j_iskoo

Liz × Bodyguard

tags: bodyguard x idol, size difference, long legs focus, face praise, carrying, kitchen table, light domme attempt, praise kink, high-pitched moans, slutty groans, soft Liz, dirty talk, oral, oppa, prolonged sex

word count: ~3,400

Liz was in one of her moods again.

She sat on the edge of the living room couch, still in the white blouse and short skirt from her last schedule, one leg crossed over the other. Her voice was soft, almost thoughtful, like she was sharing a secret with the empty air.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “If someone were to push me down right now, I probably can't even fight it.”

The words hung there, light and casual, the same tone she used when she talked about convenience store snacks or random dreams.

Her bodyguard stood a few steps away, silent as always. He didn’t answer. Instead he stepped closer, sat down beside her, and — as if it were the most natural thing in the world — hooked one of his heavier legs over both of hers, trapping them between his thighs.

Liz blinked.

“Oh,” she said slowly. “So we’re doing crime now.”

He didn’t move. His leg was solid, warm, and much bigger than both of hers put together. The casual restraint made her look smaller than usual. His eyes dropped almost automatically — down the full length of her trapped legs, past the hem of her skirt — and caught a small flash of white lace panties.

The shift in his breathing was quiet, but she felt it immediately.

Then she felt something else.

Liz’s gaze flicked down between them. A slow, deadpan smile curved her mouth.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Someone’s hard.”

He didn’t deny it. He just kept looking at her legs like he was still deciding something.

She leaned in a little, voice still light. “Is this the part where you cook me a traditional German dish, or are you just going to keep staring?”

That was the last joke she got out before he stood up in one smooth motion and lifted her with him. One arm under her ass, the other around her back. The size difference hit all at once — her long legs dangling, her body pulled flush against his chest — and a small, involuntary moan slipped out of her throat at the feeling of being carried so easily.

He walked her toward the kitchen without a word.

Halfway there he leaned in, mouth brushing against hers, one hand sliding under her skirt to touch the edge of her panties. Liz pulled back just enough to look at him, cheeks already turning pink.

“Oppa,” she whispered, not upset, just surprised. “You’re really serious?”

The moment his fingers pressed against the white lace, his cock twitched hard enough that she felt it poke firmly against her stomach. Thick, hot, impossible to ignore while he was still holding her up.

Liz’s eyes widened a fraction. Then that little smile came back.

“Put me down.”

He did.

She slid to her knees right there on the kitchen floor, looking up at him with that same soft, unreadable expression she always wore when she was about to do something chaotic. Her fingers worked his belt open with quiet efficiency. When she pulled him out, her plump lips parted on a small breath.

She dragged the head of his cock across her lower lip first, leaving a shiny trail, then looked up at him through her lashes.

“You’re bigger than you look in those slacks,” she murmured, almost thoughtfully, before taking him into her mouth.

Warm. Wet. Slow. Her plump lips stretched around him as she sank down, tongue pressing firmly against the underside. She kept her eyes up the whole time, watching his face while she worked him deeper, cheeks hollowing on every pull back. Spit started to gather at the corners of her lips and drip down her chin. She didn’t wipe it away. She just took him further, making soft, wet sounds every time she sank down again.

His hand found her hair, resting there without pushing, just holding.

“You look pretty like this,” he said, voice low and even. “Those eyes. That mouth. The way your lips stretch around me.”

Liz hummed around him, pleased, and took him even deeper until her nose almost touched his stomach. She held him there for a few seconds, throat fluttering, before pulling back with a thick string of spit still connecting her bottom lip to his cock. She stroked him slowly with her hand while she caught her breath, then sank right back down again, messier this time.

His thighs tensed under her palms.

“Jiwon… you’re going to make me finish if you keep sucking like that.”

She pulled off immediately, lips shiny and a little swollen, and gave him a look that was pure mischief.

“Not yet,” she said softly. “I’m not done with you.”

She stood up, still holding him loosely in her hand, and tilted her head.

“Carry me again.”

He didn’t hesitate. Both hands gripped her ass and lifted her clean off the floor. Her long legs wrapped around his waist automatically. She smiled down at him, arms around his neck, and leaned in close to his ear, voice sweet and teasing.

“You’re such a good boy for me, Mr. Bodyguard.”

That broke whatever was left of his restraint.

He turned, set her down on the edge of the kitchen table, pushed her skirt up around her waist, and yanked the white lace to the side. One strong hand hooked under her knee and pushed her leg up until it rested over his shoulder. The other leg followed. She was spread open for him completely, long legs framing his body, pretty face already flushed pink.

He lined up and pushed in.

The sound Liz made was high and broken.

“Ah—!”

He bottomed out in one smooth, deep thrust and stayed there for a second, breathing hard, staring at her face like he was memorizing it. Then he started moving — slow at first, dragging almost all the way out before sinking back in to the hilt.

“Pretty,” he muttered. “Your face gets so red when I’m inside you. And these legs—” He turned his head and pressed a brief kiss to the inside of her calf while he fucked her. “They look even longer like this. Soft. Already shaking.”

Liz tried to answer, but the next thrust punched another high moan out of her.

“Oppa—”

“Louder,” he said, voice still controlled, hips snapping a little harder. “I want to hear every sound you make.”

He kept the pace steady and deep, not rushed. Every thrust filled her completely, the wet sound of it growing louder in the quiet kitchen. Liz’s hands clutched at his shirt, then at his arms, her long legs trembling over his shoulders. Her moans started high and sweet, but the longer he fucked her the more they changed — getting lower, rougher, turning into open-mouthed groans that sounded nothing like her usual soft voice.

“Oppa… ah… it’s so deep—”

“I know.” He gripped her thighs tighter, keeping her legs locked in place over his shoulders. “Look at this face. All messy already. Mouth open like that. And these long legs keep trembling every time I push in.”

Liz’s head tipped back. A louder groan spilled out of her when he angled his hips and dragged against a spot that made her stomach clench. Her fingers dug into his arms.

“Oppa— fuck, right there— ah—”

He gave it to her again. And again. The same deep, relentless angle, watching her pretty face the whole time. Her moans kept breaking into those slutty, throaty groans, her voice getting higher and more desperate with every thrust. Her legs were shaking harder now, the muscles in her thighs jumping every time he bottomed out.

“You’re getting tighter,” he said, still in that same low, even voice. “Does it feel that good?”

“Yes— oppa, yes— don’t stop—”

He didn’t. He fucked her through the rising heat, watching the way her face twisted, the way her mouth fell open, the way her long legs kept trembling against his shoulders like they couldn’t hold still. The wet sounds got filthier. Her groans got louder, messier, almost continuous.

When her first orgasm finally hit, it wasn’t clean or quiet. Her whole body seized, a high broken cry tearing out of her throat, legs shaking violently over his shoulders. But he never stopped thrusting. He kept the same deep pace right through it, fucking her while she came, while her walls clenched and fluttered around him, while her voice cracked into helpless, slutty groans.

“Oppa— ah, ah, I’m cumming— fuck—”

“I can feel it.” His eyes stayed on her face. “Pretty face looks even better when you’re cumming on my cock. Legs won’t stop shaking.”

She was still trembling when the peak started to fade, but he didn’t give her time to recover. He adjusted his grip on her thighs and kept going, a little harder now, dragging another wave of oversensitive moans out of her. Liz’s groans turned higher again, almost whiny, her body twitching with every thrust.

“Oppa… it’s too much… ah—”

“You can take more.” He leaned in slightly, still fucking her deep. “Your legs are still up. Your face is still that pretty red color. You’re not done.”

She wasn’t. The oversensitivity melted into another slow, heavy build. Her moans dropped back into those low, slutty groans, her fingers weakly twisting in his shirt. Her long legs kept shaking, the tremor never fully stopping. Every time he pushed all the way in, a broken little sound punched out of her.

It took longer this time. He fucked her steadily, watching every change in her expression, every flutter of her lashes, every time her mouth fell open on another groan. When the second orgasm finally rolled through her, it was deeper and messier than the first. Her body arched, a long, throaty groan tearing out of her, legs trembling so hard they almost slipped off his shoulders. She came while he was still thrusting, her voice cracking between high moans and low, broken groans, completely lost in it.

This time when it faded, there was nothing left. Her body went completely limp against the table, chest rising and falling in shallow, shaky breaths, long legs hanging weakly, pretty face flushed and dazed.

Only then did he slow.

He carefully lowered her legs, pulled out, and set her down properly on the table. His cock was still hard, shiny and dripping with a thick mix of his cum and her slick. He stepped away just long enough to grab a clean towel from the counter, then came back and gently cleaned between her thighs while she lay there half-conscious, legs still weakly twitching.

After a minute, Liz’s eyes fluttered open. She looked down, saw him still hard and messy, and a weak, familiar little smile tugged at her swollen lips. She reached out with shaky fingers and lazily circled the tip of his cock, spreading the cum there in slow, teasing strokes.

“Damn,” she whispered, voice rough and quiet. “You’re still hard. Wanna go another round?”

His breath caught. He leaned in slightly, clearly ready—

Liz’s hand stopped him with a light press to his stomach.

“It was a joke,” she said softly, the smile still there but tired. She tugged him closer by the shirt until she could rest her head against his chest, eyes already closing again.

“…You’re so sweet,” she mumbled against him. “It was great. I’ll consider letting you do it again.”

