseuse slowly pulled out, a huge gush of his cum pouring from Jihyo’s abused, gaping pussy onto the sheets. He gently untied the last remnants of the towel and helped her sit up, his touch turning surprisingly professional again as he wiped her down with warm towels and offered her water.

Jihyo’s legs were jelly. She could barely stand, her body covered in marks, oil, sweat, and cum. Her mind was blissfully blank—the deep exhaustion from the concert finally replaced by total, euphoric release. She dressed slowly in her simple hoodie and leggings, wincing with every movement but smiling faintly.

The masseuse walked her to the door with a respectful nod. “You were incredible, Ms. Jihyo. Come back anytime you need… real relief.”

She bowed slightly, voice still hoarse. “Thank you… I feel… new.”

Outside, the cool LA night air hit her flushed skin as she called another discreet Uber. Sitting carefully in the back seat, she felt the warm leak of his massive creampie soaking her panties, a secret reminder of how thoroughly she had surrendered. For the first time in years, her body and mind were completely relaxed—no leader responsibilities, no pressure, just raw satisfaction.

Jinho woke the way he always did now—eyes opening slowly, no alarm, body already synced to the rhythm. He lay on his back, black sheets twisted low around his hips, one thick arm flung above his head, the other resting possessively over the hard ridges of his abs. Morning light flooded through the windows, turning the river to molten gold and etching every line of his torso in sharp relief: deep V-cut obliques, heavy defined pecs, the teasing taper of his Adonis belt vanishing beneath the fabric. His skin still carried the faint sheen of last night’s sweat from the final rehearsal.

He stretched, slow and deliberate, vertebrae popping like champagne corks as every core muscle flexed and released in perfect sequence.

This body no longer belonged to Sungho. Sungho had been soft, unkempt, invisible. Jinho was carved marble wrapped in warm skin—twenty years old, SM’s once-in-a-generation prodigy, the solo rookie whose debut had redefined what was possible. He felt it in the effortless power of his shoulders, the dense weight of his thighs, and the quiet, unshakable confidence that now lived in his eyes, cameras or not.

He reached for the phone on the nightstand without sitting up. Morning ritual. Non-negotiable.

Screen lit up with the soft blue glow.

First: KakaoTalk.

The MiSaMo + Jinho (4) group chat was already alive from last night. Pinned at the top was Sana’s 2:14 a.m. video — Momo in her dorm mirror attempting Jinho’s signature slow body roll from “Eclipse,” failing spectacularly, and collapsing sideways into a mountain of TWICE plushies.

Sana 2:14 a.m.

Sana: oppa your choreo is illegal in 12 countries

Sana: momo just filed a complaint with the un

Momo 2:16 a.m.

Momo: I hate all of you

Mina 2:21 a.m.

Mina: …but you looked cute failing tho 🥹

Sana 2:17 a.m.

[photo: Sana wearing nothing but Jinho’s oversized black Eclipse hoodie, zipper pulled dangerously low, bare thighs visible, tongue out, peace sign]

Sana: uniform check for the next rehearsal? pass or fail oppa

Momo 2:19 a.m.

Momo: fail. take it off. slowly.

Mina 2:21 a.m.

Mina: you two are going to get us all in trouble😂

Mina: [soft selfie: Mina bare-faced on her bed, wearing only the black Calvin Klein boxer briefs she stole from Jinho’s drawer last week, waistband sitting low on her hips]

Mina: but… same question

Jinho’s lips curved into that signature half-smirk — the one that made stylists forget their own names. He typed quickly.

Jinho 7:43 a.m.

Jinho: all three of you pass with flying colors

Jinho: Sana — hoodie stays on until I take it off myself

Jinho: Momo — that roll needs work. private lesson?

Jinho: Mina — you look illegal in my underwear. keep them. I’ll collect later 😉

He heart-reacted every message from the night before, then dropped a 12-second voice note, voice still sleep-rough and low.

“Morning, my favorite troublemakers. Eat well Work hard”

Sent.

Next folder: Karina ❤️ — pinned, 52 unread.

Karina 11:12 p.m.

Karina: oppaaaa practice just ended and I’m dying

Karina: [selfie: sweaty, no makeup, aespa hoodie half-zipped, looking soft and exhausted]

Karina: miss your stupid handsome face already

Karina 11:45 p.m.

Karina: schedule tomorrow? mine is vocal 9-12, dance 1-4, filming till 8 😭

Karina: please tell me you have even one free hour so I can come steal you

Karina 6:58 a.m. (just now)

Karina: good morning my favorite rookie-turned-global-menace 

Karina: still thinking about the river the other night… and the car… and the alley…

Karina: when can I see you again? I’m being so good and patient but I’m literally counting hours

Jinho’s expression softened, the old fanboy inside him still quietly stunned every time. He typed back, keeping it warm but non-committal for now.

Jinho 7:44 a.m.

Jinho: Morning, noona. You looked too pretty in that last selfie. Stop trying to kill me before breakfast.

Jinho: Today is packed. Tomorrow looks lighter after 4 p.m. if you can sneak out. I’ll make time. Promise. Miss you too.

Single red heart. Sent. No concrete plans yet. He wasn’t layering her into the same twenty-four hours as the others today.

He finally opened the browser.

Naver Real-Time Search was pure domination:

Jinho Eclipse

Jinho Tokyo Dome

Eclipse 2 billion streams

Jinho brand stock surge

He tapped the top article, published at 6 a.m.

“Eclipse” by Jinho — 57 days since release, still #1 everywhere it matters

The piece was long, almost reverent.

Released January 1, 2026 at 6 p.m. KST, “Eclipse” had hit #1 on Melon, Genie, Bugs, Flo, and YouTube Music Korea within the first hour and had never left the top spot.

Fifty-seven consecutive days at #1 on Melon Daily — an all-time record.

Billboard Global 200: #1 for 57 days straight, the longest run by any soloist in history.

Spotify Global: #1 for 57 days running, 1.94 billion streams and still adding 8–10 million daily.

Circle Chart Digital: seven weeks at #1.

Physical album sales: 18.7 million copies worldwide, with Japan pre-orders alone pushing another 2.4 million.

The article called it “the biggest debut song in K-pop history by every measurable metric,” surpassing previous benchmarks in raw velocity and sustained dominance.

Jinho scrolled slowly, letting the numbers sink in deeper this morning.

The song had become a cultural event. The “Eclipse Challenge” on TikTok — fans recreating the sensual floor sequence and body roll — generated over 14 million videos and was still trending six weeks later. Radio stations in thirty-two countries added it to heavy rotation. Non-K-pop listeners in the West were humming the haunting synth intro and addictive post-chorus hook in gyms, malls, and car rides. Brands began inserting the track into commercials within ten days. Even Western artists were name-dropping it in interviews.

Locally, “Eclipse” had single-handedly boosted SM Entertainment’s quarterly revenue projections by 38%. Internationally, it opened doors no rookie soloist had ever touched: a surprise NBA All-Star Game halftime slot, a feature on a major Western artist’s upcoming album, and serious talks for Coachella and Glastonbury. The song’s sustained dominance was so unprecedented that industry analysts had started calling any similar explosive solo debut “pulling an Eclipse.”

Jinho leaned back against the headboard, phone heavy in his hand. The numbers were cartoonish. He remembered the first time he heard the final mix in the studio — the way the beat dropped and the melody wrapped around his voice like smoke. He had known it was special. He hadn’t known it would rewrite the entire industry playbook.

He closed the article and opened X.

The timeline was pure chaos, as always.

Top trends worldwide:

#JinhoEclipse

#EclipseStillNo1

#JinhoIsUnstoppable

Fan accounts flooded the replies.

@ElixirSupremeDaily (1.8M followers): “Day 57 of Eclipse being #1 on Melon and y’all still sleeping on the greatest rookie era ever 🔥 STREAM OR WE RIOT”

@GlobalJinhoArmy (947K): “Boy group stans crying in the replies again lmao. Your faves needed 7-9 members and 5 years to get half these numbers. Jinho did it solo in 57 days. Stay pressed 💅”

@ToxicElixirMode (412K): “EXO-Ls and ARMYs mad because their 10-year careers got bodied by a 2-month-old debut track. Keep streaming your flops besties, maybe one day you’ll catch up 😂😂”

Then came the fresh wave of toxic replies under a viral NCTzen tweet that had dared call the choreo “mid compared to Mark’s”:

@EclipseOverlords (289K): “BTS took 7 years for Dynamite numbers, Jinho did it in 2 months solo. Your faves are mid, accept it or stay irrelevant. We run this industry now.”

@JinhoStanOrDie (176K): “NCTzens crying because their 20 members can’t even chart like our one man army 😂 Jinho solos your whole generation, keep coping with 0.8M first week sales while our rookie clears 18M physicals.”

@ToxicElixirHQ (94K): “Blackpink stans mad their ‘Coachella’ was a flop compared to what Jinho will do at Tokyo Dome. Your girls needed a whole group and years of buildup. Our boy does it alone and still breaks every record. Stay mad.”

@RealElixirWarrior (312K): “Any idol who disses Jinho gets their career ended by Elixirs. We don’t play. One wrong tweet and your fandom is done. Jinho is untouchable.”

The replies under those were a bloodbath of ratios, quote-tweets with laughing emojis, and screenshots of chart numbers. Some Elixirs tried to calm it down:

@OnceButElixirNow: “This is why people hate us. Delete the toxic shit and just stream.”

@JinhoWorldDom: “Real Elixirs don’t need to drag others. Eclipse stands on its own.”

But the aggressive corner kept liking and quote-retweeting, turning every mild criticism into a full-blown war. Jinho scrolled for a solid ten minutes, equal parts proud and exhausted.

The genuine fans — the ones organizing charity streams, building fan sites with translated lyrics, defending him with facts instead of insults — made up the vast majority. They were the reason the numbers kept climbing even after the initial hype wave. But the loud minority, the ones starting fanwars and sending death threats to anyone who dared call a choreo “mid,” were the tax he paid for this level of dominance. He had muted several toxic accounts weeks ago, but the algorithm still pushed the drama.

He switched to brand news.

Two fresh articles popped up.

“Samsung Shares Surge 4.7% After Jinho Galaxy Campaign Launch — Analysts Credit ‘Eclipse Effect’”

The new Galaxy campaign featuring Jinho’s face and the “Eclipse” hook in the background had driven pre-order numbers 62% above projections. Flagship stores in Gangnam and Seoul reported complete sell-outs within forty minutes of opening. Stock price had jumped the moment the first teaser dropped last week and hadn’t stopped climbing. Analysts were already calling it the strongest celebrity endorsement impact in Samsung history.

“Louis Vuitton Korea Reports Record Q1 Sales — Jinho Ambassadorship Credited for 41% Growth”

Similar stories for Dior (new fragrance line sold out in three hours after Jinho wore the scent in a behind-the-scenes clip) and Calvin Klein (the steamy black-and-white billboard campaign in Times Square caused literal traffic jams in Seoul when fans gathered to take photos). Every product he touched turned to gold. Limited-edition Eclipse x CK underwear dropped last week and sold out globally in eleven minutes. The “Jinho Premium” — the inexplicable 20-60% uplift any brand received the moment he signed on — was now a recognized term in marketing reports.

Jinho closed the tabs. The old Sungho would have cried reading these numbers. The new Jinho felt a quiet, bone-deep satisfaction mixed with the constant low hum of pressure. He was carrying an entire company’s expectations, a fandom’s dreams, and now four women’s desires on his shoulders. And he loved every second of it.

One last thing before he got up.

Instagram.

His official account — @jinho_official — sat at 69.4 million followers as of last night. He opened the camera, flipped to front, ran a hand through his messy bed hair once, let the sheet fall dramatically to his waist, and took the shot: topless, morning light carving every muscle, one eyebrow slightly raised, the faintest smirk that said “I know exactly what this will do to you.”

Caption: “Morning, Elixirs. Ready for whatever today throws at us. See you soon.”

Posted.

He didn’t even lock the phone. The likes counter started spinning like a broken odometer.

10k… 87k… 620k… 2.1 million in the first 10 minutes.

Follower count ticked visibly: 69.4M → 69.7M → 70.1M…

A banner notification popped up.

“Congratulations! You are now the fastest person to reach 70 million followers on Instagram — breaking the previous record by 19 days.”

Jinho laughed out loud, the sound low and genuine in the empty apartment. He tossed the phone onto the bed and stood up, completely naked, walking to the window to look out over the city that was currently obsessed with him.

Jinho started his day.

The kitchen was quiet, the fridge humming softly in the background. He pulled out a container of leftovers from two nights ago — grilled chicken thighs, cold rice, and a generous layer of aged kimchi that still looked (and smelled) perfectly edible. He popped it into the microwave, set it for two minutes, and while it spun he stripped off his sleep shorts and headed into the shower.

Hot water hit his shoulders like a welcome punch, steam rising fast in the small bathroom. He stood there longer than usual, letting the heat loosen the faint tightness in his lower back from yesterday’s endless floor sequences. Soap suds ran down the deep cuts of his abs, tracing every ridge he’d spent months carving. He washed quickly but thoroughly — hair, face, body — then turned the water off exactly as the microwave dinged in perfect sync. Timing was everything.

He ate standing at the counter, fork straight from the container, scrolling one last time through the group chat. Sana had already replied to his voice note with a string of crying-laughing emojis and “private lesson booked 😈”. Momo sent a tired-cat GIF. Mina simply hearted it with a single moon emoji. Simple, familiar, grounding. He answered what needed answering, then rinsed the container, left it in the sink, and showered then dressed.

Black track pants, fitted gray hoodie that hugged his shoulders and chest just right, black cap pulled low, mask tucked in his pocket for the walk. No Hanseok today — the manager was in Busan handling sponsor paperwork — so Jinho was on his own. He locked the apartment door, rode the elevator down to the lobby, nodded to the security guard (“Good morning, Jinho-ssi. Fighting today.” “Thank you, ahjussi. You too.”), and stepped out into the crisp Gangnam morning.

He flagged a taxi at the corner instead of walking. The driver recognized him immediately despite the cap and mask — eyes widening in the rearview mirror — but stayed professional. “SM building?” “Yes, please.” The ride was short, quiet. Jinho stared out the window at the passing streets, mentally running through the choreo adjustments he wanted to drill today: cleaner transitions in the bridge, sharper isolations in the second verse drop. The taxi pulled up to the side entrance. He paid cash, tipped generously, and slipped inside.

The SM lobby was still waking up — only a handful of staff carrying coffee trays, a small cluster of unknown trainees in practice clothes huddled near the elevators comparing schedules. Jinho exchanged quick, polite bows and greetings with each one he passed. The trainees’ eyes widened in recognition; one boy nearly dropped his water bottle. “Jinho-sunbaenim! Good morning!” Jinho smiled, genuine. “Good morning. Don’t overwork yourselves today, okay?” They nodded vigorously, faces flushed with excitement.

The elevator carried him to the third floor, where the main practice corridors branched off. The hallway was quieter than usual this early, fluorescent lights buzzing softly overhead, the faint echo of someone else’s music leaking from a distant room. He was halfway to his usual practice room — the one with the best mirror alignment and the least echo — when he rounded a corner and nearly collided with someone coming the opposite way.

Irene.

Red Velvet’s leader was dressed casually for what looked like a light vocal or individual session — oversized cream sweater slipping off one shoulder, black leggings, hair pulled into a loose ponytail, minimal makeup that still made her look impossibly elegant. She carried a small notebook and a thermos of tea. For a split second, both of them froze mid-step.

“Oh — Jinho-ssi,” Irene said first, her voice soft but clear, the slight surprise melting into a warm, professional smile. She bowed lightly, the kind of graceful nod that came from years of being the sunbae everyone looked up to.

Jinho bowed deeper, instinctively respectful. “Irene-sunbaenim. Sorry, I wasn’t looking.”

She laughed softly — a light, bell-like sound that instantly eased the awkwardness. “No, my fault. I was reading my notes and walking at the same time — classic rookie mistake even after all these years.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she looked at him properly for the first time in person. “I guess this is our first time meeting face-to-face like this. Nice to finally meet you, Jinho-ssi.”

“The pleasure is mine, sunbaenim,” he replied, straightening up. He kept his posture relaxed but polite, the way he’d learned to carry himself around seniors. “I’ve been a fan of Red Velvet since… well, since before I even thought I could do this.”

Irene tilted her head, genuinely pleased. “Really? Which song was your favorite back then?”

“‘Psycho,’” he answered without hesitation. “The bridge, the way the vocals layered — it felt like the song was telling a whole story without needing a music video. I studied that choreography for weeks when I was still a trainee. Even tried to copy Seulgi-sunbaenim’s shoulder isolation in the mirror for hours.”

Her smile widened, a spark of real interest lighting her eyes. “You studied our choreo? That’s flattering. Most rookies these days are too busy with their own concepts to look back.” She shifted her weight, notebook tucked under one arm, thermos held loosely in her other hand. “Now I see why everyone’s talking about you. You have that… presence. Even just standing here, it’s easy to understand the hype. And congratulations — on everything. The charts, the Dome, the brands. It’s impressive. Really.”

Jinho scratched the back of his neck, a small, boyish gesture that contrasted with his sharp visuals and made him look younger, more approachable. “Thank you, sunbaenim. Means a lot coming from you. Red Velvet set the standard for how a group can evolve and still stay true to themselves. I’m just trying not to trip over my own feet while the whole world watches.”

Irene laughed again, warmer this time, her gaze lingering a fraction longer than strictly necessary on the way his hoodie stretched across his shoulders. “You’re not tripping. If anything, you’re making the rest of us look slow.” She paused, eyes flicking over him again — subtle, appreciative, the kind of look that came from someone who understood exactly how much work went into looking effortless. “I caught one of your Inkigayo stages on replay the other night. That body roll in the chorus… even I had to pause and study it. Dangerous move for a rookie.”

He felt the faintest heat creep up his neck, but he met her eyes steadily, returning the smile with a touch more confidence. “Coming from the queen of elegant stages, that’s high praise. I’ll take it.” A small pause, then he added, quieter, “Maybe one day I can get tips from you on how to make the dangerous parts look graceful instead of just… intense.”

Irene’s lips curved, a small, knowing tilt that carried just a hint of playfulness. Their eyes held for a beat longer than the conversation required — hers warm and assessing, his calm but unmistakably engaged. The hallway felt quieter suddenly, the distance between them shrinking without either moving. A soft smile lingered on her face, the kind that promised future conversations, future shared stages, future moments where glances might carry more weight.

“I’d like that,” she said softly. “We should talk more sometime. Properly. When schedules aren’t trying to kill us both.”

