FeeliPark

GENERAL RULES

No requests. You're always free to send in suggestions but it is not a full guarantee that I will write whatever request that is...

No minors. If minors will be mentioned, then they shall be limited to supporting characters only and shall not be discussed sexually.

RULES ON WHO I SHALL WRITE AND NOT WRITE

In response to the polls I provided sometime last year, I have now expanded my drafts not just exclusively on Kpop idols and K-actresses, but also on Non-Asian and Non-Kpop Asian celebrities. Now who would I consider as celebrities? Specifically...

Actresses (Pornstars are allowed), Singer-Songwriters, TV Personalities/MCs, Professional dancers, and DJs. Yes, I consider DJs as artists.

When it comes to professional dancers though, I'll limit it to Korean-based dancers. I'm honestly not too interested on those from outside Korea. Other than that, if the girl is not any of the ones I mentioned above, then I have no plans on writing her. Some examples would be...

Influencers, Tiktokers, Youtubers, Streamers, Radio hosts, models (Instagram or professional-wise)

NingNing wasn’t just any demon—she was the kind that didn’t claw her way into your nightmares but slithered into your waking thoughts. People called her the Siren of Melancholy, though she never sang. She didn’t need to. 

Her presence alone was a slow, creeping weight, pressing down until the chest caved in. Lost souls found her in their darkest moments, mistaking her cold embrace for comfort, her whispers for reason. They followed her into the dark, believing—hoping—she would make the pain stop. She never did.

You finally faced her the night before, but the sheer power and ferocity that she unleashed was unlike anything you'd ever encountered. NingNing's form shifted between shadow and smoke, her laughter—if you could call it that—a hollow, echoing sound that scraped against your bones. 

Your spells barely grazed her, and when you tried to bind her, the chains dissolved like sugar in water. Exhausted, you collapsed in the circle, watching as she melted back into the darkness, leaving only the faint scent of damp earth and something bittersweet behind.

You thought, desperate times only meant desperate measures, and it meant another trip to the notorious and mysterious mystic, Pastor Feelip.

He was all sorts of wrong, wrapped in silk robes and piety—that’s what they whispered about the said Pastor. Women left his chamber with their eyes glazed, lips slightly parted, murmuring praises to some unnamed god while their fingers absently traced the fresh marks along their thighs. 

The temple elders pretended not to notice, but the market stalls buzzed with the kind of stories that made old women clutch their beads tighter: how he’d coaxed the widow Katarina to her knees with scripture, how the merchant’s daughter had returned from confession with her hair undone and her wrists bound in red twine.

Yet despite all the murmurs, the man was the only one with the guidance to tame such a beast like NingNing.

And with that, you made your way out towards his chapel of sorts, a run-down barely functioning hut that stood on its last legs with vines wrapped all around it. The air outside was thick with incense and something muskier, clinging to the back of your throat like a promise you weren’t sure you wanted kept. 

Inside, Pastor Feelip lounged on a threadbare divan, his fingers tracing lazy circles in the air as smoke curled from a pipe clenched between his teeth. His eyes—dark, amused—locked onto yours the moment you stepped inside.

"Ah," he murmured, voice like gravel wrapped in silk.

"I see you have returned, Shaman. Your eyes tell me you've been through something rough..." He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, the scent of something vaguely narcotic clinging to the air. His robe slid open just enough to reveal the edge of a jagged scar—a mark you recognized. 

"What is it this time, Shaman? What kind of beast eludes your bonds?" He leaned forward, the pipe dangling between his fingers as his gaze pinned you like a moth to corkboard.

"Have you heard of NingNing, Pastor? The demon of sorrows? The one who claims the living through their most fragile moments?" you ask, watching his expression.

He paused, something you said clearly took the man aback. But his eyes told some level of recognition upon the creature.

"I have never of a NingNing before. But the sheer mention of the one who claims the living in their highest torment reminds of someone close to home. Yizhuo is what we call her. A woman in utter despair, who fed on the sorrows of the living." His voice dropped to a whisper, fingers tightening around the pipe.

"Take me to her. Guide me in the nether realm." He stated, knowing full well what he meant and how he was going to do it.

And with little doubt, you get on your knees to pray. The man slowly makes his way to your front and gently places his hand on your head.

"Close your eyes and heed my voice..." He whispered, his other hand gesturing the sign of the cross before gently pushing your forehead downwards—eyes shut.

The prayer he began was unlike anything you'd heard before—half whispered hymn, half choked moan—and as the syllables dripped from his lips, the air turned thick like molasses. The scent of damp earth and that bittersweet musk from NingNing’s presence flooded your senses, mingling with the spice of Pastor Feelip’s sweat.

And when you opened your eyes, you were there once more, that same black sky and red mystic plain you and NingNing dueled in your failed attempt in taming the beast.

You see her once again, face-to-face, as if she was ready for battle once more. Her face, her soothing yet false comfort—her face—the image of sorrow.

"Such sadness..." The pastor suddenly spoke, standing beside you as you both examined the feminine humanoid in despair.

Her arms, her seemingly harmless yet destructive arms reached out in search of comfort, in solace of pain—her false love that lingered deep inside your own sorrows.

"Fighting her is useless," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear.

"Can you not see the torment she's in? Can you not feel the hunger in her touch?" His voice was low, urgent, his fingers pressing into your shoulder as NingNing's fingers brushed the air just inches from your face.

"She doesn't want to fight you. She wants you to *understand*." The Pastor's hand slid down your arm, his grip tightening as NingNing's hollow eyes locked onto yours.

Her fingers trembled—not with malice, but with something worse: longing. The kind that gnawed at the edges of sanity, the kind that made widows weep into empty beds. The pastor exhaled sharply, his lips grazing your ear.

"Give in... Make her feel the comfort she craves," The Pastor urged, his voice fraying at the edges.

Her fingers hovered just above your collarbone now, her touch like winter air—cold, but not biting. Her lips parted, releasing a sigh that carried the scent of funeral lilies and the iron tang of old blood. You shuddered, but the Pastor's grip held you steady.

"She's starved," he whispered. "Feed her."

And that was when your lips combined. You kiss the demon's mouth, expecting her to taste like bile, vermin, blood, anything you could think of that was close to the devil. But to your surprise, NingNing's lips tasted like honey and cinnamon—like the sweetest tea your mother once brewed as a sick child. 

The scent of funeral lilies clung to her skin, but underneath it, you caught something warm, almost alive. Her breath hitched against yours, her fingers curling into the fabric of your robes like she was afraid you'd vanish.

Your hands start to touch the creature's physique, expecting nothing but air in her spiritual form. Yet NingNing's body responds to your touch—soft, yielding flesh beneath her ghostly silhouette, like silk draped over feverish skin. The pastor's voice fades into the red-hued void, his presence dissolving into the background as NingNing presses closer, her hips rolling against yours with a rhythm that isn't quite human. Her sighs morph into low, shuddering moans, each one laced with the weight of centuries of loneliness.

You find yourself slowly clinging on to her, her ass, in whatever shape or form, filling your hands as you squeezed and kneaded her flesh—her sorrowful moans echoing through the void. Each press of her body against yours sent tremors through you, not of fear, but of something darker—desire laced with the ache of shared despair. 

Her nails raked down your back, not to wound, but to anchor herself as she arched into you, her breath coming in ragged gasps against your lips. The scent of funeral lilies grew thicker, mingling with the salt of sweat and the musk of something primal.

"Oh god... Oh-Ohhh..."

You cowered in fear when she detaches her lips, her mouth slightly open to reveal the sharp canines of her teeth, the kind that resembled serpents where her long and elongated tongue slithered out and licked her own lips—her drool thick and dripping, coating her chin in a glistening sheen.

You watch her slowly get down, sinking herself down into the realm of getting down to her knees. Her reptilian-like eyes stay glued against yours as she discarded your pants down in one go, your flaccid yet semi-erect cock springing out and slapping against your abdomen—NingNing’s lips curling into something between a smirk and a snarl. Her tongue—longer than any human’s, slick with saliva—slithered out, the tip flicking against your tip before dragging slowly down the length of you, leaving a cold, wet trail in its wake. You shuddered, not just from the sensation, but from the way her hollow eyes burned into yours, like she was memorizing every twitch of your expression.

"Ahh!!!"

And that's when she swallowed you whole. Her mouth—unnaturally wide—engulfed your length in one swift motion, her throat fluttering around you like a living, pulsing vice. The heat was unbearable as if it was hell itself, her tongue coiling around you in sinuous waves as she hummed, the vibration traveling straight to your core. Her drool dripped thick and hot down your thighs, mingling with the sweat already gathering there.

Your fingers tangled in her hair—or what passed for it—gripping tight as she bobbed her head with a rhythm that was close violent. Her hollow eyes never left yours, pupils dilated wide, black pools reflecting your own unraveling. Feelip’s voice echoed faintly in the distance, murmuring something about surrender, but his words dissolved into static as NingNing’s fangs grazed your skin.

She pulled back just enough to let you see the slick mess she’d made of you, her tongue lapping at the underside of your dick like she was savoring your taste.

Then before you could utter a breath, she sank down again, deeper this time, her throat constricting in waves that made your eyes blur. A moan, if you could even call it that, tore from her lips—half sob, half growl—vibrating through your body.

The way her maw wrapped around your cock felt like she was sucking the life out of you—not just your pleasure, but the very essence of your sorrows. Her throat pulsed rhythmically, each swallow dragging you deeper into a wet, shuddering oblivion. Her claws dug into your thighs, not to restrain, but to pull you closer, urging you to fuck her face with abandon.

And so you do, gripping whatever material she had on her hair, your fingers digging into her scalp as you began thrusting into her throat—hard, unforgiving, the kind of brutal rhythm that made your knees shake. The demoness gagged, her throat convulsing, yet she didn’t pull away; her hollow eyes watered, yet she kept them locked onto yours, like she wanted to drown in this as much as you did. 

Her drool spilled past her lips, dripping in thick strands onto the red plain beneath you. Each snap of your hips punched a wet, choked sound from her, the vibrations of her moans traveling up your cock like live wires.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!"

You start to feel that heavy tingling sensation, that sign that you were about to combust—but NingNing knew. Of course she did! Just as your hips stuttered, her fingers dug into the meat of your thighs, her throat clamping down like a vice as she swallowed you whole, her tongue writhing beneath your shaft in ways no human could.

The orgasm ripped through you like a blade, your vision whiting out as she drank you down in greed, choking gulps, her hollow eyes rolling back in something close to ecstasy. She stuck her mouth into you like she wanted to take every litre and every drop of your essence into her, like your soul was wine for her to sip. 

When she finally pulled back, her lips were slick with spit and seed, her tongue flicking out to catch the last stray drops.

You thought that was it. That should've been it! You were spent from that one orgasm alone, the biggest you thought came out of your dick. But when she traced patterns on your groin, her voice uttered words in a language you did not understand as she casted a spell on you.

And before you knew it, your crotch burst into life, albeit painfully. Your spent cock comes back to life slowly… You felt the sheer liquid re-filling your dick like it was a balloon, veins throbbing as NingNing licked her lips in anticipation. You gasped at the sensation—not pleasure, but raw, overwhelming pressure—as she dragged her clawed fingertips down your stomach.

And in an instant, she vanished into thin air, the black empty void leaving you confused—but not for long.

You turned around only to find her laying on a *bed* of sorts, clouds of red mists surrounding the object as she laid her legs wide open—her *pussy* dripping wet, juices coating her thighs in thick rivulets. Her fingers traced lazy circles around her clit, her hollow eyes never leaving yours as she beckoned you forward with a curl of her elongated tongue.

Her arm reached out in a plea, seeking her solace, seeking her comfort, seeking for you... Her lips parted, not in a snarl this time, but in a silent gasp as she arched her back, presenting herself to you—not as a demon to conquer, but as a creature starving for connection.

And that is when you loom over her and slide yourself inside her—albeit reluctantly—the creature's inner walls enveloping you in a tight, pulsing grip. Her insides felt unnaturally warm, slick with something thicker than human arousal, clinging to your cock like she's trying to fuse you into her. 

She arches beneath you, her breath stuttering into a series of choked moans, her fingers raking across your back in desperate, uneven strokes. Every thrust drags a broken sound from her—not pleasure, not pain, but something raw and ancient.

"Is this what you want? Is this what you desire?" You whisper as your hands trace the contours of NingNing's waist, fingertips skimming the dip of her hips with a tenderness that belies the heat of the moment.

Her skin, though spectral, yields beneath your touch like silk over warm water, and she shudders—not in fear, but in quiet astonishment. The demon of sorrows arches into your palms as if starved for gentleness, her breath hitching when your thumbs brush the underside of her breasts, slow and deliberate. For a creature forged from despair, her whimper is startlingly human.

She does not respond with words, just nods and ghastly moans that fill the void like hymns. Her fingers intertwine with yours, pressing your palms against the dip of her waist as if anchoring herself to this moment—to you. 

Her thighs tremble around your hips, not with the cold bite of the nether realm, but with the feverish heat of something alive, something desperate. Each shallow thrust draws a whimper from her lips, her head tipping back to expose the delicate column of her throat, where shadows pulse beneath her skin like a second heartbeat.

You up the pace and angle your hips just right, watching her eyes widen as you hit a spot deep inside her that makes her spine bow off the bed. Her moans turn ragged, nails scoring crescents into your shoulders, but it's the way her body clenches around you—like she's trying to pull you deeper than flesh should allow—that undoes you. 

"Take it! Take it!" You tell her as you fuck her like it was the last act.

You feel her tighten around you, her inner ethereal walls fluttering as if trying to milk every last drop from you. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, her lips parted in silent screams as her hips buck against yours with desperate urgency.

The air thickens with the scent of her arousal—like wilted roses dipped in honey—and the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the void. Her claws dig into your back, drawing beads of blood that she licks away with a shudder, savoring the taste of your desperation mingling with hers.

Her moans crescendo into a wail as her body seizes, her cunt pulsing like a living thing, sucking you deeper as if to fuse your bones with hers. You feel her climax ripple through her in waves, her thighs trembling against your hips, her tears hot against your chest.

But she doesn’t stop—she *can’t*. Her hips roll with a frenzied need, her hands clawing at your back, urging you to chase your own release inside her. Her voice cracks as she whispers words in a tongue older than time, syllables that slither under your skin and coil around your spine, pulling you inexorably toward the edge.

And when you finally burst inside her—deeper than you thought possible—she locks her legs around your waist, holding you there as if afraid you'll vanish the moment you pull out. Her fingers rake down your back, her breath hitching as she feels you twitch inside her, spilling everything you have left. She clenches around you hard, milking every last drop, her hollow eyes wide with something almost like wonder—as if she’d forgotten what it felt like to be full.

"Now! Claim her now!"

And that was when the pastor's voice called out to you! You take out your book of demons and claim the demoness into her new prison—her cries fading into silence as the pages glow with her name etched in black ink. The scent of funeral lilies lingers, but her warmth is gone—trapped now in parchment and ink. Your hands shake as you clutch the book, the weight of it heavier than before, as if NingNing's sorrows have seeped into the very fibers.

You close your eyes, the sharp pain in your head claiming your consciousness—but not before you hear NingNing's final whisper, a sound like rustling pages and distant rain. 

The world tilts, your knees buckling as the weight of exhaustion and the remnants of her touch drag you down into the dark. The last thing you feel is the cold press of the book against your chest, its pulse slow and steady, like a heartbeat not your own.

*Epilogue

"You took your time, Shaman..."

The first thing you hear upon waking up was the sound of Pastor Feelip's voice—hoarse and raspy as he smoked his pipe—his words curling into the air like incense smoke. Your throat was dry, your clothes damp with sweat that had long since turned cold against your skin.

The smell of funeral lilies lingered faintly on your fingertips, but the bed beneath you was unmistakably real—rough cotton sheets, the scratch of straw stuffing poking through the mattress. You blinked up at the peeling plaster ceiling, your muscles aching as if you'd fought a battle in your sleep.

"You got her, Shaman. Her name is right here, draped in cold blood..." The man pointed out, opening a page in your book where NingNing's name pulsed like a fresh wound.

The ink was still wet, glistening black and viscous—smelling faintly of damp earth and bitter honey. You reached out to touch it, recoiling when the letters twitched under your fingertip, as if something beneath the page stirred. Feelip chuckled, low and knowing, tapping the pipe against his teeth.

"She's yours now—but be careful. Even trapped, she's hungry." He added.

"I will, Pastor. Thank you once more." You couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt—or was it pity?—as you traced NingNing's name in the book, feeling the faintest pulse beneath the ink, like a moth trapped behind glass.

The weight of her sorrow lingered in your fingertips, sticky as resin. You closed the tome with a snap that echoed too loudly in the cramped hut, the sound final.

"Anytime, Shaman. I'm always at your service. May God be with you…”

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"Ah! There you are!" I greeted in delight, finally seeing a friendly face.

"Greetings, my friend..." Chong Chi-Tan, head of the San triad,  replied in his usual measured tone as I gestured him inside.

"Thank you for coming..." Jae-Myeong bowed to him in which Chi-Tan bowed back, albeit half a second too late—not disrespectful, just cautious.

The old wooden floor creaked under Chi-Tan's polished oxfords as he took his seat. His left hand twitched toward his inner pocket—force of habit—before resting on the table.

"So, Jae-Myeong. What is this urgent matter you want to discuss?" Chi-Tan went straight into business. Knowing him, I already had an idea of where this was going.

"What all of Incheon is talking about..." Jae-Myeong replied, tossing into the table the headlines of the latest newspaper, an increasing surge of crime in the Chinatown area, all courtesy to our boys.

"You know the youngsters don't read in that crap..."

"I do, but the news still don't fucking lie!" Jae-Myeong was quick to fire back.

"Do you have a problem with how I conduct my affairs?" Chi-Tan's voice dropped to a low, dangerous register, fingers tapping the newspaper like it was a countdown.

"When there's blood on MY streets, yes.” Jae-Myeong replied.

"This war with Lau Ka Long, it has gone too far." He added.

"You don't get to tell me what is *too far*..." Chi-Tan's fingers stopped tapping, his knuckles whitening against the newspaper.

"Remember your place. My family has owned this land for generations. It was MY uncle who brought you and your people in for a better life." Jae-Myeong's fingers curled into his teacup tightly, albeit a little more shaking than before.

"And who has kept it that way?" Chi-Tan answered back coolly, but his foot shifted slightly under the table—toward his ankle holster.

"Forgery... Arson... Murder... Our insiders from City Hall tell us there's now talk of sending a prefect from Seoul to take on the situation. If that happens, our problems worsen tenfold." Jae-Myeong replied, his voice thin with restrained anger.

"I sense you've come to regret our association." Chi-Tan's smirk didn't reach his eyes as he leaned back, the wooden chair groaning under his weight.

"My commitment is sincere. But the killings have got to go." Jae-Myeong simply replied, fingers drumming on the table's edge.

Chi-Tan stood up, a word not leaving his lips whilst his gaze remained locked on Jae-Myeong's eyes. The old teahouse creaked as if holding its breath—until Chi-Tan's voice boomed.

