kseul

Karina's eyes widened at the sight of an African refugees massive BBC. With a shaky hand she reached out to grab it, feeling the strong pulse throbbing against her palm. Her mouth fell open when she began to stroke, watching it flop in her hands a bit, realizing he wasn't even fully hard.

Karina gasped, drooling as she stroked with both hands. She felt the carpet against her knees, and the touch of his ebony thighs around her torso. She leaned forward, pressing her pursed lips to the head to give it a tender kiss.

Her tongue pressed forward, tasting her first black cock, inhaling the musk that filled her nose. Her right eye twitched and she felt the thoughts within her head melting into a a warm wave of bliss rolling down her spine.

Hawk tuah! Karina spit on that thang and covered it in a layer of glistening sheen that her hands stroked into the dark African meat. Her lips wrapped around the head, eagerly parting to let it slide across her wet tongue and into the back of her throat.

GLUCK! GLUCK! AAH! GLUCK! She started to blow him between loud gasps for air. She could only fit half into her mouth, stroking him desperately with both hands covered in her own spit. The bull groaned, placing both hands on her head to hold her in place, preventing her from lifting off of his BBC.

His hips thrusted upward, jamming his big black cock into the back of her throat with force. Karina let out a muffled scream, but the bull kept going, grunting as he used her throat like a fleshlight for his own pleasure.

Her hands slapped at his thighs and abs, begging him to stop, but only motivated him to keep going. "I'm here to fuck all the women!" he groaned, pushing Karina down on his cock until she was gagging violently, her eyes rolling back until they were nearly solid white.

He gave her cheek a slap, then released her and watched Karina gasp for air, her chest heaving as she sat back against the coffee table behind her. Her throat stung as she panted, wiping the spit from her chin that had soaked into her black REFUGEES WELCOME shirt with a black fist in the middle of the Korean flag.

The bull stood up and grabbed her hair in his hand, motioning for her to follow him. "No!" he said when she tried to stand up, "I'll walk you like the slut you are."

Karina crawled on all fours beside him, following with her heavy tits sagging down against the fabric of her shirt. Her pale, naked ass in the air swayed side-to-side as he led her across the room, passing by other bulls who were hammering black cock into screaming Korean women.

The sliding door of the patio opened and Karina felt the hard concrete against her palms and knees as he led her to a beach chair and pointed for her to get on it. Karina climbed up and felt his hands on her waist, flipping her onto her back.

"Let me have those big ass titties," he said, pushing the shirt up to reveal her braless, pale, fat tits. He slapped his wet BBC between them and Karina moaned deeply, feeling the power and heft of his black cock as it thumped against her soft skin.

"Mmm, fuck my big Korean tits!" Karina blurted out, lifting her hands to the sides of her chest to press them together around the ebony pole between them.

Karina watched a pair of hands coil around the bulls sides, and then the face of Giselle smiling down at her. "That's it, fuck those big tits," Giselle said to him in a soft, encouraging voice. "They're what you came here for, aren't they? Big asian tits and tight little Korean pussies to breed."

The bull groaned, his hips thrusting back and forth between Karina's fleshy melons engulfing his dark cock. She felt the head poking at her neck with every thrust, peeking out from under the top of her shirt and occasionally trying to slip under her choker necklace.

Karina's head spun with lust, her toes curling the moment that Giselle lowered her face to her pussy to start licking it. Karina let out a long, low moan of satisfaction, closing her eyes and arching her back.

Giselle shoved a couple fingers in without warning, working them back and forth inside Karina, her thumb working circles on her sensitive clit to drive her mad. Karina breathed deeply in sharp breaths, her thighs beginning to shake, chest turning red.

The bull reached down with both hands and wrapped them around her neck, his thumbs pressing the head of his black cock against her throat as he fucked her busty chest. Karina's eyes rolled, but the grip on her squishy boobs never relaxed, and she kept them pressed hard around the BBC pumping between them.

Karina let out a moan, kicking her foot as Giselle shoved her tongue into her cunt, drilling into it with her fingers and nuzzling her nose right up against the clit. It was too much for Karina, her head was swimming, and she felt like she would pass out from the pleasure.

The bull pressed down harder and Karina felt his weight on her throat, choking her until her cheeks turned a rosy red hue. She wanted to grab at his wrists, but she kept her hands around her tits, refusing to let go until he told her to.

The bull groaned as his BBC slipped under the choker, pinning his head in place as he began to spurt a series of hot ropes across Karina's chin and neck. She felt the pulsing his shaft, the flowing hot ropes of cum shooting up her chin before running down her neck and into her dark hair.

He gave her a few more pumps, then pulled his BBC back and slapped it wetly against each breast before leaving her and Giselle. "I'm gonna..." Karina panted, pinching her nipples and twisting them, pulling her sagging breasts upward with a scream.

Karina began to squirt all over Giselle's face, coating her lips and tongue, and Giselle ate it up hungrily while continuing to lick and finger until Karina fell limp with rolling eyes.

Giselle crawled up Karina's body, hovering over her with cum dripping from her lips and chin, glistening brightly. She lowered her head to lick the cum from Karina's neck, lapping it up and ending with a soft bite into her flesh.

She dragged her tongue along Karina's throat, up her chin, and then to her lips, sliding into her mouth to deposit the bull's load. Karina's eyes rolled in circles, she moaned deeply, a hand reaching up to pull Giselle in deeper.

They swapped the load back and forth with sloppy open-mouthed kisses, their tongues twisting together, pushing against each other, lips meeting until the cum had all been swallowed.

Giselle pulled back and caressed Karina's cheek, looking deep into her eyes. They kissed one last time, and Giselle grabbed a handful of Karina's left tit to squeeze as she did so.

The night was still young and the black breeding party had just started, there were more men inside waiting for their welcome to Korea, and the two of them were more than happy to give it to them.

As you hear the footsteps go from one stall to another you freeze, hand hovering over the coil of the XLR cable your boss told you to grab from the makeshift equipment room. It just so happens the room is pulling double duty as the members' prep area.

Who's stupid fucking idea was this?

The muffled bickering continued to come from the changing stall on the other side of the room.

You knew it was just Chaewon and Kazuha left to argue in there since you saw Yunjin, Sakura, and Eunchae already on set for the shoot ten minutes ago. From what you were hearing it was probably going to be a while before the other two joined them.

"Turn around, let me see the tag. Yeah, see? Backwards. You’re fucking hopeless."

"Shut up. Just help me get them off. Or on. Whatever. Fuck. Just fix it before my circulation gets cut off permanently."

Shhh-wip. They were definitely coming off.

Just focus on your job, that's all you should do. You pretend to untangle the cable in your hands to keep your mind occupied while the sounds from the stall become more and more distracting.

"They're soooo tight. I feel like I'm being vacuum sealed. Is this supposed to happen? Does Lululemon hate me?"

"It’s compression wear, unnie. It’s supposed to be tight," Kazuha teases. "They're just letting it sit on your hips like a pair of low rise pants. Are you going for a Y2K vibe or something? You have to pull them up more."

"Excuse me? I've been trying to pull them up! They won't move. It's stuck right here...uhn...on my thighs."

"Let me do it. You’re weak."

"Hey! I am not weak, I’m just...ah! Okay, watch your nails!"

"Stop wiggling, you’re making it worse. Just let me get the these up... there. See?"

"Oh my god, that feels so much better."

"Good. Now check the seam. Is it straight down the middle?"

"Middle of what?"

"Your butt, Chaewon. The seam. It needs to be centered or it'll look weird on camera."

Silence stretches for a moment, followed by the sound of more shuffling.

You swallow hard, staring at the wire in your hands as if it holds the secrets to the universe.

You are a professional.

You are part of the production staff.

You are here to move cables and set up lights, that's all.

Nothing else.

You are definitely not here to eavesdrop on two of the biggest celebs in the country discussing their butt seams.

"I don't know, it feels... crooked. Like, one side is riding up more than the other. Can you see it?"

"I'm looking. Turn towards the light so I can get a better look at it."

"The light? How's the light going to help? It's been flickering all day Kazuha."

"Just turn. Okay? Wait, I see what you mean. They are bunching up right here." A loud slap echoes through the stall, the sound of skin hitting skin. You jump, nearly dropping the cable. Is that what you think it was? "Right on your ass." Yeah, it was.

"It's bunching up?" Chaewon sounds horrified. "Why is it doing that? I thought these were expensive!"

"They are expensive. That’s why they fit like a glove and you just have to learn how to wear them. Hold still. Let me try to smooth it out."

"Ow... don't pull so hard!"

"I’m trying to fix it. Just chill the fuck out. I think it'll smooth out if I pull them up higher."

"Higher? They can't go any higher, if they get pulled up anymore, I’m going to get split the fuck in half."

You stare at the closed curtain that's serving as the door. The pop-up stall is just a metallic frame wrapped in grey velvet that doesn’t reach the floor letting you see two sets of feet shuffling around beneath the gap. Not like you're looking or anything.

You should leave.

Grab the cables and walk out the door. Just go back to the set, let them figure out what's going on with those leggings in peace. Unfortunately, or fortunately, your feet feel like they’ve been cemented to the floor.

"It's still not right, ughhhhh. There's no way I can go out there like this. The camera is going to pick up every little wrinkle and I'm going to get so much shit for it. I can already see the tweets."

"It’s not that bad, but you’re right. It’s being a little... problematic. I think we need a second opinion. Or a third set of hands."

"A third set of hands? Who's? Eunchae is gone. Yunjin is probably out there yapping to the director. Sakura is probably back to playing her Switch."

"There’s staff outside, right? I heard footsteps earlier."

You hold your breath. She heard footsteps earlier, YOUR footsteps.

"No, absolutely the fuck not," Chaewon balks immediately. "I am not asking some random fucking staff member to come inspect my butt. That’s embarrassing. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen."

"It’s just clothes! Nothing more. We need the fit to look perfect. Director-nim is going to have a cow if we show up late to the shoot because you're self conscious about a seam." Kazuha gets louder. "HEY! Staff member! Can you come help us for a sec?"

"Kazuha, no!" Chaewon hisses.

Too late. The call has been made. You stand there, paralyzed, wondering if feigning sudden deafness is a viable career strategy. The velvet curtain parts a fraction, and Kazuha’s face peeks out. She spots you instantly, standing near the equipment rack like a statue in a museum.

Maybe she won't notice if you don't.... move.... a.... muscle.

"Oh, good," she says, a relieved smile breaking across her face as she waves you over. "You! Please, come over here. We have a code red, a fashion emergency."

You quickly glance at the exit, it’s twenty feet away. You could probably make it. If that's what you want to do.

"Please," Kazuha now pouting. "Chaewon is panicking and I’m losing my mind. We just need a quick check on the fit."

You're just helping them out, that's what you're boss would want you to do right?

Nodding slowly, you force your legs to move toward the stall. "I... I can help? What do you need?"

Grabbing your wrist the moment you're within range Kazuha pulls you into the stall. It’s cramped with a full length mirror, a small bench, and now there's three people fit into a space meant for one. It's so much hotter in here.

Chaewon's standing with her back to the mirror, looking over her shoulder with a face full of panic. Her outfit is... well, it’s hot... you mean a lot. She’s wearing a long-sleeved black bodysuit that hugs her torso like it's painted on, disappearing into the waistband of the black leggings you've been hearing so much about. Wonder where that goes. The leggings are indeed tight, very tight, sculpting her legs in a way that should probably be illegal. She looks incredible, but she also looks like she’s about to fight a ghost.

"Tell me I'm not crazy," Chaewon says the moment the curtain slides shut behind you, trapping you inside. "Look at this. Do you see that? Right there on the left cheek?"

Turning slightly she points to the back of her thigh.

Your brain short circuits and you have to force your jaw not to drop from the situation you find yourself in.

You are in a small, enclosed space with two insanely attractive women, and one of them is asking you to inspect her ass. HER ASS.

Just be cool, just be cool. You got this.

"It’s... bunching up," Kazuha explains off to the side, crossing her arms. She’s wearing black Lululemon shorts and a simple white tank top, looking effortlessly cool compared to Chaewon who is currently losing her mind. "The seam isn't sitting right either. We've tried pulling them up, smoothing them out, everything. But it keeps bunching up."

Clearing your throat you hope your voice doesn't crack. "It... uh... it looks like the sizing might be a little off?" It cracks. Fuck. "Or maybe the cut?"

Chaewon groans, dropping her head forward. "I knew it. I knew I shouldn't have had that extra water this morning. I'm bloated. I'm a potato."

"You're not a potato," Kazuha rolls her eyes, stepping forward. Looking at you, dead serious. "Can you just... check? Tell us if it's noticeable from a normal distance. Like, if you were standing behind me in line at a cafe, would you point and laugh?"

"I wouldn't point and laugh," you stammer, feeling your face heat up. "I'm not a monster."

"Good to know," Chaewon mutters, though she shoots you a small, suprisingly genuine? smile over her shoulder. "Just be honest. If it looks bad, tell me. I'll change. I'll wear something else, fuck it I'll wear sweatpants. I don't care."

"Okay," you manage to say. "I'll... take a look."

You step closer. Did the A/C break or something, it's so hot. Chaewon turns to face the mirror, her back to you. The seam in question runs vertically down the center of her ass.

What...

An...

Ass...

Sure enough, you see the problem, they are definitely bunching up on her left cheek and the seam is all sorts of fucked up.

"See?" Chaewon asks, now whispering. "It's tragic."

"It's barely noticeable," you lie, leaning in slightly to inspect it without actually touching. "It's just... what happens with this kind of fabric." What are you saying, you don't know anything about fabric. "Maybe if you move the waistband a bit?"

"We tried that," Kazuha chimes in, moving to stand on Chaewon's other side, looking at your reflection in the mirror with a playful smirk on her face. "You're being very polite. Just be honest. It's okay to say it looks weird. We’re all friends in here. Well, maybe acquaintances is the better word. Acquaintances who are trapped in a box together."

Just act like you know what you're talking about.

"I think it just needs to be smoothed out," you suggest, gesturing vaguely at the offending area acting like you have any sort of idea of what you're saying. "We should adjust the waistband first to get the seam lined up and then to get that bunched up part smooth we should pull the fabric around it to get rid of it. Then from there work our way up and smooth out anything else while making sure that seam is lined up right." There's no way that word vomit made any sense.

Kazuha nods. "That makes sense." HUH?

Looking at Chaewon, she says, "Just let him... err... let us try. You’ve been pulling at it for five minutes and it’s only getting worse. A fresh pair of hands might help."

Chaewon hesitates, her eyes meeting yours in the mirror. Despite you knowing her, knowing?, as someone who seems super confident all the time, you can see how nervous she is now. "Okay," she breathes out. "Deal, but be easy on me, I’m a delicate."

"Right, I'll be gentle. Got it."

Kazuha snorts. "Don't worry, she usually likes it rough... OWWW! What the fuck Chaewon?"

Chaewon elbows her in the ribs, hard. "Ignore her. She's crazy. Just... fix it."

You step in closer, invading her personal space getting so close close that you can see the hard work she's put into her body thanks to the skintight bodysuit. So close that you can now smell the hint of her perfume.

Just be cool.

Reaching out, your hands hover for a split second before making contact with the fabric.

It’s warm. That’s the first thing that you notice as you place your hands on her hips, your fingers splaying out over the waistband. Chaewon tenses up instantly as she tries to hide a gasp.

"Sorry... cold hands."

"It's... fine... just... do your thing."

Gripping the waistband, you try to ignore the fact that you are essentially holding her hips. WHAT? "Ready?"

"As ready as ever."

As you twist the waistband, the seam falls into place, it actually works.

"First part done." Continue to act cool, you got this.

As you line up where to pull to get rid of the bunching you sense Kazuha watching you like a hawk from the side. Don't fuck up, don't fuck up, don't fuck up.

"Make sure you pull it tight," Kazuha instructs. "Like, really tight."

You pinch fabric right in the area right below where her thigh meets her cheek making Chaewon shiver.

"You good...?" you ask, pausing.

"Yeah," she squeaks. "Just... go ahead."

As you pull the fabric down it stretches easily, sliding over her skin as the bunching goes away. Now for the last part.

"Okay, now you just have to make sure everything is smoothed out," Kazuha commands. " Work your way up and do it slowly to make sure that seam doesn't budge."

You start to slide your hands back up using your palms to smooth the fabric against her skin as you go, making sure it lays flat. Your hands graze over the swell of her ass, her ass is ridiculous. Hyper aware of every inch of contact, the friction of your skin against hers even though a thin layer of spandex is in the way gives you goosebumps.

"Is that... is that better?" Chaewon asks, barely whispering.

"ALMOST," you say way too loudly. "There's still a little bit of a twist right here."

Your hands are currently cupping her ass, your fingers digging in slightly to adjust the seam, you're basically manhandling her as you try to iron out the wrinkles in her leggings with your bare hands. Is this actually happening, like what the fuck?

"Here," Kazuha says as she steps up behind you. Reaching out, covers your hand with hers on Chaewon’s left cheek. "Push it like this. You have to really get in there to make sure it stays flat."

She presses your hand harder into Chaewon’s flesh. "Unnf!" Was that a moan? Chaewon clamps her mouth shut, her eyes squeezing shut in the mirror.

"Kazuha!" she chokes out. "Too hard!"

"That's how you do it though!" Kazuha laughs, squeezing your hand before letting go. "Feel the difference?"

Right.

Adjusting your grip, your thumbs press into the crease beneath her cheek. You can feel the heat radiating off her, and you’re pretty sure your face is bright red.

"Like this?"

"Mmm," Chaewon hums as her head drops forward. "Yeah. That feels... that feels good... I mean right. Yeah... right."

"Don't encourage him," Kazuha teases, leaning in closer to inspect your work. "Okay, looking better. Just keep... smoothing it out. Up and down. Work it out."

You do as you're told for what felt like an eternity as tried to smooth things out as best as you could. Am I just giving her a massage at this point? Chaewon made it seem that way with how flustered her reflection looked and how her breathing started to get more and more shallow. Then, out of nowhere, she shook it off.

"You know I think I'm... it's good, actually," Chaewon mutters, though her weight shifts slightly into your palms. "Problem solved."

"Nice work," Kazuha chirps, stepping back to cross her arms. "See? Teamwork makes the dream work. Now we just need to..."

Before she can finish the thought, her hands shoot out, wrapping around your wrists.

"Wait, we missed a spot. On the waistband."

"On the waistband?"

"Yeah, see right here," she explains, guiding your hands higher, forcing them up the curve of Chaewon's backside until your fingers are gripping the waistband again. "It's bunching up here now. We need to fix it."

"Kazuha, what are you..." Chaewon starts, but it's too late.

Kazuha suddenly yanks your hands downward, pulling the waistband down Chaewon's hips and dragging it all the way down to her thighs in one go.

"OHMYGOD!" Chaewon yelps, instinctively arching her back to stabilize herself.

OHMYGOD. There, just out in the open, is Chaewon's ass, completely bare save for the thong back of her black bodysuit disappearing between her cheeks, leaving absolutely nothing to your imagination. You can see that her skin is so smooth, her ass round, so fucking round...

and firm...

and tight, you mean right...

right in front of your growing fucking bulge.

"My bad," Kazuha shrugs, not sounding sorry at all. She releases your wrists but leaving your hands hovering there, almost cupping Chaewon's cheeks. "Slippery little devils, aren't they?"

"You did that on purpose!" Chaewon accuses, twisting around to glare at her groupmate. The movement jiggles her entire body in a way that makes your throat close.

"I was just helping," Kazuha defends with a wicked grin. "Besides, look at how smooth that area is now. Flawless."

You are frozen.

Look away, apologize, maybe if you literally pass out you can escape this. Your eyes are glued to the sight in front of you. It’s magnificent, might be... no... is the greatest thing you've ever seen. It’s also career suicide.

"Are you just going to stare?" Chaewon asks breathless and flustered. "You can... help pull them back up. Or something."

"Right," you choke out. "Yeah. Pulling. Them. Up."

Reaching for the waistband pooling around her thighs your knuckles graze the bare skin of her ass. You hook your fingers into the waistband, preparing to hoist it back up, but the angle is awkward, you’re too close to her.

"Use both hands," Kazuha says, moving to stand behind you now, crowding your back, her chest pressing against your shoulder blades. "Get a good grip. You have to really yank it."

"I'm trying."

Shifting your stance, you lean forward, bringing your hands down to the waistband at her thighs. As you squat a little to get better leverage, your right hand slips and your palm definitely doesn't find the spandex. Instead, it slides right up the middle, grazing the thong.

HER THONG.

It’s not just warm.

It’s wet.

You freeze. As your eyes snap up to Chaewon's reflection in the mirror her face is now bright red.

She saw you feel it.

She knows you felt it.

"Fuck," you whisper, snatching your hand back like you touched a stove. "Sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"It's fine," Chaewon says quickly, too quickly. She clears her throat, turning her face away from yours. "Just... hurry up and fix it, okay?"

"Wow," Kazuha breathes against your ear, having not moved away at all. If anything, she's pressed even closer. "That's... interesting. You having some technical difficulties there, Chaewon-unnie? Or are you just enjoying the help?"

"Shut the fuck up, Kazuha," Chaewon snaps, but there's no real heat in it. Just panic. "It's just... nerves. The... shoot. You know how I get... right?"

"Nerves?" Kazuha laughs. "I don't think nerves get you wet like that, unnie. That's a whole different kind of feeling you're having."

"Look..." Chaewon says looking at you in the mirror, her eyes pleading. "Can you just... can you not say anything about any of this? Please?"

"I won't," you promise, your heart hammering against your ribs. "I swear. My lips are sealed."

"That's not the only thing you want from him, is it?" Kazuha teases. She reaches around you, her hand finding your wrist again. She guides your hand back toward Chaewon, not toward the leggings this time, but higher, toward the damp fabric of the bodysuit. "If it's bothering you... we should fix it. Right? He's been a good help so far."

"What are you doing?" Chaewon gasps, watching the reflection. She doesn't move away, she instead actually pushes her hips back, into your touch.

"I'm just helping a friend out," Kazuha says looking at you in the mirror. "Filming a video while she's like this? This wet? That wouldn't work. Help a girl out."

"Help her how?" you ask, barely audible. You know exactly what she's suggesting you do. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?

"Use your mouth," Kazuha whispers, pressing her hips against your ass. "She wants it. Look at her. She's practically begging for it."

"Uhhnnn," Chaewon lets out. She drops her head forward, resting her forehead against the cool surface of the mirror. "God, yes. Okay? Fine. Fuck. Yes. Please. Just... fix it."

Fuck it. Operating purely on instinct now, every rule you've ever learned about workplace conduct has just been tossed out the window into the alleyway behind the studio. You sink to your knees behind her. The view is even more incredible as this angle, her ass with that tiny, wet scrap of black fabric barely hanging on now fully in your face.

"You're sure?" you ask, needing to hear it one last time. No way this is real.

"Do it before I change my mind," Chaewon hisses.

You lean in and the smell of her heat hits you. Fuck... this is real. Fuck formalities. Fuck teasing. You press your face right against her, your tongue flat against her soaked thong.

"FUCK!" Chaewon cries out, her knees buckling bracing her hands against the mirror to not fall.

You lick a long stripe up the center of the fabric, tasting her through it. This is crazy. You want to slide the thong to the side so bad, but it's so hard to pull your mouth away for just a second. Latched onto her, you suck hard, feeling the heat and wetness against your lips.

"Oh my god," Kazuha says from above you, delighted. "Look at that. He's starving, good boy."

Ignoring her, your focus is entirely on Chaewon and her moaning. You can feel her clenching, desperate for more.

"Slide the thong over alreadyyy," Chaewon whines, reaching back blindly. Her fingers scrabble against your hair, then dip lower to the latch between her legs. "Take it off. Do something, just get rid of it. I need... I need your tongue on me."

You take your mouth off, as much as you don't want to. There's a soft click as you unsnap the part covering her core. The thong part of the bodysuit falls away. You don't waste a second and right back dive in, burying your face in her bare folds.

The way she tastes as you lap at her folds, it's insane. You then swirl your tongue around her clit before sucking it. She's sooo wet, so ready, that you feel it on your face already.

"Ahhhh! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Chaewon's hips buck back against your face. "Yessss! Right fucking there! Don't you dare stop!"

Following exactly what she says, you don't stop, you want to make her fall apart. Your nose presses against her other hole, adding a dirty pressure that makes her gasp, while your tongue fucks her entrance in rapid, shallow thrusts.

"You're making quite the mess," Kazuha observes as you hear her start to move. "Look at him go. He's not even coming up for air."

You try to glance up, your vision filled with the curve of Chaewon's ass. Kazuha is leaning back against the bench, her own Lululemon shorts now pulled down to her knees revealing a white Calvin Klein thong. Her hand is deep down the front of it, moving in slow, deliberate circles.

"Are you seeing this Zuha?" Chaewon pants, her eyes opening to meet her friend's gaze in the mirror. "Are you seeing how fucking good he is at this?"

"Yesss... fuck... it looks... it looks like it feels fucking amazing. He's really into it, it has to feel sooooo good."

"He's soooo...," Chaewon whines, dropping her head again. "It feels so good. I'm not... I'm not going to last long if he keeps this up."

"Don't hold back," Kazuha fingers move faster. "Let him fucking have it. Cover his face."

The dirty talk is spiraling out of control, pushing all of you toward the edge. You double down, sucking on Chaewon's clit with hard, rhythmic pulses. Moving your head down a bit to slip two fingers inside of her, fuck that's tight, you hook them to find that spot that drives women crazy.

"Oh fuckkkkk! Fingers too?" Chaewon screams. "I'm gonna... I'm cumming! Fuck! I'm fucking cumming!"

Her entire body tenses as her back arches and thighs shake. The walls clamp down squeezing so tight around your fingers. She cums as she lets out a long broken moan. You help her ride it out, tongue still deep in her folds until she pulls away gasping for air.

"Hollllllyyyy fuck," Chaewon slides down the mirror until she's crouching on the floor. "That was... that was insane, what the actual fuck? Was not expecting you to be THAT good."

Kazuha pulls her fingers out from her thong, you see how wet they are as moves to stand right in front of you.

You look up at her cleaning your face of Chaewon's juices with your heart still racing.

"I need some help with something too."

Kazuha hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her thong to slide it down her legs before kicking it aside. What a sight. "Stand up... now."

You do.

Kazuha grabs you by the shoulders and pushes you towards the front of the bench. Guess you won't be catching your breath. She then lifts her leg and puts her foot on the bench beside you.

"I now have the same exact problem, think you can fix it like you fixed hers?"

So you do just that, first leaning forward to kiss her lips and then slowly you make your way down her neck before you sit on the ground in front of the bench. Her folds are right in front of you now and she’s just as beautiful as Chaewon. What is your life?

You start licking her, wanting to cover every inch. Kazuha is vocal immediately, her hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer. Your hands grab her ass to help her maintain her balance.

"Just... like... that," she groans, her head falling back. "Your mouth is... fuck. You're so fucking good at this."

While you're deep in her folds, you hear the distinct sound of a belt unbuckling.

Your belt.

"Look at this," Chaewon murmurs as her face is now near your waist. "Seems like someone's been soooo hard this whole time."

She unzips your pants and yanks them down your legs along with your briefs, freeing your length. It slaps against your stomach. Fuck. Your hips jerk forward and let out a small moan.

"Oh... he's big," Chaewon wraps her hand around the base giving you an test squeeze. "And thick."

"Don't distract him," Kazuha pants, looking down at you. "I'm close."

You redouble your efforts on Kazuha, flicking your tongue rapidly over her clit while slipping a finger inside her the same way you made Chaewon cum. She’s tighter than Chaewon, her muscles grip you like a vice. She grinds her hips against your face, trying to reach the edge.

Then you suddenly have to stop because you feel something so amazing that you feel your soul almost leave your body.

A wet warmth envelops the tip of your length.

You look down just as Chaewon takes you deeper into her mouth as she’s on her hands and knees with her ass in the air. Watching her, she bobs her head up and down your shaft, she takes you so deep. Every time she goes down you feel her throat relax to fit you in and every time she comes up her tongue swirls around your head while you can feel the pool of saliva slowly form around your base.

"Fuuucckkk," you moan against Kazuha's core.

The sensation is overwhelming as you eat out one gorgeous idol while getting the blowjob of your life from another.

"Does her... does her mouth feel good?" Kazuha asks, watching Chaewon work. "Looks like she really... fuck... she really knows what she's doing, she's always told me she's reallllll good at that, no gag reflex at all."

You nod as the words don't, can't, come to mind, as you switch to sucking on Kazuha's clit, grazing it gently with your teeth.

"Ohhhhh! Yesss!" Kazuha cries out. "Keep... keep doing that! Please. Fuck. Fuck, I'm going to cum!"

You keep up the same rhythm, your finger pumping in and out of her as you continue to suck on her clit. Down below, Chaewon's hand is now twisting and sliding up and down your length faster and faster in unison with her mouth. She moans to add even more to what you think is the best thing you've ever felt. Do not cum, you don't want this to end, ever.

"I'm fuck... I think I'm cu... I'm so close," Kazuha's thighs begin to tremble on either side of your head. "Please... please please don't stop doing that, I need this so bad!"

With a final cry Kazuha cums and her juices flood your mouth as you keep her upright through it, still gripping her ass. Never plan on letting go of this amazing ass. Holding your head in place she grinds against you until she's spent.

"Fuckkkkk," she releases her grip on your hair and slumps back against the bench, looking down at you cum drunk. "That was... so fucking good."

You finally let go of her folds. Breathe. You haven't been able to for a while. Gasping for air, your face is slick with a combo of both of their juices. Chaewon is still working your length with all of the enthusiasm. Fuck, you might die right here, right now. She looks up at you and pops you out of her mouth.

"We're not finished yet," pumping your saliva coated shaft with her hand.

She leans forward and runs her tongue up the underside of your shaft to the head and swirls it, without breaking eye contact.

