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But Y/n couldn't move. His legs felt like lead, his small hands clutching the sofa's fabric as if it could anchor him to safety. He wanted to run, to scream, to do something-but terror had paralyzed him.

"Stupid man," Sang-hyun muttered, wiping the blood from his knuckles. "Let's make sure your son learns what happens to those who defy us."

The next few minutes were a blur of violence. Sang-hyun didn't use a weapon; he didn't need one. His fists were brutal, his kicks merciless, and he seemed to relish every second of the beating. Y/n's mother screamed, trying to shield her husband, but Sang-hyun shoved her aside like she was nothing.

Y/n squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming down his face. He didn't want to see, but the sounds were inescapable-the grunts of pain, the dull thuds of fists meeting flesh, the horrifying crack when his father's ribs gave way.

When it was over, silence fell.

"Clean this up," Sang-hyun ordered his men, gesturing to the broken bodies of Y/n's parents. His voice was calm, as if he had just finished a routine task.

"Boss," one of his underlings said, pointing to Y/n, who was now sobbing openly. "What about the kid?"

Sang-hyun turned his gaze to the trembling boy, his lips curling into a sinister smile. "Oh, he's coming with us. A little rat like him needs to learn his place in the world."

Two men grabbed Y/n by the arms, dragging him out of the apartment. He kicked and screamed, calling for his parents, but they were gone, their lifeless bodies lying in a pool of blood.

That night, Y/n's childhood ended.

The years that followed were a nightmare. Sang-hyun didn't kill Y/n-not yet. Instead, he broke him, shaping him into a weapon for the 3 Crows.

Beatings were a daily occurrence, accompanied by harsh training that pushed Y/n's body to its limits. He learned to fight, to steal, to kill. Failure was met with pain, success with indifference.

"You're not a person," Sang-hyun told him once, after forcing him to clean the blood off his first kill. "You're a tool. Tools don't have feelings. Tools obey."

Y/n hated him. He hated everything about the 3 Crows-their cold, ruthless hierarchy, their obsession with power, their complete disregard for human life. But hate wasn't enough to break free. Not yet.

By the time he was eighteen, Y/n had become one of the most feared enforcers in Seoul. His name was whispered in the underworld, his reputation as a silent, efficient killer unmatched. But no matter how many lives he took, the ghost of his parents haunted him, their blood staining his hands.

It was a rainy night when Sang-hyun gave him the order that would change everything.

"I have a job for you," Sang-hyun said, reclining in his leather chair. His office was lavish, filled with expensive furniture that contrasted sharply with his brutal nature.

Y/n stood before him, his expression blank. He had learned long ago that showing emotion was a weakness Sang-hyun exploited.

"What is it?" Y/n asked, his voice devoid of warmth.

"An S-class target," Sang-hyun replied, sliding a folder across the desk. "Jung-hwa. Chaebol heiress. But that's not the interesting part."

Y/n opened the folder, his sharp eyes scanning the documents. Jung-hwa was beautiful, with long dark hair and a confident smile that seemed out of place in the grim world of organized crime. But as he read further, he realized why Sang-hyun was so interested.

"She's part of the Delacroix family," Y/n muttered, his stomach twisting.

Sang-hyun grinned. "Exactly. Killing her would send a message to Gahyeon. It's time that tyrant queen learns not to mess with the 3 Crows."

Y/n's fingers tightened around the folder. The Delacroix were the 3 Crows' biggest rivals, a Mafia family just as ruthless and powerful. But Jung-hwa wasn't just a pawn in their game-she was a person, a young woman with her whole life ahead of her.

"Do it," Sang-hyun said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And don't screw this up. You know what happens if you fail."

Y/n nodded, his face a mask of calm, but inside, a storm raged. He didn't want to kill Jung-hwa. He didn't want to kill anyone anymore. But Sang-hyun's leash was tight, and disobedience meant death.

As he left the office, rain pouring down around him, Y/n felt the weight of his choice pressing down on his shoulders. He had two options: obey and lose what little humanity he had left, or rebel and risk everything.

In the end, he knew there was only one path he could take.

The rain hadn’t let up. Seoul’s neon lights reflected off the wet pavement, casting an eerie glow that matched the unease in Y/n’s chest. He stood in the shadows of a busy intersection, his hood pulled low as he watched her.

Jung-hwa.

She stood near the entrance of a luxury boutique, her bodyguards forming a tight perimeter around her. Even in the pouring rain, she exuded an air of elegance, her long black coat cinched at the waist, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders. She looked every bit the heiress she was—untouchable, radiant, and confident.

But Y/n knew better. No one in this world was untouchable.

For three days, he had stalked her, learning her routines, her quirks, and her vulnerabilities. He knew she preferred her coffee black with a single sugar cube. He knew she always stopped to feed the stray cats outside her apartment complex, even when she was running late. And he knew that beneath her polished exterior, there was a flicker of loneliness.

She reminded him too much of himself.

“Focus,” Y/n muttered under his breath, shaking his head. He couldn’t afford to humanize her. She was the target, nothing more.

Yet, as he trailed her through the crowded streets, he couldn’t suppress the guilt gnawing at him. She wasn’t like the other marks he’d been assigned to. Most of them were criminals, just as corrupt and ruthless as the 3 Crows. But Jung-hwa… she seemed different.

Still, Sang-hyun’s words echoed in his mind: “Don’t screw this up.”

Y/n clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He had to do it. If he didn’t, Sang-hyun would kill him—or worse, send someone else after her.

That evening, Jung-hwa returned to her penthouse in Gangnam, her guards sweeping the area before letting her inside. Y/n watched from a nearby rooftop, the scope of his sniper rifle trained on her balcony.

It would be so easy. One shot, and it would be over.

But his finger hesitated on the trigger.

Instead of pulling it, he lowered the rifle and pulled out his binoculars, watching her through the glass doors of her living room. She was sitting on the couch, a glass of wine in one hand as she flipped through a book. The sight was so ordinary, so human, that it made his chest tighten.

What was he doing? Was he really going to take another life just because Sang-hyun ordered him to?

Y/n’s mind raced. He thought about his parents, about the countless people he’d killed, about the weight of Sang-hyun’s control over him. He was tired—tired of being a tool, tired of the bloodshed, tired of losing pieces of himself with every mission.

He let out a shaky breath and packed up his rifle.

Not tonight.

The following day, Jung-hwa’s routine took her to a quiet park on the outskirts of the city. Y/n followed at a distance, blending seamlessly with the other pedestrians. She sat on a bench beneath a cherry blossom tree, watching the petals fall as she sipped her coffee.

Y/n approached cautiously, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He wasn’t sure why he was doing this—why he was stepping out of the shadows instead of staying hidden. But something about her drew him in, like a moth to a flame.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

Jung-hwa looked up, startled, but quickly composed herself. “It’s a public bench,” she replied, her tone polite but guarded.

Y/n sat down, leaving a respectable distance between them. For a moment, neither of them spoke. He could feel her eyes on him, studying him, trying to decide if he was a threat.

“You don’t seem like the type who frequents parks,” she said, breaking the silence.

Y/n smirked faintly. “And what type do I seem like?”

“The brooding loner type,” she replied, her lips curving into a small smile.

He chuckled, though the sound felt foreign in his throat. “Fair enough.”

Another pause settled between them, but this time it was less tense. Y/n found himself relaxing, though he knew he shouldn’t.

“I’ve seen you before,” Jung-hwa said suddenly, her voice soft but sharp.

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat. “Have you?”

She nodded. “You were at the café yesterday, weren’t you? Sitting by the window.”

Damn. He hadn’t realized she’d noticed him. “Maybe,” he said vaguely, trying to deflect.

Jung-hwa tilted her head, her gaze piercing. “You’re not very good at blending in, you know.”

Y/n bit back a retort. She was testing him, probing for information, and he couldn’t afford to slip up. But before he could respond, she stood up, brushing cherry blossom petals from her coat.

“Well, whoever you are,” she said, turning to leave, “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Y/n watched her walk away, his chest tightening. She was sharper than he’d given her credit for. But more than that, her words lingered in his mind.

What was he looking for?

That night, Y/n sat alone in his dingy apartment, staring at the photo of Jung-hwa that Sang-hyun had given him. The more he thought about her, the more conflicted he felt. She wasn’t just a target anymore—she was a person, someone who had shown him a glimpse of a life beyond the darkness he lived in.

But he knew that sparing her would come at a cost.

As if on cue, his phone buzzed. It was Sang-hyun.

“Y/n,” Sang-hyun’s voice came through the line, cold and commanding. “You’ve had enough time. Finish the job, or I’ll finish you.”

Y/n’s jaw tightened, his grip on the phone trembling. He didn’t respond.

“You hear me?” Sang-hyun growled. “Do it, or you’re dead.”

Y/n hung up without a word.

For the first time in years, he made a decision for himself. He wouldn’t kill her. He was done being a tool, done living under Sang-hyun’s control.

But walking away wouldn’t be easy.

And as the first knock sounded on his door—heavy and deliberate—he knew that Sang-hyun had already set his sights on him.

The knock on the door came again, louder this time. Y/n's breath hitched as he scrambled to his feet, every muscle in his body tensed. His small apartment was dark, illuminated only by the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds. He reached for his pistol, his fingers tightening around the grip as he moved silently toward the door.

"Y/n," a voice called from the other side, low and menacing. "You think you can walk away from this?"

It was one of Sang-hyun's men.

Y/n's heart pounded in his chest. He had known this was coming, but he hadn't expected it so soon. They weren't here to talk-they were here to kill him.

The doorknob rattled, and then, with a deafening crash, the door splintered open. A team of three men burst inside, weapons drawn. Y/n didn't hesitate.

The first man went down with a single shot to the chest. The second lunged at him with a knife, but Y/n sidestepped, grabbing his arm and twisting it until the blade clattered to the floor. A swift kick sent the man sprawling, unconscious.

The third was smarter, firing off a shot that grazed Y/n's shoulder. Pain flared, but he didn't let it slow him down. He ducked behind the couch, returning fire. The man cried out as a bullet struck his leg, dropping him to the ground.

Silence fell, save for the ragged breathing of the wounded. Y/n stood, his pistol still trained on the men. Blood dripped from the graze on his shoulder, but he didn't flinch.

He had to go.

Y/n grabbed a bag he had packed earlier, slinging it over his shoulder as he stepped over the bodies. He didn't look back.

The streets of Seoul were alive with activity, but Y/n moved like a ghost, blending into the crowd despite the pain in his shoulder. He had to get out of the city, away from Sang-hyun's reach.

But Sang-hyun wouldn't stop. He had made that clear.

As Y/n turned a corner, he caught a glimpse of a shadow moving toward him. He ducked just in time as a knife swiped past his face. His attacker-a man in a leather jacket- lunged again, but Y/n blocked the strike, delivering a sharp punch to the man's throat.

Another assassin.

Y/n didn't wait for him to recover. He darted into a narrow alley, his footsteps echoing against the walls. Gunfire erupted behind him, the bullets narrowly missing as he weaved through the labyrinth of alleyways.

He emerged onto a quieter street, his breath coming in harsh gasps. His leg burned, and when he glanced down, he saw blood seeping through his jeans. A bullet had grazed him there, too, though he hadn't noticed in the chaos.

He was losing strength.

"Damn it," he muttered, stumbling as his vision blurred. He leaned against a wall, his fingers pressing against the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

"Help. " he rasped, his voice barely audible.

The world spun, and then he saw her. A silhouette against the dim light, her figure commanding and unyielding. She moved closer, her steps deliberate, until she was standing before him.

"Y/n," she said, her voice soft yet chilling.

His knees buckled, and he collapsed. As darkness consumed him, the last thing he saw was her face-a face both beautiful and terrifying.

Y/n woke to the scent of antiseptic and the feel of soft sheets beneath him. His head throbbed, and his body felt heavy, but he was alive.

He opened his eyes slowly, taking in his surroundings. The room was luxurious, with dark wood furniture and velvet curtains. A fireplace crackled in the corner, casting warm light across the space.

"You're awake."

The voice was familiar, and when Y/n turned his head, he saw her sitting in a chair by the fire. Gahyeon.

Her presence was magnetic, her dark eyes studying him with an intensity that made his skin prickle. She wore a tailored black dress, her posture regal, her expression unreadable.

"You should be dead," she said, her tone matter-of-fact. "Sang-hyun's men don't leave loose ends."

Y/n forced himself to sit up, wincing as pain flared in his leg and shoulder. "Why am I here?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Gahyeon leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. "You intrigue me," she said simply.

"That's not an answer," Y/n shot back, his eyes narrowing.

She smirked, amused by his defiance. "You spared my sister."

"Sister?"

"Jung-hwa," Gahyeon clarified, her gaze piercing. "You were sent to kill her, weren't you?"

Y/n didn't respond, but his silence was answer enough.

"I expected you to try," she continued. "But instead, you hesitated. That's not something Sang-hyun's lapdog would do."

"I'm not his lapdog," Y/n said through gritted teeth.

"Not anymore," Gahyeon said, rising from her chair. She walked toward him, her heels clicking against the floor. "But that doesn't explain why you're here, bleeding out in my territory."

"I didn't have a choice," Y/n admitted, his voice low. "Sang-hyun put a bounty on my head."

"And now you're a man with nowhere to go," Gahyeon said, stopping beside his bed. She reached out, tracing a finger along the edge of his jaw. "Except here."

Y/n flinched at her touch, his instincts screaming danger. "What do you want from me?"

Gahyeon smiled, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "I want you to work for me."

Y/n stared at her, disbelief and suspicion swirling in his mind. "Why would I do that?"

"Because I saved your life," she said, her tone turning icy. "And because we have a common enemy."

Sang-hyun.

Y/n's jaw tightened as he thought about the man who had destroyed his life. Gahyeon was dangerous, but she wasn't wrong. If he wanted to take down Sang-hyun, he couldn't do it alone.

"And if I refuse?" Y/n asked.

Gahyeon's smile widened. "Then you die. But I think you're smarter than that."

Y/n closed his eyes, exhaustion and pain weighing on him. He didn't trust her, but for now, he didn't have a choice.

"Fine," he said finally. "I'll work for you."

"Good," Gahyeon said, her voice soft but triumphant. "Welcome to the Delacroix family, Y/n."

Y/n spent the next few days confined to the lavish room in Gahyeon’s mansion. His wounds were healing faster than expected, thanks to the skilled care of her personal medic. Yet, every time he looked at himself in the ornate mirror across the room, he saw the scars Sang-hyun had left behind—marks of a life he wanted to leave but couldn’t escape.

The door to his room opened one morning, revealing Gahyeon. She stepped inside, a commanding presence that instantly filled the space.

“Get up,” she said briskly. “Your recovery time is over.”

Y/n pushed himself to his feet, biting back a groan as his injured leg protested. “What now?” he asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.

She smirked. “Now, you prove that I didn’t make a mistake saving your life.”

Gahyeon led him to an underground training room, its walls lined with weapons of all kinds. A group of her men stood at attention, their expressions wary as they eyed Y/n. He didn’t blame them—he was an outsider, an enemy until recently.

“This is Y/n,” Gahyeon announced, her voice firm. “He’s under my protection now, which makes him one of us. Anyone who has a problem with that can leave.”

Her men exchanged uneasy glances, but none of them moved.

“Good,” she said, her eyes flicking to Y/n. “You’re going to spar with Jae-hyun.”

Jae-hyun, a towering man with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. He was clearly the group’s enforcer, and Y/n could tell this wasn’t just a test—it was a warning.

Y/n squared his shoulders, ignoring the throbbing pain in his leg. He didn’t need to win; he just needed to survive.

The fight was brutal. Jae-hyun was stronger, but Y/n was faster, using his agility to evade the worst of the blows. Still, he couldn’t dodge everything. A particularly hard punch sent him sprawling to the ground, blood trickling from his split lip.

“Enough,” Gahyeon’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

Jae-hyun stepped back, his chest heaving, while Y/n struggled to his feet. He wiped the blood from his mouth, meeting Gahyeon’s gaze with a defiant glare.

“You’ve got grit,” she said, a hint of approval in her tone. “But you’ll need more than that to survive in my world.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Y/n shot back, his voice steady despite the pain.

Gahyeon’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. “Yes, you are.”

Over the next few weeks, Y/n trained relentlessly under Gahyeon’s watchful eye. She pushed him to his limits, forcing him to confront his weaknesses and hone his skills. At first, their interactions were cold and formal, but gradually, something began to shift.

One evening, after a particularly grueling session, Gahyeon handed Y/n a towel and a bottle of water. He accepted them silently, too exhausted to argue.

“You’re improving,” she said, her tone softer than usual.

Y/n glanced at her, surprised. “Was that a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it,” she replied, though there was a faint smile on her lips.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” she countered, her eyes glinting with amusement.

Y/n couldn’t help but smile back, the tension between them easing for the first time.

Their bond deepened during their first mission together. A shipment of weapons bound for the 3 Crows had been intercepted by a third-party gang, and Gahyeon was determined to retrieve it.

The operation was risky, requiring stealth and precision. Y/n and Gahyeon worked side by side, their movements synchronized as they navigated the enemy’s stronghold.

When they were discovered, chaos erupted. Gunfire echoed through the building, and Y/n found himself covering Gahyeon’s back as they fought their way out.

“Stay close!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the noise.

“I’m not going anywhere!” he replied, firing at an approaching thug.

At one point, a gang member managed to sneak up behind Gahyeon, his knife raised. Y/n reacted instinctively, tackling the man to the ground and disarming him.

“Watch yourself,” Y/n said, his tone half-scolding, half-concerned.

“I had it under control,” Gahyeon retorted, though her expression softened as she looked at him. “But… thanks.”

They escaped with the shipment intact, their victory cementing a newfound trust between them.

That night, back at the mansion, Y/n found Gahyeon on the balcony, staring out at the city lights. He joined her, leaning against the railing.

“You’re quiet,” he said.

“Just thinking,” she replied, her voice uncharacteristically subdued.

“About what?”

“About why I do this,” she admitted, her eyes distant. “Why I fight so hard to hold onto power, to protect what’s mine.”

Y/n studied her, seeing for the first time the vulnerability she tried so hard to hide. “Because it’s all you’ve ever known,” he said gently.

She turned to him, her expression guarded. “And what about you? Why do you keep fighting?”

Y/n hesitated, the weight of his past pressing down on him. “Because I don’t know how to stop,” he said finally.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the distance between them shrinking. Gahyeon reached out, her hand brushing against his.

“Maybe we can figure it out together,” she said softly.

Y/n’s breath caught, her words stirring something deep inside him. For the first time in years, he felt a flicker of hope.

“Maybe we can,” he agreed.

The Delacroix estate was abuzz with activity, its halls alive with the chatter of operatives preparing for a major operation. Y/n, now firmly entrenched in Gahyeon’s world, was reviewing the mission details with Jung-hwa in the library.

Jung-hwa leaned over the map spread across the table, her dark hair brushing against Y/n’s arm. She was explaining the security patterns of their target—a 3 Crows warehouse—when she suddenly laughed, a soft, melodic sound that made Y/n smile despite himself.

“You’re terrible at this,” Jung-hwa teased, pointing at the notes he had scribbled.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you talk too fast,” Y/n shot back, his grin widening.

Their playful banter was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Y/n turned to see Gahyeon standing in the doorway, her expression unreadable.

“Jung-hwa,” Gahyeon said coolly. “Shouldn’t you be overseeing the preparations in the armory?”

Jung-hwa straightened, a hint of unease flickering across her face. “I was just—”

“Now,” Gahyeon interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Jung-hwa glanced at Y/n before nodding and leaving the room, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

Y/n raised an eyebrow at Gahyeon as she walked toward him, her steps measured. “What was that about?” he asked.

“Don’t waste your time on her,” Gahyeon said, her voice sharp. “She’s too soft for this world.”

Y/n frowned, crossing his arms. “She’s your sister.”

“And she’s not your concern,” Gahyeon snapped, her eyes flashing.

Realization dawned on Y/n, and he couldn’t help but smirk. “Are you jealous?”

Gahyeon’s jaw tightened, her composure cracking for a fraction of a second. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You are,” Y/n said, his tone teasing. “You’re jealous.”

She glared at him, her cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of color. “Focus on the mission, Y/n,” she said, turning on her heel and leaving before he could say anything else.

Later that night, Y/n found himself on the training grounds, practicing his aim with a set of throwing knives. The rhythmic thud of metal sinking into wood was oddly soothing, a temporary reprieve from the chaos of his life.

He didn’t notice Gahyeon approaching until she spoke.

“Still awake?”

Y/n turned to see her standing a few feet away, her arms crossed. She looked different in the moonlight—softer, almost vulnerable.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, gesturing to the knives. “Figured I’d make myself useful.”

Gahyeon stepped closer, her gaze fixed on the target. “Your form’s off,” she said, picking up a knife from the bench. “Let me show you.”

She stood behind him, her hands lightly brushing against his as she adjusted his grip. Y/n froze, acutely aware of how close she was. Her perfume was subtle but intoxicating, and he found himself holding his breath.

“Like this,” she murmured, guiding his arm.

He threw the knife, and it hit the center of the target with a satisfying thud.

“Not bad,” Y/n said, turning to face her. “You’re a pretty good teacher.”

“I’m good at everything,” Gahyeon replied, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

Y/n chuckled, shaking his head. “Modest, too.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air between them shifted. Gahyeon’s gaze softened, and Y/n could see something flicker in her expression—something she quickly masked.

“We should get some rest,” she said abruptly, stepping back.

“Yeah,” Y/n agreed, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had just changed between them.

The mission the next day was a success, but it wasn’t without its complications.

As they regrouped at the estate, Y/n found himself surrounded by members of the Delacroix family, all eager to congratulate him on his role in the operation. One of them, a young woman named Hana, lingered longer than the others.

“You were incredible out there,” Hana said, her admiration clear in her voice.

“Just doing my job,” Y/n replied, though her enthusiasm made him uncomfortable.

Gahyeon entered the room then, her eyes immediately zeroing in on Hana.

“Hana,” Gahyeon said, her tone icy. “Don’t you have reports to file?”

Hana blinked, startled. “I-I was just—”

“Now,” Gahyeon ordered, her glare leaving no room for argument.

Hana scurried away, and Y/n sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really don’t like anyone talking to me, do you?”

“I don’t like distractions,” Gahyeon retorted, her voice clipped.

Y/n stepped closer, his expression challenging. “Or maybe you don’t like sharing.”

Gahyeon’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, she turned and walked away, leaving Y/n to wonder just how deep her feelings for him ran.

The halls of the Delacroix estate hummed with tension. Gahyeon sat at the head of the long mahogany table in the war room, her sharp gaze scanning the reports laid out before her. Y/n stood by her side, arms crossed, his instincts prickling with unease.

"Something doesn't feel right," Y/n said, his voice low.

Gahyeon glanced up at him, her expression unreadable. "What do you mean?"

"There's been too much silence from the 3 Crows," he replied. "Sang-hyun isn't the type to sit idle."

Gahyeon's lips pressed into a thin line. "I've strengthened our defenses. If he tries anything, we'll be ready."

Before Y/n could respond, the door burst open, and one of Gahyeon's trusted lieutenants stumbled in, blood staining his uniform.

"They. they turned on us," he gasped. "Some of our men. they're working for Sang-hyun."

Gahyeon's eyes narrowed, fury sparking within them. "Who?"

Before the man could answer, gunfire erupted outside, echoing through the estate. Y/n grabbed Gahyeon's arm, pulling her to her feet.

"We need to move. Now."

As chaos engulfed the estate, Y/n and Gahyeon fought their way through the corridors. Their enemies were ruthless, attacking with the precision of trained operatives. Y/n's mind raced as he pieced together the betrayal.

"This was planned," Y/n muttered, firing at an approaching enemy. "Sang-hyun's been planting seeds in your ranks for weeks."

"I'll kill him," Gahyeon snarled, her tone venomous.

"We'll kill him," Y/n corrected, his voice firm.

They found Jung-hwa in the west wing, cornered by a group of traitorous guards. Y/ n and Gahyeon dispatched them swiftly, their movements seamless as they worked together.

"Are you okay?" Y/n asked, pulling Jung-hwa to her feet.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice trembling. "But we need to get out of here."

"No," Gahyeon said, her eyes blazing. "We're not running. This ends tonight."

Hours later, under the cover of darkness, Y/n and Gahyeon infiltrated Sang-hyun's stronghold. The once-imposing estate of the 3 Crows now reeked of desperation and greed.

Sang-hyun was asleep in his lavish bedroom, unaware of the storm creeping toward him. Y/n entered first, his footsteps silent as a shadow. Gahyeon followed, her knife glinting in the moonlight.

Y/n stood over Sang-hyun, his heart pounding as memories of his parents' brutal deaths flooded his mind. This was the man who had stolen his childhood, who had twisted his life into a nightmare.

Without hesitation, Y/n pressed the blade to Sang-hyun's throat. The man's eyes snapped open, panic flashing across his face.

"Y/n." Sang-hyun choked, his voice weak.

"This is for my parents," Y/n said, his voice steady, though his eyes burned with fury. "And for hurting Gahyeon."

With one swift motion, he slit Sang-hyun's throat. Blood spilled across the sheets as Sang-hyun gasped for air, his hands clawing at his neck. Y/n held his gaze until the light faded from his eyes, then stepped back, his breathing heavy.

"It's done," he said, turning to Gahyeon.

She nodded, her expression unreadable as she wiped the blood from her knife. "Let's go."

The death of Sang-hyun marked the end of the 3 Crows. Without their leader, the remnants of the organization crumbled, leaving a power vacuum in the underworld.

Y/n stood in the Delacroix estate's main hall, watching as Gahyeon addressed her people. She was a commanding presence, her voice steady and authoritative as she announced the formation of a new family-Evergarden.

"Together, we will rebuild," Gahyeon declared. "We will rise stronger than ever."

The crowd erupted into cheers, but Y/n felt only a deep weariness. He had done what he set out to do-he had avenged his parents and dismantled the 3 Crows. Now, all he wanted was peace.

That evening, Y/n approached Gahyeon in her office. She was seated at her desk, reviewing a stack of documents.

"I'm leaving," he said, his voice firm.

Gahyeon looked up, her eyes narrowing. "What?"

"I've done my part," he continued. "I gave you the power to take down Sang-hyun. Now I want a new life."

Gahyeon rose from her chair, her hands gripping the edge of the desk. "You think you can just walk away?"

"I'm not asking for permission," Y/n said, meeting her gaze.

Her expression darkened, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "You belong to me, Y/n. I won't let you go."

Before he could respond, she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You've given me everything. Your loyalty, your strength. your heart. And now, you'll give me forever."

Y/n's breath caught as Gahyeon leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear. "You're mine, Y/n. Always."

A week later, the Delacroix family officially merged with the remnants of the 3 Crows, forming Evergarden. Gahyeon declared herself the leader, solidifying her position in the underworld.

In a grand ceremony held in the estate's ballroom, Gahyeon stood beside Y/n, her hand entwined with his. Her smile was triumphant as she announced their marriage, sealing their union and her control over him.

As the crowd applauded, Y/n felt the weight of her obsession pressing down on him. He had thought he could escape, but Gahyeon's love was as inescapable as it was dangerous.

And deep down, he wasn't sure if he wanted to leave.

Evergarden thrived under Gahyeon’s rule. Her ruthless efficiency and unyielding leadership made the organization a dominant force in the underworld. Y/n, now her husband, found himself at the heart of the new empire.

But the power, wealth, and influence came at a cost.

Y/n stood in the grand dining hall, watching as Gahyeon conversed with her lieutenants. She was as commanding as ever, her every word dripping with authority. Yet, whenever her gaze fell on him, it softened, her possessiveness evident in the way her eyes lingered.

“Y/n,” she called, motioning for him to join her.

He approached, his movements slow and deliberate. “What’s the matter?”

Gahyeon’s lips curved into a smile. “Nothing. I just like having you close.”

One of the lieutenants, a young man named Min-joon, chuckled. “Boss, you’re going to spoil him.”

Gahyeon’s smile vanished, her gaze turning icy. “Watch your tongue, Min-joon.”

The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. Y/n placed a hand on her shoulder, a silent gesture to diffuse the situation.

“Relax,” he said, his voice calm. “He’s just joking.”

Gahyeon’s expression softened again, but the warning in her eyes remained. “Careful, Min-joon. You wouldn’t want to upset me.”

Later that night, Y/n found himself alone in the garden, seeking solace among the flowers and moonlight. The estate was a fortress, its walls impenetrable, yet Y/n felt trapped.

He lit a cigarette, the smoke curling into the cool night air. He didn’t hear Gahyeon approach until she spoke.

“You’re avoiding me,” she said, her tone accusing.

Y/n exhaled slowly, not turning to face her. “Just needed some air.”

Gahyeon stepped closer, her presence magnetic yet suffocating. “You don’t need to hide from me, Y/n.”

“I’m not hiding,” he replied, though his voice lacked conviction.

She reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm. “You belong here. With me.”

Y/n turned to her, his gaze searching hers. “Do I? Or am I just another piece in your game?”

Gahyeon’s eyes flared with hurt and anger. “You think I’m using you?”

“I think you don’t know how to let go,” he said, his voice steady.

She stepped back, her jaw tightening. “You’re mine, Y/n. I won’t lose you.”

Her words hung in the air, a chilling reminder of her obsession.

The following weeks were a whirlwind of meetings, missions, and public appearances. Gahyeon ensured that Y/n was always by her side, a constant presence in her life and her plans.

But her possessiveness began to manifest in more overt ways.

One evening, during a gala hosted by Evergarden, Y/n found himself in conversation with Hana, a former member of the Delacroix family. She was friendly, her laughter light as they reminisced about the old days.

Gahyeon watched from across the room, her fingers tightening around the stem of her wine glass. The crystal felt cold against her skin, but it was nothing compared to the icy fury settling in her chest. Her eyes followed Y/n as he laughed softly at something the woman beside him said—a laugh that once belonged to her, or so she had thought. His hand brushed the other woman’s arm, a casual gesture, but Gahyeon’s nails dug into her palm. How dare he?

When Y/n finally returned to her side, his expression was calm, almost indifferent, but Gahyeon’s sharp gaze caught the flicker of guilt in his eyes. She smiled—a tight, practiced curve of her lips that didn’t reach her eyes. “You seemed to enjoy that conversation,” she said, her tone light, almost casual, but there was no mistaking the venom lacing her words.

Y/n hesitated, his shoulders stiffening as he met her gaze. “She’s an old friend,” he replied, his voice steady but cautious. He could sense the storm brewing behind Gahyeon’s composed facade.

Her smile turned colder, sharper. “Don’t forget who you belong to.”

The words sliced through the air like a blade, and Y/n flinched, though he held his ground. “I haven’t forgotten,” he said, his voice firm despite the unease creeping into his chest.

That night, the tension between them crackled like a live wire, heavy and unspoken, until Gahyeon finally broke the silence. She stood in the doorway of their bedroom, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her dark hair falling in loose waves around her face. The dim light cast shadows across her features, highlighting the anger simmering in her eyes.

“You think I don’t notice?” she said, her voice trembling with barely restrained rage. “Every time you talk to another woman, every time you smile at them… do you think I’m blind?”

Y/n sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Gahyeon, you’re overreacting.”

Her eyes flashed, and she stepped closer, her movements deliberate, predatory. “I’m not overreacting!” she snapped, her voice rising. “I’ve given you everything, Y/n. Everything. And you still look at them.”

He stared at her, searching for the right words, but all he could see was the pain etched into her expression—pain masked by anger. “This isn’t love, Gahyeon,” he said quietly. “This is control.”

For a moment, her composure wavered, and the mask slipped. Pain flickered across her face, raw and unmistakable, before she quickly rebuilt the walls around herself. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I can’t lose you.”

Y/n’s resolve softened as he stepped closer, his hands reaching out to cradle her face. “You’re not going to lose me,” he said gently. “But you have to trust me.”

Gahyeon looked up at him, her vulnerability laid bare in the depths of her dark eyes. “I do trust you,” she said, though the possessiveness lingering in her gaze betrayed her words.

The space between them crackled with unspoken tension, the air thick with desire and conflict. Gahyeon’s hands slid up his chest, her touch searing through the fabric of his shirt. “Prove it,” she murmured, her voice low and husky. “Prove that you’re mine.”

Y/n’s breath hitched as her fingers traced the line of his jaw, her touch both tender and demanding. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, the way her pulse quickened beneath his fingertips. “Gahyeon…” he started, but she cut him off with a kiss—hard, desperate, and possessive.

Her lips were soft yet unforgiving, claiming him with a ferocity that left no room for doubt. She pressed herself against him, her curves molding to his body as her hands tangled in his hair. Y/n groaned, his resistance crumbling under the weight of her need. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed her back with equal fervor.

Gahyeon broke the kiss, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps as she looked up at him. “Say it,” she demanded, her voice a sultry whisper. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” Y/n replied without hesitation, his voice rough with desire. The words spilled out before he could stop them, driven by the fire burning in her eyes.

A small, triumphant smile curved her lips as she pushed him backward toward the bed. He sank down onto the mattress, his heart pounding as she climbed onto his lap, straddling him with effortless grace. Her dress pooled around her hips, revealing the smooth expanse of her thighs, and Y/n’s hands instinctively gripped her hips, anchoring himself to her.

Gahyeon leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “Good boy.” Her breath sent shivers down his spine, and he swallowed hard, his body responding to her dominance with an intensity that surprised him.

She rocked her hips against his, the friction eliciting a low groan from deep within his chest. Her hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, working them open one by one with deliberate slowness. Each brush of her fingers against his skin stoked the flames of his desire, and by the time she pushed the fabric off his shoulders, he was already achingly hard.

Her eyes darkened as she gazed at his exposed chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles with a possessiveness that made his breath catch. “Mine,” she murmured, her voice a sultry purr that sent heat pooling low in his abdomen.

Y/n’s hands moved to the hem of her dress, tugging it upward until it slipped over her head and fell to the floor. She sat back on his lap, clad only in delicate lace that did little to conceal her body. His mouth went dry at the sight of her, her curves illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp beside the bed.

Gahyeon reached behind her, unhooking her bra and letting it fall away. Her breasts spilled into his hands, and he couldn’t resist the urge to lean forward, taking one hardened nipple into his mouth. She moaned, arching into him as his tongue flicked over the sensitive bud.

Her hands gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she ground against him again, the thin barrier of his pants doing little to muffle the electric sensation coursing through them. “Y/n,” she gasped, her voice tinged with desperation. “I need you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. With a swift motion, he flipped her onto her back, pinning her beneath him as he kicked off his pants and boxers. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, and he positioned himself at her entrance, the tip of his cock pressing against her slick folds.

“Look at me,” Gahyeon commanded, her voice soft but firm. He obeyed, locking eyes with her as he slowly pushed inside, inch by torturous inch. Her breath hitched, her body stretching to accommodate him, and she bit her lip to stifle a whimper.

When he was fully seated inside her, they paused, savoring the feeling of being joined together. Gahyeon’s nails raked down his back, leaving faint red trails in their wake. “Fuck me,” she whispered, her voice dripping with desire. “Show me who you belong to.”

Y/n growled, gripping her hips as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first but quickly building in intensity. Gahyeon’s moans filled the room, mingling with the sound of skin slapping against skin as he drove into her again and again.

Her legs tightened around him, urging him deeper, and she arched her back, crying out as pleasure rocked through her body. “Yes,” she gasped, her voice breaking on the word. “Just like that…”

Y/n’s hips pistoned relentlessly, each stroke bringing them closer to the edge. Gahyeon’s nails dug into his shoulders, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she clung to him. “Don’t stop,” she begged, her voice a desperate plea. “Please, don’t stop.”

He obliged, his pace increasing as his own orgasm loomed dangerously close. Gahyeon’s walls clenched around him, and he knew she was teetering on the brink. “Come for me,” he growled, his voice rough with need.

Her answer was a strangled cry as she shattered, her body convulsing around him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her. The sight of her unraveling pushed him over the edge, and with a final thrust, he spilled himself inside her, his release intense and all-consuming.

They collapsed together, their bodies slick with sweat and trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. Gahyeon’s fingers traced idle patterns on his back, her breathing gradually slowing as she nuzzled against his neck. “Mine,” she murmured sleepily, her voice soft but unwavering.

Within ten minutes, they were back downstairs, joining the rest of the Kep1er members, their managers, and a small cluster of staff. Together, the group set off into the bustling streets of London, a lively wave of bright coats and excited chatter.

Chaehyun immediately linked her arm through Xiaoting’s, her eyes wide as a double-decker bus rumbled past them. "Look! It’s just like the movies," she whispered, pointing at the iconic red bus. Xiaoting pulled out her phone, snapping a quick, blurry selfie of the two of them with the bus in the background, both of them flashing peace signs.

As they walked toward the River Thames, the members stopped at a small street vendor. The aroma of freshly baked pastries was too good to resist. With the manager’s permission, they bought a giant box of warm, sugar-dusted churros to share. Chaehyun carefully broke one in half, blowing on it to cool it down before feeding it to Xiaoting.

"Is it good?" Chaehyun asked eagerly.

Xiaoting nodded, her eyes crinkling with delight. "So good! Eat some too."

By the time they reached the riverbank, the sun was beginning to set, casting a golden, amber glow over the London Eye and the distant towers of Big Ben. Yujin and Hikaru were already posing for photos nearby, while Dayeon and Bahiyyih were trying to mimic the stoic posture of a nearby street performer.

Xiaoting and Chaehyun leaned against the stone railing, watching the riverboat lights blink into life. Chaehyun rested her head gently on Xiaoting’s shoulder, a contented sigh escaping her lips.

"I'm so glad we're roommates on this trip," Chaehyun said softly. "And I'm so excited for the stage tomorrow."

Xiaoting wrapped an arm around Chaehyun’s shoulders, squeezing her tight. "Me too. We’re going to shine tomorrow, Chae."

"Kep1er, time to head back for dinner!" the manager called out, waving the group together.

With full hearts and pockets full of memory cards packed with photos, the two friends turned back toward the hotel, ready to conquer London together.

The London evening settled over the hotel like a velvet curtain, the city's lights flickering to life beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of the suite. The room was a warm sanctuary of soft lamplight and plush furnishings, the kind of understated luxury that came with a five-star booking. Chaehyun had arranged it all—she always did, with that quiet, commanding precision that made her seem like she was running the world even when she was just picking a hotel.

Xiaoting lounged on the oversized couch, her legs tucked beneath her, scrolling through her phone with a casualness that belied the electric anticipation humming through her veins. She'd changed into a loose-fitting silk blouse and shorts, her hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. Across the room, Chaehyun was adjusting the television, her fingers dancing over the remote with practiced ease. She'd chosen a film—something romantic, with the kind of sweeping score and dramatic kisses that made the air feel thick.

"You're sure he's coming?" Xiaoting asked, her voice light but her eyes betraying a flicker of need.

Chaehyun turned, a slow smile curling on her lips. "He texted me ten minutes ago. Said he was wrapping up his meeting. He'll be here in twenty." She set the remote down and walked over, sinking into the couch beside Xiaoting, her hand finding the younger girl's thigh with a possessive squeeze. "Relax. You're wound tighter than a drum."

"I'm not nervous," Xiaoting said, but her breath hitched when Chaehyun's fingers traced a lazy pattern on her skin. "I just… I want this."

"I know you do." Chaehyun's voice was a purr, low and knowing. "You've been thinking about it all day, haven't you? Walking around London, smiling at the fans, pretending you're not thinking about his cock inside you."

Xiaoting's cheeks flushed, but she didn't look away. "Maybe."

"Maybe." Chaehyun laughed, a soft, wicked sound. "You're a terrible liar, Shen Xiaoting. But that's okay. I like you honest." She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of Xiaoting's ear. "And I like you greedy. Tonight, you're going to get exactly what you want. But remember—I'm in charge. You do what I say, when I say it. Understand?"

A shiver ran down Xiaoting's spine. "Yes."

"Good girl."

The knock came twenty minutes later, right on schedule. Chaehyun rose with a fluid grace, her bare feet padding across the carpet as she opened the door. Y/N stood there, slightly windblown, his hair mussed from the London breeze. He wore a simple dark sweater and jeans, but the way his eyes lit up when he saw her made him look like a man walking into a dream.

"Hey," he said, his voice warm.

"Hey yourself." Chaehyun pulled him inside, her hand sliding into his as she led him toward the living area. "We were just about to start the movie. You're just in time."