"Lau Ka Long attacked MY family! He put YOU in ruin!"

He was right! As much as I wouldn't have suggested raising my voice against the "Baron of Jung-Gu", Lau Ka Long and his men had been the instigators of the recent killings—an assassination attempt on Chi-Tan's nephew, a stabbing on one of the markets. The Siao triad's aggression has been unchecked for far too long. Chi-Tan wasn't wrong for retaliating, but now, if the situation goes unchecked, Seoul's might would come crashing down on us!

"But what is the cost, brother?" I finally butted in.

"The cost of acting in anger?" I added, sliding a fresh pot of chrysanthemum tea toward Chi-Tan with deliberate calm. The scent—light, floral—drifted between them like a peace offering.

"More bodies, more whispers, more men in suits knocking on doors we can't shut." My voice stayed low, but firm.

Chi-Tan's jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the steam, but his stance softened—just enough. Jae-Myeong exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip on the cup loosening.

"Besides, I cannot keep vouching for you forever. I don't know who cleans Ka Long's mess but I can't have MY men continue to clean up YOUR mess." I couldn't help but add, remembering all the bodies Zhang and Li have had to discreetly dispose of in the dead of night.

"Hehe, shit! All this mess and I still haven't had the chance to tell Asi the full scale about our problem!" I joked around, a small bit to ease up the tension between us all.

"Hmph! I must admit! That boy is quite the cook!"

"Tell me about it! He was quite the waiter as well! Chausang, are you sure he was not just some leper kid down in Wuhan?" The baron asked.

At least that's a relief I got to calm things down between them—for now. "Hah! Asi may be a boy, but he’s got talent," I chuckled, pouring another round.

"I just wished he would move on from that girl, though. That name he's kept muttering for 2 years, Handong. Shit! This country's got a lot of pretty girls yet he still couldn't move on!" I sighed as I tapped the table lightly, watching Jae-Myeong's eyebrows raise slightly.

"Oh? Not even that last part-timer? What was her name? Kim Yoohyeon? She was quite the sight." He chuckled, swirling his tea before taking a slow sip.

I shook my head. "No, sadly. She was just an idol on a long break. I had another one before her, but she was a trainee as well."

"Wu Xuanyi, wasn't it? Hehe. Was she the one my nephew tried to make a move once?" Chi-Tan smirked, rubbing his thumb along the rim of his teacup.

"That's the one. From what I heard, Zhang and Li were able to get him to hook up, some Korean speaking white chick from Europe! But other than that, nothing." I concluded, knowing there was still the large matter at hand.

"But still! Lau Ka Long seeks to provoke, Chi-Tan. He expects you to fight!"

"And what would you have me do?" He replied back, in which it was the Baron this time that answered his query.

"Come to the table. Negotiate." He said, in which I was quick to butt in once more.

"Lau Ka Long only knows force." I started.

"Keep fighting and there will be no spoils for war. Settle a peace and there will be ways to win." I explained to him.

I could tell it wasn’t enough for the man. Every muscle in his body remained taut, coiled like a tiger ready to pounce. His fingers hovered over the teacup, trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the sheer effort of restraint.

"What if something happens to you?" The baron suddenly spoke.

"What kind of future would you leave Ting-Yan?" He said suddenly, his one and only daughter, his one and only strength and weakness in this world.

The man was clearly struck when he heard Elkie's name, Elkie Chong Ting-Yan. If anyone laid a scar on that girl, Chong Chi-Tan was ready to start a 3rd world war. The man exhaled sharply through his nose—his fingers, once rigid, now loosened around the teacup. The mention of his daughter was like pouring ice water over smoldering coals.

"And what about the plan to join our families? Our roots go all the way back to the war against the Japanese! If everything burns along the way then all of that ambition is for nothing!" He added, in which Chi-Tan's silence was an acknowledgement that the baron was right.

"And what makes you think Ka Long would stop?" He asked.

"He is losing money as we all are. We can't keep hiding the truth from our customers and the law forever! Besides, I'm sure he shares your distrust of the authorities. If I can get Lau Ka Long to come to the table, would you consider it?" The baron's gaze flickered between us, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup like a gambler weighing his odds.

"I'll meet. On neutral ground. I'm sure we know where I'm talking about." Chi-Tan responded, his gaze darting towards me.

"Now, that is progress!" Jae-Myeong replied.

"Speak to Ka Long if he's willing, set up a meeting. My crew and staff will mediate safety. Next week's Halloween party special will keep all our boys in good spirits!" I responded, knowing what was at hand next.

I've been in this situation before, long before Asi came into my place. My restaurant has always been the place to settle disputes. Zhang and Li have always been there for me, along with others who have now come and gone.

I still don't know if I can trust Asi with this kind of responsibility though. I have more than enough men to handle the situation if things go south. Everyone of us is expected to be unarmed, no guns, no knives, that's always been the way for the last 30 years.

But still, as much as I would love Asi to observe how deals are done, I think he would be better off in the kitchen tending to my staff and customers. His time will come.

"Now, Chi-Tan... Let's drink to that, shall we?" Jae-Myeong raised his teacup with a slow, deliberate motion—the porcelain catching the dim light from the paper lantern overhead.

His eyes never left Chi-Tan's face, watching for hesitation. I lifted mine too, the chrysanthemum tea swirling dark and fragrant. Chi-Tan's fingers curled around the cup—knuckles white, then relaxed. A slow nod.

"To peace, gentlemen!" Jae-Myeong announced with a grin, in which we both obliged.

"Peace!”

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"Death is a friend who will welcome me home..."

"'Friend' is not a word I'd use..." You uttered back, glancing down at your hands—the same ones that had snapped necks and throttled beasts for a hundred years—still unshaken.

"Hm. Life's easier when you think of Death as a friend..."

"Oh, really? Or are you just dressing it up to manage your fear?" You responded, tilting your head slightly to study her face—the way her lips parted, the faintest tremor in her breath before she steadied it.

"Does it really matter? How you view things in life is up to you. Life goes on anyway." She shrugged, but there was weight in her words—the kind that settled between your ribs like a blade.

"That's... Quite the philosophy for someone so young..." You couldn't help but admit.

"That's right. I'm not as old as you. Why don't you share with me some wisdom you've got over your very long life?" The girl grinned, the distance between you and her already close before you even knew it.

"I can't say for sure how *wise* I am depending on how you define it..." You stated.

"But yes, I do have a lot of wisdom that came from a hundred year's worth of mistakes..." You added, tracing the jagged scar running down your forearm—a souvenir from an expedition where the ice didn’t just bite, it swallowed men whole.

"Oh? So you must have many pearls to offer?" She inquired, in which you were quick to tell her: "No, none sadly."

"All I can offer is another story..." You added, your own form of *defense* when you started to see how dangerously close you were.

"Hmph! I'm not really in the mood for stories tonight..." She stated, her fingers brushing against yours—light, deliberate.

The contact sent a jolt through you, like touching a live wire in the dark. You could smell the faint scent of pine resin clinging to her skin, mixed with something warmer, sharper.

"Oh-Ohhh... And here I thought I was about to share something truly dark and heartbreaking..." You replied, fighting to keep the facade of detachment intact—but her fingers were already curled around yours, trapping you in the heat of her grip.

"Save that for tomorrow. Let's do something else tonight..."

"Wh-What do you have in mind?" You quickly replied when you noticed how close her fingers were to yours—feigning ignorance despite the heat rising in your veins. Her smirk told you she wasn’t buying it.

"That depends. How adventurous are you feeling?" She tilted her head, lips quirking into a smirk that made your pulse skip—like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. You swallowed, pretending not to notice the way her thumb traced idle circles over your knuckles.

"You mean like hunting Nevrons?" you lied, voice dry as dust.

"Ugh..."

"What?" You blinked, feigning innocence.

"Don't make me wait for you to connect the dots..." She stepped closer, her breath warm against your lips—pine resin and something dangerous.

"Oh-Ohhh... You mean 'adventure...'" You replied, in which the girl was starting to get pleased.

"You've been alone for far too long on this continent... Tell me... When was the last time you seduced someone?" Her voice was a whisper now, her breath hot against your throat as she pressed closer—the space between you gone.

"Not counting Monoco?" You tried to joke, but nothing in this realm was going to pull Shin Yuna away from you at this point, in which you decide to say truthfully: "I don't have a number, but I will admit, it has been a while..."

"So?" She murmured, slowly, deliberately walking you backwards against a tree bark, her fingers trailing up your arms—scars and all—like she was memorizing every ridge. The rough wood pressed into your back, but all you could focus on was the heat of her frame pressing against yours, the way her thigh slid between yours with calculated intent.

"Are you gonna keep me waiting?" She uttered, young yet sharpful eyes staring up back at you like a predator circling its prey—patient, inevitable.

Your hands held her waist before you even knew it. The sheer heat of her tall yet thin body against yours—so impossibly alive.

"Do you even need to ask?" You muttered low.

And that's when all forms of restraint left you both. Her lips crashed into yours with a hunger that matched the fire now consuming you—hot, reckless, all-consuming. The taste of her was young--sharp and something darker, something addictive—and you pulled her closer, fingers digging into the curve of her hips hard enough to bruise.

You hear her moan into your mouth, a sound that sent sparks shooting straight to your already aching cock, and you could feel her smirk against your lips as she ground her thigh against yours.

"Oh... For a hundred year old man... You're quite packing down there..." She uttered when she pressed her thighs against yours, her groin grinding against yours when she pushed herself further into you, and your hands pulling her back flush against your body.

The contact was beyond astonishing. The feeling of her, her skin radiating heat through the thin fabric of her underwear, her breath ragged against your neck—each sensation was like an electric current surging through you.

For the first time in ages past, You felt like you wanted someone; her; Shin Yuna. And the way she rocked against you, hips rolling with slow, teasing precision, told you she knew exactly what she was doing. Her fingers tangled in your hair, tugging sharply, and the sting only drove you wilder.

"Fuck," you growled against her lips, your hands sliding down to grip the back of her thighs, hauling her up effortlessly as she wrapped her legs around your waist.

The friction was maddening, the press of her core against your straining erection sending waves of dizzying pleasure up your spine.

"Does your generation prefer to go rough?" You couldn't help but ask, especially with how deliberate and hungry the girl was squirming in your arms.

"Depends..." She uttered, breath hot as her fingers dug into your shoulders—sharp nails scraping against old scars.

"How do *you* prefer it?" She added in the midst of your kissing.

"We used to take our time... Savor the moment... But you... You look like you're starving," You uttered back against her neck, biting down just hard enough to draw a gasp from her—her pulse hammering beneath your lips.

Her nails dug deeper, dragging down your back in a way that made your muscles tense, your hips pressing up against her with a groan. And when you spun around and pinned her against the tree line, she only grinned—wild, unapologetic—like she had been waiting for this exact moment. The way her body arched into yours, the way her breath hitched when your fingers untied the knot on her neck, the only thing keeping her dress intact.

And when the fabric fell, you couldn't help but pause—just for a second—to take in the sight of her bare skin under the moonlight, the way her collarbones caught the silver glow like a blade's edge.

"Like what you see?" She murmured, her voice thick with amusement.

You didn’t answer, you couldn't, especially when the only thing keeping her clothed were her thin underwear. Your fingers traced the taut skin of her stomach, watching as her muscles twitched under your touch. She exhaled sharply when your palm slid up to cup her breast, thumb brushing over the stiff peak through the damp fabric.

"You're thinking too much," she murmured, grinding against you again—slow, steady—her hips rolling in a way that made your vision blur.

"You've seen mine... Now, it's time I see yours..."

She pulled her legs out and got down on her knees before you could stop her. Her hands hooked on your trousers as she pulled your pants down in one swift go.

The sigh that leaves her lips was beyond audible, her eyes wide like a predator’s under the moonlight, staring at your dick—already thick and flushed against your stomach.

"Ohhh..." she breathed, fingers wrapping around your shaft in a grip that made your knees nearly buckle. Her thumb swiped over the leaking tip, spreading the wetness down your length, her tongue darting out to catch a stray drop before it fell.

"Tell me," she murmured, lips brushing your skin as she spoke, "Is a hundred years of patience worth it now?" Her tongue dragged up your length in one slow, dangerous lick, her breath hot against the underside before she took you deep into her maw—no hesitation, no teasing.

The sudden wet heat of her throat made your fingers knot in her hair, hips jerking forward out of instinct. The girl just hummed, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure down your spine, her nails digging into your thighs as she took you in deeper.

"F-Fuck! H-How are you doing that?!?"

For a moment in time, you remember Julia, the last woman you shared a bed with prior to your call to arms. You vividly remember the young woman's inexperience, her teeth scraping on your cock like a scythe slicing through your penis.

But Shin Yuna, a hundred years your junior, swallows you whole like a seasoned courtesan—her throat constricting around with practiced ease, her tongue curling along your underside in obscene, rhythmic pulses. You feel the scrape of her teeth—just once—but purposeful, sharp, like she *wants* you to remember she could bite if she chose to. 

The wet squelch of her mouth working your cock fills the cold evening air, mingling with the soft, hungry moans she lets out between breaths, her fingers kneading your thighs possessively.

You looked down and the sight of her could've ended you right there. She looks back at you with a smirk around your dick—eyes glinting with defiance, lips stretched obscenely around your girth. There's something violently intimate about how she holds your gaze while her tongue flattens against your shaft, licking a slow stripe from base to tip like she's savoring the taste.

And when she hollows her cheeks and sucks hard, your hips jerk forward on their own, a ragged "Yuna—" torn from your throat as her nose presses into your pelvis. She doesn't gag. Doesn't even flinch. Just swallows you deeper until your cock hits the back of her throat and stays there, her breath hot through flared nostrils like this was her last act.

Her fingers dug into your ass now, pulling you deeper still, her throat working around you in rhythmic pulses—milking you shamelessly while her other hand slips between her own thighs, fingers moving in quick, frantic circles. You could hear the slick sound of her touching herself, smell the arousal dripping from her, and it nearly undoes you.

Then she pulls back with a wet pop, lips swollen and glistening. "Look at you," she pants, thumb swiping over your leaking tip, "Even after a hundred years, you look like you were already about to fall apart." Her grin is wicked as she rises, pressing her body flush against yours—her nipples hard against your chest, her soaked underwear grinding against your thigh.

"Take me..." She says, before she turns around and faces the tree.

Her eyes didn't leave yours when she turned her head enough to see you, her hands slowly pulling down her thin undergarments that were already soaked with her heat.

She bends over the tree bark, her palms clinging on to wood while her bare ass shone brightly under the continent's night sky. Her snatch was slick and shaven, dripping wet from her arousal.

You thought, Fuck! It has been far too long since you last laid eyes on a woman's snatch, young, slick and dripping with want—but Shin Yuna was something else entirely. The sight of her glistening folds, the way her arousal clung to her thighs, and the scent of her--pine and sweat—struck the air out of your lungs. Your cock twitched violently against your stomach, aching for her heat.

"You're sure?" you rasped, gripping her hips hard.

"I've never been more sure..." She breathed, arching her back—an invitation, a challenge. And you didn't think twice.

"Ahhhh!" The girl arched violently as you slid into her in one brutal thrust, her walls clamping down on you like a vice forged from pure heat.

Fuck! She was so tight, so impossibly wet—her body swallowing your dick whole with a slick, obscene sound that echoed between the trees. Her fingers clawed at the bark, her thighs trembling as you bottomed out inside, her gasp sharp against the night air.

"Fuck—you feel—" Her voice broke as you pulled back slowly, dragging every ridge of your cock against her quivering walls before slamming back in harder, deeper, knocking a choked moan from her throat.

"Oh, yes! Yes!" Yuna gasped as you eased into a slow yet gradual rhythm, savoring the way her body clenched—each thrust a rediscovery of sensation long forgotten.

The feel of her, the wet drag of her walls gripping your dick, the way her breath hitched just before you bottomed out—it was overwhelming, almost unfamiliar. A hundred years had dulled the memory of this, the raw intimacy of a woman's body yielding to yours.

You remember Julia once more, the one and only girl you once shared a bed with. It was more than a hundred years now... 1812? 1814? You couldn't remember.

But Yuna's whimpering moans awaken you once more.

"Ahh! Ahhh! Fuck me! Fuck me! Yes!" She squirmed before spilling your name.

You held the young expeditioner's waist hard. The most fresh amongst previous expeditioners you have tried and failed to support in the years prior. She and her group, the 33rd expedition or what was left of them, had shown the highest promise amongst the rest.

You've never been so close and this far in reaching La Paintress' heart, the root of all of Buseok's misfortunes. Millions and generations of lives lost all because of a magical paintress' will.

Everything was leading up to this point. The next day might hold the universe's fate. It might be your one and only chance of stopping the curse once and for all.

And Shin Yuna was there, right here in your arms, another reminder that this may be your one and only chance to tell her, to let her feel how you have felt ever since you laid eyes on the 20th century vixen.

You've lost count how many times she has saved your skin and how many times you have saved hers. The number of beasts and necrons alike that you've slain couldn't have been possible without each other. 

You've watched her sleep, fought side by side, laughed and cried, bled and healed—but nothing compared to the way she was unraveling beneath you now, her body arching with each thrust, her moans turning desperate as you angled deeper, hitting that sweet spot that made her nails gouge into the bark.

"God—yes! Right there!" she gasped, her voice breaking as you pistoned into her, the wet slap of skin against skin mingling with her ragged breaths.

She mentioned having a husband once, a man who was lost at sea instead of falling into La Paintress' annual Gommage. You wondered if she ever thought of him as your fingers curled around her hips, pulling her back onto your cock with bruising force—each thrust punctuated by her sharp, breathless cries. But when she reached back to claw at your thigh, her nails digging crescents into your skin, you knew she wasn't thinking of anyone but you right now.

"Harder," she panted, her voice raw, "Fucking—*ruin* me—" and you obliged, slamming into her so deep her knees buckled, her scream muffled against the tree bark.

Every thrust drove her higher—her body arching, her breath coming in ragged gasps that fogged the cold air between you. You could feel her clenching tighter with each movement, her muscles fluttering as she teetered on the edge. Her fingers scrambled against the tree, her moans turning into sharp, broken whimpers as you pinned her hips down and fucked her without restraint, the force of it shaking leaves loose from the branches above.

Then—her back arched violently, her entire body locking as a strangled cry tore from her throat. Her walls clamped around you like a vise, pulsing in waves that nearly dragged you over with her. You didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not when she was still shuddering, her legs trembling as you drove into her again and again, chasing your own release with a growl buried against her shoulder.

"God, You're—ah!—still going?" Yuna gasped, her voice wrecked as you kept pounding into her, her overstimulated body trembling with every thrust.

"I've waited for a hundred years too long for this..." You snarled against her shoulder, hips snapping forward with brutal punishing force, your cock buried to the hilt inside her convulsing clit.

Her answering scream was raw, primal—the sound of a woman utterly undone as you fucked her through her climax, your fingers digging bruises into her hips while she shuddered and clenched around you like a vice.