"Are you close? I want... no... need you to cum in my mouth. I want to taste you so bad. Do you think you can do that for me?"

"I don't think so," Kazuha clamps her hand down on Chaewon’s shoulder to pull her back. "Not yet. He not getting off that easy."

Chaewon blinks. "What? That's not fair... ughhhhhhh," actually pouting as she’s dragged away from your lap. "But he's so ready. Look at him."

"Exactly. If he cums now, the fun is over. We can't have that, I don't know about you but I still want to have some fun."

Yep. You're going to die here.

Your length throbs in the open air twitching at the sheer unfairness of the situation. Just beg for mercy, that might work. Kazuha points a finger at the bench.

"Sit."

Fine, if this is your final resting place, so bet it.

The awkwardness in how you scramble and fumble towards the bench with your pants now around your ankles will go down as the most thing to ever happen.

Maybe they didn't see it.

"Good boy," Kazuha says before turning towards Chaewon. "Go on, hop on."

Definitely don't need to tell Chaewon twice. The leggings immediately come the rest of the way off. If only they were that easy to put on. She comes over to the bench and puts her knees on either side of you with her core directly above you tip.

"God, I want you to feel how wet I still am because of you." She reaches down and grips your shaft to line you up with her entrance, your tip now grinding against her slick entrance. God she's still dripping wet. "You feel that? I think I'm ready, hope you are."

"Go on Chaewon, ride him already," Kazuha urges, standing right beside you two, arms crossed over her chest. "Show him how the leader handles it."

"Oh I will." Chaewon sinks down.

She’s tight...

incredibly tight...

but so wet.

You slide in with one smooth, glide.

HOLY FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?

Her walls stretch around you to fit all of you in.

You let out a groan like you never have before.

"Fuckkkkk," Breathe. "You're... just... fuck."

"What? Am I... am I too tight?" Chaewon pitchy and breathless. She starts to move, she lifts her hips up and the drops them down. "You feel so huge inside me."

"Good fucking lord, you feel unreal," you manage to gasp out.

The rhythm set by Chaewon is nothing short of desperate. She braces her hands on your shoulders for, you feel her nails dig in. Her ass slaps against your thighs with every downward thrust. The sound of it. The fucking sound of it.

Plap.

Plap.

Plap.

Your mind processes it in slow motion as you just try to survive.

"Look at that," Kazuha watched intently. She reaches out to poke Chaewon’s bouncing ass cheek. "You're really taking it all. Look at how much he's stretching you out."

"Zuha, don't you dare fucking distract me," Chaewon grinds down harder, making your eyes roll back.

"Distract you? I'm giving you a compliment." Kazuha leans in closer to your face locking into your eyes. "Does she feel good? Is her tight little pussy gripping you tight?"

"Fuck," you choke out, nodding. "So... so so good. Best I've ever felt."

"That's fucking right I am," Chaewon pants. She mashes her chest against yours, seeking out your mouth. You kiss her, messy and wet, tongues tangling as she continues to bounce on your lap.

You can feel the pressure building in your core. Don't know how much longer... so close.

"Fuck... slow down before I cum, I can't take much longer of you going this fast."

"No, that's not allowed, not yet." Chaewon squeezes her internal muscles deliberately.

Your hips buck up involuntarily in response.

"Just hold it a little longer, I'm so close, let me cum first."

"She's sooo demanding today," Kazuha laughs. "Better give the leader what she wants. Grab her hips, help her out."

You slide your hands down her back to grip her waist. Sliding yourself a little off the bench and using your elbows for leverage to thrust up into before she drops all the way down. Yeah this is the spot.

"Ohhhhh myyyyy...! Fuck! That's it... you're so fucking big... fuck!"

The sight of her is something else.

Her flushed face.

Her hair sticking to her forehead.

The way her bodysuit clings to her frame.

"I'm sooooo close... fuck! You ready for me to cum all over your cock! Fuck!"

She slams down onto you one last time. Her entire body seizes up. Her walls pulse around you while she buries her face in your neck to quiet her screams, her breath hot against your skin.

"That's a good fucking girl," Kazuha soothingly pats Chaewon’s back. "There's no way no one else heard how loud you were at all."

"Please just shut up for one sec Kazuha," Chaewon mumbles into your shoulder, still going through the aftershocks. She then looks at you, "Wow. Just wow."

She lifts herself off you slowly, your length sliding out of her with a wet schlick. A string of precum connects you for a moment before breaking. You’re still rock hard, needing to cum, but you know how this is going to go.

"You know what I'm going to say" Kazuha shoves Chaewon gently to the side.

Kazuha turns around shoving that fit ass in your face.

"I want you to watch my ass while I ride you."

She squats all the way down your length to the base.

God how is it this tight. HOW?

"Fuck me, you're so thick."

Kazuha leans back to put her head on your shoulder. She then starts to bounce up and down.

You reach around her body to grab onto her perky breasts. Her nipples are so hard. You pinch them, and she lets out a sharp hiss.

"Harder, I need you to pinch them harder."

You obey and pinch them as hard as you can while she continues to ride.

Watching her ass cheeks ripple every time they hit your thighs is going to be engrained in your mind. She’s incredible.

"Look at us. Two idols, using a staff member like a fucking toy in a changing stall. It's so hot, isn't it?"

"Soooooo... fucking.... hot."

Just thing about baseball or sitting in traffic or LITERALLY ANTYHING.

"Chaewon-unnie, look. Look how much he's stretching me out. It feels so good."

Chaewon lifts her head from her hands, still cum drunk. "It does. He's hitting that same spot he did with me, isn't he?"

"He is. He's fills me up so fucking good. But I need more. I want it harder."

She grabs onto your knees and slams herself down even harder.

PLAP.

PLAP.

PLAP.

In the mirror you see her start to quickly rub her clit.

"Fuck fuck fuck. Yes yes yes yes. Yes!"

You thrust up into her, matching her pace. Every muscle in your body is tense as you try not to cum.

"Come on Zuha," Chaewon encourages, reaching out to stroke Kazuha’s hair. "Cum for him. Soak his cock."

A final, sharp cry then Kazuha gets over that edge. Her back arches against your chest as her orgasm rips through her. She cries out and her walls clamp down.

You freeze, holding your breath.

Not yet, whatever you do, do not cum yet. Don't let this end.

Kazuha slumps against you to catch her breath. It doesn't take that long before she pulls herself off you. Your cock plops out so wet with her. She stands up on shaky legs.

"Fuck, that felt great. How the fuck did you not cum?"

Sweat drips down your forehead. "I'm fucking dying here. I didn't want this to end."

You look at Chaewon, she still has that post orgasm glow. You remember the position she was in when you first entered the stall.

"Get over here." The authority in your tone surprises even you.

Chaewon’s eyes widen. She knows exactly what you want.

"Bend over. Just like you were when I was fixing your leggings."

She bends and sticks her ass out.

"Like this?" she looks back with a smirk.

"Fuckkkkk yes," you growl.

You stand up, finally shoving your pants all the way off. Thankfully not as awkward as before. Linking yourself up behind her, you grip her hips.

"You going to fucking fill me up?" she teases as she wiggles her ass.

"You better believe it."

You push inside.

God it feels so much deeper this way. You bottom out almost immediately, your hips pressing against her ass. Chaewon lets out a loud moan.

You don't wait.

You can't afford to.

You start to thrust, hard and fast.

You take her exactly the way you wanted to since the moment you heard her struggling with those stupid spandex pants.

"Yessssss! Fuck me! Use me!"

The sound of your hips slamming against her ass is so loud. Probably too loud. The stall is shaking with the force of your thrusts.

"Fuck that's hot," Kazuha says from the bench. "Stretch her out. Make her beg for more."

"He's stretching me out so fucking much! It's so deep!"

You reached out, gathering her hair in your fist and pull her head back.

"You like that? You like taking my big thick cock?"

"I love it! I love your fucking cock! It's so thick! It's stretching this tight pussy out so fucking much!" The filth pouring out of her mouth is so dirty, desperate, and it drives you wild.

This is it, you can't last any longer.

"Cum inside me... fuck! Please please please! I want it! I need you to fucking fill this pussy up!"

"Beg for it," Kazuha chimes in. "Beg him."

"PLEASE! Please cum in me! I'm a dirty little slut! My pussy needs your cum! Paint my insides! Own this pussy! It's yours!"

That’s it. That’s the trigger.

"FUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKKK!!!"

You slam your hips against her ass one last time, trying to go as deep as possible. You vision starts to go and your body locks up.

FUCK.

You cum harder than you ever have in your life. It feels like it lasts forever as you flood her with cum. She's squeezing so tight around you, milking you dry.

"Yes! Yes! I can feel it! It... it feels... FUCK... it's so fucking good!" her body shakes violently.

You freeze, you both just freeze, trying to catch your breath.

The world slowly comes back into focus. You pull out and see your release run down her thigh.

"Holy fucking shit."

"Yeah... holy shit."

"Bravo, bravo. What a fucking show," Kazuha quips, tossing a pack of wet wipes from her bag at you.

You catch them even with your still shaking hands. You start to help Chaewon clean herself up when the sound of someone clearing their throat comes from just outside the curtain.

A very familiar, very polite throat clearing.

"Chaewon? Kazuha?" Sakura calls out, cheerful and completely oblivious to the absolute depravity that just went down three feet away from her face. "Manager-nim says we have five minutes until the camera rolls. Are you guys doing okay in there?"

Chaewon’s eyes go so so so wide. She looks at you, then at Kazuha, panic replacing her post orgasm glow.

"We'll be out in a bit Kkura-unnie!" Kazuha yells back, somehow calm as a cucumber. She looks at the two of you and smirks. "We had a... problem with the leggings. We're fixing it now."

"Okay! Don't be late!" You hear her footsteps leave the room and go back down the hallway.

What in the fuck just happened? Did that actually happen?

"We are definitely going to be late."

Chaewon just laughs as she quickly pulls her leggings back up.

See, you were in a bit of a predicament. There was a silk blindfold covering your eyes. Each of your hands were tied to one of her bedposts. You couldn’t move your arms, you couldn’t see and you were completely naked. At least she didn’t tie your legs and have you truly spread out like some Medieval torture device. Your other senses felt heightened, waiting to see… scratch that, you were waiting to hear or feel what Nagyung was about to do to you.

“I think you’ll enjoy this other dessert I brought you a lot more.”

---

Earlier that morning…

You were brushing your teeth, she had just gotten out of the shower and was looking at you in the mirror. “You know what I would love for my birthday tonight baby? I… I think I would really enjoy tying you up and getting to do whatever I wanted.”

You almost choked on your toothbrush. “Wait, what? You’re joking right?” looking up after spitting the toothpaste out, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

She was dead serious.

“Nope, not one bit. You’ve been the dominant one in bed for as long as we’ve been together. And listen, I love how you usually have your way with me. How you make me cum when you choke me, how hard you squeeze my tits, how you slap my ass until I can’t take it anymore, and don’t even get me started on the dirty talk you whisper in my ear as you pound me through the bed.”

Nagyung hadn’t even dried off yet, she was still naked and dripping wet as she made her way over to the sink, her hips swaying and water dripping off her breasts, before getting down on her knees in front of you.

“But I just thought it’d be fun if we switched it up a little for one night as a nice little birthday gift.”

She put her hands on the waistband of your shorts and looked up at you with those puppy dog eyes that were your kryptonite along with a slight pout on her lip.

“You know if you need a little extra convincing… I think I know of a few things I can do before we have to go to work.”

She pulled your shorts down.

---

So yeah, here you were, tied up and blindfolded.

It took about ten minutes that morning for her to definitely convince you to let this be one of her birthday presents. Who’s ever going to say no to getting the sloppiest blowjob from one of the hottest idols on the planet? Not you, not with the way she uses that mouth and throat of hers. She enjoyed it just as much as you did too.

You’re the luckiest dude on the planet.

“You didn’t order a different dessert for your birthday, did you? I told you I was getting you a cake.”

You heard a zipper slowly get undone and fabric hit the floor. There goes her dress.

“Of course not dummy, you’ll find out in a sec. Don’t be so impatient.”

“Dummy? Isn’t that what you call your fans?” you almost couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yes, it is and tonight I’m going to call you that as well, so get used to it… dummy.”

Oh, she is serious about this. It sounded to you like she had been planning what she wanted to do to you for a night like this for a long long time. You felt her get onto the bed and mount you, dropping her tight ass onto you, sitting right above your hardening cock. Well at a minimum she still has her thong on. You could feel a little wetness from the fabric that was now pressed into your crotch.

“Dummy, open your mouth and stick out your tongue so you can try this.”

As soon as you opened your mouth wide not knowing what kind of dessert to expect, all you felt was a plastic nozzle get shoved onto your tongue. And then she pressed it down.

Pshhh…

Your tongue was being completely covered with whipped cream.

“Wha–”

“Shhhhhh dummy. Don’t say a thing, just keep that mouth open and tongue out.”

So, you did.

You suddenly felt her tongue meet yours, she was slowly licking all the whipped cream off of it. Lifting your head up as much as you could, you tried to kiss her, but she quickly pushed you back down into the bed with a hand on your neck.

“No no no, who said you could kiss me yet? I just want to clean all of this mess up first.”

Nagyung continued to use her tongue until all the whipped cream was gone.

“That tastes so good doesn’t it.”

“Yes ba–”

She gripped your face with one hand.

“No calling me baby tonight, okay dummy? Just say my love instead.”

“Yes, my love.”

“Good boy.”

Not expecting it at any point in your life to be something you’d be into, your stomach did a tiny flip hearing that. Well, that’s a first.

Pshhh…

That was the whipped cream cannister again but you couldn’t tell what it was being used on. Then suddenly her tongue, with a lot of whipped cream was back inside your mouth. She pressed into you for a heated kiss and you kissed her back. Tongues were tangling with the whipped cream adding to the flavor of her. It was the perfect combo. Forgetting that your arms were still tied up, you tried to move them to hold her, letting out a bit of a whimper when you couldn’t move them any closer.

“I know baby, you want to touch me so bad. It’s too bad you’re all tied up,” dragging her nails up your sides as she pulled her mouth away and whispered. “Don’t worry I’ll just have to touch you more to make up for it.”

“Please do, my love.”

Her hand took a hold of your now fully hard shaft. “Guess you really are enjoying this dessert more than the cake.” You bucked your hips up into her hand, lifting her up as your tip dripped with excitement. “Oh yeah, you REALLY are enjoying this more.” She slowly worked her hand up and down coating your need all over while you could start to feel her thong get wetter and wetter.

“My love, I want to touch you so fucking bad.”

“I’m sure you do. Here I have an idea,” her fingers slid off your cock.

You heard her unclasp her bra and take it off.

Psssssssshhhhhhhhhhhh…

Pssssssshhhhnnnnhshhh…

“Open up dummy”

Once again you opened your mouth not knowing what the fuck she was going to do next.

You first felt the cold whipped cream that you’re all too familiar with now hit your tongue but then you feel the warmth of her skin, a soft curve that squished into your mouth. Instinctively you closed your mouth over it, that’s when you realize it’s one of her tits.

“Fuckkk…… think you know what it is?”

“Mmmph!” your mouth is so full as you start to suck.

You realize Nagyung had covered the entirety of her tits with whipped cream so while you sucked the hard peak in your mouth there’s whipped cream going all over your face thanks to her deceptively large tits.

“Suck… FUCK… suck harder dummy….”

Even with her in a dominant position for the first time, you knew she still wanted you to be rough with her, she couldn’t resist it. You sucked as hard as you could as you swirled your tongue around her nipple, the whipped cream there was long gone. Now this, this was the real dessert.

Nagyung let out a loud moan.

“God… you’re always so fucking good at that. Chaeyoung and Jiheon always give me shit for the hickeys you leave all over them.”

You pulled back, “I can’t help it my love, you just taste so good and they’re just so fucking big, I swear they’ve gotten bigger since we first started dating.”

“Oh they definitely have. Now enough talking, time for you to clean the other one off.”

You felt her shift her weight to lean and put the other one up to your mouth. Deciding to give her a bit of surprise this time, you close your mouth around her breast and lightly bite down.

“AHH– FUCK, a little softer dummy.”

Easing up, you focused on using your tongue to clean up all the whipped cream. Yes, you were doing this all blind, but at least the whipped cream was cold so it made it a little easier to find. You knew your face was getting absolutely covered by it, but you did the best you could as she was smothering you more and more, putting more and more weight onto your face. It got a little harder to breathe because she was pressing her huge perky tits into you so much.

This would be a hell of a way to go.

“Think you’re getting all of it ba… dummy?” You could tell she was extremely flustered, her cheeks were probably super flushed like they always get.

“I think I am my love, but you’re going to have to tell me considering I can’t see.”

“I think you’ve gotten most of it. I think you’ve done such a great job that I think you earned me taking off that blindfold.”

“Finally.”

With a smile on your face, she reached behind your head while her tits once again pressed against your face. Please take as long as possible taking that blindfold off, this is paradise. Sadly, it took less than ten seconds before she pulled the blindfold away from your eyes.

It was a flash bomb at first with the bright light overhead but it turned into more and more of an ethereal view as Nagyung came into focus. She had put her long hair up into a ponytail, probably to keep it out of the mess of all of the whipped cream. Like you guessed, she was completely naked except for the black lace thong that you felt getting more and more soaked and the gold necklace you gifted her after the first few months of dating. Her cheeks were also indeed super flushed. As you took in her beauty, you could tell that you did not in fact do that good of a job getting the whipped cream off of her tits.

You made it look like she was getting a cast of her chest, the whipped cream was just spread all over. Maybe getting a cast of her chest isn’t such a bad idea, could be a nice sculpture piece to put in your place.

“Well now you can see finally see your work.” She laughed.

“All I see is a work of art.”

Nagyung’s cheeks reddened even more before she leaned down to give you a quick peck on your lips. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too,” you leaned up as much as you could to give her a quick peck back.

“Okay…” clearing her throat “getting back into character… where were we?”

“I don’t know my love, this is all your doing.”

“Right… ummmm… oh I remember, there was another reason I took your blindfold off.”

Her game face was back on. She leaned down again, but this time she put herself right next to your ear, her whipped cream covered tits now pressed against your chest.

She whispered.

“I wanted to make sure you saw what I’m about to do to you now since both your face and chest are covered with whipped cream.”

As you turned your head to look at her, she all of the sudden licked a long stripe from your ear, to the front of your face, ending at your nose. “I’m going to lick every…”

Nagyung licked from your nose to your mouth.

“…single…”

She licked from your lips to your other ear.

“…bit of this…”

Her tongue moved down your jaw to your chin.

“…whipped cream off of you…”

And then her tongue moved up the other side of your jaw back to where she started.

“…until you’re all clean.”

“Oh, is that so?” Your heart was pounding, your cock was throbbing to touch anything, you felt so hot.

“Yes really. I wanted you to watch so that whenever you see me sticking out my tongue in any photo or video, you know that I’m thinking of this exact moment and so will you.”

“Fuuuucccckkkkkk.” You moaned.

She stared into your eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what we’re going to do once I get you clean. Fuck.”

Fuck.

What did you to deserve her.

For the next what felt like an eternity, she cleaned you up using only her tongue and made sure your eyes stayed locked onto hers. She started with your face and then worked her way down your neck…

…over your collarbones…

…down the middle of your chest…

…over to one of your nipples the she sucked on for long after the whipped cream was gone from there…

…before going to your other one and doing the same exact thing.

While she was cleaning up the rest of your chest her tight ass was slowly scooting further down until she was basically grinding on the top of your cock.

“FUCKKKKKK, FINALLY.” You have been yearning for any sort of touch down there, leaking precum the entire time she had been cleaning you up. While you were being cleans, you were also becoming a mess.

“What dummy? Have you been wanting someone to touch you down there? Seems that way with how wet everything is down there.”

Nagyung ground her ass against your cock, her soaked folds rubbing the skin right above it.

“Yes… FUCK… I’ve been waiting for so long. I need you so bad.”

“Well then, why didn’t you say something,” she smirked and unmounted you, getting off the bed. She hooked the waistband of her thong with her fingers as you saw just how wet it had become, it was basically form fitted to her puffy folds.

Your mouth was watering as she pulled it down, taking it off. Her now bare pussy was glistening. Good lord. Your cock ached, you involuntarily kicked your legs and let out a moan, wanting to get in there so bad.

“See something you like?” Nagyung climbed back onto the bed, her thong balled up in her hand. “Open up that mouth one more time dummy.” Your mouth dropped open and she stuffed the soaking wet thong in your mouth.

It tasted incredible, she always tasted incredible, you have spent many a night just between her legs.

“How’s that taste?” It’s like she could read your mind.

“Mmmmmmppppphhhh”

She ran her fingers through her folds as she mounted you and then brought them up to her mouth. “Yeah, I think I would agree with that.” Her fingers went back to playing with her folds, your cock so close to her entrance.

“So now you’re all clean, you know what that means right?”

“Fmmppppkk”

“Yes. Fuck.” Her fingers went through her folds one more time before she grabbed your cock, adding even more slickness to your shaft. And then with no warning at all she very quickly lined you up and dropped down.

…

Tight.

…

So fucking tight.

…

You almost choked on her thong as your brain couldn’t process the pleasure you felt. She sank all the way down, her walls wrapping tighter and tighter around you as you filled her up.

“Fuuuuuuckkkkkk du… baby… you’re so fucking thick.”

“Mmmmmmppppphhhh”

Nagyung started to roll her hips back and forth, not letting your cock escape at all. You felt her clit grind into your crotch as she pushed down on your chest to balance herself. It was a slower pace at first before she really started to get into it. Slowly getting faster…

…and faster…

…and faster.

She knew how to work her hips with all the choreo she’s had to learn through the years. DM, We Go, Supersonic, the list goes on. They all were played a part in what she was currently doing to your cock.

You locked eyes with her as her nails dug into your chest. She was close, you could tell it in the way her breathing turned into panting as she started to let out those cute moans that have become one of things that turned you on the most.

She moved her feet to either side of your hips and started to squat onto you. Up and down she went as the PLAP of her ass slammed onto you. Faster and faster, her moans getting hotter and hotter but also cuter and cuter. Her thighs started to shake, you strained against the constraints on your wrists, wanting, no, NEEDING to help her get to that peak.

“I’m so close… FUCK. Just… just… a… little more.”

You felt her squeeze so hard around your cock, her back arched as her still whipped cream covered peaks stretched towards the ceiling.

“OH MY….. OH MY FUCKKKKKKING GOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDD.”

She moaned at the top of her lungs and then collapsed onto you trying to catch her breath. You just laid there. What else could you do with your hands still tied? For a moment she just rested on top of you with your cock still rock hard inside her. Once she recovered, Nagyung went in for what you thought was going to be a kiss as her tongue entered your mouth. Wait… the thong was still in your mouth. Guess you forgot when you had the personification of Helen of Troy riding you. She explored the inside of your mouth before you felt her tongue hook and then slowly pull the thong out, dropping it off to the side.

“My tongue can do sooooo many things.” She laughed.

“Holy fuck that was so fucking hot,” finally able to speak again, “You’re so fucking hot.”

Nagyung went back in to actually kiss you this time, kiss you like she hadn’t heard from you in a long time, which was technically true. You spent a few minutes with your mouths practically melded together while your tongues intertwined. And yes you were STILL inside her. You wanted to stay inside her forever.

When she pulled back, you could tell by her cum drunk eyes and labored breathing she was tiring out. “That felt so fucking good, you still feel so fucking good in me. Though, I sometimes miss the days when you would just cum when I would.”

“Trust me, it’s taking so much to not cum inside you right now.”

“I bet,” smirking while playfully moving her hips. “I’m kind of worn out from all of that though. I really don’t know how you have the stamina to be in control the whole night.”

“It’s because you’re hot as fuck. It’s really just that simple.”

You both laughed.

“Well I want to make sure you get to cum too, it’s only fair.” She reached for one of your hand restraints.

“And I think you’ve been enough of a good boy that you deserve a reward.” She untied one of your hands.

“I want you to do whatever you want to me, whatever you need to me so you can cum. Have your way–”

Your freed hand immediately grabbed one of her tits and squeezed it hard. Right behind your hand, with your newfound freedom of movement, your mouth just latched onto her nipple and sucked not giving a fuck about the whipped cream still on there.

“AH–”

Still sucking, you moved your free hand off of her chest and around her hip.

SMACK.

You loved smacking her cute ass.

“Babe… fuuuuuuckkkk… give me a sec to get your other hand free.”

Pulling back from sucking on her nipple, “Ughhhhhhh… fine… I just want you so fucking bad baby.”

You still gripped her ass, you were not going to let your hand go as she freed your other hand.

“There, you’re free. Now just wOOOOOAAAAH–”

As soon as you felt that your other hand was free your mouth immediately went back onto the same nipple, sucking as hard as you were before. Your newly freed hand mirrored what your other hand did, moving it around her and towards her ass.

SMACK. SMACK.

“FUCK!”

Both your hands were gripping her tight ass as you figured out exactly what you wanted to do to her. You stopped sucking and looked directly into her eyes. “Ready?”

She threw her arms around your neck and gave you a quick kiss. “Oh yeah.”

Immediately with your hands cupping her ass you moved and switched positions with her, you were now on top and her underneath. You couldn’t wait any longer. As soon as she hit the bed you started thrusting as hard as you could, driving as deep and fast as you could.

“OH… fuck… yes… just like that… right there… YES.”

You were grunting with every thrust as she moaned into your ear. You wanted to go even deeper. You wanted to go even harder. Your hands went to the back of her thighs and pushed them up, all the way until her feet were next to her head, folding her in half. Now you had all the leverage.

“God you’re so fucking amazing. I love you so much.”

“I love you too baby.” You leaned in and passionately kissed her while still slowly moving in and out of her. “I’m… I’m close. Where… fuck… where do you want me to cum?”

“Where do you think dummy?” She kissed you again. That’s all you needed to hear.

With her thighs still in your hands, you put your whole body behind pounding your cock into her tight wet heat as her puffy folds stretched around you. All you could do, all you wanted to do was watch the emotions on her face as you were pounding her…

And pounding her…

“Fuck… you’re so fuck… you’re so fucking big!” Her hands cradled your face.

And pounding her…

“GOD, I think I’m going to cum again... fuck... fuck… fuck…”

And pounding her…

“Yeah? Is my baby going to cum all over this big fat cock?”

“YESSS… don’t stop… PLEASE don’t fucking stop.” Her hands fell to rest on your chest.

And pounding her. You felt her squeeze and pulse around you as her thighs in your hands were beginning to quiver. The coil in your stomach was winding tighter and tighter as you slid in and out of her.

“Right. Fucking. There. Yes yes yes yes… FUUUUUCKKKK!”

Her face shattered into pure ecstasy as her body began to shake with pleasure and she let out a loud moan. It was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen and it made the coil in your stomach suddenly unwind. You drove yourself to the hilt deep inside and erupted, emptying everything you had into her. You fell onto her as you let out a loud moan of your own and her arms went around your shoulders as she brought you in close, slowly stroking your back as you rode it out to the very last drop.

You laid there on top of her, the two of you absolutely spent as she gave you small kisses all over your face. “That was so incredible.”

“Yeah…” still trying to catch your breath. “that was.. you are fucking amazing. I don’t really have the words right now other than Happy Birthday.”

She laughed as she slowly massaged your scalp. “That’s okay honey, I’m more than cool with you just being right here. And thank you for making it such a memorable birthday. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.” She licked your cheek. “Missed a spot. I know you won’t ever forget this either.”

Just as she said, you were never going to forget this, you knew she was going to start sticking out that tongue more and more in photos, videos, fan cams, you name it. Just so she can trigger that memory in you.

Your breathing finally returned to normal and you pushed yourself up a little bit. Fuck. In the passion and heat of the moment, you had forgotten she was still halfway covered in the remnants of the whipped cream. She was realizing it at the same time you were as she looked down to see what caught your curiosity so much.

You both broke out in laughter at the mess you found yourselves in.

“Yeah, let’s go clean all of this off.”

“Shower time and then maybe I can finally try some birthday cake?”

"Look at how she moves that ass..." another replied, his gaze locked onto Eunbi's backside as she slowly sank down into a squat. "That fabric is about to rip. If she keeps doing that, someone's going to lose their fucking mind right here."

Eunbi knew exactly what she was provoking. While she danced, she maintained aggressive eye contact with different men, casting glances loaded with playful lust. She slid across the floor, arching her back and pushing her tits forward, exposing them fully to the hungry gaze of the group. The movement was visceral; every shake of her body sent a signal straight to those men's primal instincts.

Sweat began to run down the soldiers' temples, dripping down their necks and soaking the collars of their uniforms. Their pupils were dilated to the max, consuming every inch of Eunbi's figure. The air in the hangar grew heavy, saturated with the smell of desire and desperation. Many of them had their hands clenched into fists, squeezing so hard that their knuckles turned white, fighting the animal urge to leap into the center of the circle and seize that swaying body.

Eunbi ramped up the intensity. She began moving her shoulders rapidly, making the bounce of her tits more frenetic—a rhythmic, wild movement that made the dress ride up and down dangerously. She put her hands behind her head, stretching her torso and exposing the tension of her belly and the sheer mass of her chest, letting out a small moan that blended with the bass of the music.

"Do you like it?" she asked in the middle of the dance, her voice sounding breathless and wet. "Do you like watching me move for you? I can feel how you're looking at me... I can feel your hunger from here."

She stopped abruptly, standing face-to-face with the group, her breathing heavy and her chest heaving violently. Her tits continued to sway slightly from the inertia of the movement, and a sheen of sweat began to cover her neck and the valley of her cleavage. The soldiers were on the verge of collapse; the sexual tension had reached a critical point where silence was no longer possible and gasps were the only thing filling the space between the notes of the music. Eunbi looked at them with a malicious smile, knowing she had them exactly where she wanted: broken, starving, and completely under her control.