Jungkook × Winter

tags: idol x idol, secret relationship, post signals, intense Jungkook, dirty talk, size difference, waist obsession, fan teasing, mutual pining, multiple rounds, creampie, aftercare contrast, slight breeding kink, ruined Winter

word count: ~7000

The story starts with a single frame on Jungkook’s private story at 1:07 a.m.

Just his hand on the steering wheel. Veins standing out under the dim dashboard light. The edge of a black hoodie sleeve. A low, familiar beat bleeding through the audio — the opening of his own track, the one people still joke about when they talk about stamina.

Minjeong is already in bed when it appears. She stares at it for four full seconds, thighs pressing together under the covers before she even registers the heat pooling low in her stomach. Her reply is almost nothing: a blurry shot of her bare shoulder and the edge of a hotel robe, posted to her closest-friends list only. No caption.

Twenty-three minutes later the lock of the safe-house door clicks behind her.

Jungkook is waiting in the dark living room, phone still in his hand, screen lit with her story. He doesn’t say hello. He just looks at her the way he always does when the signal has been answered — like he’s been holding his breath since the last time.

“You took longer than usual,” he says, voice low.

“Schedule ran over.” Her voice is steady, practiced. The public one. She sets her bag down carefully, still in the clothes she wore for the last interview of the day. “You posted first.”

“Had to.” He steps into her space immediately, crowding her back against the closed door without quite touching yet. “Been thinking about that waist all fucking day. Saw the fancam from yesterday. Comment section’s disgusting.”

She huffs a soft, almost-laugh. “Yours isn’t any better. Half the replies under your last post are girls offering to drop everything if you just look at them.”

“Jealous?”

“Observant.”

His hands finally land — both of them spanning her waist like he’s measuring it again, thumbs pressing in just under her ribs. The size difference is immediate and stupidly obvious. His palms nearly meet at her back. He squeezes once, deliberate, and watches her mouth part.

“They can look,” he murmurs, leaning down so the words hit her ear. “They can zoom in and scream and write essays about how small it is. But they don’t get to feel it go tight around them when I push in. That’s mine, Minjeong.”

The use of her real name hits harder than any insult. Her composure cracks on the exhale. She tilts her head just enough to give him her neck and he takes it, mouth open, teeth grazing. The teasing keeps going even while he’s already hard against her stomach.

“You like that they want me,” she whispers. “You like knowing you’re the only one who actually gets to ruin me.”

“Yeah.” Honest. Immediate. “Same way you like knowing every girl in those comments would kill to be under me right now while I’m about to fold you in half.”

She shivers. He feels it.

Clothes come off in pieces. His hoodie first — she pushes it up and he lets her, then yanks her blouse open without bothering with half the buttons. Bra next. Skirt shoved up around her waist so he can get his hands back on bare skin. He keeps talking the entire time, low and filthy and focused, but there’s something softer threaded underneath.

“Missed this,” he admits against her collarbone, voice rough. “Missed how you feel under my hands. Missed the way you look at me when no one else is allowed to see.” He bites gently at the junction of her neck and shoulder. “All those people thirsting over you and they don’t even know how sweet you get when I call you Minjeong.”

She makes a small, helpless sound.

He drops to his knees without warning. Hands still locked around her waist, he presses open-mouthed kisses down her stomach, then lower, then back up to the soft skin just above her hipbone. He bites there, hard enough to leave a mark, then soothes it with his tongue.

“On your knees for me first,” he says, standing again. His voice has gone darker. “Want your mouth before I ruin the rest of you.”

Minjeong sinks down without hesitation. The secretly slutty side is already bleeding through the elegant exterior. She looks up at him while she tugs his sweats down, eyes glassy, lips already parted. His cock is heavy and flushed when it springs free. She wraps one small hand around the base and takes him into her mouth in one slow, wet slide.

Jungkook’s head tips back with a low groan. One of his hands immediately finds her hair; the other stays curved around the side of her face, thumb stroking her cheek even while his hips twitch forward.

“Fuck— just like that. Look at you. All those fans thinking you’re untouchable and here you are, on your knees with my cock in your mouth.” His voice drops even lower. “So pretty when you’re like this, Minjeong. So fucking pretty.”

She hollows her cheeks and takes him deeper, eyes watering slightly when he hits the back of her throat. She doesn’t pull off. She stays there, breathing carefully through her nose, and lets him feel the tight, wet heat of her throat for a few long seconds before pulling back with a slick sound. Spit connects her lower lip to the head of his cock. She licks it away and goes right back down, slower this time, tongue working along the underside.

Jungkook watches her like he’s starving. Every time she takes him deep he curses under his breath. Every time she pulls off to breathe he praises her in that same mix of filthy and soft.

“That’s my girl. Taking me so well. Missed this mouth. Missed how you look when you’re trying so hard to swallow me.” His fingers tighten in her hair, guiding her without forcing. “They can write all the comments they want. None of them get to see you like this. None of them get to feel how warm and wet you are when you’re choking on me.”

She moans around him at the words. The vibration makes his hips jerk. He lets her work him for a few more minutes — long, wet slides, the occasional soft gag when she pushes herself further, spit running down her chin — before he gently pulls her off by the hair.

“Enough,” he says, voice strained. “Need to be inside you before I finish down your throat.”

He lifts her easily. One arm under her ass, the other still locked around her waist. Carries her to the low couch and sets her down, spreading her open with his knees. He doesn’t tease this time. He lines up and sinks in with one long, relentless thrust that punches a high, shocked moan out of her throat.

“Fuck— Jungkook—”

“There it is.” He’s already moving, deep and steady, watching her face. “High like that already. You always sound so fucking small when I’m inside you, Minjeong.”

She tries to clap a hand over her mouth. He pulls it away and pins both of her wrists above her head with one of his, the other hand returning to her waist so he can hold her still while he fucks into her. Every thrust is angled to drag against the spot that makes her voice climb. The moans turn sharper, higher, mixed with helpless little groans when he bottoms out and grinds.

“Tell me,” he demands, voice rough but threaded with something almost tender. “Tell me you think about this during schedules. Tell me you get wet reading the thirst comments about me and knowing none of them will ever feel how deep I sit in you.”

Minjeong’s eyes are glassy. Her legs are already shaking around his hips. “I— I do. I read them. I think about you fucking me instead. About how much bigger you are— ah— how you make me take it—”

“Good girl.” He rewards her with harder thrusts, the wet sound of it loud in the quiet apartment. “Keep talking. Tell me how many times you’ve touched yourself thinking about my hands on this waist.”

“Too many,” she gasps. “Every time there’s a new fancam. Every time they comment about how tiny it looks. I think about you holding it down and using me until I can’t walk straight—”

He curses and drives in deeper. The size difference is obscene like this — her smaller frame folded under him, his broader body covering her completely, one of his hands spanning nearly the entire width of her waist while the other keeps her wrists pinned. Every time he bottoms out her voice cracks into something high and desperate.

He shifts the angle slightly and she shatters.

Her orgasm hits hard and sudden. Her back arches, a high, trembling cry tearing out of her throat. Her legs start shaking violently around his hips. Jungkook doesn’t stop. He keeps fucking her through it, deep and relentless, watching every second of her coming undone.

“That’s it— take it. Keep coming for me, Minjeong. I’ve got you.” His voice is low and rough and somehow still soft underneath. “You’re doing so well. So fucking perfect like this.”

Her fingers scramble for his free hand. He lets go of her wrists just long enough to lace their fingers together, gripping tight while he continues to thrust into her trembling body. She turns her head and bites down on the side of his neck — hard enough to leave a mark — muffling another broken moan against his skin as the aftershocks keep rolling through her.

Jungkook groans at the sting of her teeth and fucks her even deeper, chasing his own release while she’s still shaking and clenching around him. He finishes with a low, guttural sound, buried to the hilt, pulsing deep inside her while their fingers stay locked and her teeth stay pressed against his neck.

For a long minute the only sound is their breathing and the faint music still playing from his phone somewhere in the room.

He doesn’t pull out immediately. He stays inside her, forehead pressed to hers, their fingers still tightly laced. One of his hands is still curved possessively around her waist.

“Still with me?” he asks, quieter now. Almost gentle.

Minjeong nods, dazed, legs still trembling. “Yeah. Just… don’t move yet.”

He doesn’t. He kisses her slowly — soft, open-mouthed, almost sweet — while his thumb strokes the back of her hand where their fingers are still locked. When he finally eases out, the mess of it follows, and he watches with dark eyes as it slips down between her thighs.

“Stay open for me,” he murmurs. “I want to see what I did to you.”

She does. Even while she’s still catching her breath she keeps her legs spread, cheeks pink, watching him watch her. The secretly slutty side is fully out now — no more elegant idol mask. Just Minjeong, fucked and leaking and already shifting her hips like she wants more.

He cleans her up with careful fingers and a warm cloth from the bathroom, but he never fully stops touching. Even while he’s wiping her thighs his other hand stays on her waist, squeezing periodically like he needs the reminder that she’s still here, still his for the night. He presses soft kisses to the bite mark she left on his neck, then to her forehead, her temple, the corner of her mouth.

The second round starts slower and turns filthier.

He sits back against the arm of the couch and pulls her into his lap so she’s straddling him. She sinks down onto his cock with a shaky moan, hands braced on his chest. He lets her set the pace for a while — slow rolls of her hips, the wet slide of her taking him again — while his hands roam, always returning to her waist.