You thought, Damn! What if Eunchae hears her screaming, let alone catch us on the act? That girl was too young, too innocent to be fighting monsters, let alone see 2 people making love!

But you can't think about that now! Couldn't! Especially when you were on the verge of collapse!

"Fill me!" She said suddenly.

"Fill me, god dammit! F-Fuck! Ohhh! Let me feel you! Flood me with your cum!" She begs, spilling curses between her moans.

The way she pushes herself back—submissive, demanding—tears the last shred of your restraints. You groan hard, fingers biting into her hips as you surrender to her will, fucking into her with abandon, each thrust deeper, messier, until your vision whites out.

"Fucking take it, Yuna... Take it! TAKE IT!"

"AHHHH!!!"

And that was when you lost yourself—completely, violently. Your thrusts became ragged, uneven, your breath sawing out of your chest in desperate gasps as you buried yourself inside her to the hilt one last time. Your hips stuttered, a hundred years of dormant cum spilling deep inside the young 20th century vixen.

To say the sensation was overwhelming would've been an understatement —her tightness milking you dry, her inner walls pulsing around your dick like she was determined to milk you dry. Her ass pushed back into yours, her fingers clawing at the tree bark whilst she gasped your name—not the title the expedition had given you, not the legend whispered in hushed tones, but *your* name—raw and unfiltered.

And when you pulled out, you could not believe the level of debauchery before you—Shin Yuna’s thighs slick with your release, her pussy glistening under the moonlight, her chest rising and falling in ragged gasps as she slumped against the tree. She turned her head to glance at you over her shoulder, lips swollen, eyes half-lidded—not with exhaustion, but satisfaction, like a predator who’d just devoured its prey.

You reached for her, fingers brushing the sweat-damp curve of her spine, and she shuddered, a broken laugh escaping her. “That,” she murmured, voice hoarse, “was *not* how I imagined this night going.” You smirked, thumb tracing the bruise forming on her hip—her skin still fever-hot beneath your touch.

“Disappointed?” you asked, and her grin was sharp, dangerous.

“Hardly. I thought you weren't going to keep up..." She turned fully, her fingers tracing the scar over your ribs. Her touch burned like brandy on an open wound. You caught her wrist before she could pull away, her pulse hammering against your thumb.

"Did you just say I'm old?" You growled, twisting her wrist just enough to make her gasp—but her smirk never faltered.

"Prove me wrong then, old man..." she dared, and you knew this wasn't over, not by a long shot.

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I thought, Blyat! Who would've thought I would be texting and making calls through a screen! It's like navigating through a small TV, like a tiny computer screen in my hand.

I'm looking around from left to right, my brewed coffee barely touched slowly cooling down under the café's AC. There weren't many customers at this time of the hour, yet almost everyone was just like me, figuring out this new kind of phone that resembles a mini-computer screen.

In one corner, I see a group of teenagers having a not so serious conversation about how to use their new phones, while in another corner, there's a lone woman staring intently at her own phone, muttering curses under her breath.

I thought, I feel you, Grandma... This "phone" is gonna be the death of me—like the first time I was taught how to diffuse a live bomb back in Moscow. But oh well. At least I could get access to the news at a faster rate than having to get a newspaper.

Medvedev's gonna run for the presidency while Putin switches to being Prime Minister. He's not the same man as the president, but he better work his ass off, especially with all the rumors about Georgia and Ukraine applying for NATO. I thought, Shit! Would the Kremlin even allow that? The Baltics were one thing, but Ukraine? Georgia? That's too much! Mother Russia would be surrounded with America's nukes!

And speaking of America, it looks like that black man, Obama's gonna win this time—That silly bitch, Hillary's campaign's crumbling faster than a stale biscuit.

As for me, I'm still bummed out at the lack of jobs throughout this week. This was supposed to be the first week of the year, yet all I got were more round duties around the barracks. Blyat! At least I got my paycheck with the extra Christmas and New Year's bonus. But still, a lack of action on the field, and on the bed...

I wonder, how are those girls doing? Their lives changed forever when they debuted late last year. I knew those girls were going to be a success. But damn! The entire landscape of Korea, no, all of East Asia changed when they came around! Who would've thought 9 young girls would shake up an entire industry, let alone a large part of the world. All the kpop fandoms are obsessed with them, even fans from the motherland from Vladivostok all the way to Murmansk.

The American members, Sica and Fany, took the next flight to LA right after the annual SBS Gayo Daejejeon. The others from the provinces also went home for the holidays. Taeyeon was in Jeonju, Hyoyeon in Incheon, Sooyoung in Gwangju and Yuri was up in Goyang.

I know Sunny, Yoona and Seohyun were just around Seoul, but who was I to give them a call and ask for a *hangout*? I might've *bonded* with some of the girls, but that didn't mean I was their friend—I was still their security detail and they were my clients.

And speaking of clients...

"Yuri Oppa?"

A familiar voice called out to me, a VERY familiar voice—too familiar in fact—as I was fiddling with my new phone. I looked up and there she was, Kwon Yuri, standing right beside my table with a slightly confused expression on her face. She looked different off-stage, dressed casually in a thick winter coat, her dark hair framing her face without any of the usual stage makeup.

"Oppa, what are you doing here?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Out of instinct, my body switched to guard mode, standing up to check the café's exits before realizing—right, no threat here. Just Ms. Yuri and her warm smile.

"It's my day-off, Yuri-ssi. HQ hasn't given me an assignment since the new year..." I explained.

"In fact, I could be asking you the same thing. I thought you went home? Up in Goyang?" I added, leaning back in my chair.

"W-Well... I got bored... Nothing really happens up there... C-Can I take a seat?" She asked.

I gestured to the empty chair, watching as she slid into it awkwardly.

"S-So... How was your week, Oppa? Did you go somewhere nice? Escort a VIP client?" She fidgeted with the sugar packets on the table, her fingers brushing mine accidentally—the contact sending an odd little jolt up my wrist.

"To tell you the truth... I'm bored, Yuri-ssi..." I admitted, explaining to her the reality of my situation. The girl just giggled, her laughter like tiny bells ringing softly in the afternoon air.

"I still can't believe we have the same name, Oppa! Gosh, remember last year?" Yuri giggled again, her fingers tracing patterns in the condensation on her iced americano.

"The girls wouldn't stop joking that we were—" she stopped herself, cheeks flushing pink.

"Yes... And so did my men... The Captain even joked about having 2 Song Yuris in another universe..." I chuckled, swirling my now lukewarm coffee.

The teasing from last year had been relentless—especially from Taeyeon and Sunny, who'd dramatically pantomimed our "wedding" backstage during breaks. Even the other CIS guards stationed had grinned whenever they saw Yuri the idol pass by, muttering *"Sherbatov, your wife is here"* in thick accents.

"But you're not thinking about dating right now, right? I mean, you're too young and you just debuted..." I corrected, her cheeks darkening further as she stirred her drink nervously.

"E-Exactly! I can't be in a relationship right now! Especially with school and all... And our schedules!" She blurted out too quickly, fingers tightening around her iced americano as condensation dripped onto the table.

The way her knee bounced under the table betrayed her flustered state—like a rookie soldier caught sneaking vodka into the barracks. I smirked behind my coffee cup, watching her ears turn pink.

"Relax, Yuri-ssi. I wasn't proposing," I teased, enjoying how her eyes widened comically.

"I-I know that!" The girl huffed, pouting as she flicked a sugar packet at me, but the way her shoulders relaxed told a different story.

The afternoon light caught the gold flecks in her brown eyes when she finally laughed—really laughed—head tilting back just enough that I caught a glimpse of the tiny mole under her chin.

"But I will not lie, you are handsome though... For a Northerner..." She mumbled into her drink, voice barely audible—and there it was, the flustered crack in her otherwise smooth idol persona. Her fingers tapped arrhythmically against the plastic cup, nails clicking like Morse code spelling out *I’m nervous*.

"Uhh... What's that supposed to mean?" I'm actually confused.

"I mean... It's just that... When I think of North Koreans... I thought they were all ugly and hung from working all the time... Plus the hunger and stuff I hear from the news about them being malnourished all the time..." She explained, or at least tried to in her best way.

"But you... You look like you could be a Northerner leading man with a Southerner leading lady! Think about it! Like Hyunbin-nim as the male actor and Son Yejin-ssi as his leading lady and-"

The girl paused the moment she met eyes. I thought, God! You too?!?! When am I ever gonna move on from being compared to Hyunbin and have my name next to Miss Son Yejin once more? The same Son Yejin that has mistaken me with the former's identity. TWICE.

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose as Yuri's rambling continued—something about romantic tropes and how my cheekbones "totally matched the tsundere archetype." Her hands animatedly traced shapes in the air, nearly knocking over her drink.

"Careful," I muttered, catching the wobbling cup just as condensation dripped onto her sleeve.

"Aish!" She jerked back, shaking her wrist like a startled kitten.

"Are you done?" I asked, lips twitching as the girl's face scrunched up in embarrassment.

Watching her babble like this was unexpectedly entertaining—like watching a puppy chasing its own tail. There was something oddly charming about how her nose wrinkled when she realized she'd been rambling again.

"Maybe that's just how I come to life after being so bored in the province... The other members haven't come back to the dorm as well..." She sighed, blowing her bangs out of her face before sipping her americano—only to scrunch her nose at how watered-down it had become.

"You know what, Oppa? Since we're both bored—why don't we do something fun?" She suddenly suggested.

"Oh... Y-You'd hang out with an old guy like me?" I asked, trying to discourage the girl from making impulsive decisions—but the way her eyes sparkled told me she'd already made up her mind.

"You're not old, Oppa! When did you say you were born again? 1980? 26 is not old!" She stuck her tongue out playfully, kicking my shin under the table—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make me grunt.

"Besides, there's nobody at the dorm! And I SO DO NOT WANT to go to SM HQ on my holidays! Seoul Land's just around the corner!" She practically bounced in her seat like an over-caffeinated rabbit, her knee bumping mine under the table.

"Alright, fine! Just let me wear my badge so people won't get the wrong impression..." I sighed, admitting defeat knowing I've got nothing else waiting for me in my quarters in the barracks, aside from the latest paper and news from the Motherland.

And with that, I put on my patch and switched to guard mode once more, even though I was off-duty. Yuri was still one of the members of the nation's girl group. She was a girl beyond my status—one of Korea's darlings. So I couldn't afford to have any rumors spreading if we were seen together. The moment she saw my patch, she giggled, rolling her eyes before linking her arm with mine like we were some couple—the thought sent a jolt through my chest.

"Yah, Oppa, relax!" she teased, squeezing my arm.

"It's just me." She added.

The moment we got out, I immediately flashed my badge towards the closest bystander, letting the guy know I was her guard and definitely NOT her boyfriend.

The walk heading towards Seoul Land was rather peaceful—no paparazzi, no screaming fans, just the crisp January air biting at our cheeks as the girl hummed an unfamiliar tune under her breath. Her arm stayed looped through mine, warm even through layers of winter coats, her occasional laughter puffing little clouds into the cold.

"Oppa, look!" she suddenly squeaked, tugging me towards a street vendor selling hotteok—her eyes lit up like a kid’s at the sight of the steaming syrup oozing from the crispy edges.

I barely had time to pull out my wallet before she’d already shoved half into my mouth, giggling at my muffled curse when molten sugar burned my tongue.

"Ah! Blyat! That was hot!" I couldn't help but utter, the heat of it all making me cough.

The girl just giggled, her fingers pressing against her lips as she watched me fan my mouth dramatically. She took delicate bites of her own hotteok, somehow managing not to burn herself—like she'd mastered the art of eating street food while looking effortlessly graceful.

"Are you sure you're allowed to eat those? Your company's gonna kill me if they see you getting fat," I grumbled, wiping syrup off my chin while she just rolled her eyes, popping the last bite into her mouth with an exaggerated "mmm!" She stuck out her tongue—still pink, unburnt—like some kind of hotteok-eating prodigy.

"Oppa, please. I ran five extra kilometers yesterday just *thinking* about cheating today," she said, dusting sugar off her gloves before grabbing my sleeve again.

"H-Hey! Slow down!" I stumbled as Yuri suddenly dragged me toward the park’s haunted house ride, her grip surprisingly strong for someone so small.

The line wasn't even that long when we got into the queue—which was a surprise for a Saturday afternoon—but Yuri was already bouncing on the balls of her feet, her fingers tapping impatiently against my arm.

"I haven't been to one of these since middle school," she confessed, eyes darting toward the flickering sign above the entrance. The way she bit her lower lip when the mechanical screams echoed from inside made me wonder if she was more excited or nervous.

"Scared?" She asked suddenly, in which I shrugged off.

"Hmm! I think I'm scarier than the ghosts inside." I simply uttered, folding my arms together as the ride slowly took us inside the tunnel.

The moment we entered, Yuri's fingers immediately clutched onto my sleeve, nails digging into the fabric even before the first jump-scare. A cardboard zombie lurched out with a rusty creak—she yelped so loudly my left ear rang, nearly headbutting me in her panic.

"Blyat! Easy, girl!" I chuckled, patting her knee as she clung to my arm like a koala.

"Ahhh! MUSOWO!!!" She just screamed all over as another jumpscare popped right out, her legs kicking wildly like a startled fawn.

Her fingers clawed into my bicep hard enough to bruise—honestly, more painful than any of the haunted house's plastic ghouls. I stifled a laugh as she practically climbed into my lap when a rubber spider dropped from the ceiling, her shriek high-pitched enough to shatter glass.

"OppaaAAH—IT TOUCHED MY HAIR!"

I thought, Oh lord, when's the tunnel gonna end? Even the actors nearby with their fake masks and *scary* make-up didn't look menacing enough for me to care—but Yuri here was reacting like we'd stepped into an actual horror movie. The way she clutched onto my jacket like a lifeline, her breath hitting my neck in quick bursts—honestly, it was more distracting than any of the cheap special effects.

"ATTENTION! THE RIDE HAS TAKEN A *SPOOKY* TURN!" blared a crackling PA system as our cart jerked to a sudden halt in total darkness.

The girl's panicked grip on my arm tightened like a vice—just as a hidden door hissed open behind us, revealing a narrow tunnel lined with flickering red emergency lights. The way to the "exit" was just another horror gauntlet.

Right away, I saw holes and makeshift windows where a potential jumpscare could pop out—but before I could warn her, Yuri was already dragging me forward with surprising strength, her breathing ragged.

"OPPA! DON'T LEAVE ME!!!" she stammered, her fingers lacing through mine like a vice as we stepped further into the tunnel.

At one section, I saw a corner where I knew an actor was there waiting to scare us. An idea then came to mind...

"Yuri-ya... Watch this..." I said,

And with that, I stepped closer towards the gap, the hole where I knew the actor was hiding—waiting to pounce. And as I expected...

"Wahhhh!!!!"

He popped up as I expected, except he didn't get the reaction that he wanted…

I just stood still... Eyes stoic and ice cold staring back into the eyes of the actor underneath his mask, the fear in him palpable. Trust me, there's nothing more terrifying than mangled bodies back down in Chechnya—and this kid's dollar-store zombie makeup wasn't gonna cut it.

And for my cosmic finale...

"RAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!"

I roared, laughing my ass off as the ghost actors ended up falling on the floor, their plastic chains rattling against the cheap wooden stage—one even ripped his rubber mask off in panic, eyes wide as saucers. I turn to see Yuri clutching her stomach, wheezing with laughter at the sight of the *ghosts* laughing at their own failure.

"What do you think, Yuri-ssi?!?! Yogye jinjja goemul-imdung!!!"

I shouted, my Hamgyong satoori spilling out like vodka at a barracks party—Yuri doubled over laughing, her giggles echoing off the tunnel walls as the terrified actor scrambled backward. The emergency lights flickered over her face, catching the tears of laughter streaking her flushed cheeks.

"Oppa, you're horrible!" she gasped, swatting my arm.

"At least I made you feel better..." I smirked, nudging her as we casually made our way out in peace.

Her giggles subsided into breathless hiccups, her free hand wiping at her smudged eyeliner while I adjusted my badge. The park's normalcy felt almost surreal after the manufactured terror—kids screaming on rollercoasters, couples sharing cotton candy, the scent of frying oil and sugar thick in the cold air.

"So... Where else do you want to go?" I asked, watching the girl fan her flushed face with gloved hands as we exited the haunted house.

"Actually... I want to try that now!" She said, pointing out towards a stall where a shooting game was set-up.

The vendor looked bored—until he spotted Yuri's flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, then suddenly became all smiles.

"Ahhh! The prize is that giant panda plushie!" She squealed, jumping up and down like a kid, her boots crunching in the thin layer of snow.

The vendor grinned, sliding the air rifle toward her. "Three shots, five thousand won. Hit all targets, win the big prize!" He gestured.

I watch the girl's nose scrunched in concentration—that same look she got during dance rehearsals—as she lifted the rifle, tongue poking between her teeth. Surprisingly though, or should I say, unsurprisingly, the first shot went wide, pinging off the metal backing with a pathetic *clink*. The second one grazed the edge of a target, making it wobble mockingly. Her third shot didn't even hit the board, disappearing into the hay bales with a dull thud.

"Aweee..."

The girl pouted so hard her cheeks squished up like a steamed bun, her lower lip jutting out just enough to catch the afternoon light—and suddenly I understood why fans called her "Yul the Squid." The way her eyebrows knitted together in exaggerated disappointment was downright comical, like someone had just told her Christmas was canceled.

"Oooh... Better luck next time, Miss! Maybe your boyfriend here has a chance!"

"BOYFRIEND?!?!"

Yuri's screech startled nearby pigeons into flight as her face turned the same shade as the strawberry syrup dripping from a kid's cotton candy.

"Hey, buddy! Can't you see the sign?" I uttered, flashing my security badge on the vendor's face.

The vendor's grin vanished as fast as snowflakes hitting hot pavement.

"Ah, sorry sir! I didn't recognize Miss Yuri without makeup... But still! Same rules apply!" He stammered.

Meanwhile, I turn to Yuri only to find her with her hands clasped together, her eyes wide and sparkling.

"Oppa, pleeease?" she whines, bouncing on her toes—and I'd be damned if that pout isn’t lethal enough to make generals surrender. General Zhukov would've pulled us out!

"Ughhh... Give me that!"

I snatched the toy rifle as I basically slammed the bills on the vendor's counter. The rifle itself was designed like an American M4. It wasn't often I held an American gun. Even if it was just a toy, the weapon itself felt like a child's toy compared to my AK back in Russia, wherever the army kept it now...

"Hwaiting!" I heard Yuri cheer as I took up my position.

The game itself was literally target practice, even lower than a beginner's level. I aimed at the sight and fired my first shot, landing clean on the bullseye without hesitation. The second shot went just as smoothly—another bullseye.

"Yay! Oppa, one more!" She cheered as I took aim at the last target—a tiny metal star dangling at the far end of the stall, swaying mockingly in the winter breeze.