The music shifted subtly; the rhythm became slower, denser, with a bass that seemed to vibrate directly in the men's bones. The air in the hangar was no longer just hot—it was suffocating, saturated by the ragged breathing of dozens of soldiers and the sweet scent of Eunbi's perfume mixing with the smell of stale sweat. She stood still for a moment, her chest heaving violently, observing the hunger in those men's eyes. She knew they had reached the limit; the tension was a string stretched to the breaking point.

Eunbi let out a low giggle, almost a purr, and slowly brought her hands to the shoulders of the dress. She didn't do it quickly; every movement was calculated to prolong the agony. Her fingers, long and delicate, began to slide the fabric down, inch by inch. The sound of the fabric rubbing against her white skin was almost audible over the thumping bass—a soft friction that made the soldiers hold their breath in unison.

"It's too hot in here, don't you think?" she whispered, casting a glance loaded with malice. "I feel like this dress is squeezing me... I feel like it's suffocating me."

As the dress slid far enough to let one of the straps drop, a collective gasp rippled through the circle of men. The white, smooth skin of her shoulder was exposed, shimmering with a fine layer of sweat that reflected the hangar's fluorescent lights. But the most devastating part happened next: as she lowered the fabric, the support of the dress gave way slightly, causing her massive tits to sway with a real and visceral weight. The soldiers saw the massive curve of her chest partially release from the fabric, revealing an obscene amount of white flesh struggling not to jump out completely.

"Fuck!" one of the soldiers exclaimed, unable to contain himself. "Look at that... it's all coming out. Dammit, I'm going to go crazy!"

"Keep going... just take it off already..." another pleaded in a broken whisper, his gaze locked on the valley between her breasts, where sweat formed small droplets that slid slowly down the skin.

Eunbi ignored the pleas, enjoying the absolute power she held over them. She moved slightly backward, arching her back while sliding the dress further down, allowing the garment to fall to her waist in a slow, fluid motion. The dress didn't disappear entirely, but it hung precariously, leaving the upper part of her torso exposed.

What appeared under the hangar lights was a vision that made several soldiers let out a guttural sound (glup). Eunbi was wearing a tiny bikini, a piece of fabric so small it was an insult. The top was barely a strip of material attempting—unsuccessfully—to contain the massiveness of her tits. Flesh overflowed from the top, the sides, and underneath; her breasts were so large that the bikini looked like a joke, a mere suggestion of clothing that left almost everything in sight. One could see the tension of the fabric stretching to the limit, marking the aggressive roundness of her chest and hinting at the pressure of her nipples against the thin material.

Eunbi placed her hands on the sides of the bikini, squeezing the fabric slightly to lift her tits even higher, projecting them forward like two mountains of white, soft flesh. The men were in shock; some had their mouths open, others closed their eyes for a second only to snap them open again, unable to process the magnitude of what they were seeing. Shame had completely vanished, replaced by an animal and voracious hunger.

"Is this what you wanted to see?" she asked, her voice wet and provocative, while swaying her shoulders to make her tits bounce softly under the bikini. "I wonder if it's enough... or if you're still hungry."

The silence that followed was dense, charged with a sexual electricity that made the air spark. The soldiers were no longer a military formation; they were a group of desperate men, veins in their necks dilated and breathing erratic, staring at that exposed body as if it were the most forbidden feast in the world. The tension in their pants had reached an unbearable point, and Eunbi, aware of this, gave them a predatory smile before preparing for her next move.

Eunbi stayed silent for a moment, enjoying the image of the men around her; they were like hungry dogs waiting to be let off the leash. Her eyes scanned the circle, stopping at the trembling hands of some and the way others bit their lower lips to avoid letting out a scream. The dress still hung dangerously around her waist, an insignificant barrier that only served to increase the agony of those present.

With excruciating slowness, Eunbi brought her hands back to the fabric of the dress. She didn't just let it drop; she began to slide it down inch by inch, making the fabric rub against the skin of her hips with a soft sound that seemed to rumble in the hangar's silence. The soldiers were hypnotized, their gazes locked on the line where the fabric separated from her body. They could see the dress sliding slowly down the curve of her white, smooth thighs, revealing skin shimmering with sweat under the white ceiling lights.

When the garment finally hit the floor with a dull thud, leaving Eunbi completely exposed in her tiny bikini, the air in the hangar seemed to vanish instantly.

If the top was an insult, the bottom was a direct and aggressive provocation. She wore a thong that barely existed; a ridiculously thin strip of fabric that sank deeply into the crack of her ass, disappearing between her massive, round cheeks. The bikini covered nothing; it simply accentuated the obscene roundness of her hips and left almost all of her white skin bare. The string of the bikini dug into her sides, creating a small ridge in the flesh of her thighs that made the men want to sink their fingers right there.

The silence was broken by a collective sound—a mix of gasps and heavy exhales filling the space. The youngest recruit let out a muffled moan and had to lean against the wall to keep from falling; his legs shook violently and his breathing was so erratic it looked like he was having a panic attack, though what he felt was absolute sensory overload.

"Holy fucking shit...!" one of the soldiers exclaimed, his voice broken and hoarse. "Look at that ass... fuck, it's huge... it can't be real. Look how the string sinks in!"

"I'm tripping out..." another muttered, his gaze fixed on the curve of her hips, sliding down toward where the bikini barely managed to cover her most intimate area. "Fuck it all, I can't take this anymore. Someone has to touch her now, fuck, my cock is about to explode in my pants."

Eunbi, far from being intimidated by the growing aggression of the comments, let out a playful giggle and took a step back, turning slowly on her heels to face away from the group. She made a deliberate move: she arched her back, pushing her ass backward and making the thong tension even further, sinking deeply into her flesh. The rhythmic sway of her heavy, firm cheeks caused several soldiers to make a guttural sound (glup), swallowing hard as their pupils dilated until they almost covered the entire iris.

"Do you like my clothes?" she asked, looking over her shoulder with an expression loaded with lust. "I think it's a bit small... don't you? I feel like it'll rip at any moment if someone pulls it hard."

The atmosphere had shifted drastically. Military shame and respect had been incinerated by the fire of animal desire. The men were no longer in formation; some had unconsciously stepped forward, breaking the circle to get closer to her. Their faces were distorted, veins in their necks dilated from blood pressure and sweat soaking their uniforms.

Eunbi turned back toward them, her chest heaving violently, making her tits bounce under the small strip of the bikini. She placed a hand on her thigh, sliding her fingers slowly upward, approaching the edge of the bottom fabric dangerously.

"I see you're not shy anymore," she whispered, her voice now hoarser, wetter. "I see you're hungry. And I... I love it when you're hungry. I wonder who among you will be the first to stop looking and start touching."

The challenge hung in the air, dense and electric. The limit had been crossed; the psychological barrier had completely broken. The soldiers were no longer disciplined men; they were predators who had just seen their prey offer herself voluntarily, and the hunger in their eyes was so visceral it could almost be touched. The sexual tension had reached its breaking point: only one movement, one signal, was needed for carnal chaos to erupt in the middle of the hangar.

The silence that followed Eunbi's words was dense, almost solid, interrupted only by the sound of the men's ragged breathing and the electric hum of the speakers. The air was so charged with desire it seemed to vibrate. The soldiers were in a trance, their gazes locked on her, but none dared to take the first step; it was that last vestige of military discipline fighting against the animal tide pushing them forward.

Eunbi, enjoying the agony of those men, decided she had played enough with their minds. It was time to break the physical barrier.

With a predatory gaze, she scanned the circle until her eyes locked onto the youngest recruit—the one who had been trembling since the moment she stepped out of the car. The boy was pale, his lips dry and his eyes wide, totally overwhelmed by Eunbi's presence. She let out a malicious smile and extended her hand toward him, making a slow gesture for him to approach.

"You... come here," she ordered, her voice no longer just playful but imperative, loaded with a sexual authority that left no room for doubt.

The youth took clumsy steps, almost tripping over his own boots. When he reached her, the smell of vanilla and female skin hit him like a sledgehammer, leaving him breathless. Eunbi looked at him from bottom to top, analyzing the tension in his neck and the way his hands shook violently at his sides.

"You're afraid..." she whispered, moving so close that the heat of their bodies merged. "I love it when you're afraid. It means you know exactly what you have in front of you and you don't know if you can handle it."

Without giving him time to respond, Eunbi took the recruit's right hand firmly. Her fingers were soft but strong, and she guided him directly toward her own chest. There was no subtlety; Eunbi slammed the palm of the boy's hand against one of her tits, sinking it deeply into the mass of white, soft flesh that the tiny bikini barely managed to contain.

The recruit let out a muffled moan, a guttural sound from deep in his throat (glup), while his eyes dilated to the max. The impact was visceral. The sensation of warm, wet, elastic skin under his hand, combined with the massive bounce of the tit against his palm, caused a cerebral short circuit. For a second, the boy froze, fearing this was a dream or that someone would punish him for touching a woman like this.

"Don't just stand there stunned, idiot," Eunbi hissed in his ear, her voice now raw and loaded with dirty talk. "Squeeze... squeeze my tits hard. I want to feel you mash my flesh with your calloused hands. Use your hand, fuck, make me feel like you're a man and not a scared child."

The command was the trigger. The recruit, driven by an animal need he could no longer control, closed his fingers over Eunbi's chest, squeezing with desperate force. He let out a grunt as he felt the softness and firmness of that body, the way the tit overflowed between his fingers, escaping the bikini. Eunbi let out a loud gasp, arching her back and closing her eyes, enjoying the roughness of the contact.

Around them, the rest of the soldiers exploded. Seeing the recruit touching her was the signal they were waiting for. The barrier of modesty shattered into a thousand pieces. Several men stepped forward, surrounding them, with hungry gazes and erratic breathing. Some began to shout dirty words, urging the boy not to be selfish, while others simply gasped, watching as the recruit's fingers sank into Eunbi's white flesh.

"Do it harder!" one of the veterans shouted, his voice broken. "Look how her nipples are marking through that fucking fabric! Take that bikini off her now, fuck!"

Eunbi opened her eyes and looked at the group with an expression of absolute lust. She felt excited by the aggression of the environment, by the smell of masculine sweat that now completely enveloped her. With a quick movement, she reached for the knots of the bikini. First, she untied the strap of the top with a sharp tug.

The fabric snapped, instantly releasing her massive tits. The visual impact was devastating; her breasts dropped with real weight, swaying violently before settling, exposing her erect, pink nipples under the hangar lights. The men let out a collective shout—a mix of awe and animal desire. But Eunbi didn't stop there. With the same speed, she slid her fingers down and untied the thong that had been sinking into her ass.

The bikini fell to the floor like an insignificant piece of trash. Eunbi stood completely naked before them, exposed in every inch. Her massive tits, her flat belly damp with sweat, and her intimate area, fully uncovered, were on display for everyone. Silence returned for a moment, but it was an electric silence—the calm before the animals lunged at their prey.

"There's no more clothes..." Eunbi whispered, looking at the men with a predatory smile while her nipples vibrated from the cold and excitation. "I'm ready now. Now... come and get what you want."

The hangar became a pressure cooker that finally exploded. It wasn't a chaotic or disorganized attack, but a slow, heavy tide of masculine bodies closing the circle around Eunbi, suffocating any empty space. The air became dense, saturated by the smell of testosterone, stale sweat, and the growing humidity of arousal. Eunbi was in the center, naked and glorious, feeling the temperature of the place rise several degrees just from the proximity of so many men burning with desire.

The first contact was like an electric shock. Several hands, calloused and rough, lunged at her simultaneously. One soldier grabbed her tits with desperate force, sinking his fingers into the soft, heavy flesh, while another positioned himself behind her, squeezing her ass with a pressure that left instant red marks on her white skin. The contrast was brutal: Eunbi's extreme softness against the roughness of the military uniform and the hardened hands of hard labor.

"Fuck, she's so soft!" one of the men groaned, his voice sounding like it had sand in its throat. "Her tits are like pillows... look how they overflow between my fingers. I can't believe this is real!"

Eunbi let out a long, wet moan, throwing her head back as she felt the group claim her. There was no trace of fear in her; on the contrary, her pupils were dilated and her breathing erratic, enjoying the sensation of being consumed by that animal hunger. She felt the soldiers' tongues roaming her neck and shoulders, leaving trails of hot saliva that shimmered under the fluorescent lights.

"That's it..." she whispered, her voice hoarse and loaded with lust. "Use me... make me feel how much you've wanted me these past months. Don't stop now..."

Eunbi decided it was time to lower the level of the game. With a fluid movement, while feeling hands continue to knead her tits and others explore the crack of her ass, she slid downward. She let herself drop onto her knees slowly, ending up in a submissive yet dominant position, right in front of the soldier who had been the most anxious throughout the encounter.

The man was paralyzed, looking down at the most desired woman in the camp kneeling before him. Eunbi looked him straight in the eyes, a gaze loaded with dirty promises, and brought her hands to the waistband of the soldier's pants. The sound of the zipper going down was like a gunshot in the hangar's silence; a metallic noise announcing the start of true degradation.

When the soldier's cock sprang out of the pants, hard as a rock and throbbing, Eunbi let out a sigh of satisfaction. She could see the dilated veins running along the member, the tip already wet from accumulated arousal. The smell of musk and sex filled her nostrils, triggering her own lubrication. Without warning, Eunbi opened her mouth and wrapped the head of the member with a slow, sucking motion.

Glup.

The sound was wet and visceral. The soldier let out a muffled cry, arching his back and closing his eyes tight as he felt the suffocating heat of Eunbi's throat enveloping him. She was in no rush; she began to suck with rhythm, lowering her head to swallow as much as possible, making her cheeks sink and the sound of the vacuum resonate in the hangar.

Plok, glup.

Every time she descended, the sound of saliva mixing with hot skin was obscene. Eunbi used her tongue to lick the base and the frenulum, moving with an expert technique that had the man on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The soldier began to pant violently, his hands instinctively descending toward Eunbi's hair, not to push her away, but to press her head deeper against his crotch.

"Oh God... fuck!" the man moaned, his voice breaking. "It's so hot... her mouth is a fucking fire! Keep going, keep going, dammit!"

Around them, the other soldiers were in a frenzy. Some masturbated openly while observing the scene, others pressed against Eunbi, touching her tits and her ass while she remained concentrated on the oral act. The atmosphere was a chaotic mix of sounds: the hoarse pants of the men, the wet noise of Eunbi's mouth (plok), and the constant rub of sweaty skin against uniform fabric.

Eunbi looked up for a second, the cock still between her lips and a string of saliva connecting her corner of the mouth with the tip of the member. Her eyes glowed with absolute malice; she knew she had pushed them to the limit and there was no turning back. She was turning the hangar into a temple of flesh and fluids, where military discipline had completely surrendered to animal lust.

Eunbi felt the soldier reaching his limit; the man trembled violently, and his hands gripped her hair with almost painful force. Just before he exploded in her mouth, Eunbi pulled away with a slow, deliberate movement, leaving a thick string of saliva connecting her lips to the throbbing tip of the member. The soldier let out a grunt of frustration and desire, an animal sound that resonated in the tense silence of the hangar. He couldn't take it anymore; the hunger accumulated for months had transformed into a blind urgency that could only be satiated by penetration.

Without a word, the man grabbed Eunbi by the shoulders and turned her brusquely, forcing her to lean on her hands and knees on the cold floor of the hangar. The position left Eunbi's ass projected upward—a massive white curve that seemed to invite assault. The thong was gone; now only naked, wet skin remained, shimmering under the fluorescent lights.

"Enough games..." the soldier grunted, his voice sounding like a tear. "I'm going to go crazy if I don't get inside you right now."

Eunbi let out a hoarse gasp, arching her back and pushing her cheeks backward, seeking contact. She could feel the man's hot breath against her skin and the smell of sex and sweat emanating from him. The soldier wasted no more time; he positioned himself behind her, and with a firm, dry movement, guided his cock toward Eunbi's entrance.

The first thrust was slow but deep.

Eunbi let out a muffled scream—a mix of pain and extreme pleasure that filled the space. She felt how the flesh stretched to the limit to make room for the thick, hard member, a visceral sensation of fullness that made her shiver from her fingertips to the base of her spine. The soldier let out a long sigh, closing his eyes as he felt the suffocating heat and tight humidity of Eunbi's interior enveloping him completely.

When he finally entered all the way, both froze for a second, allowing their bodies to adjust to the intensity of the encounter. But the calm was short-lived. Animal instinct took command and the rhythm began to accelerate.

Clap.

The sound was dry and loud; the collision of the soldier's balls against Eunbi's ass resonated in the hangar like a gunshot.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

As the rhythm became more frenetic, the noise of flesh colliding became constant and obscene. It was a rhythmic, visceral sound that marked the beat of desire. Eunbi was completely surrendered; her head hung low, her hands gripping the cold floor while her massive tits swung violently with every thrust, bouncing against the concrete in a chaotic and exciting movement.

"Fuck, you're so tight!" the soldier shouted, his voice broken by arousal. "I feel how you're sucking me in!"

Eunbi couldn't articulate coherent words; she only emitted wet moans and erratic gasps. She felt every inch of the member hitting her internal walls, a hot friction that was taking her to the edge of the abyss. But the most visceral part was the sensation of the other men around her. While the first soldier hammered her from behind, the others didn't just watch.

Two soldiers positioned themselves at her sides, grabbing her tits with brute force, squeezing and molding them while she screamed from the pleasure. Another man knelt in front of her, forcing her to look at him while he licked her lips and whispered dirty words in her ear, describing exactly what was happening behind her.

"Look how that ass rattles..." one of them muttered, observing Eunbi's white skin turning red from the constant impact of the collision (clap).

Sweat began to rain over them; the mix of fluids and heat created a lubricating layer that made the bodies slide against each other. The veins in the neck of the soldier penetrating her were dilated to the max, his muscles tense as steel cables while he pushed with desperate violence. Eunbi felt her world reduce to that sound of colliding flesh and the massive pressure filling her belly.

The tension reached a critical point. The rhythm became so fast that the clap turned into a continuous hum of skin against skin. Eunbi felt an electric shock run through her nerves, a violent muscular contraction that made her arch her back to the limit. She was about to break, and the man behind her was too. The hangar was no longer a place of discipline; it was a nest of throbbing flesh, sweat, and animal lust where the only language was the noise of raw sex.

The sound of the impact was deafening in the hangar; every thrust from the soldier translated into a dry, violent clap that resonated against the metal walls, an animal rhythm that synced with the desperate gasps of the men surrounding her. But while the cock hammered her from behind, the visual center of attention remained her tits.

Because of the position—leaning on her hands and knees—gravity caused her breasts to hang heavily toward the floor. With every brutal blow she received in the ass, her tits jumped with obscene violence, bouncing up and down like two mountains of white flesh that knew no rest. The movement was hypnotic; the mass of her chest swayed from left to right, bouncing against her own torso and swinging with a real weight that made the observing soldiers lose their minds.

The two men flanking her were no longer content with caressing her; they had moved to a phase of brute possession. Their hands, large and calloused, sank into Eunbi's flesh with aggressive force. One of them grabbed one of her tits and squeezed it so powerfully that the flesh overflowed between his fingers, distorting the roundness of the breast as he pulled it downward. The other did the same with the other, kneading them like clay, sinking fingers into the softness of her white skin until leaving red marks that contrasted violently with her pale tone.

Eunbi let out a gut-wrenching scream, but it wasn't pain; it was the scream of a woman being consumed by the purest and most degrading desire. She turned her head toward the men crushing her chest and, with eyes clouded by lust and mouth open, began to speak dirty, her voice sounding hoarse, wet, and completely broken.

"Yes... fuck! Keep doing that!" she shouted, while a particularly strong thrust made her arch her back. "Mash my tits! Squeeze them until it hurts, you animals! I love feeling your filthy hands distorting my chest while this idiot breaks my ass from behind... keep going, don't stop!"

Her words acted like gasoline on a fire. The soldier penetrating her let out a roar and increased the speed, making the claps so fast they became a continuous hum of flesh hitting flesh. Eunbi felt her body was a war zone; the constant rub of sweaty skin, the massive pressure in her chest, and the burning friction inside her were taking her to the limit.

"Look at my tits!" she exclaimed, panting violently as she saw her own breasts bouncing frantically with every blow. "Look how they jump for you! Don't you want to feel them? Come and lick my nipples while you fuck me! I want to feel all your tongues on my tits right now!"

At the command, another soldier lunged forward and wrapped one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking with voracious force. Eunbi let out a sharp moan that turned into a scream when she felt the pull of the nipple coordinated with the deep impact of the cock in her belly. The contrast was brutal: the vacuum of the suction on her chest and the massive pressure in her sex.

"Yes... like that... fuck!" she gasped, saliva running from the corner of her lips. "Take me all! Don't leave a single inch of my skin unmarked. I want to wake up tomorrow and feel that every one of you left their mark on my body. Harder, dammit! Push me harder against the floor while you bite my tits!"

The hangar was saturated. The smell of sex was so dense it could be tasted; a mix of vaginal fluids, pre-cum, and masculine sweat. The soldiers were out of their minds, their faces distorted by a hunger that no longer had a brake. The veins in their necks were dilated to the max and their breaths were short, erratic gasps.

Eunbi was at the epicenter of the chaos, feeling her body become an instrument of collective pleasure. Her tits continued to oscillate violently, jumping under the hands and mouths of the men, while the rhythm of penetration reached a point of no return. Every clap was now a promise that the final explosion was only seconds away, and Eunbi, with her raw language and her bouncing breasts, pushed them all toward the abyss.

The hangar had become an echo chamber for the crudest lust; the sound of the clap, clap, clap was so rhythmic and violent it seemed like industrial machinery running at maximum power. Eunbi was in a state of absolute ecstasy, her face pressed against the cold cement while her body was shaken by thrusts that threatened to disassemble her. But the most striking part remained her tits: they were two white and heavy masses that, due to the speed of the rhythm, no longer just bounced but swayed in a chaotic frenzy, hitting her own torso and jumping up and down with visceral force.

The soldiers flanking her were out of control. There were no more caresses; only possessive and brutal grips. One of them had both hands buried in her breasts, squeezing them with such fury that the flesh overflowed between his fingers, molding her tits into grotesque and exciting shapes while shaking them to the rhythm of the thrusts. The other soldier had pressed himself against her, licking the sweat from her back and biting her shoulders, while his hands slid down to squeeze her ass, coordinating the pressure with every blow the man behind her delivered.

Eunbi let out a scream that tore through the air, a wet and prolonged sound that ended in a hoarse gasp. With eyes bloodshot from pleasure and mouth open, she began to spit dirty words, her voice sounding as if it were being torn apart by excitation itself.

"Yes... fuck! Feel how I open up for you!" she screamed, while an especially deep thrust made her arch her back and let out a sharp moan. "Look at my tits, you filthy pigs! Look how they jump while you break me inside! They're so big you can't stop looking at them, right?! Tell me you want to lick every drop of sweat from my nipples right now!"

The man penetrating her let out a guttural roar, the veins in his neck dilating to the limit and his face distorted by effort. His hands clamped onto Eunbi's hips, leaving deep red marks on the white skin, while he accelerated the rhythm to an inhuman speed. The sound of the impact (clap) became a continuous hum; there was no longer any space between one blow and another.

"I'm going to cum... fuck, I'm going to cum in you!" the soldier roared, his voice sounding like a wounded animal.

Eunbi felt the internal pressure reaching the breaking point. Her vaginal muscles contracted violently around the member, sucking it with desperate force. In that moment, Eunbi turned her head toward the men crushing her chest and let out one last command loaded with degrading lust.

"Now! Make my head explode! Fill me with everything! I want to feel your hot milk on my skin, on my tits, on my face! Don't hold anything back, you animals, empty yourselves inside and all over me!"

That was the final trigger. The soldier behind her let out a visceral scream and sank in to the root one last time, tensing every muscle of his body while firing thick, hot jets deep into Eunbi's belly. At the same time, the other soldiers, who had been on the edge of the abyss, collapsed in a collective orgasm.

The hangar filled with violent gasps and broken moans as white, viscous milk began to rain over Eunbi. Some fired against her back, others over her cheeks, but most focused on her tits. Hot jets impacted the white, taut skin of her breasts, sliding down the massive curves and filling the deep valley between them, creating an obscene contrast between the whiteness of her flesh and the viscosity of the masculine fluid.

Eunbi collapsed onto the floor, trembling violently, lungs burning and body covered in a shimmering layer of sweat and semen. Her tits continued to sway slightly from inertia, now stained and glistening under the hangar lights. She lay there, panting, feeling the weight of the men collapsing around her, exhausted and empty, while silence slowly returned to the place, broken only by the sound of erratic breathing and the dripping of fluids on the cold concrete.

The silence that fell over the hangar was so abrupt it felt painful, as if someone had cut the power with a single blow. No trace remained of the frenetic rhythm or the animal screams; there was only the heavy, erratic sound of dozens of lungs fighting to recover oxygen. The air remained thick, saturated by that metallic smell of sex, sweat, and fluids that had become the very atmosphere of the place.

Eunbi remained slumped on the cold cement for several minutes, her face resting on an arm and her eyes fixed on an oil stain on the floor. Her body trembled in residual spasms—small electric jolts running down her spine. She felt the weight of her own exhaustion, but also a dark and visceral satisfaction. She was completely naked, exposed and marked; she felt the viscosity of the semen cooling slowly on her skin, creating a sticky film that clung to her curves.

The most evident part were her tits. Those massive breasts, which had been the center of the storm, now rested against the floor, flattened by their own weight. They were glistening, covered in thick white streaks that slid down the sides and accumulated in the deep valley between them. Some drops still slid slowly toward her nipples, which remained erect and sensitive to the brush of the cold hangar air. Eunbi let out a long, wet sigh, feeling the adrenaline fade and give way to a strange melancholy—that post-orgasmic void that feels like a hole in the chest.

Around her, the soldiers were shadows of what they had been ten minutes ago. There was no more aggression or hunger; only defeat remained. They sat or lay on the floor, gazes lost and breathing heavy. Some stared at their own hands, surprised by the brutality with which they had touched that body, while others simply closed their eyes, overwhelmed by the sensory discharge that had just broken their psyche. Military discipline had died in that hangar; they had been reduced to their most primal state, and now, the return to reality was a blunt blow.

"Fuck..." one of them whispered, his voice completely empty, almost without air. "What the hell just happened?"

No one answered. Silence was the only possible response. It was a silence charged with a dull guilt and infinite admiration. They had been possessed by her as much as they had tried to possess her.

Slowly, Eunbi began to pull herself up. The sound of her skin peeling away from the damp cement produced a visceral noise that made several soldiers look up at her. She sat back on her heels, letting her tits sway softly with the movement, scattering the drops of semen still clinging to them. There was no trace of shame in her gaze; on the contrary, she observed them with a predatory calm, like someone looking over a battlefield after winning the war.

She brought a finger to the corner of her lips, picked up a remnant of saliva and fluid, and licked it slowly while maintaining eye contact with the youngest recruit, who was still trembling in a corner. The boy couldn't hold her gaze; he lowered his head, feeling small, forever marked by that encounter.

"Looks like you've recovered your morale," Eunbi said, her voice returning to silk, though now with a hint of satisfied exhaustion. "I hope this 'gift' is enough for you to endure the rest of your service without going crazy."

She stood up with a slow elegance, allowing the fluids to slide down her thighs and fall to the floor in thick drops. She was in no rush to cover herself; she enjoyed the way the men looked at her—a mix of residual hunger and almost religious respect. She knew she was leaving, but she left behind something far more permanent than physical pleasure: she had left them a psychological scar. From that moment on, every time those men closed their eyes or felt the rub of their uniforms, they would remember the weight of her tits, the smell of vanilla mixed with sex, and the feeling of having been completely dominated by one woman.

Rei's pussy is a spire the way you slay it, your cock is a spire the way she

slays it. You could call it Slay The Spire 2…

But let's back up, there was a bit more before that.

The night started simply, Liz told you to BEGONE! So you went over to your best friend's house. You knocked on her door, she was half naked with her headphones on. Both excited and unexcited to see you, she dragged you in before you could think of an Escape Plan.

She pushes you to her bedroom, Lifting you up the stairs. You'd never guess what's on her computer monitor, hey at least she's on Aeonglass. She must be a Master of Strategy, where were you?

Oh yeah, the 'fucking' thing.

There wasn't any Prep Time. "You interrupted my gaming, so you will be my game." She groans, pushing you onto her comfy bed– adorned with all the Slay The Spire makeship plushies money could buy, "Understood?"

"Yes, Rei."

"It's the Reigent to you."

You are so not calling her that, she's quick to Expose her lower half in one go. Pattering over as she climbed over your face. More accurately you are Crushed Under the weight of Rei's pussy on your mouth, but that's more a blessing than a curse. You greet her instantly, letting her ride your tongue. There's No Escape from the pace she sets, fast and hard as all of her taste hits you.

"Know Thy Place!" She moans, rolling her hips, holding on to the headboard and using you for her pleasure. You aren't above showing Greed, drinking up all of her, feasting on her cunt more than just what was allowed. Perhaps that is what this is, an endless Folly.

But if this is your Folly, may you toil eternally.

You moan, she moans, the soundtrack of her game is the backdrop for all of these sounds. "Fuck! Mm, that's a good interruption, pretty glad you are here, fuck." Rei Monologues, while you Prolong your actions. Oxygen is irrelevant right now.

Though evidently, sexual action with Rei is just like the game, being turn based. Now its your turn, an Energy Surge empowers you to push her off your face. She falls into her mattress and you are Unrelenting, grabbing her thick thighs and pulling close.

She trembles as your tongue is back up against her, this time though its fully in your control. Through sheer True Grit you devour her, it's erotic, filthy and disrespectful. Her wetness gets smeared all over your lips, the corners of your mouth. If you are her game and the win-condition is an orgasm.

You will Make It So.