“Look at you,” he says, voice gone darker again, but the softness is still there underneath. “Riding me like you were made for it. All those fans thinking you’re untouchable and here you are, stuffed full and dripping for me. My Minjeong.”

Her head falls forward. Her voice is already higher again. “Jungkook—”

“I know.” He grips her waist harder and starts lifting her, controlling the depth. “I know, baby. You feel so good. Always feel so fucking good around me.” He thrusts up to meet her. “They can write all the comments they want about your waist. None of them get to hold it like this. None of them get to feel how tight you get when you’re about to come again.”

Minjeong’s thighs start trembling almost immediately. Every time he pulls her down his cock hits something that punches another sharp, high moan out of her. She leans forward and bites his neck again — softer this time, more desperate — while her fingers scramble to lace with his once more.

He lets her. Their hands lock tightly together against his chest while he keeps fucking up into her, steady and deep, talking low against her ear the whole time.

“Missed you,” he admits, voice rough. “Missed this. Missed how you shake for me. Missed the way you bite when it gets too much.” He thrusts harder. “You’re mine, Minjeong. Every high little sound. Every time your legs give out. All of it.”

She comes again with a broken, high-pitched cry, body locking up around him, legs shaking so hard she can barely stay upright. Jungkook doesn’t stop. He keeps lifting her and dropping her onto his cock, fucking her through the orgasm while she trembles and bites down harder on his neck, their fingers still tightly laced.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against her hair, even as his hips keep moving. “I’ve got you. Take it. Come on my cock like a good girl.”

Only when the worst of the shaking has passed does he finally chase his own release. He finishes deep again, groaning against her shoulder, hips jerking while she stays collapsed against him, still trembling, still biting, still holding his hand like it’s the only solid thing in the room.

Afterward he doesn’t let her move for a long time.

He keeps her in his lap, still inside her, one hand stroking up and down her spine while the other stays possessively on her waist. Their fingers remain locked. Minjeong is shaking. Little aftershocks keep rippling through her. Her voice, when she finally finds it, is completely wrecked.

Jungkook is still steady. Breathing harder than usual, sweat at his temples, a darkening bite mark on his neck, but composed in that way that makes the contrast even sharper. He presses soft kisses to her shoulder, her jaw, the corner of her mouth, while she tries to remember how to form words.

She manages it eventually.

A weak, fucked-out little smile curves her lips even while her legs are still trembling around him. Her voice is barely above a whisper, rough and spent.

“Seven days a week… fucking show-off.”

Jungkook huffs a low laugh against her skin. He tightens his arm around her waist and pulls her closer, still not pulling out, their fingers still laced.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “And you’re still going to show up every time I post, Minjeong.”

She doesn’t deny it.

Wonyoung x Brother Y/N tags: sibling incest, mutual pining, voyeurism, slow burn first time, heavy foreplay, multiple rounds, breeding, dirty talk, mirror word count: ~2,000

Wonyoung had always kept her distance.

Not cold. Just precise. Elegant. The kind of younger sister who corrected your posture at the dinner table with a soft, almost bored voice and then disappeared into her room like the conversation had never happened. Even after she debuted, even after the entire country started calling her a once-in-a-generation visual, nothing changed at home. She still spoke to you like you were a mildly interesting roommate who happened to share the same blood.

The three days before your parents left for Jeju felt like slow torture.

Day one. She came out of the bathroom in a white towel that barely reached mid-thigh. Water still ran down the elegant line of her collarbone and disappeared between her soft, heavy tits. When she saw you in the hallway she only raised one perfect eyebrow.

“Staring is rude, oppa.”

Then she walked past you like you were furniture.

Day two. Breakfast. She sat across from you in one of your old university shirts. It kept slipping off her left shoulder. Every time she reached for the jam the fabric threatened to fall further, showing the upper curve of her breast. She never fixed it. She just looked at you over her glass of milk, completely deadpan.

“Is there something on my face?”

Day three. She asked you to zip the back of a pale lavender dress. You stood behind her in front of the mirror, fingers brushing the soft skin of her bare back. When the zipper was up she turned, close enough that you could smell her lotion, and said quietly,

“Thanks. You can go now.”

Then she shut the door in your face.

By the time your parents’ flight took off, the house felt too quiet.

It was past midnight when you woke up thirsty.

The living room was dark except for the soft blue glow of the television left on mute. You were halfway to the kitchen when you heard it.

A quiet, broken little sound.

You stopped.

Another one. Higher. Followed by a soft, shaky inhale.

The door to the guest bathroom was half-open. A thin strip of warm light spilled across the floor.

You stepped closer, careful not to make the floorboards creak, and looked through the gap.

Wonyoung was sitting on the closed toilet lid, legs spread, one hand buried between her thighs, the other gripping the edge of the sink. Her silk nightshirt was pushed up under her tits, the soft heavy weight of them spilling over the fabric. Her head was tipped back, lips parted, eyes half-lidded.

And she was moaning your name.

Not “oppa.” Your actual name. Soft. Desperate. Like it hurt to say.

“Y/N… ah— fuck, Y/N…”

You stayed completely still, just watching.

She didn’t notice you at first. Her fingers moved in slow, wet circles. Her hips rolled against her own hand. Her breathing got shorter, more broken. When she came it was quiet but deep — a long, trembling shudder, thighs clamping around her wrist, your name still falling from her lips like a prayer she was ashamed of.

Only when the aftershocks faded did her eyes open and catch your reflection in the mirror.

She froze.

For a long second she just stared at you through the gap in the door, chest still heaving, fingers still shiny. Then she slowly pulled her nightshirt down, stood up, and walked toward the door. She didn’t close it. She just stood there looking at you, face flushed, elegant composure cracked wide open.

You didn’t speak. You simply stepped inside, closed the door behind you, and pulled her into your arms.

She didn’t fight it.

She pressed her face into your chest and stayed there, breathing hard. After a long moment she whispered, voice small and raw,

“…How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough.”

Her fingers curled into your shirt. “I’ve been doing that for months. Every time Mom and Dad are asleep. Every time you’re in the next room. I kept telling myself it was just stress, just curiosity, just… anything else. But it’s not. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

You tilted her chin up gently.

“I love you,” you said quietly. “Not like a brother is supposed to. I’ve loved you for years.”

Something in her face broke open completely. The last of the bratty distance she’d worn like armor simply fell away. Her eyes went shiny. She nodded once, almost shy.

“I love you too. So much it scares me.”

You kissed her.

It started soft. Careful. Just the press of lips, the slow drag of breath. She made a tiny sound against your mouth and leaned in harder, arms sliding up around your neck. You kept it gentle for a long time — tasting her, learning the shape of her mouth, letting the heat build between your bodies without rushing it.

When your hands finally moved, they stayed over the silk of her nightshirt first. You cupped the heavy weight of her tits through the fabric, thumbs brushing the already-hard peaks of her nipples. She shivered and pressed closer, kissing you deeper. Only when she arched into your hands did you slide them under the hem, skin to skin.

Her tits were even softer than you’d imagined. Full, warm, spilling over your palms. You weighed them, squeezed gently, rolled her nipples between your fingers until her breath started hitching against your mouth. She never once told you to stop. She only held on tighter.

You lifted her onto the sink slowly. She spread her legs without being asked, nightshirt already rucked up around her waist. You stepped between her thighs and just looked at her for a moment — flushed face, kiss-swollen lips, the wet shine already visible between her legs.

“You’re so pretty like this,” you murmured, running both hands up her outer thighs. “All soft and open for me.”

She blushed deeper but didn’t look away. You kissed her again while your hands kept exploring — the soft insides of her thighs, the crease where they met her hips, the smooth skin just beside her pussy without touching it yet. Every time your fingers got close she twitched, but she stayed still and let you take your time.

When you finally brushed one fingertip along her slit she was already soaked. You stroked her slowly, spreading the slickness, circling her clit with the lightest pressure. She dropped her forehead to your shoulder and breathed hard, hips rolling in tiny, helpless movements.

“That’s it,” you said against her ear. “Just feel it. No need to rush.”

You kept her like that for a long time — slow circles, gentle pressure, two fingers eventually sliding into her while your thumb stayed on her clit. She was tight and hot and so wet the sound of your fingers moving inside her filled the quiet bathroom. You kissed her neck, her collarbone, the upper curves of her tits, never stopping the steady rhythm between her legs.

She came the first time with a broken little cry, thighs trembling around your hand, face buried against your throat. You worked her through it gently, then kept going, slower now, until the sensitivity faded and she started rocking against your fingers again.

Only when she was openly panting and pushing into your hand did you free your cock. You didn’t push in right away. You rubbed the head through her folds, up and down, coating yourself in her slick, tapping lightly against her clit until she was whimpering.

“Look in the mirror,” you told her.

She turned her head. The reflection showed everything — her spread legs, your cock sliding against her pussy, the way her soft tits rose and fell with every shaky breath.

“This is what you look like when you’re about to take your brother’s cock,” you said quietly. “So wet. So ready. I’ve wanted to fill this pretty cunt for years.”

She moaned at the words, eyes locked on the mirror.

You pushed in slow.

Inch by inch, giving her time to feel the stretch. She was tight enough that both of you were breathing hard by the time you were fully inside. You stayed still, forehead against hers, letting her adjust, while your hands went back to her tits — squeezing, stroking, pinching her nipples just enough to make her walls flutter around you.