I sensed the vendor smirking, clearly thinking this one would stump me. But, come on, I'm a fucking Spets! Slowly, I exhaled, adjusting my grip. The rifle's plastic sights were crooked, the trigger sticky—yet none of that mattered when muscle memory kicked in. The shot cracked through the air like a whip, the star spinning wildly before clattering to the ground with a satisfying *clink*.

"YAAAAAAYYYY!" The cheer that Yuri let out could've rivaled her group's encore, her gloved hands clapping so hard they muffled into soft thumps against her sleeves.

She practically vibrated with excitement as the vendor reluctantly handed over the giant panda plush, its beady eyes staring blankly as it dwarfed her petite frame.

"Oppa, you're amazing!" she squealed, crushing the plush against her chest before shoving it into my arms—her fingers brushing my jawline with fleeting warmth.

"Enjoy your prize, Madame!" The man waved happily as we left, or at least I assumed he did after that near impossible last shot he set up.

I look at the girl practically smothering the oversized panda into her coat, her nose buried in its synthetic fur as she giggled—the sound muffled against the plush toy. Snowflakes caught in her eyelashes when she looked up, cheeks flushed pink from the cold and excitement.

"Anywhere else you'd like to go?" I asked, watching Yuri adjust the panda's floppy ear for the third time—like she was fussing over a real pet.

"W-Well... Uhm... Oh! A photobooth!" She exclaimed, pointing out a photobooth that offered certain props and accessories.

Once again, her hand already tugged mine before I could protest. The ahjumma in charge of the booth blinked rapidly when she saw Yuri’s face—clearly recognizing her—but Yuri just grinned and pressed a finger to her lips with a wink. The woman giggled behind her hand as she handed us a basket of ridiculous props: oversized sunglasses, heart-shaped lollipops, feather boas, and...

"Mouse ears? Are you really gonna make me wear that?!?" I groaned, holding up the black Mickey Mouse headband like it was a dead rat.

"Come on, Oppa! Give it a try!" She giggled, slipping the ears onto my head before I could protest.

They felt like cheap plastic on my head, the ears digging into my temples—until Yuri grabbed my wrists and leaned in close, a little too close maybe? Her breath warm against my cheek as she adjusted the damn things.

"Perfect," she murmured, her fingers lingering near my jawline before she reached for the Minnie ears.

The moment they settled into her hair—red bow askew, one ear tilted playfully—the whole booth seemed to brighten. Snowlight caught the gold flecks in her eyes when she grinned, her nose scrunching as she held up a peace sign, effortlessly adorable despite the silly props.

"Smile!"

She presses the button—flash. The sudden brightness catches me mid-blink, my forced smile looking more like a grimace. The girl's laughter bubbles over as she leans against my shoulder to inspect the screen, her warmth seeping through my coat.

"Oppa, you look like you're being held at gunpoint," she teases, poking my cheek where the muscle twitches from holding the expression too long.

"Take off your badge for a bit! It looks off!" She insisted.

With that, the countdown begins once more for the next flash—3, 2, 1. I peel off my badge and toss it onto the bench beside me just as Yuri suddenly loops her arm around my waist. And for some reason—my smile didn't feel forced at all. The camera captures it perfectly: my crooked grin, her nose scrunched in laughter, our mismatched mouse ears tilting toward each other like magnets.

"Ya! People are gonna think we're really dating!" She giggled, flicking the badge that now rested on the bench—except her fingers lingered near my thigh, tracing patterns through the fabric of my pants that sent sparks up my spine.

I should've been immune to this by now—after all, I'd navigated Taeyeon's bratty demands, Jessica's icy allure, Sunny's teasing hands—but Yuri's casual intimacy felt different. Our knees bumped under the cramped photobooth seat, warm even through layers of winter clothing, and for the first time since *that* night, my pulse hitched at something other than gunfire.

"Come! Let's go, Oppa!" She said, waking me up from my thoughts.

We meet the ahjumma once more to take out our printed photos—Yuri snatching them before I can react as she tucks one into her coat pocket. "For safekeeping," she murmurs, eyes glinting with mischief that makes my badge feel suddenly heavier.

"You got more spots to go before we head out?" I asked, rubbing my stiff neck as Yuri bounced ahead with her panda plush, the oversized toy bobbing with each step.

"Hmm... Oh! The ferris wheel!" She pointed toward the towering ride.

And just like the previous spots, the girl's hand already latched on mine before I could even protest. I thought, jeez! Was this girl really that bored with life? Was she really this deprived of basic leisure? I know the girls were all busy because of their schedules and schoolwork, but Ms. Yuri was literally bouncing off the walls—like a prisoner finally tasting freedom, even if it was just for a few days.

There was definitely a line heading towards the carousels. I made sure to flash my badge towards the nearest customer nearby, purposely flashing it on my chest just to let everyone know I was a security guard—and NOT her boyfriend—but judging from the way Yuri was clutching my arm, I doubted anyone believed me.

"Come on, Oppa!"

The ferris wheel car creaked ominously as we stepped inside—a sound that did absolutely nothing to calm the way Yuri's fingers dug into my bicep the moment the door latched shut.

"Oppa, what if it stops at the top?" she asked, our knees knocking against mine in the cramped space as the ride lurched upward.

"Why would you want that?" I chuckled, shifting slightly to create some more space between us.

The ride's ascent was gradual, Seoul's neon lights stretching out below us like scattered diamonds. I kept one hand braced against the cold metal frame, the other tapping rhythmically against my knee—anything to avoid the temptation of touching her, especially with how her bare leg was so close to me. 

Defensive maneuvers, drilled into me since basic training: create distance, control breathing, maintain situational awareness. But for some reason, this girl had a way of breaching every perimeter without even trying.

"Woah! Look at this view!" She gasped as the carriage reached its peak, pressing her palms against the glass—her breath fogging up the cold surface.

Below, Seoul looked like an ocean of lights. I had to admit, I've never seen anything like this. 5 years of being airborne and I never saw city lights like this. In fact, I don't even remember Seoul looking like this when I first arrived back in 06. Blyat! Has it really been that long already? 2 years since Mama and Papa got taken away from me and I got pardoned by Putin to come down to Seoul?

Fuck! Everything felt like a blur—until Yuri's fingers suddenly brushed against mine, pulling me back to the present. The carriage swayed slightly in the winter wind, making her instinctively grip my wrist—her skin warm against mine despite the cold.

"Oppa, let's use that camera of yours!" She said suddenly.

"I-I have a camera?!?" I am bewildered, totally confused at her sudden remark.

"Silly, Oppa! Use that phone of yours!" She giggled.

Before I could protest, the girl snatched it from my pants and angled us toward the window, her cheek pressing against mine as she stretched her arm out.

"Smile!" she chirped, and I barely had time to register the flash before she was inspecting the blurry result with a frown.

"Ugh, Oppa blinked!"

"Ya! I didn't think it was gonna do that!" I protested.

"Here! I turned the flash off! Let's do that again!" She giggles, resetting my phone with surprising tech-savviness for someone who once struggled with her own flip phone.

This time, the result came out more naturally. The girl looked satisfied at the screen—her nose scrunched up in laughter, my crooked smile frozen mid-chuckle as Seoul's city lights blurred into gold streaks behind us. She leaned in closer to inspect it, her breath warm against my cheek, as she zoomed in on a rather interesting detail.

"Oh! Your arms around my waist, Oppa!" She called out, pointing at the screen where my hands were unconsciously wrapped around her.

"Oh-Ohh! M-My bad! Sh-Should I let go?" I stammered, pulse hammering against my ribs.

But the girl just leaned back into my chest with a soft hum, her fingers tracing the phone screen where our frozen laughter looked... comfortable. Natural.

"No," she murmured, tilting her head just enough for me to see her smirk.

"It's warmer this way." She added.

On top of us, there was a small rectangular mirror inclined looking down on us, catching us picture perfectly on a distorted angle—a perfect crime scene of what was happening, and if I wasn't careful, this was gonna be my crime scene.

"Hehe, it's like we're an actual couple..." Yuri said suddenly when she looked up to see us in the mirror—our reflection distorted by the fisheye lens but unmistakably intimate.

My arm tightened instinctively around her waist, fingers brushing the hem of her sweater where warm skin peeked through. The ride's slow descent should've made me pull away, but her weight against my chest felt like gravity itself—impossible to resist.

And when we turned to meet our eyes, there was something in the wind that didn't feel right, or rather, felt too right. The way her breath hitched when my thumb accidentally brushed the exposed skin above her waistband, the way her fingers tightened around my wrist like she was memorizing my pulse points.

There was something definitely not normal about the way the carriage suddenly jerked to a halt, leaving us suspended mid-air—the girl's startled gasp warm against my neck as the overhead lights flickered out. "Power surge," came the muffled announcement below, but all I could focus on was the frantic flutter of her pulse under my fingers.

"O-Oppa...?" She muttered, half-questioning, half-breathless—the sudden darkness amplifying every rustle of fabric as our distance got closer.

"Sh-Should I... Pull away?" I questioned, though my consciousness was screaming at me—"Don't you fucking dare!"—as Yuri's fingers curled tighter into my shirt, her breath hitching when the carriage swayed ominously.

And before a word could be uttered, my lips were already upon hers. I thought, Geez! I never thought I'd be making out in a ferris wheel, let alone ANOTHER member of the nation's girl group.

I've had the other members in rather secluded and better hidden spots. But this?!?! A Ferris Wheel?!?! Oh, I am so dead if HQ catches wind of this.

Yet I pushed us deeper, testing the boundaries of how far we could go...

"Yuri-ssi..." I muttered in between kisses as I pinned her up against a corner, the triangular angle closest to the door where a sharp-eyed bystander could see us, especially whatever was underneath Yuri's skirt.

Fuck! I felt like I was drowning in honey—sweet, slow, and sticky with intent. The girl's lips moved against me with hesitance. It was very clear that the girl was inexperienced, like she has actually never done it before.

I was familiar with this vibe. I pretty much took the virginities of her older members. But there was something in this girl that made me feel something else—something I didn't feel with Tayeon's bratty demands, Jessica's icy allure, Sunny's teasing hands, Tiffany's calculated seduction, or Hyoyeon's wild unpredictability. 

Kwon Yuri wasn't just another conquest. She was warm—genuinely warm—like summer rain soaking through your uniform when you least expect it, but you don't even mind getting drenched.

It was only when my hands reached underneath her skirt did she stop me in my tracks...

"No..." She uttered, though the look in her eyes spoke volumes—her fingers hovering over mine like she wasn’t sure whether to push them away or pull them closer.

The hesitation was new—Hyoyeon had clawed at my belt before we even reached her bedroom, Sunny had whispered filth in my ear mid-elevator ride—but Yuri’s breath hitched when my thumb brushed the lace edge of her underwear, her cheeks flushing scarlet under the flickering emergency lights.

"N-Not here..." She added, her voice more of a doubt than a threat.

"Sh-Should we take this elsewhere?" I uttered, the wrong choice of words spilling out before I could utter them back.

What's the matter with you, Yuri?!? You shouldn't be adding more and more of your client's members like a list of objectives. But the way her breath hitched when I pulled back—the way her fingers curled into my shirt like she might float away without my weight pinning her—made my pulse stutter in a way no combat drop ever had.

Below us, the ride was nearing the ground floor, each slow descent pulling us closer to passer-bys spotting us in our rather obscene state. But the way Yuri's fingers trembled against my chest—half-pushing, half-clinging—told me everything.

"Oppa..." she murmured, her breath uneven as she tucked her blouse back in with shaky hands.

"Take me home..."

***

The moment Yuri's door shut behind us, I was all over the girl's frame, pinning her on her back while I lay on top.

I thought, Shit! After all these months of constant teasing from our peers, Kwon Yuri and I were finally indulging in our most obvious secret. The moment our lips met, it wasn't just a kiss—it was a revelation. Her bed creaked beneath us as she tugged at my collar with surprising urgency, her teeth grazing my bottom lip in a way that made my pulse spike.

My hands were touching the girl's body now in ways that shouldn't have been appropriate. But who was I to discuss morality now? Especially when I was fucking at least one other member every week! The girl's breath hitched when my fingers traced the waistband of her underwear—her skin flushing pink under my touch like fresh snow melting under sunlight.

She gasped when my knee pressed between her thighs—that innocent little sound making my cock twitch painfully against my zipper. I could feel her trembling beneath me, not really from fear but anticipation, her fingers digging into my shoulders as I nipped at her collarbone.

"Yuri-ssi," I murmured against her throat, tasting the salt on her skin, "Are you sure about this?" I added.

The girl did not respond. But the way her hips lifted instinctively against me was answer enough, her breath hitching when my hand slid under her sweater to cup her bare breast—soft and warm like fresh mochi.

"I-I've never..." Her whisper broke off as my thumb brushed her nipple, her back arching off the mattress with a sharp gasp—and suddenly, I understood why the other members teased her so much.

The way she clutched at my shoulders when I peeled away her sweater was downright criminal, her breath coming in short bursts against my neck as I mapped every new reaction—the hitch when I bit her inner thigh, the way her toes curled when my tongue traced her navel.

"Oppa—wait—" she gasped, fingers tangling in my hair as I dragged her underwear down with my teeth, but the way her thighs parted instantly betrayed her protests.

The scent of her arousal hit me before my tongue did—sweet and musky like an overripe fruit—and her choked-off moan when I licked a slow stripe up her slit sent heat coiling low in my gut. The taste of her was intoxicating, addictive, the way she bucked against my mouth with jerky, uncoordinated movements that screamed inexperience.

"Oppa—I can't—" Her thighs trembled violently around my ears, her fingers yanking my hair painfully as she came with a broken cry, her whole body seizing up like a live wire.

I lapped at her through it, savoring every twitch and whimper until she pushed me away with a sob.

"Too much," she gasped, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath—yet her legs still trembled when I dragged a finger through her slickness, testing.

"Relax," I murmured against her inner thigh, pressing a kiss to the frantic pulse point there before pushing two fingers inside—her inner walls fluttering around me like a trapped bird.

She arched off the bed with a startled cry, her hands scrabbling at the sheets as I curled my fingers just so, the heel of my palm grinding against her clit in slow circles. Her hips jerked helplessly into the motion—like she couldn't decide whether to pull away or chase more.

And the way her breath hitched when I added a third finger was downright sinful, her thighs trembling around my wrist as I stretched her gently, watching her face contort between pleasure and overwhelm.

"O-Oppa—wait—" she gasped, but her body was already betraying her, hips rolling instinctively against my hand.

And when I pulled all my fingers out, the whine that left the girl's mouth could've melted steel—her nails digging into my forearm as she watched me lick them clean with deliberate slowness. The way her eyes darkened at the sight, pupils blown wide despite the dim bedroom light, made my cock throb against the confines of my pants.

One could hear the sound of her breath hitch loudly when I finally undid my belt, the leather hissing through loops before clattering to the floor—but it was the way she bit her lip as I rolled the condom on that nearly undid me, her gaze flickering between my hands and my face like she couldn't decide which fascinated her more.

"Are you ready?" I asked, in which she was quick to nod, albeit reluctantly.

Yet her breath caught in her throat when I pressed in—that first slow inch of pressure, the way her body resisted before yielding. The sheer heat of her was fucking unbearable, her inner walls fluttering around me like startled wings as I pushed deeper. I could feel her hands clawing at my back, nails biting into my skin, and she let out this choked little whimper that was part-pain and part-relief.

The stretch was clearly unfamiliar, her thighs trembling against my hips as I pushed in further, slowly stretching that thin virgin's barrier before I felt it pop with a snap.

The sudden discomfort took us to a pause, that sheer look of shock and worry coming from the girl who suddenly froze underneath me—her fingers digging into my shoulders like she might drift away if she let go.

"O-Oppa... Wh-What just...?" She stammered, her breath hitching as a couple tears welled in her widened eyes.

I stilled completely, letting her adjust, my forehead pressed against hers as our breaths mingled—hers shaky, mine controlled despite the grip I had on the sheets beside her head. The room suddenly felt ten degrees hotter as she experimentally clenched around me, her fingers flexing against my biceps.

"I-It's normal... D-Don't think about it..." I uttered back, keeping her thoughts away as I pushed even further, going all the way until I felt crotch rest on hers.

"Oh-Ohhh..." The groan that left her was almost desperate—half-relief, half-shock—her body arching as I finally bottomed out.

The sheer heat of her was quite something, every twitch seismic, every flutter like a heartbeat pressed directly against my cock. I thought, Shit... I should already be accustomed to taking girl's virginities!

I was already the other members' first sex! Taeyeon was nervous but bossy, Jessica acted aloof until she shattered, Hyoyeon rode me like a rodeo—but Yuri? She was trembling beneath me like a leaf in a storm, her breaths coming in short, uneven bursts as her body adjusted to mine. I kissed her forehead, my hips rolling forward just slightly—testing—and the way her nails dug into my shoulders told me everything.

"Relax," I murmured against her lips, my hand sliding down to grip her thigh, lifting it higher against my waist.

Her answering whimper was muffled against my shoulder as I began moving in slow, shallow thrusts, each one drawing out soft, broken sounds that made my pulse hammer.

Every thrust drew a sharper gasp—her fingers scrabbling against my back whilst her body arched into me, still tight with inexperience but responding instinctively. The way her hips jerked unevenly told me she was chasing something, her breath hitching each time I angled deeper.

"S-Slow down—" she whimpered, even though her legs locked around my waist tighter, contradicting her own plea.

The way she gasped my name—half-formed, broken—sent heat licking up my spine, my rhythm stuttering for just a second before I regained control.

"Oh-Ohhh... Oppa... Y-Yuri... Oppa..."

It was hard to stay composed when you had Kwon Yuri moaning and squirming underneath you. Every sigh and every whimper were like gasoline to the fire—fueling your movements, making you lose control bit by bit. 

She was SO not like Tiffany or Sunny-ssi who were confident with every movement—this girl was still trembling like a leaf, albeit this being her first time. The sound of skin against skin echoed in the room—loud, obscene—yet you could still hear every shaky breath she took, every muffled cry when you hit *that* spot deep inside her.

"Ahhhh!!! F-FUCK!!! OPPA!!!"

I was letting her scream at this point! The thought of having her... All for myself... For a couple of days straight... Just us... There was nobody stopping me from giving her my all... And nothing stopping her from letting out all the moans she wanted... It was only us... Just us... And the others wouldn't be back for another day... Two days tops... But who was counting?...

"Oh my god... O-Oppa... Wh-What is happening... T-To me?!?!"

That only meant one thing and one thing only. Her walls were closing in, signifying the incoming wave of pleasure that was about to unleash from her dam. But because she was a virgin, she had no idea of what an orgasm was...

"Just let it go, Yuri... Whatever happens... Let it all out..." I murmured against her lips before sealing them with mine—deep, slow kisses meant to anchor her as much as reassure.

I felt her hands fly to my face, fingers trembling against my jaw as she clung to the kiss like it might steady her—but her hips jerked wildly, her entire body tensing like a drawn string. The broken whimper she made against my mouth tasted like surrender, her inner muscles clamping down on me so tight it stole my breath.