"Mmh!" You have to keep Rei on the bed, her legs actively trying to Defy and reach Act Three. She's the best elite combat you've ever had, she's in a Haze while you keep up your combo. Rei's whining and the games truly back, two of your fingers join in. Thrusting in and out, doing some Hand Tricks. Hitting all the right spots, sucking her clit.

It's all a Well-Laid Plan, your eyes look up at her, her mouth's agape, she's so close.

"I'm, gonna, gonna cum!" That's a Victory? The orgasm has her Glowing, gushing all over your fingers and her sheets. You Wish to be in this moment forever, but the show isn't over yet. Rei recovers in a Blur, suddenly she's back up and your pants are down.

"Let me see what you are working with." She treats your cock like the Ironclad's sword, holding it firmly. Spitting on tip and rubbing it in recklessly. "Let me Stoke it a little, get you ready for what's to come."

She does just that, making out with you as her hand pumps you, both of you Huddled Together. Rei's hand is warm, really warm. It feels like the Brightest Flame. Fuck.

Rei's shamelessly sticking her tongue as deep into your mouth as you did her hole. Her spit mixes with yours (there's a lot of it.) Sloppily making out while she gets to terms with your cock. She's The Smith the way she's made you harder than a steel beam.

Her lips pull off yours and you are Dazed. "There's so much I could do, suck your cock until you shoot it down my throat. Or I could slide it in, ride it until you pass out. Maybe I could push my thighs around it, lift up and down until you helplessly spurt all over them. Decisions, Decisions."

Rei has her mind made up, truly in Demon Form as she pushes you down. "So big, so hard." You breathe heavily as your tip is brushing against her, a Tremble while Rei rubs against you, it's bliss, hell, how quickly she's got you Enthralled.

"This cock is going deep inside me, I need it so badly." With that, Rei Follows Through, slipping down and engulfing every inch of you. She's intoxicating, like taking every Elite even though you know it's a bad idea. You just lay there and take it, she bounces and you watch your cock come out wetter than it was before.

She's quick, a Bombardment of bounces, skin slapping against each other. Rei is a very adamant woman, nothing is going to stop her from riding you like the world's going to explode. Not even an Heirloom Hammer to the face.

"You are going to see stars, generate stars, whatever, fuck." Well logic was out of the window awhile ago, you are just happen to get Bury'd deep inside of Rei. She's so horny that she can't maintain rhythm, just chasing her Ascension 10. you both knew from the moment you began you were on Borrowed Time.

And now here you are, back at the beginning. Rei's the spire and you are the spire, she's delivering her attempt to finish the game by making you finish. Her turn's not over yet, being inside her raw has truly Captured your Spirit.

Sweat shines on her deliciously smooth skin, if her hands weren't forcing you into the bed you'd lick it all clean. Ravage her body like the eager slut you are. But you are always Thinking Ahead, and when she starts to slow you say nothing. Just pick her up and throw her back onto the bed. Your sex is the true roguelike experience, pick a different build (face riding, cock riding) and still go onto the same route.

How poetic.

You pounce onto her, sliding into her cunt at the same time you are on top of her. Your dick must be enchanted with Momentum the way her moans get louder with every time you push deep, targeting the right spots. "Fuck ne harder, fuck!"

You lick all the salty sweat off her skin, it turns you on so much that you throb helplessly inside of her. But this is not where the run ends, you are far too Feral. "Oh, oh my god, okay! Fuck me, fuck me harder!" You were surprised you were even able to, Overlocking your thrusts and Doubling your Energy. Everything to make Rei feel euphoric, even if you have to Scavenge the power to keep going.

"I, your cock is so good! I can't hol-" Rei gives up, cumming her brains out as you plow her through it. impressive how you don't follow, she Claw's at your back while you pound her like a Osty. You are fucking her full, the only thing left to do is…

Your orgasm Rattles you, dumping your thick load deep inside, filing her to the brim– you are truly the Conqueror to her spire, hitting the Knockup Blow instead of the Knockout Blow. The legend, another Victory? Her walls milk more of your cum out. she's bred, happy.

But, there's four acts.

Something happens, a spark, you've been fucking on video game logic and this is no different. A few minutes and you are inside Rei's tight asshole, lube was the three keys. This is the summit, you've never been here before but your memory is crystal clear.

Normally you fight a spear, this time you are the spear, spearing inside of her. The easiest way to a girl's heart is to make her cum, so it seems like you will be finishing this final act. Rei's ass cheeks Thunderclap with every thrust, it's total Havoc. It's sort of like a multiplayer card, you pound her ass like she begs and she fingers her cum filled pussy.

Teamwork.

You continue to Heavenly Drill the another orgasm out of her, another shriek and more. No matter how many times you make her cum, you never seen to get further in winning the fight. An infinite stalemate, though her juices Splash off her fingers and into the bed, which is close enough to a victory.

"Please, treat my ass however you want! Fuck, keep going!" The entire street hears it, a Countdown is active. You can only go for so long, a final Spur to make sure this orgasm is The Bomb. "More, please, please, please, I Am Invincible I can take it!"

Helix, Heavenly, what does it matter? You are drilling her, time is drawing to an end. You are Doomed, flooding her asshole with a load of it's own, that's the true Victory. Rei completely dripping, both your cum and her sheer arousal. Converged into one.

It's complete Mind Rot when you pull out, watching it flow out all into a pile, your body is Withering. This run might be over. But you and Rei can definitely do another some other time.

"That was really… really good. You are my new fuck toy, got it?"

"You pick a door," she says, holding up one finger like she's making a serious mathematical point and not actively committing a war crime against logic. "And then Monty—whoever the fuck he is—opens another door. And now there’s two left. So, you know. Fifty-fifty. You either win the prize or you don’t win shit."

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

And she still doesn’t care. If anything, she revels in your frustration, grinning and taking a lazy sip from her beer.

“I thought you liked your girls a little stupid,” she muses. You like Chaewon. Always have; since before her rejection and until now.

She might be onto something.

“That’s what I saw earlier at the club, anyway,” she mumbles, and it’s pointed, a sharp dagger concealed by a hushed voice.

You pay it no mind. It’s just Chaewon being Chaewon. Doing everything in her power to annoy the fuck out of you. You shake your head. “I like my girls with a basic understanding of probability.”

She hums, her gaze dragging over you, and it lingers. Long. Too long. So long it’s causing the alcohol induced haze to retreat from your brain. Then she just smiles again, takes another sip, and the buzz is back.

Chaewon stretches, arms flexed into a peak above her head, sliding against the backrest of the couch, her head landing against the armrest of the couch opposite of where you're sitting. Her legs stretch out off of the floor, her dress riding up, clinging to and stretching on her hips.

It’s a performance, designed to squeeze out resistance from any sap that would dare defy her. It’s impossible to tell if this is just Chaewon’s purest form, her instincts kicking in to naturally make any man submit, or if it’s a carefully crafted weapon, deliberately utilised and aimed with immaculate precision. Either way, it’s fucking lethal.

Lace-trimmed thigh-high covered feet land in your lap, crossed. You glance down at them. Stifle a thought of fucking the exposed part of skin right below her dress and above her socks. Breathe out through your nose, annoyed.

She sees. She was waiting for you to see, to be more exact.

“What?” she asks, but she knows the answer. Feigning innocence, but the chances of it convincing you are slim. “Is the view not to your liking?”

You flick your eyes up to meet hers. Flat. Unamused. Stern. “Jesus, Chaewon.”

She cocks a half smile, hands up in the air like she’s being put under arrest but confident she can flirt her way out of it. “Relax. It’s just a joke.‘

Right. Just a joke. One she’s been playing at for far too long now. One you’re absolutely not in the mood for tonight. One that is quintessentially Chaewon. Mean. Sloppy. Reckless.

That’s what alcohol does to her. She gets all handsy and touchy and feely, disregarding any feelings or reservations you’d have about being touched meaninglessly by the girl that didn’t want you.

And the joke is not exclusive to you either. You’ve seen her like this before, with other guys. Hands on their shoulders and theirs on her hips, leaning in too close, laughing too loud. It’s just her usual mess. It doesn’t mean anything.

She’s warm, just warm enough that you can feel her through your clothes. But warm enough to make you fear the sparks could ignite something that shouldn’t be. Before you can have any more prohibited thoughts, you shift, trying to nudge her legs off of you.

She doesn’t budge. Deliberately. Straight up refuses to even acknowledge the attempt.

You sigh. “Get your legs off of me.”

Chaewon blinks at you, lashes fluttering faster than your heart can beat, her lips pouting— a poor substitute for saying she can’t believe you’d say that to someone this cute. She chuckles, transforms it into a smirk, and tilts her head.

“Make me.”

She presses the arch of her foot against your crotch. It’s right on target. Light. Testing. Provocating.

It’s impossible not to react. You could sit here, not do anything, let her rub your hardening cock through your pants a bit, enjoy the feeling of her getting you worked up. But that’s not what this is about. You know this pattern. As soon as you acknowledge it, it stops, and even if it didn’t, it would all be meaningless.

So you react. You grab her ankle, and shove her legs off of you.

She lets out a soft “oh,” before laughing, low and amused. She works herself back up right, shifting her legs underneath her, but she doesn’t look the slightest bit deterred.

“Wow,” she mocks. “Sensitive.”

You roll your eyes, reaching for your drink. It’s water. Unlike Chaewon, you know when to quit, much to her annoyance. “Stop being weird and focus.”

“I am focused!” she retorts, all tension and energy. “Are you focused?” she says finally, slow, saccharine, like honey that's taking its sweet time to drip from a spoon into your mouth. “Not too distracted by how fuckable I look in this dress?”

You don’t acknowledge it. Again, no point. You set your glass down with a deliberate clink— any noise to replace what she just asked—then reach for three random objects on the coffee table; her phone, a book, and a coaster.

“We’re settling this tonight.”

She puts her beer back on the table, folds her hands in her lap, and sits with her whole body pointed at you. She shakes her body loose with slight movements. Then, slowly, she smiles.

“Please,” she says, voice sultry and teasing. “Teach me a lesson, professor.”

You’ve probably explained the theory to Chaewon more times than there are episodes of the show that inspired the discussion. It’s time for a practical run-through. You grab the three nearest things you can find and leave standing upright to function as make-shift doors—your phone, your glass of water, and a book Chaewon has been quipping from for the past month, How to Date Men When You Hate Men—and you form a neat row of three. “Let’s drill it into your skull. Three doors. One has a prize. Pick one.”

And for all the effort you put in, she barely looks. Eyes on you, finger pointing in a different direction. “The book.”

“Right, and that was a random choice out of three, meaning—”

“That I was either right or I was wrong. Fifty-fifty.” She shrugs, and shuts the door on this method of having her understand.

She’s perfectly frustrating. “it’s not fifty-fifty—”

She shifts the opposite way from her previous slide, her head landing in your lap. Her cheek rests against your thigh, and her provocation pokes at your heart. She gazes up at you, lashes fluttering a hypnotic rhythm. “This is more comfortable. Keep going.”

How could you?

“Chaewon.”

She hums, but she doesn’t acknowledge your protest. “What? Does having a cute girl’s face this close to your dick make you nervous?”

Ignore it. If you acknowledge it, it only gets worse. You push it down, she’ll eventually grow bored, and as long as the boulder doesn’t slip from your hands, you’ll be done with this forever. “Okay, so now, Monty—”

“You’re looking a little serious,” she muses, herself looking anything but. “Would you look like that while getting head? All furrowed brows, all focused?” Her lips curve deviously like the curveballs she’s throwing you. “Or would you be more relaxed? I can go deep, you know. No need to worry about me.”

Every cell in your body is telling you to push back, take her up on what she’s offering, and let her ruin this night. But you know. You’d get your hopes up, but she’d just call it a silly joke. Keep ignoring it. She’ll get bored.

You take a slow breath. Slow down your rhythm. “Are you done? Monty opens a door that isn’t the prize. That leaves two doors with potential. Your first pick was only right one-third of the time, so if you switch—”

“Aaaah.” Her mouth opens, tongue peeking out like a landing strip, eyes fluttering shut like she’s waiting for you to shove your cock inside.

That’s it.

You shove her off, not rough, but firm, standing up from the couch you might have sunk in immediately. “Can you cut it the fuck out?”

She’s back upright, giggling, back landing against the couch, legs curled beneath her. “What’s wrong? Blood rushing away from your head?”

“Do you ever stop?”

Her arms stretch over her head again, and you’re starting to see a pattern with the way her dress is stretching against her hips. “Not when I’m having fun.”

It’s maddening. Talking with Chaewon is selecting a door, continuing to talk with her is being shown the wrong door and choosing to take it willingly. “You really don’t care how frustrating you make the Monty Hall problem, do you?”

She smirks. She must think she has it all figured out. “I already told you. Either something happens, or it doesn’t. Fifty-fifty, dude.”

“That’s really not how probability works.”

“That’s how life works.”

You shake your head, and accompany it with an equally disappointed sigh. “You just don’t want to admit when you’ve made the wrong choice.”

She stills, and it’s eerie. It shouldn’t have happened. Then, like a mask slipping back, she recovers with a sly grin. “Or maybe I just like my way better.”

Before you can argue, she makes her move, getting up, pressing against your arm, chest squishy, warm and deliberate against you. “But you can explain it to me as many times as you want.”

She’s impossible. “Chaewon—”

And she leaves no room for response. “Go on,” she purrs, pushing her tits smush against your bicep, molding around the way your muscles tense. “Teach me.”

Your patience and her dress have one thing in common. They’re both razor-thin. “I mean it.”

She hums, and she smiles, and she’s convinced you’re going to give in any second now. “Not a fan anymore of me touching you?” Her voice drops, all warmth and provocation. “Would you rather reverse the roles, have you touch me? Be careful. I’m sensitive.”

Your fingers wrap around her wrist, pulling it high with a firm and stern motion. “Cut it out.”

She clicks her tongue, and scowls in return. The joke is over, and you ruined her fun. “You liked it plenty when that slut at the club was all over you.”

“That’s different,” you say, your jaw tightening up. She knows it is, and it’s not fair. Does she think she can get away with it just because you’ve got a thing for her? Or, used to have, you try to convince yourself.

She’s so clearly unimpressed it’s almost hurtful. It wasn’t a lie though. It was different, that girl at the club never tore your heart out. But none of that matters when Chaewon wants to have her fun. She scoffs. “Must’ve been nice. You didn’t even flinch when she touched you. Just leaned into her, didn’t push her away like you do with me.”

You don’t answer. You let go of her wrist, sit back down, unsure what to make if anything yourself. You could have gone home with ‘that slut’. Had a great evening. Instead, you’re here, keeping your promise to Chaewon that you’d make sure she got home safe, wasting another night on a girl that should have long been in your past already.

That same girl plants both her knees next to yours on the couch, dress creeping above her hips, exposing the slightest hint of black and lace panties straddling your lap, settling against you.

You hate how right she feels here.

She rocks her hips down, just slightly, just testing the waters. And like an experienced professional, the joke’s back on. “You sure you don’t want to have a little fun?”

Your hands clamp around her waist—not pulling her closer. Pushing her off.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t resist. Just concedes as the distance grows.

“Come on,” she murmurs, trying to make sense of it all. “You used to love looking at me.”

Your arm extends fully, pushing her as far as your body allows. “That was a long time ago.”

She lets out a small scoff, more hurt than the lost one, finally relenting and shifting off your lap. The joke is no longer fun for anyone in this room.

You just have to bite the bullet. Separate her from yourself, let the alcohol fade from her system and figure out what to do after that. “Go to bed,” you exhale sharply, a forced sense of finality in your voice. “I’ll sleep here, and be gone before you wake up.”

Chaewon stares at you like you just suggested the unthinkable. Her eye twitches, a habit you’ve long learned to associate with her being so upset that something is going to break. Then, she exhales sharper than you did, standing up. “Fine. Whatever.”

She turns, stomping toward her bedroom, her pumps exploding with sound every step of the way. “It’s still fucking fifty-fifty, by the way!” she yells, right before she slams the door.

It’s suddenly silent. Silent enough to hear your heartbeat going crazy.

She’ll calm down soon enough. Hopefully.

The heat of her body still burns against you, scorching where she was pressed against you. But if you ran after her now, you’d get burned alive. You rub your hands down your face, sinking into the couch, staring into the ceiling as you mentally prepare for what’s bound to be a sleepless night. There’s no escaping those as long as Chaewon is a part of your life. ----------------------------------------

Sleep doesn’t come.

You want to blame it on the horrible way this couch is digging into your back. Or the sounds of the city being ever present. Or the dim glow of some street lights seeping into the living room through Chaewon’s curtains that never managed to fully close. But comfort isn’t the issue.

It’s your damn mind, that can’t shut the fuck up.

Too many thoughts, all tangled together like a string of memories that wrapped around itself far too many times. Her hands, her voice, her weight in your lap. Her unusually prickly temper, and her enhanced sloppiness.

It all feels too fucking familiar, and the moment you admit that, there’s no holding it back.

It started as a night much like this one. You and Chaewon, at her place, sitting too close for friends but too far apart for lovers. Laughing at everything and nothing. Drinking just enough to make the lines blur. You had thought—maybe. Hopefully.

And for a moment, you know, you had been right. It seemed like the kind of night you’d eventually be able to tell your kids about. An edited version, to cut out the once-in-a-lifetime pounding you intended to give her, but still, magical in its own way.

The way she let you kiss her. The way she kissed you back. The way her eyelashes fluttered to pull you into the kiss. How her left thigh rode up yours. The way her fingers locked behind the nape of your neck. The way you told her you liked her.

Then the way she pulled back. The hesitation in her eyes. The way her voice broke when she said “I don’t think we should do this.”

The way a crack formed on your heart, barely being pushed together by the rest of your more logical organs as you forced yourself to nod and agree, to act like it was fine. Like you were fine. Like you hadn’t just managed to secure the right door, only to be forced to step into the wrong one.

And the way your heart formed a second crack when you saw her again. She was still the same. Still Chaewon. Like nothing had happened.

But something did happen to you.

Your phone buzzes.

It’s not easy to ignore. Chaewon is an addiction to you, the next hit of this sweet obsession entering your veins as your screen lights up.

Chaewon: You awake??

You know you should just be failing at sleeping again. This can only lead to misery.

You: Yeah.

It’s quiet for a bit, but a new message makes its way to you all the same.

Chaewon: Cant sleep

If only she knew how she cursed you with the same fate. If not for her you’d be sound asleep in your own bed right now, or even better, in the bed of that chick you met at the club. What did she say her name was again? Kazuha? Instead, you’re here, repeating old patterns with exhausted probability.

You: That sucks.

Your answers are curt. Too perfect with punctuation for your usual back and forth. She doesn’t respond right away. She might be stubborn and annoying about things she’s convinced she’s right about, but she’s never been oblivious.

Then:

Chaewon: Are we okay?

You’re upset, but not heartless. It tugs.

You: We’re fine, Chaewon

Chaewon: Thats not a yes…

You might just scream out of frustration, your phone dropping on your chest, but obviously you can’t. She’d hear. She’s impossible. So fucking stupidly impossible. And yet, you find yourself typing anyway.

You: Do you want me to lie?

The pause is longer this time. Should you feel bad or just so tired that it doesn’t matter anymore?

Chaewon: No

Chaewon: Idk

Chaewon: I just get nervous when ur like this

You: Like what??

Chaewon: Distant

Chaewon: Careful

Chaewon: Upset with me

Your fingers hover over the keyboard without action. She’s not wrong. You are being careful. It’s her fault. She’d break your heart a second time in less time it took for it to beat. That’s dangerous.

You: Idk what you want me to say Chaewon

Chaewon: Idk either…

Chaewon: But I miss how we used to talk

The memories flood in of the two of you just shooting the shit, countless evenings. Still…

You: We’re talking now.

Chaewon: U know thats not what i meant

And she’s right. You do know, but this is just easier. For you, for her. For the both of you.

Chaewon: Cant you just come over here and talk w me?

Chaewon: I miss you…

And before you can even overthink it—

You move. ----------------------------------------

There is a thought that creeps into your mind as the door creaks open and you step into her room. Something about a lion’s den, and then another one following it up about it actually being the lionesses that do the hunting. There’s no point to it. They all fade in an instant. She’s no huntress right now. She’s vulnerable, like prey, enticing you to be the hunter, looking so ready to be pounced on; curled up beneath her blankets, only the soft shape of her against the sheets to lure you in.

“Hey.” It’s a solid way to start a conversation, but you can’t help but expect more from her after calling you in.

You nod, eyes fleeing from hers, shifting awkwardly by the door. “Hey.”

It takes a while before you move. The same goes for her. She’s squinting, her eyes getting used to the darkness. She’s always been stubborn about letting you help her get a blue light filter on her phone.

She finally stops, and for a moment, your eyes meet hers. She carries a soft smile, the kind that made you fall for her in the first place. But there’s a difference in it; barely perceptible; most definitely flown under the radar by people not so obsessed with her face. There’s precaution sewn into it. The sides of her smile are constantly shifting and trembling, like she doesn’t know whether to keep it there or to switch to a more neutral expression. Then, she shifts, her left arm pulling out from under the cover and tapping the sheets next to her, an unspoken invitation.

You sit down with a sigh, back turned towards her. You’re not far, but you’re not close either. A safe distance, you think to yourself. The mood isn’t tense, but also not comfortable. Just… unsure.

You can hear her laps part, exhale, almost say something, and then close again a couple of times. It’s not until you finally turn to face her that she speaks.

“Do you remember that summer at the beach?”

Your eyebrows raise on instinct, disbelief unmistakably painted across your face, impossible not to notice, not even in this darkness. “How could I forget?”

The muscles on her face relax as her eyes drift away from your eyes, seemingly getting lost into her pillow, which she clutches tight. “You remember how you were so worried about me you gave me a piggyback ride back to the house?”

“No,” you scoff, “I remember you guilt tripping me into carrying your soaking wet ass across the sand.” Your face turns away from her again, hands clutching the side of the bed as your eyes veer off into the distance past the window; letting the glass serve as a canvas to project your memories onto.

You hear the sheets rustle behind you as she works herself upright, before reminding you exactly why you helped her back then in the first place. “You weren’t complaining back then! You were way too busy copping a feel of my ass.”

“Okay, now that’s not fair,” you snap back much too fast, much too flustered. “I wasn’t copping a feel, I was keeping you from falling. And besides, you weren’t helping either! Just hanging there all limp, mumbling you’d never be able to walk again.”

“I mean, it just hurt so bad. That jellyfish really fucked me up,” she chuckles back, and you can feel the pressure of her back leaning against yours.

There’s a soft silence, the one drenched in feelings you’d much rather stay in, instead of moving on to an uncomfortable reality. So you keep painting, hoping the window holds your memory-scape just a little longer.

“Do you remember what we kept talking about? To keep your mind off of the pain?”

You can tell she knows in the way she responds with an “Oh my god.”

Both of you say it at the same time.

“The fucking Monty Hall problem!”

There’s a beat of silence. First it’s a chuckle. It turns into laughter, and it quickly grows uncontrolled, unstoppable. The kind that makes the memories seem brighter, makes your body feel lighter, the kind that makes you throw your head back as she does hers. You both open your eyes staring at the roof, now sharing the same canvas to display footage of past days.

“God,” you breathe, your head locked in place but your eyes drifting over towards her face. “I miss those days.”

She giggles, nose scrunching. “I don’t miss what that jellyfish did to me.”

The laughter fades, and you think that maybe, just maybe you could forget about earlier and go to bed without feeling like shit. You shift, and she does too, turning towards her as she moves back to her original spot, leaning against the headrest, crawling underneath the blankets with her legs.

Your breath catches as you look at her. Your stomach turns. “Chaewon.”

She blinks, glancing up at you. “Hmm?”

“Did you—” You inhale sharply, but you can’t afford to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Did you seriously invite me in here just to talk un-dressed like that?”

Her brows furrow. Then she follows your gaze, shifting slightly, and—

Fuck.

Black lace, delicate, thin. Your favorite.

She freezes. "Oh."

Oh? Fucking oh?

“Why the fuck are you like this?” you explode.

Her eyes widen. "No! I—" She scrambles, tugging the blanket back up over herself. “I wasn’t—”

“You said you wanted to talk, Chaewon.”

“I do!” Her voice pitches up. She’s pulling the sheets up hurriedly, using them as a shield from you, all you can see is her cheeks changing color ever so slightly. This time because of the embarrassment instead of the alcohol. “I promise… I do…”

It’s hard to believe that. It’s all so familiar, and all so fucking frustrating. “You know, this is just like you to do,” you ramble, and it’s hard to stop once you get going. “Always so fucking obsessed with getting a reaction out of me, never stopping to think for a second about how I feel!”

Her face softens, and the way she looks at you makes you sick. Like she thinks you’re right. “That’s not—”

“Isn’t it?”

“I swear!” She shouts, looking panicked and it’s enough to finally get you to shut up. “I was still out of it all, too mad and too drunk when I got back here. I just wanted to sleep. I didn’t—” and a big, shallow breath interrupts her, the kind that just appears and leaves you with less air than before. “I wasn’t thinking, okay?”

You want to believe her. But tonight has been too much. Too many provocations, too many lines blurring that she would turn back from, and in turn, you would let form scars.

Then you sigh, sitting back down. “Okay.”

“Are you…” her voice trembles as she tries to figure out the specifics of your answer. “You’re shaking. Are you mad?”

Your mind is still trying to slow down, and answering gets forgotten. She takes that as an answer, obviously. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not so mad that I’d be shaking, you idiot.” Your voice is quiet. “It’s just way too fucking cold in here. And I was thinking.”

There’s no hesitation, because that’s just how Chaewon is as she shifts, making room. “Get under the covers.”

“Chaewon, please—” you start, but she’s not having it.

“I won’t try anything, okay? I promise,” she interrupts you, sounding calmer already. There’s a touch of pleading in it, but not the whiny kind she uses to get you worked up. It’s more desperate, more real. “Just give me a chance to prove I’m being serious.”

You don’t move at first. Stubbornness is inherent to both of you, after all. She tugs on the sheets impatiently. You sigh, but it’s obviously performative, a last jab at her to let her know you’re only doing this just because you’re cold. And she wasn’t lying. She properly keeps her distance, just sharing the warmth of the bed. It’s immediate and comforting, but you don’t allow yourself to sink into it.

“See?” she murmurs. “Not a trap.”

Not yet. You don’t dare say it, but you don’t have to. She sees the thoughts in your eyes. So she shuffles, turning away from you.

The silence stretches so long you start focusing on the noises it can’t beat into submission. Your breathing. Her breathing. The creaking and crumpling sound of the bed and the sheets as you move.

“I wanted to talk, and we talked so… that’s—that’s good. I guess,” she whispers. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind talking some more.” She lets a little space in between for you to insert yourself into. You never do. “But if you’d rather pretend like I’m not here, I get that too. I’ll shut up.”

It’s endearing, and your response is a little mean, letting her wait in silence for just a little longer before replying.

“I’m not pretending. I need somebody to blame the lack of space I have in this bed.”

She smiles, soft. You can’t see it, obviously, but you feel it. Somehow. She shifts under the blanket, closer but not touching. She’s apprehensive. And she meant what she said.

“Is this the first time we’ve slept in the same bed?” she asks, but she masks her tone enough that she could play it off as talking to herself if you decided to not respond.

“Nope,” you correct her. “There was that one time in sophomore year. You showed up at my door at, like, three in the morning. Absolutely shitfaced, mind you.”

She lets out a small, embarrassed groan, and you know you’re on the right track.

“I remember that,” she mumbles. “Barely.”

“You couldn’t figure out how to get to your dorm. Said not even Monty Hall could help you find the right door.”

“How do you remember all that?” Chaewon questions, like you had no right to have that memory.

“Are you kidding me? How could I forget? I told you to take my bed, and that I was gonna crash on the couch,” you continue explaining, your lips curling upwards.

“But I didn’t let you?”

“Nope. You didn’t trust my roommate worth shit. Which, fair.”

She doesn’t say anything. You keep going though, less for her alone or you alone, both for you both.

“You grabbed my wrist when I tried to walk away. Looked me dead in the eye and said, and I quote, ‘Don’t leave me alone with that guy here, he smells like crusty socks and assault.’”

Chaewon lets out a strangled sound that’s half mortified laugh, half groan. “Oh my God.”

“So I gave in. Got in bed next to you. Fully clothed. On top of the covers. Like a gentleman.”

“You didn’t sleep for a second that night, did you?”

“Of course not. You starfished. One arm across my chest, one leg thrown over me like a fucking seatbelt. You had me trapped, dead to rights. Didn’t help you made me paranoid that my roommate was actually going to do something.”

She laughs—really laughs. Warm, unguarded. Then she rolls onto her side, facing you again. Her eyes search yours. "It was easier, wasn’t it? Back then. In college. At the beach. You carrying me like an idiot, me acting like I couldn’t walk, and you trying to turn probability into a personality trait."

You laugh, but it’s not really a laugh. More like one of those nose breaths that accompanies an abbreviated text. “Because it was.”

Her smile fades. “You never needed me to ask. You always just… stayed.”

You shift slightly, your fingers brushing the edge of the blanket. Her eyes drop there, then rise again.

“I think I’m a leaver,” she says. No warning. No lead-in. Like she had to say it fast before she lost the nerve.

“What?” It leaves your mouth before you can even blink.

But Chaewon swallows, her eyes retreating downwards. “I think that’s just who I am. Some people stay, and some people leave. You’re the kind of person that stays, and I’m a person that leaves. Because if I go first, I don’t have to wait until you become a leaver just like me.”

She looks at you like she’s afraid you’ll flinch. Like she’s already bracing for the recoil.

“I know it’s selfish,” she adds quickly. “But that night… when you kissed me, and then said you really liked me—I panicked. I did what I always do. You were giving me a choice, and that scared the hell out of me. So I picked the choice I always make.”

She breathes in. Exhales slow. Really takes her time, her eyes drifting slightly upwards now.