“You feel perfect,” you whispered. “Like you were made to take me. I’m going to fuck this pussy until it’s shaped to my cock. Going to pump you so full of cum you’ll still feel me tomorrow.”

She nodded, eyes glassy, still watching in the mirror.

You started moving — deep, steady strokes, not fast. Every thrust made her heavy tits sway. Every time you bottomed out she made a soft, punched-out sound. You kept talking the whole time, low and filthy and loving all at once.

“That’s it, take it. Look how deep your brother is inside you. This is where I belong — buried in my little sister’s cunt, breeding her full.”

She came again with her eyes on the mirror, watching her own body shake as she clenched around you. You followed soon after, burying yourself to the hilt and flooding her with thick, heavy pulses while you kept her still so she could feel every spurt.

“Take every drop,” you murmured against her mouth. “It’s all for you.”

The next three days the house belonged to the two of you.

There was no more distance. Once she knew the feelings were mutual, Wonyoung became soft, open, almost shy in how much she wanted you.

Morning of the first day she woke you with slow kisses down your chest. She didn’t rush. She just explored you the same way you had explored her the night before — mouth and hands and quiet little sounds of discovery — until you finally pulled her up and into your lap. You took her slowly in front of the bedroom mirror, her back to your chest, both of you watching the way her soft tits bounced and your cock disappeared into her from below. You told her how perfect she looked getting bred, how you were going to keep her full until her stomach was round with it. She came twice just from the words and the view.

That night she sat on your cock on the living-room couch and rode you while staring at your reflection in the black TV screen, whispering back the filthy things you said to her.

“Yes… I’m your good girl… yes, I want you to cum inside again… please breed me…”

Day two you barely left the bed.

You had her on her back with her legs over your shoulders, watching in the full-length mirror beside the bed as you moved inside her with long, deep strokes. You told her exactly how many times you planned to fill her that day. She counted out loud every time you came inside her, voice soft and shaky and sweet.

By the third load she was smiling through the mess, reaching down to push your cum back into herself while you both watched in the mirror.

Day three the rain came back.

You fucked her slowly in the shower, chest to her back, one hand on her soft tit, the other rubbing her clit, whispering against her ear the whole time.

“Going to keep you pregnant. Going to make sure this pussy never forgets who it belongs to. My perfect little sister, always full of me.”

She came so hard her legs gave out. You held her up and kept thrusting until you emptied into her again, both of you watching the water wash some of the cum down her thighs while more stayed buried deep.

Afterward she stood on her toes to kiss you, soft and open and completely without armor.

“I don’t want to go back to how it was,” she whispered. “Not ever.”

You cupped her face, thumbs brushing the flush still high on her cheeks.

“We won’t.”

Outside the rain kept falling.

Asa x Y/N (Company Staff) tags: blackmail, slow corruption, power imbalance, initial resistance, heavy foreplay, creampie word count: ~4,500

Asa had always been careful.

Polite. A little mischievous. The kind of junior who smiled with her eyes when she thanked you for helping with her Weverse captions, who sometimes lingered a second too long after practice just to ask how your day was. Nothing inappropriate. Nothing that crossed the line.

You had been careful too.

For eight months you handled her personal SNS support, checked her drafts, made sure nothing risky ever went public. You were good at your job. You were good at not looking too long when she stretched in the practice room. You were good at pretending the quiet pull in your chest every time she said your name was just professionalism.

Then you found the account.

It was late. Routine device check. A secondary browser profile she must have forgotten to log out of on the company iPad. The username was random Japanese gibberish. The bio was empty. But the posts were not.

Soft, explicit photos. Short videos. Face never shown, but the room was unmistakably the dorm bedroom you’d helped her set up lighting for months ago. The silver heart necklace she wore in half her fancams. The small mole just under her left collarbone. The way her waist dipped into her hips. The way her thighs looked when she spread them for the camera.

You sat there for a long time in the dark office, heart beating too hard.

You took screenshots. You didn’t say anything for three days.

On the fourth night, after she finished the last schedule and the other members had already gone back to the dorm, you sent the message from your personal account.

Just one photo side-by-side: her private post next to a clear stage fancam where the same necklace caught the light.

No caption.

She read it in forty-three seconds.

She showed up at your studio apartment just after midnight.

Still in her black practice clothes — oversized hoodie, short leggings that clung to her thighs. Hair half-up, face bare. She didn’t look terrified. She looked like someone forcing herself to stay composed.

You opened the door and stepped aside. She walked in without a word, stopped in the middle of the small living room, and turned to face you.

“Delete it.”

Her voice was quiet, steady, almost polite.

“I can pay you. Or I can get you transferred to a better team. Or—” she swallowed. “I’ll do other favors. Just not… this. Please.”

You closed the door. Locked it. Walked past her to the kitchen counter where your laptop was already open, the screenshots waiting on the screen.

“Come here.”

She stayed where she was for a few seconds longer than necessary, then walked over. You turned the laptop toward her. Her own body stared back at her — legs spread, fingers between her thighs, the silver necklace resting between her bare tits.

“You posted twelve times in the last month,” you said calmly. “Three videos. You used the company iPad for two of them. If this gets out, it’s not just your career. It’s the whole group’s contracts. Sponsorships. Everything.”

Her throat moved. The composure cracked just a little at the edges, but she still held onto it.

“What do you want?”

“Tonight,” you answered. “You stay. You do what I say. And the account stays buried.”

Silence stretched. Her hands curled into fists at her sides.

“…Fine,” she said finally, voice tight. “But I’m not going to pretend I want this.”

You almost smiled.

“I didn’t ask you to pretend.”

You didn’t touch her right away.

You told her to sit on the edge of the bed. She did, back straight, eyes fixed somewhere past your shoulder. You asked her to take the hoodie off. She pulled it over her head in one sharp motion and dropped it on the floor, revealing a plain black sports bra. Her arms stayed crossed over her chest.

“The bra too.”

She looked at you for a long moment, jaw tight, then reached back and unclasped it. When the soft weight of her tits settled free she immediately covered them again with her arms.

You stepped closer and gently but firmly pulled her arms down to her sides.

“Don’t hide from me.”

She let you look, but her cheeks were already pink and her breathing had gone shallow. Her nipples were tight from the cool air and the tension. You still hadn’t touched her.

You sat beside her on the bed, close enough that your thighs touched. For a while you only talked — quietly, honestly. How long you’d noticed her. How careful you’d been not to cross any lines. How finding the account had felt like the last bit of restraint finally snapping. She listened in silence, shoulders still rigid, eyes on the floor.

When your hand finally settled on her bare waist she flinched hard.

“Don’t,” she said, voice low.

You didn’t move your hand away, but you didn’t go further either. You just kept it there, warm and still, thumb brushing slowly back and forth over her skin. After a full minute her breathing started to even out again. The flinch faded into something quieter.

Only then did you lean in and press a slow kiss to the side of her neck.

She went completely still.

You stayed there, mouth soft against her skin, waiting. When she didn’t pull away you kissed her again, a little lower, then along the curve of her shoulder. Your hand on her waist stayed gentle, stroking in slow arcs. After a while her head tilted just slightly, giving you more room without meaning to.

“You’re still shaking,” you murmured against her throat.

“Because this is messed up,” she whispered back. “You’re blackmailing me.”

“I know.”

You cupped one of her tits carefully, feeling the soft weight of it fill your palm. She inhaled sharply through her nose and her hand came up as if to push you away — then stopped halfway and just rested against your wrist. You didn’t squeeze hard. You stroked the underside with your thumb, brushed over the nipple until it hardened further under your touch. Her eyes had closed. Her lips were parted.

You spent a long time on her chest. Kissing down from her collarbone, taking one nipple into your mouth while your hand worked the other. She started making quiet, involuntary sounds — little hitches of breath, soft gasps when you sucked a little firmer. The hand on your wrist no longer felt like resistance. It just held on.

When you finally slid your hand down her stomach and under the waistband of her leggings, she tensed again.

“Wait—”

You stopped with your fingers just above her panties, waiting.

She breathed hard for a few seconds, then gave a tiny, reluctant nod.

You stroked her over the fabric first. She was already warm and damp. You kept the pressure light and steady, watching her face. Her eyebrows drew together like she was fighting the feeling. Her hips stayed still for a long time. Then, slowly, they began to shift in small, helpless movements against your hand.

Only when her breathing had turned uneven and her thighs had relaxed did you push the leggings and panties down. She lifted her hips to help, still not looking at you.

You laid her back on the bed and settled between her legs. You didn’t go straight for her pussy. You kissed the soft skin of her inner thighs, the crease of her hip, the lower curve of her stomach. You let her feel your breath against her until she was visibly trembling. When you finally licked a slow stripe up her slit she made a broken sound — half protest, half moan — and her hand flew to your hair.

She didn’t push you away.

You took your time.

Long, flat strokes of your tongue. Soft suction on her clit. Two fingers easing into her only when she was dripping and open. You curled them slowly, watching her face the whole time. The resistance was still there in the way she bit her lip, in the way her free hand gripped the sheets, but her body had already started giving in. Every time you found a spot that made her thighs twitch you stayed there, working it until her breathing turned into quiet, continuous sounds.

“You’re getting so wet for someone who doesn’t want this,” you said softly against her.

She turned her face into the pillow, but her hips rolled up to meet your mouth.

You brought her to the edge and kept her there, slowing down every time her thighs started to shake too hard. She made a frustrated, almost angry little noise the third time you did it. The sound was the most honest thing she’d given you all night.