"O-Oppa... I'm... I-I... MPPPHHHH!!!"

And that's when I felt the wave of pleasure streaming down my groin. The girl's orgasm hit like a wave--heck, a tsunami rather, if you ask me—her entire body seizing up so violently that her back arched so sharply I worried she might snap in half. Her scream was muffled against my shoulder, teeth sinking into my skin as her inner walls pulsed around me in erratic, fluttering spasms. The sheer intensity of it had my own rhythm faltering, my thrusts turning uneven as her nails raked down my back.

"BLYAT! I'm about to cum too!" I warned her, her nails digging into my shoulders as I fought to pull back.

"Y-You have... The C-... Condom... R-Right?!?" She squeaked in the midst of my erratic thrusts, in which I was quick to nod!

"Da! Da! I have it inside!" I added, my vocabulary all jumbled up now.

Every muscle on the girl’s frame locked as my hips stuttered against hers—her name a growl between my teeth when the condom’s latex stretched tight with each pulse of my release. I hear her gasp at the sensation, her thighs quivering where they clamped around my waist, her fingers limp against my shoulders. Her room smelled like sex and lotion, her breath hot and uneven against my collarbone as we both came down—her heartbeat wild under my palm where it rested against her ribs.

"Oh my god... Oh my god..."

I could only listen to the girl's whimpering when I pulled out and lay to her side. I pulled out the condom only to have some of its contents spilling down my crotch.

I thought, Shit! There was so much jizz, you'd think a few more drops could've torn into a hole, and I may have just gotten an idol pregnant. Now that I think about it, Yuri might look hot with my child in her-

NO! YURI SHUT UP! DON'T YOU DARE THINK ABOUT IT! SHE'S TOO YOUNG! STILL IN COLLEGE! I slapped myself as the girl curled against my side, her fingers tracing lazy circles on my chest—her breathing still uneven from exertion.

"Th-That was..." She started, voice cracking as she stared at the ceiling—her fingers still trembling where they rested on my arm.

A stray tear trailed down her temple into her tousled hair, her chest rising and falling rapidly like she'd just run a marathon barefoot.

"I can't believe I just did... F-Fuck... I had... S-Sex..." She added, her voice shaky and uncertain.

She just laid there stunned—her wide eyes reflecting the dim glow from her bedside lamp, lips slightly parted as the reality of what just happened sank in. I watched her fingertips hesitantly trace the red marks my stubble had left on her inner thigh—proof that this wasn't some wet dream.

"I-Is this why Taeyeon... Always looks sleepy...?" She uttered suddenly, her toes curling against the sheets as she shifted her sore legs.

"Wh-What do you mean-... I-I... Don't know what you're talking about..." I lied, though the way my voice slipped out half-hoarse didn't help my case.

Her fingers stilled on my chest—suddenly pressing down with deliberate pressure—her nails digging in just enough to make me wince.

"Oppa," she murmured, rolling onto her stomach with a wince before propping herself up on her elbows, her dark eyes boring into mine.

"Don't lie to me... Why does Hyoyeon shower at the SM showers everytime you *accompany* her for rehearsals? Or why are Tiffany legs always sore every time you escort her out in *clothes shopping*?" She added. I thought, Blyat... How was I going to explain this?

"Alright, fine," I groaned, catching her wrist before she reached my softening cock.

"But you can't tell the maknaes! They're too young for this kind of talk!" I groaned, rolling onto my back and staring at the ceiling where a SNSD poster of all nine members stared judgmentally down at me.

The girl's sultry grin faltered when she followed my gaze, her cheeks flushing pink under the collective gaze of her bandmates.

"You're right... But still... It was true..." She stated.

"Those weird sounds from Sica's room last month—that was you too?" She added,

"Yeah... I've lost count already, Yuri... All I can tell you is that I've had my *moments* already with your older members... At least once..." I admitted, rubbing my face with both hands whilst the girl's fingers traced the scratches on my shoulders—her own handiwork.

Her lips pursed in thought, eyes flicking between my exhausted expression and the damp condom discarded on her nightstand.

"I guess this was going to happen too, huh?" She murmured, fingertips brushing the bite marks on my collarbone—her own teeth imprinted there like a brand.

The way she said it, soft and contemplative, made my pulse stutter. No regret. No anger. Just acceptance, as if our collision had been written in the stars.

"Just so you know, it was them who made the first move, alright? I didn't coerce your sisters to fuck me or something," I muttered, tracing the fading scratches on her thigh where my grip had left imprints.

The girl's sudden giggle caught me off guard—her fingers brushing the dried tears from her lashes with an unexpected lightness.

"It's alright... I get it... I mean, we all like you... It's just that... I didn't think the others liked you like *that*." She chuckled, stretching her arms above her head with a wince—the movement making the sheets pool around her waist, exposing fresh love bites on her ribs. Her fingers traced them absently, a small smile playing on her swollen lips.

"So... Who's next? Yoona? Sooyoung? Seohyun?" she teased, arching an eyebrow when I groaned into my hands.

"Please don't..." I muttered in defiance.

"I don't want to think about them like *that*... Yet..." I added, assuring her as much as myself.

The girl's laughter faded when my fingers brushed a particularly dark bruise on her hip—her breath hitching as she caught my wrist. There was something unspoken in the way her thumb traced my pulse point, slow and deliberate, while dawn's first light crept through her blinds—painting stripes across our tangled legs.

"But tell me, have you slept with any of them?" She inquired, in which I was quick to say: "No."

"That's the one thing I haven't done... Fucking behind closed doors was one thing, but sleeping over? That's kind of too much," I admitted, watching the girl's fingers pause mid-trail along my collarbone.

"Kind of?" She stated.

"So you've thought about it? You've imagined sleeping with Taeyeon? Or Fany?" She added.

I thought, Shit! This girl could read through me! It would be almost 2 years now since I last slept with a woman, Miss Clara Lee, that bombshell of a woman from the Swiss Alps, who increased my pay tenfold just to have me sleep at one of the Shilla Seoul's exquisite suites!

Blyat! I still can't forget how I became the talk around HQ. While it remained off the record, it didn't take a genius from Moscow to figure it out, especially when a man and an utterly beautiful woman are trapped in a fancy suite late at night.

"What do you say, Oppa? I'm all alone... Right here... Right now..." Yuri murmured, her fingers trailing down my chest—her lips brushing my earlobe in a way that made my pulse jump.

The darkness was really creeping down on us now. The evening light outside had faded completely, leaving Yuri’s room bathed only in the glow of her lamp. I turned to my side, only to be greeted by the girl’s grin—her fingers already tracing lazy circles on my bare chest.

"You sure you won't regret this?" I murmured against her temple, my fingers tangling in her hair—the only defense left between us and whatever came next.

"Never…”

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"I want details... Does that guy even speak Korean?" I growled, gripping my phone tighter as the bus hit a bump.

The bitch just laughed! That light, teasing sound that usually made me melt—but right now it just twisted the heat in my gut into something darker.

"He doesn’t need to," she purred, leaning closer to her camera until her lips filled the screen.

"I could *feel* him when we dance... the way his hands slide up my thighs—" Her voice dropped to a whisper, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, and suddenly the bus seat felt like it was burning through my shorts.

"And I speak some English as well, so no pressure!" She switched suddenly to a casual tone, like she did not just drop a bomb on my sanity.

"Okay... But why is there a black dancer? Am I missing out on a collaboration project or something?" I said, trying to sound casual while my fingers dug crescents into my palms.

Soojin just smirked, adjusting her camera angle so I could see the edge of her tank top riding up—just enough to remind me of what I wasn’t touching.

"Oh, you didn’t know? They flew him and his crew in from LA for the new choreo. Turns out he *really* knows how to move those hips." She bit her lower lip, slow, deliberate, and I nearly snapped my phone in half when the bus lurched again.

"Jealousy sucks, doesn't it? Especially when it bites you back?" She chuckled, the sound like nails dragging down my spine—hot and sharp all at once.

"Who me? I'm not jealous... I-I'm just... Sticking with our arrangement..." I heard myself saying, each word feeling like sandpaper in my throat—too rough, too obvious.

The way her eyebrow arched told me she wasn’t buying it, but I kept my jaw locked tight, refusing to let her see how badly I wanted to pin her against the nearest wall and remind her exactly *whose* hands knew her body best.

"Oh, Tae...Think about all those times you were fucking bad bitches while I tried to stay faithful..." She sighed, licking her lips as she stretched her arms above her head, the fabric of her tank top pulling taut across her chest.

"Imagine what was going through my head when you were fucking Yeowool, Hyejin seonsaengnim, Hyomin sunbaenim, Son Juyeon, and Lea Navvab?!?! Not to mention, your coaches, as well?!? Oh... It breaks my heart..." She fake-sobbed, wiping nonexistent tears with her fingertips, but her smirk never faded—only deepened, her eyes locked onto mine through the screen, daring me to call her bluff.

"So who is it this time, cheater? Magenta Unnie? Hong Jihye? Who's the lucky girl that's going to borrow *my* boyfriend's cock today?!?!" She hissed, leaning into the camera with narrowed eyes—that playful smirk twisting into something sharper, hungrier.

"W-Well... I'm not meeting any of them today... I don't even think I'm fucking this one..." I replied back, before I could take the words back into me, the sudden realization hitting me like a knee to the ribs.

"There's another?!?! Oh... My heart..." Soojin clutched her chest like a K-drama lead in the middle of a breakup scene, her voice cracking with exaggerated devastation—but her fingers were spread just enough for me to see her grinning behind them.

"Who the hell is that, Tae? Another client that wants to pull down your pants?!?!" She leaned closer, her breath fogging up her phone screen like she was right there, whispering against my ear.

"It's... Kim Sejeong actually... The wrestling coach..." I muttered, watching Soojin's smirk freeze mid-tease.

"Oooh... You mean Mrs. Muscles?!?" She teased, but I could hear the edge in her voice, the way her fingers twitched against the screen.

"What about her, Tae? You don't look like you're getting hard being alone with her..." She scoffed, but her voice cracked—just enough for me to catch it.

"I mean... W-Well... The thing is... I heard a rumour..." I hesitated, my grip tightening around my phone.

"There's a rumour between us in the gym that she is seeing Han Eunsu-nim... The Dark Horse..." I muttered, watching Soojin's teasing smirk flicker like a faulty neon sign. Her fingers froze mid-air, her nails—usually sharp enough to leave marks—now just hovering there, twitching.

"Han Eunsu? You mean that guy who did that viral knockout in China?" she breathed, her voice suddenly smaller, tighter.

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering against my throat. "Yeah. The same guy who's supposedly the ex-boyfriend of Queen Minnie of Thailand. His next fight is in Bangkok later on her birthday." I exhaled sharply, watching Soojin's pupils dilate—her teasing smirk gone, replaced by something raw and curious.

"Wow... That's quite the connection," Soojin murmured, her earlier teasing tone dissolving into something softer, more intrigued. Her fingers tapped absently against her chin, her gaze unfocused for a moment—like she was piecing together some scandalous puzzle in her head.

"But rumors are rumors, Tae... You already know gossip and I don't have a great history," Soojin muttered, her voice suddenly brittle.

The playful tease in her tone evaporated—like someone had flipped a switch. Her fingers curled into loose fists, knuckles pressing white against her thighs. I remembered then, sharp as glass: the headlines, the leaked texts, the way Square Entertainment dropped her like a burning coal overnight. All because of school bullying she did at a time when we were still immature and foolish.

"But you already know how it is right? If there is no smoke, there is no fire." She scoffed, her fingers tightening around her phone—her nails digging into the case.

"And with that... I have to get back to *rehearsals* with AJ... See ya..."

"H-Hey!" I barked into the phone, but the screen went black before I could finish—Soojin had hung up mid-sentence, leaving me staring at my own reflection in the darkened screen.

My jaw clenched so hard I tasted copper. The bus lurched again, throwing me forward, and I barely caught myself before my face smacked into the seat in front of me.

I looked outside only to find myself already in my stop—Gugudan Academy. The bus doors hissed open, releasing me into the humid Seoul afternoon. My gym bag slapped against my thigh as I strode toward the entrance, Seojin’s words still coiled around my brain like barbed wire. The automatic doors slid apart, and the sharp scent of disinfectant mixed with sweat punched me in the face.

"Ah! There you are, Tae..." Sejeong Noona's voice echoed across the mats, sharper than usual—like she'd been waiting too long.

"Don't take too long getting dressed up... Showers are that way... I'll be waiting..."

"Yes, ma'am..."

The locker room smelled like stale soap and old sweat, the kind that clung to the walls no matter how many times they sprayed it down. I peeled off my shirt, the fabric sticking to my skin with the kind of dampness that only Seoul humidity could produce. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering just enough to make my reflection in the mirrors look jagged—like I was already halfway to falling apart.

I'm getting ready to train, but my mind still can't get Soojin off my head, the thought of her finally paying me back after all this time. I still couldn't believe it! Soojin was finally letting someone hit on her, some guy named AJ who was part of a dance crew in LA. She said they were here for a couple of weeks for a special seminar between J Perfect dance academy and their crew.

She has been talking about a guy getting too close to her, clearly making a move like I used to—but this time, *I'm* the one left gripping my phone too tight while she laughs, sharp and knowing. The weight of her smirk settles in my gut like a dull blade twisting slowly, deliberately. I've done this to her before—flaunted my conquests, watched her jaw tighten—but now, tasting my own medicine? It burns hotter than any training session.

I thought, Oh lord, I better make this all worth it when I'm done in Singapore. That bitch is so gonna get it!

"Taehyuna! Are you getting out or what?!?"

"Y-Yes, sunbae!" I barked out, nearly slipping on the tiles as I scrambled out the stall.

I made my way back and Noona was already doing some laps on the mat, warming up and stretching. Her usual playful smirk was gone—replaced by a sharp, focused glare that pinned me in place the moment I stepped onto the mats. 

Her muscles flexed under her tight rash guard as she rolled her shoulders, the veins in her forearms popping with every deliberate movement. This wasn’t the teasing coach who’d laugh when I fumbled a takedown—this was Kim Sejeong, the local MMA champion who ragdolled bitches for fun.

"Hundred laps for being late... Go!" She didn't even look up—just jerked her chin toward the far end of the gym where the timer was already counting down.

Her voice was flat, stripped of all the playful warmth she'd used during our last session. I opened my mouth to protest, but the icy flick of her eyes toward me snapped my jaw shut. This wasn't a negotiation. The mat felt like concrete under my bare feet as I took off at a dead sprint, the burn in my lungs immediate and vicious.

I do my laps, each one a blur of sweat and burning muscles, but Sejeong's gaze weighs heavier than the exhaustion. By the fiftieth lap, my legs were starting to shake—not just from exertion, but from the way she watched me, arms crossed, her sharp eyes tracing every stumble.

"Palli!" she barked, voice cutting through the gym’s stale air like a knife.

I finished with a gasp, my knees nearly buckling as I staggered to a stop in front of her. Sejeong didn't move—just tilted her head, her dark eyes scanning me like I was a problem she needed to dismantle. The silence between us stretched too long, too thick, until she finally exhaled through her nose and jerked her chin toward the center of the mat.

"Right. Now relax your muscles for a bit. Then we can start." She instructed.

I could feel my lungs burning as I rolled my shoulders back, stretching my arms overhead until my spine popped in three places. The ache in my legs was sharp, insistent—like tiny knives pressing into every overworked muscle. I dropped into a deep squat, letting my hamstrings scream their protest before easing into a slow, controlled butterfly stretch.

The relief was instant—my muscles unfurling like coiled springs finally given permission to snap loose. I arched my back, rolling my neck until it cracked, the tension bleeding out of me in slow, satisfying pulses. Sweat dripped off my nose onto the mat, each drop spreading in a tiny dark circle before vanishing into the rubberized surface. I stretched my arms overhead, fingers interlaced, pushing until my ribs ached—then held it there, breathing through the burn.

"Feeling better now?" She muttered, circling me like a hawk eyeing prey.

"Y-Yep!" I replied, like I did not just run laps until my vision blurred.

She just smirked, rolling her shoulders in a slow, deliberate motion—the kind that made her traps flex under her rash guard. She stepped closer, the scent of her coconut shampoo mixing with sweat, and suddenly the mat felt too small.

"Good," she murmured, her breath warm against my ear as she reached out—not to push, but to adjust my stance, her fingers lingering a second too long on my hip.

"Because we're drilling takedowns today. And you're going to *feel* every single one."

*2 hours later

"Phew... I'm toast..." I gasped, collapsing onto the mat like a sack of wet rice.

My arms screamed—every tendon, every fiber cooked to the point of trembling. Sweat pooled beneath me, seeping into the rubber as Sejeong Noona loomed over me, her shadow swallowing me whole. She wasn't even breathing hard, just rolling her shoulders like she'd done a light warm-up instead of grinding me into paste for two straight hours.

"That was great, Tae! But seriously, you really need to set up your entries more. Your takedown attempts won't do it by the time you face ranked opposition." She chuckled, rolling her wrists as she crouched beside me—too close, her knee brushing my thigh.

Her sweat-damp rash guard clung to every ridge of her abs, and I caught myself staring at the vein pulsing along her forearm when she tapped my ribs with her knuckles.

"You're explosive, but you telegraph like a fucking billboard," Sejeong muttered, her knuckles pressing into my sternum just hard enough to make me suck in a breath.

"But yeah, I'm confident you're gonna beat this guy. Who are you fighting again?" She tilted her head, her knee pressing deeper into the mat—closer to my hip than necessary.

"Some Chinese guy called Ning Guangyou? He won The Ultimate Fighter: China awhile back," I panted, rolling onto my side just as Sejeong's knee shifted—her thigh now pressing flush against my ribs.

"He's said to be a Wushu Sanda guy. Other than that, I don't know how good his wrestling or jiu-jitsu is." I added, acutely aware of how her thigh didn't move away—just pressed harder, her heat bleeding through my shorts.

"Oh, an old fart... You got this, Tae! He's definitely going to retire provided you knock him out or submit him. But if you give him a chance, he'll eat you alive with his Wushu Sanda striking. So yeah, I'm confident you got this in the bag once you take him to the ground!" She added, her fingers now tracing idle patterns on my chest—too light to be accidental, too deliberate to ignore.

"So! You know where the showers are! Got any more questions before you head out?" She asked casually, stretching her arms overhead—the movement pulling her rash guard taut across her chest, the fabric riding up just enough to reveal the sharp cut of her hip bones.

"I do, actually..." I muttered.

"What is it?" She simply inquired.

I hesitated, my throat suddenly dry despite the sweat still cooling on my skin. The words coiled in my chest like a spring—too tight, too dangerous.

"I... I mean... It's not too much to ask but..." I hesitated, my fingers digging into the mat—partly from exhaustion, partly from the way her knee shifted higher against my ribs.

"Is there... really something... between you and... Han Eunsu-nim?" I choked out, the question burning my tongue like cheap soju.