Jinho nodded, the smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’d like that too, sunbaenim.”

They stood there another second, the air between them humming with that tiny, unspoken spark — not overt, not rushed, just the quiet beginning of something that could unfold later. Then Irene glanced at her watch.

“I should let you get to practice. Don’t want to make the future of K-pop late.” She gave a small wave, ponytail swinging as she stepped past him. “Fighting, Jinho-ssi.”

“Fighting, Irene-sunbaenim,” he replied, watching her go until she turned the corner.

He exhaled slowly, a faint grin still on his face, then continued down the hallway toward his practice room.

The room on the third floor was empty when he arrived, exactly as he preferred for solo sessions. He dropped his bag by the mirror, changed into practice clothes — loose black tank and joggers — and connected his phone to the sound system. “Eclipse” filled the space first, the haunting intro synths echoing off the walls. He started slow, marking the choreo, then built up to full power. Sweat beaded on his forehead within minutes. He drilled the floor sequence until his thighs burned, the body rolls until they felt like second nature, the high notes until his voice stayed steady even at full exertion.

He lost himself in the repetition — three full run-throughs, then isolated sections on loop: the second verse drop, the bridge transition, the final chorus power move. Every time he caught his reflection in the mirror he adjusted something — angle of the hip, depth of the squat, sharpness of the hand flick. Hours slipped by. The clock on the wall showed 11:47 a.m. when he finally called it.

He was drenched — tank clinging to his chest, joggers dark with sweat down the thighs, hair plastered to his forehead. Chest heaving, he grabbed a towel, wiped his face and neck, then stood in front of the mirror breathing hard, watching his reflection settle.

Jinho lingered in the practice room for a solid half-hour after wrapping up his solo session, giving his body time to cool down properly. He wasn't one to rush recovery these days—pushing too hard without rest was how injuries happened, and with Tokyo Dome looming like a thundercloud on the horizon, he couldn't afford even a minor tweak. The room was still humming faintly with the echo of his last run-through, the air thick with the scent of sweat-soaked hardwood and the faint metallic tang from the air conditioning vents. He sat cross-legged on the floor, back against the mirrored wall, scrolling idly through his phone while his heart rate settled.

The group chat with MiSaMo had blown up again—Sana sending a barrage of memes about overworked idols, Momo replying with a selfie of her collapsed on her dorm bed, and Mina chiming in with a simple "Rest well, everyone" accompanied by a moon emoji. Jinho smirked, typing back a quick "You too. Don't dream of that body roll fail, Momo-noona" before pocketing his phone. Karina's messages sat unread for now; he'd get to them later, when he could give her the attention she deserved without the distraction of post-practice fatigue.

He stood finally, rolling his shoulders to work out the last kinks, and peeled off his drenched tank top. The mirror reflected back a body that still sometimes surprised him—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, abs etched deep from endless crunches and planks, veins tracing subtle paths down his arms from the pump of rehearsal. He wiped down with a towel, changed into a fresh black hoodie and matching joggers—simple, comfortable, anonymous enough for the hallways—and slung his bag over one shoulder. Time to head out; he had a label meeting at noon, but first, maybe grab a quick protein shake from the vending machine downstairs.

The hallway outside was quieter than usual, the mid-morning lull when most groups were either in vocal lessons or off-site shoots. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the polished floors. Jinho made his way toward the elevators, footsteps echoing softly, mind already drifting to the choreo tweaks he wanted to suggest for the collab bridge. The elevator bank came into view around the corner—empty, save for a lone figure standing there, back turned to him.

She was wearing a black mask and a loose gray hoodie pulled low, but something about her posture caught his eye—tense, almost expectant. As he approached, she turned slightly, and even with the mask covering half her face, recognition hit him like a cool breeze. Those sharp eyes, the subtle grace in her stance—Aespa's Giselle.

"Giselle-sunbaenim?" Jinho said, voice polite but laced with mild surprise. He hadn't crossed paths with her much before; their schedules rarely overlapped, and when they did, it was usually in passing at company events or award shows. She was a few years his senior, known for her effortless bilingual charm and killer rap verses, but they'd never really spoken beyond basic greetings.

Giselle didn't respond immediately. Instead, she lowered her mask just enough to reveal her full face—lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowed with a mix of frustration and something sharper, almost accusatory. Her expression wasn't friendly; if anything, it screamed confrontation. Jinho's instincts kicked in, his easy smile fading into cautious neutrality. Before he could ask if everything was okay, she stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

"Come with me," Giselle said, her voice low and edged with urgency. "We need to talk." There was no room for argument in her tone—it wasn't a request. She grabbed his wrist firmly, her grip surprisingly strong for her slender frame, and tugged him toward the nearby women's comfort room without waiting for a response.

Jinho blinked, caught off guard, but he didn't resist. Pulling away would only draw attention, and the hallway was empty for now—no need to make a scene. "Sunbaenim, what's this about?" he asked quietly as she pushed open the door to the restroom, pulling him inside and straight into one of the larger stalls at the end. The door clicked shut behind them, the lock sliding into place with a decisive snap.

The stall was spacious enough for accessibility, but it still felt cramped with two people—especially when one was clearly pissed off. Giselle released his wrist and turned to face him, her back against the door as if to block any escape. She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made the small space feel even smaller.

Ever since that night on the balcony, Giselle hadn't been able to shake the image from her mind. She'd been up late, staring at the city lights to clear her head from the endless loop of comeback prep and group dynamics. Insomnia was her unwelcome companion these days, and that particular evening had been no different. But then she'd seen it—the silver car pulling up discreetly, two hooded figures emerging, the way Karina had risen on her toes to kiss the man with a desperation that screamed more than just a casual fling. Giselle's stomach had twisted; she'd leaned over the railing, heart pounding, confirming what her gut already knew. Karina, their leader, the unflappable face of Aespa, sneaking out like a lovesick teenager.

She'd waited, confronting Karina in the common area that night. "Where were you?" Giselle had demanded, her voice sharper than intended. Karina had frozen, shoes in hand, cheeks flushed. "Just... air. Couldn't sleep." But Giselle wasn't buying it. "Who is he?" she'd pressed, stepping closer. The argument had escalated quickly—Karina defensive, Giselle insistent. "You could destroy everything we've worked for just for a single rookie," Giselle had hissed, her worry bubbling over into anger. "He's not worth risking the group, Jimin-ah. Aespa comes first." Karina's eyes had flashed with hurt and defiance. "You don't know him. And you don't get to decide what's worth it for me." They'd parted on tense terms, the air thick with unspoken resentment.

Since then, Giselle had become hyper-aware, almost obsessively so. She'd noticed the changes in Karina—the late-night calls where she'd slip away to her room, giggling softly behind closed doors; the way her phone would light up at odd hours with messages that made her bite her lip and blush; the subtle shift in her energy, more distracted during practices, her mind clearly elsewhere. And then there were the video calls—Giselle had overheard enough through thin walls to piece it together: moans, whispers, the unmistakable sounds of intimacy. Karina was obsessed, hooked on this rookie in a way that scared Giselle. It wasn't just a fling; it was consuming her, and if it blew up, Aespa would pay the price.

Now, face-to-face with the source of it all, Giselle didn't hold back. "What did you do to Karina?" she demanded, her voice a harsh whisper to avoid echoing in the tiled space. Her eyes bored into his, searching for any sign of guilt or deceit. "Stop messing with her. She's our leader—Aespa's leader—not some fucking rookie's slut."

Jinho's expression remained calm, though a flicker of surprise crossed his features at her bluntness. He leaned back slightly against the stall wall, crossing his arms in a mirror of her posture. "Sunbaenim, I think there's a misunderstanding—"

"No," Giselle cut him off, stepping closer, her finger jabbing toward his chest but not quite touching. "There's no misunderstanding. I've seen enough. The late nights, the calls, the way she's been acting. You're distracting her, pulling her away from what matters. Aespa is everything to us—to her. And you're risking it all for what? A quick fuck? I'm warning you, stay away from her, or I'll make sure to do everything I can to ruin your career. I have connections, Jinho. Don't test me."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with threat. Giselle's heart raced; she wasn't bluffing. She'd go to the managers, leak anonymously if she had to—anything to protect the group. Karina was slipping, and it had to stop.

She turned to leave, hand reaching for the lock, but before she could twist it, Jinho's fingers wrapped around her wrist—firm but not painful, pulling her back just enough to halt her movement. Giselle whipped around, eyes flashing with anger. "Let go—"

"You don't know why your horny ass leader is obsessed with me?" Jinho's voice was low, almost a growl, his usual polite demeanor cracking into something darker, more primal. "Let me show you."

Before Giselle could process the words, he closed the distance in a blur. His free hand cupped the back of her neck, tilting her head up as his lips crashed onto hers in a sudden, searing kiss. It wasn't gentle; it was demanding, his mouth moving against hers with a hunger that stole her breath. Giselle's eyes widened in shock, her hands instinctively pushing against his chest, but the contact only made her aware of the hard planes of muscle beneath his hoodie. "S... st... stop," she managed to gasp against his lips, but the word came out weaker than intended, her body betraying her as a shiver ran down her spine.

Jinho didn't stop. He released her wrist only to wrap his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him, restricting her movements without hurting her. His lips trailed from her mouth to her jaw, then down to her neck—sucking gently at first, then harder, his tongue flicking out to lick the sensitive skin just below her ear. Giselle's breath hitched, a soft moan escaping despite her best efforts to suppress it. "What... what are you doing?" she whispered, her voice trembling. Her hands fisted in his hoodie, half pushing, half clinging. It felt wrong—so wrong—but the heat of his mouth, the skillful way his tongue swirled and teased, sent sparks of unwanted pleasure shooting through her.

She tried to twist away, but Jinho's grip held firm, his free hand sliding up to tilt her head back further, exposing more of her neck. He licked a slow, deliberate path from her collarbone up to her pulse point, sucking there until she felt the mark forming. "Stop... this isn't... ahh—" Another moan slipped out, betraying her. Giselle's mind raced—disbelief warring with the building heat in her core. How was he doing this? Why did it feel so good? Her morals screamed at her to fight, to slap him and run, but her body... her body was melting under his touch, knees weakening as his lips worked their magic.

Jinho's hands weren't idle. While his mouth continued its assault on her neck, he swiftly tugged at the hem of her sweater, pushing it up just enough to expose her midriff. His fingers grazed her bare skin, sending goosebumps racing across her body. Then, without breaking the rhythm of his kisses, he lowered his sweatpants with one hand, the fabric pooling at his ankles. Giselle's eyes darted down instinctively, widening at the sight of his massive cock—thick, veined, already hard and throbbing, grazing against her thigh through her leggings. The sheer size of it made her stomach flip; it was intimidating, powerful, and undeniably arousing.

Before she could protest again, Jinho's hands moved to her top, stripping it off in one fluid motion. Her bra followed, unclasped and discarded, leaving her upper body bare. Giselle gasped, arms crossing over her chest in a futile attempt at modesty, but Jinho gently but firmly pulled them away. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of her—her perky tits, nipples hardening in the cool air of the stall. "Beautiful," he murmured, voice husky, before leaning down to capture one in his mouth.

Giselle's back arched against the door as his lips closed around her nipple, sucking firmly while his tongue flicked and swirled. "Oh god... stop... this is wrong..." But her words lacked conviction, dissolving into another moan as he switched to the other breast, groping the first with his hand, kneading the soft flesh. His touch was expert—alternating between gentle caresses and firm squeezes, his teeth grazing just enough to send jolts of pleasure-pain through her. She felt herself getting wet, her core aching despite her internal protests. "Why... why does this feel so good?" she thought, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and desire. Her body was betraying her morals, responding to every lick, every suck, every graze of his massive cock between her thighs.

Jinho's free hand slid lower, pressing against her through her leggings, feeling the heat radiating from her. But he didn't push further—not yet. Instead, he focused on her tits, making sure every inch was lavished with attention, drenched in his saliva. Giselle's resistance crumbled further with each passing second; her hands, once pushing, now tangled in his hair, pulling him closer involuntarily. "Fuck... I shouldn't... but..." The internal battle raged, but the pleasure was winning.

Finally, something snapped inside her. "Fuck it," Giselle thought, her resolve shattering. She pushed Jinho back with surprising force, guiding him to sit on the closed toilet seat. He complied, a smug glint in his eyes as he watched her. Giselle's hands trembled slightly as she completely removed his sweatpants, leaving him fully exposed. Then, without a word, she stripped off her own top—already half-off anyway—and tossed it aside. Her eyes locked onto his cock, a mix of awe and hunger in her gaze.

She dropped to her knees between his legs, her hands wrapping around the base—fingers barely meeting around the girth. Giselle didn't speak; she let her actions do the talking. Leaning forward, she took the head into her mouth, sucking gently at first, her tongue swirling around the tip. Jinho groaned, his head falling back slightly. "Yes, just like that... suck it like your slutty leader does, good girl..."

Giselle's cheeks burned at his words, but deep inside, she understood. She knew why Karina was obsessed—this cock was a masterpiece, thick and powerful, filling her mouth in a way that made her feel both dominated and desired. She bobbed her head deeper, taking more of him, her moans vibrating around his shaft. Saliva dripped from the corners of her mouth as she worshipped it, her hands stroking what she couldn't fit.

Jinho's hand found the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair. He didn't force at first, letting her set the pace, but soon he took control—guiding her movements, pushing her down further until she gagged slightly, then pulling back. "That's it... take it deeper... you know you want to." Giselle's eyes watered, but she didn't stop; if anything, the control spurred her on. She sucked harder, her tongue working relentlessly, hollowing her cheeks for more suction.

The stall was filled with wet, obscene sounds—her slurping, his groans, the faint echo of her moans. Giselle's mind was a haze; all thoughts of warning him, of protecting Karina, had evaporated. There was only this—the pleasure of submitting, the thrill of betraying her own words. She deep-throated him as best she could, her throat relaxing to take more, gagging softly but pushing through.

Jinho's grip tightened, his hips bucking slightly. "Fuck... you're good at this..." Giselle didn't respond verbally, but inside, she knew. She understood the obsession now—the way his cock filled her mouth, the taste of him, the power he exuded. It was intoxicating, addictive.

Giselle’s world shrank to the thick heat stretching her lips and filling her throat. She bobbed deeper, tongue swirling hungrily along the veined length, tasting the steady leak of salty pre-cum. One hand twisted firmly at the base while the other kneaded his tightening balls. Muffled moans vibrated around him, betraying how much she hated—and craved—this perfection. Karina’s obsession suddenly made sense: this wasn’t just a cock; it was made to addict and dominate.

Jinho’s groans turned primal. Fingers tightening in her hair, he took control, thrusting deeper until she gagged softly, tears pricking her eyes. She didn’t pull away—she leaned in, hollowing her cheeks harder, saliva dripping down her chin. “Fuck… you’re sucking it like you were born for this,” he growled. “Obsessed already, just like your slutty leader. Can’t get enough, can you?”

Her muffled whimper and defiant-yet-surrendering gaze said he was right. The pulsing girth, the jaw-aching stretch, the sheer power—it was intoxicating.

Abruptly he yanked her off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting her lips to the glistening tip. “Not yet,” he said, voice low and possessive. Hauling her up by the hair, he spun her to face the toilet seat. “Bend over.”

Heart hammering—fear, shame, thrill—Giselle obeyed before she could think, bracing her hands on the cool porcelain, back arched, ass presented. Jinho loomed behind her, cock brushing her clothed curves. “You came to protect your leader,” he murmured hot against her ear, hand sliding down her spine, “but look at you now—bent over like a good little slut, obsessed with the same cock that owns Karina.”

“Shut up… this means nothing,” she lied weakly, voice trembling. Her pussy throbbed, already soaked, hips shifting back despite herself.

He chuckled darkly. A sharp slap cracked across one ass cheek through the leggings; she yelped, the sting blooming into heat. Another, harder. Then a rhythm—each smack drawing gasps and involuntary moans, her hips pushing back for more. “Don’t lie. You’re dripping for it. Obsessed just like her.”

Satisfied with the burning flush beneath the fabric, he hooked her waistband and yanked leggings and panties down in one rough pull. Cool air hit her bare, glistening pussy and reddened ass. Another bare slap echoed; she cried out, trembling. “So wet already… came here to warn me off, but now you’re begging for the same treatment.”

“I’m not—ahh!” Another stinging slap landed low, jolting her clit. Shame, anger, and raw need warred inside her, but the desire won. The memory of his cock filling her mouth, the promise of it stretching her open—it consumed her. She was obsessed. There was no denying it anymore. She needed him inside her.

Giselle's world shattered into fragments of ecstasy and dread as Jinho's massive cock plunged into her from behind, each thrust a brutal reminder of her crumbling resolve. The initial penetration had been a shockwave—his girth stretching her walls to their limits, the burning fullness making her vision blur and her knees buckle against the toilet seat. But now, as he set a relentless rhythm, aggression pouring from every snap of his hips, she was lost in the storm. Her hands gripped the porcelain edge, knuckles white, nails scraping faintly as her body rocked forward with each powerful drive. The stall echoed with the wet, obscene slaps of skin on skin, her slick arousal coating his shaft and dripping down her thighs in warm rivulets. Why does it feel this good? she thought, her mind a chaotic whirl of shame and craving. The obsession had taken root deep; every vein pulsing against her sensitive inner walls, every inch claiming her, made her pussy clench greedily, begging for more despite the voice in her head screaming to stop.

Jinho's hands were everywhere—possessive, unyielding. One gripped her hip like a vice, fingers digging into the soft flesh to pull her back onto him harder, forcing her to meet his thrusts with equal force. The other roamed her back, sliding up to tangle in her hair, yanking her head back just enough to arch her spine deeper, exposing the curve of her neck. "Feel that?" he growled low, his breath hot against her ear, voice dripping with arrogance. "Your pussy's obsessed already—squeezing me like it never wants to let go. You came here to threaten me, but now you're bent over, taking my cock like a desperate slut." He slapped her ass again, the sharp crack reverberating through the stall, the sting blooming into a heated throb that made her walls flutter around him. Giselle bit her lip hard, tasting copper, but a moan escaped anyway—raw, involuntary, her body betraying her morals at every turn.

She hated him for this—for the way his aggression ignited something primal in her, for how his cock filled her so completely it erased rational thought. Each thrust hit deeper, the bulbous head grinding against her g-spot with merciless precision, sending jolts of pleasure that made her toes curl in her sneakers. Her tits bounced freely with the force, nipples hardened to aching points from the cool air and the friction of her body moving. "Ahh—fuck—too deep—" she gasped, her voice a broken whisper, but her hips pushed back instinctively, chasing the sensation. The obsession deepened with every plunge; she craved the dominance, the way he used her without apology, turning her threats into pleas. Karina... I get it now. This cock—it's ruinous.