“Please,” she finally whispered. The first time she asked for anything. The word came out like it cost her something.

You gave it to her.

You licked her through the orgasm, fingers steady inside her, until she was twitching and trying to close her legs around your head. You eased her through the aftershocks with softer touches, kissing her inner thigh while she caught her breath. When you looked up, the last of the stiff resistance had left her face. She just looked flushed and open and a little lost.

Only then did you undress and settle over her.

You rubbed the head of your cock through her folds for a long time, coating yourself, tapping against her clit, watching her. She was past the point of trying to look composed. Her eyes stayed on yours, dark and resigned and wanting all at once.

“You can still tell me to stop,” you said quietly. “I’ll delete everything and we can pretend this night never happened.”

She shook her head once.

“Don’t. Just… don’t stop now.”

You pushed in slow.

She was tight and hot and so wet there was almost no resistance, just a perfect, fluttering heat that made your arms shake. You gave her the full length in one long slide and then stayed still, forehead against hers, letting her feel it.

“Okay?” you asked.

She nodded, eyes closed, hands sliding up your back. The last of the act was gone. There was no more “just get it over with.” There was only the way she held on to you and the quiet, shaky breath she released against your mouth.

You fucked her slowly at first. Deep, steady strokes that let her feel every inch. You kept talking — not extreme, just honest and a little filthy.

“You feel even better than I imagined. Soft. Warm. Taking me so well.” “Look at me. I want to see your face while I’m inside you.” “I’ve wanted this since the first month I started working with you. Didn’t think I’d ever get to have it like this.”

Her legs wrapped around your waist. Her hands moved from your back to your hair. Every time you bottomed out she made a quiet, punched-out sound that went straight through you.

You kept the pace unhurried for a long time, grinding deep when you were fully inside, kissing her through it. When she started meeting your thrusts you went a little harder, a little deeper, watching the way her tits moved with every stroke.

She came a second time with your name on her lips — soft, almost surprised. The way her pussy clenched around you pulled you over the edge right after. You buried yourself as deep as you could and came hard, pulsing inside her in thick, steady waves while she held on and breathed through it.

You stayed inside her afterward, still half-hard, kissing her slowly while the mess of both of you leaked out around your cock.

She didn’t try to pull away.

Her fingers traced idle patterns on your shoulder. After a long quiet stretch she spoke, voice soft and a little rough.

“Are you still going to delete it?”

You lifted your head and looked at her.

“Do you want me to?”

She was quiet for a moment. Then she shook her head once, almost shy.

“Not yet.”

You kissed her again, deeper this time, and felt the last of the distance between you finally disappear.

Outside, the city kept moving.

Y/N x Chaewon tags: established relationship, shy awkward couple, first time, soft smut, romantic, cute girlfriend, fingering, oral, condom sex, aftercare word count: ~2,000

You and Chaewon weren’t the loud type.

No matching couple items, no dramatic hallway kisses, no posts about each other. People at school knew you were together—word got around when you started dating at the beginning of the year—but most days you still looked like two people who weren’t quite sure how to act around each other in public.

It worked anyway.

You waited for her after class more often than not. Sometimes you walked her to the bus stop. Sometimes you just stood near the gate until she appeared, backpack half-zipped, hair a little messy from the day. Your hands didn’t always find each other, but when they did her fingers were warm and a little unsteady, same as yours.

That afternoon the sky opened up without warning. You stood under the overhang by the old science building, collar already damp, watching the rain turn the courtyard into a shallow river. Chaewon came running with her umbrella only half open, shoes splashing, one hand trying to keep her hair out of her face.

She stopped in front of you, breathing hard, cheeks pink from the cold.

“You actually waited?”

“I said I would.”

She gave you that small, real smile she only used when no one else was looking. “You’re kind of dumb. You could’ve just gone home.”

“And leave my girlfriend in the rain? What would that do to our reputation as the most average couple in school?”

She rolled her eyes, but the tips of her ears turned red. “Average couple, my ass.”

You shared the umbrella on the way to her stop. The rain forced you closer than usual. Her shoulder kept brushing your arm. Neither of you said much until the bus shelter came into view.

Chaewon stopped under the edge of the roof and looked at the wet pavement for a second.

“Come over tomorrow?”

“Your mom—”

“She’s working late.” She glanced up, then away again. “Just… come. If you want.”

You said yes before you could overthink it.

The next day you stood in front of her door with your bag still on one shoulder. Chaewon opened it wearing an oversized grey hoodie and soft shorts, hair tied in a loose, messy knot. She looked smaller somehow, softer.

“Come in,” she said, tugging your sleeve.

The apartment was quiet except for the leftover drip of rain outside. She led you to her room, closed the door with her foot, and set two glasses of cold barley tea on the nightstand. You sat on the edge of her bed. She sat cross-legged facing you, knees almost touching yours.

The silence stretched until she smirked.

“You’re bad at this.”

“At what?”

“Being alone with your girlfriend.”

“Like you’re any better.”

That made her laugh—light and genuine. She leaned forward a little, knee brushing your thigh. “Maybe we both suck at it. But at least we suck together.”

You didn’t notice how close you’d gotten until her breath touched your lips. Neither of you moved for a second. Then she tilted her head and kissed you.

It was clumsy at first—noses bumping, teeth almost clicking—but the moment you kissed back she pressed closer, hand curling into the front of your shirt. You settled your hands on her waist. She made a small sound against your mouth and deepened the kiss, tongue careful at first, then bolder.

When she shifted fully into your lap the thin fabric of her shorts did nothing to hide how warm she already was. You felt yourself hardening under her and she must have felt it too, because she broke the kiss with a soft gasp.

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked, voice quiet.

You shook your head. “No. Don’t stop.”

Her hands went to your belt, fumbling. She laughed under her breath when the buckle fought her. “I’m really bad at this.”

“I noticed.”

You helped her. When the zipper came down her palm brushed over you through your underwear and you hissed. She stared for a second, lips parted, then slid her hand inside and wrapped her fingers around you for the first time. The touch was hesitant, exploring. Your hips jerked anyway.

“Does it feel good?” she asked, watching your face.

“Yeah. Too good.”

She stroked you slowly while leaning in to kiss you again—messier this time. Her thighs kept shifting restlessly against yours. Eventually she pulled back just enough to look at you, cheeks flushed.

“I want to… but I’m a little scared.”

You cupped her face. “We don’t have to do more than this.”

She searched your eyes for a long moment, then nodded once. “I want to. With you.”

She stood just long enough to push her shorts and panties down. When she climbed back into your lap she was bare from the waist down. You touched her carefully, fingers sliding through the slick heat between her legs. She gasped and hid her face against your neck.

“You’re really wet,” you murmured.

“Shut up… don’t say it out loud.”

You rubbed slow circles over her clit until her hips started moving on their own. When you finally eased one finger inside she made a soft, broken sound and clenched around you.

“You’re so tight.”

“Don’t—ah—don’t say things like that.”

You curled your finger the way you’d read about and she whimpered, clinging tighter. A second finger stretched her slowly. Her thighs trembled. You kissed the side of her neck and kept the rhythm steady until she came with a quiet, shaky cry, wetness spilling over your hand.

You held her through it, rubbing her back while her breathing evened out.

After a while she lifted her head, still dazed, and looked down at where your cock was still hard against your stomach, shiny with the slick she’d left on your fingers.

“You haven’t… finished.”

“It’s fine.”

She groaned like you’d assigned her extra homework. “At least you said please in your head.”

She shifted down, settled between your knees, and wrapped her hand around you again. This time she leaned in and pressed open-mouthed kisses across your chest, tongue flicking over one nipple while her hand worked you. You dropped your head back with a low sound.

“Chaewon—”

She smiled against your skin. “You like that?”

“Yeah.”

She kept going until your hips were twitching and you had to warn her. She only stroked faster, eyes bright, until you came across your own stomach with a rough groan. She watched the whole time, lips parted, then laughed softly under her breath.

“You’re kind of a pervert.”

“You started it.”

She cleaned her hands with tissues, then rummaged in a drawer and came back holding a small square packet. Her cheeks were still pink when she held it up.

“Do you… want to keep going?”

You nodded.

She helped you out of the rest of your clothes. When you reached for her hoodie she lifted her arms so you could pull it off. Underneath she wore a soft bralette. She turned around without being asked so you could unclasp it. Your fingers fumbled. She laughed quietly over her shoulder.

“You’re so bad at this.”

“I’m learning.”

The clasp finally gave. She let the straps fall and turned back around. For a second you just looked at her. She tied her hair up higher, then glanced down at where you were already half-hard again.

“Still not done, huh?”

She sank to her knees, took you into her mouth without much warning, and bobbed her head carefully. It was clumsy—teeth almost scraping once, rhythm uneven—but the wet heat of her mouth and the soft sounds she made were enough. You kept your hands gentle in her hair. When you were fully hard again she pulled off, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and rolled the condom on with slightly shaky fingers.

She climbed over you, knees on either side of your hips, and looked down between your bodies like she still couldn’t quite believe it.

“Go slow,” you said.

She nodded, lined you up, and started to sink down. The first stretch made both of you gasp. She stopped halfway, forehead against yours, breathing hard.

“It’s… a lot.”

“You’re doing fine. Just breathe.”

She took you deeper in small, careful movements until she was fully seated. For a long moment she just sat there, trembling, face buried in your neck.