Xiaoting looked up as he entered, and her smile was genuine, a little shy despite everything. "Hi."

"Hi, Xiaoting." He settled onto the couch beside her, Chaehyun taking the seat on his left. The couch was large, but with three of them, it felt intimate—shoulders brushing, knees touching, the scent of his cologne mixing with the floral perfume the girls wore.

Chaehyun grabbed the remote and pressed play. The movie opened with a sweeping shot of a Parisian street, autumn leaves falling like confetti. A couple met in a café, their eyes locking across a crowded room. The dialogue was soft, the music swelling.

For a few minutes, they watched in companionable silence. Xiaoting's hand rested on her own thigh, but her fingers kept twitching, itching to reach out. She could feel the heat of Y/N's body next to hers, the solid warmth of his arm. On the other side, Chaehyun had draped her leg over his, her foot playing lazily against his calf.

Then the first kiss scene came. The actors on screen met in a rain-soaked alley, their mouths crashing together with desperate hunger. The camera lingered on their intertwined hands, the way the woman's fingers tangled in the man's hair. Xiaoting's breath caught. She felt a familiar ache bloom low in her belly, a heat that spread through her like wildfire.

She glanced at Chaehyun, who was watching her with a knowing smirk. Chaehyun said nothing, but her hand moved—slowly, deliberately—from Y/N's thigh to Xiaoting's, curling around her wrist. Then she guided Xiaoting's hand, inch by inch, until it rested on Y/N's crotch.

The fabric of his jeans was soft, but beneath it, Xiaoting could feel the unmistakable outline of his hardening cock. Her fingers trembled, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she pressed down, feeling the heat of him through the denim.

"Go on," Chaehyun whispered, her voice barely audible over the movie's soundtrack. "You've been waiting for this all day. Show him how much you want it."

Xiaoting didn't need to be told twice. Her fingers moved to the button of his jeans, popping it open with practiced ease. The zipper rasped down, and she slipped her hand inside, past the waistband of his boxers, until her fingers wrapped around his shaft. He was already thick, already hard, and she let out a soft moan at the feel of him.

Y/N sucked in a breath, his hips bucking slightly into her grip. "Fuck, Xiaoting…"

"Shh," Chaehyun said, pressing a finger to his lips. "Just enjoy it. Let her take care of you."

Xiaoting began to stroke him, slow and deliberate, her thumb circling the sensitive head. She watched his face—the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes fluttered closed—and it made her feel powerful. She loved this. She loved having him like this, under her control, his pleasure in her hands.

On the screen, the kissing scene continued, but none of them were watching anymore. Chaehyun leaned in, capturing Xiaoting's mouth in a deep, languid kiss. Their tongues met, soft and wet, and Xiaoting moaned into her mouth, her hand still pumping Y/N's cock. Chaehyun tasted like cherry lip gloss and something darker, something possessive.

When they broke apart, Chaehyun's eyes were dark with lust. "You're such a slut for him, aren't you?" she murmured, her voice dripping with mockery and affection. "You can't even watch a movie without shoving your hand down his pants."

Xiaoting's cheeks burned, but she didn't stop. "I can't help it," she whispered. "He's so big. I think about it all the time."

"I know you do." Chaehyun's hand came up to cup Xiaoting's chin, tilting her face so their eyes met. "You think about his cock stretching you open, filling you up. You dream about it at night, don't you?"

"Yes," Xiaoting breathed, her strokes growing faster.

"Tell me."

"I think about it when I'm in the shower. When I'm lying in bed. When I'm on stage." Her voice was ragged, raw. "I want him inside me. I want you to watch."

Chaehyun smiled, a slow, predatory smile. "Oh, I will watch. I'll watch you take every inch of him. And I'll make sure you remember who gave you permission."

Y/N groaned, his hand coming up to fist in Xiaoting's hair. "You two are going to kill me," he said, his voice strained.

"Don't die yet," Chaehyun said, her hand sliding down to replace Xiaoting's on his cock. "We're just getting started."

She pulled his cock free from his jeans, the thick shaft standing erect in the dim light. Xiaoting's mouth watered at the sight. She leaned forward, but Chaehyun stopped her with a hand on her chest.

"Not yet," she said. "I want to see you work for it."

Chaehyun guided Xiaoting's head down, not to his cock, but to his thighs. She made her kiss and lick her way up the inside of his leg, inch by agonizing inch, while Chaehyun's hand kept up a steady rhythm on his shaft. The movie played on, forgotten, the romantic music a distant backdrop to the wet sounds of Xiaoting's mouth on his skin.

When Xiaoting finally reached the base of his cock, Chaehyun pulled her away. "Not yet," she repeated. "First, take off your clothes."

Xiaoting scrambled to comply, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. She shrugged it off, then shimmied out of her shorts, until she was sitting there in just a black lace bra and matching panties. Her skin was flushed, her nipples hard against the fabric.

Chaehyun reached out and traced a finger along the edge of her bra. "Beautiful," she said. "Now, lay back."

Xiaoting obeyed, lying back on the couch, her head resting on a throw pillow. Chaehyun positioned herself between her legs, spreading her thighs wide. Then she turned to Y/N, who was watching with heavy-lidded eyes.

"Come here," she said. "Sit on the edge."

He moved, settling on the edge of the couch, his cock still standing proud. Chaehyun guided Xiaoting's head toward him, her hand in the younger girl's hair. "Suck him," she commanded. "Show him how good you are."

Xiaoting opened her mouth, and took him in. She'd done this before—twice before—but each time felt like the first. The weight of him on her tongue, the taste of salt and pre-cum, the way his hips bucked when she hollowed her cheeks. She moaned around him, her eyes fluttering closed.

Chaehyun watched, her own arousal growing. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to Xiaoting's stomach, then lower, her fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties. "You're so wet," she murmured, sliding the fabric aside. "So ready for him."

She slipped a finger inside Xiaoting, feeling the tight heat of her. Xiaoting gasped around Y/N's cock, her hips bucking into Chaehyun's hand. "Please," she whimpered, the word muffled.

"Please what?" Chaehyun asked, her finger curling inside her.

"Please let me have him. Please fuck me."

Chaehyun smiled, her hand still working inside Xiaoting. "Not yet. I want to watch you come on my fingers first."

She added a second finger, stretching her, pumping in and out while Xiaoting's mouth worked Y/N's cock. It was a symphony of wet sounds and desperate moans, and Chaehyun orchestrated it all. She watched Xiaoting's face, the way her brows furrowed, the way her lips stretched around his girth.

"That's it," she said. "Let go. Come for me."

Xiaoting's body tensed, a shudder running through her as she climaxed, her thighs clamping around Chaehyun's hand. She cried out, the sound vibrating around Y/N's cock, and he groaned, his own release building.

"Not yet," Chaehyun said, pulling her hand away and pressing her thumb against the tip of his cock. "You don't get to come yet. Not until I say so."

Y/N's eyes were wild, but he nodded, his breathing ragged. Chaehyun removed her thumb, and leaned down to lick the pre-cum from the head of his cock. "Delicious," she said. "Now, let's move to the bedroom."

She stood, offering a hand to Xiaoting, who was still trembling from her orgasm. Y/N followed, his cock still hard, his jeans undone. The bedroom was just beyond the living area, a spacious room with a king-sized bed, the sheets turned down.

Chaehyun directed Xiaoting to sit on the edge of the bed, then retrieved a velvet scarf from the nightstand—a deep burgundy, soft as silk. "You remember this, don't you?" she said, holding it up.

Xiaoting nodded, her breath caught. The first time they'd used it, she'd been nervous, but by the second time, she'd craved it. The blindfold heightened everything—the sounds, the sensations, the anticipation. Not knowing when he would touch her, when he would enter her—it drove her wild.

Chaehyun stepped behind her, and wrapped the scarf around Xiaoting's eyes, tying it in a secure knot. "How does it feel?" she whispered.

"Safe," Xiaoting said. "And so fucking horny."

Chaehyun laughed, a low, throaty sound. "Good. Now, lie back."

Xiaoting lay back on the bed, her arms spread out, her body exposed. She heard the rustle of clothing—Y/N undressing, Chaehyun undressing. Then she felt the mattress dip as Y/N climbed onto the bed, his body hovering over hers.

"Tell me what you want," Chaehyun said, her voice coming from somewhere near the foot of the bed.

"I want you two to fuck me," Xiaoting said, her voice trembling. "I want to feel him inside me again. Please, Mistress."

Chaehyun's hand came down on her thigh, a gentle slap. "You're so polite when you're blindfolded. I like it." She paused. "Y/N, take her. Fuck her like the slut she is."

Xiaoting felt his cock nudge at her entrance, slick with her own arousal. He pushed in slowly, inch by agonizing inch, and she cried out, her back arching. He was so thick, so deep, filling her in a way that made her feel whole.

"Fuck, yes," she gasped. "More. Give me more."

He bottomed out, his hips flush against hers, and stayed there for a moment, letting her adjust. Then he began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that had her seeing stars even through the blindfold.

"Harder," she begged. "Please, harder."

He obliged, picking up the pace, his balls slapping against her ass with each thrust. The bed creaked, the headboard knocking against the wall. She heard Chaehyun's voice, a low murmur of encouragement.

"That's it, baby. Take it. Take all of it."

Chaehyun climbed onto the bed, her body pressing against Y/N's back. She kissed his shoulder, his neck, murmuring in his ear. "You're doing so well. She's loving it. I can feel her clenching around you."

Xiaoting's hands fisted in the sheets, her moans turning into a steady stream of wordless sounds. She was close again, the pressure building, the blindfold making every sensation sharper.

"Don't come yet," Chaehyun said. "Not until I tell you."

But Xiaoting was beyond control. She came with a scream, her body convulsing, her inner walls milking his cock. Y/N groaned, his own release threatening, but he pulled out just in time, spilling his cum across her stomach.

"Fuck," he breathed, collapsing beside her.

Chaehyun reached down, and scooped up some of the cum on her fingers. She brought them to Xiaoting's lips. "Taste," she said. Xiaoting opened her mouth, licking her fingers clean.

"Good girl," Chaehyun said. She turned to Y/N, her eyes glinting. "Now, my turn."

She got on all fours, her ass in the air, her pussy glistening. "Fuck me from behind," she said. "And don't hold back."

Y/N positioned himself behind her, his cock still slick with Xiaoting's juices. He slid into Chaehyun with a single, smooth thrust, and she gasped, her head falling forward.

"Fuck, yes," she moaned. "Like that. Harder."

He grabbed her hips and pounded into her, his rhythm brutal and relentless. The bed springs squealed, and Xiaoting, still blindfolded, reached out blindly. Her hand found Chaehyun's chest, her fingers finding her nipples, pinching and twisting.

Chaehyun's moans grew louder, more desperate. "That's it, babydoll. Suck them."

Xiaoting leaned forward, her mouth finding Chaehyun's breasts. She sucked one nipple into her mouth, laving it with her tongue, while her hand worked the other. The combination of Y/N's cock pounding into her from behind and Xiaoting's mouth on her chest sent Chaehyun hurtling toward orgasm.

"Don't stop," she cried. "Don't fucking stop."

Y/N drove into her harder, faster, his balls slapping against her clit. She came with a scream, her body shuddering, her pussy clenching around his cock. He followed moments later, burying his face in her shoulder as he came, his hips stuttering.

For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the distant hum of London traffic. Then Chaehyun collapsed onto the bed, pulling Y/N with her. Xiaoting removed the blindfold, blinking in the dim light.

She looked at them—Y/N lying on his back, Chaehyun curled into his side, her hand resting on his chest. Xiaoting moved closer, fitting herself against his other side, her head on his shoulder.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice sleepy.

"For what?" Chaehyun asked, her eyes already closing.

"For trusting me. For sharing him."

Chaehyun reached across Y/N's chest, her hand finding Xiaoting's. She squeezed it gently. "You're part of this now. You're one of us."

Y/N pressed a kiss to the top of Xiaoting's head, then turned to kiss Chaehyun's forehead. His arms wrapped around both of them, pulling them close.

The movie continued to play in the other room, the credits rolling, the romantic score fading into silence. Outside, the London night deepened, the stars hidden behind the city lights. But inside the hotel room, there was only warmth, and the soft rhythm of three hearts beating as one.

They lay there, tangled together, exchanging lazy kisses and whispered words. Chaehyun's fingers traced patterns on Y/N's chest, while Xiaoting's hand rested on his stomach, rising and falling with each breath. The exhaustion of the day—the travel, the sightseeing, the adrenaline—finally caught up with them.

"We should sleep," Chaehyun murmured, her voice thick with drowsiness.

"Mmm," Xiaoting agreed, nuzzling into Y/N's neck. "Don't move."

"I won't," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I've got you both."

The lamp on the nightstand cast a golden glow over them, painting their skin in warm hues. Chaehyun reached up and turned it off, plunging the room into soft darkness. The only light came from the city beyond the window, a distant constellation of streetlamps and office towers.

Xiaoting's breathing slowed, evening out into the rhythm of sleep. Chaehyun's hand still rested on Y/N's chest, her fingers slackening as she drifted off. Y/N lay between them, feeling the weight of their bodies, the warmth of their skin, and allowed himself to relax.

He kissed Chaehyun's hair, then Xiaoting's, his lips brushing against the silk of their strands. "Goodnight," he whispered.

The room was quiet. The movie had ended. The night stretched on, deep and peaceful.

They slept, tangled together, their dreams weaving into a shared space of warmth and desire and the promise of more to come.

Next day.

The London summer sun beat down on the city with an unexpected intensity, turning the sprawling concert venue into a shimmering cauldron of excitement. The air was thick with the scent of street food, expensive perfume, and the electric anticipation of thousands of fans. For Chaehyun and Xiaoting, the day started with a lingering, decadent warmth that had nothing to do with the weather. They were still recovering from their wild night, their bodies still humming from the rhythmic, relentless way Y/N had claimed them both. Every time Chaehyun shifted in her seat during the ride to the venue, she could feel the slight, pleasant ache between her thighs, a constant reminder of Y/N’s size and the way he always fills her to the brim.

As they stepped onto the massive stage, the roar of the crowd was deafening. The lighting was blinding, but the energy was intoxicating. They were dressed in "Waterbomb" inspired outfits—minimalist, daring pieces of fabric that left very little to the imagination.

Chaehyun wore a shimmering, skin-tight cropped top that pushed her breasts upward, the fabric straining against her curves with every breath. The matching micro-shorts hugged her hips so tightly they were practically a second skin, showcasing her long, toned legs.

Xiaoting looked equally provocative, her outfit designed to accentuate her slender waist and the swell of her chest, the material glistening under the stage lights and clinging to her skin as they began to dance.

The medley was a whirlwind of high-energy choreography and sultry vocals. As they moved, the outfits did exactly what they were designed to do: tease. Every jump, every hip thrust, and every synchronized movement caused the fabric to shift, offering the audience tantalizing glimpses of skin.

Chaehyun could see the front row of fans—mostly young men—completely mesmerized, their eyes locked onto the bounce of her breasts and the sway of her ass. She loved it. The knowledge that she was being devoured by thousands of eyes, while knowing that she belonged solely to Y/N, added a layer of erotic thrill to her performance.

When the final note faded and the curtains closed, the adrenaline was still surging through their veins. Gasping for air, sweat slicking their skin and making their sexy outfits cling even more provocatively to their bodies, they made their way backstage.

The backstage area was a chaotic blend of stylists, managers, and other idols. Chaehyun spotted Karina and Winter of Aespa standing near the catering table.

"You girls were incredible!" Karina exclaimed, her eyes scanning Chaehyun’s revealing outfit with a playful smirk. "I think you might have actually caused a few heart attacks in the front row. Those outfits are… brave."

Chaehyun giggled, leaning in close, the scent of her sweat and perfume mixing. "It's summer in London, Karina. We had to give them something to remember."

Winter nodded, her gaze lingering on the way Chaehyun’s top barely contained her. "Brave is one word for it. I don't know how you move in those without something popping out."

Meanwhile, Xiaoting had drifted toward Haruna and Sheon of Billlie. The conversation was light, filled with the mutual exhaustion and excitement of the festival, but there was an underlying current of feminine camaraderie. They complimented each other's visuals, the girls admiring the way the Waterbomb outfits highlighted Xiaoting's ethereal beauty and athletic frame.

As the groups began to disperse, Chaehyun found herself in a quiet corner with Tsuki and Siyoon. The two Billlie members looked exhausted but exhilarated.

"God, my chest is killing me," Tsuki sighed, adjusting the strap of her top. "These costumes are gorgeous, but they are so tight I can barely take a full breath. I feel like I'm being squeezed into a sausage."

Siyoon laughed, leaning back against a flight case. "Tell me about it. Did you see the way those guys were staring? I could practically feel their eyes on my tits the whole time I was singing. It's a bit distracting when you're trying to hit a high note and you know half the stadium is imagining you naked."

Chaehyun smirked, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "It's the best part, isn't it? The power we have over them."

Tsuki groaned, her expression turning longing. "The only problem is the aftermath. The adrenaline wears off, and then you're just… stuck in a hotel room. Traveling abroad is great, but it's so hard to take the edge off. I'm practically vibrating with tension."

Chaehyun leaned in, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper that immediately caught their attention. "Well… I have a secret. I didn't come to London alone. My boyfriend is here with me."

Tsuki and Siyoon both froze, their eyes widening.

"Wait, really?" Siyoon asked, her voice breathless. "A secret boyfriend? In the city?"

Chaehyun’s smile widened, becoming something more predatory and satisfied. "Mhm. And let me tell you… he's been filling me every single night. I've never been so worked over in my life. He's absolutely relentless." She paused, glancing over at Xiaoting, who was laughing with Sheon. "And he's not just taking care of me. He's been fucking my roommate, Xiaoting, too. We've been sharing him."

The silence that followed was heavy with sudden, intense curiosity. Tsuki and Siyoon exchanged a look of pure, unadulterated hunger. The idea of a man capable of satisfying two K-pop idols—and doing it so well that Chaehyun was bragging about it—was an irresistible lure.

"Are you kidding me?" Tsuki whispered, her face flushing. "You can't just tell us that and leave it there. Please, Chaehyun… please invite us over. We're dying here."

Siyoon nodded fervently, her hand instinctively brushing against her thigh. "Please. We just want to… hang out. And maybe see what all the fuss is about."

Chaehyun laughed, feeling the power of the situation. "Alright, alright. Come over tonight. We'll have some drinks and relax."

As the schedule finally wrapped and the idols were whisked away to their respective hotels, the anticipation began to build. Back in her room, Tsuki meticulously prepared her outfit, wanting to look perfectly seductive yet effortless.

She chose a cropped gingham off-shoulder top in a vibrant red-and-white check. The neckline was daringly low, sitting just above the swell of her breasts and held together by a wide black ribbon tied into a delicate bow at the center. The short, ruffled sleeves left her shoulders and collarbones bare, and the hem ended just below her ribcage, exposing a narrow, toned strip of her midriff. She paired this with dark indigo low-rise denim jeans that hugged her hips and thighs with precision, the waistband sitting low enough to reveal the sharp line of her hip bones. She looked like a dream—innocent yet provocative.

Siyoon went for a different vibe, something more daring. She donned a white top that was almost entirely see-through, the sheer fabric clinging to her skin and revealing a sexy, supportive sports bra underneath. The contrast of the white fabric against her skin was striking. She paired the top with classic blue jeans that accentuated her curves and topped the look off with dark glasses, giving her an air of mysterious sophistication.

As the two of them walked toward Chaehyun and Xiaoting's hotel room, the tension between them was palpable.

"Do you think he's actually as good as she says?" Tsuki whispered, her heart racing.

"If he's handling both of them," Siyoon replied, her voice low and husky, "he has to be a god."

They reached the door and knocked. A moment later, the door swung open to reveal Chaehyun. She had changed into something more relaxed but no less sexy—a silk robe that draped loosely over her body, threatening to slide open at any moment.

"You made it!" Chaehyun beamed, stepping aside to let them in.

Tsuki and Siyoon entered the luxurious suite, the scent of expensive candles and something muskier—something masculine—filling their senses. Xiaoting was lounging on the sofa, looking radiant. The Billlie girls greeted her with polite bows that quickly turned into close, lingering hugs. As they pulled away, Xiaoting leaned in and kissed each of them on the cheek. It was a gesture of friendship, but the way her lips lingered for a fraction of a second too long, and the way she smelled of vanilla and sex, made it feel intensely sensual.

Then, they saw him.

Y/N was standing by the mini-bar, pouring drinks. He was dressed simply—a well-fitted black t-shirt that clung to his chest and shoulders, and dark trousers. He didn't look like a typical idol, but he had a presence that commanded the room. He was handsome in a way that felt grounded and masculine, with a gentle, classy aura that immediately put them at ease while simultaneously making their stomachs flip.

"Welcome," Y/N said, his voice a deep, smooth baritone that seemed to vibrate in their chests. He greeted them with a warm, genuine smile and a polite nod. "I've heard a lot about you both. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Tsuki and Siyoon were instantly whipped. The combination of his physical attractiveness and his polished, gentlemanly demeanor was a lethal cocktail. They found themselves blushing, their confidence momentarily wavering under his gaze.

"Thank you for having us," Tsuki managed to say, her voice a bit higher than usual.

The group settled into the living area, the atmosphere shifting from polite to playful as the drinks began to flow. They sat close together on the oversized velvet sofas, the proximity allowing them to feel the warmth of each other's bodies.

As the alcohol loosened their inhibitions, the conversation turned toward the "naughty" side of their lives. The air grew thick with teasing and suggestive glances.

Xiaoting, feeling bold after a few sips of champagne, leaned back and looked at the Billlie girls. "You know," she started, a playful smirk on her lips, "last week's session was… something else. Yuqi unnie joined in with Chaehyun-ah and Y/N. I've never seen Chaehyun act as wild as that before. Y/N just… he knows exactly where to put it. Like last night. He spent an hour just focusing on my clit before he finally slid inside me, and I thought I was going to pass out from the pleasure."

Tsuki and Siyoon gasped, their eyes wide, their breaths hitching. The explicit detail of the confession sent a jolt of electricity through them.

"Is that so?" Siyoon whispered, her gaze drifting toward Y/N, who remained calm and composed, though a small, knowing smile played on his lips.

Not wanting to be outdone, Tsuki leaned forward, her red gingham top shifting to reveal a glimpse of the underside of her breast. "We've had our moments too," she confessed, her voice dropping to a sultry tone. "Last year, after a concert, Siyoon and I… we met a fan. He was gorgeous, and we ended up in a hotel room together. It was a threesome that lasted until sunrise. We took turns on him, and he took turns on us. I remember the way he looked at us while he was buried deep inside Siyoon, while I was sucking his toes…"

The room felt like it was heating up. The dialogue was no longer just about stories; it was a form of foreplay. Every confession, every laugh, and every accidental touch of a leg or a shoulder was fueling a fire that was rapidly becoming uncontrollable.

Chaehyun watched the Billlie girls, noting the way Tsuki was subconsciously biting her lip and the way Siyoon was shifting her weight, her sheer top clinging to her chest as she breathed more heavily. She looked at Y/N, seeing the hunger in his eyes—a hunger that matched her own.

The atmosphere was electric, a volatile mix of desire, curiosity, and the thrill of the forbidden. They were four of the most desired women in the industry, and one man who seemed more than capable of handling all of them. The drinks were flowing, the confessions were getting bolder, and the tension had reached a breaking point.

The air in the hotel suite was thick, saturated with the scent of expensive perfume, spilled cocktails, and a mounting, electric sexual tension that had been simmering since the moment Tsuki and Siyoon stepped through the door. The London heat outside was nothing compared to the fever burning inside the room.

Xiaoting, lounging with a predatory grace, felt the alcohol humming in her veins, lowering her inhibitions and heightening her desire to dominate. She looked at Siyoon, who was practically vibrating with anticipation, her eyes wide and hungry. Without a word, Xiaoting leaned in. The movement was slow, deliberate, a silent invitation. When her lips finally met Siyoon’s, it wasn't a gentle greeting; it was a claim.

Siyoon gasped into the kiss, her body stiffening in a momentary flash of surprise before she melted completely. She leaned into Xiaoting, her hands clutching at the other girl's shoulders as their tongues clashed in a wet, desperate dance. Xiaoting didn't stop at the kiss. Her hands wandered, sliding up Siyoon's ribs to find the swell of her breasts through the sheer white fabric. She squeezed them firmly, her thumbs flicking over the hardening nipples, causing Siyoon to let out a muffled moan of pleasure right into Xiaoting's mouth.

On the other end of the couch, Tsuki sat frozen, her breath coming in shallow hitches. She watched the two idols devour each other, the sight of their entwined bodies sending a jolt of heat straight to her core. But as much as the girls fascinated her, her eyes kept drifting. They slid over to Y/N, tracing the sharp, masculine line of his jaw and the way his biceps strained against his shirt. He was a pillar of calm strength in the middle of this storm, and the contrast made him irresistible.

Chaehyun, noticing Tsuki’s longing gaze, leaned closer to Y/N. Her voice was a sultry whisper, a warm breath against his ear that made him smirk. "Go play a little with Tsuki," she murmured, her eyes glinting with mischief. "She's practically begging for you."

Y/N didn't need to be told twice. He reached over, his large hand wrapping around Tsuki’s slender arm and pulling her upward with effortless strength. Tsuki let out a small, surprised squeak as he swept her off her feet, lifting her into his arms. She clung to his neck, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. He carried her toward the bedroom, the distance feeling like an eternity of anticipation.

As soon as they hit the mattress, Y/N shifted his weight, pinning her beneath him. The sheer mass of him was overwhelming in the best way possible. He started slowly, his lips grazing her cheek, then trailing down to the sensitive skin of her neck. Tsuki arched her back, a soft moan escaping her as he nipped at her collarbone.

"You've been staring at me all night," Y/N murmured, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated through her entire body.

He moved lower, his mouth finding the curve of her breasts. His fingers worked the bow of her red gingham top, untying it with a deft flick. The fabric fell away, exposing her pale, trembling skin to the cool air of the room. Y/N didn't let her stay cold for long. He captured one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, his tongue swirling around the peak. Tsuki screamed softly, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her hips beginning to buck instinctively against him.

Back on the couch, the atmosphere had shifted from teasing to urgent. Xiaoting had pulled Siyoon directly into her lap, the girl's legs wrapped tightly around her waist. They were kissing furiously now, a clash of teeth and tongues, their breathing heavy and synchronized. Xiaoting’s hand slid down, disappearing beneath the waistband of Siyoon's jeans. She gripped the girl's plush ass, kneading the flesh roughly, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. Siyoon was a whimpering mess, her head tossing back as Xiaoting’s fingers began to explore her heat.

Chaehyun entered the bedroom just as the scene reached a boiling point. Tsuki was now positioned on her back, her head hanging over the edge of the bed, her expression one of pure, glazed ecstasy. Y/N was positioned at the edge of the bed, but instead of her pussy, he was focused on her mouth. He was roughly fucking her throat, his cock sliding deep, forcing her to gag and moan around him.

Chaehyun smiled, reaching into her bag for the gear they had brought. She leaned over Tsuki, the Japanese girl's eyes rolling back in her head as she took Y/N's length. Chaehyun carefully attached a pair of heavy-duty nipple clamps to Tsuki's erect peaks. The sudden, sharp pinch of pain combined with the overwhelming sensation of Y/N in her throat created a sensory overload. Tsuki’s body convulsed, a loud, guttural moan echoing through the room as she came violently, her pussy soaking her jeans within minutes.

But they weren't done. Chaehyun stripped off her own jeans, her own wetness glistening in the dim light. She slid down between Tsuki's legs, her tongue finding the swollen clit with surgical precision. While Y/N continued to pump his cock deep into Tsuki's throat, Chaehyun devoured her, licking and sucking with a hunger that matched the intensity of the scene.

Tsuki was caught in a vice of pleasure. She was being filled from above and drained from below. Her muffled screams filled the room, her body shaking with the force of two more crashing orgasms, her toes curling and her fingers clutching the bedsheets until they nearly tore.

As Y/N felt himself reaching his limit, he pulled out of Tsuki's mouth with a wet pop. He gripped his cock, stroking himself rapidly before letting out a low groan. He aimed his release, cumming in thick, hot ropes all over Tsuki's heaving breasts and stomach. Tsuki gasped, looking down at the white streaks covering her skin. Chaehyun didn't waste a second; she rushed forward, her tongue darting out to lick the cum clean, her eyes locked on Y/N with a look of pure adoration and hunger.

The bedroom door opened, and Xiaoting walked in, leading a flushed and needy Siyoon by the hand. Siyoon looked completely undone, her hair messy and her lips swollen from Xiaoting's kisses. Xiaoting guided her to the bed, sitting her down next to the exhausted Tsuki and the glowing Chaehyun.

"Let's see how naughty you two really are," Xiaoting whispered, her voice dripping with dominant intent.

She produced the bondage rope from Korea, the high-quality fibers shimmering. With practiced ease, she began to bind Siyoon. She pulled Siyoon's wrists together, tying them tight, then moved to her ankles, spreading her legs wide and securing them to the bedposts. Siyoon whimpered, the feeling of helplessness only fueling her arousal.

Xiaoting then stepped back to reveal the dildo strap-on, a formidable piece of equipment. She buckled it onto her hips, the realistic shaft standing proud. She didn't give Siyoon time to prepare. She lunged forward, driving the dildo deep into Siyoon's tight pussy in one rough thrust.

Siyoon let out a piercing scream, her back arching off the bed. "Oh god! Xiaoting!" she wailed, her voice cracking. Xiaoting didn't slow down; she began to fuck her with a rhythmic, brutal intensity, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room. Each thrust was deep and uncompromising, hitting Siyoon's G-spot with punishing accuracy.

Simultaneously, Y/N turned his attention back to Tsuki. He produced a pair of steel handcuffs, snapping them around her wrists and securing her to the headboard. Her arms were stretched high above her head, leaving her completely exposed and vulnerable. Y/N positioned himself beneath her, and Tsuki, driven by a primal need, slid down onto his massive cock.

She gasped as he filled her completely, her tight walls stretching to accommodate him. She began to ride him with everything she had, her breasts bouncing wildly, her head tossing from side to side. "Yes! Right there! Fuck me, Y/N!" she screamed, her voice joining the chorus of moans.

To complete the chaos, Chaehyun crawled over to the bound Siyoon. While Xiaoting continued to hammer away at Siyoon's pussy from the front, Chaehyun positioned herself over Siyoon's face. She lowered herself slowly, her dripping wet pussy landing squarely on Siyoon's mouth.

Siyoon was now trapped in a sandwich of pleasure—Xiaoting's strap-on ravaging her insides while Chaehyun's scent and taste overwhelmed her senses. Siyoon began to lap greedily at Chaehyun, her tongue working frantically to please the other girl even as she was being driven toward another peak by Xiaoting.

The room was a symphony of debauchery. The air was thick with the smell of sex, sweat, and lubrication. The sounds were visceral: the rhythmic thwack of Xiaoting's hips, the wet sounds of Tsuki riding Y/N, and the desperate, muffled moans of Siyoon beneath Chaehyun.

Tsuki's movements became more frantic, her internal muscles clamping down on Y/N as she felt her climax building. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "I'm coming! I'm coming again!" she shrieked, her body shuddering as a massive orgasm ripped through her, her pussy pulsing around Y/N's cock in tight, rhythmic waves.

Y/N groaned, his own pleasure peaking. He gripped Tsuki's hips, driving upward one last time, burying himself as deep as possible as he let out a guttural roar, filling her deep inside with a hot, pulsing load.

Beside them, Xiaoting delivered one final, crushing thrust into Siyoon, who let out a long, trailing scream of release, her body going limp against the ropes as she came so hard she nearly blacked out. Chaehyun let out a satisfied sigh, her own orgasm triggered by the sight and sound of the others, her pussy twitching against Siyoon's lips.

As the echoes of their screams faded, the five of them lay in a tangled heap of limbs, sweat, and spent passion, the London summer night finally feeling as hot as the fire they had ignited in that room.

💛 Loved this dynamic? Bring your own ideas to life! ✨ My commissions are officially open. You can request custom settings, specific tropes, or tailored dynamics completely safe-for-work and delivered straight to your inbox. You can request extra chapter to my curent stories, another character's pov, double interchanging povs stories, anything you'd like. And please remember to contact me here, on tumblr and not in my Ko-fi DMs.

She sat there in silence, listening to the distant sound of city traffic, her breathing becoming heavy and short… hoping fate would show some mercy, even though she knew that in this world, mercy didn't pay the bills.

Three loud, sharp knocks shook the door.

“I know you’re in there, Yuna!” Mr. Han’s voice was a hoarse growl, loaded with a greasy kind of authority. “Open the damn door right now!”

Yuna swallowed hard. Her legs felt like jelly and cold sweat beaded on her forehead. She walked toward the entrance with shaky steps, feeling every inch bring her closer to a cliff. When she turned the knob and opened the door, the air in the hallway was displaced by the man's massive presence.

Mr. Han didn’t just enter; he invaded. He was obese, with a belly that strained the buttons of his yellowish-white shirt, revealing patches of damp body hair and red skin. His smell came before him: a suffocating mix of cheap tobacco, stale sweat, and some kind of budget cologne that only served to highlight the scent of old meat.

“You’re late on your payments, princess,” he said, slamming the door shut behind him with a thud that made the windows vibrate.

Yuna instinctively backed away, bumping into the small entry table. Her pupils dilated and she felt a chill run down her neck.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Mr. Han,” she stammered, looking down. “I had some problems with my college materials and… I… I swear I’ll catch up soon. I just need a few more weeks.”

The man didn't answer right away. Instead, he just stood there, breathing heavily. The sound of his lungs fighting for oxygen filled the silence of the apartment. Yuna could feel the landlord's gaze scanning her, but it wasn't a casual look. It was a slow, visceral, obscene scan.

Mr. Han’s small, glinting eyes traveled from her face down to her breasts, which were heaving from nervousness. They stayed there for a few seconds, as if he were measuring the firmness of her tits under the white fabric, before dropping to her hips and stopping at the curve of her ass.

“Weeks?” he let out a nasal chuckle that sounded like phlegm. “I’ve been patient with you for three months, Yuna. Patience has a limit… and so does my pocket.”

Yuna felt her stomach knot up. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and she began to tremble slightly. The man took a step forward, forcing her to back away further. His physical mass was overwhelming; Yuna felt like a porcelain doll facing a hungry animal.

“Please… don't kick me out,” she pleaded, her voice breaking, almost a whisper. “I have nowhere else to go. I’ll do anything, I swear. I’ll work double, I’ll get the money…”

Mr. Han stopped just inches from her. Yuna could feel the heat radiating from his obese body and the smell of tobacco that seemed to soak into the very air she breathed. He tilted his head, looking at her with a crooked smile that revealed yellowish teeth.

“Anything, huh?” he repeated, lowering his voice to a predatory purr. “That’s a very dangerous word, princess. A very… tempting word.”

Yuna felt the hair on her arms stand up. The man's tone had changed; it wasn't just the anger of a debt collector anymore, but something much darker and more lustful. Her nipples hardened against her shirt—not from the cold, but as an instinctive reaction of fear and vulnerability that made her feel naked under those eyes.

“What do you mean?” she asked, though deep down she already knew the answer. Her pulse quickened, hammering in her ears.

Mr. Han let out a short, dry laugh while extending a fat, sweaty hand to lightly touch Yuna's shoulder. The contact was brief, but her skin reacted as if it had been burned; an electric shiver ran down her entire spine.

“Oh, don't get so defensive, beautiful,” he said, never stopping that suffocating intensity in his gaze. “It’s just that I’m starting to sell clothes and I need a model… with your body and pretty face, I think you’d be perfect. Of course, I’d pay you enough to cover the rent and then some.”

For a moment, Yuna felt a spark of excitement. After everything, she was seeing a light… a ray of hope to escape her debt and her hunger.

Yuna felt air returning to her lungs for the first time in hours. The panic that had paralyzed her began to fade, replaced by a spark of hope so intense it almost blinded her. A model? It sounded absurd; she had no experience. But she looked at her own body and then at the man's gaze; she knew she was pretty, she knew she turned heads. If he was willing to pay her just to pose, it was the biggest miracle of her life.

“Seriously?” Yuna asked, her voice still trembling but now filled with naive hope. “You’d really pay my rent and give me extra for that?”

Mr. Han let out a snort that made his double chin vibrate. He stepped back to give her space, but his eyes remained locked on her, tracing the line of her neck down to the valley between her breasts. Yuna didn't realize that this "hope" was the perfect bait; she was so desperate she couldn't see the strings he was starting to pull.

“That’s right, princess,” he answered, his voice now softer, almost paternal, though it kept that greasy tone. “It’s a personal project. I want to capture the essence of youth, purity… form. You study Fine Arts, right? You know the human body is the ultimate masterpiece. I just need a few photos, nothing complicated.”

Yuna nodded quickly, almost enthusiastically. Her hands stopped shaking and started playing with the edge of her shirt.

“Yes, I know… anatomy is fundamental,” she stammered, feeling validated in her field of study. “I could do it. I don't care about the schedule; I can go whenever you want.”

Mr. Han let out a hoarse chuckle and put his hand to his chin, pretending to reflect while his eyes stayed glued to Yuna's hips, imagining them wrapped in lycra.

“There’s one detail,” he said, lowering his tone. “It’s not just any clothes. I have a specific outfit I want to test. It’s a blue swimsuit, full body, very tight. Like a sports or professional swimming uniform. I want to see how it fits a figure like yours.”

Yuna frowned slightly, but it wasn't rejection—it was technical curiosity. A blue swimsuit… didn't seem out of place for a photo session about the "human form." In her mind, she imagined an artistic session with soft lights and neutral backgrounds, something that could even serve as part of her portfolio.

“A swimsuit…” she repeated softly. She felt a slight heat rise in her cheeks. “That’s fine. If it’s for photos, I don't have a problem.”

“Exactly. Nothing vulgar, just art,” he lied, and the lie came out so smoothly that Yuna didn't even suspect him. “But I want it to be at my place. I have the lighting equipment there, an improvised studio where no one will bother us. One night, a few poses, and tomorrow I’ll wipe your debt clean and give you a cash bonus for your materials.”

Yuna's heart leaped. The "cash bonus" was the final blow. She stopped thinking about the man's smell or the way he looked at her; she only thought about new brushes, the large canvas she had been craving, and the feeling of no longer having an empty stomach.

“I accept,” Yuna said firmly, though her voice sounded small. “I accept the deal, Mr. Han.”

The man flashed a triumphant smile—a predatory expression that Yuna interpreted as kindness. He extended his fat, damp hand once more, and this time Yuna didn't pull away. She shook the landlord's hand, feeling the sticky, warm skin against hers, a contact that caused an involuntary shiver to run down her spine.

“Perfect, princess. Tomorrow at seven in the evening. Don't be late,” he said, letting go of her slowly. “And remember: wear something light underneath so the swimsuit slides on easily. I want every curve to show; no wrinkles in the fabric. Art requires precision, right?”

Yuna nodded, feeling a strange mix of nerves and relief.

“Yes… precision. I’ll be there.”

Mr. Han turned to leave the apartment, but before closing the door, he cast one last glance over his shoulder. He stared at Yuna's ass as she turned back to her table, a lustful glint lighting up his small eyes.

“Tomorrow you’re going to be my masterpiece, Yuna,” he murmured to himself, slamming the door shut with a thud that echoed through the hallway.

Yuna was left alone in the silence of her room. She sank into her chair and let out a long sigh, feeling the weight of the world lift off her shoulders. She didn't know she had just signed a contract where the currency wasn't time or work, but her own skin. She looked at her hands, still stained with paint, and smiled slightly, unaware that tomorrow those same hands would be trying to cover herself while Mr. Han did exactly the opposite.

Slowly, she lowered her arm and exhaled deeply, feeling the tension that had kept her shoulders rigid for weeks finally crumble. Her legs, which had been shaking violently minutes ago, now felt solid. The void in her stomach no longer felt like an open wound, but a tolerable wait.

“I can't believe it… he actually helped me,” she whispered to herself, and a small, almost unconscious smile appeared on her full lips.

She walked to the window and looked at the city's gray sky. She felt strangely ashamed. For months, she had seen Mr. Han as a monster, a rude and unpleasant man who only knew how to grunt and demand money. She had judged his obesity and smell as signs of a repulsive personality, but now, in the light of this opportunity, she started to reinterpret everything.