Jinho's pace quickened, his free hand sliding around to rub her clit in rough, insistent circles, syncing with his thrusts. "That's it—take it all. You think you can warn me off? Funny, coming from the girl who's creaming all over my dick." Another slap to her ass, harder this time, the red mark pulsing with heat. Giselle's eyes watered, her breaths coming in ragged pants, the pleasure building like a tidal wave in her core. She was close—dangerously close—the friction, the fullness, the sheer aggression pushing her toward the edge.

But then, the door to the women's comfort room creaked open, followed by the click of heels on tile. Giselle froze, her blood turning to ice even as Jinho's cock continued its assault, sliding in and out with slick, unrelenting force. No—no, not now. Panic surged through her, but the sensation in her pussy—the way he filled her, stretched her, owned her—made it impossible to stop. She clamped a hand over her mouth, biting down on her palm to stifle the moan threatening to escape.

Irene's voice echoed softly in the room, oblivious to the depravity unfolding in the corner stall. "Seulgi-yah, you won't believe who I just ran into in the hallway," she said, her tone light and excited as she positioned herself in front of the mirror. The sound of a makeup bag unzipping followed, brushes clinking. "Jinho-ssi—the rookie everyone's talking about. Oh my god, he's even more attractive in person. Like, unfairly so. Tall, broad shoulders, that jawline... and his eyes? They just pull you in. I was stumbling over my words like a trainee."

Giselle's heart hammered in her chest, terror mixing with the building ecstasy. Irene-sunbaenim... right there. The stall was tucked in the corner, their feet hidden from view by the low partition and the angle of the mirrors, but one wrong sound—one slip—and it would all come crashing down. Jinho didn't stop; if anything, he thrust harder, deeper, his aggression fueled by the risk. He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, lips brushing her ear in a hot whisper. "Hear that? I could even fuck her—Irene, the idol you guys probably look up to." His voice was arrogant, laced with dark amusement, as he slapped her ass lightly—not enough to echo, but enough to make her jolt. "Imagine it... her bent over just like you, obsessed with this cock too."

Giselle whimpered into her hand, eyes squeezing shut as tears of frustration and pleasure welled up. The fear heightened everything—the way his cock dragged against her walls, the slick sounds barely masked by Irene's ongoing conversation. She tried desperately to stay silent, her free hand clawing at the toilet seat, but Jinho's fingers on her clit rubbed faster, syncing with his thrusts. "You think I will treat you with care after blackmailing me and my career? Funny," he growled softly, his hips snapping forward with renewed force, each plunge sending sparks through her core. Giselle's body trembled, her pussy clenching around him involuntarily, the obsession warring with her terror. I can't moan—can't let her hear—but fuck, it feels too good...

Irene continued, oblivious, her voice cheerful as she applied lipstick or powder—Giselle couldn't tell, too lost in the haze. "Seriously, Seulgi, he's got this aura. Confident but not cocky, you know? And his body... I mean, the hoodie couldn't hide it. Broad chest, those arms—probably from all the dancing. I felt like a fan asking for an autograph. We talked a bit; he's polite, smart. Said he studied our choreo back in trainee days. Cute, right? I told him we should chat more sometime. Who knows, maybe a collab one day."

Giselle's mind reeled—Irene praising him while he's fucking me senseless? The irony burned, but so did the pleasure. Jinho's arrogance swelled; he fucked her faster, his cock pistoning in and out with aggressive precision, hitting her g-spot relentlessly. Giselle's hand clamped tighter over her mouth, muffling the sobs of ecstasy building in her throat. Her legs shook, thighs slick with arousal, the obsession consuming her entirely. Don't stop—please don't stop—but she'll hear... fuck, I need to cum...

After what felt like an eternity of torment—Irene chatting about schedules, praising Jinho's rise, and finally zipping up her bag—the door creaked open again, heels clicking away until silence returned. Giselle sagged in relief, her hand dropping as a loud moan finally escaped. "Oh god—fuck—harder—"

Jinho didn't hold back. With Irene gone, his aggression unleashed fully. He pulled her hair back, arching her further, his free hand slapping her ass in quick succession—each one echoing now, the sting amplifying her pleasure. "Now you can scream," he taunted, his thrusts turning punishing, cock slamming deep and fast. Giselle's cries filled the stall, raw and uninhibited, her pussy spasming around him. "Yes—fuck me—your cock—I'm obsessed—"

The build-up was explosive. Jinho's breaths grew ragged, his grip bruising as he chased his release, using her body without mercy. "Take it all—gonna fill you up—" With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, groaning low as hot ropes of cum erupted inside her, flooding her walls. Giselle came with him, her orgasm crashing over her in waves, pussy milking every drop as she screamed his name, slick gushing out around his cock.

They stayed locked for a moment, breaths heaving, before Jinho pulled out slowly, a thick trail of cum dripping from her pussy. He stood, arrogant smirk in place, looking down at her trembling form. "Now you know why Karina is head over heels for me. Don't worry, this won't be the last time. Next time, I'll have all four of you—Aespa—worshipping me, wrapped all over my cock."

Jinho adjusted his clothes, leaving her there—leaning against the toilet seat, catching her breath, her pussy still dripping with his cum, mind reeling from the intensity and the newfound obsession that would haunt her.

Jinho stepped out of the women's comfort room with the same calm stride he'd entered with, cap pulled low, mask tugged up, gym bag slung over one shoulder like nothing had happened. But inside, he was riding a high that no amount of post-practice endorphins could touch.

Giselle's surrender still burned in his veins—the way she'd gone from threats to obsession in minutes, the way her pussy had clenched around him like it was trying to keep him forever, the broken moans she'd tried to muffle against her own hand while Irene praised him obliviously on the phone. The memory of filling her up, watching his cum drip from her swollen folds while she leaned against the toilet seat gasping, left a dark, satisfied thrum in his chest. He could still feel the ghost of her walls fluttering around him, hear the wet slap of skin, taste the salt of her neck where he'd marked her. She gets it now, he thought, lips curving into a private smirk beneath the mask. They all will.

His phone buzzed again as he reached the elevator bank. Hanseok.

He answered mid-stride. "Hello hyung. What's up?"

Hanseok's voice burst through, loud and impatient. "Where are you, kid? Get your ass down here. I'm outside the main entrance, freezing my balls off against the van like some budget drama extra. Move it!"

Jinho's smirk widened. "On my way. Five minutes."

He hung up, rode the elevator down, nodded to the lobby security ("Fighting, Jinho-ssi!"), and pushed through the revolving doors into the sharp late-morning chill.

There was Hanseok—back propped against the black company van, arms crossed, wearing that signature ridiculous grin that looked like he'd just won the lottery and was about to tell everyone. The second he spotted Jinho, he pushed off the vehicle with exaggerated flair, throwing both arms wide.

"There he is! The man, the myth, the walking Billboard chart violation!" Hanseok called, loud "Get over here before I start doing a victory dance in the middle of the street"

Jinho walked up, one brow arched. "If this is another one of your 'surprise iced coffee taste tests,' I'm turning around."

Hanseok barked a laugh and clapped him on the shoulder—hard. "Nah, kid. Better." He reached through the open passenger window and pulled out a plain white envelope, thick and official, SM's silver logo gleaming on the flap.

Jinho's expression shifted to quiet curiosity. "Is that…?"

"Your first real paycheck," Hanseok said, voice dropping into something almost proud as he handed it over. "Came through accounting this morning. I had them rush the deposit because—well, because I wanted to see your face when you saw it. Manager privilege. Now open it before I tear it myself like an impatient kid on Christmas."

Jinho took the envelope, turned it over once—feeling the satisfying weight—then slid his thumb under the flap and tore it open. Inside: a single payout summary on company letterhead and a stapled bank deposit receipt showing the net transfer already wired.

He scanned the breakdown.

Base salary (debut transition): ₩8,000,000 / month × 2 months = ₩16,000,000 KRW (~$11,000 USD)

Performance & streaming bonus (Eclipse dominance): ₩120,000,000 KRW (~$82,000 USD)

Album sales & merch preliminary share: ₩180,000,000 KRW (~$123,000 USD)

Endorsement advances (Samsung, LV, Dior, CK): ₩300,000,000 KRW (~$205,000 USD)

Music show winnings & awards cut: ₩28,000,000 KRW (~$19,000 USD)

Gross total before deductions: ₩644,000,000 KRW (~$440,000 USD)

Net after agency commission (30%), taxes (est. 38% combined), and mandatory savings: ₩322,000,000 KRW (~$220,000 USD)

Jinho received a total of 322 million won or 220 thousand dollars. 

Net.

In his first real payout cycle.

Jinho exhaled slowly through his nose, the number settling into him like a second heartbeat. It wasn't just money—it was proof. Proof that the grind, the nights in the practice room until his legs gave out, the relentless self-critique in front of mirrors, had paid off in a way most idols only dreamed of.

Hanseok watched him, grin softening into something genuine. "Yeah. Let it sink in. Most rookies see maybe twenty, thirty million on their first one—if they're lucky. You just walked into the big leagues on day one. Hard work, talent, and a little bit of that scary Jinho magic. I'm proud of you, kid. Seriously."

Jinho folded the paper carefully, slipped it into his bag. His voice came out quieter than usual. "Thanks, hyung. Means a lot."

Hanseok's grin snapped back full force. "Don't get all emotional on me now. Get in the van." He jerked his thumb toward the passenger door. "We're celebrating. Steak house in Seoul. And since you're the one with three hundred million won burning a hole in your account… it's your treat."

Jinho barked a laugh—genuine, surprised. "You're serious?"

"Dead serious," Hanseok said, already circling to the driver's side. "Manager tax: you pay, I eat. Hop in before I start crying about how my baby boy grew up and started buying hyung dinner."

Jinho shook his head, still smiling, and climbed into the passenger seat. "You're ridiculous."

"And you're rich," Hanseok shot back, starting the engine with a dramatic rev. "Buckle up. Your first treat's gonna be legendary."

The drive to the steak house took about twenty minutes—traffic was light for once. Hanseok put on some old hip-hop playlist, humming along badly while tapping the wheel. Jinho stared out the window, still feeling the afterglow of Giselle's surrender layered over the quiet weight of the money in his account. It all felt surreal, like he was living someone else's life.

They pulled up to a low-key upscale spot tucked between glass towers—dark wood facade, no loud signage, the kind of place idols chose when they wanted to eat without becoming tomorrow's headline. The valet took the van without fanfare; inside, the host recognized Jinho but kept it professional, guiding them to a corner booth with frosted glass for privacy.

They ordered fast: Hanseok went for the massive 48-ounce tomahawk "We're sharing, obviously—don't be stingy", Jinho picked the wagyu sirloin, medium-rare, with truffle mash and grilled asparagus. The house sent over a bottle of red without being asked.

Once the server left, Hanseok leaned back, arms spread across the back of the booth. "Alright. Steak's on your tab, wine's on the house. Now talk to me. Three hundred twenty-two million won just dropped into your life. What are you thinking?"

Jinho took a slow sip of wine, swirling it for a second. "Honestly? I have no idea yet. Still processing. Maybe get the van some heated seats so you stop complaining every winter morning."

Hanseok snorted mid-bite, nearly choking. "Heated seats? With that money you could buy me a whole new van. But okay, practical. I respect it." He leaned forward, eyes twinkling. "But come on—there's gotta be something fun. First real check like this? Everyone has that one stupid dream purchase."

Jinho grinned, leaning in. "Alright, if we're being honest... maybe book you a night with a top model or one of those KBJ streamers you're always joking about. Since you're so invested in my personal life, I figured I'd return the favor."

Hanseok's eyes went wide for half a second before he burst out laughing—loud, genuine, head thrown back. "You little punk! That's evil. But... if you're paying, make it two. Can't have your hyung looking lonely." He wiped his eyes, still chuckling. "God, I raised you right."

The steaks arrived—thick, perfectly seared, sizzling on hot plates. Hanseok carved into his tomahawk with exaggerated care. "To the kid who went from eating cup ramen in the dorm to buying his hyung wagyu. Cheers."

They clinked glasses. The conversation drifted—Hanseok telling old stories about idols blowing their first checks on dumb things ("One guy bought a pet tiger. A tiger. Had to explain that to the company."), Jinho laughing and asking follow-ups ("Did the tiger get a stage name?"). It felt easy, normal, like any other day—except everything underneath had shifted.

Midway through, Jinho wiped his mouth. "By the way hyung—any schedules I forgot about?"

Hanseok grinned. "Forgot? Kid, your schedule's packed because everyone wants a piece of you right now. Got a string of TikTok collabs this afternoon—people are tripping over themselves to ride your wave. First HYBE with Le Sserafim's Chaewon and Sakura for 'Hot' and 'Crazy.' Then same building with Jungkook for 'Standing Next to You' and 'Seven.' After that Starship with IVE's Wonyoung and Yujin on 'Baddie' and 'Attitude.' Finish at JYP: Stray Kids' Bang Chan and Han for 'God's Menu' and 'Chk Chk Boom,' then ITZY's Yeji and Yuna on 'Untouchable' and 'Cake.' Long day, but fun. I'll stick with you—open doors, talk to the other managers, make sure nobody tries to kidnap my cash cow."

Jinho nodded, already shifting gears. "Sounds good. Let's finish eating and get moving."

Hanseok being the solid manager he was, stayed glued to Jinho's side the entire afternoon. He handled the small stuff—navigating buildings, making small talk with other managers, keeping things smooth while Jinho focused on the shoots.

The first HYBE room felt clean and professional. Hanseok knocked, then held the door. Chaewon and Sakura were already warming up—Chaewon in a cropped hoodie and bike shorts, hair tucked behind her ears, Sakura in a loose tank and leggings, ponytail swinging.

"Jinho-ssi, Hanseok-ssi!" Chaewon greeted with a quick bow and a bright smile. "Thanks for coming. We've been looking forward to this."

Sakura bowed too, eyes warm. "Nice to meet you properly, Jinho-sunbaenim. Your performances are really impressive."

Jinho bowed back, respectful. "Thank you, sunbaenims. Le Sserafim's energy is incredible. Excited to try the challenges."

Quick handshakes—Chaewon's firm and confident, Sakura's gentle. Hanseok chatted with their manager in the corner, swapping industry gossip.

The shoot started easy. Chaewon walked him through 'Hot'—hip sway into a sharp drop. Jinho got it in one take, natural flow making it look effortless. "Wow, you're fast," Sakura said, clapping. "In Japan everyone's talking about your Tokyo Dome shows. Tickets went so quick—my friends were complaining they missed out."

Chaewon nodded. "Yeah, your debut's been crazy. How do you even deal with all that pressure?"

Jinho gave a small shrug. "One day at a time. Good collabs like this help a lot." They laughed, the atmosphere relaxed. 'Crazy' went just as smooth—Jinho locked in the quirky arm waves immediately. "Perfect!" Chaewon cheered, high-fiving him. Sakura added, "We should do more sometime—especially when you're in Japan."

They wrapped with group photos and polite bows. As Jinho and Hanseok left, Chaewon whispered to Sakura, "He's even cooler in person." Sakura giggled. "That smile... no wonder everyone's losing it."

Next was BTS's practice room. Hanseok knocked twice, opened the door. Jungkook was inside, stretching in a plain black tee and joggers.

"Look who's here—what's up, man?" Jungkook greeted with a grin, throwing a casual dap.

Jinho returned it smoothly. "Hey hyung, good to see you."

Instant bro energy. Jinho jumped in. "Honestly, BTS has been my blueprint since trainee days. Your stages, hyung—especially the way you move and sing. Huge inspiration."

Jungkook waved it off with a humble laugh. "Appreciate that, but come on—you're the one breaking records left and right. We had to grind for years to get here. You're doing it solo in months. That's talent, man. Respect. Kinda jealous in the best way."

They both chuckled, the vibe easy and mutual. The 'Standing Next to You' challenge flowed smooth—Jungkook showing the groove, Jinho picking it up fast. "Quick learner," Jungkook said, nodding. 'Seven' was pure fun—sexy steps that had them both grinning. The room felt electric; Hanseok peeked in once and muttered, "Two monsters in one room."

They finished with one last dap. "Hit me up anytime," Jungkook said, sliding over a card. "For real—let's work on something big."

"Will do, hyung. Thanks," Jinho replied.

After HYBE, they drove to Starship. Yujin and Wonyoung were waiting in a bright practice room—Yujin in a sporty crop top and shorts, Wonyoung in a flowy tank and leggings.

"Jinho-ssi! Welcome," Yujin greeted warmly, bowing. "We've been playing 'Eclipse' on repeat during practice."

Wonyoung bowed too, eyes lingering a second longer, biting her lip subtly. "Nice to meet you. Your performances are really inspiring."

Jinho bowed back. "Thank you, sunbaenims. IVE's energy is amazing—'Baddie' has been on my gym playlist nonstop."

They chatted easily—Yujin sharing a funny fan story from their last concert, Wonyoung admitting she'd studied Jinho's body rolls for tips. "Your control is insane," she said softly. Yujin caught her stare, tapped her arm lightly with a knowing smile.

The 'Baddie' shoot was quick—Jinho nailing the sassy steps in under ten minutes. 'Attitude' even smoother, all three laughing when Wonyoung flubbed a move. "Even we mess up sometimes," Yujin said with a grin.

They parted with bows and "let's do this again" promises. Wonyoung's gaze followed him out the door.

The final stop was JYP. On the drive, Hanseok teased, "Alright, behave when we get to MiSaMo territory. Don't let me walk in on anything weird in a hallway corner. I'd have to make up some excuse to the bosses."

Jinho rolled his eyes. "Shut up, hyung. Not today."

JYP was quieter than expected—no Twice in sight, which disappointed Jinho a little. They headed to the lounge where Bang Chan and Han were waiting.

"Yo, Jinho—welcome to the chaos," Bang Chan greeted with a solid dap, his easy leadership pulling everyone in.

Han grinned. "Dude, your debut is fire. We had 'Eclipse' blasting in the studio last week—got us all hyped."

Jinho returned the energy. "Thanks, hyungs. Stray Kids has been huge inspiration—the energy, the raps, everything."

They talked naturally—Bang Chan sharing tour survival tips, Han joking about online fanwars. "Your Elixirs go hard—stay safe out there." The 'God's Menu' challenge was high-energy, Jinho matching their power. 'Chk Chk Boom' was fun, the three trading ad-libs.

Wrapped with daps and "hit us up anytime."

Lastly ITZY's room. Yeji and Yuna greeted with warm smiles—Yeji confident and welcoming, Yuna bubbly and a little touchy as she playfully adjusted Jinho's cap.