Her fingers froze mid-trace against my collarbone. Her knee pressed deeper into my ribs—suddenly less playful, more like a warning. The gym's fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting her sharp jawline in a harsh white glow as her lips parted, then tightened into a thin line.

"Why would you like to know?" She finally spoke, her voice low—almost dangerous.

"W-Well, I mean... Magenta Noona keeps telling me that you blush every time someone mentions his name... Like you're hiding something," I stammered, watching Sejeong's nostrils flare—her fingers curling into fists against my chest.

The air between us thickened, charged like the moment before a lightning strike. She exhaled sharply through her nose, her knee pressing harder into my ribs until I hissed.

"She talks too much," she muttered, but her fingers relaxed—trailing down my sternum in a slow, deliberate path that made my breath hitch.

"But since you asked..." Her thumb brushed the edge of my shorts, just above my hip bone, and suddenly the mat felt like it was burning through my skin.

"Then yes. I have history with him. I helped him wrestle, and he taught me how to strike." Her fingers traced higher, skimming the edge of my abs—slow, like she was mapping territory.

"But that's not what you're really asking, is it?" Her knee pressed harder, her smirk sharpening.

"W-Well I... I mean... You don't have to tell me everything... J-Just the... Basics, I guess..." I lied, half-choking on my own spit when her fingers hooked under the waistband of my shorts—just barely, teasingly.

"The *basics*, huh?" She laughed—low and throaty—as her fingers finally slipped past the waistband, her nails scraping lightly against my hipbone.

"Okay... I had him here too... Alone... All by myself... Just... Like... This..." She murmured, her fingers curling tighter—her nails pressing crescents into my skin as she leaned down, her breath hot against my ear.

"Except... He came in uninvited... Just showed up one afternoon and said he wanted to improve his grappling." She said suddenly, like she did not just make my heart pause for a moment.

"So we trained... I tested his grappling... I improved his posture... And let's just say... Our hands got a little more familiar than planned." Her fingers slid further down, her nails dragging sharp lines along my hipbone—just enough to make me twitch. 

"Sound familiar?" she murmured, her lips brushing my ear—too close, too hot—before pulling back with a smirk sharper than any elbow strike.

"But if you're asking if we're an item, I can't say for sure... The man has some *loose ends* to tie up, like this next fight of his in Thailand, where he's going to meet his ex, Queen Minnie!" She chuckled.

"Oh-Ohhh... Yeah... It's been on the news recently... He dated the Thai Queen when she was still a Princess?" I stammered, my throat tight as her fingers traced lower—her nails scraping the sensitive skin just above my groin. Her knee dug deeper into my ribs, pinning me in place while her other hand gripped my wrist, pressing it hard against the mat.

"Mmm. Around 3 years ago," she murmured, her breath hot against my neck.

"The story goes he was just a lonely Korean boy in a small village in Phuket and the Princess just showed up at his gym one day," Sejeong continued, her fingers inching lower—slow, deliberate.

"But you know how *that* ends. Royals don't marry fighters." She laughed, bitter and low, her breath ghosting over my throat as her knee shifted—grinding against my ribs in a way that blurred pain with pleasure.

"But the thing is, Tae... He's still in love with her... His eyes did not lie the last time I spoke with him..." She sighed, her fingers finally slipping past my waistband—slow, deliberate—her nails scraping the sensitive skin just below my navel.

"And the crazy part? The Queen is still single..." She murmured, her fingers curling tighter around my waistband now—her knuckles brushing the first coarse hairs trailing lower.

"And I won't be surprised if he'll stay there and become her Royal Consort..." She concluded, her fingers suddenly tightening—yanking my waistband down just enough to expose the top of my groin.

"Now, what about you? Are you seeing someone? Do you have a reason for me to stop pulling down your pants?" She murmured, her fingers teasing the waistband further—her nails scraping the sensitive skin just above my cock. My breath hitched as she leaned in, her lips brushing my ear.

"Because right now, I see *nothing* stopping me."

I thought, God! Is this really going to happen? Am I really going to fuck God Sejeong behind everyone's backs? The same way I've been fucking Chodan and Magenta Noona behind everyone's backs? Fuck, Lee Taehyun. You're one horny motherfucker...

"W-Well I'm... I'm seeing someone... But there's nothing official..." I choked out, swallowing hard when her fingers tightened.

"Nothing official, you say?" She exhaled sharply through her nose—half-laugh, half-snarl—before her fingers twisted abruptly in my waistband, dragging the fabric down another inch.

"Well guess what... There's nothing official between me and Eunsu as well..." She growled, yanking my shorts down with one sharp pull—cold air hitting my exposed cock before her palm replaced it, rough and sudden.

I felt my heart stop for a moment, my dick crystal clear as day as Sejeong's strong fingers curled around it, her grip tighter than any submission hold she'd taught me. My hips jerked instinctively—half-trying to escape, half-chasing the friction—but she just smirked, using her knee to pin me harder against the mat.

"Okay… I didn't know you were this stacked!" She gasped, her fingers tightening instinctively—not just gripping, but exploring, tracing the thick vein running along the underside with her thumb like she was memorizing its path.

"Not as big as him, but damn! You're right there!" She added, her grip tightening just enough to make me gasp—her thumb swirling over the head, spreading precum in slow circles that had my thighs shaking.

And before I could even process the thought—her lips were suddenly on me. No warning, no teasing flick of the tongue—just the sudden, searing heat of her mouth swallowing me whole, her throat clenching around the head like she was trying to choke the soul out of me. Her hands pinned my hips to the mat, nails biting into my skin as she took me deeper, her nose pressing against my pelvis with a wet, obscene sound that echoed louder than the gym’s buzzing lights.

"Oh god... N-Noona... Sunbae..." I gasped, my fingers clawing at the mat as her tongue pressed flat against the underside of my cock—hot, wet, and relentless.

Every flick sent electric currents shooting up my spine, her lips sealing tight just below the head to suck hard enough to make my vision blur. The contrast was dizzying—the slick heat of her mouth versus the rough press of her knee still grinding into my ribs, pinning me down like prey.

I thought, Shit! Who would've thought the wrestling coach was a cock hungry slut like this?!? Her mouth was relentless—hot, wet, and *experienced*. She sucked like she was trying to milk every drop out of me, her tongue swirling in tight, practiced circles around the head before diving back down, throat fluttering around my cock like she’d been built for this. Each time she pulled back, her lips created this obscene suction—pop—pop—pop—like she was counting the seconds until I’d lose it.

My hand reached out to the side, grabbing her ass through her shorts like I was checking the ripeness of a melon—firm yet yielding under my fingers, the muscle flexing as she shifted her weight against my hips. The fabric was damp with sweat, clinging to the curve of her cheeks in a way that made my grip slip and catch, the heat of her skin searing through the material.

"Let me help you with that..." She smirked, her fingers pulling down her shorts to expose the tight curve of her ass—just enough for my grip to sink into bare skin, hot and slick.

I thought, wow that's big! Her ass was tight—like she spent every morning doing squats just to make sure it could crack walnuts. My fingers dug in deeper, kneading the muscle as she moaned around my cock, the vibrations sending sparks up my spine. Her rhythm stuttered for a second—just long enough for me to feel her smirk against my skin before she took me all the way down again, her nose buried in my pelvis like she was trying to suffocate herself. The wet, guttural sound she made when I bucked up into her throat had my toes curling against the mat.

"Oh god... Oh-Oh God..."

Her mouth was relentless—wet, messy, and *deliberate*. She didn't just suck; she *drowned* me in it—her lips smeared with spit and precum, her chin glistening as she dragged her tongue up the shaft in one long, sloppy lick before plunging back down with a filthy, gagging noise.

I thought, Fuck! Anybody can come in and see God Sejeong balls deep into my cock, her throat spasming around me like she's trying to win a belt. The door could swing open any second—some poor kid from the other class wandering in for their forgotten water bottle—and bam. Career over. Reputation ruined. But her nails dug deeper into my thighs, her tongue swirling under the head in tight circles that short-circuited every rational thought.

"You like my ass, huh?" She pulled off with a wet pop, her lips swollen and slick as she arched her back—deliberately pressing her cheeks harder into my palms.

"Wait til you see this, then..." She smirked, peeling her sweat-soaked rash guard overhead in one fluid motion—revealing tits that defied gravity, round and heavy with nipples already stiff from the friction of fabric.

"Oh, shit..." I choked out at the sight of them.

She scooted over, her whole body facing me now as she knelt between my thighs—those tits swaying slightly with the movement, nipples pebbled tight and flushed dark pink. And when she leaned forward, they pressed against my cock like warm pillows, soft yet firm enough to make my dick twitch against her skin. Her sweat-slick cleavage swallowed me whole, the heat radiating off her skin making my breath hitch as she squeezed her tits together—tightening the pressure until my cock was buried in a slick, musky embrace.

"Oh-Ohhh... Lord..."

The touch was electric—warm, slick flesh pressing tight around my cock in a way that made my hips jerk instinctively. They weren't just soft; they were *engineered* for this, the perfect balance of pillowy give and firm pressure as she rolled them up and down my shaft, her nipples dragging rough against my stomach with every movement. Sweat dripped from her collarbone onto my pelvis, mixing with the spit still smeared across my skin, and the scent of her—coconut oil and salt and something *hers*—flooded my lungs until I was dizzy.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" She murmured, in which I could only nod dumbly, watching as she squeezed tighter—her tits molding around me like wet clay, the friction almost unbearable.

"Watch this..."

"Oh-Ohhh!"

Her mouth crashed down on me again, swallowing me whole while her tits still squeezed tight—hot, wet suction above and soft, slick pressure below, the dual sensation sending sparks up my spine. Her tongue flicked under the head in sharp, rapid circles as her tits rolled upward, trapping my cock in a slick, pulsing rhythm—up-down-up-down—her lips popping off with every upward thrust just to plunge back down, throat flexing around me in time with her breasts.

The sound was what hit me first—the metallic *click* of the gym door's handle turning, barely audible over Sejeong’s wet, rhythmic slurps. My eyes snapped toward the entrance, adrenaline spiking like I’d been caught mid-fight. The door creaked open an inch, a sliver of fluorescent light from the hallway cutting through the dim mat area.

Yet Noona's mouth didn’t stop—if anything, she sucked harder, her nails digging crescent moons into my thighs as if she was daring me to move. I could've sworn I saw movement—a shadow flickering by the doorframe—but when I blinked, the hallway was empty, just the hum of fluorescent lights buzzing like angry wasps. The door swayed slightly on its hinges, creaking from the phantom touch of Seoul’s sticky summer draft.

"Enough... Let me feel you..." She gasped suddenly, pulling off with a wet pop before climbing onto me in one fluid motion—her thighs straddling my waist like a vice.

Her mouth crashed onto me before I could breathe, her tongue pushing past my lips with a hunger that stole the air off my lungs. She tasted like salt and something metallic—my own precum smeared across her tongue. Her fingers tangled in my hair, yanking my head back to deepen the kiss as she ground her hips down, her bare pussy slick against my groin.

"G-God..." She broke her lips off to curse, her hands flying down to grab my cock—so slick with spit and sweat it almost slipped through her fingers when she lined me up.

"F-FUCK!" Her scream punched through the gym’s stale air as she fully sank down—no hesitation, no slow adjustment—just one brutal drop that buried me to the hilt in a single motion.

Her walls clenched instantly, a vice grip so tight it blurred pleasure with pain, her inner muscles pulsing like she was already milking me dry. Sweat dripped from her collarbone onto my chest, her thighs trembling against my hips as she threw her head back, her throat working around a silent scream.

"Damn you fill me good..." The woman hissed through clenched teeth, her hips rolling in slow circles—each movement a calculated drag of her inner walls against my cock, as if mapping every ridge and vein.

"You mean like Eunsu hyung?" I gasped, regretting it instantly as her nails raked down my chest.

She froze, her pussy clamping down so tight I saw stars, her breath hitching like I'd struck a nerve. Then she laughed—low, dangerous—and rolled her hips in a slow grind that had my toes curling against the mat.

"You're close enough... But not quite there..." She growled, her hands gripping my shoulders as she lifted herself—only to slam back down with a force that knocked the wind out of me.

Her thighs flexed with each brutal bounce, her tits swaying wildly as she rode me like vengeance personified. The slap of skin echoed off the mats, mingling with ragged breaths.

"Fuck—yes—right there—" she gasped, nails raking down my chest as her hips found a punishing rhythm.

Each downward thrust punched a moan from her throat, raw and unfiltered, her head thrown back like she was challenging god himself. Her plump ass slapped against my thighs with every bounce, the sting blending with the slick heat of her cunt clamping around me—tighter each time, as if trying to wring the soul out of my dick. I gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, my fingers sinking into the soft give of her flesh as she ground down in slow, vicious circles, her inner muscles rippling like she was milking me dry.

"You—fuck—*move*," she snarled, yanking my hands up to her tits, her nipples pebbled against my palms as she rode me like a fucking jackhammer.

And with that, I planted my feet on the ground and started thrusting up like my life depended on it—driving into her with short yet brutal snaps of my hips that punched the air out of her lungs. The slap of skin was loud, each upward thrust meeting her downward grind with a force that made her tits bounce wildly.

Her screams echoed throughout the gym, her fingers scrambling for purchase on my chest as I pistoned into her—deep, relentless strokes that scraped her inner walls raw. She tried to keep her rhythm, but I was owning her now—her thighs trembling, her cunt clenching around me like a vise as I turned the tables, fucking up into her with the same merciless paces she'd drilled into me on the mats.

"Oh, yes! Like that! F-Fuck me! FUCK ME! YES! YESSSSS!"

I growled—half in response to her screaming, half because her pussy was squeezing me like a goddamn python—and flipped us over in one brutal motion. The mat burned against my knees as I hauled her hips up, her legs hooking around my waist as I drove back into her without missing a stroke. Her back arched off the ground, her tits bouncing with every thrust, her mouth hanging open in a silent scream as I pinned her wrists above her head.

"Don't stop! Don't you fucking stop!" She shrieked, her voice cracking as I continued hammering into her—each thrust brutal enough to shove her up the mat, her shoulders scraping against the rubberized surface.

Her legs around my waist were like steel cables, heels digging into my back as she met every punishing drive with a sharp upward jerk of her hips. The wet slap of skin echoed off the walls, a wet, rhythmic smack that drowned out her gasps. I was bathing in sweat dripping from my brow onto her chest, rolling between her tits as her pussy clenched around me like a fist, pulsing with each ragged cry.

"Fuck, Sunbae! I'm close!" I gritted out, hips stuttering as she clenched around me like a vice—her inner muscles rippling in deliberate waves, milking me deeper with each ragged thrust.

"Pull out! Pour it all over my tits!" She gasped, her fingers clawing at my wrists as her thighs trembled around me—not a request, but a command from the woman who just spent two hours grinding me into submission.

I barely registered her words before I pulled out and my hips jerked violently, my cock pulsing as thick ropes of cum splattered across her heaving chest—her sweaty slick skin glazing white as she arched with a guttural moan. Her wet cunt clenched rhythmically around nothing, juices dripping down her thighs as she dragged her fingers through the mess on her tits, smearing it across her nipples with a satisfied smirk.

"Well... That was... Quite the workout..." She panted, her chest still rising and falling rapidly as she lazily swirled her fingers through the cum pooling between her tits.

"Tell me about it... I might've lost a pound or two after that..." I huffed, collapsing beside her on the sweat-slick mat.

My pulse still hammered in my ears, limbs heavy like lead, but my cock twitched when she lifted her fingers to her mouth—sucking my cum off them with a slow, deliberate pop. The sight sent a fresh jolt of heat through my gut, her tongue flicking over her fingertips like she was savoring every drop.

"Showers?" She nudged my ribs with her knee—her smirk returning as she rolled onto her side.

"Unless you want to explain *this* to the cleaning staff." Her fingers traced a lazy path through the mess on her stomach, scooping up a glob before flicking it onto my chest with a wet *plop*.

"Sure thing..."

***

If there was anything more dangerous than wrestling Kim Sejeong’s chokes, it was her tongue in the shower—slow, deliberate strokes that tasted like stolen moments. I could feel the steam curl around us, swallowing the last remnants of our sweat as she backed me against the tiles, her mouth moving over mine with the same precision she’d used to dismantle my stances.

"So, QWER MMA's cornering you for this fight? What strategies does Hyungtae Oppa have in mind?" She murmured between kisses, her fingers tracing the fading bruises along my ribs—leftovers from last week's sparring.

"Actually, it's just going to be Genta and Chodan..." I responded, seeing the clear shock coming from her eyes.

"Really? How come?" She inquired, her fingers stilling against my ribs as her brow furrowed.

"Well, his mother, Magenta Noona's grandma has passed away... The man's taking it real hard... So he instructed Noona and Chodan to corner me in Singapore..." I replied back, explaining to her the situation.

"Oh yeah... Rest in peace to her..." Sejeong murmured.

"Well, I can trust Chodan with her striking... But Ahee? I don’t think she actually knows how to wrestle... She can teach you how to grapple, but I don't think she can teach you how to take someone down..." She added.

"And speaking of Ahee..." She suddenly laughed—low, throaty.

"Wh-What about her?" I stammered, my voice cracking as her fingers trailed lower—skimming my hipbone like she was contemplating her next move.

"Hmm... I don't know... I think it was just a slip in the tongue..." She smirked, pulling away suddenly—her fingers leaving my skin cold where they'd been tracing fire just seconds before.

"Andwe! You can't do this to me!" I growled, flipping us so fast her shoulders slapped against the tiles.

Water sluiced between our bodies, her nipples pebbling against my chest as she arched into the pressure, her smirk widening when my cock twitched against her stomach.

"Oh, you silly boy..." she gasped, bucking her hips up just enough to drag her wet folds against my shaft.

"Fine... I'll tell you..." She sighed—long-suffering, theatrical—before dragging me back into a kiss, her tongue curling around me like she was savoring the last bite of a stolen dessert.

The steam thickened between us, her wet hands cupping my face as if memorizing its angles—her thumbs dragging slow circles against my jaw while her tongue mapped the roof of my mouth like she was searching for weak spots. The water sliced down her back, hot enough to pinken our skin, but nothing burned like the way she bit my lower lip—sharp then soothing with a flick of her tongue, a rhythm as calculated as any wrestling sequence.

"If Ahee's gonna run her mouth with rumors about me and Eunsu... I think it's only fair that I say some things about her as well..." She whispered against my lips, her fingers trailing down to my cock—already hard again—with deliberate slowness.

"Tell me, Tae... Have you ever noticed anything about her? Especially when she’s around her uncle..." She murmured, her fingers tightening around my dick.

"W-Wait... You've noticed it too?" I stammered, my cock twitching in her grip as my brain short-circuited.

"They're close, aren't they? Way too close... Like... Lovers?" She whispered, her breath hitching as her fingers twisted tighter.

"But you can't prove it, can you? You haven't seen anything?" She breathed, pausing her fingers tightening around my cock—not stroking, just holding me hostage.