Maybe he's just a lonely man, she thought, hugging herself. Maybe that rudeness is just a mask because he doesn't know how to approach people. And that he offered me this… means he trusts me, that he sees something in me others don't.

She felt flattered. The idea that someone, even a grumpy landlord, saw her body as a "masterpiece" or a subject worthy of artistic study touched a chord of pride in her. As a Fine Arts student, Yuna was obsessed with aesthetics and form; the fact that Mr. Han talked about “capturing the essence of youth” made her feel like he shared her passion—that there was a hidden intellectual connection behind his sloppy appearance.

“I’ve been too hard on him,” she murmured, feeling a comforting warmth in her chest. “Poor man, probably nobody understands him.”

She moved through the room with renewed energy. She no longer saw the half-finished canvases as reminders of financial failure, but as preludes to what would come after the cash bonus. She imagined buying those premium sable brushes she had seen in the specialty store, feeling the fine bristles on the canvas. She imagined the hunger disappearing, replaced by real dinners and nights of sleep without the nightmare of eviction stalking her.

She approached the bathroom mirror once more. This time, she didn't look at herself with the anguish of someone who is a vulnerable piece of meat, but with the curiosity of an artist analyzing their own model. She observed the curve of her neck, the volume of her breasts pushing against the shirt, and the smooth line of her waist.

“If it’s just for artistic photos, there's no reason to be afraid,” she told herself, running her fingers over her cheeks. “It’s professional. He said it himself. ‘Nothing vulgar.’”

The fact that he had asked her to come to his house to use the "lighting equipment" seemed like a logical technical detail. After all, light is everything in photography. Yuna felt silly for having been afraid just half an hour ago; she laughed softly at her own naivety, not realizing that this very naivety was the paved road toward her own downfall.

She spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of contained euphoria. She tidied up her room, organized her brushes and, for the first time in a long while, took a long, hot shower. While the water slid over her curves, Yuna closed her eyes and imagined the photo session as something elegant, almost ethereal. She couldn't wait to see the results; she felt this would be a turning point in her life, not just financially, but personally.

When night fell, she lay in her cold bed, but this time the cold didn't bother her. She was too busy planning how she would thank Mr. Han for his generosity. She fell asleep with a sense of absolute peace, convinced that she had found an unexpected ally in the most improbable man in the world.

Meanwhile, a few blocks away, in the dim light of his own house, Mr. Han checked his camera and prepared the clothes he would give Yuna. A slimy smile spread across his face as he imagined the look of surprise on the girl's face when she discovered that the "art" he was looking for had nothing to do with museums, but everything to do with what she believed she was protecting under her clothes.

Yuna slept deeply, dreaming of canvases and brushes, unaware that tomorrow she would stop being the artist and become the canvas where Mr. Han would write his filthiest desires.

The clock struck seven exactly when Yuna arrived in front of Mr. Han's door. She stopped for a second to take a deep breath, feeling the fresh night air cool her lungs. She was wearing a simple dress and comfortable shoes, but her heart beat with unusual force, hammering against her ribs like a caged animal.

“You can do this, Yuna. It’s just art,” she whispered to herself, trying to calm the shaking of her hands.

When she knocked, the door opened almost instantly, as if he had been leaning against the frame waiting for her arrival. Mr. Han appeared, filling the space with his massive volume. He was wearing a gray t-shirt that clung to his sweaty belly and loose pants.

“You’re on time, princess,” he grunted, and although his voice was hoarse, Yuna interpreted it as a sign of respect for her punctuality. “Come in, come in. Don't just stand out there freezing.”

Yuna entered the house and was immediately hit by the atmosphere. The smell of stale tobacco was much stronger than in the apartment, mixing with a scent of confinement and dampness that made her wrinkle her nose slightly. The lighting was dim; only a few yellowish lamps lit the hallways, creating long, heavy shadows that seemed to move around her.

“It’s… very quiet here,” Yuna commented, looking around with curiosity.

“It’s a private studio,” Han replied, closing the door behind her with a metallic and final sound. “No one will interrupt us here. Concentration is key to capturing the model's essence.”

Yuna nodded, feeling small under the low ceiling of the house. As they walked toward what he called the "studio," she could feel that the man's eyes never left her. It wasn't a technical look; it was a voracious observation scanning the curve of her back and the movement of her hips as she walked. Yuna felt a slight shiver, but she quickly dismissed it, convincing herself it was just the nervousness of the moment.

“Here you go,” he said, opening the door to a wide room containing a white background, professional spotlights, and a giant mirror. “The set is ready.”

Yuna looked at the lights with admiration. It really did look professional. However, on a small table next to the mirror, there was a pile of folded clothes. It wasn't the clothing she expected; there were no white robes or ethereal gowns.

“Before we start with the main photos, I want to do some light and composition tests,” Han explained, stepping closer to her. The man breathed heavily, and Yuna noticed that the scent of tobacco emanated directly from his pores. “I’ve prepared a few outfits. I want you to try them on one by one to see which one best highlights your… bone structure.”

Yuna approached the table and picked up the first garment. It was a set of sports lingerie, but much tighter and more revealing than what she considered "sporty." The fabric was thin, almost transparent in some areas, and the design left a lot of skin exposed.

“This?” Yuna asked, feeling her cheeks heat up. “It seems a bit… tight for test clothing, don't you think?”

Mr. Han let out a nasal chuckle, moving toward her until he was very close. Yuna could feel the heat radiating from his obese body and the smell of sweat that was starting to become suffocating.

“It’s technical gear, princess,” he lied in a sugary voice. “I need to see how the light behaves on the muscles and skin. There’s nothing to be ashamed of; remember you’re an artistic model. Or are you afraid to show your beauty?”

Yuna felt a prick to her pride. The challenge, though subtle, worked perfectly. She wanted to prove she was a professional, that she could handle the concept of the human body without taboos.

“I’m not afraid,” she replied with her chin up, although her hands were gripping the thin fabric tightly.

“I like that attitude,” he said, and Yuna could have sworn she saw a predatory glint in his eyes. “Go to the changing room. Put on the first outfit. Don't take long; the light is perfect right now.”

Yuna headed to the small cubicle behind the curtain, feeling her heart race. As she took off her dress and felt the cold air of the studio hit her bare skin, her nipples hardened instantly. Sliding into the first garment, she felt how the fabric squeezed her breasts, lifting them and marking them with almost obscene clarity. The set left much of her thighs exposed, and the curve of her ass was dangerously revealed.

She looked at herself in the changing room mirror and let out a small gasp. She looked incredibly sexy, but it was a sensuality she didn't recognize in herself.

“Yuna! Are you ready?” Han shouted from outside. His voice sounded impatient, almost hungry.

“Y-yes… I’m coming,” she stammered, adjusting the garment with trembling hands.

When Yuna stepped out of the changing room, the silence became absolute. Mr. Han didn't say anything for several seconds; he just stood there, mouth slightly open, scanning every inch of her exposed body. The man's gaze dropped from her lips down to the valley between her breasts, where the fabric seemed on the verge of giving way under the volume of her tits.

Yuna felt her skin prickle under that look. It wasn't an artist's gaze; it was the look of someone imagining exactly how it would feel to touch that skin. But in her naivety, Yuna interpreted this silence as professional admiration.

“What do you think?” she asked in a thin voice.

“Perfect… absolutely perfect,” Han whispered, his hand unconsciously dropping toward his own waist. “But this is just the beginning. We have much more to try.”

Mr. Han didn't stop looking at her for a single second. The silence in the room was so thick that Yuna could hear the rhythmic, heavy sound of the man's breathing—a dull panting that seemed to fill the whole space. She felt small, exposed, as if the air itself were caressing the areas of her skin left bare by the first outfit.

“The light… the light falls perfectly on your shoulders,” he finally said, although his eyes weren't on her shoulders; they were glued to the way her nipples poked through the thin fabric of the sports set, erect from the cold and tension. “But I think we need something with a stronger contrast. Something that better defines the lines of your waist and the curve of your thighs.”

Yuna crossed her arms instinctively, trying to cover herself a bit. The synthetic fabric of the set was so tight she felt it squeezing her thighs and the base of her hips, marking the crevice of her ass with surgical precision.

“Is there something else?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Mr. Han let out a hoarse chuckle and took a step toward her, invading her personal space. Yuna could smell the stale tobacco on his breath as he leaned slightly toward her, his physical mass blocking her exit.

“Of course. Come here,” he ordered.

Yuna walked toward the table, feeling every step make the fabric slide against her skin, damp from nervous sweat. Mr. Han extended a fat hand and pointed to the next garment. Yuna took it and felt her heart skip a beat. It was a one-piece swimsuit in a deep, shiny navy blue. At first glance, it looked like one of those Japanese school swimming uniforms, but touching the fabric, she realized it was much more provocative.

The material was a thick, glossy lycra that promised to squeeze the body like a second skin. The neckline was slightly lower than normal, and the bottom had an extremely high cut on the legs, designed to rise almost to the waist, leaving very little space to cover the intimate area.

“Mr. Han… this is a swimsuit,” she stammered, feeling her cheeks heat up. “Why would I use this in a photo studio? There's no pool here.”

The man snorted, making his double chin vibrate, and looked at her with predatory intensity.

“Princess, don't be naive,” he whispered, his voice sounding like sandpaper on wood. “In avant-garde photography, the use of synthetic, shiny materials creates fascinating reflections. I want to see how the light bounces off the blue lycra and highlights the paleness of your skin. It’s a study in chromatic contrasts and textures. Don't you want the photos to be perfect so you can wipe out your debt?”

The mention of the rent was like a whip. Yuna squeezed the blue fabric between her fingers, feeling the coldness of the material. Her breasts heaved rapidly; she was starting to feel overwhelmed, but financial desperation was a chain forcing her forward.

“Okay,” she murmured, looking down. “I’ll put it on.”

She went back to the changing room with her heart hammering in her ears. Taking off the previous set, a shiver ran down her spine. Her fingers trembled as she tried to slide into the blue swimsuit. The garment was incredibly small and tight; she had to pull hard to get it up her thighs, feeling the lycra stick to her damp skin with a dull sound.

When she finally managed to get it on, she let out a small gasp. The swimsuit compressed her breasts, lifting them and pushing them up, creating a deep cleavage that revealed the start of her areolas. But the worst part was the bottom: the high cut forced the fabric to sink deeply between her glutes, while the tension in the front marked the curve of her mons pubis with obscene clarity. She looked at herself in the mirror and felt a sudden heat rise through her belly; she looked like a swimming student, yes, but a dangerously eroticized version.

“Yuna! I’ve waited long enough!” Mr. Han's shout echoed from the other side of the curtain.

Yuna closed her eyes for a second, took a breath, and opened the curtain.

The effect was immediate. Mr. Han froze. His small eyes widened to their limit and his jaw dropped slightly. The man's gaze descended with torturous slowness: it started at her trembling lips, went down her pale neck, stopped at the tension of the blue lycra over her tits, and finally dropped to the extremely high line of her thighs.

“My God…” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “You are a damn work of art, Yuna.”

Yuna felt her skin prickle under that gaze. Heat rose through her cheeks and down to her chest, making her nipples harden against the blue fabric. She felt small and vulnerable, but the voracity with which the man watched her caused an involuntary tremble in her legs.

“Is… is it okay for the light?” she asked, her voice cracking.

Mr. Han didn't answer immediately. Instead, he raised the camera and took a series of quick photos. The sound of the shutter (click-click-click) filled the silence, marking the rhythm of her heartbeats.

“It’s okay… but we need the pose to be more natural,” he said, moving toward her with heavy steps, his belly oscillating under his shirt. “Arch your back a bit more, princess. I want the fabric to stretch tighter over your ass. Yes… like that… just like that.”

Yuna arched her back according to the instructions, feeling the blue lycra stretch to its limit. The material was so elastic yet firm that she felt her tits being pushed up, almost overflowing from the neckline, while at the bottom, the fabric sank hard into the crevice of her ass. The sensation was suffocating and, at the same time, strangely exciting; she felt vacuum-packed, every inch of her skin compressed by the suit.

The sound of the shutter kept echoing: click… click… click.

“No, no…” Mr. Han grunted, lowering the camera slowly. “The hip line isn't perfect. You’re too stiff, princess. If you want these photos to be worth the rent, you have to let go. You have to let your body speak.”

Yuna swallowed hard, feeling a lump in her throat. Her legs trembled slightly and she could feel a treacherous dampness starting to accumulate between her thighs, where the blue lycra pressed directly against her pussy. It was a visceral reaction she couldn't control; fear and vulnerability were triggering a physical response that made her feel dirty.

“I’m sorry… it’s just that I’ve never done this,” she whispered, looking down.

“That’s why I’m here to guide you,” he responded.

Yuna felt a shift in the air before she felt the contact. Mr. Han had moved so close that his obese belly almost brushed against Yuna's glutes. The heat emanating from the man was suffocating, and the smell of stale tobacco and sweat became omnipresent, enveloping her like a heavy blanket.

Suddenly, she felt fat, warm hands closing around her hips.

Yuna let out an audible gasp, a small choked cry that hung in the air. Mr. Han's fingers weren't delicate; they dug into the flesh of her waist with a possessive strength, squeezing the blue lycra against her skin. The contrast was brutal: Yuna's soft skin against the rough and damp texture of the landlord's hands.

“Look in the mirror, Yuna,” he ordered in a voice that no longer sounded professional. “Look closely. Look at how that blue suit marks every damn curve of your body. You were made for this.”

Yuna forced her eyes to look at the reflection in the giant mirror. She saw her own face—flushed and scared—and then looked down at her hips, where Mr. Han's hands highlighted the paleness of her skin against the shiny blue of the swimsuit. The man began moving his hands slowly, sliding his fingers downward, following the line of the suit's high cut.

“Your hips are perfect…” he murmured, and Yuna felt a fat finger dangerously brush the edge of the fabric covering her pubis. “But you’re too tense down here. If you don't relax, the fabric wrinkles and the photo comes out wrong.”

Yuna closed her eyes tight, feeling her heart hammering in her ears. The touch of Mr. Han's finger against the lycra, right over her most sensitive area, caused an electric shiver to run through her entire spine. Her nipples became hard as rocks, poking the blue fabric of the swimsuit.

“You feel that, don't you?” Mr. Han whispered in Yuna's ear, his hot, damp breath hitting her skin. “You feel how this suit squeezes you… you feel how much I want you while you pose for me.”

Yuna wanted to protest, wanted to tell him to stop, but the words got stuck in her throat. There was something about the situation—the weight of the man behind her, the humiliation of being almost naked, and the fact that her home depended on this man—that left her paralyzed in a state of animal submission.

“Open your legs wider,” he ordered, his voice now loaded with open lust. “I want the camera to capture exactly how the suit sinks between your legs. Do it now, princess, or we can start talking again about the three months of rent you owe me.”

Yuna felt a tremor run through her whole body. Slowly, with tense muscles and shortness of breath, she began to separate her feet, opening her legs. The movement made the blue lycra stretch even further over her mons pubis, marking the crevice of her pussy with obscene clarity under the white light of the studio.

Mr. Han let out a grunt of satisfaction and raised the camera again, but this time he didn't stay put. He leaned in, lowering the lens to capture the most intimate angle possible, while his hands continued to squeeze her hips, reminding Yuna that, at this moment, she was no longer a model… she was his property.

The sound of the shutter became frantic. Click-click-click. Mr. Han wasn't taking artistic photos; he was documenting Yuna's vulnerability from the most obscene angles possible. He was crouched down, the lens almost touching the blue fabric sinking into her crotch, while she remained there, legs open and trembling, feeling like a sacrificial animal.

“Look at this…” he grunted, without taking his eye off the camera. “Look at how your pussy is marked through the lycra, princess. You’re so turned on that the suit is starting to darken from the moisture.”

Yuna felt her heart skip. She looked down and, indeed, a small darker spot was beginning to form in the crotch area of the blue swimsuit. Shame hit her like an electric shock, but at the same time, the humiliation of being caught in her state of involuntary arousal caused a spasm of pleasure that made her arch her back.

“N-no… it’s not true…” she stammered, though her own legs were starting to give way.

“Don't lie, you slut,” Mr. Han spat, and the sudden shift to vulgar language made Yuna shudder. “You’re soaking. You love that a fat old man like me has you like this, forcing you to open up so I can see what you're worth.”

The man let the camera hang from his neck and, with a sudden movement, extended his fat hand toward her. There were no preludes. His fingers clamped onto Yuna's mons pubis, pressing the blue lycra hard against her clitoris.

Yuna let out a sharp moan, a sound that mixed disgust with an animal, electric pleasure. She threw her head back, her eyes going white for a second and her fingers digging into her own thighs. The pressure of the synthetic fabric, combined with the strength of the man's fingers, was creating an unbearable friction.

“Ah…! S-sr. Han!” she cried out, but it wasn't a cry of rejection; it was a confused plea.

“What’s wrong, princess? You like it when I touch you like this?” he mocked, starting to move his fingers in fast, heavy circles over the blue fabric. “Imagine what they’d say at your college if they saw the brilliant Fine Arts student here, moaning like a whore while her landlord rubs her pussy for a few won.”

Yuna was shaking violently. The smell of tobacco and sweat from the man was now suffocating, but she could no longer pull away; her legs were so wide that she felt totally exposed. Every time Han's fingers pressed harder, Yuna felt her mind clouding. The blue lycra was acting as a filter that intensified the sensation, trapping heat and moisture between her skin and the fabric.

“P-please… stop…” she whispered, although her hips began to move unconsciously forward, seeking more pressure.

“You’re not asking me to stop; you’re asking me to keep fucking you with my fingers,” he responded with a hoarse, lustful laugh. “But this is just the warm-up. I want to see your face when you feel something bigger than my fingers inside you.”

Mr. Han stood up slowly, his physical mass casting a huge shadow over Yuna. With a brusque movement, he grabbed her by the arm and forced her to kneel on the cold studio floor. Yuna fell heavily, her knees hitting the hard surface, while the blue swimsuit stretched even further over her glutes, leaving her in a position of total submission.

“Now, look at the camera,” he ordered, placing the camera on a tripod in front of her. “I want you to watch yourself while you serve me. I want you to see how you become my slut to pay your rent.”

Yuna looked into the lens of the camera and saw her own reflection: a beautiful girl, dressed in a tight blue swimming uniform, kneeling and trembling. She felt small, broken, and desperately needy. Mr. Han began to unbutton his pants, and the sound of the metal sliding was the final signal that there was no turning back.

“Open your mouth, princess,” he grunted, as his cock—thick and throbbing—sprang out of his underwear. “Let’s see if you know how to use your tongue as well as you use your paintbrush.”

Mr. Han's cock appeared before Yuna's eyes like a monument to decay and lust. It was thick, veiny, and had a dark reddish color that contrasted violently with the paleness of Yuna's skin. The smell hit her immediately: a strong mix of musk, stale sweat, and that metallic, salty aroma characteristic of exposed flesh.

Yuna felt her stomach churn, but at the same time, an electric spasm ran through her pussy, which was already soaking the blue lycra of the swimsuit. Her pupils were dilated, fixed on that throbbing member that seemed to claim its space in the room.

“What’s wrong, princess? Scared of the size?” Han mocked, his voice loaded with a slimy malice. “Don't worry, I'm going to show you exactly how much your rent is worth.”

He didn't wait for her to respond. With a fat, heavy hand, he grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to tilt her head up and open her mouth. Yuna let out a small moan of protest that turned into a gasp when she felt the wet, hot tip of the cock brushing against her full lips.

“Open your fucking mouth wide and suck me like your life depends on it—because your roof does,” he grunted.

Yuna closed her eyes tight as she felt the member invade her oral cavity. The taste was a brutal shock: salty, strong, with an aftertaste of tobacco and old skin. When the cock entered deep into her throat, Yuna felt her gag reflex trigger instantly. Her eyes filled with tears and her hands clenched into fists on the cold studio floor.

“Ggg-ghhh!” she erupted in a muffled sound as her throat closed against the intrusion.

“Swallow it all, bitch,” Han ordered, pushing further inside. “Look at the camera while you do it. Look! I want you to see how you look while you suck my dick so you don't end up on the street.”

Yuna opened her eyes and saw the lens of the tripod right in front of her. She saw herself: a beautiful girl, her face contorted by nausea and forbidden pleasure, dressed in that tight blue swimsuit that marked her squeezed breasts and rounded ass while she was on her knees. The humiliation acted like fuel; she felt heat rise through her legs and concentrate in her clitoris, which throbbed violently against the fabric of the suit.

Mr. Han began to thrust into her mouth with rhythmic, aggressive movements. Every time he went deep, Yuna felt her cheeks puff out and saliva start to leak from the corners of her lips, running down her chin. The sound of flesh hitting her face—a dull clap-clap—mixed with the man's heavy panting.

“That’s it… suck it just like that, you college slut,” he grunted, his fingers digging into Yuna's scalp to control the depth. “Imagine this is your new scholarship. Every inch you swallow is another day in your apartment.”

Yuna began to adapt to the rhythm, moving her head with animal desperation. Despite the initial disgust, the fact that she was being recorded and degraded was leading her into a trance. She started using her tongue, wrapping it around the circumference of the cock and sucking hard, while her nipples poked against the blue lycra due to the spasms of her body.

Mr. Han let out a guttural grunt, feeling the wet, hot pressure of Yuna's mouth.

“Dammit… you have an exquisite mouth,” he whispered, though his tone remained cruel. “But I’m not settling for this. I want to feel how that blue swimsuit stretches while I open your legs and put this cock all the way inside you.”

Yuna felt a shiver of terror and anticipation. While she continued sucking, she could feel the man starting to tense up, preparing for the next level of the transaction. The camera's shutter sounded again, capturing the exact moment Yuna, her eyes clouded by submission, sank deeper and deeper into Mr. Han's depravity.

Mr. Han grabbed her arm with a brusqueness that made Yuna let out a moan of surprise. There was no delicacy, only a brute, possessive strength that forced her to walk toward the center of the room. The sound of the man's heavy steps behind her, along with his hoarse and damp breathing, created a suffocating atmosphere.

“Get on the table, princess. Right now,” he ordered, pointing to the dark, cold wooden surface that served as an improvised photo set.

Yuna felt a shiver run down her spine. Her legs trembled so much she almost tripped while climbing up, but Mr. Han's grip on her waist pushed her up with a sharp shove. Feeling her bare skin against the freezing wood of the table, Yuna let out a gasp and instinctively hunched her shoulders. Her nipples hardened instantly, poking through the blue lycra of the swimsuit that kept her vacuum-packed like a gift.

“Open your legs,” Han grunted, positioning himself between her thighs. “Wider. I don't want there to be an inch of mystery here. Open that pussy so the lens can see everything.”

Yuna obeyed with her gaze lowered, feeling the heat rise in her face. Slowly, she separated her legs, letting her knees fall to the sides. The position was degrading; she felt totally exposed, a piece of meat on display under the harsh white lights of the studio. Her thighs trembled from the intensity of the moment and she could feel the moisture accumulated in her crotch, making the blue fabric stick to her skin with a dull sound every time she tried to move.

Mr. Han didn't rush. He stepped back a few paces to adjust the camera tripod, moving the lens with obsessive precision. Yuna watched him with clouded eyes, seeing how that obese and sweaty man ensured the angle was perfect: a low-angle shot that captured everything from her squeezed breasts to the crevice of her sex.

“Perfect…” he whispered, his voice sounding like a dirty caress. “Look at the screen, Yuna. Look closely.”

Yuna turned her head toward the camera monitor. She saw her own reflection: a beautiful girl, her face distorted by submission, dressed in that blue uniform that highlighted every curve of her body. She looked small and vulnerable, but the way the suit sank into her pubis made her look obscenely provocative.

“You were made to be used, princess,” Han said, approaching her again. “Look at you… you’re so turned on that the swimsuit is starting to darken.”

The man extended his fat hand and, instead of removing the garment, he grabbed the edge of the blue swimsuit at the hip. With a sudden, sharp movement, he pulled the lycra to one side. He didn't take it off entirely; he simply shifted the fabric toward her left thigh, leaving her pussy completely exposed while the top part of the suit continued to squeeze her breasts against her chest.

Yuna let out a choked cry when she felt the cold air hitting her soaked vaginal lips directly. The sensation of being "half-dressed," with her torso packed in lycra but her intimate area open and vulnerable, increased the psychological tension to an unbearable point.

“What’s wrong, bitch? You like it when I expose you like this?” he mocked, his small eyes glinting with lust. “Look at how your pussy shines under the lights. It’s a damn masterpiece.”

Mr. Han leaned over her, and the smell of stale tobacco and sweat enveloped her completely. Yuna felt her breathing become short and erratic. She could feel the man's cock—thick and throbbing—brushing against the wood of the table just below her glutes.

“All this beauty… all this exquisite body,” he murmured, while a fat, damp finger began to trace slow circles over her clitoris. “And it all belongs to whoever pays the bills. Do you have any idea how much your rent is worth right now, Yuna?”

“S-sr. Han… please…” she stammered, although her hips moved unconsciously toward the man's finger, seeking more pressure.

“Shut up and enjoy the view,” he ordered, looking back at the camera monitor. “I want you to see exactly when you stop being an art student and become my personal slut.”

Yuna closed her eyes for a second, feeling humiliation mix with an animal, electric pleasure. She was there, lying on a table, with the blue swimsuit shifted and her sex exposed to the lens of a camera and the voracious gaze of a man who owned her completely. She knew what came next would be brutal, but the anticipation had her so lubricated she felt she could overflow at any moment.

Mr. Han pulled back just a few inches—just enough for Yuna to see the magnitude of what was about to enter her. His cock was a red and veiny weapon, throbbing with violent urgency. The tip, glistening with pre-cum, brushed against the entrance of Yuna's pussy, leaving a trail of hot moisture that made her shiver.

Yuna let out a long gasp, feeling her thighs trembling violently against the cold wood of the table. Her breathing was ragged and her eyes were clouded; the smell of stale tobacco now mixed with the metallic fragrance of pure arousal.

“Look at it, Yuna… look at how it wants you,” he grunted, rubbing the head of his cock against her clitoris in a slow, torturous movement. “You’re so wet you could slide just by looking at yourself.”

Yuna closed her eyes, feeling the friction of the glans against her sensitive skin. Every touch was like an electric shock running up her spine. Her nipples, trapped under the blue lycra, felt like hard stones poking the fabric with every agitated breath.

“Who was the last one in here?” Han asked suddenly, his voice loaded with malicious curiosity. “Don't give me that innocent face, princess. I know you’re not a virgin… it shows in how you wet yourself, in how your body already knows exactly what to do when a man has you like this.”

Yuna felt her face burn. The question hit her harder than any physical contact; it reminded her of her own past encounters—moments that now felt insignificant compared to the rawness of this situation.

“I-it… it doesn't matter…” she stammered, though her voice sounded small and broken.

“It matters a lot,” he laughed, a hoarse laugh that ended in a snort. “I wonder if those guys were as delicate with you. I bet they treated you like a little porcelain doll… but now here you are, legs open on a table, waiting for a fat, disgusting old man to fill your hole for a few won so you don't end up on the street.”

The humiliation was the final spark. Yuna felt her pussy throbbing with a painful force, pressing moisture against the wood. The idea of being degraded—of going from "brilliant student" to "rent slut"—caused a spasm of animal pleasure that left her breathless.

“S-sr. Han… please… enough talking!” she pleaded, arching her back and instinctively seeking contact.

The man let out a grunt of satisfaction and, without warning, slammed the tip of his cock into Yuna's entrance. It wasn't a fast movement; it was a slow, constant, and brutal pressure.

“Ahhh…!” Yuna's scream got caught in her throat, turning into a muffled moan as she felt her vaginal walls stretch to their limit.

The sensation was overwhelming. Mr. Han's cock was so thick that Yuna felt like she was being split in two. She could feel every vein, every ridge of the man's flesh forcing its way in, displacing everything in its path. The contrast was visceral: the cold wood against her back and the scorching heat of the cock filling her completely.

“God… you’re so tight!” Han grunted, clenching his teeth as he continued to push inch by inch. “Feel how I open you up, bitch… feel how I stretch you so all my weight fits.”

Yuna's gaze was lost in the studio ceiling, her pupils dilated and her mouth open in a perpetual gasp. She felt a massive internal pressure—a fullness that left her breathless and made her feel vulnerable on a cellular level. Every inch he advanced was another surrender.

Finally, with a sharp, powerful thrust that made the table creak under their weight, Mr. Han entered to the hilt. The clash of their pelvises produced a wet, dull sound that echoed in the silence of the studio.

Yuna let out a prolonged scream—a sound that mixed the pain of stretching with an animal satisfaction she had never experienced. She was completely full; she felt the man's cock hitting her cervix, claiming every corner of her interior. She stayed there, frozen, feeling her body shake in involuntary spasms while Mr. Han remained still for a moment, enjoying the sensation of having Yuna totally submitted and open beneath him.

“Look at you now, princess,” he whispered in her ear, his hot breath burning her skin. “Now you really are a work of art… my very own personal slut.”

The silence of the studio was annihilated by the first brusque movement. Mr. Han didn't start delicately; he withdrew almost completely, letting Yuna feel the cold void for a fraction of a second, only to then slam back in with a violent force that made the entire table slide several inches across the floor.

“Ggg-hh!” Yuna's scream was a muffled sound, a blast of air shot from her lungs as her head hit the wooden surface.

The impact was brutal. The man's cock entered like a battering ram, hitting her cervix with a precision that was painful and exciting at once. Yuna felt the world blur; only the deafening rhythm of flesh hitting flesh existed. Clap… clap… clap. A wet, dull, rhythmic sound filling the room, marking the cadence of her degradation.

“Feel this, bitch!” Han roared, his voice now a guttural growl. “Feel how I break your body for a few won!”

Yuna couldn't speak. Her hands gripped the edges of the table so hard her knuckles were white, while her legs, opened to the max, shook in involuntary spasms. Every thrust pushed her backward, making her body bounce against the cold wood.

The sensory contrast was suffocating. She felt the cold of the studio on her back and the volcanic heat of Mr. Han's cock tearing through her interior. Her breasts, squeezed by the blue lycra of the swimsuit, bounced violently with every hit, creating a hypnotic movement that the man watched with voracious lust. The synthetic fabric, soaked in sweat and moisture, clung to her skin, marking her erect nipples that poked the cloth with every shake.

“Look at me, Yuna! Look at how I fuck you!” he screamed, his fat, sweaty hands dropping from her hips to squeeze her breasts through the blue suit. “Where is your artist's pride now? Where is the brilliant student? Now you’re just a hole that needs to be filled.”

Yuna let out a broken moan, a mix of sobbing and animal pleasure. The disgust she had felt at first was being devoured by a treacherous physiological response. Her pussy had become a source of uncontrollable lubrication; every time Mr. Han entered, the sound of fluid splashing between their bodies was obscenely loud. She was so wet that the friction was no longer painful, but an electric fire running through her nerves to her brain.

“Ah… ah…! S-sr. Han… more… please, more!” she pleaded, and the sound of her own voice asking for more triggered a wave of humiliation that only served to excite her further.

She was no longer fighting the act; she had surrendered to the tide of sensations. Her hips began to move in sync with the man's, seeking the deepest impact, wanting to feel that thickness filling her until there was room for nothing else. The smell of stale sweat and tobacco no longer repulsed her; it was the essence of the man who owned her, the aroma of the power that kept her under his control.

The rhythm became frantic. Mr. Han accelerated the thrusts, turning the session into a carnage of pleasure. His testicles slapped hard against Yuna's glutes, producing a fleshy, dirty sound that echoed in the studio. The obese mass of the man crushed Yuna against the table, suffocating her slightly, forcing her to breathe in short, desperate gasps.

“You’re a whore, Yuna! A soaking slut who loves that her landlord uses her like a rag!” he screamed at her, his fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs, leaving red marks on her pale skin.

Yuna closed her eyes and let herself be carried by the whirlwind. She felt how the blue lycra of the swimsuit, shifted to one side, brushed against her skin with every movement, adding a synthetic texture to the chaos of fluids and heat. She was on the very edge of the abyss, her internal muscles contracting rhythmically around the man's cock, trapping him in a desperate embrace as pleasure began to accumulate in her belly like an electric storm about to burst.

The camera continued capturing everything: the violent sway of their bodies, the expression of ecstasy and agony on Yuna's face, and the brutality of a man who didn't seek love, but the total destruction of his tenant's dignity.

The rhythm of the thrusts became unbearable—a constant bombardment that had Yuna on the verge of sensory blackout. Her screams had turned into short, erratic gasps, and her body bounced against the wood of the table with a force that threatened to break it. But Mr. Han wasn't satisfied; for him, seeing Yuna given over to pleasure wasn't enough. He wanted to see her broken; he wanted to feel that there wasn't a single corner of her body not under his absolute control.

“You’re very comfortable, aren't you, princess?” he grunted, his voice now darker and more dangerous. “You love how I fill you… but I think you still have too much free space down here.”

Yuna opened her eyes, confused by the man's tone. Before she could process his words, she felt Mr. Han's fat, sweaty hand descend her back, avoiding the vaginal area and sliding directly toward the crevice of her ass.

“W-what are you…?” Yuna managed to stammer, but the question was drowned out by a brutal thrust that left her breathless.

While Mr. Han continued fucking her pussy with rhythmic and ruthless violence, she felt a thick, damp finger press against the entrance of her anus. Yuna tensed instantly, her thighs shaking violently and her nails digging into the edges of the table.

“Don't move, bitch,” he ordered in a cold tone. “I want to see how much you can take before your body completely gives in.”

Without warning, Mr. Han's finger pushed inside.

“AAAAAAAAH!” Yuna's scream was heartbreaking—a sound of pure surprise and vulnerability that echoed through the studio.

The sensation was devastating. Yuna felt a massive pressure, a stretching that seemed to split her in two. The thick cock filled her from the front and the fat finger invaded her from behind; she was being claimed from both sides, reduced to a simple pleasure channel for the obese man. The feeling of "total fullness" was so intense it caused an electric shock through every nerve in her body, leaving her paralyzed in a state of sensory shock.

“Look at me! Look at the camera right now!” Han shouted, while he began to move his finger inside her ass in a slow, circular rhythm, simultaneously accelerating the thrusts in her vagina. “Look at how I open you up, Yuna. Look at how you become a complete slut. There is nothing of you that isn't mine right now.”

Yuna forced her eyes to look at the tripod monitor. The image was obscene: she saw her own body, with the blue swimsuit shifted and stained, swinging violently under Mr. Han's mass. …she saw the expression on her face, a mix of agony, disgust, and an ecstasy so deep it was terrifying. Seeing her own degradation in real-time was the final blow to her psyche; the mental barrier that still kept her as "the Fine Arts student" shattered into pieces.

“I-I’m… I’m your slut!” she screamed, her voice broken and her eyes filled with tears. “Fill me… please, fill me up! Open my ass, open my pussy, do whatever you want with me!”

Mr. Han let out a hoarse laugh, enjoying the total collapse of her will. The fact that she was begging for the degradation only fueled his lust. He began to move his finger inside her ass with more force, while his vaginal thrusts became frantic, almost violent.

The sound in the room was a dirty cacophony: the clap-clap of pelvises colliding, Yuna's desperate moans, and the wet noise of the finger moving inside her. The blue lycra of the swimsuit, which still covered her breasts, was soaked in sweat; every time the man hit her, the fabric stuck to her skin with a viscous sound.

Yuna felt like she was floating in an ocean of contradictory sensations. The pain of the anal stretching mixed with the massive pressure of the cock and the humiliation of being filmed, creating an electric storm in her belly that pushed her toward the abyss. Her internal muscles began to contract rhythmically around both intruders, trapping Mr. Han in a desperate embrace as she prepared for the end.

“I’m coming! Ahhh… I’m coming!” Yuna screamed, arching her back until her spine creaked, feeling the climax explode inside her, triggered by the sensation of being totally open and claimed.

Yuna's orgasm wasn't a clean burst, but a violent convulsion that shook every fiber of her body. Her vaginal walls clamped down in desperate spasms around Mr. Han's cock, while her anus gripped the man's fat finger in an instinctive, blind embrace. She let out a harrowing scream that echoed through the studio—a sound of pure surrender where dignity died to make room for an abject, animal need.

Mr. Han felt those contractions and let out a guttural roar. Instead of stopping, feeling her hit the limit triggered his own urgency. He accelerated his speed into blunt, brutal blows, turning the act into a final discharge of violence and pleasure.

“Look at me, bitch! Look at how I finish you!” he roared, grabbing her by the hair to force her face toward him. “I want you to see the face of the man who bought your body!”

Yuna's eyes were unfocused and her pupils dilated, saliva escaping from the corners of her lips as she gasped. The sound of flesh hitting flesh was deafening; the wet clap-clap became frantic, almost mechanical. The blue lycra of the swimsuit, still covering her torso, was drenched in sweat and fluids, sticking to her breasts which bounced violently with every impact.

“Feel this!” Han roared, delivering three final, deep, and devastating thrusts, burying himself to the root and expanding his cock inside her to the max.

At the exact moment Yuna sank into the tide of her orgasm, Mr. Han let out a hoarse moan and released a massive discharge of hot semen directly against her cervix. Yuna felt the rush of fluid like an electric current; the volume was such that she felt her interior fill to the brim—a warm, heavy pressure that anchored her to the table.

“Ahhh… God…!” she moaned, arching her back one last time before collapsing against the wood, completely empty.

The silence that followed was abrupt and suffocating. All that could be heard was Mr. Han's heavy, asthmatic breathing as he remained buried inside her, enjoying the weight of his own body crushing her. Yuna lay there with her legs open and her eyes fixed on the ceiling, feeling the semen slowly leak out, mixing with natural lubrication and staining the blue lycra of the swimsuit that was still pushed aside on her hip.

Slowly, Mr. Han withdrew. The sound of the cock sliding out of a soaked pussy was a wet, obscene pop that made Yuna let out a shaky sigh.

He didn't help her up or say a word of comfort. He simply stepped away, still panting, and went to the tripod. The sound of metal moving was the only noise in the room as he reviewed the recording.

Yuna remained lying on the table, feeling the cold of the studio seep into her damp skin. She looked down and saw the disaster: her blue swimsuit was dirty, displaced, and stained with fluids; her body had red marks on her thighs and waist where the man's hands had dug in hard. She felt light, but it was an empty lightness, as if something fundamental inside her had broken during those minutes of brutality.

“Wow…” Mr. Han murmured, looking at the screen with a slimy smile. “The angle is perfect. You look absolutely pathetic, Yuna. A real college slut.”

Yuna closed her eyes and let a single tear roll down her cheek. It wasn't just sadness; it was the visceral realization that Mr. Han was no longer just her landlord. He now possessed digital evidence of her submission—a file where she begged to be used just to save her roof.

“Clean up this mess and get dressed,” he ordered coldly, returning to his authoritative tone as he adjusted his pants. “Tomorrow I’ll wipe your debt, but don't get it twisted, princess. Now that I know what you're capable of, I think we're going to need these 'photo sessions' much more often.”

“What's taking her so long?” you murmured. It's already past nine and having to explain what took both of you long isn’t what you signed up for. Ticks from the clock makes it even more frustrating. Game night plans? Uninterrupted long sleep ‘til morning? All gone.

Patience continues to drop exponentially; pulling out your phone in a haste to call her. First ring. Second ring. Third ring. Finally, she picked up.

“Hotshot! What’s up?”

Unbelievable. “Uhm... hate to break your enthusiasm, are you intentionally keeping me wait?” trying to sound calm as much as possible. “You still have an event to attend, miss. If I might add.”

“Relax! We’re not going to be late,” she remarked with same attitude.

“Mik- miss, you know me. It’s not that I care, I just hate waiting,” a composed response coming from you. Trying not to sound mad.

“Give me five more minutes! I promise I’ll come down right away.”

“My goodness, Mikhs. Still the same,” a comment you could’ve said but chose not to.

Five minutes. Intrusive thoughts urging you to go up continues to rise. Just a bit more.

“Hotshot!”

Guess it won’t be necessary. After of what it felt like forever. You turned around to see if all the wait was worth it. Long, black dress, fine makeup—not too strong yet not too light to highlight her facial features, and her signature red hair put you in a trance for a few seconds. This is not something new in your part, but yes, her beauty is more captivating than what people can see in their screens.