"Glad you're here," Yeji said. "Your stages are killer."

Yuna grinned. "Show us some moves?"

The vibe was light and respectful—quick chat about comebacks, subtle tension in Yuna's lingering glances and light touches on his arm, Yeji's knowing smile. 'Untouchable' and 'Cake' shoots went smooth, full of laughter.

The day finally wrapped.

"Hyung, go ahead—gotta use the bathroom quick," Jinho said.

"Sure, kid. Van's parked where we left it."

Jinho headed to the restroom, did his business, stepped out. As he approached the elevator, a masked girl appeared—grabbed his wrist and pulled him into Twice's practice room before he could react. This feels way too familiar, he thought.

The door shut. She pinned him against it. Mask off: Nayeon, eyes bright with mischief.

"Nice to finally meet you, rookie," she said, voice playful but direct, hand already palming his crotch. "Nayeon-sunbae? Wait—"

"Momo's been walking around with this glow lately," Nayeon cut in, smirking. "You've been collecting our Japanese members like they're limited-edition merch, huh? Can't really blame them though—you're cuter than the hype makes you sound." She leaned in and kissed him hard, hand slipping inside his pants, stroking him with confident, teasing pressure.

After a minute of heated kissing, Nayeon dropped to her knees, tugging his pants and boxers down. "I saw this once on Momo's phone. Up close? Way better. Looks delicious." She wrapped both hands around his shaft, tongue flicking out to swipe the tip before kissing along the length, stroking slowly.

Her eyes stayed locked on his the entire time—seductive, half-lidded, a small knowing smile playing at the corners of her lips every time she caught him watching. She gave a soft hum of approval as she licked a slow stripe from base to tip, savoring the taste. "Mmm... bigger than I pictured," she murmured, voice low and teasing.

She took the head into her mouth, sucking gently at first, tongue swirling in slow, deliberate circles—flicking the sensitive underside, tracing veins with careful precision. Her hands moved in rhythm: one twisting firmly at the base, the other cupping and massaging his balls with just the right pressure. Saliva built fast, dripping down as she bobbed deeper, cheeks hollowing for strong suction. The wet, rhythmic sounds filled the quiet room—soft slurps mixed with her quiet hums of approval, her breathing coming in soft, controlled puffs through her nose when she took him deeper.

Jinho sucked in a breath, hips twitching involuntarily. "Nayeon-sunbae…"

She pulled off just enough to speak, lips brushing the tip as she looked up at him through her lashes. "Noona. Say it." Then she dove back in, deeper this time—relaxing her throat to take more, gagging softly but pushing through until her nose brushed his pelvis. Her tongue flattened against the underside, undulating slowly while she hummed, sending vibrations straight through him. Every few bobs she pulled back slightly, catching her breath in small, quiet gasps, a tiny laugh escaping her when she felt him twitch in her mouth—like she was enjoying how much she was affecting him.

She switched techniques smoothly—kissing and licking along the sides, giving slow, teasing laps before focusing on the head with hard, focused suction while her hand worked the shaft in tight twists. "Tastes so good... no wonder Momo can't stop talking about it," she murmured between licks, voice husky and teasing, eyes flicking up to meet his again with that same seductive glint. Back to full mouth, faster now—sloppy, wet, the obscene sounds bouncing softly off the mirrored walls. She alternated between deep throating with humming vibrations and pulling back to let her tongue swirl in lazy circles around the tip, always watching him, always teasing with those eyes.

Her breathing grew a little heavier the longer she went—small pauses to catch air, a soft "mmh" of satisfaction every time he groaned, her cheeks flushed slightly from effort and excitement. She never broke eye contact for long; even when she closed her eyes briefly to focus on taking him deeper, she'd open them again to look up, making sure he saw how much she was enjoying this.

"Damn, noona…" Jinho breathed out, voice rough, fingers tightening in her hair just enough to show he was losing his grip. "You're killing me here."

She pulled off again with a wet pop, stroking him slow and firm while she caught her breath, lips shiny and a little swollen. A small, breathless laugh escaped her. "Good. That's the point." Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the tip before taking him back in—deeper, slower this time, savoring every inch like she had all the time in the world. Her breathing hitched softly when she pushed past her limit, a quiet gag followed by a satisfied hum, eyes watering just a bit but never leaving his. She was clearly enjoying the control, the way he reacted to every little move, every flick of her tongue, every vibration she sent through him.

Nayeon kept her rhythm steady, eyes never leaving his—seductive, teasing, watching every flicker of reaction on his face like she was collecting them. The wet sounds of her mouth working him filled the quiet practice room, soft slurps and her occasional quiet hums mixing with the faint echo of distant music leaking through the walls. Her breathing had grown a little ragged now—small pauses when she pulled back to catch air, a soft exhale through her nose before diving deeper again. She let her tongue swirl lazy circles around the head one more time, then took him all the way, throat relaxing as she pushed past her limit, nose brushing his skin.

Jinho's control was fraying. His hips gave a small, involuntary twitch, and he felt the heat coiling tight in his core. "Noona..." he breathed out, voice rough and low. Growing bolder, he slid his right hand to the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair—not forcing, but guiding, holding her there as the pressure built to a breaking point.

She hummed in approval around him, the vibration shooting straight through, and that was it.

With a low groan, Jinho came—hot pulses spilling into her mouth as his hand tightened just slightly in her hair. Nayeon didn't pull away; she took it all, swallowing smoothly, eyes still locked on his the whole time, that same knowing, satisfied glint in them. A tiny, muffled sound escaped her throat—half moan, half pleased hum—as she worked him through it, tongue gently coaxing out every last drop until he was spent.

She finally pulled off slowly, lips shiny and swollen, a thin string of saliva connecting her to the tip for a second before it broke. She licked her lips deliberately, still looking up at him with that playful, seductive smile.

Jinho exhaled hard, leaning his head back against the door for a moment, chest rising and falling. Nayeon rose gracefully to her feet, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand like it was nothing. She stepped close again, voice soft but teasing.

"Guess time's up," she murmured, glancing toward the door as if she could hear the world outside waiting. "Don't worry, Jinho-ssi... next time you won't just get my mouth. We'll see how much more you can handle." She gave him one last slow, lingering look—half promise, half challenge—then turned, opened the door just enough to slip out, and was gone.

Jinho stayed there for a beat, catching his breath, adjusting his clothes quickly. His phone started ringing in his pocket—Hanseok, right on cue.

After a few rings, he pulled it out and answered, voice steady despite the lingering heat in his veins.

"I'm coming, hyung. Give me a minute."

Hanseok's voice crackled through, half-annoyed, half-amused. "A minute? You've been gone forever, kid. What, did you get lost in the bathroom? Van's running—hurry up before I start charging you parking fees."

Jinho let out a small laugh under his breath. "Yeah, yeah. On my way."

He hung up, took one last quick glance around the empty practice room—mirrors still reflecting nothing but silence—and headed out toward the elevator.

Jinho made his way down the hallway, the echo of his footsteps soft against the polished floors of the JYP building. The day's marathon of TikTok shoots had left him with a satisfying ache in his muscles—a good kind from dancing alongside some of the industry's heavy hitters—but the real buzz came from the unexpected detour with Nayeon. Her playful dominance, the way she'd taken control without a second's hesitation, replayed in flashes as he rode the elevator down. By the time he reached the van, Hanseok was already inside, engine idling, fiddling with the radio.

"Sorry for the wait," Jinho said, sliding into the passenger seat.

Hanseok waved it off with a grin. "No big deal. Just figured you were signing autographs for the janitors or something. Long day, huh?"

Jinho nodded, buckling up. "Yeah. Productive, though."

The drive back to their apartment complex in Gangnam was quiet at first—Hanseok humming along to a ballad on the radio, Jinho scrolling through his phone to see the TikTok challenges already gaining traction. Comments flooded in: fans hyping the cross-group vibes, speculating on "collab hints." By the time they pulled into the underground parking, the sun had dipped low, casting long shadows across the lot.

They took the elevator up together—Hanseok lived a floor below Jinho in the same secure building, a perk for SM staff and talents to keep things low-key. As they reached Hanseok's floor, Jinho stepped out with him out of habit, walking the short hall to their doors.

Hanseok fished out his keys, jiggling them with exaggerated flair. "Man, after today, I feel like I earned that steak twice over. You sure you don't want to upgrade my van to a limo? I could be your personal chauffeur—complete with bad singing."

Jinho chuckled, unlocking his own door a few steps away. "Tempting, but I'd rather not go deaf before Tokyo Dome."

Hanseok paused, key in the lock, turning back with a mock-serious look. "Hey, if you do blow all that cash on dumb stuff, at least buy me noise-canceling headphones first. That way I can pretend your music's good while I drive." He winked, laughing at his own joke before disappearing inside with a wave. "Get some rest, kid. Big day tomorrow."

Jinho shook his head, smiling as he pushed open his door. The apartment was quiet—minimalist, with sleek black furniture matching his aesthetic, the Han River view glowing faintly through the floor-to-ceiling windows now that dusk had settled. He kicked off his sneakers by the entrance, not bothering with the shoe rack, and headed straight for the sofa. Dropping his bag on the floor, he collapsed onto the cushions, staring up at the plain white ceiling.

What a day, he thought, a smirk tugging at his lips. Giselle in the morning—fierce at first, then completely undone, her body betraying every word of her warning. And Nayeon just now—bold, unapologetic, turning what could have been a quick hello into something raw and electric. Members of Aespa and Twice, two of the biggest girl groups on the planet, both craving him like that. It wasn't just ego; it was power, the kind that came from knowing he could make them fold. The industry was cutthroat—scandals could end careers overnight—but moments like these made the risks feel worth it. He let the thought linger, a quiet satisfaction settling in, before grabbing the remote and flipping on the TV.

The screen lit up to SBS News, one of the major evening broadcasts. The anchor, a polished woman in a neat suit, was mid-segment on trending topics.

"...and in entertainment news, rookie sensation Jinho continues to dominate. His collaborative TikTok challenges with Le Sserafim, BTS's Jungkook, IVE, Stray Kids, and ITZY have gone viral, racking up millions of views in hours. Fans are calling it the 'Jinho Effect,' with each video boosting the original songs' streams by double digits."

Clips played: quick cuts of him nailing the moves, the idols laughing mid-take, comments scrolling like "Jinho x everyone = perfection" and "This is K-pop unity!"

The anchor continued: "Adding to his streak, Jinho's upcoming Tokyo Dome concerts have sold out in record time—under 10 minutes for both dates, making him the fastest solo artist to achieve this milestone. Industry experts say it's a sign of his global appeal, with pre-orders from Japan alone pushing his physical album sales past 2 million."

Jinho watched, the smirk fading into something more thoughtful. Tokyo Dome was no joke—a 55,000-capacity venue, iconic for K-pop acts like BTS and TVXQ. Selling out as a rookie? That was headline-worthy, especially on national news. He muted the TV, sinking back into the sofa, when his phone rang—unknown number.

He answered cautiously. "Hello, who's this?"

A low, distorted voice replied—anonymous, like something out of a bad thriller, but the words hit hard. "Jinho-ssi, I think you know what this is about. I'm with Dispatch. We've got photos and videos that could end your little fairy tale real quick. That night by the Han River with Karina? The car, the alley—all caught on camera. And let's not forget Sana near the rehearsal van—handsy in the shadows. Cute stuff."

Jinho's eyes widened as his phone buzzed—a photo and short video clip arriving. The image: him and Karina pressed close by the river, hoods up but faces clear enough under the streetlight. The video: grainy but unmistakable, Sana's hand on him near the van, their kiss heated and hidden—or so he'd thought.

His grip tightened on the phone. "Who the hell are you? What do you want?"

The voice laughed—a cold, echoing sound. "Not so fast, Jinho-ssi. I want something only you can give, and you'll deliver. Or these go public tomorrow." Another laugh, then the line went dead.

Jinho stared at the screen, heart pounding. Dispatch was infamous for New Year's Day reveals—dating scandals that tanked reputations, like IU and Eunhyuk's photo leak or the Burning Sun expose that took down multiple stars. But blackmail? This felt off—Dispatch usually dropped bombs publicly, not extorted privately. Maybe a rogue photographer, or someone posing. Either way, the proof was real. He deleted the files instinctively, but the damage was done. The high from the day crashed hard—fame's edge sharpening into a threat.

Jinho sat frozen on the sofa long after the call ended, the muted TV still flickering with silent replays of his own face—smiling in those TikTok clips, the Tokyo Dome announcement scrolling in bold text across the bottom. The room felt smaller now, the Han River lights outside the window suddenly too bright, too exposing. He replayed the distorted voice in his head: “I want something only you can give.” No specifics. No deadline. Just the promise of ruin hanging like smoke.

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. The high of the day—Giselle’s broken surrender in the SM stall, Nayeon’s bold mouth in the JYP practice room—felt distant, almost childish compared to this. Two of the biggest girl groups in K-pop had crumbled for him in a single day, and now someone held proof that could burn it all down. Karina by the river, Sana near the van—moments he’d thought were private, stolen in the shadows of his rising fame. Dispatch didn’t usually play games like this; they dropped bombs publicly for maximum impact. So who the hell was this? A rogue paparazzi? A jealous insider? Someone inside SM? The possibilities twisted in his gut.

He opened his messages—Karina’s last text still unread from earlier: “oppaaaa thinking about you again 🥺 when can we sneak away?”—and felt a pang he hadn’t expected. Not just fear of exposure, but something closer to guilt. He’d dragged her into this life knowing the risks, and now those risks had teeth.

The TV anchor’s voice cut through again as he unmuted briefly: “…Jinho’s unprecedented rookie run shows no signs of slowing. Analysts are already calling 2026 the year of Eclipse. Stay tuned for more on his Tokyo Dome preparations.”

Jinho killed the power. The room went dark except for the city glow filtering through the glass. He stood, walked to the window, and stared out at Seoul—lights stretching endless in every direction, a city that worshipped him today and could crucify him tomorrow.

He wasn’t scared. Not exactly. He was angry—cold, focused angry. Whoever this was had just made the game personal.

And Jinho never backed down from a fight.

But as he turned away from the window, phone still heavy in his hand, one thought lingered sharper than the rest:

If they have proof of Karina and Sana… how much else do they have?

Hanseok stood in the hallway outside Jinho’s door at 4:47 a.m., already downing his third coffee, eyes red but laser-focused.

He’d quietly moved the 5 a.m. Tokyo Dome prep call to 7:30 the second he saw how wrecked Jinho looked yesterday afternoon. No way his golden rookie was dragging himself to a dawn slot after whatever crazy late-night mess he’d been in. Hanseok wasn’t about to let the kid show up looking like he’d been dragged through hell for the most important stage build of his career.

He pressed the doorbell again—three quick buzzes.

Nothing.

He knocked hard. Five solid thumps.

Still quiet.

Hanseok sighed, pulled the spare keycard from his pocket—the secret one he’d copied months ago without telling anyone. Emergency backup for mornings exactly like this.

“Kid, if you’re dead in there, I’m sending the bill to your ghost,” he grumbled, swiping the card.

Green light. Click.

He pushed the door open slow.

The apartment was dark except for soft blue city light slipping through the blinds. Jinho was sprawled face-down on the bed, sheets twisted around his waist, shirtless. His wide back rose and fell with slow, heavy breaths. One thick arm dangled off the side; the other had a pillow in a death grip like it owed him money.

On the low living-room table sat Jinho’s phone face-down next to…

Hanseok’s eyebrows shot straight up.

The fancy foil condom packet he’d slipped him last night. Still sealed. Completely untouched.

He stared for three long seconds.

Then he snorted so hard coffee almost came out his nose.

“No way,” he whispered, shaking his head. “I give you luxury-grade protection and you come back with full ammo? Rookie of the year award right there.”

He crossed the room in three big steps, leaned over the bed, and flicked Jinho’s ear—sharp.

Jinho jolted like someone hit him with a stun gun.

“Wha—FUCK—hyung?!”

Hanseok stood over him, arms crossed, grinning like pure evil.

“Morning, superstar. You look like you lost a fight with a truck and the truck won twice.”

Jinho groaned deep, rolled onto his back, threw one arm over his eyes. His abs flexed hard as he stretched, still half-asleep.

“What time is it…?”

“Almost five. I bumped rehearsal to 7:30 because I’m literally an angel. You’re welcome.”

Jinho cracked one eye open. “You’re actually the devil in a hoodie.”

“And you’re a zombie with good abs.” Hanseok jerked his thumb toward the table. “Also—nice trophy. Condom’s still wearing its wrapper like it’s going to prom. You planning to auction it or just scared to open it?”

Jinho’s eyes popped wide. He sat up fast, sheets sliding to his hips, face turning bright red in record time.

“You—how did you—hyung, get OUT!”

Hanseok laughed loud enough to wake the neighbors. “Chill, I’m not here to roast your monk lifestyle. I’m here to make sure you don’t sleep through the biggest rehearsal of your life because you were too busy dreaming about whoever left you hanging.”

Jinho grabbed a pillow and yeeted it at Hanseok’s face. Missed by a mile. Slammed the wall.

Hanseok caught the second one without even looking.

“Sad aim. Up. Shower. Eat. We bounce in forty-five. And maybe actually use the gift next time—save me from worrying about your lonely little soldier.”

“Piss off,” Jinho muttered, voice rough and low.

“Nope. Move before I start screaming ‘Eclipse’ like a dying cat to wake you properly.”

Jinho stretched long—shoulders popping, arms flexing—then swung his legs off the bed and shuffled into the bathroom without another word.

Hanseok didn’t budge.

He kicked off his sneakers, rolled up his sleeves like he was about to fight crime, and started fixing the place with quick, practiced moves.

Pillows tossed back on the couch. Empty bottle in the trash. Charger coiled neat. The sealed condom got a dramatic eye-roll before he shoved it into the nightstand drawer like it was illegal.

Then he hit the tiny kitchen, muttering, “This kid’s gonna faint if he doesn’t eat something real. Ramen? Too weak for a headliner. Eggs it is. Protein. Boom.”

Four eggs cracked into the pan, green onion thrown in, splash of soy, scramble on full blast. The smell hit the apartment right as the shower stopped.

From the bathroom, Jinho’s deep voice echoed through steam. “Hyung, you’re still here? I literally told you to leave!”

Hanseok yelled back without turning, waving the spatula like a sword. “Yeah yeah, I’m making you food so you don’t die before Tokyo Dome. Gratitude later. Quick question!”

Jinho poked his head out, towel low on his hips, hair dripping onto broad shoulders, looking half-annoyed, half-confused.

“What now?”