“I can feel everything,” she whispered.

You stroked her back and waited. Eventually she rolled her hips in a tiny circle, testing. The friction pulled a low sound out of both of you. She lifted up a little and sank back down, then did it again, finding a slow rhythm. You held her hips and let her set the pace, only thrusting up to meet her when she started asking for more.

“Please,” she breathed against your mouth. “More.”

You sat up so you could hold her closer and gave her what she asked for—deeper, steadier strokes that made her moan into your shoulder. When her rhythm faltered and her walls started fluttering you kept going until she came again, clinging to you, voice cracking on your name.

You held her through it, still buried inside her, kissing her temple and the corner of her mouth until the aftershocks faded.

When she finally lifted her head her eyes were soft and a little glassy.

“You didn’t finish.”

“I can just—”

She shook her head, laid back, and pulled you down with her. “I want you to.”

You braced yourself over her, laced your fingers with hers against the pillow, and moved again—slower this time, deeper, watching her face the whole way. She kept her legs wrapped around you and met every thrust. When you got close she squeezed your hands and whispered, “It’s okay. Let go.”

You pulled out at the last second, stripped the condom off, and came across her lower stomach and the soft skin above her pussy with a low, broken sound. She watched, cheeks burning, then reached down and touched the mess with two fingers like she was curious.

“You’re really dirty,” she murmured, but she was smiling.

You collapsed beside her. She cleaned up with more tissues, threw one at your chest, and let you pull her back against you. For a while the only sounds were rain still dripping outside and the two of you breathing.

Chaewon traced idle patterns on your chest with one fingertip.

“You’re warm,” she said quietly.

“You too.”

Later, when she finally got up to put clothes back on, she glanced at you while tying her hair again.

“Don’t look at me like that at school tomorrow.”

“Like what?”

“Like you know what I look like under my uniform.” She tried to sound stern. It didn’t work. “Everyone already thinks we’re boring. If you look at me like that they’ll figure it out.”

You grinned from her bed. “Maybe I want them to.”

She laughed—soft and a little shy—and shoved your shoulder on the way to the door.

The next day at school nothing obvious changed. You still weren’t the couple people stared at. You still got a little awkward when your hands brushed in the hallway. But when your eyes met across the courtyard there was something new underneath it.

Something quiet.

Y/N x Karina (aespa) tags: slow burn, mutual pining, childhood friends to coworkers, jealous/possessive female lead, angry confession, first time, oral, creampie, breeding kink, rough sex, morning after word count: ~2,100

“Karina. Karina. Karina!”

She finally blinked out of her daze and looked at Giselle.

“You’ve been spacing out all day. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing, Unnie.”

“Really? Because ever since the new interns started, your eyes keep drifting in one direction.”

Karina poked at her salad. “Just stressed about the deadline.”

Giselle raised an eyebrow. “You only get this distracted when a new girl starts talking to Y/N.”

Karina’s chopsticks froze.

Giselle smirked. “We’ll talk about it tonight over drinks. Don’t even try to dodge.”

A few hours later, two soju bottles in, Karina finally cracked.

“Fine. Yes. I’ve been watching him. And yes, I’ve been making sure the new hires don’t get too comfortable.”

Giselle just waited.

“He’s still the same soft, nerdy guy from middle school, Unnie. He can handle the guys who try to undercut him at work, but girls our age? He’s too nice. They bat their lashes, touch his arm, lean over his desk with their shirts half-open, and suddenly he’s helping them with everything. Remember Sullyoon? One touch and he was practically her personal assistant. And Julie? The skirts she wears should be illegal.”

Giselle started laughing.

“Don’t laugh. You’re almost as bad. You’re always at his desk.”

“I’m his sunbae, same as I’m yours. And I’ve known both of you since you were fourteen.” Giselle leaned in. “You’ve been in love with him since 8th grade. You went through middle school, high school, college, and now the same company… and you still haven’t said anything.”

“He’s supposed to confess first. He’s the guy.”

“You’ve liked him for over ten years. He’s only ever dated one girl for three months, and somehow every other girl who showed interest magically lost interest. Almost like someone made sure they knew he was taken.”

Karina crossed her arms. “…They needed to know.”

Giselle sighed. “You two are the most infuriating, delusional, cutest disaster I’ve ever seen. I still regret telling you he had a crush on you since 7th grade.”

Karina’s face lit up at the word “couple.”

Giselle just shook her head. “We’re leaving. Long day tomorrow.”

The next day at lunch, Giselle found Karina stabbing her salad like it had personally offended her.

“I don’t think the lettuce deserved that.”

“It’s better than stabbing Sian. ‘Y/N, can you help me print this?’ ‘Y/N, you’re so good at Excel.’ ‘Y/N, you’re such a kind sunbae.’ She’s a walking pick-me. I had to sit there finishing our actual project while she basically offered herself on a platter.”

Giselle sighed. “You’re overreacting.”

“I’m not. You’ll see at the team dinner tonight. If she gets any closer, I’m handling it myself.”

Giselle secretly hoped Sian would push it. Ten years of this was exhausting.

Team dinner. Drinks flowing. The younger employees were already loud.

Sian had latched onto Y/N the second they left the office and hadn’t let go. She clung to his arm, laughed too loudly at everything he said, and kept finding excuses to lean against him.

Karina’s eye was twitching so hard Giselle was worried it might permanently stick.

Eventually Giselle intervened, dragging Sian away with a bright “Come talk with me and Winter, we want to know more about you!” Sian pecked Y/N on the cheek before leaving.

Y/N finally exhaled in relief… until he felt the weight of a very familiar stare.

Karina was looking at him like she was deciding the best way to bury a body.

She marched straight over, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and hauled him into the hallway, then into the supply closet, slamming the door behind them.

“Karina—we’re not supposed to be in here.”

“I don’t care. What the fuck is going on with you and little miss princess Sian?”

“Nothing. She’s just new.”

“Then why has she been glued to you all night, and why are you doing half her work?”

“She asked for help once and now I’m her default person. That’s it.”

“Are you fucking her already? God, you fall for every girl who flutters her lashes at you. You’re such a spineless—” She cut herself off, breathing hard. “I can’t believe I’ve been in love with you all these years.”

Y/N froze.

“…You’re in love with me?”

Karina stared at him like he was the dumbest person alive. “Is that seriously all you heard?”

“You’re in love with me?”

“I was. I thought you were cute the day I gave you the school tour in 7th grade. That turned into actual love. But now it’s gone because you can’t keep your dick in your pants and you’re a pathetic simp.”

Y/N still wasn’t really listening. He was just staring at her—flushed, angry, beautiful, and finally saying the words he’d wanted to hear for a decade.

Something reckless and soju-fueled took over. He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek. Karina’s rant died instantly. His other hand found her waist and pulled her in. He kissed her.

For half a second she was frozen. Then she kissed back like she’d been starving.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Y/N kept his hands on her.

“I love you.”

Karina’s face went red. She tried to pull away. He didn’t let her.

“I love you, Karina.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then muttered, “You’re an asshole,” and kissed him again, harder.

She grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the closet, past the entire team (Giselle gave a very obvious thumbs-up), and out of the restaurant. She didn’t speak the whole walk to her apartment building, just kept muttering under her breath while practically towing him along.

The second the elevator doors closed, she shoved him against the wall and climbed him, kissing like she was trying to devour him. She moved his hands from her waist to her ass and squeezed so he’d get the message. By the time the elevator opened she was flushed and breathing hard.

She punched in her door code with his hands still on her hips, gave him one quick peck, and pulled him inside.

In the living room she turned around, suddenly looking a little scared under the lust. Y/N stepped in, cupped her face again, and kissed her slower this time—reassuring. When he pulled back, the fear was gone. Only heat remained.

Karina grabbed his shirt and dragged him into the bedroom, shoving him onto the bed. She climbed on top and straddled him, grinding down against the growing bulge in his pants until he groaned.

He flipped them so she was on her back. For a second he just looked at her—black skirt that barely covered anything when she was lying down, tight white button-up, black tie loosened. She thrust up against him impatiently.

“Y/N, hurry up.”

He stripped himself first, then started on her clothes slowly, dragging the skirt down inch by inch just to watch her get annoyed.

“Just take it off.”

“Language. I don’t want to fuck a foul-mouthed brat.”

“If you don’t hurry I’ll tie you down and ride you until you can’t get hard again.”

“That’s not the threat you think it is.”

Karina’s eyes flashed. “The faster you get me naked, the faster you get to be inside me. The faster you get to see my tits. Don’t pretend you haven’t been staring at them for years. And maybe—if you’re good—I’ll even let you fuck my ass tonight.”

That did it. Clothes came off fast. Bra last. The second her chest was bare he was on her, mouth on one nipple, hand on the other, sucking and groping like he’d been waiting a decade (he had). She finally had to physically push his head down.

He licked a slow path over her stomach, kissed the insides of her thighs, then finally put his mouth on her. She was already soaked. He took his time, long slow strokes of his tongue, until her hips were twitching and she was panting his name.

“Y/N… please…”

“Please what?”

“Make me come. Please.”

He sealed his mouth over her clit and slid one finger into her ass at the same time. Karina came hard, thighs clamping around his head, a rush of wetness coating his chin. He licked her through it, then crawled up and kissed her so she could taste herself.

She slapped his shoulder weakly. “I didn’t say you could put a finger there.”