Mikha did her best to come down quickly. “I'm sorry if I made you wait,” she said with a pouty face. You hate it when Mikha does it. She knew she's at fault but always get away.

“All set?” you asked.

“Yes, yes, can hit the road now. By the way, how do I look?”

“Is that really necessary? You’re Mikha Lim,” you replied in a sarcastic note, as if you're shaking off the question.

Mikha rolled her eyes. “Tss... Fine...”

She walked towards the main door where the car is waiting outside. You followed right away and took the back seat with her. Giving a nod to the driver and he started to drive.

Silence filled the vehicle for a few minutes before the driver turned on the radio, adjusting the volume. Their song—the latest—Cherry on Top came right in. It was a success considering the hype they got from the fans. Who would’ve thought she’d reach this kind of milestone. It made you proud—just not being vocal about it.

“How are your parents?” a question from her out of nowhere, breaking the silence that was filled only by the song.

“They’re doing fine. Always have.”

“Glad to hear that. I kind of miss them.”

You chuckled. “I guess they feel the same. They always ask if we’re still in touch.”

“What did you say?” she asked, looking at you with curiosity and anticipation. “Well,” you paused, “I told them it’s not frequent like it was before. You’re a celebrity now.”

Mikha fell silent for a moment, before giving a faint smile and subtle nod. “Can’t say you’re wrong, it did change some things.”

“Like what?”

“You know... the old times,” she replied in an almost inaudible voice. You're not sure what she meant but it did hit you. No words were coming out of your lips. What should you say? Is it even necessary? A series of questions piled up but nothing was asked. It would be also completely useless since both of you arrived at the destination. The drive did not take much time, it was a surprise.

“Wait,” you said before getting off the car and going to the other side to open the door. You offered your hand and Mikha obliged before giving her thanks. The media knew that the members will come here so it’s no surprise cameras are flashing around.

As soon as she stepped out, you quickly wrapped her shoulders with your coat. Weather during December is quite a killer. No doubt that the dress can barely keep her warm. Mikha gracefully headed towards the entrance, maintaining the image most idols practice—perfection. It irks the hell out of you. She’s pretty much close to what you see in social media and all but can’t still ignore that uneasiness inside you. A thing that people can easily judge.

~~~

“Finally!” you exclaimed. “Finally, what?” Mikha asked out of surprise. “We finally escaped the them.”

“Oh, is that it?” Mikha giggled.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing! I just find it cute how you maintained a straight face despite hating being exposed to public.”

“As you said, exposure. Might as well do my best shot not to look funny when I'm about to be broadcasted all over the country,” you noted in quite a sarcastic note. “I know I'll be all over the headlines the next day.”

She flashed a wide smile to the statement. “We should go to the girls, they're probably expecting us by now,” Mikha expressed as she took your hand. Her hand holding yours stirred up some memories—nothing special—but all of it was pure, honest, and innocent. It was a treasured recollection buried deep within.

There were not as many tables as you expected; finding the girls was a piece of cake. They already know you so there's no need for those scripted and awkward introductions. You suck at any social setting and this is no exception. Good thing Mikha is here to cover up for that. Seeing her somehow gives you comfort, despite your mind already making an escape plan to flee the scene.

Drinks were served during all the hours of chit-chats and laughter. For the sake of being a good sport, of course, you did take shots as much as you hate drinking. Same goes for Mikha. From what you know, she can’t hold much but that was years ago. She probably improved, right?

But no, you approached her to check. “Miss? Hey, are you okay?”

She can't keep a straight face and form coherent words. Evidently, she's drunk. “You should probably take her home. The party’s good as finished anyway. We’ll take it from here,” Aiah said from behind.

“Yeah, seems like it. Thanks,” you replied, giving her a smile.

“And hey, you care for her, right?” Aiah interjected. Question took you by surprise. “She looked forward meeting you today. It wasn’t by chance that you’re the one she brought tonight. I knew she insisted you to join her. I know it. But, anyway, take care.”

Her last words were puzzling. Wasn’t even close to your story, but enough of it. You need to bring her back to the hotel first. The car was just right at the main door and the driver immediately assisted in getting Mikha inside the car. Luckily, no cameras were around.

“Let’s go back to the hotel, please. Thanks.”

“Right away, sir.”

Mikha’s completely passed out on the way back. It’s not clear when was the last time you saw her like this. Hate to admit it, this is the only time when you see her up close. Like real close. The light outside shines upon her face and in that moment, she looked beautiful—more than her visuals, in every way—weirdness, childish attitude (sometimes), kindness, and aspirations. A look beyond that admired face that many can see.

The ride only took twenty minutes. “Do you need anything, sir?” the driver inquired.

“No, I can take it from here. You can take the rest of the night. Thank you very much. We'll contact you if anything will come up. Thanks again for today.”

“Very well, sir. Thank you. Have a good night.”

“Good night as well.”

You hurried to get the other door to help Mikha. She’s lightweight but given her current state it became quite difficult to bring her to her room. Asking her room number beforehand really paid off. The place also has little to no people; fewer eyes, the better.

After successfully entering her room, putting her to bed was the first thing to do, then took off the shoes immediately. Changing her into sleeping clothes would be the final boss. But you know you already lost before it even started. It’s just not on your watch.

“What should I do? Damn it...”

~~~

Mikha woke up. She checked the clock and it’s already past seven in the morning. A familiar face surprised her—Aiah. “What are you doing here?”

“Good morning, too. Dumbass.”

“Did you follow me here?”

“You should drink first,” Aiah replied, taking a glass of water and handed it over. “Here.”

Mikha took it all in one sip. “Hey, explain yourself,” she followed.

“Let me finish first cooking our breakfast. Take a shower and change, then I’ll tell everything while eating.”

Curiosity fueled Mikha up. What Aiah told her was done in a matter of minutes. She’s already at the table when Aiah just finished setting up the table. Mikha took her sit and her friend followed suit with a suggestive smirk. “Okay, spill it. All of it.”

Aiah gave out a laugh and Mikha is not having it. “Hey, enough already!”

“Fine, fine... you really don’t have any idea, do you?”

“We’re not having this conversation if I have any.”

“He called. Last night. He said he needed help.”

“Help with what?” Mikha asked, almost demanding for an answer right away. “Helping my light drinker friend,” she answered pushing her forehead.

“He didn’t want to undress you to change your clothes. Gosh, so cute! If I was in your place I wouldn’t mind if he’ll see me naked!”

“HEY!” Mikha exclaimed, still making Aiah a bit surprised despite expecting her reaction. “Chill, sis! I’m just kidding. It’s not my fault if your plan failed.”

“I know,” Mikha said in a gloomy voice. “It’s just that I don’t want to look desperate in front of him and, I have this feeling that he doesn’t see me the way I see him...”

“I’m pretty sure he feels the same way. Or kind of. He’d not accept your invitation as your date yesterday if he’s not interested,” Aiah stated, sipping the fresh cup of coffee.

The thought started spread out inside Mikha’s mind. She doesn’t know how to take it; should she follow Aiah’s word or wait for you to confess yourself? Having a breakfast like this isn’t helping at all.

“It’s up to you. I just gave the option.”

“Yeah... I know.”

“Then, I better get going. My bed is calling me. Ciao!”

Aiah left. Mikha tried to relax for a bit to collect her thoughts and make a reasonable decision. Hopefully one she won’t regret. She walked around the room to calm down some nerves, but then she noticed the black dress on the couch.

“Oh, right. I need to return this.”

Mikha stopped by at the company to return the dress to their wardrobe. As she went inside the room, she saw you, having a small chat—a good one, it seems—with Stacey. Mikha was almost unnoticeable by how she entered, but what gave her away was where Stacey was standing.

“Mikhs!”

“Uhm, he- hey... Sorry to interrupt...”

“No, we’re just done talking, are you staying here until afternoon?” Stacey asked. “I’m afraid I’m not,” Mikha replied. “Oh, I see. Just need something?”

“Need to return the dress I wore yesterday, that's all.”

The two of you just exchanged glances; words don't need to heard and letting the eyes do the talking. You can see in her eyes; something bothering her and that need to let it out, just holding it due to Stacey’s presence. Luckily, she excused herself out of the room and just told Mikha to see her before leaving the building. A moment of silence filled the room, quite chilly too.

“What is it? Let it out.” Mikha didn’t expect that you know what’s going on in her mind. “I know you have something to say, spill it out.”

Your tone made her even nervous, pressured, even. Heart beats faster, can’t look straight to your eyes. Mikha is lost for words. She hates it.

You're still waiting for a response, never leaving her eyes. “So?”

“Can we- can we talk about it outside? Just not here. I'm- I'm not comfortable.”

To tell the truth, you’re quite intrigued. She’s not being herself. The girl you knew all along doesn’t hesitate to speak to anyone in front of her. But, if it’s something serious, you’re more than welcome to give her a favor.

“Where do you want to talk?” you asked.

“Your place would be most suitable,” Mikha responded quickly. You’re puzzled by her choice but of all the places she could pick, why yours? It doesn't matter anyway. Curiosity is killing you now.

“Okay, my place then. Shall we go now right away, or do you still have some matters to attend here?”

“Let me just say goodbye to Stacey. Then, we can go.”

“Sure thing. Take your time.”

“All right. Thanks.”

She went on her way to go to her friend. You picked your things up before going down the lobby to wait for her. Walking down the hallway, questions continue to fill your mind while trying not to get caught up about it. But, you can’t stop asking yourself one question: “Is it because, she’s hiding something but it’s too serious she’s cautious with it?”

“How the hell are you tying all these? I can barely get one done, and then I look over, and I see you tossing one after another.” Asa asked as she tried her best to tie the used condom she was holding onto. 

“So what you’re saying is, I’m better with my hands,” Rei replied, stifling a small chuckle. The older woman was referring to a conversation they had been having throughout the day. 

“Whoa, don’t get ahead of yourself. I never said that.” Asa said, still struggling to tie off the condoms. She was growing more frustrated every time she looked over and saw Rei toss another onto the bed. 

Asa had about ten sitting on her lap while Rei only had two left. The pair had been draining people all night long, and during their small break, they had decided to tie each condom they would use as part of their outfit, or lack thereof. After so many rounds, Asa and Rei had long since given up wearing their masseuse uniforms. Now they waited on the edge of the bed, their bodies slick and glistening from the oil they had used. The only part that remained on them was the thigh straps. Asa looked over once more to see Rei hard at work tying each condom around that strap. It was an erotic sight even for Asa. It showed off Rei’s prowess; each one was practically filled to the brim, and Asa had watched each one get filled up. 

It was only a matter of time before Rei finished decorating her thigh strap with her trophies and began helping Asa with hers. “How are you so good at this?”

“Tell me I’m better and I will.” 

Asa huffed; there was absolutely no way she was going to give Rei credit and tell the older woman she was better with her hands. Asa had too much pride in her work. Even if Rei was better, there was no way she would tell her that. 

Rei laughed as she continued working on Asa’s condoms. She loved annoying Asa and making her flustered. “You could just end this all and tell me what I want to hear.”

“Never,” Asa said adamantly. The pair broke into a laugh; they were tired after a long shift. They wanted nothing more than to finish up, shower, and then get some nice sleep in their beds. 

“There we go; now just tie them around the strap.” A familiar ring told the pair that their next customer was approaching.

“Shit,” Asa was trying her best to tie the used condoms around her thigh strap, but much like with tying them off, she was struggling. 

Rei couldn’t help but crack a smile. “I’ll start them off; you just take care of that…unless,”

“Not happening.” Rei giggled as she walked forward, shutting the sliding door in front of Asa. “Really? I’m only going to be like a minute.”

“We’ll see.” Rei brushed down her hair as she took a deep breath. “You just stay back there until you finish up.” 

The room Rei and Asa had chosen for their night of work was split into two sections; the first, where Rei currently stood, looked like a massage parlor. That had been their gimmick, one that at this point had fallen to the wayside as they got tired of dressing and undressing themselves. Rei made sure the massage table was dry and ready for the customer. A thought flashed through her mind, though. She could just plop herself on it and start fingering herself. When you walked in, she’d be caught, and then you could just move on to sex. Rei waved the thought away. She had a job to do, plus with Asa busy in the back, it would give her a chance to use her skills. The older Japanese woman smiled to herself. If she could get you to cum before Asa came out, it would drive the younger woman mad.

Rei had her plan now. She stood in front of the door, rubbing her slick thighs together as she waited for you to appear. “Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up,” she thought to herself. As soon as the door opened and she saw you standing on the other side, she pressed herself against you. “I’ve been waiting for you, mister.” She said, a slight teasing tone in her voice as she pulled you inside. “You really kept me waiting. The table is all set. I just need you to strip out of those clothes, and then we can get started.” You do as she commands, your eyes never leaving her body. You had expected her to be in some sort of uniform, but to see Rei in her birthday suit the moment you came in was something you weren’t going to complain about. You hadn’t even noticed that Asa was missing. You kept looking at Rei’s tits, the soft mounds looking even better considering they were covered in a light layer of oil and sweat. “Now up on the massage table while I get something.” 

You climbed up on the table as she asked, and watched Rei make her way to the nearby counter, your eyes sliding down her pale body until you reached the full round globes of her backside. Your cock twitched at the sight, your heartbeat quickening as Rei turned around, a wide grin on her face as she coated her hands in the massage oil. “You need to do your best to relax. Your whole body is so tense.” Rei giggles as she stands beside you. She places a hand on your arm. “Do you want me to start here?” Her hand moves along to your chest. “Or here?” Rei’s hand continues lower, down your stomach until she reaches the base of your cock. “Or do you want me to start here?” You twitch in her hand, drawing a giggle from the Japanese woman. “Oh, I guess this is where you want it. Well, don’t worry. I’ll take great care of you until my colleague gets here.” 

On the other side of the door, Asa was still struggling with the condoms. “Son of a bitch,” she mumbled to herself, fingers fumbling as she rushed her efforts. She knew exactly what Rei was doing. “No way, I’m going to let her do this,” Asa said. Now that she was in a rush, it seemed like Asa’s hands didn’t want to cooperate with her at all. “Fuck, son of a…” Asa’s struggles seemed to multiply the more she tried to do things quickly. It was giving Rei ample time to work you over. 

You were putty in her hands; Rei wasn’t even trying, but she had you moaning constantly. Her soft, gentle hands moved one over the other as she moved them down along your shaft. It was a constant stream. “That’s it; let all that stress melt away. You know I can’t do this to everyone.” Rei leans in, getting by your ear as she whispers, “I can only do this to guys with really big cocks. It’s turning me on. Do you mind if I give it a quick taste?”

“N-no, please,” you groan. 

Rei smiled and paused, her grip tightening around the base as she inched her lips closer to your slick cock. You watch as she takes a deep whiff, exhaling slowly before wrapping her lips around the tip. Rei’s skilled tongue circles you slowly; her hand begins to move along the remaining part of your shaft. You moan louder than before, the pleasure getting to you. Rei stops before you near your climax, however. She drags her tongue over the center of your cock once more before leaving you. “You go awfully close there,” she says sweetly. “ You saw these, right?” Rei flashes the used condoms tied around her thigh strap, the various colors swinging as she does so. “I want to save them all for a nice big drink at the end of the night. So I’m going to need to put one on you. You don’t mind, do you? A girl needs a nice drink at the end of the night, and I have a special way of putting it on.”

You shake your head quickly. “I-I don’t mind.”  You watch as Rei goes over to the table. She rips open one of the condoms and carefully places it between her lips. She hurries back, trying to hold her smile back as her hands grasp your cock again. The Japanese woman continues where she left off, hand over hand moving across your length. She can feel your cock throbbing, and Rei can’t hide her smile any longer. She leans down and swallows your cock, the condom stretching over it as she moves down your length. She holds the base in place, making sure it doesn’t move an inch. You hit the back of her throat eventually; the pleasure overwhelms you, and you cum. You feel Rei’s hand massaging your balls, her hand gently cupping them, giving them small squeezes as she keeps her lips sealed around your cock. When you finally come down from your high, Rei pulls you out of her mouth. Saliva drips from the corner of her lips.

Asa slides the door open, witnessing the finale of Rei’s act. “There we are.” Her hand moves across your shaft, milking you of the last remaining drops. “I hope you have more to give me; we still have a lot of condoms.” The younger woman’s head dropped for a moment; she was too late. “Ah, who do we have here? Finally ready to join us, Asa?” You turn your head to your other partner for the night. Asa had the same attire, or lack thereof, as Rei. You hungrily look her over; her perky tits glistened from the layers of oil she had used throughout the night. Your eyes move downward, noting her hairless cunt and puffy lips. Rei can feel your cock twitch in her hand. “Oh, looks like someone is excited to have another partner. Do you want to take this one, Asa?” 

The situation amused Rei. By the look in the younger woman’s eyes, she could see Asa needed to let out some of her frustrations. It made her feel giddy; she just loved when a plan came together. Annoying her juniors was something Rei took pride in. She watched as her coworker grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the massage table. “Follow me, now.” Rei did her best to stifle a chuckle; it was always funny to her how Asa handled her frustration. Rei leaned against the massage table, watching as Asa dragged you onto the bed and immediately straddled you. “Aren’t you going to use a condom?” She asked, knowing full well Asa was absolutely going to drain you dry and didn’t care about their little game anymore. 

Asa doesn’t say a word; she merely gets herself ready, rubbing your cock against her went cunt. She hums, enjoying the slight pleasure of it before she sinks onto your cock. Asa cranes her neck back, moaning softly as you fill her. “Oh, fuck,” she mutters under her breath. This was what she needed after being teased by Rei the entire night about who was better at handjobs. Asa places her hands on your chest; they nearly slip off. They were somewhat slick given she had just grabbed your cock. Asa doesn’t waste a second, bouncing on you quickly. You let out low, guttural moans as Asa bounces on your cock. Her tight cunt was squeezing the life out of you.

“C’mon play with my tits,” she mumbles, bringing your hands to her perky chest. You squeeze the soft mounds instinctively, your thumb crossing over her nipples. Asa grips your arms, holding them tightly as she slams herself on your cock. It wasn’t quite the experience you were expecting, but you had no complaints with a woman like Asa fucking herself on you. The only problem you had was the sensitivity. Asa hadn’t let you cool off, and as such you were already on the verge of cumming. “Do it, cum in this pussy.” She growled. The young Japanese woman impaled herself on your length, letting the head sit by her womb as she grinded on you. It felt like you were melting inside her core. It only took a moment before you exploded inside her. “That’s it, fill this little pussy up.” She groaned, continuing to grind on you. Asa could feel your hot cum coating every nook and cranny as it flooded her womb. 

She was far from done, though. As soon as Asa felt your climax come to an end, she lifted herself, leaving just the head inside before dropping back down and beginning to bounce again. The loud claps of her body against yours filled the room. You had completely forgotten Rei was in the room as well; you could only think about the young Japanese woman riding you like you were a toy. 

For her part, Rei was enjoying watching Asa ravage you. She had laid herself on the massage table and began touching herself, fingers dipping into her cunt with the same rhythm of Asa’s bounces. She knew at this point she wouldn’t get a turn with your cock, at least not a satisfying one. 

So, instead she decided to enjoy the show at least. When your second orgasm came, she giggled; your cock was thoroughly painted white now as your previous load leaked out of Asa. While her fingers did feel good, Rei knew she wouldn’t be able to cum like she wanted to. She took a deep breath, smiling at Asa as she straddled your face. “If you’re not going to fuck me, then at least eat me out.” She said softly. Rei firmly planted herself on your face. She knew how long a person could hold their breath on average. She would just give you a chance to breathe then. Your job was to eat her out now.

Rei pressed her soft thighs on either side of your head; they acted as perfect earmuffs. You struggled to do your job, though. Asa was giving you no breaks; you were moaning into Rei's cunt between licks. Your hands slipped down from Asa’s tits, and Rei took them, placing them on her thighs as she grinded her needy cunt against you. 

“Feeling better?” Rei asked, her hand reaching for Asa’s nipple. The older woman trapped the hard nub between her fingers, pulling on it as Asa rode you.

“Mmm, fuck…you,” Asa moaned. She was finally getting close to her climax, and now came along Rei ready to tease her some more. 

“I mean, I’ll let you,” Rei said, sticking her tongue out at her coworker. The older woman placed her other hand on Asa’s toned stomach. “Oh, I can feel him moving inside you. I bet it feels great, doesn’t it?”

“Y-yeah,” Rei twisted the younger woman’s nipple, making her cry out. From under her, you felt Asa’s walls clamping down on your cock. Another load of your cum flooded her cunt because of it. “It feels really good.”

“His cock or being cummed in so many times? You haven’t been able to get any creampies until right now.”

“Both, both feel fucking fantastic.” Asa could feel your cock softening inside her, but she continued to ride you. She reached back, grabbing your balls and giving them slight squeezes, hoping it would be enough to get you hard for one more orgasm. Rei smiled and leaned in, pressing her lips against Asa. The younger woman accepted it. She could feel Rei’s tongue tracing her lips, and she let her in. Rei explored the younger woman’s mouth, forgetting about you for a moment. She rose off your face, letting you catch your breath for a second before setting her ass back down on her seat. Rei could sense you trying your best, the way your tongue smashed against her walls because you were having a hard time controlling yourself due to the pleasure was rough, but she enjoyed it. She was getting close to cumming. 

Asa could feel Rei’s hands wandering around her body, touching and grabbing whatever she could. The younger woman broke the kiss, biting her lip as Rei gripped her ass. “Go on, bounce that pretty ass on that dick,” Rei told her. “I want to see you cum.” Asa wrapped her arms around the older woman, her moans turned into whines as she reached her climax. “Fucking cum on that cock.” Asa cried out as she came on you; her walls had you in a vice grip as they milked you for the last time. Every drop was drained from your body as her walls fluttered around you. You were all certain that if Asa weren’t on the pill, she definitely would’ve gotten pregnant from this. Asa leaned against Rei, her body struggling to support itself. “Such a good girl,” Rei whispered into her ear. 

You all take a moment to catch your breath. Rei was the first to climb off you, turning to see your chin absolutely drenched in her nectar. She leaned down, kissed you, and thanked you for your hard work. “You did great, sir. Did you like our service, too?” You were too weak and tired to say a word. Rei smiled and pinched your cheek. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The older woman turned to Asa, smiling at her coworker as she helped her off you. Your cum came pouring out of her cunt, what wasn’t escaping from her had already coated your lower half. “It looks like you really drained him. Proud of yourself?”

“S-shut it,” Asa stuttered. Rei let Asa rest on the bed before helping you to the shower. She let you relax in the tub, coming back to her tired coworker. 

“Such a greedy girl, draining our customer of all his cum. You didn’t even let me ride him.” Rei whines; the pout she has on her face quickly shifts to a smile as she stares at Asa, the younger woman’s spread out from fatigue. “Well, at the very least I can have a taste.” Rei straddled the younger woman’s face, holding Asa’s legs apart as she dove in, her tongue diving deep into Asa’s folds. Asa’s legs tensed in her hands as she pushed her tongue deeper into Asa’s cunt, tasting the salty semen she hadn’t gotten the chance to taste. Asa could do very little but lay there and take the tongue lashing. Having Rei’s slick cunt in front of her did have its perks, though. Asa stuck her tongue out and took small licks at it, tasting the older woman's nectar. The pair remained attached until they brought each other to their climax. By then you had finished your bath and left; they hadn’t even noticed your leaving, far too engaged in their current activities. 

When they did finally notice you were gone, the pair laughed. “I think that’s the last one for the day, and I have one more used condom than you do,” Rei said with a smile. Asa’s eyes went wide as she stared at the used condom in Rei’s hand.

“Fuck!”

Rei laughs. “I guess that means you pay for dinner tonight.”

“Noo! That’s not fair, you-you baited me into–”

“I asked you before you started riding him if you wanted to use a condom.” Rei counters, holding her smile, knowing that there was absolutely nothing Asa could do to argue. She had given the younger woman a chance to proceed, and she hadn’t taken it. “Now, there’s a pizza place I really want to go to. I hope you have enough saved up, because it’s really fancy.”

Xinyu, his girlfriend, is so smitten by Jae that after they turned eighteen, she started letting him have semi-protected sex with her regularly. She would rather that he use condoms, but his extra-large cock sometimes caused the condoms to tear during sex. So, she would take her chances and hope that the birth control cream keeps her safe from pregnancy. She also makes Jae pull out before he can fill her pussy with his cum.

His oversized cock also caused problems when they first started having sex.

When Xinyu first saw the monster, she wanted to back out.

However, Jae got his girlfriend to agree to try by allowing her to be on top so that she could control the pace of their lovemaking.

It was a slow process at first.

Xinyu had to rub her boyfriend's cock head across the entrance of her cunt for nearly ten minutes before she finally got the courage to lower her pussy onto the monster.

When the thick head finally did penetrate her tight hole, the girl felt like a sausage was being stuffed inside her. The twinge of pain from her hymen tearing caused her to whimper.

Xinyu was determined, though. She loved Jae and wasn't going to let something like his size stop her from giving him what he wanted.

It took quite some time, but once Jae's cock had filled Xinyu's stretched pussy, she gazed at her lover with a look of pride.

"We did it," she beamed. "I got all of you inside me."

They went slow the first few times they made love.

The third time they had sex, Jae exploded into his girlfriend's body.

Xinyu wasn't sure, but something didn't feel right. She eased Jae's dick out of her cunt, only to discover that the pre-lubricated condom had broken.

She freaked out, believing that he'd just impregnated her. Fortunately, her fears were alleviated when she started her period the following week. After that, she started using birth control cream as well as making Jae wear pre-lubricated condoms.

When another condom broke a few weeks later, Xinyu decided she didn't want to end up with small pieces of latex inside her, so she started letting Jae fuck her bareback, with only the birth control cream for protection. She would make him pull out before ejaculating.

Yooyeon, at nineteen, is a year older than her Brother. She is a well-endowed young woman who gets lots of attention from the local men. Her face is a little broad, yet for some reason that odd feature makes her even more attractive. Yooyeon has shoulder-length brown hair and an infectious smile. She is a daredevil. One of her favorite hobbies is gambling. Yooyeon will make a bet on just about anything.

Yooyeon also works at the cheese processing plant. She works the second shift, the shift Jae would soon be working, while her parents work the first shift.

As Jae began to wake up, he kicked off the covers and stretched. Jae had slept in the nude for as long as he could remember. His usual morning erection was standing almost straight up. As the cobwebs began to clear out of his head, the young man reached down and absently stroked his massive cock, like he usually did.

Yooyeon, who had gotten home sometime after midnight the night before, was also waking up. She was wearing a wife-beater T-shirt and a pair of cotton panties. As she sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, she remembered that the second shift supervisor had told her to have Jae come in to fill out his safety forms.

"Just have your Brother follow you to work," Yooyeon's supervisor had told her. "You can show him to my office before starting your shift."

Yooyeon stretched and stood up. "I guess I'd better let Jae know what's going on before he takes off for the day." She didn't bother to dress, since Jae had seen her in her sleeping clothes numerous times. She left her room and crossed the hall to her younger Brother's door. Still half asleep, she opened the door without thinking to knock.

Jae was still lying on his bed, stroking his morning erection when his older Sister walked in.

"Mike, the second shift supervisor wants…" Yooyeon stopped dead in her tracks. All remnants of sleep instantly disappeared. "What the fuck?"

"Don't you know how to knock?" Jae exclaimed.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to tell you that Nick wants you to come in this afternoon to fill out some forms and go over safety protocols with him." Yooyeon couldn't take her eyes off her younger Brother's cock.

Jae couldn't help but notice that his Sister was staring. "Haven't you ever seen an erect cock before?"

She shook her head. "Not a cock that big, I haven't. That thing is huge."

Jae shrugged as he continued stroking his dick. "Yeah, I know, my dick is kind of big."

"Kind of big, are you kidding me? You put a horse to shame." Yooyeon tried to tear her eyes away, but she couldn't stop staring at her Brother's massive cock. How the hell do you get that thing inside Xinyu?" She asked.

Jae squeezed his monster. "I just take my time. The first few times, I had to go slow with her. But after a while, her pussy stretched enough so that it slides in a little easier each time we fuck. Now, she can take it easily."

Yooyeon stared at the monster. "That thing fits inside her pussy?"

"Yeah, we fuck once or twice a week. We started fucking a few months ago, after we both turned eighteen."

Yooyeon shook her head in disbelief. "Xinyu has got to be walking bowlegged by now."

"Nah, a lot of girls can take something this size."

Yooyeon snorted. "You're dreaming, little Brother. That thing would split most women's pussies wide open. The head is bigger than my fist. Your dick has got to be at least a foot long."

"A newborn baby is bigger around than my cock, and yet women deliver babies all the time."

"Yes, but they endure hours of agony delivering those babies. I can't see you waiting that long. You probably want to shove it in as quickly as you can."

Jae chuckled. "I've had to learn to be patient. I let Xinyu get on top when we first started having sex. She would slowly lower herself onto my cock, taking it in as her pussy adjusted to its size. Once she got adjusted to having my cock in her, I'd roll her over on her back and fuck her missionary style. She has the best orgasms when we fuck." As Jae explained how he fucked his girlfriend, he noticed that his older Sister never took her eyes off his dick. The desire to fuck his older Sister once again roared to life. Jae had wanted to fuck Yooyeon for as long as he could remember. As he looked his scantily clad Sister over a devious thought ran through his mind. "I'll bet if you went slowly at first, you could take a cock this big inside your pussy."

"Oh hell no," Yooyeon shot back. "If I tried to ride a dick that big it would rip me open. Something that thick would never go inside me in the first place."

Knowing Yooyeon's love of gambling, plus her desire to rent a place of her own, Jae made his move. "I'll bet you a hundred bucks that you could take one that big."

"You want to bet me a hundred bucks?" Her gambling bug instantly kicked in. Yooyeon saw a great opportunity to win an easy bet. "Wait a minute, where are we going to find a dick that big to make the bet with?" Yooyeon asked.

Jae smiled at his Sister. "In order to know that you actually tried, I'd have to witness the attempt. So, I guess we'd have to use my dick for the wager."

Yooyeon's gaze left her Brother's dick for the first time. She stared at Jae in disbelief. "There is no way in hell I'm letting you fuck me. That would be a little too weird."

"I didn't say I was going to fuck you Sis. I just said I'd let you try to get my cock in you for the bet. Once you tried, and succeeded, or failed, we'd stop, and one of us would pay up."

Yooyeon was torn between the strangeness of doing this and her desire to win a bet. "I don't know. I wouldn't want something that big inside me. Besides, you don't have a hundred dollars. How do you intend to pay up when you lose?"

"Simple, I'll double the bet if I lose. If you can't get my cock inside you after fifteen minutes, I will pay you two hundred dollars after I get my first paycheck."

"I don't think it would be a good idea for us to be trying this. The idea of having my Brother's dick head at the entrance to my pussy is disgusting."

"You've done more disgusting things than this to win a bet. Remember the time you swallowed six night crawlers to win three hundred dollars?"

Yooyeon knew Jae was right. She had done some pretty bizarre things in the name of gambling. Once she streaked around the outside of her house in the middle of the afternoon to win fifty bucks from her younger Brother.

Fortunately her Parents were at work, and no one saw her but Jae.

Her gaze returned to her Brother's erection. She knew that all she'd have to do is make a half hearted attempt for fifteen minutes, and she'd win the bet. With the extra two hundred dollars, she could finally afford the deposit on an apartment, and then she could move out. "Ok, it's a bet. I try for fifteen minutes to get that thing inside. When I win, you pay me two hundred dollars after you get your first paycheck." Deciding to make the bet more difficult for Jae to win, she added, "However, your cock has to go all the way in until it reaches my cervix."

"In that case, you have to try for twenty minutes."

Yooyeon let out a small laugh. "Sure, why not?" Yooyeon knew that if that thing wasn't going to penetrate her in fifteen minuets, an extra five minutes wouldn't make a bit of difference. "It's a bet. However, you can't tell anyone about this."

"I won't say a word, I promise." Jae knew his Sister would only try hard enough to make it look good, but the young man had a plan. He opened the drawer to his nightstand, and pulled out a tube of KY jelly.

"What's that for?" Yooyeon asked suspiciously.

"If you're going to be rubbing your pussy lips on my cock head for twenty minutes, I want some lubrication. I don't want you rubbing me raw."

"Just use a condom."

Jae shook his head. "That would add extra thickness to my cock. It would give you an unfair advantage. Besides, I haven't found any condoms that fit properly. They occasionally break when Xinyu and I are having sex. Xinyu is afraid of having pieces of condom left in her, so I always pull out before cumming when I fuck her. Plus she uses birth control cream to diminish the chances of pregnancy."

"I can't use birth control cream. It makes me itch. And there is no way you're putting your bare dick against the entrance to my pussy. If you came with your cock head shoved against the entrance, your sperm would shoot inside me, and I could end up pregnant. There's no way in hell I'm letting anyone, especially my little Brother knock me up."

Jae stared at his Sister in surprise. "Aren't you on the pill?"

"I keep meaning to get a prescription, but doctors cost money. Besides, I usually make guys wear condoms."

"Hell, you have nothing to worry about anyway. I'm not going to cum in you. I have very good self control. With a dick is as big as mine, I had to learn self control. Otherwise I'd have ejaculated long before I got my cock inside Xinyu. Besides, we're not going to have sex. We're just having a friendly wager."

Yooyeon thought about the statement for a few moments. "Yeah, I guess you would have to learn to wait before cumming. And like you said, we're not going to fuck. So, how do we do this?"

"I'll lie on my back, and you straddle me. I'll hold onto your hips, to help you keep your balance, and you ease the head of my dick against the entrance to your pussy. You then let a little weight down so that the head presses against the entrance to your cunt. You then rock back and forth a little to keep your pussy moist. As your pussy walls open up, you ease down a little farter until my cock completely fills you. Once the tip of my cock touches your cervix, you take my cock out, and I win the bet."

"Or, the thing never goes in, and I win the bet," Yooyeon replied. Feeling excited about the two hundred dollars she was about to win, Yooyeon stripped off her panties.

Jae opened the KY jelly and rubbed a liberal amount on his dick head, and along his shaft.

Yooyeon approached the bed, and waited for her Brother to finish lubing up. She smiled inwardly, knowing that soon she would win two hundred dollars and have a place of her own.

Jae replaced the cap, placed the lube back on his nightstand, and then laid back. "Ok, climb on."

Yooyeon climbed onto the bed, and then straddled her Brother. She grasped his shaft and lined it up with the entrance to her cunt. She felt strange holding her Brother's cock head against the entrance to her cunt, but a bet is a bet; and Yooyeon intended to win.

His dick was so long that she didn't have to lower her hips very far for it to touch the entrance to her pussy.

"Get ready to lose two hundred dollars, little Brother. There is no way this thing will ever get past the entrance, much less go completely inside me."

Jae didn't say a word. He knew from experience with Xinyu that Yooyeon's pussy would stretch to accommodate the thickness of his cock. The head of his cock would be in his Sister before she even realized what had happened. Once he got past the entrance, there would be no stopping him. He'd fuck his Sister until she screamed.

Grasping Yooyeon's hips, he gave her a small nod. "Check the clock to see when we begin."

Yooyeon checked the clock on the nightstand. "It's nine thirty five. At nine fifty five we stop." She began rubbing her Brother's cock head back and forth across the entrance to her cunt. As she rubbed his manhood through her vaginal lips, and across her fuck hole, Jae applied gentle pressure to her hips.

"Don't try forcing me down," Yooyeon warned. "If you force that thing in me, it'll be cheating. Plus you'll hurt me."

"I'm not going to force my dick into you. I just want to make sure you don't cheat. If my cock starts going in, you have to let it. You can't hold back, or you forfeit the bet, and pay up."

Yooyeon kept rubbing the head of her Brother's dick across her entrance. With each pass she'd rub the tip against her clit.

Jae held firmly to his Sister's hips, making sure she kept enough pressure to cause penetration once her vagina opened up enough to accept his cock head.

After several minutes of rubbing Jae's cock head across her clit, Yooyeon's body began to respond to the stimulation. Her clit became inflamed, and her vaginal opening began to expand. Her pussy was getting ready to be fucked.

Yooyeon glanced at the clock. A smile appeared on her face.

Seven minutes had passed, and he hadn't penetrated her yet.

"I am so looking forward to winning this bet." She continued to rub his tip along her slit.

Jae felt the tip of his cock penetrating the entrance to his Sister's pussy as she rubbed it through the fold of her labia. He smiled inwardly knowing her cunt was ready for penetration. "Ok sis, you need to stop rubbing, and rest some of your weight onto my cock to see if it will go inside."

Yooyeon swallowed hard. She didn't believe the thing would go inside, but she was still a little nervous. Taking a breath, she allowed some of her weight to rest on her Brother's cock head.

Part of Jae's cock head slid inside his Sister's pussy.

Yooyeon gasped involuntarily. Her body shuddered, as the monster spread the entrance to her cunt open. She tried to rise back up, but her Brother held her in place.

"Hold still," Jae instructed his Sister. "Let your pussy get used to being penetrated."

For the first time, the pretty nineteen year old began to suspect that she might lose the bet. "Fuck," she seethed under her breath. Yooyeon was sure that because it was her Brother trying to penetrate her pussy, she would stay dry enough to prevent him from entering her cunt.

However, between the KY jelly, and the stimulation of her clit; her pussy did what came naturally, and opened up. Her body didn't care who was trying to fuck her. Her cunt was doing what it was designed to do.

Yooyeon felt the monstrous head spreading her open. She shuddered again as pussy walls spread further.

"Let your body lower a little more," Jae said.

Yooyeon closed her eyes, and gritted her teeth. She didn't want to follow her Brother's instructions, but she had agreed to the bet. Yooyeon let her knees bend a little more so that she would sink lower.

The rest of Jae's cock head slid into his Sister's cunt.

Yooyeon felt her vaginal walls stretch as her Brother's cock head sank deeper into her body. She wasn't in pain, but she could definitely feel her vaginal walls stretching. "Maybe we should call this bet off," Yooyeon said weakly. She knew her Brother would never agree to it, but she had to try.

Jae shook his head. "A bet is a bet. You're not trying to welsh on a bet are you?"

Yooyeon gave her Brother a glare of disdain. "Your cock hasn't reached my cervix yet, little Brother. This bet is far from over."

Jae gripped his Sister's hips tightly. He slowly began lifting her up off his cock until only the tip was inside her.

Yooyeon thought that perhaps Jae was letting her off the hook.

He then lowered her hips back down, causing her pussy to open up more.

Yooyeon whimpered as another inch of his thick monster sank into her body. She shuddered as her Brother's cock stretched her inner walls. Yooyeon knew she was going to lose the bet.

Now that Jae's cock head was inside her, it wouldn't take him long to sink all the way into her cunt.

"Fuck, it's too big," she pleaded, hoping he'd have mercy on her and quit. "Jae, you'll rip me apart."

"Don't worry Sis, I'll go slowly. Your pussy will stretch. And I won't force it in. We'll go only as fast as your body can handle." He gave his older Sister a devilish smile. "Look at it this way. At least you'll get the satisfaction of knowing you can take a big cock inside you."

"Yeah, but it's your big cock that's in me. This is incest."

"Nope, it's a bet. I told you I wouldn't fuck you, and I meant it. Once my cock touches your cervix, we can stop."

Yooyeon desperately hoped that her Brother's cock wouldn't go all the way to her cervix, but deep down she knew better. She was about to lose one hundred bucks to her younger Brother. She was also about to have her younger Brother's huge cock buried in her stretched out pussy. "You promise we'll stop as soon as your dick is all the way inside me."

"I told you this is just a bet. I'm not going to fuck you." Jae was lying, but he knew that once his cock was all the way inside her pussy, Yooyeon wouldn't want to take it out. Having her pussy stuffed to the limit would drive her into a heightened state of sexual arousal.

Her Brother's words encouraged Yooyeon to get it over with. "I still have a chance of winning. Getting that thing in the entrance is one thing. But taking it all the way inside me is entirely different." Yooyeon knew her only hope was to cheat. She'd pretend to try, but not let it go any deeper.

Jae knew what she'd try. He had no intention of letting her succeed.

Yooyeon lifted her hips. She then gently eased her pussy onto her Brother's throbbing cock again, taking another two inches into her body. She had tried to hold back, but Jae's powerful hands applied just enough pressure to her hips to make his cock sink deeper into his Sister's cunt. Yooyeon's pussy was going to have that cock no matter how much she protested. Yooyeon mewed as her Brother's cock sank deeper into her body. The sensation of having her vaginal walls stretched caused the young woman to tremble involuntarily. Her entire body shook as Jae's cock stretched her open even more. Yooyeon couldn't believe that Jae's huge dick might actually go all the way to her cervix.