“And for a while, I told myself it was just another fifty-fifty. You know? Just a game of chance I lost. You either leave or get left. You either lose something or end up lost. And I thought—" she breaks off, swallowing again, part of her voice getting swallowed with it, "—that it would go away like the rest. That I’d forget. That it’d stop mattering."

You stay quiet.

“But it didn’t. It stuck. You stuck.”

She shifts again, knee brushing against yours beneath the blanket. Her voice cracks a little.

“And I started noticing things,” she says. "Little things. Like the first time you didn’t wait for me to text goodnight. Or when you were with someone else and you had that smile that I thought was reserved for me. Or when you stopped arguing with me about dumb shit just to keep talking."

Her voice wavers.

“And then I realized I didn’t just pick wrong. I watched the right door shut. And then I heard it lock. And that’s why I know your stupid fucking Monty Hall problem is wrong. I should’ve had another shot. Another choice. But life didn’t open a wrong door—it just took the right one away. And that’s why I know it’s just fifty-fifty. And I lost my coin toss at happiness.”

There’s a second of silence where your brain short circuits.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you mutter.

She blinks, but it helps her to finally look at you. “Ouch?”

You sit up, tossing the blanket off like it offended you. “No, I’m serious. You think my door shut? You fucking locked it.”

She opens her mouth, but you cut her off, your pace quickening. “The fact that I stayed around all this time is proof enough that my door is still unlocked. It wasn’t up to me to reopen that door.”

“I—”

“But you had to try.”

Chaewon’s eyes flicker—not away, but deeper. Her breath hitches, and you swear it’s the first real sound she’s made in a while that didn’t have a smirk behind it. She shifts forward just slightly, only enough that her leg brushes against yours again, like she’s testing if the signal’s still green.

“You’re saying… it’s still open?”

You drag a hand through your hair, eyes rolling ceilingward before locking onto her again. “It was never fucking closed.”

Her lips part. They’re trembling now. She’s not teasing this time. “Then why—why didn’t you ever—”

“Because I’m not gonna beg,” you cut in, sharper than intended. “I’m not gonna crawl through the fucking keyhole when you slammed the door in my face.”

She flinches. Just barely. But enough.

“I didn’t need you to beg, just…” she says, softer, like she’s going over the math again in her head. “I don’t know… I—” Her voice dips, trails, then steadies. “I’m here now. I’m trying.”

You look at her. Clear as day in the middle of the night. She's curled up next to you, defensive and ashamed and stubborn all at once. Her eyes are too glossy, her hands fidgeting with the edge of the comforter like they’re looking for somewhere to hide.

And then she breathes, and her voice breaks.

“I just wanted you to want me still.”

And that? That fucking cracks something open.

You reach for her—no grand gestures, no cinematic swoop—just firm, necessary motion. You cradle her jaw, fingers sweeping her hair back, and when you speak, it’s low and final and absolutely everything you’ve been holding back.

“I never fucking stopped.”

There’s no pause this time.

No “but what if—”

No “are you sure—”

No more fucking Monty Hall.

Just her lips crashing into yours, messily, hungrily, like the apology she couldn’t say and the forgiveness you weren’t ready to offer have decided to cancel each other out with tongue.

It’s not careful. It’s not gentle.

It’s honest.

She’s on your lap again, only this time it’s not a joke. Her knees bracket your thighs and she grinds down with purpose, gasping when she feels you through your boxers. Her hands slide beneath your shirt, nails catching skin, and you curse under your breath as heat swells in your gut, undeniable and urgent.

You break the kiss, forehead against hers. “Still cold?”

Her laugh is shallow, much too distracted with making sure she can properly share in your body heat. “Yeah. Make me warm.”

“And here I was thinking you were hot enough as is.”

She smirks, and it’s real this time. Like the one you saw when you barely knew her, but knew enough already. Not a mask. Not a trap. Just her.

And she whispers, “Don’t stop this time.”

Like you could. Besides, you’re not even sure it’s only meant for you. With the way she’s tugging and removing your clothes, kissing your shoulders and pulling you tighter, it’s like she’s making up for lost time. For every second spent being careful. Your hands trace her body, taking your time to really make sure every curve and beauty mark is stuck in your mind forever.

“God,” you mumble under your breath, pressing your lips to her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, working your way down until you’re kissing the edge of a black lace bra that was almost the reason you stormed off earlier. “I can’t believe how beautiful you really are.”

Her breath hitches. “I know.”

And you’ve missed that, too. Her confidence. The way she can say things like that without irony, because she knows exactly what she’s worth—she just never thought she’d be worth it to you once more.

You kiss her through the black lace, and she shivers when you nip at the edge of her bra, as close to her nipple as you can get. She doesn’t waste any time herself flicking open the button of your jeans. You’ve always thought she needed a helping hand, both of yours pushing your pants further down. They’re not even off properly when she pauses, eyes blown wide, honing in on the tent in your boxers leaving little to imagination.

“Wow,” she says, and it’s almost weird to hear her say it without sarcasm.

“Wow?” your voice is rough, coming out in a single breath.

She nods, and her lips part as she yanks your boxers down, eyes almost dazed as she takes you in. “Wow.”

It’s a reverent look. It’s a look that suits her as long as it’s directed towards you, you think. Her fingers reach out like she’s about to wrap them around you, but she stops right before she makes contact, and the look in her eyes changes. Smug now. Knowing.

“I need a moment,” she says, and you know she’s up to no good. “You can’t just swing that in a girl's face and expect me to make it easy for you.”

A throb shoots through your cock, hips twitching without your consent. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

But she just smirks.

“Chaewon.”

“Shhh,” she says as she shuts down any and all protest, and her voice is the perfect combination of exasperating and enticing. “I’ve got my own Monty Hall problem lined up for you.”

You groan, but it’s more of a plea for mercy than a protest. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m serious,” she purrs, fingers grazing the base of your cock before pulling back again, making you hiss.

“Three doors,” she says, and the way she looks at you is obscene. “My front door, my back door, and my... ehm... mouth door?”

You’re gone. You’re fucking gone. “You are so lucky you're fucking hot.”

She keeps going, relentless. Her grin is pure mischief. “Which one have I imagined you fucking me with the most?” She rolls her hips, testing you. “Pick right, and you get to fuck it.”

“And if I guess wrong?” Your voice is rough, needy, everything you never let her hear before tonight.

Her eyes burn. “Then you eat me out first.”

It’s a rigged game and you both know it, but you play along anyway, letting her set the rules and stack the deck and deal each card. You lean forward, drag your lips up the line of her jaw. “That’s an impossible choice. You want all of them.”

She moans, a hiccup of laughter and want, and the weight of her shifts in your lap, urgent. “You wish. You only get one.”

But her hips are grinding now, a rolling, deliberate pressure that tells you exactly what her body needs. The answer is and always has been: every option, at once, and all of them leading back to you.

You palm her ass, fingers splaying underneath the lace edge, and the way she shivers tells you she wasn’t expecting you to touch her with that kind of certainty. For all her bravado and gamesmanship, this is how you win: you move first, and you don’t hesitate.

“Let’s see,” you murmur, mouth against the shell of her ear, making her gasp. “Back door—” a squeeze, a knead that pulls a little yelp from her, “—doesn’t seem like your style. At least not as a first move.”

“Don’t count me out,” she breathes, and you hear the competitive edge in her voice, the same edge that made her stay up all night just to prove you wrong about some irrelevant, beautiful, dumb thing.

You laugh, slow and low, and she shakes against you. “Mouth door,” you say, and you can’t help but grin at the way she’s already licking her lips, hungry, needing to prove something. “Obvious contender. But I think you want it right here.” Your hand finds the heat between her legs, cups her through those ridiculous panties, and her eyes go wide, her breath gone.

You wait a beat. She’s never been great at waiting, but she’s trembling now, lips parted, waiting for your verdict.

“And if I told you it’s definitely not the back door? Does your answer change?” she pants.

You consider your odds. “I think—” you start, but she interrupts.

“Actually,” she says, and the way her voice drips with satisfaction is almost enough to make you lose. “I don’t give a fuck. I want your cock. Right here.”

She grinds against you, and you can’t help but think you’re never spending another day without that feeling.

“Fuck,” you groan, because she won this round, and she knows it. “You don’t play fair.”

She bites her lip, smiling, then reaches between you, fingers wrapping around you with a perfect, firm pressure. “And that’s why you love me.”

She’s right. She’s wrong about so many fucking things, but she’s right about this.

You thrust up into her hand, and she moans, her body arching, her hair falling down her back. You reach for her hips, hooking your thumbs under the lace, and she lifts herself up, letting you pull it down, off, away. She doesn’t care where it lands; she’s already lowering herself back onto you, and you’re closing the distance, guiding your cock to her needy cunt.

“Fuck you,” you breathe, so close to her you can taste it, the subtext of admission against her skin. “I’m not saying it first. I’ll force you to.”

She rocks her hips, taking you deeper, her breath catching with a shudder. “Yeah? You think you can make me?”

You grit your teeth, the friction of her tight around you making it almost impossible to think. “I know I can.”

“Big words,” she gasps, riding you faster, harder. “Think you can back them up?”

You reach between you, your thumb finding her clit, and she cries out, her whole body shaking, her walls clenching around you. “You first,” you growl, and you can tell she’s sensitive. “Say it.”

Her eyes roll back, her lower lip caught between her teeth. You know it, you have her dead to rights, this is your win, and then—”Nuh-uh.”

You thrust up into her, relentless, and the pressure builds, mounting, and she’s so fucking tight around you, and you want her to say it, need her to say it.

She grinds down harder, her nails dragging your shoulder blades, and it’s too much. Too good. Too fucking hot. “You’re gonna say it,” you gasp, your thumb circling her clit faster. “I know you.”

“And I know you,” she pants, her head falling back as she rides you with abandon, her whole body trembling, her breath hitching with every thrust. “I know—oh fuck—you.”

You watch her face as she rocks against you, her lips parting, her eyes wide and desperate and defiant. She’s so close. So close you can feel it, the way she’s fighting it, wanting to hold out, wanting to win.

“Say it,” you growl, thrusting up into her again, harder, not easing up on her clit.

She gasps, and this has to be it. She’s trembling, tightening, drowning in ecstasy and she’s— “I’m—Fuck, I’m cumming, you fucker,” she manages to choke out, and she cums hard. Her head drops forward, no further admission, still no winner as her whole body shudders, her walls clenching around you like she’s weaponizing her orgasm against you, trying to pull the words from you.

You swear, a rough sound that’s almost a surrender, and she laughs, breathless, smug, still shaking in your lap. “You first.”

Your grip tightens on her hips, and you’re so fucking close, but you hold on, hold out, your breath ragged. “I’m not going to give up,” you groan, thrusting up into her in a wild frenzy, loud clapping of flesh colliding now strangling the room. She lets out a strangled sound, and her eyes go wide letting you know she didn’t expect this.

Didn’t expect you to only go harder, to keep fucking her through her orgasm, keep pushing her over the edge again and again and again until she might pass out. You thrust harder, deeper, and her voice breaks, her body wild against yours.

You hold on, and she holds on longer. She’s so tight, so wet, and the heat is building, and you feel her clench around you, feel her mold to your shape. Her mouth opens, and you can’t tell if she’s about to say it or if she’s too far gone, and then—

She pulls off of you. You watch, stunned, as she drops to her knees and wraps her mouth around your cock, and the sight alone is enough to make you lose it. You groan, a deep, ragged sound, and she moans around you, the vibration pushing you over the edge. Your hands tangle in her hair as you come, hot and hard, spilling ropes of cum into her mouth.

“Fuck, Chaewon,” you choke out, the last of your breath leaving your body as every drop of cum you had does the same, her lips still tight around you.

Then she pulls back, and her eyes are on you, wide and bright and triumphant. She cups a hand beneath her chin, opens her mouth, and—

“I love you,” she says, letting your cum spill out over her lips, and there’s a laugh behind it, a tremor of amusement, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Like she knows she just won all over again. She wipes her mouth, cum streaking her chin, her neck, her chest, and she looks so absurdly beautiful you can’t even be mad.

“Chaewon,” you breathe. It’s exasperation and wonder, the way you’ve said her name so many times before. “You’re fucking impossible.”

“Really?” She bats her lashes with a coy look, licking her lips like she’s savoring every last drop of the chaos she’s caused. “Aren’t you supposed to say it back?”

You grab her by the waist, pulling her back up to straddle you past your softened cock, and she giggles, squirming in your lap. “You’re such a fucking brat.”

“And you can’t get enough of it,” she teases, her smile widening,

You stare at her, chest heaving, the words settling into the spaces that were empty for so long. Then you let out a breathless, helpless laugh, pulling her face up to yours, kissing her despite all the filth she let drip out to cover her sweetness.

“Fuck you,” you say between kisses, but there’s no heat behind it, just the weight of relief and joy and everything else you’ve been holding back. “How do you win even when you lose?”

She smiles against your mouth, and you feel it in every part of you. “I guess I’m just smarter than you.”

You do. You say it like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like you’ve spent the last year waiting for your chance.

“I love you, you idiot.”

She makes a soft sound, and for a second you think she might cry, but it’s just a laugh, bright and giddy and so fucking happy. “I’m glad you do.”

“You’re a fucking nightmare,” you say as you shake your head, trying to hide the cartoonishly large smile she forced upon your face.

“And you’re stuck with me,” she says, kissing you again, her body melting into yours, all softness and satisfaction. Her voice dips, teasing, warm. “Or did you forget?”

“Never,” you murmur, and you mean it. Hell, you’d bet on it.

Her body shifts in response, her being melting into you, her skin sticky but hot against yours. “So,” she says, and it’s light and breezy like that summer day still stuck in your memory, like you’re somehow back in a familiar rhythm, but new nonetheless. “You really think you can handle me?”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around her. “I’ve been handling you for years without the benefit of getting to fuck you.”

She pinches your side, but it’s playful, and you can tell she’s trying not to smile. “Asshole.”

“Yeah,” you say, kissing her forehead. “But I’m your asshole, now.”

She nods, and that alone was worth all the suffering. Because it’s honest.

“Shit,” Chaewon breathes, your skin stuck together with dried cum, pulling loose from you. “We’re a fucking mess.”

“Yeah, well, it’s your fault for trying to be funny,” you say like you’re not covered in it too.

She shakes her head, and it’s like she’s saying it’s your fault for not being the first to say you love her. “We can’t go to bed like this,” she proclaims, trying her best not to get too much filth on her sheets. “C’mon. Shower.”

“Together?” you ask, and she just rolls her eyes like that was the stupidest fucking question you’ve ever asked.

You follow her to the bathroom, the air chilly and the tile cool underfoot. She turns on the water of her shower, letting it heat up as she looks back over at you, one eyebrow lifting like she’s pondering if she should just keep it to showering or not.

“Get in,” she says, pushing you towards the shower. “I’m not letting you sleep until you’re clean.”

She’s already stepping toward the shower when she realizes you’re still standing there. Her eyes narrow, but her lips curve. “What? You’re dawdling now?”

You shrug, and she laughs. It’s not the sound she makes when she’s trying to get under your skin, but the one you’d almost forgotten she could make. Uncomplicated. Real.

She starts taking off the only thing she still has on—her thigh high socks that were the main culprit in why you failed to pick up a girl earlier tonight. You were way too busy admiring how good Chaewon looked, and it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Don’t tell me you’re expecting me to do it for—”

You catch her hand, stop her from peeling them off. She freezes, looks at you like a deer caught in headlights.

“Let’s pretend I lost your three doors challenge,” you murmur, and you hear her breath catch. “It’d be a shame not to eat you out with how good you look in those.”

“So you were staring! I fucking knew it,” she shouts gleefully.

You don’t give it a response. You just hoist her up, and she wraps her legs around you like it’s instinct, gasping, more eager than surprised, as you let her ass meet the bathroom counter. You spread her thighs open to admire, sink to your knees in between them, and look up, getting lost in the way she looks down.

“Oh my god,” she sighs out. “Are you really—”

You don’t let her finish. You drag your tongue up her slit, and her head falls back, the sound of the shower almost drowning out her moan. Almost, but not quite.

“Fuck,” she gasps, the first of many. “Right there. Oh, right—”

You swirl your tongue around her clit, and her hips buck, her whole body trembling. She’s close already, too close, and you know you could end this in seconds, but you don’t. Not yet.

Your hand slides up her thigh, and she shudders as you press a finger against her asshole, teasing, gentle. Her breath catches, and you feel her body tense, then relax, opening for you.

“Shit,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You don’t stop. You don’t even slow down. You work her with your tongue and your fingers and your everything, and she’s shaking.

“Holy fuck,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “You’re—shit—you’re better at this than explaining math problems.”

You groan, a low, rough sound, and the vibration makes her shudder. “Careful, I might bite.”

She laughs, knowing you’re all bark, and her fingers tangle in your hair, not quite pulling you closer, but not allowing escape either. “Don’t stop,” she begs, and she wears it so well that ideas flood your mind. “I’m so fucking close.”

feel her body tense, tight and perfect around you. “Right there. Oh—” You curl your finger, the final bit of tension she needed to release, clenching hard, her hands in your hair, her body on fire. “Oh God, oh—”

She cums hard, her body arching, her legs closing around your head as she cries out, the sound raw and desperate and so fucking good. Your finger slips out but keep your mouth on her, not letting up until she’s shuddering, breathless, her hands tensed up tugging at you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she gasps, and you feel the last tremors of her orgasm as they ripple through her. “How did you—I can’t—” She’s lost for words, and it’s ammunition for next time you fight over something stupid.

You don’t move until she tugs at you weakly, pulling you up, and the look in her eyes is almost enough to make you drop to your knees again.

You grab her hand, pulling her toward the shower, but she doesn’t budge. Instead, she drops to her knees, fingers splayed on your thighs. “I’ll admit, you’re pretty fucking good,” she says, her eyes gleaming with challenge. Everything’s a competition with this girl. “But I’m better.”

You don’t have time to respond. Her mouth is on you, hot and wet and perfect, and you groan, your head falling back. She works you with a skill you didn’t think she had, her tongue swirling, her lips tight, and all you can do is hold on.

She pulls back, and the sudden loss makes you gasp. “Feel free to cum wherever you want,” she muses, and your mind floods with options. All too enticing.

Her pace is relentless, precise, and you feel her smile around you, a smug curve against your skin. She’s rapidly proving her point.

“Chaewon,” you groan, and you’re not sure if you’re leading into begging or commanding. “Fuck, that feels—”

She hums, a low, teasing sound, and the vibration makes you curse. Her fingers slide down, cupping your balls, and you feel yourself throb against her tongue.

You’re close, too close, and she knows it. You can tell by the way she pulls back again, her lips glistening, her eyes wild. “I’m not done with you,” she says, and you swear you might die.

“Fuck my face,” she says, and you tremble, your whole body going tight.

“Chaewon,” you gasp, but she’s already got you begging for more, her hands on your thighs, guiding you inside.

You thrust, and she takes it, takes you, her mouth so fucking good you can’t believe this is real. She moans and gags around you, and it’s a sound you’ll hear in your dreams for the rest of your life.

She looks up, her mouth full, and the sight is obscene, incredible. She’s not stopping, not giving you a second to catch your breath, just letting you use her, and it’s all too fucking much.

You’re so close, the heat building, your control slipping. You fuck her face, your hands tight in her hair, and she’s caught between you and the counter, letting you use her, letting you lose yourself.

“Oh God, Chaewon,” you groan, your thrusts erratic, desperate. “I’m gonna—”

She pulls back, and you gasp, her lips getting pressed against the tip of your dick. She strokes you, her lips swollen and wet, and—

“Do it,” she commands, tilting her head back, presenting her face and her tits and her abs and every target you could choose, her eyes pleading to cover not one but all. “Come all over me.”

That’s it. That’s fucking it. You cum hard, your whole body tensing, and she moans as your release hits her face, her lips, her cheek, her chest.

“Fuck,” you groan, and she smiles, licking her lips, and you’re so spent you almost collapse right there.

Then she’s pulling you down, kissing you, and you taste yourself on her tongue.

“At least I was worth the wait, right?” she murmurs, and you pull back just far enough to see the way she’s grinning, the way she’s looking at you like she thinks she won. If only she saw herself right now, you’re clearly the winner.

“Think I’m ready for that shower now,” you say, and you can’t help but smile back, because you’re a mess, and she’s a mess, and you came into this room specifically to be less of a mess; and you love it. You love her.

The water is still running, heating up the room, and you both stand up. She pulls you with her, and the water makes quick work of the art you just made. What a waste, but a waste you love to spend with her.

She notices your face change as the cum disappears from her visage, and chuckles lightly. “You’ll get plenty of other chances.”

You wash her and she washes you back, and it’s slow and easy and comfortable. Like you never thought it could be again. But better. No rush, no desperation. She works the shampoo into your hair, but you can’t stand to not annoy her for another second, pulling her under the spray and rinsing her off.

“Hey,” she protests, but she’s smiling, her eyes bright.

“Hey yourself,” you say, dragging your thumb across her cheek, her lips, her collarbone. “Think I like you like this.”

“Wet?” she asks, and she’s teasing, but there’s a softness behind it.

“That too. But no. Mine,” you say, and her expression shifts, her eyes going soft, her hands coming to rest on your chest.

“You know,” she says, her voice quiet, thoughtful, “That makes you equally mine.”

You tilt her chin up, kissing her, and she melts into it, into you. “I guess that means we both won today.”

She laughs, and it’s the best sound, the best feeling, the best everything. “Guess I can get used to it if it’s with you.”

Eventually you turn off the tap, and she shivers as you wrap her in a towel, pulling her close. “Bed?” you ask, and she nods, simple and easy.

She helps you dry off, and you help her, and you just can’t let each other be right now. She tugs at you, at your hand, constantly leading you, hair still wild and just damp enough to be okay going to bed with. She slips beneath the covers fully naked, but it’s too cold to worry about any of that, so you follow.

You pull her against you, or she pushes herself into you. It’s hard to tell who’s more desperate. Point is, her back is against your chest, and it fits perfectly. Like she was made for it.

“So,” she says, her voice a sleepy mumble, “are you gonna lose your shit if I say it’s fifty-fifty again?”

You groan, exasperated and affectionate, and she giggles, burying her face in your neck.

“Chaewon,” you say, and she turns just enough to look at you.

“Hmm?”

You wrap your arms around her, holding her, holding everything. “You’re fucking annoying. Never change.”

She smiles, soft and genuine, and you know this is the real win. Not the game, not the challenge, not the give and take of a thousand heated mathematical arguments—but this. Her. You. Together.

“Promise,” she whispers, and you feel her breath slow, feel her body relax, feel the unlikeliest odds settle in your favor.

You hold her tighter, and the silence this time is comfortable, a weightless, blissful quiet that lulls you both toward sleep. You barely hear her next words, but they seep into you, the last sweet, stubborn thing you need to know.

You'd seen her face everywhere. Billboard in Gangnam. Subway advertisement for soju. The thumbnail of every third video on your YouTube feed. Karina. Yu Ji-min. The face of AESPA, the woman whose wedding had crashed three different entertainment news sites, whose husband, some shipping magnate's son had apparently decided that a wife was something you acquired, not something you maintained.

"That's the job," Senior Park had said. "She called us. Not the other way around. Remember that."

And now here you were, sitting in your Hyundai at the security gate of a house that looked more like a modern art museum, trying to remember how to breathe normally.

The gate buzzed before you could press the intercom.

A woman's voice, softer than you'd expected. "Come in. The front door is around the fountain."

The gate swung open.

The walk from your car to the front door took exactly forty-three steps. You counted them. Anything to keep your mind from spinning out. The fountain in the driveway was one of those minimalist things, a black stone slab with water sheeting down the sides. Classy. Expensive. The kind of thing you could stare at and feel nothing about.

Your professional training ran through your head like a checklist Senior Park had drilled into you months ago. Posture. Eye contact. Don't stare. Let her set the pace. The first meeting is always about making them comfortable enough to admit what they want.

But none of the training had mentioned what to do when Karina opened the door.

She wasn't wearing makeup. That was the first thing you noticed, not what you'd expected. Every image you'd ever seen of her was polished to a high gloss, stage-ready, camera-ready. The woman standing in the doorway had her dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping at the temples. She wore an oversized gray sweater that hung off one shoulder, black leggings, bare feet on the marble floor.

And her face. Jesus Christ, her face.

The bone structure that launched a thousand fan edits. Lips that were slightly chapped, slightly parted. Eyes that held yours with something between curiosity and exhaustion.

"Come in," she said, stepping aside. "Take off your shoes."

You did. Brain on autopilot. The foyer was all white marble and indirect lighting, a staircase curving up into shadow. The house smelled like fresh laundry and something floral… lilies, maybe. A bouquet sat on a console table near the door, still wrapped in cellophane, the card unopened.

"I'm…" you started. "I know who you are." She was already walking toward what looked like a living room. "The agency sent me your file. Do you want something to drink?"

The living room was vast and somehow still felt empty. A sectional sofa big enough for twelve people. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a garden you couldn't see in the dark. No photographs on the walls. No magazines on the coffee table. It looked like a showroom, like no one actually lived here. "Water would be great," you managed.

Karina gestured toward the sofa. "Sit." She disappeared through an archway. You heard water running, the clink of glass. Your heart was doing something ridiculous in your chest—not racing exactly, more like it was trying to relocate to your throat.

The file Senior Park had given you was thin. Married eight months. Husband's name was Lee Joon-ho, heir to Lee Shipping & Logistics. According to the tabloids, he'd been spotted at clubs in Gangnam with actresses whose names you didn't recognize, while Karina attended industry events alone. The word "lonely" appeared in a lot of the articles, usually paired with photos of her looking wistful at award shows. "Here."

She was back, holding two glasses. One water, one something amber. Whiskey, maybe. Your eyes tracked the movement of her bare arm as she set the water down on the coffee table between you. "You're nervous," she said, settling onto the opposite end of the sectional. Not a question.

"A little."

"Why?"

Because you're Karina. Because every man in this country has fantasized about you. Because I'm sitting in your mansion and you're wearing that sweater and I don't know what I'm supposed to do with my hands. "New clients are always nerve-wracking," you said instead. "For both of us."

Something flickered in her expression. Amusement, maybe. Or skepticism. She took a sip of her drink—whiskey, definitely—and let her head rest against the back of the sofa. The movement exposed the long line of her throat, the delicate architecture of her collarbones where the sweater had slipped. "How long have you been doing this?"

"A year."

"And before that?" You hesitated. The training said honesty was valuable, but only in measured doses. "I was a personal trainer. Senior Park recruited me. Said I had the right… temperament."

"Temperament." She said the word like she was tasting it. "Is that what they call it?" The silence stretched. Outside, wind rattled something against the glass—a branch, probably. The house was so quiet you could hear the refrigerator humming from two rooms away.

"Why did you call the agency?" you asked. Karina's gaze slid toward you. "Aren't you supposed to know the answer to that?"

"I'd rather hear it from you." Another sip of whiskey. Her throat moved as she swallowed. "The agency brief didn't tell you?"

"It said you were recently married. It said your husband travels frequently for work."

"Travels." A short laugh, not especially warm. "Is that what they're calling it now?"

You didn't answer. Sometimes silence was the best tool you had. Karina set her glass down on the coffee table with a little more force than necessary. The sound echoed in the cavernous room. "He doesn't travel. He's in Seoul. He just doesn't come home." She was looking at the windows now, at her own reflection in the dark glass. "Three months. I've seen him three times in three months, and each time it was for less than an hour. Photo opportunities, mostly. His PR team coordinates them."

"That sounds lonely." Her jaw tightened. "Don't."

"Don't what?" "Don't do the sympathetic thing. I'm not paying for sympathy."

You shifted on the sofa, turning to face her more directly. "What are you paying for?"

The question landed differently than you'd intended. Karina's eyes snapped to yours, and for a moment the mask slipped—the idol mask, the one she wore in every interview and variety show appearance. Underneath it was something rawer. Something hungry and furious and so tired of pretending. "I want to feel something," she said. "Something that isn't…" She gestured vaguely at the house around her. "This."

"This?"

"Empty." The word came out smaller than the others. She picked up her whiskey again, took a longer drink. "Everything in my life is scheduled and managed and presented to the public in exactly the right light. My marriage. My career. My face." Another drink. "I wake up in this house and I feel like I'm already a ghost. Like I'm haunting my own life." You watched her fingers tighten around the glass. The knuckles went pale.

"So when you ask what I'm paying for," she continued, "I'm paying for something real. Something that isn't polite. Something that doesn't treat me like I'm made of glass." The air in the room had changed. Thicker, somehow. Charged with something you couldn't name.

"Have you done this before?" you asked. "With anyone from the agency?"

"No."

"And you understand how this works? The boundaries, the rules—"

"I understand." She cut you off with a look that was almost defiant. "I read everything. I know about the safeword protocols. I know I can stop anything at any time. I know this isn't…" She paused, searching for the word. "Conventional."

"It's not," you agreed. "Which is why I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me."

Karina raised an eyebrow, and for a second you caught a glimpse of the stage persona, the one who commanded thousands with a single glance. "Ask."

"Are you sure you want this?" The question hung between you. Outside, the wind picked up again, and somewhere in the house a door creaked—settling, probably, or the air pressure shifting. Karina didn't look away from your face.

"Do you want me to prove it?" she asked.

"I want you to tell me." She was quiet for a long moment. Then she set her glass down again, stood up from the sofa, and walked toward you. Her bare feet made almost no sound on the marble floor. The sweater slipped further off her shoulder as she moved, revealing the strap of something black and lacy underneath. When she stopped, she was standing directly in front of you, close enough that you could smell her perfume—something light, citrus and white flowers—and underneath it, the clean scent of her skin. "I've been thinking about this for three weeks," she said. "Ever since I found the agency's number in a forum I wasn't supposed to be reading. Ever since I realized that the only person who's touched me in eight months is my makeup artist." Her voice was steady, but there was a tremor underneath it. "So yes. I'm sure. I want this."