“Favorite number. Two digits. Go.”

Jinho blinked slow. “Twenty-four.”

Hanseok nodded like he’d just cracked the Da Vinci code. “Perfect. Thank you.”

Jinho’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you—”

Too late.

Hanseok already had the phone—2-4-9-8, birth year. Screen popped open.

Jinho froze in the doorway. “Oh crap…”

Hanseok scrolled casual as anything. “Gallery. Recent. Let’s see what kept the beast up all night.”

He stopped dead.

Eyes went huge. Then huger.

The photo took over the screen: Karina flat on her stomach across Jinho’s thighs under Han River moonlight, cheek pressed soft and loving against the thick, veined underside of his hard cock. Her small heart-shaped face looked tiny next to how big it was—the fat, flushed head reaching way past her cheekbone, plush lips parted in a gentle, worshipful kiss right on the pulsing vein. Big doe eyes stared straight up at the camera in pure dazed adoration, hair messy over his legs, heavy breasts pillowed against his thighs, nipples hard from the night air. It was dirty, intimate, almost sweet—like a private sacred moment frozen in silver light.

Hanseok let out a strangled wheeze that exploded into full-body laughter. He slapped his own thigh so hard it echoed, shoulders shaking, barely able to breathe.

“Bro… BRO. Look at the SIZE of that thing! That’s not a dick, that’s a national landmark! Karina’s out here trying to fit a whole forearm against her face and she’s still losing real estate! Respect. Actual respect. You’re walking around with a third leg and you didn’t tell your manager? I feel betrayed.”

Jinho sprinted out—towel slipping low—snatched the phone in one fast move, clutched it to his chest like it was state secrets.

“HYUNG!”

Hanseok threw both hands up, eyes watering from laughing so hard he was wheezing.

“I’m proud of you, man! That’s weapon-grade equipment right there. No wonder she’s looking up at it like it owes her rent. You could’ve warned a guy—I would’ve bought you a bigger pair of pants!”

Jinho’s face was on fire, but his voice stayed low and steady. “You tricked me with the number just to hack my phone?”

Hanseok wiped his eyes, still grinning like an idiot, flipping eggs one-handed. “Manager perks. Also—twenty-four? Bro, you’re basic as hell. It physically pains me.”

Jinho dragged a hand down his face, almost dropping the towel before he caught it.

“I hate you. So much.”

Hanseok plated the eggs with extra drama, slid the plate over, leaned on his elbows grinning like Satan’s favorite son.

“Eat up, superstar. Thirty-nine minutes till we roll. You’re gonna need every bite after that moonlight worship ritual.” He paused, grin turning evil. “Tell Karina her side-profile is deadly. That cheek press? Michelin-star technique. And tell her she’s brave—most girls would need a ladder for that monster. I’m taking notes.”

Jinho made a noise somewhere between a scream and a whimper and threw the closest pillow. It bounced off Hanseok like nothing.

Hanseok caught the next one mid-air again.

“Eat. Cool your face before it stays tomato forever. And maybe delete that before Dispatch turns it into a 4K poster.”

Jinho slumped into the chair, phone still gripped tight, staring at the eggs like they personally insulted him.

“…Worst manager in the universe.”

“And you’re welcome,” Hanseok sang, sliding a black coffee over.

“Now eat before I start describing how the moonlight made her skin glow like she’s in a drama… or how your junk looks like it bench-presses.”

Jinho shoved a huge bite in just to make him shut up.

The kitchen filled with chewing, Hanseok’s smug humming, and Jinho’s quiet, embarrassed grunts.

Jinho finished the last forkful, still glaring. Hanseok kept humming “Eclipse” horribly off-key until Jinho balled up a napkin and chucked it at him.

“Thirty minutes, machine,” Hanseok said, checking his watch. “Get dressed. We’re out.”

Jinho stood smooth, walked to the bedroom, pulled on black track pants, a fitted charcoal hoodie that hugged every line of muscle, and his favorite beat-up black cap pulled low. He grabbed his rehearsal bag—extra socks, big water bottle, earbuds, charger—and met Hanseok at the door.

Hanseok gave him a once-over. “You look human. Barely. Let’s go before you pass out in the elevator.”

The forty-five-minute drive cut through quiet Seoul morning traffic. Hanseok blasted old-school hip-hop to “wake Jinho’s soul,” while Jinho stared out the window—half lost in last night, half mentally prepping for the long grind.

They pulled into a huge outdoor production compound on the city’s edge—SM’s rented open-air soundstage setup, built custom for the next two months. No need to fly everyone to Tokyo when they could fake it here under real sky: same stage size, full lighting rigs, long thrust, famous circular catwalk, bleacher risers taped off. Morning sun hit everything gold; cool breeze moved through.

Hanseok parked in staff. They stepped out into fresh air—dew, cut grass, hot lights, buzzing energy.

Big gates open. The place was alive—sixty-plus staff hustling. Riggers climbed scaffolding tuning giant lights. Crew bolted deck pieces, ran thick cables. Assistants dragged hoses, props, coolers. Someone tested subs; deep bass rolled through the ground like far-off thunder.

Jinho stopped just inside, bag over one shoulder, eyes scanning slow.

“Holy… shit.”

The fake Tokyo Dome stage dominated the open space—full 360 thrust, raised platforms, massive LED walls flashing test patterns, catwalk hanging above catching sunrise. Confetti cannons and CO2 jets sat ready, hoses coiled. Being outside made it feel even bigger—raw, huge, real.

Hanseok slapped his back. “Welcome to outdoor Tokyo Dome practice, kid. Costs a kidney, but fresh air beats airplane food. Ready to run this thing?”

Jinho let out a slow breath, lips curving into a quiet, cocky grin. “Born ready.”

Hanseok nodded toward the stage. “Walk it. Feel the space. I gotta argue with lighting about sunrise backlight fights. Don’t trip over a cable and eat dirt.”

Hanseok headed off toward a guy with a lighting tablet.

Jinho moved alone.

Bright neon tape marked everything: green for main stage, red for thrust edges, yellow Xs for key spots. Sneakers thumped solid on the deck. Air smelled like fog juice, warm metal, morning city.

Backup dancers stretched near the sides, nodding respect. One gave a quick bow—“morning, Jinho-ssi.” He returned it calm, small smile.

He walked the catwalk first—narrow, high, rails still foamed. Pictured 60,000 people screaming below, sun flashing off outfits, wind pulling at clothes. Heart kicked steady.

At the thrust tip he stopped. Slow 360 turn. LED walls towered—SM logo looping—but he already saw his name exploding, fan lights waving, VCRs playing huge across the sky.

A wardrobe girl rushed past, arms full of outfits. “Sorry, Jinho-ssi! Fitting at 8:30!”

“All good,” he called low, stepping aside easy.

He wandered back, past sound booth where his random “test one-two” boomed massive through open air. He winced, then laughed quiet at how loud his own voice echoed.

Near the lift platform, young staff tuned the hydraulics for the bridge rise. One saw him, snapped straight. “Jinho-sunbaenim! Want a quick test ride? It’s set, but we can—”

“Later,” Jinho said even and calm. “Just checking the vibe.”

The kid nodded fast. “Of course! Anytime!”

Jinho’s mouth twitched in a faint smile. Staff getting jumpy around him now? Crazy.

He ended up center stage, sat on the thrust edge, legs hanging, and just took it all in. The busy chaos felt good—like the whole setup was built to make him unstoppable in May.

Hanseok came back ten minutes later, two iced Americanos, one held out. “Lighting surrendered to sunrise. We won. You good?”

Jinho took it, sipped slow, nodded. “This is nuts. In the best way.”

Hanseok grinned. “Wait till real screams hit under stadium lights. Up. Vocal warm-up in five. No more midnight shrine pics till after Dome, got me?”

Jinho snorted soft. “Can’t promise.”

Hanseok rolled his eyes, walked toward the vocal tent.

Jinho stood smooth, stretched, cracked his neck, followed.

Real work started.

Jinho was still brushing off Hanseok’s earlier teasing when Director Park—sharp eyes, late 30s—strode across the open deck with purpose. Lighting chief, stage manager, two clipboard assistants, junior choreographer trailing.

“Jinho-ssi, morning,” she said, quick bow. “We kick off in ten. Quick rundown first.”

Jinho nodded, wiping his brow even though nothing had started. “I’m good.”

She waved at the giant set. “Full dry run today—no outfits, no full lights yet. Just blocking, transitions, song order. We mark every entrance, lift time, catwalk walk, VCR drops, confetti zones. Tomorrow we add haze, CO2, basic spots. Day after moving heads and pyro—if fire guy says yes.”

An assistant handed him an updated run sheet. He skimmed: opening VCR → “Eclipse” full choreo → ballad with piano lift → high-energy b-side medley → thrust fan-service solo → closing encore maybe with guest.

Director Park cleared her throat. “One big update. Got word last night—MiSaMo is officially in for the collab.”

Jinho’s head snapped up. “Mina, Sana, Momo-sunbaenim?”

She nodded. “Yep. Sana fought hardest for it. They’ll join in three to five days—exact day TBD. TWICE schedule is wild right now, so we’re squeezing around Japan promo and fan-meets. When they get here, we block duet bridge for night one, trio dance break for night three. You cool leading that?”

Jinho’s grin came fast—quiet, confident, a little boyish but cool. “Way more than cool. They’re legends. I’ll make it perfect.”

Director Park gave a satisfied nod. “They’re bringing their choreographer; we’ll blend it. No wasting time. Everyone positions. Dry run in five.”

Sharp clap. The compound exploded into action.

Jinho took center.

“Eclipse” intro rolled—dark, haunting synths booming through huge outdoor speakers. No crowd, no sweeping lights, just the bones.

Beat dropped. Jinho lit up.

Opening pose cut sharp—chin high, shoulders back, eyes slicing through empty bleachers like 60,000 were already losing their minds. Body roll flowed like water; every muscle moved perfect under the hoodie. Footwork clean as surgery—fast shuffles, deep drops, tight isolations. Chorus hit hard; signature floor sequence spun low, popped into a hip thrust that made the air feel thick.

Backup dancers—eight total, six pros, two new—were supposed to copy him.

They didn’t.

Not right away.

The two new ones froze for half a second, mouths open, then scrambled to catch up. One whispered “holy shit”; the other stared like he’d grown wings.

Vocal coach in the corner dropped his clipboard, eyebrows up.

Even Director Park—usually stone during dry runs—crossed arms, tilted her head with a small impressed smile.

Jinho didn’t see any of it.

He was in the zone—voice flying through high notes clean, breath control perfect even with crazy footwork. Sweat shined on his collarbones; hoodie stuck to his shoulders and chest, showing every cut. When he hit the famous smirk-and-wink at the invisible camera, one of the pro dancers straight-up laughed in shock.

“Kid’s not human,” lighting chief muttered to his assistant. “We’ve done seniors who don’t have that kind of aura on first take.”

Run finished center-thrust—arms wide, chest pumping, last note hanging like smoke in the breeze.

Two seconds dead quiet.

Then Director Park clapped slow and loud.

Everyone else jumped in—claps, cheers, a few whistles. Backup dancers traded wide-eyed looks; the new ones still looked stunned.

Jinho finally let out a breath, wiped his forehead with his sleeve, turned to the team with a small, almost shy grin.

“That… okay?”

Director Park walked over, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe it.

“Okay? You just ran a full Tokyo Dome opener like it was a casual studio run. Save some gas for the real show, Jinho-ssi.”

He laughed—bright, tired, pumped.

Hanseok appeared at stage edge, iced Americano in hand, smirking.

“Told you. Beast mode: on.”

Jinho hopped down, took the coffee. “Still got hours left.”

Director Park pointed toward the wings. “Ten-minute break, then ballad lift reset. MiSaMo collab notes hit your tablet when they show. Let’s build something huge, people.”

The compound buzzed back to life—marks fixed, mics checked, dancers stretching.

Jinho took a long sip, eyes sweeping the open set again.

He could already hear the roar that wasn’t there yet.

And for the first time in weeks, the pressure felt like rocket fuel.

The next day’s rehearsal popped off under bright sunshine. Jinho commanded center stage in a tight black tank—sweat dripping down his face, neck, chest, soaking the fabric so it stuck to every hard line of muscle. Moves sharp as knives, voice strong and steady, every step powerful and clean.

Suddenly staff started rushing and whispering. Three women in masks and sunglasses walked into the big open space.

Jinho didn’t notice at first—kept going hard, sweat flying, tank glued to him, body looking carved and commanding in the sunlight.

The three were MiSaMo—Mina, Sana, Momo. They’d shown up early as a surprise.

They stood at the edge of the stage, quiet, watching.

Eyes got big.

A rookie idol this good? Dancing perfect, singing flawless through insane choreo? Body strong, handsome, built like crazy. Hard to look away.

Sana whispered first, voice excited. “Wow… that’s really the rookie everyone’s talking about? His dancing is so clean, voice stays perfect even when he’s moving like lightning. He owns this whole stage.”

Momo watched close, arms crossed. “Footwork is nuts—sharp but still feels alive. Not stiff at all. And his body… damn, he’s put in work. Respect as a dancer.”

Mina stayed quiet longer, thinking. Then soft: “He’s magnetic. Everything gets pulled toward him. Rare for someone so new. And… yeah, he’s really good-looking too.”

Song ended. Jinho held the last pose—chest rising fast, sweat shining—then relaxed, wiped his face, turned around.

That’s when he saw them.

Eyes went wide for a second. Face flushed quick—but he squared up, stood tall, voice came out low and even.

“Oh—sunbaenims. MiSaMo-sunbaenims. You’re here already.”

He bowed deep—smooth, respectful, almost wobbled but caught himself. Felt super exposed—sweaty tank clinging, arms and chest out—but kept it together.

Director Park laughed lightly. “They wanted to surprise you. Ladies, this is Jinho. Jinho-ssi, you know who they are.”

Another bow, cheeks still pink. “It’s such an honor. Didn’t know you were watching. Sorry if it was messy—I was just running it—”

Sana waved her hands fast, big warm smile. “Messy? Are you crazy? That was insane! Hi, I’m Sana. Nice to meet you! Your dancing looked so easy, voice never cracked once. We were just standing here like ‘is this guy actually real?’”

Momo stepped closer, bowed, shy at first but warming up fast. Friendly smile. “I’m Momo. Your moves are fire—those sharp parts are perfect, but you still make it look natural. Don’t be embarrassed. We showed up without warning, so we’re the rude ones.” Cute thumbs-up, light friendly pat on his arm.

Mina bowed elegant. Quiet voice gentle. “I’m Mina. Your performance was really strong. You have this special pull. Not common for a rookie. And… you look very nice too,” small shy smile.

Jinho let out a breath, rubbed his neck once, laughed low. “Thank you so much. That means a lot coming from you three. I’ve been a TWICE fan since day one—your stages made me train harder. MiSaMo songs are always in my workout playlist. I just… wasn’t expecting you to see me like this. Let me grab a towel—I’m soaked.”

Sana laughed bright, fanned him with her hand like a joke. “Soaked? That’s just the glow of killing it! Dance practice is never cute. But if that was your warm-up, the real show is gonna be massive. What’s your secret? Energy drinks? Wizard spells?”

Momo copied his bridge wave move—over-the-top and stiff—then cracked up. “Teach me that wave! Mine always feels like a robot did it. Sana’s got the cute vibe, but I need sharp like you.”

Mina nodded slow. Gentle voice. “How do you keep your singing so steady when you’re dancing that hard? I struggle with it in ballet sometimes. Maybe we can trade tips when we practice together?”

Talk started flowing easy. Sana cracked jokes about TWICE’s messy early days. Momo pulled him into a quick dance game—copying each other’s moves, laughing hard when someone flubbed. Mina listened close, asked smart questions that made Jinho feel respected.

By the time Director Park called first collab practice, the awkward vibe was gone. Jinho wasn’t just a nervous rookie anymore—he felt like part of the crew. MiSaMo looked genuinely excited and impressed. Staff whispered how fast the chemistry clicked. Tokyo Dome was shaping up to be epic.

After quick chats with staff—people asking about the collab, complimenting his energy—MiSaMo stepped onto the stage to warm up. Sana stretched arms high with a happy hum, Momo did fast leg swings to loosen up, Mina rolled shoulders smooth like she was still in ballet class.

Jinho stayed a few feet away, talking to backup dancers near the platform edge. He was explaining a small timing fix for the medley—showing the move with hands and feet, patient, calm, laughing soft when someone cracked a joke. Dancers listened hard, copied, got it right. He gave a small nod of approval.

Mina, while stretching, kept stealing glances. Watched how patient he was—repeating the step without getting mad, talking calm, smiling easy with the youngest dancers. She liked that a lot. Her eyes lingered longer each time, quiet and impressed.

Director Park clapped sharp. “Alright! First full collab run-through. Starting with ‘Eclipse,’ then ‘Do Not Touch,’ extras after.”

Lights dimmed a touch for rehearsal mood. Positions set. Jinho center. Track started.

First few tries felt off—‘Eclipse’ too heavy for MiSaMo’s bright vibe, ‘Do Not Touch’ too cute for Jinho’s power. Team fixed quick—softened some beats, balanced bass, tweaked lines so voices mixed better. ‘Eclipse’ turned into a shared story; ‘Do Not Touch’ got a little edge but kept the fun.

They added more that fit: slower emotional take on TWICE’s “Feel Special” with Jinho dropping deep harmony, fun English back-and-forth on “The Feels” between Sana and Jinho, short mash-up bridge of one of Jinho’s b-sides into ‘Do Not Touch’ for fast energy switch.

After a few runs, it clicked hard. Four voices layered perfect—Sana’s bright tone dancing over Jinho’s deeper power, Momo holding the rhythm, Mina adding soft class, Jinho tying everything tight. Backup dancers jumped in for group parts, moves flowed smooth.

End of the long run—everyone sweaty, smiling big. Director Park looked happy.

“That’s a solid start,” she said. “Clean transitions tomorrow, props day after. MiSaMo, thanks for coming early. Jinho-ssi, great job leading.”

Sana gave Jinho a playful high-five. “This is gonna be so fun at Tokyo Dome!”

Momo wiped her forehead. “I’m pumped. Your style makes me wanna go harder too.”

Mina gave a small warm smile. “It was nice working with you today. Can’t wait for more.”

Jinho bowed steady. “Thank you. Honored to share the stage. We’re gonna make it unforgettable.”

Rehearsal ran way late. By Director Park’s final call, sky was pure black, city lights glowing far away. Stage lights dropped to half, long shadows stretched across the deck. Most staff gone; only AC hum and occasional gear clanks left.