Jae watched his Sister's expression as she eased herself onto his cock. He'd seen that look on Xinyu's face.

Yooyeon lifted her hips again, and then lowered her body onto the monstrous dick.

Once again, Jae applied gentle pressure to Yooyeon's shapely hips. His cock sank even deeper into Yooyeon's stretched out pussy.

"Jae, you're forcing me down on your cock," Yooyeon half heartedly protested. She knew he was just making sure she didn't cheat, but she had to try something.

"I'm being gentle. I'm just making sure you don't try to cheat."

Yooyeon let out a sigh. She wasn't going to be able to cheat.

Jae was making sure she stayed honest.

Checking the clock again, Yooyeon felt her heart sink.

Only ten minutes had passed, and her Brother's cock was already deeper than she'd ever thought possible.

Yooyeon began to accept the fact that she was losing the bet. To make matters worse, whether she wanted to or not, the woman was starting to get turned on. Without meaning to she sank even deeper onto the shaft. Her subconscious mind was starting to override her conscious decisions.

"Oh shit, I've never felt this full before," the pretty brunette moaned as her pussy accepted more of her Brother's huge cock. "Your dick is huge."

"You're going to feel even fuller before we're done." Jae reached around and squeezed his Sister's ass cheeks.

Yooyeon wanted to tell her Brother not to play with her ass, but the sensation of having her pussy stretched felt too damned good. She lifted her hips again, and sank back down on his cock. She tried hard not to take the monster deeper into her, but her body betrayed her. No matter how hard she tried to resist, she couldn't help but sink that monster deeper inside her cunt with each downward thrust.

More of Jae's cock invaded her pussy.

Yooyeon involuntarily moaned as intense pleasure shot through her nether region. She couldn't believe that having her Brother's cock inside her could feel so damn good. Her body began to spasm as a mini-orgasm abruptly shot through her loins. She sank deeper onto her Brother's cock. Nearly three quarters of her pussy was stuffed with her Brother's man meat. "Shit, I can't hold myself up any longer. Roll me onto my back before I collapse."

Jae drew his Sister down onto his chest, and then rolled his body onto hers. His dick sank deeper into her body. He was very close to touching her cervix. He rose up so that he rested his weight on his elbows.

Yooyeon looked down between their bodies. Her expression of shock was written all over her face. She could see a visible bulge in her tummy where Jae's cock was pushing against her belly. She began to ask herself just how much more of his dick would fit inside her before it reached the back of her birth canal.

Jae was glad Yooyeon had given him control. Now he could control how long it would take for him to completely fill her hungry cunt. "Are you ready to continue?" He asked.

Yooyeon looked up at her Brother, and quickly nodded yes. She then looked back down at her stomach.

Jae withdrew his cock and then sank back into his Sister's body.

Yooyeon watched her tummy return to normal, and then expand again as her Brother sank back inside her. She could feel his cock rubbing against that special spot just inside the entrance to her vagina. She whimpered yet again as he sank back inside to where it was before.

However, he didn't go any deeper. He simply withdrew his cock and plunged back into her again.

She shook as a second small orgasm hit her. She was amazed that her Brother had already made her cum twice, and he wasn't completely inside her yet.

Jae continued fucking his Sister, allowing his cock to sink in almost all the way before withdrawing.

It didn't take Yooyeon long to figure out that Jae wasn't trying to go deeper.

He wasn't trying to win a bet. He was fucking her.

"Jae," she gasped lustfully. "You're not trying to win the bet. You're fucking me."

He gave his older Sister a devilish grin, and continued to rock in and out of her. "Yes I am."

Yooyeon felt torn with what was happening to her. She knew she shouldn't let her Brother fuck her, but his huge cock was driving her wild with lust.

Jae knew he'd won. Not only was he going to win the bet, but his Sister was surrendering to her need to be fucked.

She took her eyes off her expanding and contracting stomach to gaze up at her Brother. Giving him a pleading look, she whispered. "Please, I want to feel your cock go all the way inside me. I know this is no longer about the bet, and we are fucking, but I don't care. Sink that monster completely inside my pussy."

Giving his older Sister a sly smile, Jae withdrew almost all the shaft of his cock, and then plunged deep into her body.

Yooyeon squealed as the last two inches of her pussy opened up to receive her Brother's monstrous cock. She wrapped her arms around his neck; and at the same time slung her long legs around his hips, as his cock tip pressed against her cervix. She bit her Brother's shoulder hard enough to leave teeth marks.

Jae groaned with pleasure as his Sister bit him.

"So deep," she moaned. "Your cock is so fucking deep in me. Damn, I feel completely stuffed." She gazed up at her sibling. Tears of joy were running down her cheeks. "You didn't split me open after all."

Jae leaned over and kissed Yooyeon. He pressed his lips against her mouth and slid his tongue against her lips.

Not caring that he was her Brother, Yooyeon opened her mouth.

Jae's tongue entered her open mouth. He began caressing her inner mouth with his tongue as he rammed his cock into her over and over.

Yooyeon's tongue danced with her Brother's as they fucked. All thought of bets, and having a place of her own flew from her mind. She was being fucked like never before. Yooyeon didn't want to stop. She didn't want Jae to pull out. She wanted to be fucked by her Brother.

Jae broke the kiss. He then licked away her tears. Jae grabbed the hem of his Sister's shirt and tugged.

Yooyeon lifted her upper body off the mattress so her Brother could finish undressing her.

Jae pulled the shirt off, and threw it onto the floor. He immediately lowered his lips to her left nipple and gently bit down.

Yooyeon whimpered as her Brother began to nibble and suck on her nipple. She thrust her hips against him to encourage him to continue fucking her.

Jae released the tender nipple, and began thrusting into his Sister again.

Yooyeon held her Brother's head in her hands. "Fuck, little Brother, your cock feels incredible. Fuck your big Sister hard. Make your Sister cum."

Jae felt his balls begin to churn. He knew he wouldn't last much longer. He began to furiously pound his Sister's stretched out cunt.

Yooyeon felt her body coiling like a spring. She was about to cum. Her wonderful Brother was going to make her cum like never before.

Jae pounded away at Yooyeon's pussy. He thrust into her repeatedly. His cock grew even thicker, stretching her pussy wide. Then just before he released his life giving sperm, he felt his balls touch his Sister's ass cheeks.

Yooyeon's pussy had lengthened another inch to receive his entire cock inside her. She screamed, as her body gave into the need to cum. She tightly gripped his neck, and screamed. The walls of her pussy clamped down on her Brother's cock, and began milking him for the sperm her body craved. Yooyeon's long legs held tightly onto her Brother as she came.

Jae bit his Sister's throat as he erupted deep inside his Sister's body. He began firing load after load of baby making sperm into her cunt.

Yooyeon pulled her Brother's face to hers, and began chewing on her Brother's lower lip. Her body shook with lust as she experienced the most intense orgasm of her life.

Jae went rigid as his balls continued to empty his baby making seed into his Sister's fertile womb.

Yooyeon held onto her Brother's face as tightly as she could as her body shook from her intense orgasm. Her long legs tightened around his hips, holding him in place. The pretty brunette shook, and writhed beneath her Brother.

As the siblings began to come down from their sexual high, the realization that they'd fucked bareback began to creep into their minds.

They broke the kiss and stared at one another in shock.

"Fuck, I just came in you." Jae stared at his Sister.

"What if you got me pregnant?" Yooyeon screeched. "I can't have my own Brother knocking me up. What would Mom and Dad say? Hell, what would my friends and co-workers say?"

Jae took a deep breath, and struggled to keep his cool. "Let's not panic yet. Just because I came in you doesn't mean you're going to get pregnant."

"Yes, but what if you did get me pregnant? I could end up having your baby. Shit, why did I agree to this stupid bet? Jae, you may have just knocked me up."

"Look, there's nothing we can do about it now. We'll just have to wait and see. People fuck all the time without conceiving children. The odds are really good that you won't get pregnant."

"I hope you're right. I love you baby Brother, but I don't want to have your kid." She ran her hand along her Brother's cheek. "However, I've got to be honest with you. I did enjoy having sex with you. I've never had multiple orgasms before. You made me cum three times. I don't think I'd be happy if this turned out to be a one time fuck."

"Does this mean you want to have sex with me again?"

"Hell yes. I want to fuck you all day every day while our parents are at work. But from now on you pull out before you cum. And I'm making a doctor's appointment. If you're going to keep fucking me like this, I need to go on the pill."

Jae leaned over his Sister and kissed her. He then gave her a warm smile. "You can forget about paying up on our bet. I got something much better out of it anyway."

Yooyeon squeezed Jae's softening cock with her vaginal walls. She felt her Brother's cock begin to stiffen. "I think you're about to get another payment on our bet. Just make sure you pull out before you cum this time."

Jae and Yooyeon fucked all day long, until it was time for Yooyeon to get ready for work.

Jae pulled out each time before spilling his seed where it didn't belong.

However, the siblings didn't think about the fact that pre-cum could also impregnate a woman.

Each time Jae fucked his Sister bareback, they increased their chances of making a baby together.

Later in the day, Yooyeon made an appointment with her gynecologist.

The soonest appointment available was three weeks away.

Yooyeon didn't want to wait that long, but she had no choice.

Jae would just have to pull out before he came for the next two weeks.

Yooyeon knew it was a dangerous plan, but she didn't want to wait two weeks before they resumed having sex.

Birth control cream was out of the question, because Yooyeon had suffered an allergic reaction to the cream when she tried to use it in the past.

She considered having Jae use a condom anyway, but the fact that the size of his cock would cause them to tear worried her. Trusting in a piece of latex that might or might not protect her was worse than having Jae pull out.

Jae's horror story about having left over pieces of latex stuck in her pussy worried Yooyeon.

Besides, Yooyeon loved the feel of her Brother's bare cock in her stretched out pussy.

Yooyeon got dressed for work, and then headed out the door, with her Brother in tow.

Jae followed his Sister to the plant in his pickup.

Yooyeon took Jae to meet their supervisor. She then headed to her station.

Jae filled out his paperwork, listened to the safety speech, and then headed home.

His parents asked him how the paperwork went.

The young man struggled to keep his voice from wavering as he spoke to his parents.

The memory of fucking his sexy Sister wouldn't go away. He was looking forward to the next day when his parents returned to work.

Yooyeon put in her shift, and then headed to the house. Not trusting herself in front of her parents, the young woman skipped eating and headed straight to bed.

Jae was in his room, thinking about the day's events. He was tempted to sneak into Yooyeon's room and fuck her before he went to sleep. But the young man knew that would be too big a risk.

Yooyeon struggled with the same thoughts. She wanted her Brother's cock in her one more time before she went to sleep, but knew it would be too risky to try. Her Parents would lose it if they caught their kids fucking. Yooyeon eventually drifted off to sleep. As she lay in bed sleeping, millions of her Brother's sperm swam deeper into her birth canal towards the waiting egg.

One tiny sperm cell made it to the outer wall of the waiting egg, and then bored its way inside.

She's got a point.

You've been sitting here long enough to become part of the furniture, nursing a hangover instead of a cup of coffee. Haewon's already checked on you more than once, and judging by the look on her face, you've officially become the most annoying customer she's had all afternoon. She's short, her hair pulled back into a low ponytail, and her patience has clearly run out.

But she's not the only one having a bad day. As far as you're concerned, the coffee shop has somehow squeezed an entire sun inside four walls. It's probably just the hangover. The sky outside is dull and gray, the color of wet cement, yet every bit of light in here feels determined to split your skull open.

So you stay tucked away in the corner, dressed head to toe in black, one leg crossed beneath the tiny round table, sunglasses firmly planted on the bridge of your nose in a losing battle against the headache.

"I'm asking for your professional opinion..." You glance at her name tag. "Haewon.”

"My professional opinion is about coffee."

"You're in the service industry. You serve people. I'm a person. Serve me."

"You haven't ordered anything."

"I'm ordering advice."

"That's not on the menu either," Haewon fires back, then she shifts her weight to one foot and tucks the pen behind her ear. "Look, I don't know this girl. I don't know what kind of person she is. I don't know if she's the type who wants you to be upfront or the type who'll run if you come on too strong. I'm a barista. I make lattes. You either order a drink or you don't, those are the two options I can help you with."

"That's incredibly unhelpful."

"That's because you're asking the wrong person."

"Fine," you concede, waving a hand. "I'll wait for her to get here. It would be rude to start without her."

She rolls her eyes with enough force to threaten orbital escape, pivots on her heel, and disappears toward the counter, muttering something you're better off not hearing.

Alone again.

Your fingers begin tapping against the wooden tabletop. Index, middle, ring, pinky. Repeat. A pattern you can't seem to stop. The anxiety lives in your hands today, restless and electric, demanding an outlet you refuse to give it.

Four months had passed since you left the lake house. Four months since the two of you stood on your family's property, trapped by a storm and cut off from the rest of the world, sharing what felt like one of those impossibly cinematic moments people spend their whole lives chasing. Before you went your separate ways, you'd exchanged numbers and promised to get coffee someday.

It had seemed like such a simple commitment. Coffee. Two adults could manage coffee. Two adults who'd spent days peeling away each other's carefully built defenses, throwing mud across the shoreline and laughing until their stomachs hurt, then falling asleep in separate rooms while the rain battered the world outside.

For a while, everything unfolded exactly the way you'd hoped. You texted almost every day, never about anything particularly important. The kind of conversations that never seemed like work until, somehow, they did. Three days between messages became five. Five turned into ten. Eventually, there was nothing left but silence.

You didn't chase it. She's an idol, after all. Her life was finally beginning to resemble something normal again. SM released a statement about her recovery and her gradual return to activities, and every now and then you'd catch a clip of her smiling at an event, waving to cameras as though the worst had already passed. You convinced yourself that was enough. She looked happy. She looked healthy. Maybe you'd simply played your part in her story, and that chapter had ended exactly when it was supposed to.

The only problem with that explanation was that you never quite believed it.

Because no matter how much time passed, you never stopped thinking about her. Not for a single day. Not once in those four months.

And then last night happened. Three glasses of whiskey deep at your apartment, alone, staring stupidly at your phone. The drunk courage hit you all at once, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you typed: “So... is that coffee thing still happening, or were you just saying that to be nice?”

You hit send at 11:23 PM. For the next twenty minutes, you lay flat on your back, staring at the ceiling, utterly convinced you'd just made the most embarrassing mistake of your adult life. Every passing second without a reply only made the humiliation feel more inevitable.

Then your phone buzzed. Jimin had replied.

“It wasn't just talk. How about tomorrow? I know a place.”

As if nothing had happened. As if four months of nothing was simply a pause in a conversation, not an ending. She gave you an address. A time. And now you're here, dressed in black, wearing sunglasses on a cloudy day, asking a barista named Haewon how to act normal around a woman you cannot get out of your skull.

The door opens. Your stomach drops. But it's only a middle-aged man carrying an umbrella. False alarm. You sink back into your chair, let out a slow breath, and remind yourself that you're a grown man. A CEO. Someone who negotiates multi-million-dollar deals without breaking a sweat. This is just coffee.

Just coffee.

Two more minutes crawl by before the door swings open again. Your fingers, which have been drumming an anxious rhythm against the table, stop instantly. Your heart lurches as you look up.

This time, it's her.

She's wearing a knitted beanie pulled low over her forehead, her dark hair falling straight past her shoulders. An oversized cream-colored sweater hangs loosely over a pair of jeans, with a pair of white sneakers completing the outfit. It's as ordinary as it gets, yet she still manages to steal the air from your lungs. She looks exactly the way you remember her - exactly the way you haven't been able to stop remembering her.

Her eyes sweep across the coffee shop until they land on you. Almost instantly, her expression softens. She recognizes you, and for the briefest moment, you could swear she looks relieved.

Jimin walks over, pulls out the chair across from you, and sits down. After setting her bag beside her chair, she looks up and meets your eyes.

"Hi," she says, sounding warm despite her hesitation. Then her gaze shifts to your sunglasses. A small crease forms between her brows. "Did you become an idol too?" she asks with a quiet laugh, tapping the edge of her beanie. "Or is this some fashion trend I missed?"

"I'm hiding from the sun," you reply.

She turns to look out the window. The sky is a flat blanket of gray, thick with clouds that have been hanging overhead all morning.

"It's completely overcast," she says, glancing back at you. "I'm pretty sure it's going to rain."

"Well, it's the clearest overcast day I've ever seen," you say. "The UV index is off the charts.”

The corner of her mouth twitches. That slight pull that isn't quite a full smile but promises one if you keep going. You remember that expression. You spent three days at a lake house cataloging every version of it.

"You're ridiculous," she murmurs, leaning back in her chair a little more comfortably.

"And yet you still agreed to meet me."

A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth before she gives the smallest nod. A simple gesture, but it carries the weight of four months of silence and one impulsive text sent just before midnight. Somehow, despite everything, she's here. And so are you. Two people who left something unfinished in a house by the water, now sitting across from each other in a quiet coffee shop, pretending the distance between then and now can be bridged with a cup of coffee.

"So," Jimin begins, folding her hands on the table. She tilts her head slightly to one side. "How are things? With the company. Last time we talked you were still in full crisis mode."

You lean back, rubbing the back of your neck. "Okay, so. Short version: we didn't go under. Which, you know, great. The fund recovered about sixty percent of what we lost, and we restructured the portfolio to be less, uh, insane. Less of me throwing darts at a board and hoping for the best."

"That sounds positive," she offers.

"It is. In theory." You pull your sunglasses off and set them on the table. "The problem is that my father decided to use the whole situation as an excuse to reassert himself. He brought in two of his people to sit on my board. Advisory capacity, officially. But in practice they have veto power over any acquisition above a certain threshold, and they report directly to him."

Jimin nods slowly, processing. "So he bailed you out."

"He provided liquidity when no one else would, yeah. And the price for that was me giving up a significant chunk of operational independence. I still run the day to day, I still make decisions, but anything major has to go through his people first. It's my company with his fingerprints all over it."

"Oh," she says, straightening slightly. "But that's good, isn't it? Overall? You're still there. You're still in charge. Mostly."

"Yeah." You tap the edge of the table once. "The best good I could get, given the circumstances."

A small pause settles between you. Comfortable enough, but loaded with everything else that sits beneath the surface of this reunion. You shift the focus before the silence can grow teeth.

"What about you?" you ask. "I've seen stuff, obviously. The Inkigayo stage last month. The Marie Claire cover. But I know better than to take anything at face value with that industry."

Jimin lets out a quiet breath, her gaze dropping to her hands for a moment before she looks back up. "I think I'm doing okay," she says. "Actually... I think I'm doing well." She holds your gaze, a small, genuine smile touching her lips. "I'm definitely in a better place than I was the night you found me sitting on that bench after midnight, having an existential crisis.”

"Good," you say, and you mean it completely. "I'm happy for you. Sincerely."

She opens her mouth, seems about to respond, but then a shadow falls across the table and you both look up to find Haewon standing there with her notepad, eyebrows raised.

"So," the barista says, clicking her pen. "Are we actually ordering now? Or is this still a therapy session?"

"We're ordering," you confirm. "Two coff—"

But Haewon isn't listening anymore. Her attention has drifted to Jimin, and you watch the exact moment recognition dawn on her. Her eyes widen. The pen slips in her fingers, nearly clattering onto the table. "Wait..." she says, blinking rapidly. "No way. Are you... are you Karina?! From aespa?! Oh my God!”

You lean forward before Jimin can get a word out. "No," you say with a laugh. "Absolutely not. Seriously, think about it. Why would Karina from aespa be hanging out in some tiny neighborhood coffee shop? Look at her. She's just... a completely normal girl. Normal face. Normal clothes. Probably smells normal too." Jimin slowly turns to look at you, raising an eyebrow. "I think you've just been working too many shifts. Sleep deprivation does weird things to the brain. People start seeing celebrities where there aren't any." You nod sympathetically. "Honestly, this place should be reported. But don't worry, I know a great labor lawyer."

Jimin lets out a quiet laugh. "It's okay," she says. "He's being weird. It is me."

You whip your head toward her. "Oh, so we're just giving up on the whole secret identity thing now?"

She shrugs. "I mean... she already recognized me. What was I supposed to do? Look her in the eye and say she imagined it?”

"Yes. That's the entire point of a disguise."

Haewon ignores you entirely, clutching her notepad to her chest. "Can I... would it be okay if I took a selfie with you? I'm so sorry, I know you're just trying to have coffee, but I've been a fan since Black Mamba and I will never forgive myself if I don't ask."

"Of course," Jimin agrees, already shifting in her seat to angle toward the barista.

You watch in disbelief as Haewon scurries around the table, crouches beside Jimin, holds up her phone, and snaps three photos in rapid succession. Jimin smiles in each one. That practiced, perfect, camera-ready smile you've seen a thousand times in press photos. Professional even in a moment this casual.

"Hang on," you interject as Haewon straightens up, practically glowing. "Are you telling me that if I'd opened with, 'By the way, the girl I'm meeting is Karina,' you would've actually answered my question?"

"Obviously yes," Haewon replies without hesitation. "You should have led with that. That's critical information you withheld."

"Unbelievable…” you mutter.

"Anyway." She slips her phone into her apron pocket, smooths out her notepad, and somehow transforms back into a perfectly professional barista in the span of two seconds. "What can I get you two? And don't worry about it - it's on the house."

"I'll have an iced Americano," you say.

Jimin glances at the menu for all of half a second before smiling. "A vanilla latte. Hot, please."

Haewon scribbles both drinks down with a grin. "I'll be right back."

As soon as she's out of earshot, you look across the table at Jimin. "Remind me not to tip her. She refused to help me for ten minutes," you say. "Then she found out who you are and suddenly we're getting free coffee. That's textbook discrimination."

"I don't think that's what discrimination means."

"It is when it happens to me."

"So you're jealous of my free latte?"

"I'm jealous of your preferential treatment."

"You do realize you're getting a free coffee too, right?"

You nod solemnly. "That's how they silence the victim.”

A soft and unguarded laugh escapes Jimin before she can hold it back, her shoulders giving the slightest shake as she ducks her head for a second. It's the kind of laugh that always feels earned. You remember chasing it for three straight days at the lake house, throwing out terrible jokes and increasingly desperate bits just to hear it one more time.

"Anyway," you continue, folding your arms on the table. "I've been thinking. Maybe we could do something together. Today. After this."

She raises an eyebrow. "You're not going to take me to another lake house, are you?"

"No. Kidnapping idols to isolated locations in the mountains isn't really fashionable anymore. I checked. I was thinking we could just, dunno, spend the day out here. Walk around. Find something to do. No agenda. No storm trapping us anywhere."

"That's the best you could come up with?" she asks, and there's a teasing quality there, a gentle prod.

"Well, you know me. I'm not exactly a master planner. That's how my company almost collapsed and how I ended up dragging you to a lake house during what turned out to be the worst storm in five years. Spontaneity is my only skill, and it has a fifty percent success rate at best."

Before Jimin can answer, Haewon returns with the drinks. She carefully sets your iced Americano in front of you, then places the vanilla latte in front of Jimin. And then… she just stands there. You give her three seconds. Then five. Finally, you look up and say:

"So... are you waiting for one of us to autograph the cups, or...?"

"Oh, I was just making sure everything looked okay."

"It does. Thanks." She doesn't move. You tilt your head. "Don't you have coffee to make? Customers to help? A coffee shop to run?"

Haewon glances around the shop. There are maybe three other people inside. "Not really. It's kind of dead right now."

"Great. Then you can be dead over there."

Haewon finally seems to realize she's lingering. "Right. Sorry." She rubs the back of her neck with an embarrassed smile. "Enjoy your drinks."

She heads back behind the counter, and before she's even halfway to the espresso machine, you catch her pulling out her phone. Within seconds, she's tapping away at the screen, undoubtedly posting something along the lines of: just served karina from aespa at work and somehow managed not to pass out. i deserve employee of the month.

Jimin watches her for a moment before looking back at you. "You know," she says, wrapping both hands around her latte, "you don't have to be so mean to her. She seems sweet."

"I wasn't mean.'' Jimin gives you a look. "Well, she started it..." you mumble, taking a sip of your Americano.

You regret it immediately. The coffee is genuinely awful. Watery and sour, with an aftertaste that suggests the beans have been sitting in storage since the last administration. You do your best to keep your face neutral, but apparently not well enough, because Jimin is watching you with a look of quiet amusement.

"You're not used to places like this, are you?" she asks.

"Look, the coffee is objectively bad," you tell her plainly. "Try it. You'll agree with me."

Jimin lifts her cup and takes a careful sip. She holds it in her mouth for a moment, swallows, and nods. "It's delicious.”

"What? It is not delicious!"

"It's really good, actually. I like it."

You take another sip, determined to reconsider your opinion. "Okay. Fine. It's not that bad. It has a... particular quality. An interesting aftertaste. Very unique."

"I know you hated it," Jimin says, amused. "You don't have to lie just because you want to agree with me.”

"I don't hate it. I'm appreciating its complexity."

“Sure. Whatever you say.” She smiles into her cup. You take another sip, and Jimin follows suit. Then she sets her cup down and looks at you a little differently, her expression turning more thoughtful as her attention settles fully on you.

"Can I ask you something?" she says.

"Anything."

"Seol Yoon-a," she says. "What happened there? Between you two. After everything."

You exhale slowly. You expected this question eventually. "When I got back from the lake house, I told her what happened. She and I had been on the rocks for a while already, you know that, but I think the lake house was the final confirmation for both of us that it wasn't going to work. So we ended it. For real, this time. No more back and forth."

Jimin nods, her eyes dropping to the table. "Looking back… I probably shouldn't have let myself get carried away that day. You and her were still technically—"

"We were already over," you cut in. "Technically, practically... in every way that mattered. We both knew it. You don't have to feel guilty about any of that." You turn the cup slowly between your hands. "You didn't break anything that wasn't already broken. And besides, she's with someone now. Some architect. She seems genuinely happy, which is good. She deserves that. I did nothing but hurt her from the beginning."

"Okay," Jimin says quietly. "Good for her, then.” She wraps both hands around her cup and looks at you again. "Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Go ahead."

"Why did you text me? Last night. After all this time."

"Honestly? I was drunk when I sent it. Three whiskeys in. Not exactly my most composed moment."

"I thought something was off with the typing," she admits, and the corner of her mouth quirks. "Some of the spelling was... creative."

"Yeah, well." You rub your jaw. "But I did want to come. I've wanted to text you for months. I just didn't have the nerve to actually do it. I kept telling myself you were busy, that you were getting your life back together, that the last thing you needed was me showing up in your notifications being, you know, Me."

"You would never bother me. I should be the one apologizing, really. I stopped responding and I didn't... I don't know. I was trying to get things back on track. Schedules started again, and everything kind of swallowed me up. But it wasn't because I didn't want to talk to you."

"I know," you say. "I get it. I didn't want to pressure you into anything."

She looks directly at you then, steady and open, and says, "I really wanted to see you again. I'm glad you texted. Even drunk."

You hold her gaze for a second longer than you probably should, and judging by the way the corner of her mouth lifts, she notices.

You look away before it becomes a whole thing. Then you lean back, pick up your terrible coffee, and raise it slightly in her direction.

"Anyway. We're here now. Let's enjoy it.”

Jimin looks at the cup, then at you, a laugh escaping her as she picks up her own. “To us?” she asks.

You clink your cups together. “To us.” And then you take a sip of your coffee.

Jimin sets her cup down and tilts her head at you. "Can I see your hand?"

"My hand?"

"The one you destroyed on that mirror," she clarifies, and gestures with her chin toward your right fist resting on the table.

Right. The scar. You'd almost forgotten about it, which is strange considering you spent weeks unable to close your fist without wincing. You extend your hand across the table, palm up, fingers uncurled. Jimin reaches forward and takes it lightly, turning it to examine the ridge of raised skin that cuts across your knuckles.

Her fingertip traces the line slowly. The contact is barely there, featherlight, and yet you feel it in your entire arm.

"It's almost imperceptible," she says, still looking down at your hand. "It healed really well."

"My mother always told me I have exceptional antibodies," you reply.

Jimin looks up at you, her finger still resting against your knuckle. "It's not exactly the antibodies that heal wounds."

"Show me your medical degree and then we'll talk."

She drops your hand and laughs, leaning back in her chair. "Some things really never change with you."

You flex your fingers under the table where she can't see, trying to shake the ghost of her touch from your skin. It doesn't work. "How much time do you have?" you ask. "Today, I mean. Before the idol machine swallows you back up."

Jimin considers this. "All day. And until noon tomorrow, actually. My schedule is clear."

"Until noon tomorrow," you repeat. "And would you rather spend that time with me, or doing something actually productive with your life?"

"I'd rather spend it with you," she answers simply.

The directness catches you off guard. You recover quickly, or at least you think you do. "Okay. Then we'd better make the most of every minute."

You both finish your coffee. Yours still tastes like death, but you drain the cup without complaint because complaining again would be admitting defeat. You push back from the table and reach for your sunglasses.

"Shall we?"

You stand, slide the glasses back onto your face, and wait while Jimin gathers her bag. She turns toward the counter on her way out.

"Thank you for the drinks," she tells Haewon. "That was really kind of you."

Haewon practically melts behind the register. "It was such a pleasure serving you. Please come back anytime! Seriously. Anytime. I'm here every day except Tuesdays."

"Noted," Jimin says warmly, and pushes through the door you're holding open.

The air outside is cool and damp, heavy with the promise of rain. Jimin adjusts her hat and falls into step beside you on the sidewalk.

"So where's your car?" she asks, scanning the curb.

"I actually came on foot."

"On foot?" She turns to look at you fully. "Why?"

"Well, that's kind of the point," you say. "Just wandering around. Going wherever. No real plan." You shove your hands into your pockets. "And I figured we could do something, you know..." You hesitate for half a second. "Romantic." Jimin's eyebrows shoot up. "No, not romantic romantic," you add quickly. "I just mean... something nice. Together. Like a date—" You wince. "Not a date. Fuck. Just... an experience.”

"Romantic and nice are completely different things," she points out.

"You're getting caught up in semantics. The point is—"

"They're not semantics. They're entirely separate concepts."

"The point," you press on, "is that I've never ridden a bus before. And I got one of those T-Money cards and I want to try it out. There's a cultural center somewhere nearby. With, you know, cultural things. Art, probably. Exhibitions. Whatever cultural centers have."

Jimin stops walking. "That's your romantic idea? Riding the bus?"

"You don't need to keep repeating it like that. With that tone."

"What tone?"

"That incredulous tone. That 'oh my god this man is hopeless' tone you're doing right now. Look, I should have known you'd be hard to please. Idol standards. Everything has to be first class, five star, exclusive—"

"I never said that—"

"I'm admitting something vulnerable here, okay? I was born into an absurd amount of wealth and I never had the opportunity to experience public transportation. It was always private cars. Always a driver waiting. Always tinted windows and leather seats... I don't like talking about it because it makes me emotional."

Jimin presses her lips together, clearly fighting a smile. "You're being ridiculous. Again.”

"I'm being honest. This is growth. And you're mocking me." You look around the street. "Now: where exactly does one catch a bus? Is it like a taxi situation? Do I stand on the curb and wave one down? Whistle?"

"Obviously not," she says, and she's fully smiling now. "You go to a bus stop."

"Right. A bus stop. And then from the bus stop I ride the bus to another place?"

"That's how it works, yes."

"That seems unnecessarily complicated."

"Welcome to how normal people live," Jimin replies, and points down the block toward the corner. "There's one right there."

You walk together to the stop. It's a covered shelter with a metal bench and a tall digital display panel mounted at one end. Several route numbers are listed vertically along the signboard, each color coded. Blue numbers for the main arterial routes that cut across the city in long straight lines. Green numbers for the shorter branch routes that feed into subway stations and neighborhood hubs. A few red numbers indicating express buses that run out toward Ilsan and Bundang.

The digital screen at the top cycles through real time arrival information. Route 7017, three minutes. Route 162, seven minutes. Route 7613, twelve minutes. Each entry updates every thirty seconds or so, counting down. You stare at it all with genuine fascination.

"So which one do we take?" you ask.

"Depends where you want to go. Each number is a different route. Different stops." Jimin steps closer to the posted map beneath the screen, a tangle of colored lines showing every stop along each route. "The cultural center, you said? That would probably be the 162. Gets off near Seodaemun."

"And when it arrives, I just get on? And put the card somewhere?"

"You tap it on the reader next to the driver when you board. And then you tap again when you get off. It charges based on distance."

"Tap on. Tap off. I can manage that."

"You say that now."

"I have an MBA. I think I can handle tapping a card."

Jimin doesn't say anything. She just looks at you. There's a quiet fondness in her eyes, patient and familiar in a way you've missed more than you realized. Four months is a long time to go without it. You stand together beneath the shelter, close enough that your shoulders almost brush. Above you, the digital display updates. Route 162. Five minutes.

You tilt your head back and glance up at the sky. Thick gray clouds hang low over the city, swollen and heavy, like they're about to burst.

"Okay, I think you were right," you say. "It's definitely going to rain."

Jimin follows your gaze. "Yeah. Looks like it."

A brief silence settles between you.

Then, almost to herself, she says, "It always seems to rain when we're together."

You turn to look at her. She's still staring up at the sky, her profile softened beneath the brim of her hat. “Is that a bad sign?” you ask.

She doesn’t answer right away.

She thinks about it for a moment. Then she lowers her gaze and meets yours. "No," she says. "I think it's just a coincidence."

"Yeah. Maybe,” you say, and neither of you looks back up at the sky.

The digital screen counts down. Route 162, one minute. You can see it already, turning the corner at the end of the block, a blue city bus lumbering toward the stop with its route number illuminated on the front display panel. As it approaches, slowing with a hiss of brakes, Jimin suddenly pats her pockets and her expression shifts.

"I don't have my T-money," she says, checking her bag. "Taking a bus today was not in my plans.”

"I'll pay for you," you say immediately. "I can do that, right? Pay for two people with one card?"

"Maybe. I think you tell the driver before you tap."

"Perfect. I've got it."

The bus pulls up and the front doors fold open with a pneumatic wheeze. You let Jimin board first, then step up after her. The driver is a middle aged man with reading glasses perched on his nose, barely glancing up from the road ahead.

"Two people," you announce, holding up your card and two fingers simultaneously.

The driver reaches over and presses a button on the fare machine without looking at you. The small screen on the reader changes to display a double fare amount. You tap your card against it. A short beep confirms the transaction, and the remaining balance flashes briefly on the screen. Done. You feel an absurd sense of accomplishment.

The bus lurches forward before you've fully committed to a direction, and you grab one of the overhead handles to steady yourself. Jimin is already halfway down the aisle, choosing a pair of empty seats near the middle. You follow and drop into the window seat she left for you. Or maybe she just took the aisle one first. Either way, you're here, shoulder to shoulder on a public bus for the first time in your entire existence.

Above the windows, a digital display scrolls through the upcoming stops in Korean and English. An automated announcement plays each time the bus approaches a station, naming the stop and reminding passengers to tap their cards when exiting through the rear doors.

Jimin settles her bag on her lap and turns to face you slightly. "So. Why were you drunk last night?"

"Just stressed," you say. "Long week. I had a few drinks and they turned into a few more."

"What happened?"

"Nothing specific. Just the general accumulation of everything." You shrug. "Board meeting ran late. One of my father's guys blocked an acquisition I'd been working on for three weeks. Standard frustration."

"Okay."

"It doesn't happen often, by the way. The drinking. I'm not an alcoholic. Well… not yet, at least. Give me another fiscal quarter."

She accepts this without pushing further, which you appreciate. Instead she shifts topics, looking around the bus interior with faint amusement. "So? What do you think? Your first public transit experience."

You consider the question seriously. "It's interesting. The communal aspect. Everyone just sitting here together, going different places, sharing the same vehicle. There's a certain efficiency to it that I can respect."

"High praise."

"Though I do think they could improve the service. Some snacks would be nice. Maybe a beverage cart. A small menu."

"It's a city bus, not a flight to Jeju."

"I'm just saying, the infrastructure is there. They have space." You stretch your legs as much as the seat in front of you allows. "But the company is pleasant. That makes up for the lack of refreshments."

Jimin's mouth curves slightly, and she looks down at her hands. "What other worldly experiences have you never had? What else is on the list?"

"Well," you begin, genuinely thinking about it. "I've never been to a supermarket. That's a big one. I imagine it's quite something. All those aisles. The variety. It must be exciting."

Jimin turns to stare at you. "How have you never been to a supermarket?”

"Never needed to. I pay someone. I don't even know who, honestly. There's some system in place and food just appears in my kitchen. It materializes on the shelves. I've never questioned it."

"The food you don't cook," she adds.

"Actually, I've been cooking. Occasionally. I'm getting better."

"What can you cook?"

"I made pizza last month. From scratch. Dough and everything."

"Was it good?"

"Well, I liked it. But I acknowledge my opinion might be biased since I spent four hours making it and was committed to enjoying the result regardless of the actual quality."

Jimin tilts her head. "I think I'd need to try it myself. Give you an unbiased verdict."

"I can cook for you whenever you want," you offer. "Seriously."

"Is that an invitation?" she asks, smiling.

“Maybe. Come over tonight. I’ll make you dinner.”

She lets out a short, surprised laugh. “I don't know whether to be excited or concerned about that.”

You bump your shoulder lightly against hers. "Hey, I've evolved. I'm almost positive you won't get food poisoning. Like... ninety percent sure."

"That's not reassuring."

"What's life without a little risk?" you say. "You've eaten street food before, haven't you? Same principle."

She shakes her head, though she's still smiling. "Fine. I'll trust you. But if I end up in the hospital, you're paying the bill."

"Obviously. I'll get you the nicest room they have. Private suite. Flowers every day."

"How generous."

"I'll even visit."

"Everyday?"

"Let's not get carried away."

She laughs, and the conversation settles into a comfortable quiet as the bus rolls through the next intersection. The digital display above the doors updates: three stops remaining until Seodaemun. Jimin glances up at it, quietly keeping track of the progress. Outside the window, Seoul slides past in its usual gray sprawl, storefronts, pedestrians, and traffic piling up at every red light.

"That's us next," she says after a few minutes, pointing to the display as it announces the upcoming stop.

"How do I tell it to stop?"

"Press the button." She indicates a red strip running along the handrail above the windows. "Before the stop. It signals the driver."

You reach up and press it. A chime sounds through the bus, and a small "stop requested" notification appears on the front display. The bus begins to slow. You follow Jimin toward the rear doors, tapping your card on the reader mounted by the exit. Two beeps. One for each of you. The doors open, and you step down onto the sidewalk.

You look around. It's a busy commercial street, shops and restaurants lining both sides, a few trees planted along the curb with their leaves going yellow at the edges. Autumn settling in slowly.

"Okay," you say. "Cultural center. Which direction?"

Jimin checks her phone briefly. "Should be that way. Two blocks."

You walk together, weaving between other pedestrians, until the two blocks pass and there's nothing that looks particularly cultural. You spot a woman walking a small dog and intercept her. "Excuse me, is there a cultural center around here? Seodaemun area?"

The woman points past your shoulder toward a building set back from the road. Modern architecture, glass facade, a banner hanging out front with exhibition information. "That's it there, but I think they close early on weekdays. Five o'clock."

You check your phone. 5:47.

"Thank you," you tell her, and she continues on with her dog.

Jimin is already looking at you with an expression you can only describe as deeply unsurprised.

"This," she begins, "is exactly what happens when you decide to go somewhere without planning anything in advance. You check hours. You look things up. You confirm that your destination is actually accessible before you—"

You place one finger against her lips.

"Shhh." She falls silent, her eyes widening slightly over the top of your finger. “I knew this was going to happen,” you say calmly. “I knew the cultural center would be closed. That was never the real destination. It was a decoy.”

“You didn’t know anything,” she mumbles against your finger.

You remove your finger and point across the street. Tucked between a laundromat and a fried chicken restaurant, there's a narrow storefront with a hand painted sign. Records stacked in the window. A warm amber glow from inside. A vinyl shop.

"That," you declare, "is where we're actually going. Much cooler than a cultural center."

Jimin follows your finger and spots the store. Then she looks back at you. "You had absolutely no idea that store existed."

"I kind of knew about it."