“You came harder when I did.”

“…Whatever. Switch. My turn.”

He rolled onto his back. Karina yanked his underwear down, gave the underside of his cock one long, slow lick, then looked up at him with pure mischief.

“Karina—”

“Say it properly.”

“Please. Please suck me.”

She took him into her mouth in one smooth motion, all the way down, and started bobbing with zero mercy. Spit ran down her chin. When he warned her he was close she only went harder, swallowing every pulse when he came down her throat. She pulled off, opened her mouth to show it was empty, then climbed up and kissed him again.

“Don’t even think about falling asleep. I’ve waited too long for this.”

He flipped her onto her back, lined himself up, and paused.

Karina leaned up to his ear.

“You’re going to be my first. The only person who gets to fuck me. Think about how tight I’m going to be. Think about filling me up night after night until I’m leaking. Breeding me until all I can think about is your cock. And after that… you get my ass too. Don’t you want to claim every part of me?”

He pushed in slowly. She was incredibly tight. He gave her time to adjust with every inch until he was fully inside. Karina locked her legs around him.

“Fuck me. Give it to me. Breed me.”

He started thrusting—deep, hard, relentless. The sound of skin on skin filled the room. Karina moaned into his mouth, nails digging into his back. When he got close she only tightened her legs and whispered, “Don’t you dare pull out. Fill me. Mark me.”

He came hard, buried as deep as he could go, pulsing inside her. The feeling of being filled tipped her over again. They stayed locked together, breathing hard, watching the slow mix of their releases start to leak out around his cock.

Y/N gave her one last soft kiss, then rolled them so she was on top, still connected, and passed out with her weight on his chest.

Morning light.

Y/N woke up still inside her. He tried to ease out carefully. Karina’s legs immediately locked around his waist again.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I was still… inside. I thought—”

“I begged you to breed me. I locked my legs so you couldn’t pull out. I fell asleep with you buried in me on purpose.” She ground down, and he hardened instantly inside her. “Since you’re apparently terrible at reading obvious signals: I want your cock inside me as often as possible from now on. Clear enough?”

He kissed her instead of answering, then started moving—slow at first, then harder when she bit his lip and told him to stop being gentle.

Y/N (Tutor) x Iroha tags: slow burn, mutual pining, teasing, under-desk blowjob, almost caught, fitting room sex, creampie, size difference, soft dominance, shy/bold switches, breeding undertones word count: ~3,650

It had been four months of tutoring by the time the tension between them stopped feeling manageable.

Y/N had grown used to the quiet rhythm of their sessions. Tuesday and Thursday evenings, sometimes Saturday afternoons if an exam was coming. Iroha would open the door in whatever she’d been wearing around the house—soft sweaters, short skirts, occasionally one of those thin tanks that clung when she moved—and settle across from him at the dining table with her books already stacked. She was 5’2, small and delicate, with a quiet confidence she kept trying to wear like armor. It never quite fit. One moment she would meet his eyes without flinching and tell him exactly what she wanted. The next she would glance away, cheeks pink, voice quieter, like the boldness had cost her something.

Y/N saw through it every time.

He had started noticing the small things early.

There was the afternoon she forgot her charger and sat on the floor by the outlet, legs folded under her. He stretched after a long stretch of grading and his shirt rode up. Her eyes stayed on the strip of stomach for a second too long. When he looked over she had already returned to her phone, but the tips of her ears were pink and she kept shifting her weight like she couldn’t get comfortable.

There was the night he stayed late because her essay was due the next morning. Rain against the windows. Desk lamp the only light. She kept making small mistakes on purpose. When he finally closed the laptop she didn’t move. Just sat there looking at him with something unreadable in her eyes.

“You’re different when you explain things,” she said softly. “Patient. Most people aren’t.”

He shrugged it off. She didn’t.

After that the ordinary started to bend.

She began dressing differently for sessions. Soft sweaters that slipped off one shoulder. Short skirts that rode up when she crossed her legs. Once she “accidentally” dropped her pen and bent to pick it up in a way that made the skirt hitch high on her thighs. She looked back at him over her shoulder, trying for calm—then the shy flicker returned and she bit her lip before looking away.

“Sorry,” she murmured. She didn’t sound entirely sorry.

Y/N told himself it was nothing. He was the tutor. She was the student. That was the line.

Iroha had already decided the line was optional. She just wasn’t very good at crossing it alone.

The night it first cracked, her parents were supposed to be out until late. The apartment was quiet. They were working through a practice exam at the dining table. Iroha had been restless from the start—fidgeting, answering too quickly, watching him more than the paper. Halfway through she set her pencil down.

“Y/N.”

He looked up.

She stood, walked around the table, and stopped beside his chair. For a moment she just looked at him, trying to hold the confidence she had practiced. Then she sank to her knees, small hands resting on his thighs.

“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” she said, voice low but not entirely steady. “Every time you lean over me. Every time you stay late. I keep imagining what it would feel like to get under this table and make you forget the lesson.” A soft, almost shy pause. “If that’s… okay.”

His pulse jumped. “Your parents—”

“Won’t be back for two hours.” She pushed his thighs apart, but her cheeks were already pink and her fingers trembled once. “I’ve wanted to do this since the night you stayed in the rain. You were so focused on that essay. I kept wondering what it would take to break that focus.”

She didn’t wait for more permission. Her fingers worked his belt open, unzipped him, and freed his cock. He was already half-hard from the way she’d been looking at him all evening. She made a soft, satisfied sound when she saw him fully—then the shy flicker returned and she glanced up at him through her lashes like she still needed reassurance.

“There you are,” she whispered.

Then she took him into her mouth.

It was slow at first—deliberate, careful, the way someone tries to be in control when they’re actually nervous. She licked up the underside, then closed her lips around the head and sank down, taking as much as she could. Her small hand wrapped around the base, stroking what her mouth couldn’t reach. Y/N’s head tipped back. One hand settled in her hair. She hummed around him, the vibration shooting straight up his spine.

She worked him with quiet focus, cheeks hollowing, tongue pressing against the underside every time she pulled back. The wet sounds filled the quiet apartment. His hips twitched. She pressed a hand flat against his stomach, trying to hold him still, but the gesture was softer than pure dominance—more like she was grounding herself as much as him.

Then the front door clicked.

Both of them froze.

Footsteps in the hallway. Her mother’s voice, distant: “I forgot my charger, I’ll only be a minute—”

Iroha didn’t pull off. She stayed under the table, mouth still around him, eyes locked on his. One small hand squeezed his thigh in silent warning, but her own breathing had gone shallow with nerves. Y/N forced his face neutral as her mother walked into the living room, grabbed something from the side table, and glanced their way.

“Still studying hard?”

“Yeah,” he managed, voice rougher than he wanted. “Almost done.”

Iroha chose that moment to sink down deeper, tongue pressing hard against him—whether from boldness or pure adrenaline he couldn’t tell. Y/N’s fingers clenched on the edge of the desk. His mother didn’t notice. She waved, said something about traffic, and left. The door closed. The lock clicked.

The second they were alone again Iroha pulled off with a wet sound, lips shiny, breathing faster. The confidence she had been trying to wear had cracked. She looked almost shy now, cheeks flushed, eyes a little wide.

“That was close,” she whispered. “I… liked it. But my heart’s still racing.”

She stood, climbed into his lap, and kissed him—slower this time, almost searching. Her skirt hiked up around her hips. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. When she reached between them and guided his cock against her she was already slick, but her voice came out softer, the attempt at control thinning.

“I’ve been wet since you walked in tonight. Every time you corrected me I kept thinking about this. Is that… weird?”

“No,” he said, and meant it.

She sank down onto him in one smooth motion. The tight, wet heat of her made his breath catch. She was so small around him, petite body taking him deep. She rested her forehead against his for a moment, adjusting, then started to move—slow rolls of her hips at first, trying to set the rhythm. Every so often she would glance at his face like she needed to see that he was still with her.

“You feel better than I imagined,” she murmured. “And I imagined this a lot.”

Y/N’s hands settled on her waist, then lower, gripping her ass as she rode him. The chair creaked. She leaned back slightly, bracing her hands on his knees, giving him a clear view of where they were joined. Every time she lifted and sank back down she took him all the way, soft sounds slipping out of her that she didn’t try to hide. When she got close her rhythm faltered and the shy, submissive edge returned—she buried her face against his neck and came with a quiet, broken sound, body pulsing around him in waves.

He held still through it. When she finally lifted her head her eyes were dark and a little dazed.

“Your turn,” she said, softer now, the attempt at dominance almost gone. “Please.”

She started moving again—faster, purposeful, using her body to pull him over the edge. He lasted maybe another minute before he buried himself deep and came hard inside her. She kept him there, rolling her hips through every pulse until he was spent.

They stayed like that afterward, breathing hard. Iroha brushed her fingers through his hair, almost gentle.

“Next time,” she said quietly, “we lock the door.”

Two weeks later her parents called.

Her mother sounded distracted and slightly guilty.

“We’re slammed with work this weekend and Iroha needs new clothes for the semester. Would you be willing to take her? We’ll pay extra, of course—your usual rate plus whatever the time is worth. She’s particular and we trust you more than a shopping assistant.”

Y/N agreed before he could talk himself out of it.

Iroha answered the door the next afternoon in a fitted black top and a short denim skirt. At 5’2 she looked even smaller standing in the doorway. She looked him over once, slow, and the corner of her mouth curved—then the shy flicker appeared and she glanced away for a second before meeting his eyes again.