MiSaMo changed into comfy hoodies, ready to bounce. Sana pulled her phone out with her classic big smile.

“Hey, Jinho-oppa! Let’s swap numbers and Insta. Way easier to send practice videos or dumb memes later, right?”

Momo already had contacts open. “Yeah, I wanna send you my wave attempt. Roast it for me.”

Mina lifted her phone soft. “Me too. Nice to stay in touch.”

Jinho’s face lit up—cool but real happy. “For sure. Let’s do it.”

They made a little circle near stage edge. Sana added a peach emoji next to her name. Momo threw in a tiny dance shoe sticker. Mina added a quiet moon emoji.

Right as Jinho started adding Instagrams, Hanseok popped up out of nowhere—like he’d been camping behind a speaker—holding two iced coffees, grinning like he’d won the lottery.

“No need for Insta, kid,” he announced loud enough for everyone. “I already follow all three. Day-one stan.” Phone out, scrolled his following list like it was a trophy wall.

“@mina_sr_my — followed. @m.by_sana — followed. @momo — followed. Notifs on for everything. New dance cover drops at 2 a.m.? My phone screams me awake. You’re welcome.”

Sana burst out laughing so hard she bent over. “Oppa, you’re our secret fanboy? That’s actually so cute!”

Momo covered her mouth, eyes big and amused. “Wait… real notifications? For us?”

Hanseok nodded proud as hell. “Every single one. Been ride-or-die since ‘Fancy.’ Judge me, I don’t care—I’m committed.”

Jinho didn’t blush or flinch. Just looked at Hanseok with a flat stare, one eyebrow slowly climbing. Voice came out low, dry, deadpan.

“Hyung. For real?”

Hanseok shrugged, shameless as ever. “What? I’m saving your phone battery. You don’t need to follow—I’ll just screenshot the best ones and spam you. Teamwork makes the dream work.”

Sana was still giggling. “That’s kinda wholesome. You’re like our personal hype squad.”

Mina smiled quiet, eyes sparkling. “Thank you for the support… I guess.”

Momo gave him a playful thumbs-up. “You’re officially hired as our cheerleader.”

Jinho let out a short breath through his nose, shoulders squared, posture cool and unbothered. Pocketed his phone smooth.

“Thanks for the save, hyung. Next time maybe wait till they’re gone before you flex your stan card.”

Hanseok barked a huge laugh. “Copy that, boss. But you’re impressed. Admit it.”

Jinho gave him pure deadpan. “I’m shaking with admiration.”

The girls waved goodbye, still cracking up as they headed out with their staff.

Sana called back, “See you soon, oppa! You too, manager-oppa!”

Momo added, “Killed it today!”

Mina gave a small wave and soft “Take care.”

Jinho lifted a hand—half-embarrassed, half-happy. “Get home safe!”

Once MiSaMo and their team disappeared through the big gates, the compound felt huge and quiet. Almost empty—just a few cleaners far off and soft emergency lights.

Hanseok handed Jinho one of the iced coffees. “Come on, kid. Let’s sit before your face stays that color forever.”

They walked around the side of the stage, found a small round table in a back corner—some forgotten staff spot with a coffee blender, unopened packs, sugar sticks, paper cups.

Hanseok dropped into a chair, kicked his feet up on another. Jinho leaned back, cold cup pressed to his palm. The open compound was dead silent now—just them under one overhead bulb, night pressing in from all sides.

Hanseok took a slow sip, eyes sliding to Jinho with that classic troublemaker smirk.

“So,” he started low, “MiSaMo. In the flesh. Numbers saved. Sana calling you ‘oppa’ like it’s nothing. Momo giving you thumbs-up like you’re her new dance bro. Mina watching you with those quiet eyes like she’s already planning stage tension.”

Jinho stared up at the dark sky for a second, replaying everything.

“They’re on another level,” he said low and steady. “Cameras don’t do them justice. Sana’s smile hits harder up close—bright, sharp, knows exactly how to use it. Momo moves like gravity’s optional; every stretch, every step is smooth and killer. Mina… that calm class. Doesn’t talk much, but when she looks at you, feels like she sees straight into your soul. All three—beautiful in ways phones can’t catch. Like they don’t even try.”

Hanseok let out a long whistle, leaning forward on elbows.

“Damn, kid. You’re already writing love letters in your head.”

Jinho gave a small shrug, calm. “Can you blame me? They’re legends. And they’re chill. Easy to talk to.”

Hanseok’s grin got wider, pure mischief.

“Uh-huh. ‘Chill.’” He leaned closer, voice dropping. “So when are we adding them to the collection?”

Jinho’s eyebrow lifted slow.

“Collection?”

“You know what I mean.” Hanseok twirled a lazy finger. “Karina’s already locked in. Eunbi, Minju too. Now MiSaMo sliding in with numbers and dance talk? That’s expansion, my guy.”

Jinho exhaled short through his nose.

“You’re gross.”

“I’m honest,” Hanseok shot back quick. “You just described their beauty like you’re building a case file. Don’t act like you haven’t pictured Tokyo Dome after-party—green room, locked door, ‘team bonding’ till the sun comes up.”

Jinho took another slow sip, face steady.

“I’m locked on the show,” he said even. “Collab’s gonna be fire. That’s what matters right now.”

Hanseok leaned back, still smug as hell.

“Sure. The show.” He paused, then grinned bigger. “But when Sana hits you at 2 a.m. with ‘can you help me with this move… alone?’ don’t say I didn’t call it first. Your schedule’s about to get spicy.”

Jinho set the cup down with a quiet clink, gave Hanseok a flat look.

“You’re hopeless.”

“And you’re welcome,” Hanseok toasted with his cup. “To the new king of K-pop and his growing kingdom. May your choreo stay clean, your condoms stay sealed, and your stages stay legendary.”

Jinho shook his head once, but the corner of his mouth twitched up—just a little.

They sat in the dark compound a bit longer—sipping coffee, talking stage stuff, food ideas, dumb staff stories—while night pressed heavy against the open space.

Jinho didn’t say it out loud, but the thought stuck:

MiSaMo.

Numbers in his phone.

A collab that felt meant to be.

And yeah… maybe Hanseok wasn’t totally wrong

Days passed in a relentless, exhilarating blur, each one carved deeper into the rhythm of preparation for the Tokyo Dome shows. Jinho’s schedule was brutal but laser-focused: dawn gym sessions to keep his body razor-sharp, vocal warm-ups that stretched into full run-throughs, choreography refinements that pushed everyone to their limits, and endless blocking sessions on the massive outdoor mock stage. The compound became a second home—staff moving like clockwork, lights testing patterns at all hours, the air thick with the smell of fog juice, coffee, and determination.

The directors and production team started dropping official snippets almost daily: grainy behind-the-scenes clips of Jinho nailing a particularly vicious floor sequence, slow-motion shots of his signature body roll under test spots, quick cuts of him laughing with the backup dancers. Then came the MiSaMo posts—TikTok videos exploded across feeds. Sana posted a goofy duet challenge with Jinho where they tried (and failed hilariously) to copy each other’s iconic moves, ending in both of them collapsing in laughter. Momo dropped a short clip of her teaching Jinho a TWICE-era footwork combo, both of them sweating and grinning, her playfully shoving his shoulder when he finally got it perfect. Mina uploaded a serene, aesthetic video of the four of them doing a soft vocal run under golden hour light, their harmonies blending so cleanly it gave chills.

The internet lost its collective mind.

#JinhoTokyoDome trended worldwide within hours of the first teaser drop.

#MiSaMoWithJinho followed immediately after.

Individual names cycled through top spots almost daily: Jinho #1 Worldwide, followed in rapid succession by Sana, Momo, Mina.

#EclipsexDoNotTouch became a permanent fixture in global trends.

Jinho’s fandom—officially named Elixirs (the addictive, intoxicating pull of his presence, the “elixir” fans drank from every performance, every smirk, every note)—and ONCEs merged into one massive, screaming online force. The comment sections were pure, unfiltered chaos.

Elixirs fan comments (total fangirl meltdown mode):

“JINHO IN THAT BLACK TANK UNDER THE SUN??? Those arms glistening, abs carved by actual gods, that smirk when he hits the chorus drop… I need to speak to the manager who let him be THIS hot 😭🔥 #JinhoTokyoDome”

“The way he just EXISTS and the whole stage bends to him… baby boy went from trainee to literal KING in months. I’m on my knees. Someone hold me. #ElixirsSupremacy”

“That slow body roll in the rehearsal clip… I felt that in my SOUL. Jinho please step on me, ruin me, make me forget my own name 🫠🖤 #KingJinho”

“His vocals staying PERFECT while doing that footwork??? The stamina??? The face card never declining??? I’m filing a complaint with the universe for making one man THIS unfair 😭💜 #JinhoWorldDomination”

“Every time he winks at the camera in those TikToks I lose 10 years of life expectancy. Send help. Or send Jinho. Preferably shirtless. #ElixirsMyAddiction”

ONCE comments (equally feral, proud, and thirsty):

“Sana and Jinho doing that silly dance challenge together??? My heart can’t take the chemistry. She’s glowing next to him. Protect them at all costs 🥹🌸 #MiSaMoWithJinho”

“Momo teaching Jinho TWICE choreo and him actually keeping up… the respect I have for both of them right now is insane. Power duo alert 🔥 #MomoJinho”

“Mina looking at Jinho during that harmony part like he personally hung the stars… soft Mina hours activated. They’re so pretty together I’m unwell 😭🌙 #MinaJinho”

“The four of them harmonizing in that golden hour clip… it’s giving legendary collab of the decade. ONCE and Elixirs better get along because we’re eating GOOD #FeelSpecialxEclipse”

“Jinho’s deep voice layering under Sana’s high notes and Momo & Mina holding it down… I’m crying, screaming, throwing up. This is what peak K-pop sounds like 🫶 #MiSaMoJinho”

Articles flooded in: “Jinho’s Historic Tokyo Dome Run Sells Out in Minutes—K-Pop’s New Solo King?” (Billboard Korea). “MiSaMo x Jinho Collab Teasers Break the Internet—Fans Demand Extra Dates” (Soompi). “From Rookie to Phenomenon: How Jinho Shattered Every Expectation in Under Six Months” (NME Japan). Even major Korean news channels ran segments: “Jinho’s Tokyo Dome Residency Sparks Nationwide Ticket Frenzy—Additional Shows Urged by Fans.”

Tickets vanished in under 47 seconds during presale. Official merch (lightsticks with eclipse motifs, black hoodies with silver constellation embroidery, photocard sets featuring solo shots and group MiSaMo pics) sold out in waves. Japanese K-pop communities started online petitions for added dates, trending #MoreJinhoDome and #WeNeedExtraNights.

Amid the frenzy, the four idols grew noticeably closer.

Rehearsal breaks became sacred. Sana would drape herself over Jinho’s shoulders, stealing his water bottle and making dramatic “ahhh” sounds while drinking. Momo would challenge him to push-up contests, both collapsing in laughter when neither could beat the other. Mina would sit quietly beside him during downtime, sharing earbuds to listen to reference tracks, their shoulders brushing, her soft “this part is beautiful” comments making him smile in ways the cameras never caught.

The teasing escalated slowly, naturally.

Sana: “Oppa, if you keep looking at me like that during ‘Do Not Touch,’ the fans are gonna think we’re dating~” (wink, hip bump)

Momo: “Your hip thrust is getting dangerous, Jinho-ya. Should I teach you how to make it cuter… or sexier?” (playful eyebrow raise)

Mina: “You always smell really good after practice… it’s distracting.” (quiet, almost shy, eyes flicking away then back)

Jinho played it cool—always—returning fire with that low, smooth voice and half-smirk that made all three visibly react.

Meanwhile, Karina never left his orbit.

Late-night texts turned into sneaky FaceTime calls when she couldn’t sleep. She’d watch rehearsal clips he sent, then call him pouting:

“MiSaMo-sunbaes keep touching you in the TikToks… Sana-sunbaenim practically lives on your shoulder now.”

Jinho, lying in bed after a long day, voice low and teasing: “Jealous, noona?”

Karina huffed, cheeks pink even on camera. “Maybe a little. Okay, a lot. But… I know I’m not the only one. I see how you look at them. How they look at you.” A pause, softer. “And I still want you. All of you. Even if I have to share.”

He’d smile, dark and fond. “You’re not sharing me tonight. Come over when you can. I’ll make it up to you.”

She always did—slipping out in hoodies and masks, ending up tangled in his sheets, riding him slow and possessive, whispering “mine” against his neck even as she knew it wasn’t entirely true.

She was deeply, stupidly in love.

And she couldn’t stop.

One rehearsal night, the compound was unusually quiet

A bitter cold front had rolled in off the coast—breath fogging in the air, stage lights haloed with frost, staff bundled in puffer jackets and scarves. The final full run-through had just wrapped; everyone was drained but buzzing. Director Park called a long break—45 minutes minimum—while the lighting and sound teams prepped one last adjustment for the night.

Multiple small circles formed across the deck like scattered campfires.

Hanseok held court at one end—sprawled in a folding chair, surrounded by random staff and backup dancers, telling exaggerated stories about old idol scandals while passing around hot canned coffee from a convenience store haul. Laughter rolled out in waves.

Nearby, a round table of assistants and wardrobe girls huddled over ramyeon cups and portable heaters, gossiping in low voices.

Another cluster of backup dancers sat cross-legged on yoga mats, sharing playlists and stretching out sore muscles.

And then there was the round table near the thrust edge—lit only by a single work lamp and the soft blue glow of phone screens.

Jinho, Mina, Sana, and Momo.

All four bundled in oversized hoodies (Jinho’s black, the girls in various pastel tones), legs stretched out, chairs pulled close. Empty coffee cups and snack wrappers littered the center. The cold made their cheeks pink, breath visible in little clouds.

They were laughing about something stupid—Momo imitating Director Park’s “sharper! sharper!” screams during the medley run.

The mood was loose, warm despite the freezing air.

The mood at the round table shifted almost instantly. One moment, the four of them were laughing about Momo's exaggerated imitation of Director Park's commands, their breaths fogging in the bitter cold air under the single work lamp. The next, a heavy, electric silence fell over them like a blanket. Sana's playful grin faded into something sharper, her eyes flicking to Jinho's with unspoken intent. Momo leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs slowly, her gaze dropping to his lips before meeting his eyes again. Mina, usually the quiet observer, bit her lower lip subtly, her cheeks flushing deeper than the cold could explain. Jinho felt it too—the air thickening with anticipation, the shared knowledge of what was brewing beneath the surface. They all knew. No words needed.

Jinho glanced casually at his watch, the glow of the screen illuminating his sharp features. 30 minutes until rehearsal resumed. Plenty of time. He stood smoothly, stretching his arms overhead with feigned nonchalance, his black hoodie riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of his chiseled abs. "I'm gonna grab something from my tent," he said low, voice steady and cool, like it was the most ordinary thing. No one at the distant circles—Hanseok's loud storytelling group or the huddled staff tables—paid any attention. The compound's bustle covered his exit as he walked calmly across the deck, hands in his pockets, disappearing into the shadows toward the row of temporary tents set up for the leads and managers.

A beat passed. Then Sana stood first, murmuring something vague about needing a quick stretch. Momo followed seconds later, yawning dramatically to sell the casualness. Mina waited the longest—another 30 seconds—before slipping away quietly, her steps light and unhurried. They moved like shadows, one by one, weaving through the scattered equipment without drawing a single glance from the freezing staff clusters.

Jinho's tent—shared with Hanseok but empty now, since his manager was still holding court across the compound—was a cozy haven against the cold night. A portable heater hummed softly in the corner, pumping warm air that made the small space feel intimate and inviting, the fabric walls glowing faintly from a single hanging lantern. He stepped inside, zipping the flap halfway shut behind him, heart rate picking up despite his outward calm. He didn't have to wait long.

The tent flap zipped fully shut with a soft, final rasp. Warm air from the portable heater curled around them like a secret.

No words. Just eyes meeting eyes in the dim lantern glow—dark promise, shared hunger, the kind that had been simmering since the first rehearsal glance.

They moved like they’d choreographed this too.

Sana reached him first, small hands already tugging at the hem of his black hoodie. Momo flanked right behind, fingers hooking into his waistband. Mina closed the circle from behind, her cool palms sliding under fabric to press flat against the fever-hot skin of his lower back.

Clothes came off fast—efficient, desperate, no teasing strip show because thirty minutes wasn’t enough for games. Hoodies yanked over heads, tanks peeled away, sports bras unhooked and dropped, track pants shoved down together with underwear in one impatient sweep. Everything hit the tent floor in a careless pile around their feet.

Jinho stood bare now, proud and unashamed.

His cock jutted thick and heavy—veined, flushed dark at the head, already glistening at the tip from how long he’d been half-hard just from the anticipation and their earlier looks. It curved slightly upward, the sheer size making the air feel tighter around it. Every rehearsal line of his body was on full display too: carved shoulders, deep-cut abs that flexed with each controlled breath, powerful thighs, the sharp V-lines arrowing down to where Sana was already dropping.

Mina stepped to his right. She rose on her toes, cupped his jaw with both hands, and kissed him like she was starving—deep, open-mouthed, tongue sliding against his with slow, deliberate hunger. Her soft breasts brushed his chest; her nipples were already tight peaks scraping against him.

Momo claimed his left side. She pressed in close, plush tits flattening warm and full against his ribs as she dragged open-mouthed kisses down the column of his neck. Teeth grazed his collarbone, then lower—sucking a bruise just above his pec while her tongue flicked over a nipple, making his abs jump. Her hands mapped him greedily: one splayed over the ridges of his six-pack, the other sliding up to grip the back of his neck, keeping him angled exactly where she wanted.

And Sana—

Sana was already worshipping on her knees like it was sacred duty.

Both small hands wrapped around his shaft—fingers barely meeting around the girth—stroking slow and firm from base to tip while her tongue traced every pulsing vein. She kissed the underside lovingly, lips dragging wet and plush, then swirled around the fat head, sucking just the tip into her warm mouth with a soft, obscene pop. A low, appreciative hum vibrated through him. She looked up once—eyes bright, mischievous, adoring—before diving deeper, taking more of him until her cheeks hollowed and her throat fluttered.

Jinho’s hands weren’t idle.

His right palm rubbed slow circles over the small of Mina’s back, fingers dipping lower to palm the curve of her ass, squeezing once—hard enough to make her gasp into his mouth.

His left hand threaded into Momo’s hair, guiding but not forcing, letting her devour his chest while her nails raked lightly down his sides.

The tent filled with wet sounds: Sana’s slick sucking, the soft smack of lips on skin, Mina’s muffled moans against his tongue, Momo’s pleased little growls every time she found a new sensitive spot.