"You didn't."

"I've driven past this street before. I'm observant. I notice things."

"You're lying."

"You can't see my eyes behind these sunglasses, so you can't prove anything."

"I can't see them, but I know they're lying. You have tells."

"I don't have tells."

"You do. Your jaw gets tight when you're making something up."

You consciously relax your jaw. "Okay. Fine. I had no idea. But who cares? It's a find. A discovery. This is the entire philosophy of not planning anything. The world puts something in your path exactly when you need it."

"You're romanticizing the fact that you're disorganized."

"And it's working," you insist. "Ladies first."

Jimin shakes her head, giving you that soft, resigned smile she gets when you've finally argued her into submission. She adjusts her hat, looks both ways, and crosses the street. You follow a couple of steps behind, watching her move with her shoulders relaxed and her pace easy, as if they have nowhere else to be and nothing waiting for them.

The bell above the door jingles as you step inside. The record store opens up into a warm, cluttered space, all wooden shelving and dim yellow lighting, walls covered in faded concert posters and album art that spans decades. A turntable behind the counter is playing something old and crackling, some soul record from another era. A handful of customers browse the aisles, flipping through crates of vinyl with the reverent slowness of people who take this seriously.

Jimin pulls her hat a little lower and looks around the store with genuine interest. "So? What do you want to look at first? Rock? Jazz?" She glances at you. "Or are you going to pretend you know anything about music?"

"Give me a second." You scan the room. "Uh, quick question. What are the odds someone recognizes you in here?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. Depends. Why?"

You point toward the K-pop section. A large promotional poster for aespa hangs above a rack of albums. Jimin is front and center, caught mid-pose, her perfectly styled and airbrushed face looking out across the store.

The second she sees the poster, she turns away. "Okay," she says. "Point taken."

"Go browse."

"Excuse me?"

"Look at the records. I'll take care of something real quick."

"Take care of what?"

"Just go. Give me two minutes." She gives you a suspicious look, but eventually wanders off toward the far aisle without arguing. You watch her start flipping through a crate of city pop reissues before turning toward the counter.

The store attendant is sitting on a stool behind it, completely absorbed in her phone. Short hair tucked behind her ears, loose flannel shirt, the unmistakable expression of someone who would rather be anywhere else. Her thumbs move rapidly across the screen. Candy Crush, apparently.

You clear your throat and offer your most polished, boardroom-ready smile. "Hi there. Sorry to interrupt. I'm—"

"What do you want," she cuts in, not looking up.

"I wanted to introduce myself properly. What's your name?"

Without lifting her eyes from the game, she taps the plastic name tag pinned crookedly to her chest.

"Bae," you read aloud. "Great. Bae. So, listen, I've got a bit of a funny situation here."

"Dude, get to the point," she mutters, thumb swiping. "I'm busy."

You glance at her phone. “Right. Busy trying to beat your high score, huh?”

"You are testing the very limited amount of patience I have."

“Okay, okay. So... here's the deal.” You lean against the counter, trying to sound casual. “I need a favor. I need you to clear the store for, like, thirty minutes. Just get everyone out. Think you can do that?”

That finally gets her attention. Bae looks up from her phone, one eyebrow raised, then follows your subtle gesture toward Jimin, who's still browsing through the records with her back to you. “Me and her,” you explain, lowering your voice. “We just need a little privacy. You know? Some alone time. It's kind of... a delicate situation.”

Bae just stares at you for a moment.

Then her expression softens, and a slow, warm smile spreads across her face. “Sure,” she says sweetly. “Yeah, I can totally do that. Thirty minutes, right?”

Hope sparks in your chest. “Seriously? You'd do that for me?”

The smile disappears.

“Fuck no, dude. Are you out of your fucking mind? Who the hell do you think you are?”

You flinch. “Okay, okay, damn. It's just thirty minutes. The store's not gonna go bankrupt because it's closed for half an hour. Come on. Do the math.”

“I don't have time for this shit,” Bae says, setting her phone down. “What, you think this is some indie romance movie? You're gonna have your cute little moment in the middle of my record store, surrounded by vinyl, with the sunlight hitting just right? Get real. It's not happening.”

“I can't believe how rude you're being right now.” You sound genuinely offended. “Look, just because someone broke your heart once doesn't mean you have to become this bitter, anti-love person who goes around ruining other people's chances at having a beautiful, romantic moment—”

“Oh my god.” Bae pinches the bridge of her nose. “You are such a fucking weirdo. Seriously. Get out of my store before I call the cops on your creepy, sunglasses-inside-wearing ass.”

You hold up both hands. “Look, let me rephrase. What would it actually take? Like, what do you need to shut the place down for half an hour?”

Bae lets out a short laugh. “Oh, buddy. You'd need some serious cash for that.” She looks you up and down, taking in the all-black outfit, the sunglasses indoors, the whole deal. “And, uh... yeah. You look broke as hell. Sorry, man. Can't help you.”

“What if I paid for everything?” you say. “Every record in the store. I wouldn't even take them. I'd just pay you the full retail value of your entire inventory. Right now. Would that do it?”

Bae pauses. Considers. “Honestly? Yeah. That'd do it. Too bad you're not, like, Scrooge McDuck or some shit, huh, bro?” She waves you off and starts sliding off her stool. “Now scoot. I got actual customers to deal with.”

You step in front of her. “Wait! Hold on. Look at this.” You pull out your phone, open the browser, and type your name into the search bar. The results load. You tap the Wikipedia entry and turn the screen toward her.

Your name. Your face. Your family. The company. And the net worth figure journalists love throwing around.

Bae's eyes move across the screen. She reads. Then she slowly looks up at you. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Turns out I have a little bit of money.”

Bae looks back at the screen.

“Holy actual shit.”

"So. How about you kindly dismiss all these customers and step outside for thirty minutes? And while you're out there, you can start thinking about what you'd like to do with the easiest money you've ever earned in your life."

The transformation is immediate and total. Bae straightens up, tucks her phone away, and beams at you with the radiant warmth of a saint.

"Say no more, sir. Please. Make yourself completely at home. Enjoy this beautiful, precious moment with your lovely girlfriend. The whole store is yours." She's already moving down the aisle, clapping her hands to get everyone's attention. "Alright, folks, sorry, we're closing up early! Store's shutting down for a bit. Take your stuff to the register or come back tomorrow, let's go, let's move, thank you!"

Customers grumble but begin filing toward the exit. Jimin, confused, sets down the record she was holding and starts drifting toward the door with everyone else.

"No, no, not you, honey," Bae calls, guiding her back with a hand. "You stay. You enjoy the store. Take your time."

Once the last customer is out, Bae passes close by you and leans in to murmur near your ear: "Hey. No sex in my store, got it?" She pauses, reconsiders. "You know what? Fuck it. Fine. You can have sex. Just try not to bust on the floor, yeah? These are hardwood. I gotta clean that."

"Nobody is going to have sex in here," you assure her firmly.

She shrugs. "Suit yourself, dude. Your loss." She heads for the door, then turns back with one finger raised. "Thirty minutes. Not thirty-one. I'm counting."

She practically skips out onto the sidewalk, thrilled, and flips the hanging sign in the window so it reads CLOSED before disappearing from view.

Jimin walks over, arms crossed, looking thoroughly confused. “Okay. What just happened? Where did everyone go?”

You spread your arms, gesturing at the now-empty shop, and say, “Looks like we’ve got the whole place to ourselves. For the next thirty minutes, anyway.”

Her eyes narrow. “What did you do?”

“Nothing dramatic. I just convinced the owner to let us have the place to ourselves for a little while. No crowds. No one bothering us.”

“Why would you do that?” She looks around at the empty aisles, her expression tightening. “There were people here. Actual customers.” A small, frustrated breath escapes her. “They were just having a normal day. They came in to browse, buy something, whatever. And now they’ve been asked to leave because you wanted the place to yourself for half an hour? You can’t just do that to people.”

“Technically, there still are customers here,” you point out. “Us. We’re customers. Very exclusive ones, by the way.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“The owner agreed to it.”

“You bribed her.”

“Bribe is such an ugly word. I offered her fair compensation for the inconvenience.”

“That's still a bribe.”

“Okay, but she accepted it willingly. Enthusiastically, even.”

"Don't do that again."

You frown. "Do what?"

"Don't use money to fix everything. Don't use it to get your way. And don't use it to impress me."

You hesitate. "I wasn't trying to impress you."

"Maybe not on purpose." Her voice softens. "But that's what it felt like."

"Come on, Jimin, it's just money," you insist. "I happen to have more of it than most people, but—"

"Stop it! You know exactly what I mean."

And you do. The joke dies before it makes it out. She isn’t playing around. There’s no teasing edge to her voice, no hint that she’s waiting for you to say something clever enough to make her laugh. She’s genuinely upset, watching you with that steady, unimpressed look.

And suddenly, you see what you’ve done. The thing that would have come across as generous - or charming, or impressive - to almost anyone else in your life has landed here as something else entirely. Jimin has spent years surrounded by excess. Sponsored trips. Luxury hotels. Free things. People making problems disappear with a phone call and a credit card. Money has always been everywhere around her, flowing so freely that it eventually became meaningless.

You'd assumed it would work the same way with her. That a grand gesture, if it was big enough, would be impressive.

But money doesn't impress Jimin. Not really. And when you use it to make the world bend around you, she doesn't see generosity.

She sees distance. She sees someone trying to buy their way into being liked.

"Okay," you say, and this time there's no joke behind it. "You're right. I'm sorry. I won't do that again. I promise.” She studies you a moment longer, then nods, satisfied that you actually mean it. "But," you add, glancing around the store, "since we do have the place to ourselves now, we might as well look around, don't you think?"

Jimin sighs, but the corner of her mouth softens. "Fine. Okay. Show me what you actually like to listen to."

"Good instinct," you say, heading toward the nearest crate. "The best way to figure out whether someone's worth the investment is by their taste in music. Everyone knows that."

You drift toward the far wall where the crates are organized by decade, running your fingers along the plastic dividers. Jimin follows a step behind, watching you with quiet curiosity. "So," she prompts, leaning her hip against the edge of the shelf. "What are we looking for?"

"Okay, so, full disclosure," you begin, pulling out a record at random and glancing at the cover before sliding it back. "Being a CEO means my entire life revolves around work. I don't have time to keep up with new releases, discover what's trending, any of that. The last time I actively sought out new music was probably university."

"So what do you listen to?"

"Whatever I grew up hearing. My parents had the stereo going constantly when I was a kid. My mom loved soul, my dad was into classic rock. So I basically inherited their entire catalogue." You move further down the row, scanning spines. "Seventies, eighties, nineties. R&B, mostly. After 7. Prince. Michael Jackson. Stevie Wonder. D’Angelo. Luther Vandross. That whole era."

Jimin nods slowly, filing this information. "I wouldn't have guessed that about you."

"What did you think I listened to? EDM? Tech house?"

"Honestly? I assumed you had some pretentious jazz phase you never grew out of."

"I do appreciate jazz. But I'm not pretentious about it."

"Mm. Debatable."

You pull a record from the crate and hold it up. The cover is instantly recognizable: SWV, all three of them posing together in that unmistakable '90s R&B style. “This one,” you say, tapping the cover. “I love SWV. They're so, so good.”

Jimin leans in to take a look, her eyebrows lifting. “I like them too.”

“Really?!”

“‘Rain’ is on my Spotify playlist.”

“It is?”

“The one linked to the aespa profile. It's public. Anyone can see it.”

“I had no idea.”

Jimin tilts her head. “I thought you were a fan.”

You shrug and slide the record back into place. “I'm a normal fan. Casual fan. I don't go digging through my favorite idol's playlists to see what she listens to in her free time. That's serial-killer behavior.” Jimin gives you a look, her lower lip pushing out in exaggerated offense. “Okay, okay, in your case—” you add quickly. “I actually do want to know what you're into. What you listen to, what you watch, all that stuff. But I'd rather hear it from you than find it buried in some algorithm-generated playlist. This is better, right? Finding out in person.”

“Nice save.”

“Thanks. Anyway, congratulations. You just earned some serious points with me. Being an SWV fan is basically a requirement if you want me to keep paying attention to you.”

She laughs brightly, then bumps her shoulder against yours, saying, “Wow. That's all I've ever wanted, your undivided attention. I'm so honored.”

"You should be.”

Shaking her head, she falls into step beside you as the two of you continue down the aisle, your fingertips gliding absently over rows of plastic record sleeves. The amber light in the store catches the dust floating in the air, and with no other customers, no background chatter, the space feels impossibly private. The turntable behind the counter is still spinning, though whatever was playing earlier has ended and now the needle just hisses softly in the run-out groove.

Your hand stops on a familiar cover. “Oh, no way...” You pull the record free and turn it toward her. “Now this is what I’m talking about.”

Jimin looks at the cover. Brownstone. Still Climbing. “I’ve heard of them,” she says. “But I don’t think I’ve ever actually listened to anything by them.”

“They’re a trio,” you explain. “Just three women, but somehow they sound like an entire choir. The harmonies are insane. It’s this huge, layered sound that really shouldn’t be possible with only three people.”

You turn the album over, scanning the track listing on the back.

“Still Climbing is great from start to finish, but my favorite is ‘Kiss and Tell.’ That song is perfect.”

“‘Kiss and Tell…’” Jimin repeats, trying the words out. “Hmm, I like the way it sounds.”

You nod. “Great title. Even better song. You should listen to it later. Actually listen to it, though. Don’t put it on in the background while you scroll through your phone and then tell me you liked it.”

Jimin rolls her eyes, but the faintest hint of amusement gives her away. “I promise I’ll give it my full attention.”

"Good. And if you ever use that title for an aespa song, or a solo, or whatever," you add, pointing at her, "don't forget to credit me for my collaborative consultation."

"I'll put you in the liner notes," she assures you solemnly. "Creative advisor."

You slide the Brownstone album back onto the shelf, and the two of you keep wandering through the aisles, pulling records almost at random. Every few minutes, one of you holds up an album with an enthusiastic, "Have you ever listened to this?" and the other either lights up or shakes their head. You spend the next several minutes playfully defending your own taste in music; yours rooted in R&B, soul, jazz, and classic rock, hers drifting toward polished pop and the unmistakable sound of the early 2000s. She insists you need to stop pretending catchy pop songs are beneath you. You insist she can't keep living without properly listening to Earth, Wind & Fire, Marvin Gaye, or Fleetwood Mac. Neither of you actually convinces the other, but that's hardly the point.

Every answer leads to another question, another recommendation, another story about when she first heard a song or why a certain album still reminds her of a particular moment in her life. You find yourself listening more than talking, hanging on every word without even realizing it. Somewhere along the way, browsing records stops being the activity. It becomes an excuse to learn who she is, one album at a time. Then your fingers brush against something that makes you pause. You slowly pull it free from the shelf. Foreigner 4. The cover is faded, the plastic sleeve warped with age, and you find yourself staring at it for a long moment.

"My dad's favorite band," you say quietly, your thumb brushing over the worn edge of the record sleeve. "These songs were always playing when I was growing up." A faint smile crosses your face. "They remind me of a time when life felt... simple. Back when I was genuinely happy.”

Jimin steps closer, looking at the album in your hands. "Do you have a favorite?"

"Yeah." You flip the record over and scan the track listing until you find it. You tap the title with your index finger. "Girl on the Moon."

"Girl on the Moon," she echoes softly.

"I've always loved this song," you say quietly, your thumb tracing the worn edge of the record sleeve. "Even when I was a kid, there was something about it that stuck with me." A small smile tugs at your lips before fading again. "I listened to it a few weeks ago... and all I could think about was you."

Jimin doesn't answer right away. The silence stretches between you, gentle rather than awkward, as the first raindrops begin to whisper against the shop's front windows. The world outside blurs into streaks of gray, but neither of you notices. Neither of you looks away.

"Why?" she asks at last.

You carefully slide the record back into its sleeve before resting it on the nearest crate. "Do you remember that cave?" you ask.

She nods almost immediately. "The one where we hid from the rain."

"Yeah."

A quiet smile crosses her face. "I remember."

"I told you something in there. About the first time I ever saw you. Sitting alone on that bench by the river."

"I remember that, too."

You rub the back of your neck, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I told you that you seemed... distant. Like you were somewhere nobody else could reach. But even then, there was something about you. Even when you looked completely lost, you still... stood out. I couldn't stop looking at you." Jimin stays perfectly still. "And after we left the lake house… I kept thinking about you. At some point, I realized that whatever I'd felt the first night... it hadn't gone away. If anything, it had only grown stronger."

Jimin studies your face in silence before asking, "Realized what?"

"That it was never just curiosity. It wasn't just concern, either." You pause, searching for words that somehow still feel too small for what you're trying to say. "Every time I looked at you, I felt the same thing."

"What thing?" she whispers.

For once, you don't reach for a joke. There's no sarcastic remark to soften the moment, no clever line to hide behind. Just the truth, standing between the two of you as the rain drums softly against the windows.

"I think..." You smile, a little embarrassed by how simple it sounds. "I think I found the girl I'd been dreaming about... before I even knew her name.”

Jimin doesn't move, and whatever flickers across her face is impossible to name. It isn't surprise, and it isn't disbelief. It's quieter than either of those, carrying the weight of someone recognizing a truth they'd been circling for a long time. After a moment, she closes the distance between you. Without breaking eye contact, she reaches up and gently slides your sunglasses from your face. She folds them with absent care and sets them beside the Foreigner 4 record resting on the crate before looking back at you. Your eyes meet without anything left between them. Then her hand rises to your cheek.

Her thumb brushes gently beneath your cheekbone. She lingers there for a moment before asking, so softly her voice nearly disappears beneath the rain against the windows, "This is love, isn't it?"

You swallow, your hand rising to wrap around her wrist, holding it there against your face.

"I think it is. And I think that's why we were strangers who never became friends. We skipped that part. From the moment I met you, it was always something else. At least... that's the only way I've ever been able to make sense of it."

For a heartbeat, she simply looks at you.

Then she rises onto her toes, tilts her head, and closes the distance between you.

Her lips meet yours with a tenderness that leaves no room for doubt. You kiss her back instinctively, your hands settling at her waist over the soft knit of her sweater, drawing her a little closer. She smiles into the kiss for the briefest instant, and you catch the faint taste of vanilla beneath the coffee she'd insisted was "delicious." Her fingers slip from your cheek into your hair as she lets out a slow breath against your lips.

Outside, the rain grows heavier, filling the quiet record store with its steady rhythm. It drums against the windows, the awning above the entrance, the empty street beyond the glass.

You pull back just enough to speak, your forehead still touching hers. "Do you think it's a bad sign?" you murmur. "The rain."

Jimin opens her eyes, and they're so close you can see your own reflection in them. "Why would it be?"

"You know... rain in movies. It usually means something complicated."

A quiet laugh slips from her lips, warm and effortless, the kind that reaches her eyes before it ever becomes a sound.

"The happiest I've been in a long time happened in the middle of a storm," she says. "I was walking beside a man wearing the most ridiculous raincoat I'd ever seen."

You smile. She smiles back.

Then you kiss her again. This one is slower, lingering, neither of you in any hurry to let the other go. Your hands rest at her waist, feeling the soft knit of her sweater beneath your fingers, while hers remain tangled in your hair. For a little while, the rest of the world quietly slips away. There's only the warmth of her body against yours, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and the rain whispering against the shop windows, turning the city outside into a watercolor of gray skies and amber lights.

When you finally pull away, it's only enough to look at her. Her lips are flushed from the kiss. Her beanie has slipped slightly to one side, knocked crooked somewhere along the way, and she hasn't made the slightest effort to fix it. She's still holding onto you, as if letting go hasn't occurred to her.

"Can I ask you something?" you say. She nods. "Do you... feel the same way?" You hadn't meant to sound so vulnerable, but the hope in your voice is impossible to hide.

Jimin lowers her gaze, a shy smile flickering across her face before she looks back up at you. "I've never fallen in love before," she says quietly. "Not really."

"Never?"

"I've had crushes. I've liked people. I've even convinced myself once or twice that it was love." A small laugh escapes her. "Looking back, I don't think it was. But this..." Her fingers absentmindedly smooth the fabric of your shirt. "I didn't know what to do with it. I couldn't tell if I was falling for you, or if I was just lonely after everything that happened. I kept thinking maybe I was confusing gratitude with something bigger. That maybe you finding me on that bench had gotten tangled up with my emotions… So I kept trying to reason my way out of it."

"And?"

She looks at you like the answer should be obvious. "...I'm standing in a record store, kissing the guy I was trying to forget." A grin spreads across your face. "So I'm guessing it didn't work." She lets out a quiet laugh and gives the tiniest shake of her head. "Not even a little.”

You brush a strand of hair back from her face. "You know what you'd be risking. Right? If this becomes something real. If people find out. Your career, your image, everything the company has invested in you—"

"I know," she interrupts gently. "I know exactly what I'd be risking. I've thought about it constantly. Every time I remembered your face I thought about it."

"Then I need you to hear me say this," you tell her, your hand coming up to cup her jaw. "I would never pressure you into that. Not once. If you needed to keep this quiet, if you needed to wait, if you needed us to disappear behind closed doors for the next three years, I would do it. Whatever this becomes, it moves at your pace. Not mine, not the industry's, not anyone else's."

"I don't want to hide."

"Jimin—"

"Listen to me." Her fingers curl tighter in the fabric of your shirt. "My entire career, I've felt like I wasn't the one steering. I woke up one day and I was Karina, and I couldn't tell you when that switch happened. Every choice I've made, or thought I made, was actually filtered through what I assumed everyone else needed from me. My members. My company. My fans. My parents. The girl on the poster in the corner of this store, she was built by committee. And I've been performing her ever since."

"I know."

"But today," she says, never looking away from you, "I get to make a choice that's actually mine. Not one made for me. Not one I talked myself into because it seemed easier or safer. Just... mine. And I'm choosing you. I'm choosing you today, and I want to choose you tomorrow, too. And the day after that, and every day that comes after if you'll let me. You're the person I want beside me."

Every clever reply abandons you. No joke comes to mind. No sarcasm rises to soften the weight of the moment. You can only stand there, looking at her as the rain hums against the windows.

After a long silence, you smile. "Do you remember what you told me in that cave?" you ask quietly. "You said you didn't know what you wanted anymore. You said you couldn't even figure out where to start looking."

"I remember."

You reach up and gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I think you found your answer."

She searches your face for a moment before the corners of her mouth lift into the smallest smile. "I think I did." She rises onto her toes and kisses you again. You can feel her smiling against your lips before she pulls back just enough to whisper, "You helped me find it.”

The bell above the door jingles with enough force to make you both flinch apart. "Okay, lovebirds!" a familiar voice calls from the entrance. "Time's up. I've been standing outside for thirty minutes getting absolutely destroyed by this stupid rain. I look like I lost a fight with a swimming pool. Now... where's my money?" Bae stomps into the record store, shaking rainwater from her flannel before yanking a hand through her soaked hair.

You pull back from Jimin slowly, keeping one hand on her waist. "You know," you say, looking over at Bae, "you could've pretended to be a decent human being and given us another thirty seconds."

"I could've," Bae replies, peeling her soaked flannel away from her arm. "But then I'd have to live with myself." She gives the two of you a quick once-over. "So? Did you kiss?"

You and Jimin glance at each other.

"Maybe." you reply.

"Nice." She nods approvingly. "Did you have sex?"

"No," you and Jimin answer at the exact same time.

"Huh." Bae shrugs. "Whatever works for you two. Personally, I don't really get the whole 'confess your feelings first' thing, but hey, everyone's got their kinks."

"That's not a kink."

"It kind of is."

"It absolutely isn't."

Bae is already wandering toward the counter, waving a dismissive hand over her shoulder. "Sure, romance boy. Keep telling yourself that." She looks back with a grin. "Now cough up my money.”

Before following, you reach over to the crate of records beside you, pick up your sunglasses, and hook them onto the collar of your shirt. Then you turn back to Jimin, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Wait here for me," you say. "I'll be right back.”

She nods, still slightly dazed, and drifts toward one of the crates while you follow Bae to the register. She's practically vibrating behind the counter now, pulling out a calculator, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she starts totaling up her inventory value in the system.

"Give me one sec, one sec," she mutters, punching numbers. "Okay. Okay. So. If we're going full retail on every unit, plus the imported stuff which is marked up because of shipping, plus the vintage collection in the back room which I definitely underpriced when I bought it but whatever, that's a me problem..."

She scribbles the final number on a Post-it note and slides it across the counter face down, like she's embarrassed by it. You flip it over. Glance at it. "That work for you?" she asks, her leg bouncing against the floor. "I can negotiate. I'm flexible. Extremely flexible! I have no spine whatsoever when it comes to money."

"It's fine," you say, pulling out your phone. You open the banking app and tap the transfer tab. "Account number?"

Bae rattles it off so fast you have to ask her to repeat it. She does, slower this time, watching your screen with the intensity of someone witnessing a miracle in progress. You punch in the amount, confirm the recipient name that pops up on screen, and hold your phone up for the Face ID verification. The little lock icon spins for a moment. Then the confirmation screen appears. Transfer complete.

Bae's phone buzzes in her back pocket. She pulls it out, glances at the notification... and goes completely still. Then she grabs the edge of the counter with both hands like the floor just tilted sideways.

She keeps staring at the screen.

"Oh my god. You're kidding." She refreshes the app. “What the hell.” Another refresh. "That's... that's actually my balance now.”

"Try to keep it together," you advise, pocketing your phone. "And Bae, one more thing: don't forget to report that to the NTS."

She looks up from her phone with an expression of pure, unbothered contempt for the suggestion. "Listen. The NTS does not need to know every single thing that happens in my personal life. That's between me, my bank account, and God.”

"Okay then. Suit yourself." You walk back over to Jimin, who has apparently been half watching this transaction with mild amusement.

She lifts an eyebrow at you. "Everything settled?"

"Everything settled. So, where are we going next?"

"That was your plan," she reminds you. "I'm just along for the ride."

"Okay. I've been thinking. Supermarket."

"Supermarket?"

"Yes. We're going to a supermarket. My first supermarket experience, remember? And I want to buy ingredients so I can make you that pizza tonight. Prove myself. Redeem my honor. Show you I've evolved beyond the man who couldn't make toast at the lake house."

Jimin laughs. "That's actually a good plan."

"See? I have those occasionally. Rare, but they occur."

She hooks her arm through yours as you head toward the door. Outside, the rain hasn't let up. If anything, it's coming down harder now, drumming against the awning and pooling along the curb where the drains can't keep up. You stop just short of the entrance and look at the small rack of umbrellas leaning near the door, ones the shop probably keeps around for customers or lost inventory.

You call over your shoulder. "Bae! Do you mind if we borrow a couple of these?"

From the back of the store, Bae yells back at full volume without hesitation. "Grab every single fucking umbrella in that stack, dude, they're yours, take the whole rack, take the awning, take the goddamn building, I don't care!"

"Thank you," you call back politely.

You select two. One with a wooden handle and a soft grey canopy that looks like it belongs to an old man's collection, and hand it to Jimin. The other is plain black. You push open the door and let her step out first under the shelter of the awning. She opens her umbrella with a soft flare, and you open yours a moment later.

Rain drums steadily against the awning overhead. The street beyond is nearly empty, with only the occasional car rolling past, its headlights smearing ribbons of gold across the rain-soaked pavement. Every reflection lingers a little longer in the water, stretching and shimmering before fading into the next. The whole city feels quieter somehow, as if the rain has wrapped it in a blanket, softening every sound and blurring the sharp edges of the world.

You glance over at Jimin beneath the oversized umbrella. Her beanie is pulled low over her forehead, and tiny dark patches stain the shoulders of her cream-colored sweater where the rain caught her before she had time to open it. She notices you looking and tips her head ever so slightly.

"What?"

You smile to yourself. "This feels familiar."

A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Yeah," she says softly. Her eyes drift to the rain for a moment, following the water streaming down the shop windows before returning to yours. "It really does.”

The city turns blue as evening descends. You walk side by side, unhurried, umbrellas tilted toward each other so the edges almost overlap. Your free hand swings at your side. Hers does too. Neither of you reaches for the other yet, but the distance between your knuckles is very small.

Shops are closing around you. Metal shutters rolling down, neon signs switching off, the last few pedestrians hurrying past with their collars pulled up and their faces turned away from the wet. Seoul retreats into itself on evenings like this, drawing inward, and the streets empty until the only sound left is the rain and the occasional hiss of tires on pavement.

You spot the supermarket half a block ahead. A large chain store, brightly lit, its automatic doors sliding open and shut as customers filter in and out. The fluorescent glow from inside spills across the wet sidewalk.

"There," you say, gesturing with your chin. "My first supermarket."

"Try to contain your excitement," Jimin replies, smiling.

Inside, you both shake the rain from your umbrellas and leave them in the stand by the entrance. Cool, conditioned air washes over you the moment the automatic doors slide shut, carrying that unmistakable supermarket smell of fresh bread, produce, and industrial floor cleaner. After the muted gray of the afternoon outside, the bright fluorescent lights are almost blinding. The place seems to go on forever, aisle after aisle disappearing into the distance, shelves packed from floor to ceiling with every product imaginable. Fresh produce sits off to your left, the bakery to your right, and rows of refrigerated cases stretch along the back wall.

You reach for the nearest shopping cart and give it a tug. It doesn't budge. You frown and pull harder. Still nothing.

"This one's broken."

Jimin steps up beside you, wraps a hand around the handle, and pulls. The cart glides free without the slightest resistance.

She looks at you. You look back at her.

"Well, yeah," you say. "Of course it works now. I'd already loosened it for you.”

"Maybe I'm just stronger than you.”

You shrug. "Huh, good thing I have a thing for girls with lumberjack arms.”

Jimin stares at you for half a second before laughing. "Okay, funny guy, I'll guide you," she says, taking the lead, walking ahead of the cart while you follow. "First we need flour. Strong bread flour, not regular. The dough won't work otherwise."

"There are different kinds of flour?"

"Many different kinds."

"I just thought flour was flour."

"Welcome to cooking," she says, scanning the shelves and selecting a bag without hesitation. She drops it into the cart.

You push forward, trailing her through the baking aisle. Yeast. Olive oil. Sugar. Salt. She names each item and locates it with the efficiency of someone who has done this a thousand times. You watch her reach for things on high shelves, read the backs of packages, compare prices. Ordinary gestures. Nothing remarkable about any of them. And yet.

"This is kind of amazing, isn't it?" you say, pausing in the middle of the aisle.

Jimin turns. "Grocery shopping?"

"Yeah, but not just shopping. Doing it with someone." You push the cart forward slowly. "Going through these stupid aisles picking out food together. I think I might have discovered the meaning of life and it's incredibly mundane." She raises both eyebrows. "I'm serious. Ordinary things. Boring, everyday things. But doing them alongside someone you actually want to be with. That changes everything." You lean on the cart handle. "Maybe I should quit the CEO position. Get a normal job. Live a normal life. Do normal people things."

Jimin laughs, surprised out of her. "Okay, sure. What kind of job would you get?"

"I don't know. I could teach. Be a professor somewhere."

"You have zero patience for students."

"Fair point. What about, I could be a chef? Open a restaurant."

"You can barely make pizza."

Eu deixaria mais natural e com uma provocação mais afiada:

"A barista? I could do that."

"Eight hours a day, six days a week? You'd make it through, what, ten customers before taking off your apron and walking out?”

"You're being so unsupportive right now," you tell her, pushing the cart past the canned goods. "I'm trying to reinvent myself and you're crushing every option."

"I think you should keep being a CEO," Jimin concludes, selecting a can of San Marzano tomatoes. "You're good at it when you're not sabotaging yourself."

"See, I was expecting a little more encouragement from my new girlfriend," you say.

Jimin stops mid-step and turns to look at you, one eyebrow slowly arching. "Girlfriend?”

Heat rushes up the back of your neck. "I mean. From you. Whatever we are now. Whatever the correct terminology is for our current—"

"No, no," she cuts in, and there's a quiet delight in her expression that she doesn't even try to hide. "I'm just kidding. Girlfriend is fine."

You stare at her. "Yeah?"

"I think I could get used to you calling me that." She drops the tomatoes into the cart and keeps walking before you can see too much of her face. It doesn't help. Her cheeks are already turning pink.

"Wow… I'm really happy right now," you announce, pushing the cart after her. "I think I might actually enjoy grocery shopping."

Jimin glances back at you, amused. "Really? Just because of the shopping?"

"Of course. What else could it be? It's not like the most beautiful girl I've ever met just agreed to be my girlfriend or anything. Obviously, it's the grocery shopping. Look at all these Doritos flavors. They come up with a new one every day."

She shakes her head and turns back around, but you can see the smile she's trying - and failing - not to let get too big.

"Okay, then. Let's keep shopping." She pushes the cart forward, her voice quieter when she adds, "I like seeing you happy.”

You continue through the aisles. Jimin handles most of the actual decision-making because every time you try to contribute, something goes wrong. You pick up a jar of concentrated tomato paste and announce you've found the pizza sauce. Jimin takes it from your hand and puts it back, explaining that tomato paste and pizza sauce are entirely different things with different consistencies and flavor profiles, and that using paste would result in something barely edible. You pick up oregano when she asks for basil. You grab pre-shredded cheddar when she specifically said fresh mozzarella.

Eventually she bans you from selecting anything and assigns you the sole role of pushing the cart and looking pretty, which you accept with minimal protest. At checkout, the total comes to something laughably small compared to what you spent at Bae's record store, and you tap your card without comment. Then you grab all four bags before Jimin can reach for even one.

"I can carry some," she offers.

You tighten your grip on the bags and give her a solemn look. "Absolutely not. I'm a gentleman."

She looks at the four bags hanging from your hands. "You're carrying all of them?"

"Yes. Now stand back and let me be a man.” She shakes her head but lets you have it. You carry everything, bags cutting into your fingers, the weight pulling at your arms, and you don't complain once because some stubborn part of you refuses to let her carry a single thing tonight.

The bus back to your neighborhood is quiet. Only a handful of passengers, most of them absorbed in their phones or dozing against the windows. You sit together near the back, the grocery bags piled on the empty seat across the aisle. The rain continues outside, streaking down the bus windows in long rivulets that catch the passing city lights and scatter them into fragments of orange and white and red.

Jimin sits close to you. Her knee touches yours. The bus rumbles beneath you, gentle and constant. "So," you say softly. "What did you think of today?"

She considers. "It was pretty normal."

"I know. Next time, I'll plan something better. Something more exciting than taking public transit and buying groceries."

"No, that's not what I mean." Jimin looks out the window, watching the rain blur the city into streaks of light. "I really enjoyed today. All of it. I don't think you could have planned anything better."

You turn toward her. "You didn't?"

She shakes her head. "No. It was perfect."

You study her profile in the dim interior of the bus as the city passes outside. Streetlights move across her face in slow intervals, illuminating her for a moment before leaving her in shadow again. She looks tired, but not in a way that makes you worry. It's the kind of exhaustion that comes after a day spent feeling more than you're used to feeling, when happiness has finally begun to settle into the body and left you with nothing but the pleasant weight of it.

"It reminded me of a song," you say.

Jimin turns to you. "Yeah? Sing it for me."

"I'm not singing on a bus."

"There's barely anyone here."

"Still no."She gives you a look, then shifts closer until her shoulder brushes yours. A moment later, she rests her head against you, unhurried and entirely at ease. Her hair carries the faint smell of rain, with something sweet beneath it.

"Please," she murmurs. "Just for me. Quietly."

You glance around the bus. An elderly man is asleep near the front, while a university student sits a few rows ahead with earbuds in. No one is paying attention. No one in the world cares what happens in the back of this bus on a rainy Friday evening.

So you give in.

You lower your head slightly toward hers and hum the opening bars, so quietly the melody almost disappears beneath the rain against the windows. Then the words follow, just a murmur, "Just a perfect day," you sing, low and a little rough, "drink sangria in the park... and then later, when it gets dark, we go home." You pause, adjusting to the key, finding it. "Just a perfect day. Feed animals in the zoo. Then later, a movie too, and then home.” Jimin's hand finds yours on the seat between you. Her fingers slip between yours. "Oh, it's such a perfect day... I'm glad I spent it with you..."

She squeezes your hand and exhales slowly against your shoulder.

"That's beautiful," Jimin murmurs. "Whose is it?"

"Lou Reed. He was one of my mother's favorite artists." You look down at the grocery bags at your feet, at the basil peeking out. "She used to play it on Sunday mornings. I never understood the lyrics when I was little. I just knew she always went quiet when it came on. I'm going to memorize the whole thing. All the lyrics. And one day I'll sing it to you properly. All the way through. Standing up, even. Maybe with a guitar I can't play."

"I'm going to like that a lot," she says. Then, quieter, she adds, "You're going to make me fall in love with you a second time."

"That's the thing," you tell her. "I fall in love with you every time I see you.”

She looks at you. "Every time?"

"Every single time." You smile. "So you'd better get used to it.”

She doesn't say anything. She just tightens her grip on your hand, her fingers settling more firmly between yours until there's no space left between them. You stay like that for the rest of the ride, side by side in the back of a city bus, heading home through the rain and holding on to each other with the quiet certainty of people who have finally found something they were afraid they might never find - and are even more afraid of losing.

The rest of the journey passes in an easy silence. Jimin's head remains on your shoulder, her breathing slow and steady, her fingers loosely intertwined with yours. Outside the window, Seoul slips past in a blur of rain-slicked streets and smeared neon, the city glowing in the dark. You watch it go by without really taking any of it in, your mind drifting somewhere peaceful and distant; a rare feeling, and one you don't want to disturb.

You think about Yoon-a. Not with guilt or longing, but with a kind of clarity that only comes from distance. She never would have done this with you. A bus ride through the rain, grocery bags at your feet, no reservation at some overpriced restaurant, no event to attend. If you'd suggested spending a Friday evening riding public transit and shopping for pizza ingredients, she would have looked at you as though you'd lost your mind entirely. And maybe she wouldn't have been wrong. Maybe with her, it would have been wrong. Because what makes this feel right isn't the activity. It's the person beside you. The way Jimin fits into the ordinary spaces of your life without needing them to be anything more than what they are.

You glance down at her. Her eyes are closed. Her lips slightly parted. The exhaustion of the day settling into her body.

You squeeze her hand gently. "Hey."

She stirs. A slow blink, then a yawn she tries to cover with the back of her free hand.

"Sleepy?" you ask.

"Just a little," she murmurs, straightening up from your shoulder and rubbing one eye beneath her hat.

"My pizza will fix that. It's very energizing. You might not sleep at all tonight."

"I can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

"You'll find out."

You both exit at the stop, tapping your card on the way out. The rain has softened to a fine mist now, barely enough to feel against your skin. You carry all four grocery bags in one hand, your closed umbrella tucked under the opposite arm, and Jimin walks beside you with her hands in the pockets of her sweater.

The walk takes about fifteen minutes. Through the quieter side streets of Cheongdam-dong, past closed boutiques and gated residences, the neighborhood growing progressively more still as you move away from the main road. Eventually you reach the building. Twenty stories of dark glass and clean architectural lines, set back from the street behind a manicured courtyard. A doorman in a grey uniform nods as you enter, holding the lobby door.

Inside, the elevator is private. Keyed access only. You press your thumb to the biometric reader and the doors slide closed, carrying you directly to the top floor.

The penthouse opens immediately from the elevator foyer. You step inside and the space unfolds around you. Six-meter ceilings in the main living area, floor-to-ceiling windows running the entire length of the south wall, framing the Han River below and the city beyond it in a panorama of wet light. The furniture is minimal and modern, dark tones against pale floors, everything precisely placed. Rain runs down the massive windows in thin streams, fragmenting the view into thousands of tiny shifting pieces.

"Home sweet home," you announce, carrying the bags to the kitchen island. You begin unpacking, separating items efficiently. Flour, yeast, and olive oil on the counter. Mozzarella, basil, and prosciutto into the refrigerator. Tomatoes beside the stove.

Behind you, Jimin moves slowly through the living room, taking everything in. Her fingers trail along the back of the sofa before she stops in front of the windows, gazing out at the river.

By the time you've finished putting everything away, she's still there, her back to you, the city reflected in the dark glass and in her eyes.

"So," you say, walking over. "Would you like the full tour? There's a lot to see. The gym is through that door, there's a study upstairs, and the master bathroom has this—"

Jimin turns. You barely have time to register the movement before she's kissing you.