I shook my head. I actually had nothing to say to prove her accusation. I wasn’t an expert at familial love. I just thought Noona being close to her Uncle was normal. But the way Sejeong Sunbae was talking—her voice low and conspiratorial, her fingers tightening around my cock like she was twisting the truth out of me—made me wonder if I’d missed something obvious.

And the next words that came out of her lips sent chills down my spine. "But I have..." Her nails dug crescents into my hips as she leaned in, her breath scalding against my ear.

"Caught them. In *action*." The shower's steam thickened as she rolled her hips against me, her slick folds dragging against my cock like punctuation.

"They thought I was gone... I came back one night after a training session to retrieve my Tumbler... But as I was heading back out, I heard moaning... Loud moaning..." Her breath hitched as she rocked against me, her wet skin sliding against mine in the steam.

"It was Ahee for sure... I thought she must've brought a boyfriend or something... But when I turned to look just enough to see the man's face... Voila... It was Lee Hyungtae himself... Fucking his own niece… His own brother’s daughter… And Ahee was begging him for more... Louder..." Every word dripped from Sunbae's lips like poison, her fingers tightening around my dick in sync with each syllable—punctuating the thrill of it all.

I thought, Damn! After all this time? Noona was in love with her Uncle like that? If they were a thing, why was she letting me fuck her every Thursday morning when no one was around? Shit! Does Coach even know? If he did, why would he let Ahee fuck me? Shit! It doesn't make any sense

"And with Hyungtae Oppa grieving his mom's death... I bet Ahee's being the *loving* niece that she is by his side..." She added, the sudden realization hitting me!

"She... She has been ending classes much earlier lately... You mean she's—" I choked out, my cock twitching violently in her grip as the realization hit me.

"Oh yeah... She's definitely on her knees right now sucking his dick... Or bouncing on his cock... Or both..." Noona murmured, her fingers twisting tighter around my shaft.

"So what do you think, Tae? What's on your mind knowing your *coaches* love each other like that?" She whispered, her thumb pressing into the slit of my dick—hard enough to make my knees buckle.

"Sounds weird... But I think it's kinda hot..." I admitted, the look of shock flashing across Noona's face before she could school her features back to normal.

"Hmm... You don't seem too weirded out... Are you into incest?"

"Wh-What?!? N-No!" I stammered, my hips jerking as Sejeong's grip tightened more—her thumb swiping over the head with deliberate pressure.

"I mean... I didn't grow up with a normal family to understand that... I've never met family other than mom and dad..." I admitted.

It was only just the 3 of us ever since, albeit prior to mom and dad's divorce. Both of them said they were the only children in their families and their parents, my grandparents have all died already. I've never met anyone else after that. An uncle, a cousin, not even a sexy aunt for me to secretly fuck like Magenta was with her uncle!

"I see your point..." She uttered.

"So what's it going to be? Still gonna make a move on Ahee after everything you've heard?" She asked, her fingers sliding back down my shaft with agonizing slowness.

Call me crazy or not, but I think Magenta fucking her uncle might've made my dick harder—not because I got off on the twisted nature of it, but because *knowing* something so forbidden lit up the same part of my brain that craved adrenaline. The thrill was in the danger, every stolen glance, every slight touch they thought nobody saw—like watching a fight unfold from the best seat in the house.

Sejeong’s fingers tightened around my cock, twisting the truth into arousal, her smirk telling me she *knew* exactly how fucked-up and exhilarating it felt to hold someone else’s secret in your palm like a ticking bomb.

"Actually, I've already made a move..." I uttered, correcting her statement as I took control and pinned her back against the wall.

The woman barely had time to gasp before I slammed her back against the shower tiles—my hands cupping her face to claim back her lips like a man starved. She tasted like steam and stolen secrets. The water sluiced between our bodies, her nipples pebbling against my chest as I rocked my hips forward—her wet cunt already slick against my cock like she'd been waiting for this.

"In fact... I think I'm gonna be rougher with her next time I get a chance..." I added.

"Hehe... I like the sound of that..." She replied.

"Just remember... You didn’t hear any of that from me... Got it?" She added, her fingers digging into my shoulders as I pressed her harder against the tiles, her wet skin sliding against me with a slick friction.

"Yes, ma'am..." I growled against her mouth, my fingers tightening on her hips as I lifted her effortlessly—her legs wrapping around my waist like she was born to be there.

"Good... Now shut up and fuck me…”

Notes: I’ve got nothing else too much to say story-wise.

Instead I want to slowly promote my new Fanprose account down below. I’m still in the process of figuring things out over there. 

Hopefully I can interact with you there much better as well after all the technical shenanigans I’ve been experiencing with Tumblr over the years. At least that way I can interact with people who are actually invested and are reading my stories.

So yeah, feel free to check it out and give my profile a follow, and some flowers and photocards cause I still don’t know how it all works.

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AO3 profile

The hospital bed creaked under her shifting weight, her usually toned muscles now taut with exhaustion. Across the room, Oppa was pacing like a caged tiger, his knuckles whitening around a half-crushed water bottle while Jihyo rubbed soothing circles into Sejeong's lower back.

"It's alright, Rosé... Having you here is already enough for me..." She managed a shaky smile just before her face twisted in pain again, gripping my fingers so tight I swore I heard a joint pop.

"Besides, it's not often your ult bias comes to visit you a few days before giving birth, is that right?" She managed a playful wink despite the sweat beading on her forehead, her voice strained but warm.

"Yeah, I never thought I'd be having a fanmeet in a hospital either..." I joked around, uttering a laugh from the trio.

Trust me, for as much privacy we had, I couldn't help but recall how many times I've had to have a nurse make an excuse to check on Unnie's vitals before asking for my autograph, starting with Unnie's cousin, Yulhee who was one of the nurses stationed around the ward.

Heck, even Unnie's doctor couldn't believe he was seeing his daughter's idol standing there—he pulled out a wrinkled Polaroid of his 12-year-old grinning with my album cover clutched in her hands. 

"Just one signature, please," he'd whispered urgently while adjusting Sejeong's IV line, like this was some back-alley idol handshake event.

But despite all of that, I'm happy for the moments like these—where autographs and photo ops blur into something real, something shared between people. Unnie's fingers loosened slightly around mine, her breathing evening out as the contraction passed, and for a second, it wasn’t about being Rosé the idol. 

It was about being Chaeyoung, the girl who got to hold her friend’s hand while she brought new life into the world. That’s the part of celebrity life no one talks about: the privilege of being trusted with ordinary, extraordinary moments.

"Hi, everyone... But I'm afraid it's curfew time... I'm afraid I will have to ask Rosé-nim and Eunsu Oppa to leave very soon..." The nurse, Yulhee, Sejeong Unnie's cousin, announced, peeking in with an apologetic smile.

"Aww, do you really have to go?" Jihyo pouted.

"This won't be the last time we'll see each other, right?" She added.

"Concerts tickets won't be a problem, J. Trust me, I'll vouch for your tickets." I assured her.

"But as for simple hangouts like this... Like us... I really don't know... My schedule's packed to the brim... I don't even know when my next free day will be..." I admitted, rubbing my thumb over Sejeong's swollen knuckles—the same hands knocking out bitches in the octagon now trembling against mine.

"It's okay, Rosé... Thank you... For everything..." Unnie murmured, her voice thick with exhaustion and something softer—gratitude, maybe.

"You too, Unnie... Congrats on the baby!" I couldn't help but sniffle a bit—damn hormones in the air making me emotional—as I carefully disentangled my fingers from hers, still catching the faint scent of antiseptic and the strawberry-sweet balm Jihyo had rubbed into Sejeong's shoulders earlier.

The sterile white lights flickered slightly, casting shadows that made the hospital room feel smaller, more intimate, like we were all holding our breath between contractions and goodbyes.

"What about you, Oppa? Do you have to go to?" I couldn't help but wonder as he leaned against the wall, his sharp jawline shadowed in the dimming light.

He didn't answer immediately—just flexed his bruised knuckles absentmindedly, eyes locked on Unnie with an expression I couldn't quite place. Protective? Guilty? The air between them crackled with something unspoken, charged like the moments before a referee signals the start of a fight.

"Yes, Chaeyoungie... Even the hospital's rules have a weight class," Oppa muttered, cracking his neck with a resigned sigh. His shoulders slumped slightly—not in defeat, but like a fighter conserving energy between rounds.

"They don't let me stay past 10 PM unless we're married or... well, legally next of kin." His gaze flicked to Jihyo's hand resting possessively on Sejeong's hip, then away just as fast.

"Want me to give you a ride?" I blurted out nonchalantly, only to take it back when his eyes locked onto mine with sudden, predatory focus.

I felt the air shift instantly. Jihyo's fingers stilled on Sejeong Unnie’s hip. Even Unnie, mid-contraction, arched her brow through her pain. All eyes were suddenly on me with playful mischief—and something hotter, hungrier underneath.

"Do you even know the way to his place?" Jihyo's voice dripped with playful skepticism, her fingers now drumming slow circles on Sejeong's hipbone—a deliberate, teasing rhythm that made my throat tighten. Her smirk was all challenge, lips quaking as she tilted her head.

"Or are you just looking for an excuse to keep Oppa company?" The way she dragged out "company" sent a flush creeping up my neck, hot and undeniable.

"Rosé..." Unnie suddenly had a playful scrunch on her face, biting her lower lip through another contraction—except this time, it wasn’t pain twisting her features. Her eyes flicked between Oppa and me with knowing amusement, her grin widening despite the sweat dampening her temples.

"Are you ‘borrowing’ my husband again?" She wheezed out between ragged breaths, her grip tightening on the sheets—not from pain this time, but the effort of suppressing laughter. Her muscular thighs flexed against the mattress, the hospital gown riding up just enough to reveal the faded scars from her last fight.

"Because I distinctly remember last time, you promised to return him in one piece." She arched a brow, and suddenly I was back in Melbourne--Oppa 's hands all over me when he needed to *bust some sweat* to make weight for his fight.

And when he won by knockout in the first round, the sex we had in my penthouse was the best I've ever had! It still is to this day! God! But that was only possible thanks to his wife, I mean, wives' permissions! Because they were such loving Fansé's, it wasn’t difficult for me to get down with my crush, my... I mean, THEIR lover—but fuck it, I don’t care anymore, I want him again, tonight, one last time.

"But I did, didn't I?" I shot back, my fingers tracing the hem of Oppa's sleeve like I already owned it. The memory of his sweat-slicked chest pinning me against the penthouse windows, his teeth marking my throat as Melbourne glittered below us, made my pulse throb between my thighs.

"And I gave you free tickets... And *more*..." I added, her eyes locking onto mine with a slow-burning intensity that sent heat pooling low in my belly.

The memory of that night after my Seoul concert—four bodies tangled in silk sheets, Jihyo's nails raking down Oppa's back while Unnie's pregnant belly brushed against my thigh—flashed through my mind.

Unnie was already showing back then. She didn't have a stomach the first time I saw her through Oppa's facetime back in Melbourne. But by the time we finally met for the first time after my concert, she was already halfway through her pregnancy—her belly round and taut beneath the silky black robe Jihyo had gifted her.

"And I assure you, *these* moments won't be our last..." I added, promising her of more *moments* together—whether backstage at my concerts, late-night dinners at my penthouse, or even tangled together between the sheets again—my words punctuated by the soft, rhythmic beeping of the fetal monitor.

Unnie's breath hitched—not from pain this time—her lips curving into a knowing smirk as her fingers twitched against mine, tracing patterns that felt suspiciously like the choreography to *On The Ground*.

"Alright, Rosé... Take *my* husband home..."  She gasped suddenly, her knuckles whitening against mine as another contraction ripped through her—but her grin never faltered, sharp and wicked even as sweat dripped down her neck.

"Just... Don't forget about our tickets... At the next concert..." She added, her voice strained but still managing to wink—her fingers twitching in mine like she was imagining wrapping them around my throat in the octagon instead.

"Ya... Durowa..." She suddenly called out to Oppa, her voice dropping to a whisper only we could hear—rough and breathless, laced with something dangerously playful despite the pain.

I couldn't hear what they were saying, but they looked cute together—his rough hands cradling her face, her fingers tangled in his shirt like she wanted to drag him closer or push him away. The way his lips brushed her forehead made my chest ache, and for a moment, I wished I had a Polaroid to capture it—the MMA queen softened by exhaustion, her warrior husband kneeling beside her like a prayer.

"Go ahead, Pabo... And don't *push yourself* too much... You have a fight coming up as well..."

"Yes, mama..." Wow, even in her state, she still has that coach-like grip—Unnie practically shoved Oppa towards me like she was corner-cutting between rounds.

"So, shall we get going?" He asks me before getting a hard slap from Unnie’s hand!

Fuck! Even in her state, she slapped Oppa's ass like a player in the national volleyball team—her fingers leaving a pink imprint through his black sweatpants, right where his UFC sponsor tattoo peeked out. The sound echoed through the room, sharp and unmistakable, making Jihyo bite her lip to stifle a laugh while the fetal monitor spiked in response.

"Ow!"

"Asshole..." She wheezed out between breaths, but her smirk was wicked even as the contraction twisted her expression—her fingers flexing like she was already imagining wrapping them around Oppa’s throat later.

"Now go before you'll make me regret this..." She huffed, pointing weakly towards the emergency exit.

I led Oppa outside, our footsteps muffled by the fluorescent hum of the parking garage—past the nurses smoking by the stairwell, past the janitor pushing a mop bucket who did a double take at my face. 

The elevator smelled like antiseptic and stale coffee, but Oppa’s cologne cut through it—something woodsy and expensive, the kind that clung to hotel sheets after fights. His knuckles brushed mine when he reached for the button, calloused from sparring but surprisingly gentle.

My car was exactly where I left it—a sleek black Audi tucked between two minivans, the leather seats still warm from the afternoon sun.

"This is the same one from the concert, right?" He smirked as he slid into the passenger seat, his knees bumping the glove compartment—too much fighter in too small a space.

"Yes... The exact same one you followed..." I replied back.

"You are gonna take me home, right?" He leaned back against the headrest, stretching his legs with a lazy grin—all coiled tension and effortless swagger, like a lion pretending not to hunt.

"I mean... I could... If you'd guide me..." I teased, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel as the engine purred to life—slow, deliberate taps like I was counting down to something inevitable.

"But my flight tomorrow is the first... And I still need to *pack up*..." I added, letting him know I had *plans*—my fingers tightening around the wheel as I pulled out of the parking spot, deliberately slow, letting the engine rumble low and deep like a warning.

His gaze burned hotter against my skin with every passing second, tracking the way my skirt rode up my thighs as I adjusted my seat—just enough to give him a glimpse of the lace beneath, just enough to make his knuckles whiten against the dashboard.

"Do you need any help *packing up*?" He asked, voice rough as gravel, his fingers already twitching toward the gear shift—not to drive, but to slide it between my thighs instead.

"Ahh-" I gasped as his palm slid up my leg, his calloused fingers digging into my skin with the same controlled aggression he used in a fight.

The car's leather seats creaked under my shifting weight, his grip tightening possessively when my skirt rode higher—just enough to expose the black lace barely covering my core.

Fuck! His hand got even higher when we stopped at a red light, his fingers slipping under the lace like he owned it—like he owned me. The rough pads of his fingers teased at my folds, slow and teasing, his breathing steady like he was still in a fight, calculating his next move.

"Oppa—" I gasped, my thighs clamping around his wrist instinctively, yet he didn’t stop.

If anything, the resistance just made his grin sharper, his fingers pressing deeper like he was mapping every inch of me.

"You sound so cute, Chae..." He murmured, fingers curling inside me with a slow, deliberate twist—like he wasn’t just touching me, but testing my reflexes, my limits!

I thought, shit! What if someone can see?!? I looked out towards the windows, going left and going right, my car tinted to the brim, yet even I wasn't confident that we were covered enough... Th-That we were... F-Fuck! His fingers were going deeper now! When's the traffic light going to change to green!?!?!

"Oppa... P-Please..." I whimpered, biting my lip hard enough to taste copper as his thumb found my clit.

The light turned green—finally—but he didn’t stop, just pressed his palm harder against me as I accelerated, the vibrations of the engine syncing with the relentless rhythm of his fingers. My knuckles whitened around the wheel, sweat slicking my thighs where they gripped his wrist, the leather seat creaking under my squirming.

"W-We're... Almost there..." I choked out between gasps, swerving into my apartment’s carpark building.

"Behave..." I said, when I parked us to a full stop, my warning more of a whimper than a threat.

But thank god, he pulled his hand out! We got out of my car heading towards the elevator, goosebumps trailing down my spine as his fingers—still slick with my arousal—brushed against mine when he pressed the button for the penthouse. 

The scent of me clung to his skin, mingling with the sharp aftershave he'd reapplied before leaving the hospital, and every breath I took was a dizzying cocktail of sweat, sex, and something dangerously close to possession. 

My thighs stuck together with every step, the ruined lace chafing against oversensitive skin, and I wondered if he could hear the wet sound whenever I shifted my weight—if he knew exactly how thoroughly he'd ruined me before we'd even made it past the lobby.

I thought, Please, don't let anyone come in! But the second I said that, an old lady came in, pressing the button right below my floor! I thought, Please, ahjumma! Don't turn around! Don't look at me while Oppa's groping my ass! I thought, Fuck! He's lifting my dress higher, so high my ass could be seen from behind, whoever was lucky enough to be there right behind me!

I'm biting my lips, eyes rolling nearly half open or half closed while I gripped Oppa's shirt, silently pleading him to stop! The sheer sensation of him, his rough hand fondling my asscheeks—right under the old lady's oblivious nose—was almost too much. 

The elevator hummed upward, slow and torturous, each floor passing like an eternity as his hand crushed my ass, slow and punishing, his breath hot against my neck.

"S-Stop..." I managed to utter, yet my body was giving in instead of stepping away.

Every second ticked like a bomb—the old lady's reflection in the elevator doors showed her scrolling through her phone, completely unaware of Oppa's hand slipping under my dress to pinch my bare ass. His grip was relentless, the sting mixing deliciously with the ache between my thighs, and I bit back a whimper when his thumb swiped over my sensitive skin, slow and taunting. 

The elevator dinged at her floor, the doors sliding open just as his fingers dipped lower, brushing the soaked lace clinging to my core—his grin against my neck told me he knew exactly how wet I was.

And when the doors closed, I turned around to kiss him, claiming his lips like I had been thirsty for days! Like I did not just get it down with Jihyo a few hours earlier!

Oppa’s mouth crashed into mine with the same bruising intensity as his right hook—all teeth and desperation, his fingers tangling in my hair to tilt my head back like he wanted to devour me whole. The elevator lurched upward, but we barely noticed, too lost in the taste of each other—his lips still faintly sweet from the hospital vending machine coffee, mine bitter from the lipstick I’d chewed off hours ago.

His hands slid under my dress, lifting me effortlessly until my back hit the mirrored wall, the cold glass searing through my dress as his hips pinned me in place. I could feel him hard against me, every ragged breath between kisses a silent promise of what was coming, and when he bit down on my lower lip, I knew this wasn’t just a goodbye—it was a claim.