They swapped fluidly, no discussion needed.

Sana rose first—lips shiny, chin wet—kissed Jinho once, filthy and deep, letting him taste himself on her tongue. Then she moved to Mina’s side, trading places so Mina could sink down.

Mina took him slower, more reverent. Her tongue was delicate at first—long, kitten licks along the underside—before she opened wide and slid him in deep, eyes fluttering shut in bliss. Sana took over Mina’s former spot at Jinho’s right, pressing her lithe body against him, one leg hooking around his thigh as she kissed along his jaw and whispered filthy praise in his ear: “You’re so fucking big… look how pretty she looks trying to take all of you…”

Momo shifted too—dropped briefly to join Mina, their tongues meeting around his cock in messy, uncoordinated slides before Momo rose again to claim his mouth, kissing him rough while her hand joined Sana’s on his chest.

Positions blurred. Hands everywhere. Mouths trading off. Breaths hitching higher.

The tent's warm air felt thicker now, almost syrupy, wrapping around their bare skin as Jinho lowered Mina onto the thin sleeping mat with careful reverence. She lay back, dark hair fanning across the fabric like spilled ink, legs parting slowly to welcome him.

He settled between her thighs, one hand braced beside her head, the other guiding himself to her entrance. Their eyes locked the instant the thick head pressed against her slick folds. Mina's breath hitched, lips parting in a soft, soundless gasp as he began the slow, deliberate push inside.

Inch by inch.

Her walls yielded reluctantly at first—tight, fluttering, stretching around his girth like warm silk being pulled taut over steel. Jinho felt every ripple, every tiny clench as her body adjusted to him, the slow burn of the stretch making her lashes flutter but never letting her gaze waver from his. Those big, liquid eyes stayed fixed on him, wide and trusting and quietly wrecked, pupils blown dark with want. He could see the exact moment the stretch tipped from pressure into deep, aching pleasure—her brows knit faintly, mouth falling open on a trembling exhale.

"Look at me," he murmured, voice gravel-low, barely above a breath. "Just like that."

Mina nodded once, tiny, obedient. Her hands slid up his arms, nails digging lightly into his biceps as he sank deeper, filling her so completely she could feel the heavy pulse of him against every sensitive ridge inside. When he bottomed out—hips flush to hers, balls pressed snug against her—she let out the softest, shakiest whimper, eyes still glued to his like he was the only thing anchoring her to the world.

Above them, Sana knelt close on Mina's right, one hand cupping Mina's flushed cheek while the other toyed lazily with her own nipple. She leaned in and kissed Mina slow and filthy—tongue sliding deep, swallowing the little moans Mina couldn't hold back every time Jinho rolled his hips in a languid circle, stirring himself inside her stretched heat without pulling out. Sana broke the kiss just long enough to whisper against Mina's lips, "You're taking him so beautifully… look how full you are, baby. Feel that?"

Momo was on Mina's left, straddling her face now—facing Jinho so he had the perfect view of both women at once. She lowered herself carefully until Mina's tongue found her clit, and Momo let out a pleased little growl, rocking gently while her hands roamed Mina's breasts, pinching and rolling the dark peaks until they stood even harder. Every time Mina moaned into Momo's pussy from a particularly deep grind of Jinho's cock, Momo shivered and tightened her thighs around Mina's head.

Jinho kept the rhythm torturously slow—long, dragging strokes that let Mina feel every thick vein, every ridge as he pulled almost all the way out only to sink back in to the hilt. Their eye contact never broke. Sweat beaded along his brow; a drop slid down his temple and fell onto Mina's collarbone. She arched under him, inner walls spasming hard around his length as the stretch and the fullness and the intimacy of being watched so openly pushed her closer to the edge.

Sana's fingers found Mina's clit then—circling slow and slick while she kissed along Mina's jaw, murmuring, "Come for him like this… let him see exactly what he does to you."

Momo leaned forward, capturing Jinho's mouth in a messy, open kiss over Mina's body—tongues tangling while her hips kept grinding down on Mina's eager tongue. The sight of it—Mina stretched and trembling beneath him, Sana's clever fingers working her clit, Momo riding her face and kissing him—snapped something in Jinho. His next thrust went a fraction harder, deeper, and Mina's eyes finally fluttered shut as her orgasm hit—silent at first, then a broken, muffled cry into Momo's cunt as her walls clamped down, milking him in long, fluttering pulses.

He followed right after—burying himself to the root and spilling inside her with a low, guttural groan, hips jerking once, twice, filling her until it leaked out around his base.

While Mina caught her breath—still sprawled on the sleeping mat, thighs trembling, a glossy trail of Jinho’s cum slowly leaking from her swollen entrance—she watched through half-lidded eyes as the energy in the tent shifted again.

Jinho rolled smoothly onto his back, chest rising and falling in deep, controlled pulls of air. His cock stood rigid against his abs—still slick from being inside Mina, thick veins pulsing, the flushed head glistening under the lantern’s warm glow. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The look he gave Sana said everything: come take what’s yours.

Sana crawled over him like a cat claiming territory, knees bracketing his hips. She paused there, straddling just above him, small hands planted on his chest for balance. Her eyes flicked down to his length, then back up to meet his gaze—dark, hungry, a little wicked. She bit her lower lip, a soft hum escaping as she reached between her thighs and wrapped delicate fingers around him, guiding the fat head to her entrance.

She didn’t drop.

She sank.

Incredibly slowly.

The first inch breached her with a wet, audible glide—her lips parting around his girth, stretching visibly as she exhaled a long, shaky breath. Sana’s walls fluttered hard around the intrusion, tight and hot and already so slick from watching Mina take him moments ago. She paused there, letting herself adjust, feeling every ridge, every throbbing vein as her pussy slowly yielded to the sheer size of him.

“Fuck… so thick,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone, voice breathy and wrecked. Her inner muscles clenched involuntarily, testing the stretch, then relaxed just enough for her to sink another careful inch. Her brows knit, mouth falling open on a silent moan as the head nudged deeper, pressing against sensitive spots that made her thighs quiver. She rocked her hips in tiny, experimental circles—side to side, forward and back—coaxing her body to open further, to swallow more of him without rushing.

Jinho’s hands settled on her hips—not guiding, not forcing—just steadying her as she worked herself down. His thumbs traced slow arcs over her hip bones while he watched her face, mesmerized by the way her expression shifted with every fraction she took: concentration melting into bliss, lips trembling, cheeks flushed deep pink.

Another slow descent—halfway now. Sana’s breath hitched sharply when the thickest part of him stretched her widest; she froze for a heartbeat, walls rippling around him in frantic little pulses, then let gravity and her own slick do the rest. Down… down… until finally her ass met his pelvis with a soft, wet smack. He was buried to the hilt inside her, so deep she could feel him pressing against her cervix, filling every inch of her to the point of delicious ache.

She stayed like that for a long moment—perfectly still, impaled, letting her body memorize the brutal stretch, the heavy throb of him seated so completely. Then she rolled her hips once—slow, deliberate—and the friction dragged a broken whimper from her throat.

At the same time, Momo swung a leg over Jinho’s head, facing Sana. She lowered herself without preamble, knees planted on either side of his face, dripping pussy hovering just above his mouth. Jinho didn’t hesitate—he gripped her thighs and pulled her down hard, burying his tongue inside her in one greedy stroke. Momo gasped, hands flying to brace on his chest as he devoured her—lips sealing around her clit, sucking hard, tongue flicking fast and filthy while he hummed low vibrations straight into her core.

Sana started to move then—slow at first, rising until only the head remained inside her, then sinking back down with the same torturously deliberate pace, savoring every inch of the stretch all over again. Each downward glide made her gasp; each upward pull left her clenching around nothing before she took him again, deeper, fuller.

Momo rocked against Jinho’s mouth in counter-rhythm—short, needy grinds that smeared her wetness across his lips and chin. The two women locked eyes over his body. Sana reached forward first; Momo met her halfway. Their mouths crashed together in a messy, open-mouthed kiss—tongues sliding, teeth grazing, soft moans shared between them as they moved.

Sana’s hips rolled faster now—still controlled, but building—lifting and dropping in long, fluid strokes that made her breasts bounce and her thighs tremble. Every time she bottomed out, Momo would grind down harder on Jinho’s tongue, swallowing Sana’s whimpers into the kiss. Their hands roamed—Sana’s fingers tangling in Momo’s hair to tug her closer, Momo’s palms sliding down to pinch and roll Sana’s nipples, making her arch and clench even tighter around Jinho’s cock.

Jinho groaned into Momo’s pussy at the added pressure—his hips starting to buck up to meet Sana’s descents, driving himself deeper while his tongue worked Momo relentlessly. The tent filled with wet, obscene sounds: Sana’s slick pussy swallowing him over and over, Momo’s breathless moans muffled against Sana’s mouth, the rhythmic slap of skin whenever Sana dropped hard enough to bruise.

Mina—still catching her breath on the mat beside them—watched it all with dark, hooded eyes, one hand lazily circling her oversensitive clit as the sight pushed her toward a slow, lazy second peak.

Sana broke the kiss first, gasping against Momo’s lips. “He’s… so fucking deep—feel him stretching me every time—”

Momo answered with a filthy smile, grinding down harder on Jinho’s face. “Then ride him harder, baby. Make him fill you up like he filled Mina.”

And Sana did—hips snapping faster now, the slow stretch giving way to greedy, bouncing rides that shook her whole body while Momo kissed her.

Sana’s hips rolled faster now—still controlled, but building—lifting and dropping in long, fluid strokes that made her breasts bounce and her thighs tremble. Every time she bottomed out, Momo would grind down harder on Jinho’s tongue, swallowing Sana’s whimpers into the kiss. Their hands roamed—Sana’s fingers tangling in Momo’s hair to tug her closer, Momo’s palms sliding down to pinch and roll Sana’s nipples, making her arch and clench even tighter around Jinho’s cock.

The pace quickened. Sana’s movements turned frantic, hips slamming down with wet, desperate slaps that echoed inside the small tent. Each drop forced a sharp, broken moan from her throat—half cry, half plea—as Jinho’s thick length speared straight into the soft, sensitive spot that made her vision white at the edges. Her nails dug crescent moons into his chest; her thighs burned from the effort, but she didn’t slow at first. Faster. Harder. Chasing that razor-wire edge.

But then it hit—too much, too fast. The overwhelming build-up crashed over her like a wave, making her body seize up. Sana slowed abruptly, her rhythm faltering into shaky, uneven grinds as she gasped for air, eyes squeezing shut against the intensity threatening to swallow her whole. “Jinho—wait—I can’t—”

Jinho noticed immediately. His hands, already on her hips, tightened just enough to steady her. With gentle but firm care, he reached up and eased Momo away from his face—lifting her off with one strong arm around her waist, setting her down beside them on the mat. Momo pouted playfully but didn’t protest, her own breath ragged from his earlier devouring.

Now with full focus on Sana, Jinho’s gaze darkened with intent. He grabbed her waist with both hands—fingers digging into soft skin—and pulled her downward hard while thrusting upward in one powerful, synchronized motion. The sudden depth, the brutal angle, shattered her. Sana’s body trembled intensely, a violent shiver racing from her core outward; her walls clamped down like a vice, spasming wildly as clear fluid squirted out in hot, messy pulses, soaking his cock, his abs, and the mat beneath them. She cried out—raw and broken—head thrown back, tears pricking her eyes from the overwhelming sensation.

Jinho didn’t stop. He was still horny for more, his own release held back by sheer will, cock throbbing insistently inside her fluttering heat. With a low growl, he lifted Sana off him carefully, her body still quaking in aftershocks, and set her down gently on the mat. Then he stood up—tall, commanding, sweat-glistened muscles flexing under the lantern light—and reached for Momo’s hands. She took them eagerly, letting him pull her to her feet as they walked the few steps to the front of the low folding table inside the tent.

Jinho bent Momo over it in one smooth motion. Her palms slapped down on the surface; ass arched high, thighs spread, back dipped in that perfect dancer’s curve. She glanced back over her shoulder—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, a filthy little smirk playing there. “Do it,” she breathed. “Hard.”

He lined up his cock—still slick from Sana’s release—and proceeded to fuck her from behind. No preamble. No slow stretch. He buried himself in one brutal, full stroke. Momo’s mouth fell open on a choked scream; her whole body lurched forward against the table edge. The impact made the metal legs creak. Jinho didn’t pause—he pulled back almost to the tip and slammed in again, setting a punishing rhythm immediately. Skin slapped skin in sharp, wet cracks; the table rocked under them with every thrust.

While this was happening, Mina—still catching her breath from earlier—crawled over to Sana, who was still trembling a bit and recovering, sprawled on the mat with her thighs slick and chest heaving. Mina cupped Sana’s flushed face gently and kissed her—soft at first, then deeper, tongues tangling in a soothing, intimate dance that muffled Sana’s lingering whimpers.

They broke apart just enough to speak, voices hushed and breathless as they watched Jinho’s broad back flexing rhythmically while he pounded into Momo from behind, the wet sounds of their joining filling the tent.

“God, he’s such a beast,” Sana whispered, eyes wide with awe and fresh arousal, a small shiver running through her. “Look at him—just relentless. Taking her like that without even slowing down after what he did to us.”

Mina nodded, biting her lip as she stared at the powerful lines of Jinho’s body—shoulders rolling, ass clenching with each deep thrust. “I know… he’s unstoppable. So strong, so… primal. It’s addictive watching him like this.” Her hand slid down to lace fingers with Sana’s, both of them mesmerized by the sight.

After a short moment, Sana and Mina involved themselves in Jinho and Momo’s sex. Sana—still shaky but driven—knelt beside the table and reached under to circle Momo’s clit with clever, relentless fingers, matching the brutal pace. Mina pressed herself to Jinho’s side, kissing along his jaw, his neck, whispering soft filthy encouragements against his ear in that gentle voice that somehow made everything dirtier: “You’re so strong… look how beautifully you’re ruining her… she’s shaking for you…”

Jinho was relentless and rough on Momo—both of his hands gripped her tits from behind, fingers sinking deep into the soft, heavy flesh before pinching and rolling her stiff nipples between thumb and forefinger. He tugged hard—hard enough to make her back arch higher, ass pushing back to meet him greedily—while he intensely fucked her from behind, hips pistoning without mercy, cock dragging against every swollen ridge inside her until her thighs shook and her arms nearly gave out.

“Fuck—yes—like that—” Momo panted, voice breaking on every deep plunge. “Harder—wreck me—”

Jinho obliged, growling low as Sana’s fingers worked Momo’s clit faster and Mina’s whispers spurred him on. Momo broke first—her cry ragged, almost a sob—as her orgasm ripped through her. Walls clamped down viciously around his cock; her knees buckled, forcing him to grip her hips to keep her upright while she came apart in violent, gushing spasms. Slick poured down her thighs; the table edge was soaked.

Jinho didn’t slow. He fucked her through it—harder if anything—drawing out every tremor, every broken whimper, until Momo was a boneless, gasping mess draped over the table, cheek pressed to a folded towel, eyes glassy.

Only then did he finally pull out—cock slick and angry-red, throbbing, denied release three times now.

He turned.

Mina, Sana, and Momo were already moving—sliding off the table and mat in unison, dropping to their knees side by side in front of him like a perfect, obedient line. Three sets of eyes locked on his, wide and eager. Three mouths opened, pink tongues poking out flat and waiting, ready to receive.

Jinho fisted himself once—twice—groaning low and rough in his throat.

Thick, heavy ropes of cum erupted across their waiting faces. He painted them all—first splashing hot across Sana’s cheek and outstretched tongue, then Mina’s lips and chin, then straight onto Momo’s tongue and the bridge of her nose, back and forth in messy, overlapping stripes that marked every one of them. Cum dripped from their chins, landed in open mouths, slid down necks and between breasts. They moaned in unison at the heat, at the taste, at the sheer volume of it—tongues flicking out to catch more, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with adoration.

The three of them leaned in instinctively, licking each other clean in slow, filthy swipes—Sana’s tongue dragging across Mina’s lower lip, Momo stealing a stripe from Sana’s cheek, Mina tasting the corner of Momo’s mouth—sharing the mess between soft, breathless kisses while Jinho watched, chest heaving.

For a long moment, the only sounds were harsh breathing, the low hum of the heater, and the distant murmur of staff voices far outside.

Then Sana—face still streaked and glistening, voice hoarse—looked up at him with a dazed, adoring grin.

“…We’re definitely gonna need more than thirty minutes next time, oppa.”

Momo, still on her knees, gave a weak, wrecked laugh as she wiped a stray drop from her chin with her thumb and sucked it clean.

“Speak for yourself… I think he just broke my soul. And my knees.”

Mina reached up, traced a slow finger through the cum on Sana’s cheek, then brought it to her own lips and sucked it clean—eyes never leaving Jinho’s.

“Worth it,” she whispered softly.

Jinho exhaled a rough laugh, dragged a hand through his damp hair, and sank down onto the edge of the sleeping mat.

“Five minutes,” he rasped. “Then we sneak back out there like nothing happened.”

The five minutes passed in a haze of soft touches and quiet laughter—quick wipes with spare towels from the tent's corner stash, hasty finger-combs through messy hair, and hurried tugs to straighten clothes that still smelled faintly of sex and heater-warmed fabric. Sana dabbed at a stubborn streak on her cheek with the edge of her sleeve, grinning sheepishly when Mina caught her eye and passed her a wet wipe from her pocket like it was the most normal thing in the world. Momo stretched her arms overhead with a dramatic groan, wincing as her thighs protested, then shot Jinho a mock-glare. “You owe me new legs, oppa.” Jinho just smirked, low and lazy, already pulling his black hoodie back on over his sweat-damp chest.

They moved efficiently, almost professionally—like they’d done this drill before. Hoodies zipped, track pants tugged straight, sports bras rehooked under layers. Sana smoothed her hair into a quick ponytail; Mina tucked stray strands behind her ears with that quiet elegance; Momo shook out her limbs like she was warming up for round two instead of heading back to choreography. Jinho checked his reflection in his phone screen one last time—hair mussed just enough to look like rehearsal wind, not tent chaos—then zipped the flap open a crack, listening.

Outside, the compound was still quiet. Hanseok’s storytelling circle had thinned; a few staff wandered with clipboards, flashlights bobbing. The cold bit sharper now, but the heater’s warmth clung to their skin like a secret.

Jinho stepped out first—casual stride, hands in pockets, breath fogging in neat little clouds. Sana followed ten seconds later, stretching her arms like she’d just done solo yoga. Momo emerged next, yawning wide and loud enough to sell it, rubbing her eyes as if she’d napped. Mina slipped out last—quiet, composed, hood pulled up to shadow her flushed cheeks.