“They told you they’re paying extra,” she said. Not quite a question.

“They did.”

“Good.” She stepped past him into the hallway, close enough that her shoulder brushed his chest. “I plan to take my time. If that’s okay.”

The department store was busy but not packed. Iroha moved through the racks with the same quiet confidence she kept trying to wear, but every so often she would hold something up and look at him with that soft, almost uncertain expression, waiting for his opinion like it actually mattered to her. She picked soft sweaters, cropped tops, skirts that would sit high on her thighs, a couple of dresses that looked deceptively simple until she held them against her small frame.

When the pile became too large she nodded toward the fitting rooms.

“Come with me.”

“I can wait outside.”

She caught his wrist, small fingers firm but not forceful. “I didn’t ask if you could wait.” A tiny pause. The attempt at control softened. “I want you to help. Please?”

The fitting room corridor was quiet. Most of the rooms were empty. Iroha chose the last one at the end, larger than the others, with a full-length mirror and a narrow bench. She pulled him inside and locked the door without looking at him.

For a moment they simply stood there in the small space. The air felt thicker. Iroha set the clothes on the bench, then turned to face him. Her expression had softened into something more complicated than teasing—confidence and nerves tangled together again.

“You’ve been looking at me differently for weeks,” she said. “I notice. I always notice.”

Y/N’s mouth was dry. “Iroha—”

“I started wanting you the night you stayed late in the rain.” She stepped closer until the toes of her shoes almost touched his. “You were so focused on that essay. Patient. Careful with every correction. I kept thinking about what it would take to make you look at me the way you looked at the page.” Another step. Her chest nearly brushed his. “Then I started thinking about other things. Your hands. Your mouth. How quiet this room would feel if I… if I asked you to stay.”

She reached up and began unbuttoning her own top. Slow. Deliberate. But her fingers trembled once, just slightly, and she glanced at him like she still needed to see that he wasn’t going to stop her. When the fabric parted she shrugged it off and let it fall. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her small breasts were soft, nipples already tight in the cool air of the fitting room. She watched his face the entire time, cheeks pink.

“Help me try these on,” she said quietly. “That’s what they’re paying you for, right?”

He should have opened the door. He should have stepped outside and waited like a professional.

Instead he took the first sweater from the pile. Soft gray, thin. Iroha raised her arms and let him slide it over her head. His fingers brushed the sides of her breasts as the fabric settled. She made a small sound—barely there—and leaned into the touch for half a second before pulling back to look in the mirror. The shy edge returned.

“Too plain,” she decided, voice softer. She pulled the sweater off herself this time, slower, and handed him a cropped black top next.

Y/N’s hands were less steady. The top was tight. He had to tug it down over her ribs, palms sliding along her sides. When it was on she turned in front of the mirror, examining the way it sat, then looked at him over her shoulder. The confidence flickered back, thinner than before.

“You can touch if you want. You’ve already seen everything.” A tiny pause. “I mean… if you want to.”

He rested his hands on her waist. She was warm through the thin fabric. She pressed back against him just enough that he felt the curve of her ass against the front of his jeans. He was already hard. She felt it. She rolled her hips once, deliberate, then bit her lip and glanced away like the boldness had surprised even her.

“There,” she murmured. “That’s the face I’ve been waiting for.”

They continued like that. A skirt that required him to kneel and help her step into it, his face level with the soft skin of her thighs. A dress that zipped up the back, forcing him to stand close while he drew the zipper from the base of her spine to her nape, knuckles dragging along her bare skin. Each time the contact lasted longer. Each time her breathing changed a little more. Each time Y/N’s restraint frayed further—and each time Iroha’s mix of quiet boldness and soft submission pulled him deeper.

By the fourth outfit his hands were openly on her. Sliding under the hem of a skirt to adjust it and staying to stroke the bare skin of her hip. Smoothing a sweater down and letting his palms cup the undersides of her breasts through the fabric. Iroha allowed all of it. Encouraged it. When he hesitated she would catch his wrist and put his hand back where she wanted it—then look up at him with that half-shy, half-certain expression that made his chest tight. The attempt at control was still there, but Y/N could see how easily it melted the moment he took over.

“They’re paying you extra,” she said at one point, voice low and almost amused, though her cheeks were still pink. “Might as well earn it.”

Y/N let out a rough breath against the side of her neck. The shyness he’d carried for months was thinning. He saw straight through the little performance she was putting on.

“Is that what this is? Earning the extra?” He turned her gently to face him. “Or is this you trying to be in charge because you’re too shy to just ask me to fuck you?”

Iroha’s breath caught. The confident mask slipped. Her eyes went wide for a second, then soft.

“…Both,” she admitted, voice small.

He kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It was claiming—slow and deep and certain—and this time he set the pace. Iroha made a pleased, almost relieved sound into his mouth and let him push her backward until her shoulders hit the mirror. The cool glass against her back made her shiver. Y/N kept kissing her while he worked his own belt open, unzipped himself, and freed his cock. She wrapped her small fingers around him without being told, stroking once, twice, watching his face the entire time. The boldness was still there, but it was softer now, waiting for him to take it.

“I’ve thought about this,” she said against his mouth. “In my room after sessions. In the shower. Sometimes during the sessions themselves when you lean over me.” She gave him another slow stroke. “I get so wet it’s distracting. Is that okay to say?”

“Yeah,” he managed. “It’s more than okay.”

She sank to her knees like she had practiced it, but the look she gave him from the floor was pure submission wrapped in a thin layer of attempted control.

“Can I…?”

“Go ahead.”

She took him into her mouth. Wet heat closed around the head of his cock and slid lower. Y/N’s head tipped back against the mirror. One hand found her hair. She hummed around him and the vibration shot straight up his spine. She worked him with the same quiet focus she brought to everything: controlled at first, deliberate, taking him deeper each time until her lips met her fist at the base. Spit slicked her chin. Soft wet sounds filled the small space.

Someone walked past outside. Voices, the rattle of hangers. Iroha didn’t stop, but her rhythm faltered for a second and she glanced toward the door, nerves visible. She only slowed, tongue pressing hard against the underside of him, eyes locked on his as footsteps faded again. When the corridor was quiet she pulled off with a soft pop and looked up, cheeks flushed, the last of her attempted dominance cracked open into something softer.

“Skirt off,” she whispered. “Please.”

Y/N pushed it down her hips. She stepped out of it and the simple black underwear beneath. Completely bare now except for the cropped top that still covered her small breasts. She turned, braced her hands on the mirror, and looked at him over her shoulder. The mix was perfect—quiet certainty and that cute, almost shy edge, the submission she couldn’t hide anymore.

“Fuck me.”

He stepped in behind her. The head of his cock dragged through the slick heat between her thighs. She was soaked. He pushed in slowly, watching the way her small body took him, the way her mouth fell open against the glass. She was so tight—petite 5’2 frame clenching around every inch until he was buried to the hilt. They both exhaled hard.

“Move,” she whispered. Then, softer, the real her showing: “Please.”

He did.

Long strokes at first, hands gripping her hips, watching himself disappear inside her in the mirror. Iroha pushed back to meet every thrust, quiet sounds slipping out of her that she didn’t bother to muffle. When he angled sharper and drove deeper she moaned louder, forehead dropping against the glass. The boldness returned in waves—she would push back harder, try to demand more—then the submissive edge would surface again when the pleasure got too intense and she would bury her face against her arm like she couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

“Harder.”

Y/N gave it to her. The wet sound of skin meeting skin filled the fitting room. Her small breasts swayed under the cropped top with every thrust. He reached around and found her clit, rubbing tight circles while he fucked her. Her thighs started to tremble. She came with a sharp, broken cry she buried against her own arm, body locking up around him so hard it nearly pulled him over the edge with her.

He didn’t stop.

He kept thrusting through it, chasing his own release, one hand still working her oversensitive clit until she was shaking and whimpering and pushing back against him anyway. When he finally came it was deep and heavy, buried to the hilt, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades while he pulsed inside her.

They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard, the mirror fogged where her cheek had rested. Eventually Y/N eased out. He watched the slow trickle of his cum slip down the inside of her thigh and felt something possessive and complicated twist in his chest.

Iroha turned, still flushed, still breathing unevenly, and looked at him with an expression that was softer than any she had worn before—confidence and shyness and something that looked a lot like feeling all tangled together. The attempt at dominance was gone. What was left was pure, quiet submission.

“You’re less shy than you were an hour ago,” she said, almost smiling.

Y/N huffed a quiet laugh and reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face. His voice came out rougher than he expected, the last of his own hesitation gone.

“Your parents are paying me extra to take you shopping and help you change. Not to fuck their daughter in a fitting room.”

Iroha’s mouth curved. The shy edge was still there, but so was the soft, open want. She stepped in close again, small hand resting on his still half-hard cock, smearing the mess between them.

“Then they underpaid,” she murmured. “Because you’re going to do it again before we leave. And next time… I want you to talk while you do it. Tell me exactly what they’re paying for.” A tiny pause, softer, the real her fully visible now. “If you want to. Please.”

She kissed him once more—slower this time, almost tender—then reached for the next dress in the pile like the last twenty minutes had been nothing more than a particularly thorough fitting.

Y/N watched her step into it, watched the fabric settle over the place where he had just been, and realized two things at once.

He was already hard again.