"Oppa..." I moaned, just as the elevator doors slid back open.

He didn't even put me down when he got us out of the doors. I thought, Fuck! What if someone sees me? Dangling around a UFC fighter's arms like some prize—my dress bunched up around my waist, his one hand digging into my bare ass while his other fumbled for the penthouse keycard in my pocket. The hallway smelled like lemon disinfectant and expensive leather, but all I could focus on was the way his cock twitched against my clit through his sweatpants, hot and insistent even through the fabric.

And when he got us inside, he didn't bother locking the door—just kicked it shut with his heel while his mouth crashed back onto me, swallowing my gasp as his fingers tore through the lace still clinging to my hips. 

The penthouse smelled like my perfume and last night's champagne, but now it was thick with the musk of sweat and desperation, our breaths mingling in the dim light as he backed me up against the wall—not gently, not like a lover, but like a fighter cornering his prey.

"Showers..." I finally managed to whisper, pressing both palms flat against his chest to halt his relentless advance.

"Wh-What? Why?" He chuckled, his breath hot against my neck, but I pressed harder against his chest—not rejection, just redirection. The penthouse lights flickered as I tilted my chin up, catching his confused gaze with mine.

"Because," I murmured, trailing my fingers down to his belt buckle, "I want you clean when you lick me." His pupils blew wide, lips parting like I'd just landed a surprise uppercut, and for once, the fighter was speechless.

"And you smell like antiseptic..." I added, getting a laugh. His chuckle vibrated against my skin, rough and warm, and I couldn't help but giggle when he nipped at my earlobe—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make my thighs clench.

"As you wish..." He growled, lifting me effortlessly—my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried me towards the bathroom, his hands kneading my ass like he was testing its resilience before a fight.

The shower hissed to life before we even crossed the threshold, steam already fogging the mirrors as he pinned me against the marble wall, his teeth grazing my collarbone through the damp fabric of my dress. I could feel his cock straining against his sweatpants, hot and insistent against my thigh, but he didn't rush—just traced the lace clinging to my hips with agonizing slowness, like he was savoring the moment before a knockout.

"You're so beautiful..." He murmured against my collarbone, his rough hands softening as they slid the straps of my dress down my shoulders—not tearing, not rushing, just letting the fabric pool at my waist like melted chocolate.

His knuckles brushed my ribs with featherlight reverence, tracing the faint scar from my appendix surgery like it was sacred text, his breath hitching when my dress finally slid to the floor in a whisper of silk.

"Hehe... You always say that..." I chuckled back, lifting his shirt up before pulling his sweatpants and boxers down as well.

His cock, Oh his everlasting cock sprang free, slapping against his abdomen with a wet sound that made my mouth water—thick and flushed, the veins standing out against his skin like ropes on a sail. The shower's steam curled around us, fogging the mirrors until we were nothing but blurred outlines, his hands sliding down my waist to hook under the lace still clinging stubbornly to my hips.

"Because you are..." He groaned, his fingers finally tearing through the last scrap of lace—slowly, deliberately—letting it dangle from his wrist like a trophy before dropping it to the shower floor.

The steam curled around us, his hands sliding up my thighs with possessive certainty, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just hard enough to bruise. I gasped when his mouth found my neck, his teeth marking me right where my pulse hammered against my skin, the hot water sluicing between our bodies like liquid heat.

"Besides, it's not like I get to kiss an A-list celebrity on a daily basis... Thanks to you... You brought us all together... All of *us*..." He added, his voice rough with gratitude as much as desire, his fingertips tracing the path of water droplets sliding between my breasts.

The steam thickened, wrapping us in a private haze where the only sounds were the drumming of hot water on marble and our mingling breaths—until his palm flattened against my stomach, pressing me flush against the wall with deliberate, bruising force.

"I want you, Chaeng... I'll take as much time as I can..." He growled against my throat, hands sliding down my thighs to hitch my legs higher around his waist—the slick heat between us undeniable even through the steam.

His cock pulsed against my belly, a bead of precum mixing with the shower's spray, and when he rocked his hips forward just once, I whimpered against his shoulder, nails biting into his biceps hard enough to leave half-moon marks.

"Ahhh..."

The first inch was torture—a slow, deliberate invasion that stole my breath as he stretched me wider than I remembered, his cock throbbing against my walls like a second heartbeat. Every millimeter forward dragged a ragged gasp from my throat, my nails carving crescent moons into his shoulders as my thighs trembled around his waist. 

The steam clung to us, thick and suffocating, but nothing compared to the heat of him filling me—an inexorable push that bordered on pain, my body yielding only because it knew him, remembered him. His groan vibrated against my collarbone when he bottomed out, hips flush against mine, both of us trembling at the perfect, unbearable fullness.

"Ooohhhh... It's so good..." I gasped, arching against the shower wall as he stretched me impossibly deeper—every ridge of his cock carving itself into my memory like a brand.

The steam couldn't mask how fucking full I was, his thickness pressing against places that made my vision blur, the water sluicing between our joined bodies doing nothing to ease the delicious friction. My thighs trembled around his waist, the muscles in my calves twitching with the effort of holding on, while his grip on my hips left crescent-shaped indents in my skin, possessive and perfect.

I thought, God! I can't get enough of this man! Could this really be our last?!? No!!! I don't want this to be our last!!! Even if I have to wait 3 fucking years to pounce on his cock! F-Fuck! He was all the way in my stomach! His dickhead kissing my cervix! The pain-pleasure made my toes curl against the slick tiles, my moans bouncing off the marble as he pulled out torturously slow—only to slam back in with a brutal snap of his hips that knocked my head against the wall.

"Ahh... Ah-Ahhh!!! Ahhh!!! Oppa!!! Ahhh!!!"

And that's when he started moving—not with the brutal urgency I expected, but with a slow, torturous roll of his hips that dragged his cock along every sensitive inch inside me.

But god! Even at his slow pace, his dick was turning me inside out. I thought, Fuck! This man was going to ruin me! He already has!

Ever since this man came into my life, he unleashed a cock hungry whore that I didn't know existed in me! His slow thrusts turned me into a writhing mess against the shower wall, my thighs slick with steam and sweat as much as the water raining down on us. His teeth grazed my shoulder when I clenched around him unexpectedly—that tight flutter dragging a guttural groan from his chest, his cock twitching inside me like he was barely holding back.

"FUCK—!" The word tore from my throat as his hips snapped forward without warning, the sudden pace shift punching the air from my lungs.

"YES! YES! FUCK ME! FUCK ME, OPPA!!! FUCK ME!!! FUCK ME, YES!!!"

I have no shame! I have never felt so alive having this man take me. The steam curled around us like a confessional veil, but I didn't need absolution—not when Oppa's fingers dug into my thighs hard enough to bruise, not when every thrust punched a scream from my throat that echoed off the marble tiles. I'd let the whole building hear us! Let the old lady from the elevator press her ear to the door! I'd moan louder just to prove I didn't care.

"Y-You're gonna make me cum... I'm gonna... C-Cum..." I choked out, my thighs clamping around his waist as he pistoned into me with ruthless precision—each thrust hitting that spot inside me that made stars explode behind my eyelids.

The waters turned icy when he suddenly  pulled out and spun me around, pinning me chest-first against the fogged glass doors, my nipples pebbling against the cold surface while his cock burned hotter than ever inside when he pushed back on me. 

His hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back just enough to sink his teeth into my shoulder as his other hand snaked around my hip—thumb finding my clit with brutal accuracy.

"AHHHH!!! FUUUUCK!!!"

I fucking lost it! I wasn't Rosé the pop-star anymore! I was no longer Park Chaeyoung who could barely hold eye contact during interviews—I was reduced to nothing but a moaning, drooling mess as Oppa's cock rearranged my insides with every savage thrust! 

My hands scrambled against the fogged glass, leaving streaks of desperation as my entire body trembled—not just from the pleasure, but the sheer fucking shock of how good it felt to be taken like this! His teeth in my shoulder, his fingers twisting in my hair, his thumb circling my clit with bruising pressure—every point of contact burned hotter than the scalding water still raining down on us!

"I'm gonna cum in you, Chaeng... I'm gonna... F-Fill you up..." He growled against my neck, his thrusts turning erratic—each snap of his hips sharper, deeper, like he was trying to fuse us together!

"Do it! Fucking fill me, Oppa! Give it to me! Give it!" I screamed, my voice raw against the steam as my nails scraped down the glass.

I felt his his groan vibrating through my spine when he slammed home one last time—so deep I swore I tasted him in my throat—and then he pulsed inside me, hot and thick, flooding my quivering walls in waves that matched the shuddering of his thighs against mine. 

The sensation was obscene, overwhelming, his cum spilling out around his still-hard cock even as he kept grinding into me, milking every last drop as my own orgasm ripped through me like a live wire.

I thought, God! There's so much! I haven't had any man fill me up the same way he did! Not even Jeffrey, the Master Sargent of my security team couldn't compare! I feel his cum leaking down my thighs, mixing with the shower spray—hot and slick between my skin and the cold glass wall pressing against my chest. 

His fingers dug into my hips, holding me flush against him as his cock twitched weakly inside, still half-hard like he wasn't done yet. The steam thickened around us, wrapping us in a haze of sweat and sex and something dangerously close to intimacy.

And when he pulled out and turned me around, the kiss he gave me was softer than I expected—his lips brushing mine with a tenderness that contradicted the bruising grip he still had on my hips. His tongue traced my lower lip like he was savoring the taste of me, not devouring, not claiming, just... loving. 

The shower's spray turned lukewarm against our skin, but his mouth was hot, slow, achingly deliberate as he cradled my face between his rough hands, thumbs wiping away streaks of water—or tears, I couldn’t tell.

He puts his hands on my shoulders and gently pushes me down to my knees. I got the message early on. The shower tiles are cold under my knees, but his cock is hotter than ever when it brushes my lips, still glistening with our mixed fluids. My tongue darts out instinctively, tasting myself on him—salty and sweet and unmistakably mine—before I take him deep, my throat stretching around his girth as he groans above me.

"Ughh..." He groaned deeply when I took him down my throat, his fingers tightening in my wet hair—not forcing, just guiding me as I hollowed my cheeks around his cock.

The waters mixed with my spit, dripping down his shaft as I worked him with slow, deliberate strokes, my tongue pressing against the thick vein underneath. I thought, Fuck! Could this really be the last time? Can I really wait 3 years for a chance to have him again?!?

I thought, Shit! Things would never be the same after this! It already hasn't! But the thought of not seeing Oppa or his 'wives' again for almost 3 years??? Fuck!!! Every man after him would feel like a placeholder—their touches too tentative, their thrusts too polite, their cum too weak to fill me the way he did.

Even my own fingers would feel like strangers inside me, clumsy imitations of his perfect cock. God, I could already see myself lying in hotel beds across the world, biting my pillow to stifle his name while some faceless fling pumped into me, never hitting that spot inside that Oppa carved his initials into.

His groan ripped me back to the present, my lips stretched obscenely around his cock as he thrust shallowly into my throat—not rough, not yet, just testing my limits with slow rolls of his hips that made spit drip down my chin. The shower's spray hit my shoulders but couldn't wash away the filth of this moment, his fingers tightening in my hair as I looked up through wet lashes, meeting his darkened gaze just as he pushed deeper.

"Oh yes... Take it, Rosé... Take it..."

His hips snapped forward without warning, his cock ramming deep into my throat until my nose pressed against the coarse hair at his base. I gagged instantly, tears welling as my throat convulsed around him—but he didn't pull back, just groaned and rolled his hips in slow circles, letting me feel every throbbing inch stretching my esophagus.

I thought, Fuck! My mouth's gonna be sore for the next couple of days or so! But I don't care! Oppa’s cock was all worth it—thick and heavy on my tongue, his precum mixing with my spit as he dragged the tip over my lips like he was painting them with me. 

His grip tightened in my hair, not pulling yet, just holding me in place as he started fucking my face roughly like a toy—each thrust punching a wet gag from my throat, tears streaking down my cheeks to mix with the shower spray.

"Fuck! Gonna cum again..." He growled, his grip tightening in my hair as his hips stuttered—then he yanked me off his cock with a wet pop, his thick release hitting my cheeks in hot, spurting stripes.

I gasped as the first rope landed on my eyelid, the second streaking across my lips, my tongue darting out instinctively to catch the third before it dripped down my chin. The taste exploded across my tongue—bitter and salty and unmistakably him—as he groaned above me, his thumb smearing a stray drop across my bottom lip like gloss.

"Oh my god, yes!"

Before he could finish, I put his dick back inside, cleaning, savoring the taste of his cum—slow strokes punctuated by deep swallows that made his knees buckle. The shower's spray cooled against my flushed skin, but his cock stayed hot and throbbing against my tongue, twitching weakly as I milked the last drops from him with kittenish licks that drew a shuddering groan from his chest. 

His fingers loosened in my hair, sliding down to cradle my jaw with unexpected tenderness—thumb brushing my spit-slick lower lip as I looked up at him through wet lashes, our breaths mingling with the steam.

"Tasty..." I murmured against his thigh.

The water turned lukewarm as I rose, my knees protesting against the marble tiles, but his hands caught my waist before I could stumble, pulling me flush against him as our mouths collided—hungry and desperate, tasting myself on his tongue.

My face was still filled with his cum! I don't think he cared, especially with the way he was kissing me—deep and messy, our tongues tangling in a slick dance that tasted like salt and desperation. His hands slid up my back, pulling me tighter against him, his fingers tracing the knobs of my spine like he was memorizing me for the years ahead. 

*Epilogue*

The robe clung dimly to my skin as I stepped out of the steam—the terrycloth absorbing droplets that traced paths down my spine like phantom fingertips. I caught my reflection in the fogged mirror, cheeks still flushed pink from exertion, and dragged the towel over my hair with slow, exhausted strokes that left dark streaks across the glass.

I thought, Damn, I'm a wreck! What's gotten into you Rosé? What happened to the girl who once reserved herself to the man she would marry? Where is the girl who used to blush at the thought of holding hands? Now look at you—spent, dripping, and glowing in the aftermath of being thoroughly ruined by a man who isn't even yours to keep.

My fingers traced the bite marks on my shoulder—dark purple blooms against flushed skin—and I chuckled bitterly. Three years ago, I could count my lovers on one hand. Now? I'd need both hands, both feet, and maybe borrow Oppa's fingers too—and he'd just smirk and ask if I wanted help counting, the bastard.

B-But... I was this close to loving him... Every second that I spent with this man alone was pulling me closer and closer to dangerous feelings... Feelings that I shouldn't, couldn't afford to have...

I thought, Why? Why does he have to be like this? Why is it when I'm with him, I'm reminded of the time I had with Jungkook? Oppa's touch lingers like Jungkook's did—both leaving fingerprints on my soul that won't fade. But where Jungkook was sunlight through stained glass, warm and fleeting, Oppa is a wildfire, burning so fiercely I forget the ashes left behind.

I could only sigh at the thought of spending a few more hours with, a few more hours where I don't even know if I'll be able to sleep properly, knowing he was right there outside, probably at my bed waiting for me to come over, or pondering his thoughts by the couch.

"Well, here goes nothing..." I said to myself before tying up the knot in my robe and stepping out of the bathroom.

As I had expected, the man was already laying in my bed, the very same one we shared along with Unnie and Jihyo when we all fucked and slept that night in September after my concert. I thought, Gosh! Has it really been 3 months since that night? Unnie's belly was already growing, and now, she's about to give birth in a few days!

He looked peaceful—too peaceful—his chest rising and falling steadily while his lips slightly parted, soft snores escaping every now and then. The dim glow from the bedside lamp caught the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his collarbone, proof of what we just did mere moments ago. 

I couldn't help but grin. Even in sleep, he looked like he could bench press me without breaking a sweat—his biceps relaxed but still defined, one arm draped over his stomach like he was guarding it even in unconsciousness.

"Oppa..." I whispered, crawling onto the mattress—the silk sheets cool against my bare thighs as I traced the fresh scratches on his chest, souvenirs from my nails.

He stirred immediately, his arm shifting to wrap around my waist with practiced ease, pulling me flush against him before he'd even opened his eyes. His skin was furnace-hot, still damp from the shower, and when he buried his nose in my hair with a sleepy grunt, I realized he was scent-marking me like some territorial beast.

"You smell like me," he murmured against my temple, fingers tracing idle patterns on my hip where his grip had left bruises earlier.

I laughed softly, pressing closer—his heartbeat steady beneath my palm, his exhales warm against my forehead.

"I'm proud of you, you know that?" I whispered, tracing the faded scar above his ribs—a souvenir from his last fight.

"Of what?" He chuckled, voice thick with sleep as his fingers trailed up my spine—soothing now, not demanding. I tilted my head to watch his lashes flutter open, dark eyes still hazy but focused on me with an intensity that made my stomach flip.

"On being a dad? You must have a lot on your mind right now, right?" I murmured, pressing closer—his heartbeat steady beneath my palm.

The man sighed—deep and heavy—the kind of sigh that carried the weight of a hundred unspoken thoughts. His fingers paused mid-stroke against my back, calloused fingertips brushing the dimples above my waistband.

"Yeah," he admitted, voice rough like gravel, eyes fixed on the ceiling fan spinning lazy circles above us.

I watched his throat work as he swallowed hard—the same throat that had growled filthy praise into my ear an hour ago now bobbing with hesitation. His fingers tightened against my hip, then relaxed, like he couldn't decide whether to pull me closer or push me away.

"It's not the same as Unnie's or Jihyo's... But in my own way... I love... You..." I whispered into the hollow of his throat, feeling his pulse stutter beneath my lips.

His grip tightened suddenly—not possessive, not desperate, just... holding. Like I might vanish if he let go. The silence stretched between us, thick with everything we couldn't say, until his thumb brushed my cheekbone and came away damp. I hadn’t realized I was crying.

"Me too, Chae... I'm glad that I met you..." He murmured, his voice breaking halfway through—his fingers tracing my jawline with a reverence that made my chest ache.

The confession lingered between us like smoke, curling into the spaces where our skin touched, undeniable yet fragile. His thumb caught a stray tear I hadn't realized escaped, smearing it across my cheekbone with a gentleness that contradicted the bruises blooming beneath my dress.

And before I knew it, my lips were on him again—but this time, it was slow, sweet, like honey dripping off a spoon. His mouth moved against mine with a tenderness that made my chest ache, our tongues brushing lazily, tasting the remnants of toothpaste and shared warmth. 

His hands cradled my face as if I were something precious, thumbs tracing the curve of my cheekbones while our breaths mingled in the space between us, shallow and warm.

Every press of his lips was a whisper, every sigh a confession, and for the first time that night, it wasn't about hunger—it was about memory, about imprinting this feeling into my skin so I wouldn't forget.

Notes: Believe it or not, I actually got plans for Eunsu’s arc in this book.

And trust me, I think a lot of you are gonna like it, especially if you’re someone that’s been following me for a long time…

Hehe... See ya...

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