They drifted back toward the round table near the thrust edge separately, converging naturally like gravity pulled them together again. No one looked twice; the remaining staff were too busy with last-minute cable checks and coffee runs to notice four idols reappearing from the same general direction.

Sana dropped into her chair first, snatching up her abandoned iced coffee and taking a long sip like nothing had happened. “God, it’s freezing out here now,” she complained brightly, cheeks still pink from more than the cold. Momo collapsed beside her, legs sprawled, stealing a sip from Sana’s cup without asking. Mina sat more gracefully, crossing her legs and pulling her phone out to scroll—though her thumb paused every few seconds, eyes flicking toward Jinho with a tiny, private smile.

Jinho took the seat across from them, leaning back, one arm draped over the back of the chair. He looked relaxed—dangerously so—like a man who’d just conquered something and was quietly savoring the victory. His gaze swept over the three of them: Sana’s playful spark, Momo’s lazy satisfaction, Mina’s soft glow. The air between them crackled with unspoken afterglow, but on the surface? Just four idols catching their breath during a late-night break.

Director Park’s voice cut through the night a minute later, sharp and amplified over a walkie-talkie somewhere nearby. “Five-minute warning! Lighting reset done. Everyone back to positions for final run-through. Let’s make it clean this time.”

Sana straightened immediately, clapping her hands together. “Okay, beast mode again. Let’s go kill this run.” She shot Jinho a wink that was equal parts innocent and filthy.

Momo pushed to her feet with exaggerated effort, groaning theatrically. “If my legs give out mid-chorus, it’s on you, Jinho-ya.”

Mina stood smoothly, brushing invisible lint from her hoodie. Her voice was soft, almost too quiet for anyone else to hear as she passed him. “You were… perfect.” Just three words, but the way she said them made heat lick up his spine all over again.

Jinho rose last—slow, deliberate—catching each of their eyes for a split second before turning toward the stage.

They walked back to the set together now, falling into easy formation: Sana chattering about a funny TikTok she’d seen earlier, Momo humming the bridge of “Do Not Touch” under her breath, Mina silent but close enough that her shoulder brushed Jinho’s once. The compound lights flared brighter as the crew powered up for the final push; fog machines hissed test bursts; bass rumbled low through the deck.

As they stepped onto the thrust, Jinho felt the shift—the night’s secret tucked safely behind their eyes, fueling every upcoming step, every note, every glance they’d share under the lights.

Thirty minutes ago they’d been tangled and wrecked in a heated tent.

Now they were four professionals about to run the collab of the decade.

And no one watching would ever know the difference.

…Except them.

The music cue dropped.

They hit their marks.

And the night kept burning.

The week following that heated tent encounter unfolded like a fever dream for Jinho—raw, relentless, and intoxicating. What started as a stolen thirty minutes of chaos evolved into something casual yet addictive, a secret rhythm woven into their already packed schedules. MiSaMo and Jinho became fuck buddies in the truest sense: no strings, no drama, just mutual hunger sparked by proximity and the high-stakes energy of Tokyo Dome prep. Rehearsals blurred into late-night hookups; downtime turned electric with knowing glances and quick escapes. Hanseok, ever the oblivious (or willfully blind) manager, chalked up Jinho's extra "glow" to intense training, never suspecting the truth. The four of them kept it seamless—professional on stage, primal off it—fueling their performances with the kind of chemistry that fans would obsess over without ever knowing why.

Monday kicked off with a grueling full-day run at the compound, the cold front lingering but the sun breaking through by noon. Jinho nailed every choreo tweak, his voice steady through the medley, but his mind kept flashing back to the tent: Mina's soft whispers, Sana's squirt-soaked cries, Momo's arched back. By late afternoon, during a water break, Sana caught his eye from across the deck—her ponytail swinging, lips curved in that mischievous smile. She nodded subtly toward the equipment vans parked at the edge of the lot. No words needed. Jinho excused himself for a "quick call," slipping away while the backup dancers stretched.

They met behind the largest van, out of sight from the bustling set. Sana was already there, leaning against the cool metal, hoodie unzipped just enough to tease the curve of her sports bra. "Missed this already?" she teased, voice low and breathy as she pulled him close by his shirt.

Jinho didn't waste time—his hands slid under her hoodie, palming her breasts roughly while he kissed her hard, tongues clashing. "You started it," he growled against her lips, spinning her around to face the van. She braced her hands on the door, ass pushing back eagerly as he yanked her track pants down to her thighs. No underwear—cheeky as always. He freed his cock, already hard from the mere anticipation, and thrust into her slick heat in one smooth motion. Sana bit her lip to stifle a moan, but it escaped as a sharp gasp. "Fuck—yes, oppa—deeper."

He obliged, hips snapping forward relentlessly, one hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her cries while the other gripped her hip. The van rocked faintly with each pound; distant staff chatter masked the wet slaps. Sana came fast—walls fluttering wildly, squirting a messy arc down her thighs—but Jinho held off, pulling out just in time to spill across her ass. "Good girl," he murmured, wiping her clean with his sleeve before they straightened up. They returned to the set separately, Sana with a fresh "glow" that Director Park mistook for enthusiasm. The rest of the day flew by, their shared secret adding an edge to every group number.

Tuesday brought a shift: individual vocal sessions in the morning, then a late-afternoon choreo polish with Momo at the JYP practice room. TWICE's schedule had cleared just enough for her to join Jinho solo that night—no backups, no staff, just the two of them under the harsh fluorescent lights, mirrors reflecting every sweat-glistened move. They ran the dance break for "Do Not Touch" a dozen times, bodies syncing perfectly—Momo's sharp isolations matching Jinho's powerful rolls. By 10 p.m., the building was mostly empty, the air thick with their heavy breathing.

Momo locked the door with a click, turning to him with a predatory grin. "One more run? Or... something else?" She didn't wait for an answer—pushed him against the mirror, dropping to her knees and tugging his sweats down. Her mouth was on him instantly, sucking deep and messy, tongue swirling around his thickening length. "Taste so good after dancing," she mumbled around him, eyes locked up at his.

Jinho threaded his fingers through her hair, guiding her rhythm. "Fuck, Momo—your mouth..." But he wanted more. He pulled her up, bent her over the ballet barre facing the mirror so they could watch themselves. Pants shoved aside, he lined up and slammed in from behind—hard, just like she liked. Momo's reflection showed her mouth falling open, tits bouncing under her tank as he gripped them, pinching nipples roughly. "Harder—wreck me like the tent," she panted, pushing back to meet every thrust. The room echoed with skin-on-skin slaps; she came with a choked scream, gushing slick down his thighs. Jinho followed, burying deep and filling her, groaning low.

Their bodies were drenched in sweat from the hours of dancing, skin slick and glistening under the lights, making every slide and thrust even more intense and slippery. As Jinho pounded into Momo relentlessly, their reflections captured the raw, primal scene—her breasts heaving with each brutal impact, his muscles flexing powerfully behind her, both of them coated in a sheen of perspiration that dripped down their backs and thighs, mixing with their arousal. The mirror amplified the eroticism, forcing them to watch as sweat flew from their bodies with every fierce collision, her moans echoing louder in the empty room while he gripped her hips harder, fucking her through waves of ecstasy in a haze of heated, sweaty passion that left them both panting and utterly spent.

They collapsed against the mirror, laughing breathlessly. "Best practice ever," Momo whispered, kissing his jaw before they cleaned up and snuck out separately. Hanseok picked Jinho up curbside, none the wiser.

Wednesday was apartment-bound for Jinho—a rare half-day off after morning meetings, but the buzz from the previous nights left him restless. Mina texted around dusk: "Busy?" Simple, but loaded. She showed up at his door an hour later, mask and cap hiding her face, slipping inside like a shadow. No preamble—they'd built that quiet intensity since the tent. Mina was always softer, more intimate; she led him to the couch, straddling his lap and kissing him slow, deep, hands roaming his chest under his shirt.

"You're addictive," she murmured, grinding down on his hardening cock through their clothes. Jinho flipped her onto her back, peeling off her leggings and burying his face between her thighs—tongue flicking her clit relentlessly until she arched, fingers tangling in his hair. "Jinho—please—inside me now." He obliged, sliding in slow at first, savoring her tight heat, then building to deep, deliberate thrusts that made her tremble. Mina's eyes stayed locked on his, just like that first time; she came whispering his name, walls milking him until he spilled inside her with a guttural moan. "Stay," he rasped, pulling her close for lazy after-kisses. She did—for an hour—before slipping out into the night. Jinho crashed hard, dreaming of their harmonies laced with her soft cries.

Thursday ramped back up: full ensemble rehearsal at the compound, MiSaMo all present. The collab numbers popped with unspoken fire—fans would eat up the tension in the teasers. During lunch, Sana cornered Jinho in a quiet corner of the catering tent, her hand brushing his thigh under the table. "Quickie?" she whispered, eyes sparkling. But they held off—too risky with everyone around. Instead, the release came post-rehearsal, around midnight, when Jinho invited them all over "for notes." Hanseok was out; the apartment became their playground. It started casual—pizza and playlist reviews—then devolved into a tangle on the living room floor. Jinho took turns: first Sana riding him reverse on the couch, bouncing wildly while Momo and Mina watched, touching themselves. "Look at her go—fuck, oppa, you're huge," Momo teased, before joining to suck Sana's clit mid-ride. Sana squirted again, soaking the cushions. Then Momo on all fours, Jinho pounding from behind while Mina kissed her moans away. "So rough—love it," Momo gasped. Mina finished him off, slow and deep on the bed, her gentle "Come for me" pushing him over. They crashed in a pile, waking early to scatter before dawn.

Friday blurred into media day: interviews, photo shoots, more teasers dropping. The internet frenzy hit new highs—#JinhoMiSaMo trending globally. Amid the chaos, Momo pulled Jinho into an empty green room during a break, locking the door. "Need a stress reliever?" she purred, bending over the makeup table. He fucked her quick and dirty—hand over her mouth, the other pulling her hair—both coming fast to the rhythm of distant camera flashes. "You're my favorite distraction," she whispered post-orgasm, fixing her lipstick. The rest of the day, their energy was electric; Director Park praised the "natural spark."

Saturday: rest day for most, but Jinho hit the gym, then hosted Sana solo that evening. She arrived with takeout, but food waited—they went straight to the shower, water cascading as he pinned her against the tiles, thrusting deep while she clawed his back. "Harder—make me scream," she begged, legs wrapped around him. He did, her orgasm echoing off the walls. They ate naked after, laughing about fan theories.

Sunday wrapped the week with a light rehearsal back at the JYP practice room—their "home court," as Momo playfully called it, where MiSaMo felt most at ease. All three were present this time, the group tighter than ever after the week's escalating intimacy. The session ran long into the evening, bodies syncing flawlessly through the collab routines, but as the building emptied out, the air thickened with that familiar electric charge. They locked the door, and what started as "one more run" devolved into something far more primal. Jinho directed them with that quiet command they'd grown to crave: stacking the three vertically on the practice room floor, Momo at the bottom since her strong, dancer's body could bear the weight best, then Sana in the middle, and Mina on top. Their asses and pussies were perfectly presented to him in a tantalizing tower—curves aligned, slick folds glistening under the fluorescent lights, a sight that carried a tiny, thrilling edge of degradation: three members of the nation's girl group, Japan's most treasured K-pop idols, stacked like willing offerings just for his cock to claim and fuck at his leisure.

Jinho savored the view, his thick length throbbing as he circled them slowly, choosing holes with deliberate intent. He started at the front, feeding his cock into their mouths one by one—Momo's eager throat taking him deep first, her tongue swirling greedily; then Sana's plush lips sucking him with playful slurps; finally Mina's gentle mouth, soft and reverent, eyes locked on his as she hollowed her cheeks. He thrust shallowly into each, letting their saliva coat him slickly, their moans vibrating around him in harmony. Then he moved to the back, plunging into their pussies with the same methodical dominance: Momo's tight heat gripping him like a vice as he slammed in hard, her strong frame absorbing every brutal pound; Sana's fluttering walls milking him mid-stack, her squirting release soaking the pile below; Mina's elegant body trembling atop as he buried himself to the hilt, her soft cries echoing in the empty room. He switched freely—front to back, mouth to pussy—fucking them intensely, their stacked bodies rocking in unison, sweat and slick mingling in a messy, obscene symphony of slaps and gasps.

Mid-thrust into Mina's pussy from behind, Jinho's phone buzzed insistently on the floor nearby—Karina's name flashing on the screen. He didn't stop, answering with a cool, steady voice while his hips kept snapping forward, cock driving deep into Mina's clenching heat. "Hey, noona," he said casually, as if he weren't buried balls-deep in one idol while the other two squirmed beneath her. Karina chatted excitedly about her day, her voice sweet and oblivious, asking about his rehearsals. Jinho handled it smoothly, responding with low, even tones—"Yeah, practice was intense today... working on that bridge you liked"—even as he switched to Sana's pussy, her muffled whimper hidden by the stack. But then, lost in the rhythm, he slipped: "Fuck, Karina—that feels so good," he groaned under his breath, the name escaping before he could catch it. There was a pause on the line; Karina's voice turned doubtful, hesitant. "Jinho? What did you just say? Are you... okay?" He recovered coolly, chuckling low. "Sorry, noona—just practicing lines for a dramatic VCR segment. Got carried away. Tell me more about your shoot." She laughed it off uncertainly but continued, her tone a bit wary, though Jinho steered the conversation back seamlessly until she hung up with a soft "Miss you."

As he set the phone down and pulled out, spilling hot ropes across their stacked asses in thick, marking stripes, the three unstacked themselves slowly—bodies slick and spent, collapsing into a laughing pile on the floor. Sana was the first to tease, propping herself on an elbow with a wicked grin, her cheeks still flushed. "Karina, huh? Someone's got a favorite on speed dial." Momo joined in, rolling onto her side and poking his thigh playfully. "Slipping up like that? Amateur hour, oppa. What if she heard us moaning in the background?" Mina, ever the softest, traced a finger down his chest with a shy smile, but her eyes sparkled mischievously. "Jealous? Or just distracted by how good we feel compared to her?" Jinho shook his head with a low chuckle, pulling them closer. "You three are trouble." But the teasing lingered in the air as they dressed, the bond feeling deeper—fuck buddies, yes, but with a spark that promised more weeks like this. Tokyo Dome loomed, but for now, the secret fueled them.

The next day came fast—another afternoon talk show in a bright Gangnam studio that smelled like hairspray, instant ramen, and a bit of nervous energy. Jinho was the guest. He was there to smile for the cameras, talk a little about Tokyo Dome, and act like the past week hadn’t been one long, wild secret.

Hanseok was already in the green room, sitting like he owned the place. One phone in his hand scrolling X, the other checking idol gossip. Jinho was in the makeup chair getting the final touches. He looked tired but still handsome, even with dark circles under his eyes.

The door opened without knocking.

Hanseok didn’t look up. “If that’s the PD asking for another game segment, tell him no unless they give us free ramyeon for life. We’re not doing karaoke today.”

Footsteps. The door closed. The lock clicked.

Hanseok glanced over—and stopped moving.

Jinho caught his eyes in the mirror and raised one eyebrow. “You okay, hyung?”

Hanseok stood up slowly, like a dad who just found out his kid had been throwing secret parties. He walked over, put both hands on the vanity table behind Jinho, and leaned in close. Jinho could smell the iced Americano on his breath.

“You,” Hanseok said quietly but with a big grin, “have been living like the main character in a very spicy drama.”

Jinho didn’t react much. He just wiped a bit of extra powder off his cheek like this was normal. “Rehearsals are hard.”

“Hard?” Hanseok laughed once, loud. “Kid, I do your laundry. Your clothes smell like three different girl-group perfumes mixed with roses. I see MiSaMo’s stylists giggle every time someone says your name. And don’t think I didn’t notice you disappearing for thirty minutes during breaks, then coming back looking like you just got hugged by a hurricane.”

He stood straight, pulled out his phone, and held the screen right in front of Jinho’s face.

Karina’s newest Instagram story—from forty minutes ago. A black-and-white photo of her hand holding one red rose. No face. No long message. Just clean white text on top:

“you can’t solo someone’s heart…  

sometimes you have to share ♡”

And under it? A small crescent moon emoji.

The same moon emoji Mina put next to her name in Jinho’s contacts.

Hanseok let the photo stay there for a second, then locked the phone with a quick tap.

“She’s not yelling. She’s not making a big post. She’s just… dropping a classy little hint with flowers. Polite. Scary. Very her.”

Jinho breathed out through his nose—slow and calm—like he was deciding whether to laugh or hide.

Hanseok put the phone away, crossed his arms, and smiled like he’d won something big.

“I’ve been pretending I don’t see any of it because—honestly?—it’s helping. The collab views are crazy. The teasers are everywhere. Fans are going wild, sponsors want in, and you look better every time you come back from one of your ‘breaks.’ So I let it go. I’m a cool manager like that.”

He leaned in again, voice lower.

“But I stop pretending when Karina posts quiet poetry about sharing you. That’s too much drama for my salary.”

Jinho finally let out a small, tired laugh. “You’re having too much fun with this.”

“Of course I am,” Hanseok said, grin getting bigger. “I’ve been your manager since you were a trainee who sounded like a sick cat on high notes. Watching you turn into K-pop’s biggest troublemaker? Amazing. But if this gets out and Dispatch starts living outside your apartment, I’m not the one calling SM to explain why you’ve got four national treasures fighting over your time like it’s a sale.”

He looked at his watch, clapped his hands once.

“Six minutes until they call you to the set. Fix your expression. You look like someone caught you stealing cookies from the idols’ snack drawer.”

Jinho stood up slowly, rolled his shoulders, and slipped back into his cool, confident mode—the one that made cameras love him.

Hanseok walked to the door, stopped with his hand on the handle, and looked back with pure mischief in his eyes.

“And next time? Actually use the condoms I gave you. I’m not ready to babysit a whole team of tiny superstars. My hair is already turning gray from stress.”

Jinho rolled his eyes hard. “Get out.”

Hanseok laughed loud enough for the hallway to hear, pulled the door open—

—and right then, a stressed staff member poked her head in, walkie-talkie buzzing.

“Jinho-ssi! We’re ready for you on set! PD-nim says two minutes!”

Jinho gave Hanseok one last flat look—half annoyed, half fond—then walked past him into the hallway. Cap low, shoulders back, every bit the star ready to charm the audience.

Hanseok watched him leave, shaking his head with a tired smile.

“This kid’s gonna give me heart problems,” he muttered.

Then he followed anyway.