She held out her hand. "I want you to make me feel something. I don't care if it hurts. I don't care if it's ugly. I want to stop being Karina for a few hours and just be… a body. A woman. Whatever is left of me when all of this"—she waved at the house, at the empty walls, at the unopened flowers—"isn't here anymore." Your pulse was a drumbeat in your ears. Her hand was still extended, palm up, waiting.

"Tell me your safeword," you said.

"Red."

"And if you can't speak?"

"Three taps. Anywhere you can feel them." You'd said the same words to half a dozen clients before her, but something about the way Karina recited them back—steady, rehearsed, like she'd practiced them in front of a mirror—made your chest tighten.

"Okay," you said. And you took her hand. Her skin was warm. Soft, the way you'd imagined, but there was strength in her grip too—the hand of someone who'd spent years in dance studios, who'd trained her body to do exactly what she wanted it to. She didn't flinch when you stood up, which brought you close enough that you could see the individual lashes framing her eyes, the tiny mole near her left eyebrow, the way her lips had parted slightly.

"Before we do anything," you said, "I need you to understand something."

"What?"

"This isn't about your husband. This isn't about revenge or filling a void or proving something to yourself." You kept your voice low, even. "This is about what you want. Right now. In this room. Nothing else exists." Karina's eyes searched your face. Whatever she was looking for, she must have found it, because something in her expression shifted—a loosening, a letting-go.

"Nothing else exists," she repeated.

"Good girl." The words slipped out before you could stop them, but the effect was immediate. Karina's breath caught. Her pupils dilated, just slightly. The hand in yours tightened its grip.

"That's what you want?" you asked. "To be good?"

"I want…" She swallowed. "I want to stop thinking. I want someone else to be in charge. Just for a while." You lifted your free hand and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. The movement was gentle, almost reverent, and it made no sense with the things you were about to do—but that was the point, wasn't it? The contrast. The collision of tender and brutal that would short-circuit her brain and give her exactly what she was asking for.

"Your bedroom," you said. "Take me there."

She led you up the curved staircase, her hand still in yours. The upstairs hallway was lined with doors, all of them closed except one at the far end. Soft light spilled out of it, and as you got closer you could see the corner of a bed—a huge bed, king-sized at least, with white sheets and too many pillows. The master bedroom. Karina's bedroom.

The room that her husband had probably not set foot in for months. She paused at the threshold, and for a moment you thought she might hesitate. Might change her mind. Might realize what she was about to do and decide it was too much, too fast, too far outside the carefully constructed image of Yu Ji-min, beloved idol, perfect wife.

Instead, she turned to face you. "What do you want me to do first?" The question was genuine. Not a test. She was waiting for you to take the reins, willing to hand over control before you'd even started.

"First," you said, stepping into the bedroom and pulling her gently after you, "I want you to take off that sweater." Karina's hands moved to the hem of the gray wool. The fabric lifted, revealing the black lace you'd glimpsed earlier—a bralette, delicate and expensive-looking, the kind of thing you wore when you wanted to feel beautiful even if no one else would see it. The sweater came over her head and dropped to the floor.

Her skin was luminous in the low light. Pale and smooth, with the kind of muscle definition that came from years of dancing—toned arms, a flat stomach that tensed as she breathed, the curve of her ribs just visible beneath the skin. "Now the leggings." She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and pushed them down, bending at the waist. The movement was efficient, not seductive, but it didn't matter—the sight of her body unfolding as she straightened up, the black lace of her underwear matching the bralette, the long lines of her legs.

You circled her slowly. She stood very still, the way she'd probably been trained to stand for fittings and stage checks, but there was a tremor in her thighs that she couldn't quite control. Anticipation. Maybe fear. Probably both. "Lie down on the bed," you said. "On your back."

Karina did as she was told. The mattress barely dipped under her weight—memory foam, probably, the kind that cost more than your monthly rent. She arranged herself in the center of the white expanse, arms at her sides, looking up at the ceiling. "Close your eyes." Her lashes swept down against her cheeks. The room was silent except for her breathing, which had gone shallow and quick. You stood at the foot of the bed and watched her. The rise and fall of her chest. The way her fingers curled against the sheets. The faint flush spreading from her neck to her collarbones.

"How do you feel?" you asked. "Exposed."

"Good." You moved to the side of the bed and sat down on the edge, close enough that your hip nearly touched hers. Karina's breathing hitched at the proximity.

"Do you know what I'm going to do to you?"

A pause. "No." "I'm going to use you." The words came out rougher than you'd intended. "I'm going to take everything you're willing to give me, and I'm going to make you feel every second of it. Your body belongs to me tonight. Do you understand?"

Her voice was barely a whisper. "Yes."

"And you want that?"

"God, yes."

"Look at me." Her eyes opened. They were glassy already, the pupils blown wide. The composed idol from five minutes ago was already starting to dissolve, replaced by something more vulnerable and infinitely more real. "Your husband," you said. "Does he ever look at you like this?"

Karina flinched—a tiny movement, but you caught it. "No."

"Does he touch you?"

"No."

"Does he make you feel anything at all?" A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, tracking down her temple and into her hair. "No." You leaned closer. "Then forget him. Forget all of it. Right now, there's only me and you and what your body can take. Nothing else. No Karina. No Yu Ji-min. Just a woman who needs to be fucked like she matters."

The tears were coming faster now, but she wasn't sobbing—just leaking, silently, the release of pressure that had been building for months.

"Please," she said. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Make me forget." You stood up and began unbuttoning your shirt. Karina watched you through blurred vision, her chest rising and falling with breaths she couldn't seem to control. The black lace of her bralette had shifted, revealing the upper curve of her breasts, the skin there flushed and warm.

"Last chance to change your mind," you said, pulling your shirt off and letting it fall. Her eyes traveled over your chest, your arms, the line of your stomach. When she spoke, her voice was steadier than it had been.

"I'm not changing my mind."

"Good." You unbuckled your belt and pulled it free from the loops with a single smooth motion. The leather whispered against the fabric of your pants. "Because I'm just getting started." The belt was still in your hand. Karina watched it loop between your fingers, the leather dark against your palm. Her tears had left shiny tracks down her temples, disappearing into the hairline, and her breathing had gone shallow again—not from crying now, but from something else. Something that made her thighs press together on the white sheets.

“Sit up,” you said. She pushed herself upright, the bralette shifting as she moved. One strap slipped off her shoulder. She didn’t fix it. You folded the belt in half and ran your thumb along the smooth side. “You said you wanted to stop being Karina for a few hours.”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m going to take away your sight.” Her lips parted. A micro-flinch—not fear, not exactly. More like the body’s instinctive response to a cliff edge. The moment before the jump. “The blindfold,” you continued, “stays on until I take it off. If it becomes too much, you use the taps. Three of them. Anywhere you can reach me.”

“I know the rules.”

“I know you do.” You stepped closer, until your knees touched the edge of the mattress. “But I want to hear you say it. What happens if you need to stop?”

“Three taps.” Her voice was steadier now. “On you. Anywhere.”

“And what’s your word?”

“Red.”

“Good.” You reached down and brushed your knuckles along her jawline. The contact was feather-light, almost accidental. “Lift your hair.” She gathered the dark strands and held them up, exposing the nape of her neck. The movement arched her back slightly, pushed her chest forward. The black lace strained against her breasts. You brought the belt around her head. The leather was cool, supple from use. You positioned it across her eyes, careful not to catch her hair in the buckle, and pulled it snug against her temples. Not tight enough to hurt. Tight enough that she wouldn’t see anything but darkness.

“How does that feel?”

Karina exhaled. “Dark.”

“Can you see anything?”

“No.”

“Good.” You fastened the belt at the back of her head and let your fingers trail down the side of her neck as you withdrew. Her pulse hammered against your fingertips. “Now lie back down.” She lowered herself onto the mattress. The movement was different now—less controlled, more tentative. Without her sight, every shift of her body became a negotiation with the unknown. Her hands found the sheets and gripped them. You stood at the edge of the bed and looked at her. The idol that half of Korea fantasized about. The face on every billboard. Reduced to a blindfolded woman in black lace, her chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid cycles, her lips slick where she’d licked them.

“Spread your legs.” Karina’s thighs parted. The movement was slow, almost reluctant—but she did it. The matching black panties were cut high on her hips, the fabric thin enough that you could see the suggestion of her underneath. A dark shadow. A slight dampness already bleeding through.

“Wider.” She obeyed. Her knees fell open, exposing the full length of her. The panties pulled taut across her cunt. The outline of her lips. The little seam where they parted.

You didn’t touch her there. Not yet. Instead you climbed onto the bed, positioning yourself beside her. The mattress dipped under your weight, and Karina’s body shifted toward you instinctively—gravity pulling her toward the heat of your skin. “You’re going to use your mouth now,” you said. “And while you do, I’m going to play with these.” Your fingers found the strap of her bralette. You pulled it down. Then the other strap. The lace caught on her nipples for a moment—already peaked, already hard—before you tugged it free and let the fabric pool around her waist.

Karina’s breasts were full and pale, the nipples a dusty rose color that darkened at the tips. They stiffened further in the open air, and she made a small sound—something between a gasp and a whimper. “You like that.”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“You like being blindfolded. You like not knowing what’s coming next.”

“I… yes.” You traced a circle around her right nipple with your fingertip. The skin puckered. Karina’s back lifted off the mattress.

“Don’t move,” you said. “Stay still and let me touch you.” She forced herself down. The effort was visible—her abdominal muscles tensed, her hands fisting in the sheets. You circled the nipple again, closer this time, and then you took it between your thumb and forefinger and squeezed. The sound she made was not a moan. It was a broken exhale, a noise that started in her chest and caught in her throat. Her hips bucked once—an involuntary spasm—and then she forced them still. “That’s it,” you murmured. “Let your body react. Don’t fight it.”

You rolled the nipple between your fingers, working it slowly. The texture was fascinating—the way it tightened and pebbled under your touch, the way the areola crinkled around it. Karina’s breathing had gone ragged. A flush was spreading down her chest, past her collarbones, toward the swell of her breasts. “Does your husband ever touch you like this?”

“No—” The word came out strangled.

“Does he know what your body does when someone pays attention to it?”

“He doesn’t… he never…”

“He never what?”

“He never touches me.” The confession was barely a whisper. “He never—ah—” You’d switched to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. Roll. Squeeze. A gentle twist that made her gasp and arch before she remembered she was supposed to stay still.

“Then he’s a fool,” you said. “Because your body is extraordinary.” You leaned down and took her nipple into your mouth. Karina cried out. The sound was sharp and sudden, echoing in the vast bedroom. Your tongue laved across the tight bud, traced circles around the areola, and then you sucked—a long, pulling pressure that made her whole body go rigid.

“Oh—oh god—” Her hands came up, flailing in the dark, and found your shoulders. Her nails dug in. You didn’t tell her to stop. Instead you sucked harder, pulling the nipple deep into your mouth while your other hand continued working its twin—rolling, pinching, tugging in counterpoint to the rhythm of your tongue. She was making sounds now that had no words in them. Just vowels. Just broken, desperate vowels that rose and fell with the movement of your mouth. You released her nipple with a wet pop.

“Hands down,” you said. “We’re not done.” Karina’s fingers uncurled from your shoulders. She lowered her arms back to the bed. Her chest was heaving, both nipples now slick and swollen, darker than they’d been before. The blindfold had shifted slightly—just a millimeter—but she hadn’t tried to remove it. “Good girl. Now.” You unfastened your pants and pushed them down. Your boxers followed. “I want you to sit up. I want you on your knees. Can you do that?”

She nodded. The belt bobbed with the movement. Getting her upright was an exercise in trust. She couldn’t see the edge of the bed, couldn’t gauge the distance. You guided her by the shoulders—first into a sitting position, then turning her so her legs hung off the side of the mattress. “On your knees,” you said. “On the floor.” Karina slid off the bed. Her knees hit the hardwood with a soft thud. The position put her face level with your hips, and even though she couldn’t see you, she must have sensed your proximity, because her breath quickened. “You’re going to use your mouth now,” you said. “The way you’ve been thinking about since you first called the agency. The way you’ve imagined in this empty bed at night while your husband was god knows where.”

Her lips parted. Her tongue darted out, wetting them. “But you don’t get to use your hands. Not yet. Just your mouth. And while you work, I’m going to keep playing with your nipples. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” You guided yourself toward her mouth. The head of your cock brushed her lower lip—just a touch, just enough for her to feel the heat. Karina’s whole body shuddered. “Open.” She did. Her jaw dropped, and you pushed forward, sliding the tip past her lips. The inside of her mouth was hot. Wet. Her tongue met the underside of your shaft, tentative at first, then bolder—flattening against you, tracing the ridge of the head. You groaned. The sound was involuntary. “That’s it. Take more.”

She did. Her lips stretched around your girth, and you watched her jaw work as she accommodated the intrusion. There was no hesitation now—the blindfold had freed her from something. From the performance. From the expectation. From Karina Yu, the idol, and all the ways that identity constrained her. The woman kneeling on the floor was just a woman. A woman who wanted to suck cock. You reached down and found her nipples again. Both of them this time, one in each hand, rolling them between your thumbs and forefingers as she began to move.

Karina moaned around your shaft. The vibration traveled through you, up your spine, into the base of your skull. “Mmm—”

She pulled back, let her tongue swirl around the head, then pushed forward again—deeper this time. Her throat flexed. A gag reflex triggered, and she choked, but she didn’t pull away. She held herself there, breathing through her nose, letting her throat adjust to the intrusion. “Fuck,” you breathed. “You’ve done this before.” She couldn’t answer—her mouth was full—but the way she moved said everything. This wasn’t practice. This was muscle memory. Somewhere in her past, before the fame and the management and the carefully curated image, there had been a girl who knew exactly what to do with her mouth. You pinched her nipples harder. She whimpered. Bobbed her head. The wet sounds of her mouth filled the room—the slick slide of lips on skin, the soft suction when she pulled back, the obscene little pop when she reached the tip and let go for just a moment before diving back down.

“Look at you.” Your voice had gone rough. “The most famous woman in Korea. On her knees. Blindfolded. Choking on a stranger’s cock.” Karina’s response was a moan that vibrated through your entire shaft. She sucked harder. Faster. Her tongue worked the underside of your cock with the kind of precision that spoke to experience—flicking against the frenulum, tracing the vein that ran along the length, pressing flat and wide when she reached the base. You tugged her nipples in rhythm with her bobbing. Pull when she went down. Release when she came up. The coordination turned her body into an instrument—you played her nipples, and she played you with her mouth. Saliva dripped down her chin. It pooled in the hollow of her throat, ran in thin rivulets toward her collarbones. She was messy now. Undone. The composed idol from an hour ago was dissolving into something rawer and infinitely more beautiful.

“Deeper,” you said. “Take it deeper.” She pushed forward. Her throat constricted around the head of your cock—a tight, hot pressure that made your vision swim. She gagged again, harder this time, and you felt her throat spasm around you. “Stay there.” She held. Her shoulders trembled. A tear leaked from beneath the blindfold—not from crying, but from the physical reflex of her throat trying to expel the intrusion. The tear tracked down her cheek and mixed with the saliva on her chin. You released her nipples and cupped her face instead. Your thumbs traced the stretched line of her lips, the bulge of your cock visible through her cheek.

“You’re perfect like this,” you murmured. “Blind. Choking. Desperate. This is what you needed, isn’t it? To be used. To be nothing but a mouth.” Karina made a sound—half moan, half sob—and nodded as much as she could with your cock buried in her throat. You pulled back. Let her breathe. A thick strand of saliva connected her bottom lip to the tip of your cock.

“Don’t swallow yet,” you said. “Let it drip.” She obeyed. The saliva pooled and spilled, running down her chin and onto her chest. It made her skin glisten in the low light.

“Now use your hands. Both of them. Show me how you touch yourself when you think about this.” Her hands came up immediately—eager, almost frantic. One wrapped around the base of your shaft while the other cupped your balls. Her fingers were cool against the heat of your skin. She squeezed gently, testing the weight, and then her mouth was back on you—lips stretched wide, tongue working, throat opening. The blindfold was soaked now. Tears and sweat had darkened the leather around her eyes. You reached down and found her nipples again. Plucked them. Rolled them. Pinched them until she keened around your cock, the sound high and desperate. “You love this. You love being on your knees for a stranger. You love not being in control.”

“Mmmhmm—” The affirmation vibrated through your shaft.

“Say it. Pull off and say it.” She let you go with a gasp. Her lips were swollen, the color darkened to a deep rose. “I love it. I love being on my knees. I love—” She swallowed, her throat working. “I love not being in control.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Her blindfolded face tilted up toward your voice. “Because for once I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to be Karina. I can just be… this.”

“A mouth.”

“Yes.”

“A set of holes.”

She shuddered. “Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I’m a mouth.” Her voice cracked. “I’m a set of holes. I’m just—I’m just a body that wants to be used.” You stroked her cheek. “Good girl. Now open up.” She did. Her jaw dropped, tongue extended—a gesture of pure, shameless submission. You guided yourself back into her mouth and this time you didn’t let her set the pace. You fucked her throat with slow, deliberate thrusts, watching her lips stretch around you, watching her chest heave as she struggled to breathe through her nose.

Your hands never left her nipples. They were dark now, engorged, slick with the saliva that had dripped down from her chin. You twisted them in opposite directions and Karina screamed around your cock—a muffled, desperate sound that was swallowed by the column of flesh filling her throat. “Again.” Twist. Scream. Her thighs squeezed together, and through the thin black panties you could see her cunt clenching on nothing.

“You’re getting wet from this. From choking on a stranger’s cock while he twists your nipples.” She couldn’t answer. Could only whimper and bob her head and take it. You pulled her off again. She gasped, coughed, and then immediately tried to lean forward—to get you back in her mouth. You held her by the hair. “Not yet. I want to look at you.” Karina knelt there, chest heaving, lips swollen and slick, chin dripping. The blindfold was a dark slash across her face. Her nipples jutted out from the flushed mounds of her breasts, hard and dark and wet. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” you said. “And I mean that. Not Karina the idol. Not the image. This. Right here. A woman who finally stopped pretending.”

Her lips trembled. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me finish. Please let me taste you. Please—I need—I need to feel you—”

“You need to feel me come down your throat.”

“Yes.” The word was a sob. “Yes. Please. Use my mouth. Use my throat. I don’t care if I can’t breathe. I just want to feel it. I want to taste it. Please.” You guided her back onto your cock. She took you deeper than before—no hesitation, no slow build. She swallowed you whole, her nose pressing against your abdomen, her throat working around the intrusion like it was made for this. Made for you. Your hands found her nipples one last time. You pinched them hard—the hardest yet—and held the pressure as she sucked. Karina’s whole body convulsed. Her thighs pressed together so tightly that the muscles in her legs stood out in sharp relief. A muffled, keening sound escaped from somewhere deep in her throat. She was close. Even without touching her cunt, even without any stimulation below the waist—she was close. The nipple play and the blindfold and the degradation had wound her up to a breaking point.

You felt your own climax building. A tightening at the base of your spine. A coiling pressure that radiated outward. “I’m going to come,” you said. “And you’re going to swallow every drop. Do you understand?” Karina’s response was to suck harder. Her tongue worked the underside of your shaft, pressing and stroking in time with her bobbing. Her hand cupped your balls and squeezed—gently, then harder—and that was it. The orgasm hit like a punch to the spine. You groaned—a deep, guttural sound—and your hands tightened on her nipples as the first pulse of cum shot into her mouth. She swallowed. You felt her throat work around the head of your cock, milking you, drawing out every pulse. The second shot. The third. She took them all, her lips sealed tight around your shaft, not letting a single drop escape.

“Fuck. Fuck, Karina—” She pulled back just enough to let the last pulse land on her tongue. Then she closed her mouth and swallowed again, her throat moving in a long, deliberate gulp. When she finally released you, she sat back on her heels. Her chest was still heaving. Her nipples were dark and swollen. Her chin glistened. A single drop of cum had escaped the corner of her mouth and was tracking slowly down toward her jaw. You reached down and wiped it away with your thumb. Then you pressed your thumb to her lips. She sucked it clean.

“Thank you,” she whispered. You crouched down in front of her. The blindfold was ruined—soaked through with tears and sweat, the leather darkened to near-black. You reached behind her head and unbuckled it. The belt fell away.

Karina blinked. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, the pupils so dilated that her irises were barely visible. Tear tracks striped her cheeks. Her lips—swollen, bruised-looking, the lipstick she hadn’t been wearing long since replaced by a deeper, more honest color. She looked wrecked. She looked free. “How do you feel?” you asked.

A long pause. Then a smile—small, fragile, but real. “Like I’m still here. Like I’m actually… in my body. For the first time in months.” You brushed the hair away from her face. “We’re not done.” Karina’s smile widened, just a fraction. “I know.” “Lie back down on the bed. On your stomach this time.” She rose on unsteady legs and climbed onto the mattress. The black panties were soaked through now—a dark, wet patch that spread from the gusset all the way to the waistband. She arranged herself face-down on the white sheets, her arms stretched above her head, her legs slightly apart.

The position made her ass look incredible. Round and full, the cheeks peeking out from beneath the lace.

You climbed onto the bed behind her. Your cock was still half-hard, already stirring again at the sight of her. “I’m going to take these off now,” you said, hooking your fingers into the waistband of her panties. “And then I’m going to find out just how wet choking on a stranger’s cock made you.”

Karina’s voice was muffled by the pillow. “Yes. Please. Touch me.” You pulled the panties down. And stopped breathing. The panties slid down the curve of her ass, the black lace peeling away from skin that glistened with moisture. The gusset left a shining trail across the backs of her thighs—a snail's track of arousal that caught the bedroom's low light. You stopped breathing.

Karina's cunt was laid bare before you, the lips puffy and flushed a deep rose, parted just enough to reveal the darker, wetter flesh within. Her arousal had coated everything—the inner thighs, the neat strip of dark hair above her mound, the puckered swirl of her asshole that winked at you as she shifted on the mattress. The scent hit you next: salt and musk and something sweeter underneath, the raw perfume of a woman who'd been sucking cock while her nipples were tortured and had loved every second of it.

"Fuck," you breathed. Karina's response was muffled by the pillow. "What? What is it?"

"You're dripping. You're actually—" You ran one finger along the seam of her cunt, not pushing in, just gathering the slick that had pooled there. The touch made her whole body jolt. "You're soaked. All the way down your thighs."

"I know." Her voice cracked. "I could feel it. While I was—while you were in my mouth—I could feel myself getting wetter and I couldn't do anything about it."

"Did you want to?"

"Yes. God, yes. I wanted to touch myself so badly. But you told me not to move. So I just… leaked." You brought your slick-coated finger to your mouth and tasted her. Salty. Slightly bitter. Clean. The flavor bloomed on your tongue, and something in your chest tightened—not just lust, though there was plenty of that, but something closer to awe. The most famous woman in Korea was face-down on her marital bed, her cunt drooling onto the sheets, waiting for a stranger to decide what to do with her.

"Please," Karina whispered. "Please touch me. I've been waiting. I've been so patient. Please."

"How long has it been since someone touched you here?"

"Eight months. Since before the wedding. He never—Joon-ho never—" She choked on the name. "He never wanted to. Even before we got married. He said it was… messy. He said he preferred—"

"Preferred what?"

"His hand. His own hand. While I lay next to him pretending to be asleep." The confession hung in the air. You looked at the perfect curve of her ass, the trembling muscles of her thighs, the slick heat of her cunt that some man had decided wasn't worth his time. "His loss," you said. "Don't move." You positioned yourself behind her, kneeling between her spread legs. The position gave you a view of everything—the long line of her spine, the flare of her hips, the dark cleft of her ass, and at the center of it all, her cunt. Swollen. Wet. Waiting.

"Two fingers," you said. "I'm going to put two fingers inside you. And you're going to scream into that pillow." Karina grabbed the pillow and pulled it to her face. You pushed your middle finger into her first.

The heat was staggering. Tight—god, she was tight—but so wet that your finger slid in to the second knuckle without resistance. Her inner walls clenched around the intrusion, a rippling squeeze that traveled from base to tip. Karina's back arched. A strangled sound escaped the pillow.

"One," you said. "Here comes the second."

Your index finger joined the first. The stretch made her gasp—a sharp intake of air that she cut off by biting the pillow. You pushed both fingers deep, curling them upward, searching for the rough patch of tissue that would make her see stars.

You found it.

Karina screamed.

The sound was muffled by the pillow but still loud enough to echo in the vast bedroom. Her hips bucked backward, driving your fingers deeper. Her cunt clamped down with a force that made your knuckles ache.

"There it is," you murmured. "That's what you needed, isn't it? Someone to find it. Someone to touch it. Someone who isn't afraid of a little mess."

"Don't stop—please don't stop—"

You didn't stop. You fucked her with your fingers in slow, deep strokes, curling them against that spot every time you bottomed out. The wet sounds were obscene—a slick, squelching rhythm that filled the room. Her juices coated your hand, dripped down your wrist, pooled on the sheets beneath her.

"Listen to yourself," you said. "Listen to how wet you are. You sound like a—"

"Like a whore." The word came out muffled but clear. "Say it. I want you to say it."

"You sound like a whore. A dripping, desperate whore who's been neglected for eight months and finally has someone's fingers in her cunt."

Karina moaned—a long, wavering sound that rose in pitch as you increased your pace. Her fingers clawed at the sheets. Her ass lifted higher, presenting herself more openly, and you watched her cunt stretch around your fingers, the lips clinging to your knuckles every time you pulled back.

"More," she gasped. "More. I need more. I need—"

"You need what?"

"I need to come. Please. Please let me come. I've been so good. I swallowed everything. I didn't spill a drop. Please."

You slowed your fingers. Stopped them entirely, buried to the hilt inside her.

Karina whimpered. "No—no, why did you stop—"

"Because I want to hear you beg properly." You leaned down, your lips brushing the shell of her ear. "You're not Karina right now. You're not an idol. You're just a wet hole that wants to be filled. So beg like one."

A shudder ran through her body. Her voice, when it came, was smaller than before—stripped of the polish, stripped of everything except raw, naked need.

"Please fuck me with your fingers. Please make me come. I've been empty for so long. I've been so empty and so lonely and the only thing that's made me feel anything in months is your cock in my throat and your fingers on my nipples and now I need—I need you to let me finish. I need to feel something break inside me. Please. I'm begging you. I'm begging like the desperate slut I am. Please."

"Good girl."

You resumed fucking her with your fingers. Faster this time. Harder. The curl against her G-spot became a pounding rhythm, and Karina's whole body began to shake. Her thighs quivered. Her ass clenched and unclenched. The pillow was soaked with saliva and tears.

"I'm close—I'm so close—"

You pulled your fingers out.

"No!" The word was a howl. Her cunt gaped for a moment, empty and clenching on nothing, and then she collapsed forward onto the mattress. "Why? Why did you—I was right there—"

"Turn over."

She rolled onto her back. Her face was a wreck—eyes wild and glassy, cheeks blotchy with tears, lips still swollen from the blowjob. Her chest heaved. Her nipples stood out like dark berries against the pale swell of her breasts.

"Spread your legs."

She did. Her cunt was even more obscene from this angle—the lips engorged and spread, the inner flesh a slick, vivid pink, the hood of her clitoris pulled back to reveal the pearl beneath. Everything glistened.

"Touch yourself."

Karina's hand flew to her cunt. Her fingers found her clit and began rubbing in tight, frantic circles. Her other hand grabbed her breast, squeezing, pinching the nipple.

"That's it. Show me how you make yourself come when you're alone in this empty house."

"It's always you," she panted. "Not you—not you specifically—but someone. Someone who isn't him. Someone who wants me. I imagine—I imagine being taken. Being used. Being ruined." Her circles grew faster. "I imagine a stranger's cock. A stranger's hands. I imagine being bent over and fucked until I can't walk. Until I can't think. Until I forget my own name."

"And does your husband ever make you come?"

"Never. Not once. Not even—not even when we—ah—"

"Don't stop. Keep rubbing."

Her fingers were a blur on her clit. Her hips lifted off the mattress. The muscles in her stomach stood out in sharp definition. She was close again—you could see it in the flush spreading across her chest, the way her mouth fell open, the frantic, jerky movements of her hand.

"Please," she gasped. "Please let me—"

"Stop."

Her hand froze. A sound came out of her that wasn't human—a guttural, animal keen of pure frustration. Her clit twitched visibly, denied its release. Her cunt spasmed, squeezing around nothing, gushing a fresh surge of fluid that soaked the sheets.

"Fuck!" She slammed her fist against the mattress. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

You grabbed her wrist and pinned it above her head. "Look at me."

Karina's eyes met yours. They were wet and desperate and furious and grateful all at once.

"You said you wanted to be ruined. Ruined doesn't mean easy. Ruined doesn't mean I let you come the moment you ask nicely. Ruined means I take you apart piece by piece until there's nothing left but the animal underneath. Do you understand?"

"Yes." The word was barely a whisper.

"Do you still want this?"

"God, yes. Yes. Ruin me. Please. I want to be ruined."

You released her wrist. "Then get on your hands and knees. I want to see all of you."

Karina scrambled into position. The movement was ungraceful, uncoordinated—the idol's dancer precision abandoned in favor of pure, sloppy need. She presented herself on all fours, her back arched, her ass lifted high. The position opened her completely—her cunt a dark, wet gash between her thighs, her asshole a tight pink knot, everything glistening with the evidence of her arousal.

"Spread your ass cheeks."

Her hands reached back. Her fingers dug into the full flesh of her buttocks and pulled them apart, exposing herself more completely. The vulnerability of the gesture made your cock throb.

"Wider."

She stretched herself open until the pink of her cunt gaped slightly, until you could see the dark entrance of her body, the place where her wetness pooled and dripped in a slow, viscous thread onto the sheets.