The rest of the sentence disappears against her mouth. For half a second, you're too surprised to do anything but stand there. Then her hands catch the front of your shirt and fist in the fabric, pulling you toward her as she starts backing you up. You stumble, completely caught off guard, and the backs of your legs hit the sofa.

You drop onto the cushions. Jimin follows without breaking the kiss.

She climbs onto your lap, settling her knees on either side of your hips as her hands remain twisted in your shirt. There's nothing hesitant about the way she kisses you now. It's warm, insistent, and hungry enough to leave you struggling to remember what you were saying in the first place.

When she finally pulls back, you're left staring up at her, breathless. "So," you manage, "you don't want to see the penthouse?"

"No." She looks down at you, still gripping your shirt. "I've been in penthouses before. I don't care about the penthouse.”

"Okay. What about the pizza? That was kind of the whole reason we went to the supermarket in the first place—"

"I don't care about the pizza either."

She reaches up and pulls off her beanie, tossing it onto the sofa. Her hair, flattened from being tucked beneath it all day, springs loose around her face and spills over her shoulders. A few strands cling stubbornly to her cheeks before she brushes them away, and the sight of her like this catches you so completely off guard that your throat goes tight.

"You," she says, shifting more firmly into your lap, "are dinner tonight."

You laugh, though it comes out a little unsteady. The nerves and excitement are mixing together in a way that makes it difficult to pretend you're completely in control of yourself. "Okay. Wow." Jimin watches you, amused. "I think I need to put my glasses back on. There's a lot to take in right now, and I'm not sure my naked eyes can handle it.”

Jimin leans down and kisses you again, and you can feel her smile against your lips.

"Do you have any idea," she says between kisses, her mouth moving from your lips to the corner of your jaw, "how difficult today was for me? Walking around with you for hours. You being adorable and charming and handsome the entire time. And I couldn't touch you. I couldn't kiss you in public."

"I'll try to be less irresistible next time," you offer, your hands finding her hips, steadying her against you. "I'll wear something ugly. Maybe a bucket hat."

"Shut up," she murmurs, kissing your neck.

"If it helps," you say, and your breath catches when her teeth graze below your ear, "it was incredibly difficult for me too. I wanted to get on my knees in the middle of that coffee shop and beg you to be mine the second you walked through the door."

She pulls back to look at you. Her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes are very dark and very focused. "Good. Then we're both pathetic."

"Symptoms of love," you reply, reaching up to brush her hair back from her face. "Cruel disease. No known cure."

"I like being sick with you," she says, and kisses you again.

This time it's slower. Her tongue slides against yours and you feel it through your entire body. Your hands move from her hips to her waist, then higher, fingertips finding the hem of her sweater. You pause there. Asking without asking. She doesn't pull away, doesn't stiffen, and so you gather the fabric in your hands and draw it upward. She lifts her arms to let you pull it over her head.

Her skin underneath is pale and smooth, faintly flushed across her collarbones and chest. Her breasts are full and round, held in a simple white bra with thin straps, nothing elaborate, nothing performative. Just her body in front of you, offered without pretense.

"You're staring," she observes.

"They're right there," you say, your gaze tracing the curve of her cleavage, the way her chest rises and falls with each breath. "Directly in my line of sight. I'm physically incapable of looking anywhere else."

"Good." Jimin shifts off your lap, and for a moment you think she's pulling away. But then she's lowering herself to the floor, kneeling between your parted legs, her hair falling forward over her bare shoulders. She settles there, looking up at you, and her hands come to rest on your thighs. They slide upward, slowly, until her fingers reach your belt.

"Okay," she says, and her thumbs trace along the waistband of your pants. "I have something for you."

Your stomach tightens. You watch her hands, then her face, then her hands again. She's looking at you steadily, her lips slightly swollen, her eyes holding yours with an intensity that makes your pulse hammer against the inside of your wrists.

"Can I?" she asks.

"Do the honors," you tell her.

Her fingers work at the button of your pants with a steady confidence that makes your stomach clench. She pops it open, pulls down the zipper, and tugs the fabric over your hips. You lift slightly off the couch to help her, and she drags everything down to your thighs in one smooth motion. Your cock strains against the thin fabric of your underwear, visibly hard, the outline of it pressing against the cotton.

Jimin pauses. Looks up at you from between your legs, her dark hair falling forward over her bare shoulders.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"Yeah," you manage. Your hands are gripping the couch cushion on either side of you. "There's just a lot happening at once. Sensory overload."

"Do you not want to?"

You let out a short, breathless laugh. "There is no universe in existence where I don't want this. Not a single timeline. Not one."

That mischievous smile returns. The one you saw briefly in the record store when she teased you, except now it carries an entirely different weight. She hooks her fingers into the waistband of your underwear and pulls down slowly. Your cock springs free, thick and flushed, curving slightly upward against your stomach.

Jimin wraps her hand around you. Her fingers are cool against the heat of your skin, and you feel your thighs tense at the contact. She holds you there for a moment, not moving, just feeling the weight of you in her palm.

"I thought about the first time for so many nights," she says, looking at your cock in her hand, her thumb tracing along the underside. "After the lake house. When I was alone in my apartment trying to pretend everything was fine. I kept coming back to it. The way you felt. The way you sounded."

"Jimin—"

"I could never forget it," she continues, her grip tightening just slightly. "Even when I told myself I should."

She leans forward and lets a long string of spit fall from her lips onto the head of your cock. It lands warm and thick, trailing down your shaft, and she follows it with her fist, spreading the slickness along your entire length. The wet sound it makes when she strokes fills the quiet of the penthouse. She spits again, lower this time, letting the saliva coat you thoroughly until her hand glides without any friction, her palm slick and tight around you.

"Do you know what I'm going to do?" she asks, looking up at you through her lashes. Her hand keeps moving, slow strokes that send heat pooling in your lower stomach.

"If I had to guess," you say, and your throat feels tight, "I'd say you're about to give me the best titjob of my life."

"That's exactly right," she confirms, and releases your cock just long enough to straighten up on her knees.

She doesn't remove the bra. Instead, she positions herself higher between your legs, leans forward, and takes your cock in one hand, guiding it between the swell of her breasts. The white fabric of the bra presses her tits together, creating a tight channel, and when she settles your shaft between them the pressure is immediate and constant. The bra does most of the work, holding her breasts snug around you, the soft skin warm and yielding against both sides of your cock.

Then she moves. Jimin rolls her body upward, dragging her chest along your length, and the sensation makes your head drop back against the couch. The underside of your cock slides against the smooth skin between her breasts, the head pushing up through the top of her cleavage before she drops back down and repeats the motion. Up and down, slow and controlled, her tits wrapped tight around you.

"Fuck," you breathe, staring down at the sight of it. Your cock disappearing between her breasts, reappearing at the top glistening with spit, then sliding back down into that warm pressure. The white bra framing everything, her pale skin flushed pink across her chest.

Jimin spits again, letting it drip down her chin and onto her cleavage. It runs between her tits and coats your shaft, making the slide wetter, smoother. The friction drops away and now she's gliding on you, her breasts slippery and hot, and every time she pushes up the head of your cock pokes through the top of her cleavage, flushed and swollen.

"Is this good?" she asks, and she's watching your face, reading every reaction.

"You have no idea," you tell her, barely recognizing the strained quality of your own speech. "You have absolutely no idea what you look like right now."

"Tell me."

"Fucking perfect," you say. "Your tits around my cock. The way you're looking at me right now. I'm trying to burn this into my memory permanently."

She moves faster. Her rhythm finding something steady and purposeful, her whole upper body rocking as she works your cock between her breasts. The saliva makes everything obscene, glistening across her skin, smeared along the inside curves of her tits where they press against your shaft. You can see the wet streaks catching the ambient light from the windows, the rain-glow of the city painting her skin in soft silvers and blues.

"You're so hard," she murmurs, and there's genuine pleasure in her expression, a satisfaction at what she's doing to you. "I can feel you throbbing between my tits. Do you like being squeezed like this?"

"I like everything you do," you admit, and one of your hands moves to her hair, brushing it back from her face so you can see her properly. "Every single thing. But this is going to ruin me for anyone else."

"Good," she says simply, and presses her breasts tighter together with her hands, adding to the compression the bra already provides. Your cock is buried in her now, surrounded on all sides by soft, slick flesh, and when she picks up the pace your hips twitch involuntarily, pushing up to meet her movements.

"Stay still," she orders, pressing one hand flat against your hip. "Let me do this."

"Yes ma'am."

She laughs softly, her rhythm never breaking. "You're much more obedient than I expected."

"You've got my cock between your tits. I'd agree to basically anything right now."

"I'll remember that."

"Please don't."

She leans forward slightly, changing the angle, and now when she pushes up your cock drags along the full length of her cleavage, the head catching briefly on the upper edge of her bra before slipping through. The fabric is damp now, darkened with spit, and the contrast between the soft cotton and her bare skin creates a texture that makes your toes curl against the floor.

"You're leaking," she observes, looking down at where the tip of your cock emerges from her chest. A bead of precum glistens at the slit, mixing with the saliva already coating you. "I barely started and you're already dripping for me."

"That's your fault," you manage. "Completely your fault."

"Good. I want to make a mess of you."

She works you for another minute, then slows to a stop with your cock still nestled between her breasts. She looks up at you, holding your gaze, and reaches behind her back. You hear the small click of the clasp, and then the bra loosens. She shrugs the straps off her shoulders and lets it fall away.

Her breasts are bare now, no longer held in place by the bra. They settle naturally against her chest, full and heavy, shifting with their own soft weight whenever she moves. Her nipples are hard, small, and pink, the skin around them slightly puckered from arousal. They look even fuller than you remember, rounder than the bra had suggested, and the sight of them leaves you staring for a moment longer than you mean to.

"There you go," she says, straightening her shoulders. "All yours."

You don't have anything clever to say. You just look at her, kneeling between your legs, topless, hair spilling over her bare shoulders, her skin shining with the remnants of her own spit, and you think distantly that if the world ended right now you wouldn't have a single complaint about how your life turned out.

Jimin takes your cock in her hand again, strokes it twice to spread the wetness, and then lifts her breasts with both hands, guiding them around your shaft. Without the bra, the sensation changes completely. Softer. Fuller. Her bare tits envelope you, the warm skin pressing flush against you from all sides, and she has to hold them together manually now, her fingers sinking into the pliant flesh as she squeezes them around your length.

"Better?" she asks.

"Infinitely better," you breathe, watching her bare breasts swallow your cock, the head pushing through the top of her cleavage each time she moves.

She picks up the pace. Her hands press her bare breasts together tighter around your shaft, fingers sinking into the soft flesh, and her whole upper body rocks with a steady rhythm that sends waves of heat rolling up through your stomach. A thin sheen of sweat begins to form across her chest, collecting in the hollow of her throat, glistening along the inner curves of her tits where the skin is pressed together around you.

"Look at me," she says.

You do. Your eyes drop from the ceiling back down to her face and she holds your gaze without breaking it, her pupils blown wide, her lips parted slightly. She smiles. Just a hint. Just the corner of her mouth pulling up, like she can read exactly how good this feels written all over your face and it satisfies something deep in her.

"You remember the lake house?" she asks, still moving, still working you between her breasts with that relentless rhythm. "When you put your mouth on me."

"I remember," you murmur.

"Your tongue," she continues, squeezing her tits tighter, "and then your fingers inside me. I came so hard I thought I was going to black out. You remember that?"

"Every second of it."

"I think about it all the time." She pushes up, your cock sliding through the slick channel of her cleavage, the head emerging flushed and wet before she drops back down. "When I'm alone at night. When I can't sleep. I think about your fingers curling inside me and your mouth sucking my clit and the way you looked at me while you were doing it. Like I was the only thing in the world that mattered."

"You were," you tell her, and your hand finds her hair again, threading through it. "You are."

"I wanted to return that," she says. "I wanted to make you feel the way you made me feel. I've been thinking about it for four months. What I'd do to you if I ever got you alone again."

"And this is what you came up with?"

"This is just the beginning." She grins, and it's wicked, genuinely wicked, and your cock throbs between her tits in response. She feels it. "There it is. You liked hearing that."

"Everything you say right now is doing something to me."

"Then I'm going to keep talking until you can't think about anything else.”

She increases her speed. Her breasts bounce slightly with each movement, the weight of them shifting as she rocks forward and back. Sweat trickles down between them, mixing with the saliva already coating you, making everything wetter, hotter, more frictionless. Your cock glides through her cleavage like it was made for this, the head pushing through the top of her tits each time, glistening and swollen.

Jimin doesn't look away from you. Those dark eyes fixed on yours, reading every twitch, every sharp inhale, every time your jaw clenches. And she smiles each time she catches you slipping, each time your composure cracks a little more.

"You're getting close," she observes.

"Yeah," you admit. Your thighs are tight, your stomach is coiled, and every nerve in your body is funneling toward the point where her breasts squeeze around your shaft. "You keep looking at me like that and I'm going to lose it."

"That's what I want. I'm going to make you cum all over my tits." She says it plainly, like something already decided. "I want to feel it. I want to see it on my skin."

"Jimin—"

"Give it to me," she says, pressing her breasts together until the pressure is almost too much, her pace relentless now, her whole body committed to the movement. "I've been thinking about this for months. Cum on my breasts. I want you to make a mess of me."

Your hips push up involuntarily, fighting the urge to fuck up into her cleavage, and she lets you, accommodating the movement, maintaining that tight channel around you even as your thrusts become erratic and uncontrolled.

"Come on," she coaxes, looking up at you with that knowing half-smile. "Let go. I can feel how close you are. You're throbbing between my tits. Give me what I want."

"Keep talking," you manage, barely.

"I want your cum all over me," she says, squeezing harder, moving faster. "I want to feel it hot on my skin. I want to watch it drip down my tits. Cum for me, babe. Right now. Let me have it."

That's what breaks you. The orgasm tears through you from the base of your spine outward, and you groan through clenched teeth as the first thick rope of cum shoots up through her cleavage and lands across the top of her left breast. She doesn't stop. Her hands keep pressing, keep milking, pulling each wave out of you as you pulse between her tits. More spills over her skin, white and hot, pooling in the valley between her breasts, dripping down the inner curves where her flesh is pressed together. She strokes you through all of it, squeezing rhythmically, coaxing every last drop from your cock until you're shuddering and oversensitive and gripping the couch cushion hard enough to ache.

"There you go," she murmurs, still holding you between her breasts, still moving gently, slowly now. "All of it. Give me every drop."

You twitch one final time, a last weak pulse of cum leaking from the tip and sliding down your shaft into her cleavage. Your chest is heaving. Your entire body feels wrung out, every muscle trembling with the aftershock.

Jimin finally releases you. She leans back on her heels and looks down at herself. Her breasts are covered. Thick streaks of cum across both tits, pooled in the center of her chest, dripping slowly down toward her stomach. She lifts one hand and spreads it with her fingertips, rubbing your cum into her skin in slow circles, coating her nipples with it until they glisten.

"You made a mess," she says, looking up at you with something between satisfaction and hunger.

"You asked for it."

"I did," she agrees. "And I'd ask for it again."

Your cock hasn't softened. It stands between you, still hard, still flushed, wet with spit and cum. Jimin notices. Her eyes flick down and then back up to your face, and something shifts in her expression. Something hungrier. More urgent.

She stands. Her hands go to the waistband of her pants and she unbuttons them without ceremony, pushing them down over her hips along with her underwear in one motion. She steps out of them, kicking them aside, and she's naked in front of you. Completely. Every inch of her exposed, her body lean and soft in all the right places, her thighs pressing together slightly, the dark strip between her legs barely visible.

You reach for the zipper of your jacket first, shrugging it off your shoulders and tossing it aside. Then you grab the hem of your long-sleeved shirt and pull it up over your head. The fabric catches briefly, and for a moment, the world goes dark.

When your vision clears, Jimin is already there - already moving, already climbing back onto you. She settles on your lap, skin against skin now, nothing between you. Her breasts press against your bare chest, still slick with your cum, and the warmth of her is everywhere. Her mouth finds yours immediately, kissing you deep and slow, her tongue sliding against yours while her hips settle against you. You feel the wet heat of her against the underside of your cock, her pussy pressed flush along your shaft without taking you in, and when she shifts her hips slightly the slickness of her arousal smears against you and you both exhale into each other's mouths.

"I need you," she breathes against your lips.

Her hand reaches between your bodies. Her fingers wrap around your cock, angling it downward, and you feel the head press against the entrance of her pussy. Hot and wet and yielding. She holds you there, right at the edge, not yet pushing down, her forehead touching yours, her breath mixing with yours in the narrow space between your mouths.

"I need you too," you tell her, and your hands settle on her hips.

Jimin holds your cock at her entrance for one more breath, her fingers gripping the base. Then she sinks down. So slow you feel every fraction of it. The head of your cock pressing past her opening, the tight heat of her yielding around you inch by inch, swallowing you deeper until her thighs are flush against yours and you're buried completely inside her. She lets out a long exhale through parted lips, her eyes falling closed, her free hand bracing against your chest.

She sits there on your lap, full of you, and you can feel her adjusting. The way her walls grip and release, grip and release, her body accommodating your size. Her fingers spread across your sternum, pressing lightly.

"Stay still," she murmurs, eyes still closed. "Let me feel you." You obey. Your hands rest on her waist, thumbs tracing small circles against her hip bones, and you watch her face. The concentration there. The way her brow furrows slightly, then smooths as the tension melts away. "You're bigger than I remembered," she says, and opens her eyes to look down at you. Something raw and honest in her expression.

"Is it okay?"

"It's perfect." She shifts her weight forward slightly, testing. "You fill me up completely."

Then she moves. A slow roll of her hips, barely lifting off you, just grinding forward and back with your cock buried deep inside her. The motion is unhurried, almost lazy, and the sensation spreads through your lower body like something molten. She finds a rhythm quickly. Rocking on you, her hips tracing a slow circle, the wet heat of her clenching around your shaft with each forward press.

Jimin's body above you is almost too much to process. The length of her torso, lean and pale, her stomach flexing with each undulation. Her breasts swaying slightly with the movement, heavy and still streaked with the drying remnants of your cum. The faint sheen of sweat beginning at her collarbones. The way her dark hair falls around her face and over her shoulders.

"I missed this," she says, picking up the pace just slightly, rising higher on her knees before sinking back down. "Being like this with you. Having you inside me."

"I missed it too," you respond, and your grip on her waist tightens. Not guiding her, not controlling her movement, just holding. Feeling the flex of her muscles beneath the skin as she rides you. "Feeling you. Your warmth. The sounds you make."

"It only took one time," she continues, her breath growing shorter as she finds a deeper angle, dropping her hips down harder on the downstroke. "One time and I knew. I knew I wasn't going to be able to stop thinking about your cock. About how you felt inside me that night."

"Jimin—"

"I tried to get over it." She leans forward, changing the angle, and her breasts press against your chest as she rolls her hips. Her mouth hovers near your ear. "I tried to tell myself it was just physical. Just bodies. Just the adrenaline of being alone together in that house during a storm. But it wasn't."

"It wasn't," you agree, and your hands slide from her waist down to her ass, palming both cheeks, feeling the muscles tense and release as she works herself on you.

She straightens up again, sitting tall on your lap, and increases her pace. Rising until just the tip of your cock remains inside her, then dropping back down, taking you to the hilt. Each time she bottoms out her thighs press against yours and a small, involuntary sound escapes her throat. Her hands move to your shoulders, gripping for leverage, and she uses the hold to ride you harder.

"You feel so good," she says, almost accusatory. "Every time I sink down on you it's like the first time. That stretch. The way you reach so deep inside me."

You squeeze her breasts. Your palms cover them fully, fingers pressing into the soft flesh, the remnants of your cum making them slippery. Her nipples are hard against your palms and she arches into your touch, pushing her chest forward.

"Touch me like that," she tells you. "Squeeze them harder. They're still covered in you. I can feel it."

You obey. Kneading her tits firmly, watching the way the flesh spills between your fingers, the white streaks of dried cum cracking and smearing as you work them. She rides you faster in response, her rhythm growing more urgent, her hips snapping down against you with increasing force.

"Four months," she breathes, and her nails dig into your shoulders. "Four months I spent lying in bed thinking about the way you fucked me at the lake house. The way you put my legs over your shoulders and pushed so deep I thought I could feel you in my stomach."

"I thought about you too." Your hands return to her hips, gripping the bone. "Every night. Your pussy around me. How tight you were. How wet you got when I touched you."

"I'm so wet right now," she confirms, and you can hear it. The slick sound of her sliding up and down your shaft, her arousal coating you, making everything frictionless and obscene. "Can you feel how wet I am for you? That's what you do to me. Just being inside me makes me drip."

"I can feel everything," you tell her. "Every time you clench around me. Every time you squeeze."

Jimin smiles down at you. That same knowing smile from before, the one that says she can see exactly what she's doing to you and enjoys it. She plants both palms flat on your chest and uses the leverage to fuck you with purpose, her ass lifting and dropping in a steady, driving rhythm. Her breasts bounce with each impact, heavy and beautiful, and you can't decide whether to watch them or watch her face so your eyes travel between both, greedy and overwhelmed.

"Tell me how my pussy feels," she demands, breathless now, her composure starting to fray at the edges. "Tell me what it's like being inside me."

"Tight," you say immediately. "Hot. So wet I can barely think straight. Every time you come down on me it's like you're trying to pull me deeper. Your body wants me as badly as you do."

"My body is obsessed with you," she admits, her pace faltering for a moment before she catches herself and resumes. "My brain spent four months trying to be rational and my body was screaming for you the entire time."

You sit up slightly, closing the distance between your chests, and capture her mouth in a kiss. She moans into it, never stopping her hips, riding you through the kiss with a desperation that's building toward something inevitable. Her arms wrap around your neck and she clings to you, her forehead pressing against yours when the kiss breaks.

"I'm yours," she whispers against your mouth. "This body is yours. My pussy is yours. Everything."

Her rhythm is becoming erratic now. Less controlled, more frantic, her hips stuttering as she chases something building inside her. You can feel it in the way her walls tighten around you, fluttering, gripping harder with each downstroke. Her thighs are trembling against yours.

"Are you close?" you ask, holding her face in your hands, making her look at you.

"Yes," she gasps, grinding down hard on your lap. "Almost there. I'm so close. Don't stop touching me."

You kiss her mouth. Her jaw. The side of her neck, tasting salt and sweat. Her collarbone. Everything you can reach, pressing your lips to every inch of skin available to you while she shakes apart above you.

"I'm going to make you cum," you tell her against her throat. "Right now."

You wrap both arms around her waist and lift. She gasps, clinging to you, her legs wrapping around your hips as you pivot and lay her down on the sofa beneath you. Her back hits the cushion, her dark hair fanning out around her head, and you settle above her. Between her thighs. Your cock still buried inside her, the angle changed now, deeper from this position.

You plant one knee against the cushion for leverage, one foot on the floor, and look down at her. Flushed. Breathless. Her breasts splayed and glistening. Her eyes locked on yours with an urgency that borders on pleading.

"Don't make me wait," she says.

You pull your hips back and push into her. Deep and full, burying yourself to the hilt in one slow, complete stroke. Jimin's back arches off the cushion, her fingers gripping the edge of the sofa above her head, and her mouth falls open in a silent exhale. You hold there for a moment, pressed flush against her, feeling the tight clench of her pussy around your cock. Then you pull back and thrust again. Harder this time.

A rhythm builds from the start. Steady and purposeful, each stroke driving deep inside her, your hips snapping forward with a force that moves her body on the cushion. Her breasts bounce with every impact, heavy and slick, still painted with the evidence of your earlier orgasm. The sight of them moving, shaking each time you fuck into her, is enough to make your grip on her thighs tighten until the skin blanches white under your fingers.

"Yeah," Jimin breathes, looking up at you with those dark, blown-out eyes. "Fuck me, babe. Fuck your girlfriend."

That word. Girlfriend. It hits somewhere deep in your chest and travels straight down to your cock, and your next thrust is rougher, more urgent. Something possessive ignites in you, something greedy and overwhelming, and you lean over her, planting one hand beside her head while the other grips her hip, pulling her into each stroke.

"Say that again," you tell her.

"Your girlfriend," she repeats, her breath hitching as you bottom out inside her. "I'm your girlfriend and you're fucking me on your couch and I don't want you to stop."

"I'm not stopping," you promise, picking up the pace. "Not until you're shaking."

Her legs wrap around your waist, heels pressing into the small of your back, pulling you deeper on every downstroke. You can feel the wet heat of her everywhere, her arousal coating your shaft, smearing against your pelvis each time your bodies meet. The sound of it fills the room, slick and rhythmic, underscored by the soft creak of the sofa beneath you.

"You feel incredible," you tell her, watching her face twist with pleasure as you hit a spot inside her that makes her nails drag down your forearm. "Your pussy is so tight around me. Every time I push in, you grip me like you never want me to leave."

"I don't," she gasps. "I never want you to pull out. I want to feel you this deep all the time."

You fuck her harder. Your hips find a punishing pace, driving into her with the full weight of your body, and her breasts shake with every thrust, the flesh rippling. She reaches up and grabs the back of your neck, pulling your face down to hers, and kisses you wet and desperate between broken moans.

"You're so deep," she pants against your mouth. "I can feel you in my stomach. Every single inch of you stretching me open."

"Take all of it," you respond, grinding your hips in a circle when you bottom out, making her squirm beneath you. "Every inch is yours. This cock belongs to you now."

"It better," she says, and even breathless and flushed and falling apart, there's something commanding in her tone. Something that reminds you she's not just receiving this. She's claiming it.

Your hand moves between your bodies. Your thumb finds her clit, swollen and slick, and you press against it in small, tight circles without breaking your rhythm. The effect is immediate. Jimin's entire body jerks, her thighs clamping tight around you, her back bowing off the cushion.

"Oh fuck," she chokes out. "Right there. Don't move your hand."

You keep the pressure steady, rubbing her clit while you fuck her, and watch her composure dissolve completely. Her head falls back, exposing the long line of her throat. Her hands grip the cushion above her so hard her knuckles go white. Her stomach muscles clench and release in rapid succession, and her pussy tightens around you in pulses that make your jaw clench.

"You're falling apart," you observe, rubbing faster. "I can feel it. Your whole body is shaking for me."

"Because you're ruining me," she manages, her hips bucking up to meet yours. "Your cock and your fingers at the same time, I can't think, I can't—"

"Don't think. Just feel it."

Her moans grow louder. Less controlled. Raw sounds that fill the penthouse and bounce off the floor-to-ceiling windows, mixing with the sound of the rain still falling outside. Her pussy is gripping you so tight now that each thrust requires effort, pushing through the resistance of her walls clenching around your shaft.

"You're going to make me cum," she tells you, and there's something almost helpless about it. "I'm so close. Your dick is so deep and your thumb on my clit and I can't hold it. You're going to make me cum so hard."

"Then cum on my dick," you tell her. "Let me feel it. I want to feel your pussy squeeze me when you lose it. Cum for me, Jimin."

You give her the final thrusts. Deep, relentless strokes that push all the way inside her and stay there, grinding against her cervix while your thumb works her clit without mercy. One. Two. Three more and then you bury yourself to the hilt and hold, pressed as deep as her body will allow.

Jimin shatters. Her eyes roll back, her mouth opening in a soundless cry that finally breaks into a long, shuddering moan. Her pussy clamps down on your cock in rhythmic waves, squeezing and releasing, milking you while her entire body trembles beneath you. Her thighs lock around your waist so tight you couldn't pull away if you wanted to.

You fuck her slowly through it. Shallow, gentle strokes that draw out each aftershock, making her twitch and gasp with every movement. Her orgasm seems to last forever, rolling through her in diminishing waves until she's boneless and panting on the cushion beneath you, her grip finally loosening, her legs sliding off your waist.

"Oh my god," she whispers, covering her face with both hands. "Oh my god…"

You lean down and kiss her forehead. Her cheek. The corner of her jaw. She's trembling still, small involuntary shivers running through her limbs.

"You're beautiful when you cum," you murmur against her skin. "The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

She laughs weakly, still hiding behind her hands. "I think you broke something inside me."

You stay inside her for another moment, feeling the last flutters of her orgasm around your cock. Then you ease back slightly, and the urgency in your own body reasserts itself. You're close. The tightness in your stomach has been building since she started clenching around you.

"I'm close," you admit. "Where do you want me?"

Jimin drops her hands from her face. Her eyes find yours, still hazy with the aftermath but sharpening with intent. "My mouth," she says. "Pull out and give it to me."

You withdraw from her slowly, your cock sliding free slick and hard and aching. Jimin is already moving before you can stand, rolling off the couch and dropping to her knees on the floor between your legs. You rise from the sofa and stand in front of her, and she looks up at you from below, her hair mussed and tangled, her body flushed and glistening, her lips parting as she reaches for you.

Her mouth closes around the head of your cock and the warmth of it makes your knees buckle slightly. She takes you deeper, her tongue pressing flat against the underside of your shaft, and sucks with a slow, firm pressure that pulls a groan from somewhere deep in your chest.

She pulls off briefly, her hand stroking you, and looks up. "You taste good," she says, licking her lips. "Your cock tastes so good."

"That's because it tastes like you," you tell her.

Something soft crosses her face. Amused and pleased and genuinely touched all at once. She shakes her head slightly. "Don't be romantic while I have your dick in my mouth," she says. "That's not fair. You can't make me feel things in my chest while I'm trying to make you cum."

"I can do both, actually. I'm multifaceted."

"Shut up," she says, and takes you back into her mouth.

She sucks you with purpose now. Her cheeks hollow around your shaft, her tongue swirling over the sensitive head each time she pulls back, her hand working the base in tandem with her lips. The wet suction of her mouth, hot and tight, combined with the visual of her on her knees looking up at you through her lashes is more than you can take.

Your hand moves to her hair. Not pushing, not guiding, just resting there. Feeling the silk of it between your fingers while she bobs her head on your cock. She takes you deeper with each pass, her throat relaxing to accommodate you, and the sound she makes when you hit the back of her mouth is devastating.

"I'm going to cum," you warn her, your thighs tensing. "Jimin, I'm—"

She doesn't pull off. She sucks harder. Her hand tightens around the base of your cock and her mouth works you with renewed intensity, her head moving faster, cheeks hollowed, tongue pressing and stroking with every pass. She moans around you and the vibration of it against your shaft is what finishes you.

You cum in her mouth. The orgasm rips through you and you grip her hair involuntarily as the first pulse hits the back of her throat. Your cock throbs between her lips, emptying into her, and even though you already came once tonight there's so much. Thick ropes flooding her mouth, and she takes all of it without flinching. You can see her throat working. Swallowing. Taking each wave as it comes while her hand strokes you through it, milking your shaft from base to tip, coaxing everything out of you.

Your knees threaten to give. You brace one hand on the back of the couch and try to stay standing while she drains you completely, her lips sealed tight around your cock, not letting a single drop escape.

When the last pulse fades and you're left shaking and oversensitive, she finally pulls off slowly. A thin string of saliva connects her lower lip to the head of your cock before it breaks. She's still holding you in her hand, her fingers wrapped gently around your shaft.

She opens her mouth. Sticks out her tongue. Clean. Empty. She swallowed everything.

"Not a single drop wasted," she says, looking up at you with a smug little smile, clearly pleased with herself.

Then she leans forward and presses a soft, closed-mouth kiss to the tip of your cock - gentle and almost reverent.

You extend your hand down to her. She takes it and you pull her to her feet, her body rising in front of you until you're face to face. Naked. Flushed. Both of you breathing hard and covered in a thin layer of sweat. You reach up and tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear, smoothing it away from her face.

Jimin tilts her head slightly, a lazy smile forming. "Looks like we burned through our stamina pretty quickly, huh?"

"Don't even joke," you say, shaking your head. "I genuinely don't know what to do with myself right now. I think my brain stopped working."

"Maybe a shower," she suggests. "And then the pizza. Those seem like logical next steps."

"Right. Shower. Pizza. Normal activities. I can handle that." You place your hand on her lower back, her skin warm and damp beneath your palm, and guide her toward the hallway. "Maybe now I can actually give you the tour. The bathroom is this way. Just try not to ambush me with surprise kisses in the meantime."

Jimin glances over her shoulder at you as she walks ahead, that quiet mischief in her expression that you're beginning to recognize as specifically and uniquely dangerous. "I can't guarantee anything," she says.

—

The shower took longer than it probably needed to, mostly because every time you reached for a towel, Jimin found some reason to pull you back under the water. The pizza, despite your modest expectations, turned out genuinely good. The crust was crisp around the edges, the cheese properly melted, and the basil had been distributed with what you considered professional-level restraint. Jimin ate three slices before finally admitting that you might actually know what you were doing.

You pretended not to be ridiculously pleased by that.

Now she sits on your kitchen counter, legs crossed, wearing nothing but one of your shirts. The fabric hangs past her thighs, the sleeves swallowed her hands entirely until she rolled them up. Her hair is still damp, darker than usual, falling loose around her face. Steam rises from the mug you just handed her.

She lifts it to her nose and breathes in the aroma. Then she looks at you over the rim.

"Wow. First pizza, now tea. You're really making progress today."

"Told you I'm practically a chef now," you reply, leaning against the counter beside her with your own mug. "And for the record, if you stay for lunch tomorrow, I can cook you anything you want. Anything. Just name it."

Jimin takes a slow sip. "Take it easy. You managed one pizza. That doesn't mean you can suddenly make any dish in existence."

"Of course I can. Every dish is fundamentally the same process. The ingredients change, the preparation method changes, the cooking time changes. But the core principle is identical. Heat, timing, seasoning. Once you understand the system, the specifics are trivial."

Jimin narrows her eyes. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Trying to bait me."

You give her an innocent look. "Why would I do that?"

"Because you want me to start arguing about cooking theory so we can sit here debating it until midnight."

"Is it working?"

She gives you a look. "No."

"Seems like it is.”

Jimin smiles into her tea and takes another sip. For a while, neither of you speaks. The rain continues outside, softer now than before, a steady hush against the windows. The kitchen is dim, lit only by the under-cabinet lights and the grey glow of the city filtering through the glass.

You turn your mug slowly in your hands. Then you set it down on the counter.

"So," you begin. "Maybe we should think about how things are going to work from now on. You and me. The practical side of it."

Jimin lowers her mug slightly. "Are you worried?"

"I'm worried about you."

"You don't need to worry about me," she says, calm and even. "I know how to take care of myself."

"I know that. I do. But that's not what I mean." You turn to face her, leaning your hip against the counter. "I don't want your life to become more complicated because of me. You just got back on your feet. Your group is active again, your schedule is filling up, the company is watching everything you do. And now there's me in the middle of it. I just think maybe you should talk to the others first, before we—"

"I'll talk to them," she cuts in, firm but gentle. "Minjeong, Ning, Aeri. I'll sit them down and tell them myself. But I already know how they'll react. They'll support me. They've seen me at my worst, they carried me through it. They'll be happy I found something that makes me want to stay standing."

You nod slowly. "Okay."

"And listen to me." She sets her mug down beside her on the counter and turns her whole body toward you. "I don't want to be weak again. I don't want to be afraid of living my own life. What's the point of everything I went through if I come out the other side just as scared as before? I don't want to end up on that bench again at two in the morning, feeling that I'm not enough, not knowing who I am or what I'm supposed to want. I did that already. I'm not going back."

"Jimin—"

"And I don't want to run off to your lake house again either," she continues. "I was happy there. Genuinely happy, maybe the happiest I'd been in years. But you and I both know what that place was. A temporary refuge. A borrowed life. We played house for three days while the world waited outside, and it was beautiful, and it wasn't real." She reaches out and takes your hand. "I want to feel here what I felt there. In this city. In my real life. Being me. Karina on the stage, Jimin in this kitchen, both of them at the same time. I want to live the life I actually want to live. And that life is being an idol and being your girl. Both. Together." She squeezes your hand. "I don't think I'm asking for too much. Am I?"

You look at her. Sitting on your counter in your shirt, damp hair, bare legs, her eyes steady and unflinching. The girl from the bench, except she isn't anymore. That girl was disappearing. This one has decided to exist.

"No," you answer. "Of course not. You have every right to want to be happy. You have every right to want everything."

"Then we don't need to be afraid," she says. "Either of us."

You step between her knees and wrap your arms around her, and she folds into you immediately, her arms circling your back, her cheek pressing against your chest. You rest your chin on the top of her head. Her hair smells of your shampoo, and there's something about that small domestic detail that nearly undoes you completely.

"I'm not saying it's going to be easy," she murmurs against your shirt. "There will be days when the schedule is brutal and we won't see each other for weeks. There will be rumors. There will be pressure from every direction. I know all of that."

"I know."

"But I also know it will be worth it." She pulls back just enough to look up at you. "That night. On the bench. After you left." Her gaze drifts somewhere past your shoulder, back across four months and a river and a version of herself she barely survived. "I sat there for a long time after you walked away. And I remember thinking, maybe today wasn't so bad after all. I met a kind stranger. He shared his chips with me. He listened to me complain about things he couldn't possibly understand, and he didn't try to fix any of it. He just stayed." She swallows. "I went back to my bed that night, and for the first time in months, I didn't fall asleep thinking about my problems. I fell asleep wondering who that person was. What his name might be. Whether he'd actually meant it when he said I could visit his office."

"And you wanted to visit me?"

"I did." She smiles faintly. "I kept your blazer for two weeks, trying to come up with a reason to see you again that wouldn't sound completely insane. Returning it was the best excuse I had."

"For the record, it was an excellent excuse. Completely believable. Nobody would ever suspect ulterior motives.”

"Shut up," she says, laughing wetly, and that's when you see it. A single tear sliding down her right cheek, catching the dim light.

You lift your hand and gently wipe it away with your thumb. Then you lean in and kiss her.

The kiss is soft and unhurried. Her hands come up to rest against your chest, and when you pull back her eyes are shining but she's smiling.

"You're absolutely right," you tell her. "About all of it. So here's how we're going to do this. One day at a time. Tomorrow's problems are tomorrow's problems. We'll deal with them when they arrive, together, and not a minute before."

"And today?"

"Today there weren't any problems at all," you say. "Today we drank terrible coffee and rode a bus and wandered around a record store... Okay, technically I bribed the owner to empty the entire place so we could have one ridiculously romantic moment all to ourselves. And yeah, I know, you didn't approve."

"I really didn't."

"I've reflected on my actions."

"Oh?"

"I've concluded that I should never do it again."

"Good."

"But..." You can't help smiling. "You have to admit it was a beautiful moment."

She tries to stay serious for all of two seconds before a reluctant smile appears. "...It was."

"I knew it." You brush your thumb lightly along her cheek. "Then we bought groceries in the rain. I sang Lou Reed to you in public. And then you came home with me." Your smile softens as you hold her gaze. "We had a perfect day together. The first of many.”

Jimin's smile grows a little wider, though it trembles just enough to betray the tears gathering in her eyes. She gives a small, certain nod, never once breaking eye contact.

"Yeah," she says softly. "The first of many.”

You pull her back into your arms and hold her there. She hooks her chin over your shoulder, her fingers curling into the fabric at the small of your back, and neither of you moves to let go. The tea sits untouched on the counter beside her, steam thinning to nothing. You don't reach for it. She doesn't either.

Outside, the rain keeps falling against the kitchen windows. Steady and unhurried, tracing long lines down the glass that catch the dim light and scatter it across the countertop. You've noticed it before. All of it. The nights it found the two of you.

It rained after the bench. After you walked away from her that first night and lay in your own bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to stop thinking about the woman you'd found sitting alone by the river. It rained at the lake house, the storm that trapped you both inside until the walls came down and you stopped pretending you didn't need each other. It rained today too, from the moment you stepped out of that record store until you finally walked through your front door together.

For months you carried this strange feeling that it meant something. Something ominous. Like the universe kept casting the same grey sky over every chapter of your lives together, and you couldn't tell if it was a blessing or a warning.

You don't feel that anymore.

The rain was never trying to tell you anything. It was just there. The same way she was just there, on that bench, past midnight, when you needed someone and didn't know it yet. It kept showing up because that's what it does. And so did she.

Jimin exhales slowly against your neck. You feel her body settle against yours, the last bit of tension leaving her shoulders, her weight leaning more fully into you. You tighten your arms around her. Not urgently. Just enough that she knows you're not going anywhere.

Tomorrow will come. Her schedule, your boardroom, the conversations she needs to have, the world that hasn't paused for either of you. It will be there in the morning, waiting, exactly as complicated and relentless as you left it.