"Please," she breathed. "Please ruin my pussy. I need your cock. I need it inside me. I've needed it since you walked through my door. Since before that. Since I first saw your picture in the agency file. Please. Fuck me. Fuck me like you hate me. Fuck me like I'm nothing."

You positioned yourself behind her.

Your cock was fully hard again—thick and veined, the head an angry purple, a bead of precum already forming at the slit. You gripped the base and ran the tip along her slit, coating yourself in her slick. The contact made her shudder.

"Is this what you want?"

"Yes—"

You pushed the head against her entrance. The heat of her cunt kissed the tip of your cock.

"Say it again. Louder."

"YES. Fuck me. Please fuck me. Ruin my pussy. I want to feel you in my womb. I want to feel you for days. I want to walk into my next schedule and still feel where you've been. Please—"

You thrust forward.

One motion. No gradual entry. No easing her open. You buried yourself to the hilt in a single, brutal stroke, and Karina's plea dissolved into a scream that had no words in it.

Her cunt was impossibly tight. The wet heat of her gripped every inch of you—a clenching, rippling pressure that traveled from base to tip. You felt the head of your cock butt against her cervix, felt the resistant give of that deepest barrier, and then you pushed past it.

Karina's scream pitched higher.

"Oh fuck—oh fuck, you're so deep—you're in my—"

"Your womb. I know."

You stayed there for a moment, buried to the root, letting her body adjust to the intrusion. Her inner walls fluttered around your shaft—spasms of sensation that were half pleasure, half shock. Her fingers were still digging into her ass cheeks, holding herself open, and you could see exactly where your bodies joined. The stretched ring of her cunt. The way her lips clung to the base of your cock. The shine of her fluids on your skin.

"You're taking all of it," you said. "Every inch. You feel that? Feel how deep I am?"

"Yes—yes, I feel it—I feel you in my stomach—"

"Good."

You pulled back. The drag of her walls against your shaft made your vision swim. Then you slammed forward again, harder than before, and Karina's head dropped between her shoulders, her whole body rocking forward from the force.

"AH—"

"Again."

Another thrust. Harder. The sound of your bodies colliding was a wet slap that echoed off the bedroom walls. Her ass rippled with the impact. Her breasts swung beneath her.

"You wanted to be ruined," you growled, gripping her hips. "So I'm going to ruin you. I'm going to fuck this tight little cunt until you can't remember your own name. Until you can't remember his name. Until the only thing in your head is my cock and how deep it is and how hard I'm using you."

"Yes—yes—fuck—harder—"

You gave her harder.

The rhythm you set was brutal—deep, driving strokes that bottomed out against her cervix with every thrust. The wet sounds of her cunt filled the room. Your balls slapped against her clit. Sweat dripped from your forehead onto her back, tracing rivulets down her spine.

Karina was making sounds that didn't belong to any language. Guttural moans. High-pitched whines. Broken syllables that might have been words if she'd had enough control to form them. Her fingers had released her ass cheeks and were now fisting in the sheets, knuckles white, arms trembling.

"Look at you. The most famous idol in Korea. On her hands and knees. Getting her pussy destroyed by a stranger. Moaning like an animal. This is what you needed, isn't it? Not the fame. Not the money. Not the perfect husband and the perfect house. This. Just this. Just a cock in your cunt and someone who knows how to use it."

"YES—YES, THIS—THIS IS WHAT I—OH FUCK—"

You reached around her body and found her clit. The bundle of nerves was swollen and slick, hard as a pebble under your fingertip. You pressed down and circled—not gently, not teasingly, but with the same brutal intensity as your thrusts.

Karina's whole body convulsed.

The orgasm hit her like a wave breaking against rocks. Her cunt clamped down on your cock with a force that almost hurt—a rhythmic, pulsing squeeze that traveled in waves from her core outward. Her back arched impossibly. Her head flew up, mouth open in a silent scream, eyes rolled back so far that only the whites were visible.

Then the sound came. A wail. A keening, animal cry that started low in her chest and rose to fill the room. Her arms gave out. She collapsed forward onto the mattress, but you followed her down, never stopping, never slowing, fucking her through the orgasm with the same relentless pace.

"Thaaaat's it—don't stop—don't stop—don't—I can't—it's too much—"

"You can take it. You wanted to be ruined. You're going to take every thrust until I'm done with you."

"It's too much—it's—oh god—OH GOD—"

A second orgasm crashed over her before the first had fully subsided. This one was stronger—violent, almost. Her cunt gushed around your cock, soaking your thighs, soaking the sheets. Her screams dissolved into sobs. Her body shook with a force that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than muscle, somewhere primal.

"Please—please—I can't—I can't take any more—"

"One more. Give me one more."

"I can't—I can't—"

"You can. Feel that? Feel how deep I am? Feel how full you are? That's what you needed. Not his empty house. Not his empty promises. This. A cock that fills you up. A body that knows how to use yours. Come for me again, Karina. Come on this cock like the desperate whore you told me you are."

Her response was unintelligible. A stream of syllables that might have been Korean, might have been English, might have been neither. A confession. A prayer. A surrender.

You drove into her harder—deeper, if that was even possible—and pressed your thumb against her clit. The stimulation was merciless. Her cunt seized around you. Her sobs pitched higher.

And then she shattered.

This orgasm was different from the others. Quieter. Deeper. Her body went rigid for a long, suspended moment—every muscle locked, every breath held. Then the release came, and it came with a flood. Her cunt gushed around your shaft—not just wetness this time, but a clear, copious fluid that sprayed against your thighs and soaked into the mattress beneath her.

Karina's voice broke on a single word: "Fuuuuck—"

Her body went limp. Completely limp. She collapsed into the wet sheets, her chest heaving, her limbs twitching with aftershocks. Her cunt still pulsed weakly around your cock—little flutters of sensation that traveled up your shaft.

You slowed your thrusts. Eased to a stop. Buried yourself deep inside her one last time and held there, feeling the heat of her body, the slick grip of her cunt, the violent thudding of her heart that you could feel through the walls of her core.

The room was silent except for her breathing—ragged, broken gasps that gradually slowed to something approaching normal.

"Are you still with me?" you asked.

A long pause. Then, muffled by the mattress: "I don't know. I think so. I think… I think that was…"

"That was what?"

"That was the first time. The first time anyone's ever—" She swallowed. The movement traveled through her whole body. "The first time anyone's ever made me come. Not just during sex. Ever."

You pulled out slowly. Her cunt made a wet, sucking sound as you withdrew—reluctant, almost, as if her body didn't want to let you go. A gush of fluid followed, clear and viscous, pooling on the already-soaked sheets.

Karina whimpered at the emptiness.

"Turn over," you said. "Look at me."

It took her a moment to find the strength. When she finally rolled onto her back, the sight of her made your chest tighten.

She was wrecked. Absolutely wrecked. Her face was blotchy with tears, her eyes swollen and glassy. Her lips—still puffy from the blowjob—were parted, a thin trail of drool connecting the corner of her mouth to her chin. Her nipples were dark and angry-looking, surrounded by faint marks where your fingers had been. Her thighs were slick with her own fluids. Her cunt gaped slightly, the lips engorged and spread, still pulsing with aftershocks.

She had never looked more beautiful.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You don't have to thank me."

"I know. I want to." Her voice was hoarse—fucked raw, used up. "I've been numb for so long. I didn't even realize how numb until… until you made me feel all of this. The pain. The pleasure. The—the shame. The humiliation. I felt all of it. I'm still feeling it."

"And right now? How do you feel?"

Karina's eyes found yours. The glassiness was fading, replaced by something clearer. Something almost peaceful.

"Full," she said. "And sore. And wet. And tired. And…" A pause. "Alive. I feel alive."

You reached down and brushed a strand of sweat-damp hair away from her forehead. The gesture was gentle—a stark contrast to everything you'd just done to her body.

"Good," you said. "Because we're still not finished."

Her eyes widened. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her wrecked face—small and fragile and utterly genuine.

"I know," she said. "I was counting on it."

The shower was a rainfall fixture, wide enough for two, the water coming down in a steady, warm curtain. Steam fogged the glass enclosure. You stood behind Karina, cupping water in your palms and letting it run down her back. The rivulets tracked the geography you'd already memorized—the dip of her spine, the flare of her hips, the twin dimples just above the swell of her ass.

She leaned against the marble wall, forehead pressed to the cool stone.

"I can't feel my legs," she mumbled.

"That's normal."

"Is it?" A laugh, breathy and exhausted. "Good to know."

You reached for the body wash—something expensive, sandalwood and bergamot—and worked it into a lather between your hands. When you touched her shoulders, Karina sighed. The sound was different from the ones that had filled the bedroom an hour ago. Softer. Quieter. The sigh of a body that had been wrung dry and was finally allowed to rest.

Your hands moved down her back in slow circles. Over the faint red marks your fingers had left on her hips. Across the small of her back where sweat had pooled and dried. Down to the curve of her ass, where you kneaded the muscle with careful pressure.

"You're going to be sore tomorrow," you said.

"Good." Her voice was muffled against the marble. "I want to be sore. I want to remember."

"Remember what?"

She turned around. Water sluiced down her front, plastering her hair to her neck and shoulders. The mascara she hadn't been wearing was long gone, but her eyes were still rimmed with red, still slightly swollen. The marks on her nipples had darkened. Her lips—still puffy, still that deep bruised rose—curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"That I'm a real person. That someone wanted me. That for a few hours, I wasn't just a photograph."

You cupped her face. Your thumbs traced her cheekbones. "You were never just a photograph."

"You know what I mean."

"I do." You leaned down and kissed her forehead. Then the bridge of her nose. Then each eyelid, feather-light, the way you'd close a book you weren't finished reading. "But you need to hear it anyway. You're not what he made you feel. You were never what he made you feel."

Karina's breath shuddered out. Fresh tears mixed with the shower water—silent ones this time, not the wrenching sobs from before. She didn't answer. Didn't need to. You held her there in the steam until the water started to cool.

Later, wrapped in a robe that probably cost more than your monthly car payment, Karina walked you to the front door.

The foyer was different now. Less cavernous. The unopened flowers still sat on the console table, but something about them had shifted—they looked less like an accusation and more like a relic. A fossil from a life she was leaving behind.

She pressed a small folded paper into your palm.

"My real number," she said. "Not the one the agency has. Not the one my manager screens." Her fingers lingered on your wrist. "Call me. Or text me. I don't care which. Just… don't disappear."

You unfolded the paper. The handwriting was neat, precise—idol training, probably, years of signing autographs until every stroke was perfect. Ten digits. No name. She didn't need one.

"I won't disappear," you said.

"You say that now."

"I mean it." You caught her hand and lifted it to your lips. Kissed her knuckles. Then the inside of her wrist, where the skin was thin and the pulse still fluttered. "You survived eight months of being invisible in your own house. The least I can do is answer a text."

She laughed—a real one this time, short and surprised. "That's a low bar."

"I'm a simple man."

Karina pulled her hand back, but slowly, the way you set down something fragile. "Go. Before I ask you to stay."

You didn't say goodbye. The training had taught you better than that. Goodbye implied an ending, and endings were the one thing clients like Karina didn't need more of. Instead you stepped out into the cool night air, the paper clutched in your hand, and let the door click shut behind you.

Three weeks passed.

Senior Park called on a Tuesday.

"New client," he said, the way he always did—like he was offering you a gift and daring you to guess what was inside. "Young. Married. The usual story."

"The usual story" had become a kind of shorthand between you. Rich husband. Neglected wife. A mansion full of expensive things and no warmth. You'd heard it so many times now that the details blurred together—only the faces changed, and even those were starting to feel familiar. Actresses. Idols. The wives of men who'd acquired beauty like a stock portfolio and then forgotten to check on it.

"Who is it?" you asked.

A pause. Park was savoring this.

"Jang Wonyoung."

The name hit you like a bucket of cold water.

"Wonyoung? From IVE?"

"The one and only." You could hear the grin in his voice. "Married at twenty-eight. To Kim Seok-joong. The producer. You know him?"

Everyone knew him. Kim Seok-joong had produced half the hits on the charts for the last five years—a genius behind the mixing board, a tyrant in the studio, and, according to every rumor mill in the industry, a man who treated marriage vows like a suggestion. The tabloids had run photos of him leaving clubs with trainees young enough to be his daughters. Wonyoung's name always appeared in the same articles, usually paired with words like "humiliated" and "trapped."

"She called us directly," Park continued. "Apparently she heard about us through a mutual acquaintance. Someone who spoke very highly of your work."

You thought of Karina. Of the paper still folded in your wallet.

"Mutual acquaintance?"

"I don't ask. I don't want to know. I just make the arrangements." The rustle of paper on his end. "She's in Hannam-dong. The penthouse. Tomorrow night, nine o'clock. Don't be late."

The line went dead.

Hannam-dong at night was a different kind of wealth than the gated mansions of the suburbs. Here the money went vertical—glass towers that stabbed into the sky, each floor a monument to someone's ambition. The penthouse elevator required a code, which Senior Park had texted you an hour earlier along with a single line: She's nervous. Go slow.

The elevator ascended in silence. No muzak. No mirrored walls. Just brushed steel and the soft hum of hydraulics. You watched the floor numbers climb and tried not to think about the fact that Jang Wonyoung was waiting at the top of this building. Jang Wonyoung, who'd debuted at fourteen and been famous before she could legally drive. Jang Wonyoung, whose face had sold a million magazines. Jang Wonyoung, who'd married a man twice her age and apparently regretted it before the ink on the certificate was dry.

The doors opened onto a private foyer.

The penthouse was smaller than Karina's mansion—everything in Seoul was smaller than Karina's mansion—but it made up for it in verticality. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the Han River, the city lights reflected in the water like scattered coins. The furniture was minimalist: a low white sofa, a glass coffee table, a single orchid in a concrete pot. No photographs. No personal touches. It looked less like a home and more like a hotel suite where someone had been staying for too long.

Wonyoung stood at the window with her back to you.

She was taller than you'd expected. Taller than she looked on stage, where the camera angles and the choreography and the other members had a way of shrinking her. In person, barefoot on the marble floor, she was statuesque—long legs, a narrow waist, the kind of proportions that designers fought to dress. She wore an ivory silk robe that fell to her ankles, her dark hair loose and straight, still damp at the ends as if she'd just showered.

"It's a nice view," you said.

She didn't turn around. "I used to think so."

Her voice was different from Karina's. Lower. Flatter. Where Karina's words had crackled with suppressed fury, Wonyoung's came out like the air leaking from a tire—slow, deflated, resigned.

You stepped further into the room. "Senior Park said you wanted to meet me."

"Meet you." A short laugh. "That's a polite way of putting it."

"I can leave."

"Can you?" Now she turned. The sight of her face hit you like a physical force—the kind of beauty that felt almost aggressive, all sharp angles and full lips and eyes that were too big for her face. But there was something hollow behind them. Something that had been scooped out and never filled back in. "You can leave. You can stay. You can do whatever you want. I'm just… here."

"How long have you been 'just here'?"

Wonyoung crossed her arms over her chest. The robe was silk, thin enough that you could see the outline of her body beneath it—the curve of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach, the long lines of her thighs. She wasn't trying to be seductive. She wasn't trying to be anything. That was the most unsettling part.

"A year," she said. "Maybe longer. I stopped counting."

"A year of what?"

"Of waiting. Of pretending. Of showing up to award shows on his arm while everyone in the audience knows he fucked one of his backup dancers the night before." Her jaw tightened. "Do you know what that's like? To smile for cameras while your husband's mistress is standing ten feet away, adjusting her earpiece?"

You didn't answer. You'd learned with Karina that sometimes the best response was no response—just the space to let the words hang in the air until they lost their poison.

Wonyoung uncrossed her arms. Let them fall to her sides. "I'm not looking for sympathy."

"Then what are you looking for?"

"The same thing everyone who calls your agency is looking for." She met your eyes, and for a moment the hollowness flickered—replaced by something harder. Something almost defiant. "I want to feel like I exist. Like I'm not just… a decoration. A trophy. Something he acquired and then forgot about."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-nine."

"And how old is he?"

A pause. "Fifty-two."

You let the number sit there. Fifty-two. Older than her father, probably. Old enough to know better. Old enough to treat a twenty-eight-year-old bride like a collectible—desirable right up until the moment the paperwork was signed, and then irrelevant.

"What does he say when you confront him?" you asked.

Wonyoung's laugh was empty. "He doesn't. He just… leaves. Goes to the studio. Comes back three days later smelling like someone else's perfume. And I'm supposed to pretend I don't notice. I'm supposed to be grateful. He made my career, after all. Half my songs were his. Half my image. Half my life." Her voice cracked on the last word. "I was nineteen when I met him. I didn't know anything. I thought it was love."

"What do you think it was now?"

"Ownership." The word came out flat. "He didn't want a wife. He wanted a muse. Something beautiful to inspire him. And now he's inspired by someone else, and I'm just… here. In this penthouse. With this view. Waiting for him to come home and pretending I don't know where he's been."

You moved closer. Not close enough to touch—not yet—but close enough that she had to tilt her head slightly to keep meeting your eyes.

"What do you want from tonight?"

Wonyoung held your gaze. The defiance was back, stronger now, warring with the exhaustion. "I want to stop waiting. I want to be touched by someone who actually wants to touch me. I want…" She swallowed. "I want to feel like a woman instead of a photograph. Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense."

"And you can do that? You can… give me that?"

"I can give you whatever you're willing to take." You held out your hand, palm up, the same way you had with Karina three weeks ago. "But I need to hear you say it. I need to know you're sure."

Wonyoung looked at your hand. The hesitation was visible—the same hesitation every client had, the moment before they crossed the line from thinking about it to doing it. The moment where the life they'd been living warred with the life they wanted.

Then she took it.

"I'm sure," she said. "I've been sure for six months. I just didn't know who to call."

"Your safeword?"

"Red."

"And if you can't speak?"

"Three taps. Anywhere you can feel them."

Her palm was cool against yours. Her fingers were long and slender—pianist's fingers, though you knew she didn't play. The silk of her robe brushed against your wrist.

"Before we start," you said, "I want you to know something."

"What?"

"This isn't about your husband. This isn't about revenge. This isn't about making him feel what you've been feeling." You squeezed her hand gently. "This is about you. Right now. In this room. Nothing else exists. Do you understand?"

Wonyoung's lips parted. For a moment she looked younger—not twenty-nine, but nineteen again, standing in a studio somewhere and believing that the famous producer who'd noticed her was offering her the world.

"I understand," she said.

"Good. Now take off the robe."

She released your hand. Her fingers went to the sash at her waist, the silk loosening with a whisper. The robe slipped off her shoulders. Pooled at her feet.

Underneath she wore nothing at all.

Her body was long and lean, with the kind of proportions that seemed almost impossible outside of a magazine spread. Small, high breasts with nipples the color of pale tea. A waist that nipped in dramatically before flaring into hips that had launched a thousand fan cams. Long legs, smooth and toned, the muscles of a dancer visible beneath the skin. A dark triangle of hair at the junction of her thighs, neatly trimmed.

But what struck you most wasn't the beauty. It was the stillness. Karina had been trembling with suppressed energy, her body practically vibrating with need. Wonyoung stood completely motionless, her arms at her sides, her expression unreadable. She looked like a statue—beautiful and cold and utterly detached from the body she occupied.

"You're very beautiful," you said.

"I know." Not arrogant. Just… factual. "People tell me that a lot."

"Do you believe them?"

A flicker of something—surprise, maybe, or confusion. "What?"

"Do you believe them? When they tell you you're beautiful. Do you feel beautiful?"

Wonyoung's brow furrowed. "I don't… I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do." You circled her slowly, the way you'd circle a sculpture in a gallery. "You've been told you're beautiful your whole life. It's on every magazine cover. Every comment section. Every introduction. But when you look in the mirror, what do you see?"

Her voice was quieter now. "I see what everyone else sees."

"That's not what I asked."

You stopped behind her. The view from here was just as striking—the sweep of her back, the curve of her ass, the way her hair fell in a dark curtain between her shoulder blades. She hadn't turned to follow you. She was still facing the window, still looking at the river and the lights.

"I asked what you see," you continued. "Not what they see. Not what the cameras see. What you see."

The silence stretched. Outside, a boat moved across the Han River, its lights reflecting in the dark water.

"Nothing," Wonyoung said finally. "I see nothing. I see a body that exists to be looked at. A face that exists to be photographed. When I look in the mirror, I don't see a person. I see…" She trailed off.

"A product."

"Yes." The word was barely audible. "A product. Something that was packaged and sold before I understood what I was agreeing to."

You stepped closer. Close enough that the heat of your body registered against her bare back. Close enough that if she leaned back even an inch, she'd be touching you.

"That ends tonight," you said. "Tonight, you're not a product. You're not a photograph. You're not what your husband neglected or what the cameras captured. You're a woman. Just a woman. And I'm going to make you feel like one."

Wonyoung's breathing had changed. Shallower. Faster. Her shoulders rose and fell in the window's reflection.

"How?" she asked.

"First, I'm going to touch you. Not the way a photographer touches you. Not the way a stylist touches you. I'm going to touch you the way a man touches a woman he wants." You raised your hand and let it hover just above her shoulder—not making contact, but close enough that she could feel the heat of your palm. "And you're going to stand right here and let yourself feel it. All of it. Every sensation. Do you understand?"

Her voice was a whisper. "Yes."

"Good."

You let your hand settle on her shoulder.

The contact was light—just your palm against her skin, your fingers curving over the ridge of her collarbone. But Wonyoung's reaction was immediate. Her breath stuttered. Her spine stiffened. The muscles beneath your hand went rigid, then slowly, gradually, began to soften.

"When's the last time someone touched you?" you asked.

"I don't…" She swallowed. "I don't remember."

"Months?"

"Longer. Before the wedding, maybe. He was… interested then. Before he had me. After that…" She shook her head.

You moved your hand down her arm. Slowly. Deliberately. Letting your fingers trace the curve of her bicep, the dip of her elbow, the smooth skin of her forearm. Goosebumps rose in the wake of your touch.

"Close your eyes," you said.

She did. Her lashes swept down against her cheeks, dark against the pale skin.

"Now I want you to focus on what you're feeling. Not what you're thinking. Not what you're worried about. Just the physical sensation. My hand on your skin. The heat of my body behind you. The cool air on the rest of you. Can you do that?"

"I can try."

"Don't try. Just do."

You brought your other hand to her waist. The silk of the robe had been thin, but her bare skin was thinner—softer, warmer, alive in a way the fabric never could be. You felt the slight give of flesh over muscle, the delicate architecture of her ribs. Wonyoung's lips parted. A tremor ran through her.

"Good," you murmured. "That's it. Stay present. Stay here."

Your hands moved together now—one sliding up to cup her breast, the other tracing the curve of her hip. The contact was gentle, almost reverent. You weren't trying to arouse her yet. You were trying to wake her up. To remind her body that it was capable of sensation beyond the clinical touches of stylists and makeup artists and the indifferent hands of a husband who'd long since stopped seeing her as anything but an acquisition.

Her breast was small and firm, fitting perfectly in your palm. The nipple was already tightening—an involuntary response, the body's language for yes, this, more. You circled it with your thumb, not quite touching the peak, letting the anticipation build.

"Oh," she breathed. Just that. Just the single syllable, but it was the most human sound she'd made since you'd arrived.

"You feel that?"

"Yes."

"What does it feel like?"

"Warm. It feels… warm. And tingly. Like—like pins and needles, but soft."

"That's your body waking up." You brushed your thumb across her nipple, finally making contact. The peak was hard now, pebbled and tight. Wonyoung's breath caught. Her hips shifted—an instinctive movement, barely conscious. "That's your body remembering what it feels like to be touched."

"Don't stop," she whispered.

"I'm not stopping. I'm just getting started."

You turned her around to face you. Her eyes were still closed, her lips slightly parted, a flush spreading across her chest. The cool, detached statue from five minutes ago was already beginning to thaw.

"Open your eyes," you said.

She did. The hollowness was still there, but it had receded slightly—pushed back by something warmer. Something hungrier.

"Lie down on the bed," you said. "On your back. I'm going to touch every inch of you, and you're going to stay present for all of it. No disappearing. No retreating into your head. You're going to feel everything. Do you understand?"

Wonyoung's voice was steadier now. "Yes."

"Good. Then let's begin."

She walked toward the bedroom—the same statuesque stride, but looser now, less guarded. The ivory robe stayed in a puddle on the floor behind her, already forgotten.

You followed her. The penthouse bedroom was all windows on one side, the city lights glittering below like a mirror image of the stars. A king-sized bed dominated the center of the room. White sheets. Too many pillows. The same story, different setting.

Wonyoung lay down in the center of the mattress. Arranged herself with her arms at her sides, her hair spread across the pillow, her legs slightly apart. The position was almost clinical—like she was posing for a photograph. Muscle memory.

"Relax your arms," you said. "Above your head."

She lifted them. The movement pulled her breasts higher, flattened her stomach.

"Close your eyes."

Her lashes swept down.

You knelt on the bed beside her. In the silence, you could hear her breathing—quicker than before, but still controlled. Still holding onto something. You would need to break through that control. Not with force. With patience. With attention. With the kind of touch she'd been starved of for years.

"Now," you said, letting your hand hover over her stomach. "Let's find out what Jang Wonyoung feels like when she stops being a photograph and starts being a woman."

Your palm settled on her skin.

And Wonyoung began to tremble.

Your palm settled on Wonyoung's stomach.

The trembling started small—a flutter of muscle beneath warm skin—then spread outward, rippling through her thighs, her belly, the flat plane of her chest. She kept her eyes closed, arms still arranged above her head in that posing-for-a-photograph way that had become second nature.

"You're shaking," you said.

"I know." Her voice was thinner now. "I can't seem to stop."

"Don't stop. Let it happen."

Your hand moved in a slow circle, tracing the faint definition of her abdominal muscles. The skin here was softer than you'd expected—yielding, warm, the kind of softness that came from being young and healthy and well-cared-for in every way except the one that mattered. Wonyoung's breath stuttered when your palm grazed the bottom of her ribcage.

"What are you feeling?"

"Your hand." A pause. "It's… warmer than I expected."

"What else?"

"I don't know. It's been so long since—" She swallowed. The movement traveled down her throat, a subtle ripple. "Since anyone touched me without an agenda. My stylists touch me to adjust my clothes. Photographers touch me to fix my hair. Seok-joong…" The name came out like a curse. "He doesn't touch me at all."

You traced the lower curve of her breast. Not the nipple—not yet—just the swell where her chest began to rise. The skin was impossibly smooth, pale as cream in the city light streaming through the windows.

"When's the last time you touched yourself?"

Wonyoung's eyes opened. The question had surprised her. "What?"

"You heard me."

"I don't…" Her brow furrowed. "I don't do that."

"You don't masturbate?"

The word made her flinch. A tiny recoil, barely visible, but you caught it. "That's not something I—I mean, I've never really—"

"Never?" You kept your hand where it was, still and warm against the curve of her breast. "You've never made yourself come?"

Wonyoung closed her eyes again. A flush was spreading from her chest up her neck, blooming across her collarbones like spilled wine. "Once. Maybe twice. A long time ago. Before I debuted. Before everything got so…" She trailed off.

"So controlled."

"Yes."

"Show me."

Her eyes flew open. "What?"

"Sit up." You withdrew your hand and sat back on your heels. "I want to watch you touch yourself. I want to see how Jang Wonyoung pleasures her own body when no one else is looking."

The hesitation was visible—a war playing out behind her eyes. The trained idol, the curated image, the woman who'd spent her entire adult life being looked at without ever being touched. Then something shifted. A crack in the facade. Her lips parted.

"Okay," she whispered.

She sat up slowly. The movement was graceful despite her trembling—dancer's muscle memory, the body knowing what to do even when the mind was unmoored. She propped herself against the headboard, the white sheets pooling around her hips. Her breasts were small and high on her chest, the nipples still tight from your earlier attention.

"Lie back," you said. "Spread your legs. Let me see all of you."

Wonyoung arranged herself against the pillows. Her thighs parted with visible reluctance—not resistance, but the shyness of a woman who'd been taught that her body was a commodity, not a source of pleasure. The dark triangle of hair between her legs was neatly trimmed, the lips beneath barely visible in the dim light.

"Touch your breasts first," you said. "The way you like it."

Her hands lifted. The movement was hesitant, almost clinical, like she was examining herself rather than pleasuring herself. Her fingers brushed her nipples and she gasped—a sharp, surprised sound.

"That's it. They're sensitive, aren't they?"

"Yes—I didn't know—no one's ever—"

"No one's ever played with your nipples?"

"No." The word came out strangled. Her fingers circled the tight peaks, tracing the areolae with tentative strokes. "Seok-joong said breasts were for—ah—for looking at. Not for—"

"Not for touching."

"Not for touching."

You watched her hands grow bolder. The circles became pinches—gentle at first, then harder, the way you'd done earlier. Her back arched slightly. Her mouth fell open.

"Good girl. Now move one hand lower. Touch yourself between your legs."

Wonyoung's right hand slid down her stomach. The trembling was worse now—her whole body vibrating with a tension that had nothing to do with cold and everything to do with the forbidden nature of what she was doing. Her fingers reached the dark curls and stopped.

"I don't know if I can—"

"You can. Part your lips for me. Show me your cunt."

The vulgar word made her gasp. But her fingers obeyed—they slid through the trimmed hair, parted the outer lips, exposed the pink flesh within. Even from where you knelt, you could see the gleam of moisture. The way her inner lips clung together, then separated with a wet, sticky sound.

"You're wet," you said. "You're wet and you haven't even touched your clit yet."

"Is that—is that normal?"

"It's more than normal. It's beautiful. You're beautiful." You leaned closer. "Now find your clit. The little pearl at the top. Touch it."

Wonyoung's middle finger found the swollen bud. The contact made her whole body jerk. A sound escaped her—half moan, half whimper—and her thighs snapped shut around her hand.