But that's tomorrow.

Tonight belongs to the two of you.

There's only the steady rhythm of her breathing, the rain tapping softly against the windows, and the quiet that settles so easily between you now. Two people who met on the worst night of both their lives, who stumbled through grief and uncertainty until, somehow, they found their way here.

The heat wasn't letting up.

98 degrees F (37 degrees C) at whatever-the-hell-o'clock in the morning, and your body had long since stopped pretending it was going to cooperate. Three cold showers. Three attempts at sleep. Each time you'd lie down, stare at the ceiling, feel the sheets go warm underneath you, and give up. In between, you'd gone back to the Skyline — 1990 R32, sitting in your garage, almost complete — because at least the work could try and fatigue.

You were on attempt four. Covers kicked to the side. Window fan oscillating. Eyes almost closed.

Then the doorbell rang.

You lay there for a second, like maybe it would take the hint. It didn't.

You padded to the front door, not bothering to think about who it might be. It was 2 AM. It could be anyone. You were too tired to speculate.

You opened the door and found Arin.

She looked up at you with that small, careful smile — the one she used when she knew she was in the wrong and was hoping charm would do some of the heavy lifting.

"Absolutely fucking not," you said, and closed the door.

A beat of silence. Then, muffled through the wood:

"Okay. I deserve that."

You stood there for a moment. Rubbed your face. Opened the door again.

"What are you doing here, ye?"

It wasn't really a question. The flatness in your voice said that much. She held up four twenties like an offering. "I need you to change my oil. I brought everything — your brand, your filter, all of it." She nodded toward the Kia parked at the curb, a plastic bag sitting on the hood.

You stared at her.

"There are places for that."

"I know." Her expression shifted — something behind her eyes was going quieter. "I tried a few. They never get the idea right after. You always do." You held her gaze for a second longer than you needed to. Then you stepped aside and gestured toward the garage.

"Pull in."

She noticed the Skyline the moment she walked through the side door. You watched her stop mid-step.

The R32 sat under the work light in that deep ocean blue you'd spent three weekends getting exactly right — not too dark, not too bright, the kind of color that looks different depending on how the light hits it. She moved toward it slowly, the way people do when they don't want to spook something.

Her hand hovered, then rested lightly on the quarter panel. She traced the edge of one of the racing stripes — you'd laid those down about eight weeks ago, masked the whole thing off yourself.

"Client or yours?"

"Mine."

She nodded, still looking at the car. You slid under her Kia and got to work.

A long moment passed before she spoke again.

"How have you been?"

"Good." You cracked the drain plug and listened to the oil start to fall. "Did a Ferrari restore a few months back for a streamer — Ezio, I think. Then an American guy brought me a Datsun 280Z, who wanted a full modernization. Test driving that one is what made me pull the trigger on this." You didn't look at her, but you could feel her attention move back to the Skyline.

"What about you?"

You already knew. But the question felt like the right shape to offer.

"I finally left Oh My Girl and am going Solo," she said.

"I saw." You let the oil drain and kept your eyes on the job. "You looked tough. Like you found where you belong."

"Thanks." A pause. "Both are kind of… settling down now. I was thinking…"

"Yeah." You slid the drain pan further under. "That happens."

She exhaled — not quite a sigh, something shorter — and after a moment, you heard the click of your Skyline's door handle.

You didn't say anything. She'd already made it to the interior before you glanced over.

Even from under the Kia, you could see her reaction: the way she went still, taking in the contrast of it. Outside, the car was restored — factory lines, period-correct trim, nothing out of place. Inside was something else entirely. Supple leather in a dark cognac. A mounted infotainment screen. Focal speakers set into custom door panels. Climate control, wireless charging, and ambient lighting along the footwells. Everything the car never had, done in a way that made it look like maybe it had always been there.

Arin ran her fingers along the stitching on the steering wheel.

"You've come a long way," she said. "From the underground circuit days."

"Different work."

"Better work." She wasn't needling you. She sounded like she meant it.

"You always knew what you were doing, but this —"

"Arin."

She stopped.

"You ghosted me for six and a half weeks." You were still under her car, voice even, watching the last of the old oil run dark into the pan. "Then you show up at my door at two in the morning with eighty dollars and an oil filter. Like it's nothing."

Silence.

"I have things to say about that."

You heard the car door shift. When you rolled out from under the Kia, she was closer than you expected — standing just at the edge of the light, looking at you with something that wasn't quite an apology and wasn't quite an excuse.

Then: "I'm sorry I ghosted you."

"I know," you said. "That's not the same as it being fine."

She stepped forward. You started to say something else — you had more, there was more — and then she closed the distance between you and kissed you before any of it could land.

You stood there and let the anger be the first thing you felt.

Because that was honest. Because she'd left you on read for six weeks and change and had now walked back in like time was a formality, and you weren't going to pretend that hadn't cost you something. But then the anger ran into everything underneath it — the empty side of the couch, the way you'd checked your phone more than you'd admit, the particular silence of a place that used to have someone in it — and the two things hit each other somewhere in the middle of your chest, and you didn't pull away.

You look into her eyes and say, "Bedroom now." Arin smiles, then follows your instructions

Arin drags you inside your small home. As the two of you get deeper into a piece of clothing, off here and there.

By the time the two of you reach the bedroom, you are both fully bare.

Arin smiles and says, “Did you miss me?” Before pushing you onto the bed. Her body is just as beautiful as you remember.

Small perky tits, round perk ass with toned thighs.

“Yes, Ye. God yes!!” You respond.

Arin kisses you again as she strokes you. Her movement is slow and languid; the goal is to get you hard, not off. She smiles, watching you squirm for a bit.

You caress her face as he lines her up with you. She sinks down, taking you to the hilt in one go.

The two of you stare longingly as your sexes meet. Arin smiles at you while you watch her ride you. Her pussy is slowly constricting around your snake ironically. Her body waves and rolls with undulations almost designed specifically to wreck you.

Arin watches you fall apart under her. She smiles and whispers in your ear, “cum for me. Cum for this pussy you can’t forget,”

Spurred on by her words, you buck your hips into her desperation, clinging inside you to keep her with you forever.

“Fuck Ye,” you say as you grab her waist. You plunge into her as your seed fills her womb. Arin moans as her climax follows.

By the time the heavy breathing stops and the tide of pressure lowers, the two of you look at each other, and you say to her, “I’m not letting go this time,

A different approach

Yunjin sat in her room while reading the colors of language: a psychological examination of emotional language.

As she read her, Unnie Sakura walked into the room

“Hey Kura unnie what’s up?” Yunjin said in between lines.

“Oh nothing, Tsuki and i we’re gonna get drinks later, want to come,”

“As much as I’d love to see Saki again I think I’ll have to pass tonight Unnie” Yunjin replied 

Sakura nodded then said “okay well I’ll be seeing you then,” 

After Sakura left, Yunjin went back to reading. 

15 minutes later Yunjin was eating Ramyeon having picked a nice place to stop reading for the time being. As she ate she got a call…it was from Somi.

“What’s up girl?” Yunjin asked 

Somi was paused on the other side trying to figure out what she was going to say until she said, “Okay, I know this is gonna sound crazy but when was the last time you got laid?”

“Well, it’s been a while. “Yunjin answered “why do you have a cute boy or girl for me?” She added 

Somi smirked on the other side before responding, “What if I told you I recently purchased a magical strap on and it could fuck and cum like a real one?”

Yunjin sighed and replied “Soms that’s crazy and I don’t believe,”

Somi laughed at Yunjin’s believable skeptical voice and said, “well then, come over and if you don’t believe me then,”

Yunjin rolled her eyes and said “fine, but I swear if this is just a ploy to show me your new sex toy you’re eating me out for two hours,”

Somi laughed and said, “Please I'd do that anyway but I’m going to fuck the shit out of you,”

Yunjin sighed as she hung up on Somi.

“I need a boyfriend with a good dick,” she said before leaving out of morbid curiosity.

Yunjin arrived at Somi’s home a little while later. At the door, she could hear the unmistakable sound of Somi’s moans and groans.

“Fuck yeah,”she heard from the other side.

Yunjin sighed before knocking and saying “I’m coming in Soms,”

Somi didn’t respond to Yunijin as she opened the door. 

What came on the other side shocked the young woman. 

On her couch, Somi sat with her strap. Eyes hazed over with lust as she sat with what looked like a strap on but the dildo part oozed pre-cum and twitched like a real cock. 

Yunjin stared shocked for a moment, then closed the door behind her and Somi said, “bring that ass over here and ride me,”

Yunjin laughed and said, “pushy, but ultimately complied,” 

Somi watched as Yunjin did a sexy striptease shaking her ass before completely baring herself to her friend,

“Fuck Jen your sooo hot,” 

Yunjin smiled and said, “Why, of course,” to emphasize this Yunjin shook her ass right in front of Somi to tease her even further. Somi groaned as she stroked her cock even longer. Yunjin smiled as she watched Somi's cock grow bigger for her.

Yunjin waltzed over swaying her hips to show that ass everyone drooled over, before lining herself up with Somi's factious phallus. Somi shuddered as her strap felt the wet sensation that had pooled around her "shaft"

"Oh fuck" Somi moaned.

Yunjin smiled and said, "You like that?"

Somi nodded as Yunjin finally took mercy on the poor girl.

Yunjin slowly slide down onto Somi's cock leaving her breathless.

Yunjin groaned at Somi's size

"Fuck Somi why are you so Big?" Yunjin asked as Somi's cock kissed her cervix

Somi shook and said, "Fuck I don't know. Why are you so fucking tight?"

Yunjin moaned as Somi bucked her hips before stopping her, "Whoa there cowgirl. I control the pace,"

Somi moaned and said, "Fine,"

Yunjin smiled and said, "Good girl," then Yunjin began to bounce on Somi's lap.

it drove them both crazy as Yunjin felt Somi's tip continually abuse her cervix.

"Fuck Soms you're gonna break me," Yunjin groaned

Somi laughed and said, "you? Fuck it feels like you're trying to snap my dick into,"

Hearing that caused Yunjin to laugh out loud at the circumstances.

"god this is so weird, but you feel so good," Yunjin said as she kept bouncing on Somi's cock.

Somi groaned and said, "you said it,"

Somi felt herself twitch and said, "Where Jen?"

"Fuck inside!" Yunjin moaned as she continued bouncing.

Somi nodded and began fucking into Yunjin desperate to finally cum. Somi grabbed Yunjin's waist before dragging her along her cock, groaning and moaning in pleasure the whole way until Somi couldn't take it anymore.

"Fuck Jen I'm cumming" Somi said.

Yunjin smiled and said, "Fuck me too," before Somi exploded inside of Yunjin.

"Fuck! Fuck!" Somi said, and Yunjin just smiled as she took all of Somi's cum.

As their orgasms died Yunjin groaned and said, "okay that was a good tide me over do you have any more in the tank?"

"No" Somi lamented.

Yunjin groaned and said, "Just like a man, One and done,"

Somi groaned as she was still seeing stars.

"Youre pussy is so nice," Somi said,

Yunjin smiled and said, "Of Course. Why do you think all my girls love me so much?"

"you dirty player," Somi said.

Yunjin smiled and said, "Hey you called me over for a booty call."

Somi, "Fair, you did just rock my world,"

You were playing on your switch 2 when your girlfriend Jeewon walked into your room she stared at you with deliberate intensity that belies an issue with her.

“Hey can you tie me up again tonight?”

You looked at your girlfriend and said “sure,”

She cooed and said, “perfect after this last concert i just need to be strung up and not have to think about anything”

“Okay,” you said. 

“Also can you do that massage with the oils,”

You nod and your girlfriend scurries off before coming back. She stares at you with her evilest fuck me eyes you’ve ever seen.

“Okay I also need you to fuck me now and after the concert,” she says as you watch her stare at you, her eyes hazed over in lust. 

You look over your girlfriend and she smiles weakly while you say, “Is everything okay Wony?”

Jeewon nods then says, “I don’t know if your magic lets you detect this but I’m ovulating and I need you to break me,”

“Break you?” You ask

“Break me,” Jeewon confirmed.

Her words encourage the length between your legs hardening as you look over her outfit. She’s somewhere between sultry and sophisticated. A white blouse that accentuates her bust, wrapped in a black suit jacket and black suit paints the emphasize her rear and toned thighs. 

Her thick thighs are rubbing together as you see a dark spot clearly forming between her legs as she continues staring at you. You sigh and say “come here” as you put your switch down

Jeewon doesn’t take a breath of relief or even any vocalizations that shows her approval in an appropriate manner she moans loud and says, “fuck me,”

You laugh and say, “that’s the plan,”

Jeewon sits on your lap and goes to start undressing.

You stop her then slowly wrap your arms around her soft pliant body.

“You are in my domain and mine to unwrap,” you say firmly. 

Jeewon pouts and says, “but I need you in me right now,”

You nod and say, “you will get me, in due time but you are not primed yet,” 

“Hebi we don’t have all day,”

You smirk and say, “I know but you asked for this remember,” before unbuttoning her blouse and feasting on her breasts.

Jeewon was mid response before her brain felt the pleasure “I know…oh FUcK!” She moaned 

You smirk around her left breast as you suck kiss nibble and lick her. While your free hand massages the other. Jeewon groans screaming your name. 

“fuck Fuck FUCK!” She screams as you devour her. 

Her body tenses telling you her first release is close. 

You smirk and issue a simple command, “cum!”

Jeewon convulses as the pleasure destroys her body. You smile watching her come undone.

When Jeewon  finally comes down she stares at you. Her eyes blown out with pleasure, “More!” she whispers

You smile as you kiss her and slide your hand inside her pants. Her suit pants are soaked. You break the kiss to gloat a bit before diving back in.

Jeewon bites your lip and says, “fuck me please,”

“Not yet,” you chide as you begin to strum her body like an overturned guitar. Your right ring finger invades her pussy while your thumb and index finger massage her clit.  Your left hand  twists and pinches her breasts.

Jeewon can’t take the  stimulation and cums again twice as hard. You smirk watching her sing for you while you play with her like a tightly strung mandolin. You watch her writhe and convulse then you say, “okay now you are ready” 

You lift her in a bridal carry before easing her onto the bed. Jeewon smiles at you as you peel off her clothes. Her gorgeous and tantalizing form is revealed before you.

It leaves you salacious and salivating. You pull out your manhood and politely fold Jeewon as you slide into her sopping sodden pussy.

“Mating Press? Jeewon questioned as your gave her a bit of time to adjust to your size before pounding into her.

“Fuck yes!” She moaned as your cock repeatedly found her cervix. You groaned as she tightened around you. 

You look down to her and she smiles “do you like how tight and wet I am?”

She asks. 

You respond by pounding her even harder. You felt her getting even tighter and wetter. “Gonna cum again?”

You ask. Jeewon nods as you pound into her leaving her breathless as she nears the edge.

You lift her up and start bouncing her on your cock. Jeewon moans and says “oh god I’m close!” Her voice is raspy as you continue to abuse her pussy but her blissed out face tells you she loves it she groans but as she’s about to cum you pull out. 

Jeewon stares at you pissed and says., “wtf?”

You snap your fingers and NeBaku wraps around her like a rope before suspending her into a new Shibari position: Aomuke-zuri.

Jeewon screams in pleasure, “yes thank fuck,” 

You smirk before rubbing her boobs for a bit. She moans but when she’s almost there you pull away. Jeewon stares at you with furious lust. You smirk then snap your fingers again as Jeewon is tied Hasira style to a nearby support beam.

You kiss her as you rub her pussy with your hand. She’s dripping puffy and overwhelmed. 

“Are you done teasing me?” She challenges . 

You laugh and say, “you love it though,”

She nods and begs for more. You comply. Another snap of the fingers and Nebaku shifts again. His coils tightening around her body immobilizing but also stimulating her just enough to deliver pleasure but not release.

Jeewon finds herself exposed in Kata-ashi kaikyaku when you finally

Decide to finish her off. You thrust into her, and she screams as she finally cums. 

Her walls clench you so tight and rigorously that you dump a load in her pussy as well. The two of you moan as NeBaku retreats. Jeewon smiles at you and said, “fuck that was a bit more than a taste,” 

You laugh and say “well I like to spoil my girl,”

While you waited for Jeewon to return your friend Usagi came by.

“Hi Hebi,” he said cheery

“What’s up Agi?” You respond. 

“I just wanted ask how my favorite shapeshifter snake shaman is.” Usagi responds 

You roll your eyes as you say “You know I’m a warlock…all that peace and Druid stuff is you, Tsuki Leo, Nayeon, and dem,”

“I suppose but you fight right in with us,” Usagi challenges 

“Yeah as a pet sadly,” Your reply 

Usagi crosses his arms as he tells you “Um no. You can do nature magic, shapeshift and have a crazy totem animal like the rest of us,

“Yeah but y’all don’t talk to you like the rattlesnake Jake I in my ear”

“Okay sure but you are still our friend so act like it. Anyways what are you up to?” 

“Oh I’m good just waiting for Jeewon. to come back,”

“Oh the two of you are still dating?”

“Yeah. We are going steady,”

Usagi nodded and said, “ I figured but I just assumed when she found out you could be a woman at any instance, she’d be a bit overwhelmed by it,”

“Well that’s the thing she’s like you Nero and I…also a shaman,” you explain 

Usagi raises an eyebrow “Oh really?”

“Yep, I showed  her NeBaku and she was like, “oh my god it’s not just me, and went on to show me her totem spirit Lupo,” you explain 

Usagi scowled and said, “What animal was it?”

“A Wolf?” You responded confused 

“How would I know that?”

“Well lobo is wolf in Latin I believe so anything close to that,”

Usagi rolls his eyes and says, “You forget Nero was the one who speaks Latin,”

“No Nero speaks Italian which is a romantic language but not Latin itself,” you explain

Usagi sighs and says “Oh okay so my point still stands?”

“Yeah but you have been friends with us for a while.” You counter 

Usagi rebukes “So has Jules and he doesn’t know nerely as much you and Nero,”

“Okay fair but I have been also learning Japanese for you as well,” you say.

Usagi smiles and says, “yeah because you’re the extrovert out of us…well you Nero and Sage,” 

You nod then ask “Speaking of Sage how are him and Chaehyun,”

“Oh they’re good,” Usagi replies 

“Great,” you say. “Haven’t seen the two of them in a while,”

“Yeah Sage has been busy. Always go go go with him, and Chaehyun loves that for some reason,” Usagi recalls.

You shrug and say, “different strokes, different folks I guess,” 

Usagi laughs and says “you should know all about that,” as he leaves you tell him to tell Tsuki you said hi.

Usagi smiles and said, sure

You know this move; known this for more than two years. She has a plethora of ways to make you feel dumb—well, you are; it’s why you’re perplexed how you landed a goddess like Kim Minjeong. There is no argument you’ll win when she starts pulling off the next couple of moves.

“Have you been well?” she quietly asks again; she already knows what she wants to hear, and you’re just catching up now.

“Of… course… not…”

Her lips twist into a crooked smirk; one corner hooks upwards until her tiny nose crinkles. Her head slowly tilts while she looks at you like you are the most pitiful little puppy she has seen this year.

“That’s what I thought, baby.”

“Minjeo—”

“Three months.” Her fingers ponderously slide from your hair down to your jaw. “Three months, and you thought about me every night, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Her hand grips your face tighter. “Say it properly.”

“Every single night, babe.”

“Hm.” She pats your head like the good boy that you are, then kisses the corner of your lips, teasing you just enough to crave and salivate for more. “And what did you do about it, hm? Did you cry?”

“Minjeong…”

“Oh, tell me. You cried a little, didn’t you?”

“I did not cry.”

“Not even one manly tear? Like, into your pillow?”

“Just tell me what you want to hear, babe.”

“I want to hear you say what you did with your right hand every night.”

Her hand slides down your chest, past your stomach, to the front of your pants—where you are incredibly hard against the denim. Her palm adjusts to the shape of your hardening crotch.

“Fucked my own hand thinking about you, babe.”

“Every night?”

“Every night.”

“Mmhm. My poor baby~”

She lifts on her knees. Her tight black silk nightgown slides up her thighs. She reaches for the hem, pulls it over her head in one motion, and her perfect figure reveals itself to you with only her lacy panties protecting the treasure you have long been yearning for.

You have not seen her body in three months, and it is somehow more mesmerizing than you remembered. This is not a fair distribution of biological gifts

Truly, the gods have crafted a perfect being.

“Minjeong—”

“Shhh~”

She lowers herself back onto your lap, feeling the heat of her cunt crowd against the growing erection south of you. She grinds against you slow. Her pink nipples brush your chest through your shirt while her hands gently cradle your face.

“Baby, take this off.”

You pull your shirt over your head. She sighs when your chest touches hers.

“Ugh, I missed this,” she murmurs—then catches herself.

You let out a smirk; ahah, you know this bit. She has been doing it for two years—the nonchalant-I’m-meant-to-be-cool reset. She will do this a few more times before she gives up and lets her true emotions take over.

Almost on cue—“Oh my god, baby.”—there we go.

She reaches down, unbuttons your pants, hurriedly pulls them off along with the rest of your bottom wear, wraps her hand around you; so—fucking—warm, so perfect around your length. Her thumb drags across the tip, and her hand was the only one meant to hold your throbbing cock; so perfectly shaped around it.

“Babe—”

“You want it, baby?”

“Of-fucking-course, babe.”

“How badly?”

“Very.”

“Then say please.”

“God. Please, babe.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me fuck you.”

She scoffs. “Baby, I have been imagining this for three months, you know? I get to be the one doing the fucking, and you just get to be the one apologizing.”

“Apologizing for what, now?”

“For not flying out to Seoul last month.”

“Minjeong, I had work—”

“Apologize anyway.”

“I’m sorry, babe.”

“Mhm. Good enough.”

She pulls her panties aside—does not take them off—and lines her needy slit up; then, sinks slowly. You see your cock slowly disappearing into her cunt, and you feel the slick, velvety, tight walls of her accept you fully. She takes all of you in one long slide, and her breath catches for half a second before she recovers.

“There. That’s better.”

She starts to move, and you feel all of her insides working your cock. Her hand cradles your face, and her eyes are fixed on yours the whole time.

“You missed this?” She susurrates. “You miss making me yours?”

“Yes.”

“Say what you missed the most.”

“I can’t choose.”

“Say them all anyway.”

“Your fucking hot body—” You feel her walls tighten. “—your mouth—” She moans louder on every thrust. “—every fucking part of you that I own.”

Her rhythm falters, briefly for one stroke; then catches it.

“Mhmm. Good.”

She rides you in a tempo that keeps you crazy: Slow at first, then faster. With each beat, her tits bounce, and all you can do is admire the piece of work molded to fit you. Her hair falls into her eyes, her hands produce scratches all over your body, and her cheeks are flushed with arousal.

“Look at me, baby.”

“My eyes are all yours.”

“You’re mine, okay?”

“Of course.”

“Give it some more conviction!”

“My life is all yours, Minjeong, and you are mine.”

“Good boy.”

She rides harder; thighs flexing on either side of your hips. You do your best not to ruin her pace—making sure she feels in control—but your hand goes to her waist without permission.

She grabs both your wrists, pulls them off, then pins them to the bed above your head.

“Nooooo, baby. Did I say you could hold me?”

“No.”

“That’s right.”

She keeps riding you hard, your wrists still pinned. Her mouth is close to yours but not kissing, just trying to catch her breath at every thrust.

“Baby—” Then—small, sudden—her composure cracks. She kisses you: Deep, hungry, and desperate. Her mouth is chasing back the past three months where her lips were looking for yours.

Her hips move faster—she stops pretending; her hands leave your wrists. She wraps her arms around your neck and holds on.

“Uhhh, baby—”

“Yes, babe?”

“I missed you. I miss your stupid laugh.”

“Eh?”

She lets out a giggle in between her sweet moans.

“I miss your dumb jokes.”

“Like the one about the bee?”

“Oh, shut up. You’re ruining the moment.”

“Babe—”

“I missed pretending I hate you. Missed how you take care of me. Missed how you make me feel safe. Missed—”

You cut her off; you kiss her because if she keeps going, you know one of you (mostly you) will start tearing up.

Her lips aggressively kiss you back. Her rhythm hits its stride while her forehead leans against yours.

“Baby, I’m—”

“Me too, babe. Let’s cum together.”

Both of you moan in an imperfect unison; she cums on your cock, and you release every little bit of your seed inside of her—your juices creating a concoction inside of her enough to create new life, probably. She screams onto your neck, and her cunt locks you down and squeezes you further—deep inside of her, filling her the way she has been aching for since Seoul.

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you too, babe.”

She lifts her head, looks at you, and her mouth twists into a crooked smirk again; that same bratty look that never fails to get you in a chokehold.

“Do not tell anyone I said that first.”

“I would never.”

“Good boy.” She kisses you, slower this time. Then, against your mouth: “Now, ruin my life and put a baby inside of me.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Her susurrations only mean one thing: she’s serious about this.

“You… sure, babe?”

“Do I not sound sure?”

That’s a fat happy baby.

Eunbi had the thought before she could stop it, which was a little embarrassing. Still, the baby in question was currently beaming up at her from the hallway with the full-body joy only toddlers could manage — cheeks round as persimmons, a little fist shoved halfway into her mouth. Eunbi crouched down instinctively.

“Well, hello there, little miss.”

The baby — Mira, though Eunbi didn’t know that yet — responded by babbling something that might have been a greeting or might have been a declaration of war. Hard to tell with toddlers. Either way, she was very committed to it.

Eunbi was in the middle of babbling back when she heard movement behind the stroller and straightened up.

She was not prepared.

The man was big. That was the first thing. Not just tall — she was used to people being taller than her, that was most of the population — but large in a way that filled the hallway, broad-shouldered and solid, the kind of frame that made the standard apartment corridor feel like it had been built slightly too small. He’d clearly been juggling groceries and a diaper bag and whatever else, and he turned around with the distracted energy of someone who had not expected company.

Neither had she, for that matter.

Eunbi looked up at him. He looked down at her. Mira continued her political speech.

Oh, Eunbi thought, with a clarity that surprised her. Just oh. Something in her chest did something she didn’t have a word for.

“Hi,” she said, because she was a grown adult and capable of speech. “I’m Eunbi.”

The man blinked. Then, from somewhere in his arms, a small voice piped up.

“Mommy?”

Mira was staring at Eunbi with an expression of profound hope. Eunbi’s heart did something catastrophic.

I could be a mommy, said a voice in the back of her brain, completely unprompted and deeply unhinged.

Excuse me? said the rest of her brain.

She had no time to investigate this further because the man was already turning to the baby with the practiced patience of someone who had explained this before. “No, baby. Not mommy.”

Mira considered this information, deemed it unsatisfactory, and looked at Eunbi again as if waiting for a second opinion.

The man turned back with a tired but genuine smile, the kind that deepened the corners of his eyes. “Sorry about that. She meets a woman, and she decides it’s her mommy. Every time.”

Eunbi had her mouth carefully closed over everything her subconscious was apparently willing to volunteer. “It’s fine,” she said. “Really. No big deal.”

He looked grateful in a way that felt like more than politeness. Like maybe he’d been braced for something worse.

“I’m Ozymandias,” he said. “But you can call me Ozzy.”

“Ozzy,” she repeated, like she was filing it away. “You just moved in?”

“Three weeks ago.” He shifted the grocery bag to his other arm. “Wanted to be closer to Mira’s grandma.”

Mira, having apparently decided that the conversation had gone on long enough without her participation, leaned out of his arms toward Eunbi with both hands extended. It was less of a request and more of a demand.

Eunbi accepted her before she’d consciously decided to. The baby settled against her shoulder like she’d done it a hundred times.

“She doesn’t usually—” Ozzy started.

“It’s okay.” Eunbi adjusted her grip, and Mira made a small satisfied sound and grabbed a fistful of her hair. “I don’t mind.”

They stood there for a moment. Down the hall, the elevator dinged.

“She doesn’t look like you,” Eunbi said carefully, not quite sure how to phrase what she was trying to ask.

Ozzy’s expression shifted — not hurt, just familiar with the question. “She’s adopted. Technically my goddaughter.” A beat. “Both her parents passed.”

“Oh.” Eunbi looked down at Mira, who was now examining her earring with the focused intensity of a jeweler. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

He nodded, quiet about it.

The elevator ride up was four floors and mostly silent in a comfortable way rather than the awkward one, which surprised Eunbi a little. Mira dozed off somewhere between the second and third floor, going heavy and warm against Eunbi’s shoulder with the sudden totality that only babies could manage, like someone had flipped a switch.

Ozzy watched this happen and said nothing. He looked like a man trying not to disturb something fragile.

At the door, he fished for his keys one-handed, eased it open, and turned to take Mira back. The baby woke up just enough to realize what was happening and registered her objection immediately — a low, building sound that was about to become something much louder.

Eunbi and Ozzy both froze.

The sound subsided. Mira’s fist tightened in Eunbi’s hair.

Eunbi met Ozzy’s eyes over the baby’s head. He looked exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with tonight specifically and everything to do with the past however-many months. She recognized that look. She’d seen it on her sister after the first year of motherhood — that particular flavor of love that was also just barely holding on.

“I can stay for a bit,” she heard herself say.

He exhaled — not quite a sigh, more like something releasing. “I’ll make dinner.”

“You don’t have to—”

“You’re holding my kid.” He was already moving toward the kitchen. “Minimum I can do.”

Eunbi looked down at Mira, who had gone back to sleep with absolute conviction.

“Do your worst,” Ozzy said from around the corner, which she realized after a moment was aimed at her, not the refrigerator.

She almost laughed. “That’s my line.”

The kitchen smelled incredible within twenty minutes.

Eunbi had expected something serviceable — bachelor-dad cooking, the kind of meal that got the job done and didn’t ask for applause. What she had not expected was Ozzy moving through the kitchen like he actually knew what he was doing, pulling ingredients with the casual confidence of someone who cooked because he liked it, not because he had to.

“My dad’s recipe,” he said, without looking up from the roux he was building. “Chicken Alfredo Mac and Cheese. It is the only thing that guarantees a clean bowl.”

“High praise.”

“From a 22-month-old? It’s basically a Michelin star.”

Behind her, the living room had become a disaster in the best possible way.

Mira had apparently decided that the short nap had fully restored her and was now conducting a comprehensive tour of her belongings. She produced items from a fabric bin with the energy of a host unveiling auction lots — a yellow ball, a red ball, a ball that was technically a cube but that Mira called a ball anyway and Eunbi didn’t have the heart to correct, two small wooden figures, and then a vinyl Ultraman about four inches tall, paint worn at the edges from handling.

“Auraman,” Mira announced, holding him up.

“Auraman,” Eunbi confirmed seriously as she flexed her muscles. “Very strong?”

Mira nodded with her whole body.

Then came a collection of small wooden sticks that Eunbi turned over in her hands, genuinely puzzled. They were smooth, slightly tapered, and notched at one end. Some kind of puzzle pieces maybe, or parts of something she didn’t recognize. She tried fitting two together. Nothing happened.

Mira watched her struggle for a moment, then took them back with the patience of someone who had seen this before, and slotted four of them together into a shape that Eunbi still couldn’t identify but that clearly meant something to Mira, because she held it up with quiet pride.

“Okay,” Eunbi said. “You’re smarter than me.”

Mira seemed to find this reasonable.

They went through the rest of the bin. Eunbi named things when she knew them and asked questions when she didn’t, and Mira answered everything with a mix of actual words, sound effects, and gestures that Eunbi found she could follow more often than not. It had its own grammar. She just had to listen for it.

I could get used to this.

The thought arrived the same way the last one had — quietly, without asking permission, already halfway settled in before she noticed it.

We are going to have a very long conversation later, said the rest of her brain.

Sure, said that part. Later.

“Ready.” Ozzy set a bowl on the table and pulled off his apron. “I’m going to put Mira down and come back — please, help yourself. Don’t wait on my account.”

Eunbi got up and served herself a portion that she told herself was moderate and that was probably not. The first bite confirmed what the smell had promised.

She was halfway through when she heard Mira’s protests from down the hall, then the low register of Ozzy’s voice talking her down, then quiet. Five minutes later he reappeared, picked up the scattered toys with the automatic efficiency of someone who’d stopped seeing it as a task, and dropped into the chair across from her.

He looked at her bowl. She looked back at him, unashamed.

“Dad’s recipe,” she said. “he’s right.”

Something in his face relaxed.

He served himself and they ate in easy quiet for a moment before Eunbi set down her fork and looked at him properly.

“You do the whole single dad thing pretty well, you know.”

Ozzy shrugged, the way people did when they wanted to accept a compliment but couldn’t quite get there. “I try.” He turned his bowl slightly on the table — a thinking habit, maybe. “We were at the doctor's today. Mira got diagnosed with ADHD.”

Eunbi waited.

“They want to talk about medication options.” He said it evenly, but she could hear what was underneath it. “She’s 22 months old.”

“She’s 22 months old and she’s walking and holding full conversations.”

“Conversations are generous—”

“Ozzy, she gave me a twenty-minute briefing on every toy in that bin. She has opinions about Auraman.” Eunbi pointed toward the living room. “She told me which ball was fastest.”

He laughed at that — a real one, surprised out of him. “The yellow one, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Yeah.” The laugh faded into something softer. He was quiet for a moment. “She’s technically ahead on a lot of milestones. The ADHD diagnosis is early, the doctor said it might shift as she gets older, but they want to stay ahead of it. Which I understand. I do.” He pushed food around his bowl. “It’s just one more thing on a plate that already has too much on it.”

Eunbi watched him. That wasn’t the whole of it — she could tell. The spiral underneath had a different shape than a medical diagnosis.

“She needs to learn English and Spanish and Korean,” he continued. “So she can actually talk to both sets of grandparents. I have to figure out how to build that in early enough that it sticks. And then there’s the developmental stuff, and the appointments, and—”

“Ozzy.”

He stopped.

“What’s actually going on?”

He looked at her. She looked back, patient, not letting him redirect.

A beat. Then: “Mira’s maternal grandparents don’t think I’m a good fit.”

The air in the room changed slightly.

“They keep saying she needs a mother and a father.” He didn’t say it bitterly. That was almost worse — it had the sound of something he’d already processed down to something flat and factual. “They’re not wrong that she’s missing something. I know that. I just—” He stopped. “I don’t know what they want me to do about it.”

“Are they trying to contest the adoption?”

“They’re implying things. Nothing formal. Yet.”

Eunbi was quiet for a moment. Then, before she could catch herself: “Can I help?”

Ozzy blinked. The question had clearly not landed where he expected.

“With what?”

“I don’t know. Whatever needs helping with.”

He looked at her for a moment with an expression she couldn’t fully read — somewhere between grateful and careful — and then said, in a tone that was trying to be lighter than it was: “If you can find me a woman who’s okay with a single dad with a toddler, an ADHD diagnosis pending, a grandmother who will absolutely cook for her, and a stolen Ultraman figure—”

“Auraman.”

“—an Auraman figure, then sure.”

I am literally right here, heck I’ll marry you right now said the traitorous part of Eunbi’s brain, with remarkable calm.

“I’m sure we can come up with something,” she heard herself say.

He smiled at that. Tired, real, the kind that didn’t try to be more than it was.

Eunbi looked at him — the set of his shoulders, the way he was holding the bowl like he’d forgotten it was there — and got up from her chair.

He looked up, slightly startled, as she crossed around the table and put her arms around him from behind. It was a hug that said I see you more than anything else. She felt him go still for a second, like he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

Then some of the tension went out of him.

“You’ve got this,” she said. Resolute. No qualifiers. “You hear me, big guy? You’ve got this.”

He didn’t say anything. But his hand came up and briefly covered hers on his shoulder.

That was enough.

Eunbi’s apartment was quiet in the way that only registered after the noise. Geumbi excitedly scampered through the apartment.

She set her keys on the hook by the door and stood in the entryway for a moment, doing nothing. Through the wall, distantly, she thought she could hear something — or maybe she was imagining it. The building had decent insulation. She was probably imagining it.

She moved through the apartment on autopilot, filling a glass of water, setting it down without drinking it, drifting toward the window. The city outside was doing its usual thing. She wasn’t really looking at it.

She was thinking about the way Ozzy had looked at the dinner table.

Not sad, exactly. Something more specific than sad — the expression of someone who was genuinely trying to carry everything and had gotten good enough at it that most people wouldn’t notice the weight. She’d noticed. She wasn’t sure why she’d noticed, or why it had sat with her all the way through saying goodnight and walking twelve feet down the hall to her own front door, but here she was.

He looked cute, she thought, and then immediately made a face at herself. Very helpful, Eunbi. Very mature.

But he had. Objectively. There was something about a man who was clearly exhausted down to his bones and still got up and made his father’s Chicken Alfredo Mac and Cheese and picked up all the toys after — something that was difficult to be neutral about.

She stopped in front of the hallway mirror without meaning to.

Looked at herself. Looked back at herself.

“Could I actually help him?” she asked.

Her reflection didn’t have a useful answer. Her reflection just looked like a woman who had spent the evening on a stranger’s floor playing with wooden puzzle pieces and a small child named Mira, and who had somehow felt more at home doing it than she had in her own apartment in recent memory.

The traitorous part of her brain, which had been warming up all evening, chose this moment to go completely off-script.

Yes, it said, with a confidence that was frankly alarming. Look at you. “Mom” is basically stamped on your forehead. You have mommy written all over your body.

“Okay—”

Ozzy and you could handle three more kids, easy.

“What?”

Her reflection just looked back at her, unhelpfully.

She pressed her fingers to her temple. Three more. The number had arrived with such specificity that it was almost funny. Not two. Not one. Three more. Names, even — she could feel them forming at the edges of the thought as her brain had already done the paperwork. Doyun. Jisoo. August.

She tried to shake it off and her brain simply… showed her something instead.

It arrived the way good daydreams did, fully furnished and already in motion.

A house that was real in the way houses are real in dreams — solid walls, light coming through in the afternoon way, a yard that was somehow always the right temperature. Mira was at the table with cereal, but she was definitely not eating correctly. Jisoo in her school uniform, is opinionated about something. Doyun and August in the background, at that indeterminate sibling-chaos stage where it was impossible to tell if they were playing or fighting.

Eunbi is at the door.

Ozzy, coat on, lunch in hand — and pausing, because she’d said something, and he turned around and she kissed him like it was something she’d done every day of her adult life.

He walked out looking slightly more like a person than he had when he woke up.

She watched him from the doorway.

Eunbi blinked.

She was still in her hallway. The mirror was still there. She looked, if anything, worse than she had thirty seconds ago.

“You have lost your entire mind,” she told her reflection.

Her reflection appeared to be in a relationship with a man she had known for four hours and was raising five children in a house with good natural light.

“We just met him,” she said.

Her brain offered no rebuttal. It had made its case and was apparently comfortable resting on it.

Eunbi exhaled, turned away from the mirror, and went to go find something to do that wasn’t this. Her glass of water was still on the counter, untouched.

She drank it.

Through the wall, she thought she heard something that might have been a door closing, or might have been nothing at all.

She was smiling, a little, despite herself.

She spent the rest of the night playing and taking care of Geumbi.

When she yawned she decided to wind down for the day.

Eunbi couldn’t find sleep that night…she would just toss and turn waiting for someone or something to take her.

Eunbi lay in her bed alone the window open as she lay trying to find rest until she heard the door open she turned and their Ozzy was naked His cock standing at attention for her. Eunbi licked her lips as she said, “Are you gonna make me a mommy,”

Ozzy walked closer to Eunbi her body on fire as he did.

She opened her legs lewdly and said, “Please fuck me!”

Ozzy got into the bed with her and slid inside her.

“Fuck you’re so big,” she moaned as he barely could get in despite how slick she was. Her cream covered Ozzy’s cock as he slowly thrust in and out of Eunbi for the first time.

Eunbi wailed in delight. She grabbed her bloated bosom and presented it to Ozzy with perverse glee. “Can you imagine it? These filled with milk for our children” she moaned as Ozzy picked up the pace his thrust going deep inside her. She moaned as her walls clenched around the main.

“Claim me!” Eunbi moaned close. Ozzy kept thrusting into her as he did she repeated

“Make me a mommy. Make me a mommy,” until she came.

Eunbi’s eyes opened and she was in her bedroom naked Ozzymandias was nowhere to be found. She turned to her clock at 1:45 am. She groaned in an annoyed way. Her sheets were wet, and she got up to clean them.