"Keep them open. I want to watch."

"I can't—it's too—"

"You can. Open your legs, Wonyoung. Let me see what your body does when you stop being a photograph."

She forced her thighs apart. The effort was visible—muscles trembling, breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts. Her finger began to circle her clit in slow, tentative strokes. The hood pulled back with each pass, revealing the slick pearl beneath. Her other hand stayed on her breast, pinching and rolling the nipple in counterpoint.

"There," she breathed. "Oh—there—that feels—"

"What does it feel like?"

"Tight. Hot. Like—like something's building. Like I need to—" Her circling grew faster. "Like I need to—"

"You need to come."

"Yes." The word was a sob. "Yes. I need to come. Please. I've never—not with anyone watching—not with anyone—"

"Come for me, Wonyoung. Let go. I've got you."

Her body seized. Her back arched off the mattress, her head thrown back, her mouth open in a silent scream. The hand between her legs moved frantically—rubbing, pressing, chasing the climax that was crashing over her. A keening sound escaped her throat, high and desperate.

Then she collapsed.

Her chest heaved. Her thighs quivered. The hand on her breast fell away, and the other remained pressed against her cunt—not moving now, just holding, as if she couldn't bear to let go of the sensation.

"That was your first orgasm with an audience," you said.

Wonyoung's laugh was breathless, almost giddy. "That was my first orgasm. Period. I don't think the other times—I don't think they were real. Not like that."

"Not like that."

"No." She opened her eyes and looked at you. The hollowness was gone—replaced by something brighter, something almost hungry. "I want more. I want—" She swallowed. "I want you inside me. But I want to be in control. Just this once. I want to decide."

You raised an eyebrow. "You want to ride me."

"Yes." The word came out stronger now. "I've spent my whole life being positioned. Being told where to stand and how to pose and what to wear. I want—just this once—I want to be the one who decides. Does that make sense?"

"It makes perfect sense."

You stood up from the bed and unbuckled your pants. Wonyoung watched with open curiosity—the way her eyes tracked the movement of your hands, the way her lips parted when you pushed your boxers down and your cock sprang free. She'd seen it earlier, of course, but now she looked at it differently. Like she was sizing it up. Like she was planning.

"It's thicker than I thought," she murmured.

"Is that a problem?"

"No." A small smile played at the corner of her mouth. "It's just… I've never seen one this close before. Not like this. Seok-joong and I—the few times we—it was always in the dark. Always over quickly. He never let me look."

"Look all you want."

She did. Her gaze traveled the length of your shaft—the vein that pulsed along the underside, the ridge of the head, the way the skin pulled tight when you were fully hard. Her tongue darted out and wet her lips.

"Lie down," she said. "On your back."

You obeyed. The sheets were cool against your shoulders. Wonyoung rose on her knees and swung one long leg over your hips, straddling you. The position put her cunt directly above your cock—you could see the pink of her inner lips, still slick from her orgasm, still parted and ready. A drop of her arousal fell onto your stomach.

"Like this?" she asked.

"Reverse."

"What?"

"Turn around. Face my feet. Reverse cowgirl."

Wonyoung blinked. Then understanding dawned, and with it came something you hadn't seen on her face before—a flicker of genuine excitement. "I've seen this position. In… things I've watched. When I was alone."

"Then you know how it works."

She turned around. The movement was awkward—she had to lift one leg, then the other, bracing herself with a hand on your thigh—but the awkwardness was part of the appeal. She wasn't performing. She wasn't posing. She was just a woman figuring out how to take what she wanted.

When she settled into position, facing away from you, the view was spectacular. The long sweep of her back. The curve of her ass, round and firm. The dark cleft between her cheeks, and below that, her cunt—still wet, still open, positioned directly above your cock.

"Reach back," you said. "Take hold of me."

Her hand fumbled behind her. Fingers brushed your shaft, then your balls, then closed around the base. Her grip was tentative—too light, too careful—but she guided the head to her entrance anyway. The contact made her gasp.

"Oh god. You're so—I can feel how big you are just from this—"

"Take your time. You're in control."

Wonyoung lowered herself an inch. The head of your cock pressed against her opening, parting the slick lips. The heat of her was incredible—wet and tight and pulsing with the aftershocks of her orgasm. She stopped there, breathing hard, her thighs trembling on either side of your hips.

"I don't know if I can—"

"You can. Slowly. Just a little at a time."

She sank down another inch. The head slipped inside her, and Wonyoung cried out—a sharp, startled sound that was half pain and half pleasure. Her inner walls clenched around you, a rippling squeeze that traveled from tip to base.

"Fuck—fuck, you're stretching me—"

"You're doing so well. Take what you need."

Another inch. Then another. Her cunt was impossibly tight—tighter than Karina's, tighter than anyone you'd been with in recent memory. The walls gripped you like a fist, hot and slick and pulsing. Wonyoung's breathing had gone ragged. Her head dropped forward. Her hands braced on your thighs, nails digging in.

"I'm only halfway—oh god—I'm only halfway and I already feel so full—"

"Keep going. You wanted control. Take it."

She took it. Her hips dropped the rest of the way, and your cock buried itself to the hilt inside her. Wonyoung screamed. The sound was raw and uncontrolled—nothing like the polished idol voice, nothing like the careful, measured tones she'd used earlier. This was pure animal. Pure sensation.

"Oh fuck—oh fuck—you're in my stomach—I can feel you in my stomach—"

"Good. Now move."

She lifted her hips. The drag of her walls against your shaft made your vision swim. When she dropped back down, the impact sent a visible ripple through her ass. The cheeks jiggled with the force of it.

"Yes—" She did it again. Faster. "Yes—this is—this is what I wanted—this is what I needed—"

"Tell me what it feels like."

"Full. So full. Like—like I'm being split open. Like I'm being—ah—like I'm being claimed." She was moving faster now, finding a rhythm, her hips rolling in a way that spoke to years of dance training. The muscles in her back flexed and released with each stroke. "But I'm the one claiming you. I'm the one—I'm the one in control—"

"That's right. You're in control. Take your pleasure, Wonyoung. Take all of it."

Her pace quickened. The wet sounds of her cunt filled the bedroom—a slick, rhythmic slap every time she bottomed out. Your cock was coated in her arousal, glistening in the city light. She reached back with one hand and grabbed your chest—not for balance, but for leverage, pulling herself harder onto you with each stroke.

"Touch my—touch my breasts—please—I need—"

You reached up and cupped her breasts from behind. The position was awkward but the effect was immediate—Wonyoung's rhythm faltered, then resumed faster than before. You pinched her nipples and she sobbed.

"Yes—yes—harder—"

You twisted. She keened. Her hips became a blur—up and down, up and down, fucking herself on your cock with a desperation that bordered on violence. Her head was thrown back now, her dark hair cascading down her spine, her whole body sheened with sweat.

"I'm close—I'm getting close again—I can feel it building—"

"Look at you. Jang Wonyoung. The nation's sweetheart. Riding a stranger's cock in her marital bed. Moaning like an animal. Dripping down my thighs."

"Yes—yes—I'm dripping—I'm making a mess—Seok-joong would hate this—he'd hate how wet I am—he'd hate how—how much I love it—"

"How much do you love it?"

"So much—so fucking much—I love being full—I love being stretched—I love being in control—I love that you're letting me—" Her voice cracked. "I love that you're letting me take what I need—"

The tears started then.

They came without warning—a sudden spill from her eyes, tracking down her cheeks and dripping onto your thighs. Her rhythm faltered. Her breathing hitched and broke into sobs.

"I'm sorry—I'm sorry—I don't know why I'm—"

"Don't stop." You squeezed her breasts gently. "Don't apologize. Keep moving. Let it out."

"I can't—I can't stop crying—" But her hips kept moving. Slower now, but still moving. "It's just—it's been so long—I've been so alone—"

"I know."

"No one touches me. No one looks at me. No one wants me. I'm just—I'm just a thing he bought and forgot about—"

"You're not a thing. You're a woman. A beautiful, passionate woman who deserves to be touched and wanted and pleasured. Keep moving. Let yourself feel it."

The sobs grew louder. Her hips moved faster, chasing the release that was building despite—or maybe because of—the tears. Her hand tightened on your chest, nails digging crescents into your skin.

"I want to come—please—please let me come—"

"It's yours. Take it. Come on my cock, Wonyoung. Come while you're crying. Come while you're in control. Show me what you look like when you let go."

She shattered.

The orgasm hit her like a wave—a convulsive, full-body spasm that made her back arch and her thighs clamp around your hips. Her cunt seized around your shaft, a rhythmic pulsing that milked you from base to tip. The scream that tore from her throat was wordless and raw, echoing off the penthouse windows.

And then she squirted.

The fluid gushed around your cock—a hot, copious flood that soaked your thighs and the sheets beneath you. Wonyoung's hips kept moving through it, grinding down onto you, drawing out every pulse of her climax. The squelching sounds were obscene. Her sobs mingled with moans.

"Oh god—oh god, I'm still—it's still going—I can't stop—"

"Don't stop. Take everything."

She rode the orgasm until her thighs gave out. Then she collapsed backward, her spine landing against your chest, her head falling back onto your shoulder. Her cunt was still spasming weakly around your cock. Her chest heaved. Her face was a wreck—tears and sweat and smeared mascara that she hadn't been wearing.

You wrapped your arms around her waist and held her.

The silence stretched. Outside, the Han River glittered in the darkness, indifferent to everything happening in this penthouse. Wonyoung's breathing gradually slowed. The tremors in her thighs subsided.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You don't have to thank me."

"I know. I want to." She turned her head, her cheek pressed against your chest. "No one's ever… I've never cried during sex before. I've never cried at all. Not since the wedding. I thought I'd forgotten how."

"Tears are just your body's way of releasing what you've been holding too long."

She laughed—a small, wet sound. "You sound like a therapist."

"I've had practice."

Silence again. Then, quieter: "Will you stay? Not—not for more sex. Just… stay. Until I fall asleep. I don't want to be alone tonight."

You pressed a kiss to her damp temple. "I'll stay."

Wonyoung sighed. The sound was different from before—not resignation, but relief. The relief of a woman who'd finally let go of something she'd been carrying for years.

"Good," she murmured. "That's good."

She closed her eyes. In the penthouse bedroom, with the city lights glittering below and your cock still half-hard inside her, Jang Wonyoung finally stopped trembling.

You held her until her breathing evened out. Until her body went slack against yours. Until the tears on her cheeks dried to salt and the wetness between her thighs cooled on your skin.

Tomorrow, you'd leave. Tomorrow, she'd go back to being Jang Wonyoung, idol-turned-trophy-wife, and you'd go back to whatever Senior Park had lined up next.

But tonight, she wasn't a photograph. Tonight, she was just a woman who'd remembered how to feel.

And that, you'd learned, was worth more than any paycheck the agency could offer.

Waking came in stages.

First, the soft gray light of early morning pressing against your eyelids. The penthouse windows had no curtains—Wonyoung liked to wake with the sun, you'd learn later—and the Han River was a sheet of hammered silver outside the glass.

Second, the weight. Or rather, the absence of it. Sometime in the night she'd shifted off your chest, and now the mattress beside you was warm but empty.

Third, the sensation.

Wet. Hot. A rhythmic pressure that started at the base of your cock and traveled upward in slow, deliberate pulls. Your hips stirred before your mind caught up—an instinctive response, the body recognizing pleasure before the brain had finished booting up.

You opened your eyes.

Wonyoung was between your legs.

Her dark hair spilled across your thighs in a tangled mess, still sleep-mussed from the night before. The sheet had slipped off her shoulders, leaving her bare—the long sweep of her spine, the curve of her ass, the soles of her feet crossed at the ankle behind her. She'd positioned herself on her stomach, propped on her elbows, and her mouth was wrapped around your cock.

She was still learning. The technique was messier than Karina's had been—more enthusiasm than skill, more eagerness than precision. Her tongue moved in uncertain patterns, tracing the ridge of the head, then the vein underneath, then back again as if she couldn't decide which part she wanted to taste most. Saliva pooled at the corners of her lips and dripped down your shaft, slicking her fingers where they curled around the base.

But what she lacked in experience, she made up for in something else. Something rarer.

She was happy.

You could see it in the way her cheeks bunched—the muscles straining to smile even with her lips stretched wide. In the little hums that vibrated through your shaft every time she took you deeper. In the way her hips wiggled slightly, a tiny dance of satisfaction, like a cat kneading a favorite blanket.

You chuckled. The sound was rough with sleep.

Wonyoung's eyes flicked up to meet yours. They were clearer than they'd been last night—the hollowness replaced by something bright and mischievous. She didn't stop sucking. If anything, she redoubled her efforts, her head bobbing faster, her tongue working the underside of your shaft with renewed determination.

"What a cheeky girl," you murmured.

Your hand found her head. Your fingers threaded through the dark tangles of her hair, not pulling, not directing—just holding. Just letting her feel the weight of your palm against her scalp. Wonyoung's eyes fluttered closed. The hum she made this time was different—softer, more satisfied. A sound of pure contentment.

She pulled back until just the tip remained in her mouth. Her tongue circled the head—once, twice, a slow figure-eight that made your breath catch. Then she pushed forward again, taking you deeper than before, and you felt the head of your cock bump the back of her throat.

She gagged. Coughed. Pulled back with a wet, gasping laugh.

"Too much?" you asked.

"Not enough." Her voice was hoarse—fucked raw from the night before, from the screaming and the crying and now this. "I wanted to… I woke up and you were still here and I just wanted to…"

"To what?"

"To taste you. Before you left." She rested her cheek against your thigh, her breath warm on your damp skin. "Is that weird?"

"No." You stroked her hair. "It's not weird."

"I've never done that before. The morning thing. I've never woken up next to someone and thought… I want to make them feel good. Just because." Her fingers traced idle patterns on your hip. "I've never woken up next to anyone, actually. Seok-joong never stayed the night. Even when we were engaged. He said he couldn't sleep in unfamiliar beds."

"His own bed was unfamiliar?"

Wonyoung's laugh was bitter. "I was the unfamiliar part."

You sat up. The movement dislodged her from your thigh, and she rose with you—sitting back on her heels, her hair a wild curtain around her shoulders, her lips swollen and slick. The morning light caught the angles of her face, the sharp cheekbones and the full mouth, and for a moment she looked exactly like the magazine covers. The nation's sweetheart. The girl who'd debuted at fourteen and never stopped smiling for cameras.

But the smile she gave you now was different. Smaller. Realer. A smile that belonged to her and no one else.

"Come here," you said.

She came. You gathered her in your arms and lifted her—bridal style, her long legs draped over one arm, her head cradled against your shoulder. She was lighter than you'd expected. All those years of dieting for comebacks, probably. All those years of being told she needed to be smaller, thinner, more perfect.

"The shower," you said. "We're both a mess."

"Your fault." But she was grinning as she said it.

"Entirely."

The bathroom was all white marble and chrome fixtures, with a rainfall showerhead even larger than Karina's. You set Wonyoung down on the heated tile floor—her bare feet made a soft sound against the stone—and reached into the glass enclosure to turn on the water. Steam began to fill the room almost immediately.

She stepped into the shower first. You followed.

The water was hot but not scalding, beating down on your shoulders and back in a steady rhythm. Wonyoung tilted her face up into the spray, letting it run over her closed eyelids and down her throat. The mascara she hadn't been wearing was still absent, and without it she looked younger. Not twenty-nine. Not the weary trophy wife from last night. Just a woman in the morning, clean and bare and unguarded.

You reached for the body wash—something floral, jasmine maybe—and worked it into a lather between your palms.

"Turn around," you said.

She did. You started with her shoulders, the same way you had with Karina. The same ritual. The same aftercare. The same reminder that what happened in the bedroom wasn't just about sex—it was about being seen. Being handled. Being treated like a body that mattered.

Wonyoung sighed as your hands moved down her back. "You do this for all your clients?"

"The shower?"

"The… gentleness. The talking. The staying until morning."

"Most of them." You worked the soap into the dip of her spine, the curve of her hips. "The ones who need it."

"And how do you know which ones need it?"

You turned her around to face you. Water sluiced down between you, washing away the suds. Her eyes were level with your collarbone; she had to tilt her head back to meet your gaze.

"Because they're the ones who cry," you said. "And you cried."

Wonyoung's expression flickered—something passing through it too fast to name. Then she reached up and took the body wash from the shelf behind you. Poured some into her own palm. Worked it into a lather.

"Your turn," she said.

Her hands on your chest were tentative at first—the same hesitance from last night, the same uncertainty about what she was allowed to do. But as she grew bolder, her touch firmed. Her palms traced the lines of your pectorals, the ridges of your abdomen, the V of your hips. She was washing you, but she was also learning you. Mapping the geography of a body that wasn't hers.

"You're different from what I expected," she said.

"Different how?"

"I don't know. Less… transactional." She rinsed her hands under the spray. "When I called the agency, I thought it would be like ordering room service. Something mechanical. Something I could pretend didn't happen afterward. But this is…"

"This is?"

She looked up at you. The water had plastered her hair to her skull, darkened it to near-black. Droplets clung to her lashes.

"Real," she said. "This feels real."

You cupped her face in your hands. Your thumbs traced the sharp line of her cheekbones, the soft skin beneath her eyes. She leaned into the touch—pressed her cheek against your palm like a cat seeking warmth.

"It is real," you said. "Whatever happens in this room, whatever you feel—it's real. The pleasure is real. The tears are real. You're not pretending anymore. You're not performing. You're just… here."

"Just here." She tested the words. "I like that. I've never been 'just here' anywhere. There's always been a camera. Or a manager. Or a husband who wanted me to be somewhere else."

"Not here."

"Not here." She rose on her toes. Her lips brushed yours—soft, tentative, a question more than a statement. "Thank you."

"You already thanked me."

"I know. I want to do it again. Properly." She kissed you again, deeper this time. Her lips parted, and her tongue traced the seam of your mouth—asking permission, not demanding it. You opened for her, and she made a small sound, something between a sigh and a hum, as her tongue met yours.

The kiss was different from the ones last night. Last night had been hungry. Desperate. A woman starving for contact and finally given permission to eat. This kiss was slower. Sweeter. A kiss of gratitude rather than need.

Her arms wrapped around your neck. Your hands found her waist. The water beat down on both of you, and the steam rose around you like a curtain, and for a long moment there was nothing in the world but this—the heat and the wet and the soft pressure of her mouth on yours.

When she finally pulled back, her lips were pinker than before. Kiss-swollen. The color had risen in her cheeks.

"I put my number in your phone," she said.

"You what?"

"While you were sleeping. Earlier. Before I…" She gestured vaguely downward, toward the general vicinity of your crotch. "I wanted to make sure you had it. In case you wanted to call. In case you wanted to…"

"To what?"

"To see me again. Not as a client. Not through the agency. Just… me." Her voice had gone smaller. The confidence from moments ago was fading, replaced by the same vulnerability you'd seen last night. "Is that allowed? Is that something you do?"

You considered the question. The agency had rules about this—Senior Park was very clear about keeping things professional, about not blurring the lines between service and relationship. But Senior Park wasn't here. And Wonyoung was looking at you with those too-big eyes, the ones that had been empty last night and were now full of something fragile and hopeful.

"It's allowed," you said. "But I should warn you—I'm not a boyfriend. I'm not going to be. Whatever this is, it's not going to become something else."

"I know." She didn't look disappointed. If anything, she looked relieved. "I don't want a boyfriend. I don't want another man who owns me. I just want… someone who sees me. Someone who touches me like I'm real. Someone who'll answer when I call." A pause. "Will you answer?"

"Every time."

She kissed you again—quick and fierce, a press of lips that was more gratitude than passion. Then she stepped back, out of the spray, and reached for a towel.

"You should go," she said. "Before I ask you to stay again."

The elevator ride down was quiet. No muzak. No mirrored walls. Just brushed steel and the soft hum of hydraulics and the memory of Wonyoung's voice: Please… call me again.

You checked your phone in the lobby. There it was, in your contacts, added sometime in the early morning hours while you were still asleep: Wonyoung ♡. The heart was a nice touch. A little cheeky. A little hopeful.

You smiled despite yourself.

Three days passed.

Senior Park called on a Friday.

"New client," he said, the same way he always did—that particular lilt in his voice that meant he was enjoying himself. "Actress. Very famous. Very married. Although her marriage is…" A pause. "Complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"You'll see. She's been asking for you specifically. Apparently your reputation is spreading."

"Who is it?"

"Moon Ga Young."

The name made you stop walking. You were on the street in Gangnam, the afternoon sun beating down on your neck, and for a moment you just stood there with the phone pressed to your ear.

"Moon Ga Young? The actress?"

"The one and only. Star of True Beauty. The Interest of Love. Half a dozen other dramas I've never watched but my wife loves." The rustle of papers on his end. "She's staying at the Signiel. Suite 2704. Tonight, eight o'clock."

"Wait." You stepped into the shade of a building, out of the flow of pedestrian traffic. "Moon Ga Young is married? I didn't know that."

"Neither did anyone else. She kept it quiet. Very quiet. No press, no announcement, no wedding photos in the tabloids." Park's voice had gone sly. "The husband is some finance executive. American. Works in New York. They've been married for two years, and in those two years, he's been in Seoul for a total of six weeks. You do the math."

Six weeks out of a hundred and four. You did the math.

"Same story," you said.

"Same story, different window. The view from the Signiel is nicer, though. She's booked the suite for the whole weekend. Says she wants to take her time." Another pause. "She also said—and I quote—'Tell him I'm not fragile. Tell him I don't need the gentle version.' End quote."

You raised an eyebrow. "She said that?"

"Word for word. I think you're in for an interesting night."

The line went dead.

The Signiel Seoul occupied the 76th through 101st floors of the Lotte World Tower. It was the kind of hotel where the lobby was on the 79th floor and the elevator ride up made your ears pop. The kind of hotel where the staff wore suits that cost more than your monthly rent and the vases in the hallways were probably worth more than your car.

Suite 2704 was at the end of a quiet corridor. The door was a slab of dark wood with a brass number, and when you knocked, the sound was swallowed by the thick carpet.

"Come in. It's open."

The voice was lower than you'd expected. Smokier. The kind of voice that belonged in a noir film, all shadows and secrets.

You pushed the door open.

The suite was magnificent. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the Seoul skyline, the city lights glittering below like a spill of diamonds. The furniture was modern and understated—a low gray sofa, a glass coffee table, an abstract painting that was probably worth more than everything you owned. The bedroom was visible through an open doorway, the bed enormous and white and untouched.

And there, on the balcony, stood Moon Ga Young.

She was smaller in person than she appeared on screen. The camera had a way of adding presence, of making actors seem larger than life. In reality, she was petite—barely over five feet, with delicate wrists and a narrow frame that made her look almost breakable. Her hair was long and dark, falling past her shoulders in loose waves. Her face was the same one you'd seen in a dozen dramas—the wide eyes, the full lips, the delicate bone structure that made her look younger than her thirty-something years.

But the robe she was wearing was anything but delicate.

It was silk, pale champagne in color, and almost entirely transparent. The fabric clung to her body like a whisper, revealing the outline of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the dark triangle between her thighs. She wore nothing beneath it. The robe was held closed by a single sash, loosely tied, and as she turned to face you, the front gaped open slightly—just enough to confirm that yes, she was completely naked under there.

In one hand, she held a flute of champagne. The liquid was pale gold, the bubbles rising in lazy spirals.

"You're punctual," she said. "I like that."

"Senior Park said you didn't want the gentle version."

"Did he?" A smile played at the corner of her mouth. "I said I didn't need it. There's a difference." She raised the champagne flute to her lips and took a sip. Her eyes never left yours. "Would you like a drink? There's a bottle on the minibar. It's not cheap—I made sure of that."

"I'm working."

"So am I. Or at least, I'm about to be." The smile widened. "One drink won't hurt. Consider it part of the negotiation."

You crossed to the minibar. The champagne was vintage, the label one you recognized from a previous client's penthouse. You poured yourself a glass—not because you wanted it, but because refusing would mean ceding the rhythm of the encounter to her. And Ga Young, you were already beginning to understand, was someone who was used to setting the rhythm.

She joined you at the sofa. The robe gaped further as she sat, revealing the pale curve of one breast. She didn't bother to adjust it.

"So," she said, settling back against the cushions. "You're the man who made Karina cry."

You paused with the glass halfway to your lips. "She told you?"

"She told someone, who told someone, who told me. The idol world is small. Smaller than you'd think." Ga Young swirled her champagne. "The rumor is that you were… thorough. That you gave her exactly what she needed. That you didn't treat her like glass."

"I don't treat anyone like glass."

"No. I don't imagine you do." She leaned forward, setting her glass on the coffee table. The movement made the robe fall open completely, exposing the full length of her body. She didn't seem to notice. Or if she noticed, she didn't care. "Here's the thing. I've been married for two years. In those two years, I've had sex exactly four times. All of them on our wedding night. After that, my husband decided he preferred New York to Seoul. He calls me once a week, usually from his office, usually while he's doing something else. Reading emails. Checking stocks. He's never once asked me how I'm feeling."

"Does he know you're here?"

"He knows I'm at a hotel. He doesn't know why." Ga Young's smile was sharp. "He probably thinks I'm having a spa weekend. That's what he'd do, if he thought about it at all. 'Ga Young's having a spa weekend. How nice for her.'" The mimicry was cruel and precise. "He doesn't know me well enough to suspect anything else."

"And what are you looking for tonight?"

She leaned back. The robe fell open completely now, pooling on the cushions around her. She was leaner than Karina, leaner than Wonyoung—the body of a woman who'd spent years in front of cameras, who'd been told she needed to be thinner, always thinner. Her breasts were small, the nipples a pale pink. Her stomach was flat. The hair between her thighs was dark and neatly trimmed.

"I'm not looking for therapy," she said. "I'm not looking for someone to hold me while I cry. I'm not looking for validation or reassurance or any of the things your other clients probably need." She uncrossed her legs and crossed them again. The movement was deliberate. Performative. "I'm looking for a good fuck. That's it. That's all. I want to be fucked so hard I forget my own name. I want to walk bowlegged tomorrow. I want to feel like a woman instead of a mannequin. Can you do that?"

You set your champagne glass down next to hers. "Safeword?"

"Red."

"Tap-out?"

"Three taps. Anywhere." She cocked her head. "You're very professional. I like that too."

"Part of the service."

"Then let's get started." She stood up. The robe stayed on the sofa, a champagne-colored puddle of silk. "The bedroom's through there. I want you to use every inch of that bed. I want you to use every inch of me. And I want you to stop treating me like I'm going to break." She walked toward the bedroom, her bare feet silent on the thick carpet. At the doorway, she paused and looked back over her shoulder. "I'm not going to break. I promise."

The bedroom was all windows on one side, the city lights spread out below like a circuit board. The bed was king-sized, the sheets white, the pillows arranged in a perfect geometric pattern. Ga Young climbed onto the mattress and positioned herself in the center—on her back, her arms above her head, her legs slightly apart. The pose was deliberate. A parody of submission. The same way she'd done everything so far—with a wink, with a smirk, with the implicit understanding that she was playing a role.

"The last time I had sex," she said, "was my wedding night. He was drunk. I was nervous. It lasted maybe six minutes. He fell asleep immediately afterward, and when I woke up the next morning, he was already on a plane to New York." She looked at the ceiling. "I didn't have an orgasm. I've never had an orgasm with another person. Not once. I'm thirty-four years old, and I've been faking it since I was twenty."

You unbuttoned your shirt. "You don't have to fake anything tonight."

"I know. That's why you're here." She watched you undress with open appraisal, her eyes tracking the movement of your hands. "I've done my research. I know about the agency. I know about Senior Park. I know about the other women you've been with. The idols. The heiresses. The wives. I know you're discreet. I know you're skilled. I know you're exactly what I need."

"Which is?"

She met your eyes. The smirk was gone. For the first time since you'd walked through the door, her expression was completely serious.

"Someone who isn't afraid of me," she said. "Everyone's afraid of me. My husband's afraid of me. My managers are afraid of me. The directors I work with are afraid of me. I'm Moon Ga Young. I'm the nation's sweetheart. I'm the girl next door who's been in a dozen dramas and never had a scandal." Her voice was flat. "People think I'm delicate. They think I'm fragile. They think I need to be protected. No one's ever looked at me and thought—she wants to be destroyed."

"Do you?"

"Yes." The word was barely a whisper. "God, yes. I want to be destroyed. I want to be ruined. I want someone to look at me and see what I really am, not what the cameras see. Not what my husband sees. Not what the public sees." She swallowed. "I want to feel something real. Even if it's pain. Even if it's rough. Especially if it's rough."

You finished undressing. Your clothes made a pile on the floor—shirt, pants, boxers. Your cock was already half-hard, responding to the challenge in her voice, the directness of her gaze. Ga Young looked at you and didn't flinch.

"Good," she said. "Now come here. I've been waiting two years for this. I'm not waiting any longer."

Moon Ga Young watched you undress with the eyes of a woman who'd spent two decades being looked at and had finally decided to do some looking of her own.

"On your knees."

The command landed in the space between you. Her lips curved—not quite a smile, more a recognition. This was what she'd asked for. This was what she'd been waiting two years to receive.

She slid off the bed. The movement was liquid, all those years of dance training and red carpet practice translating into something that looked effortless. Her knees met the carpet with a soft thud. The city lights through the window painted her bare skin in shades of amber and gold.

"Hands behind your back."

She complied. The position made her small breasts lift, the nipples still pale pink and tight. Her eyes stayed on yours. Defiant. Hungry. The smirk was still there, but it had thinned—become something sharper, more expectant.

You picked up the champagne-colored robe from where it had fallen on the sofa. The silk was cool and slippery in your hands. You pulled the sash free with one sharp tug, and the fabric whispered against itself as it came loose.

"Wrists."

Ga Young's smirk flickered. "You're going to tie me up?"

"I'm going to do a lot of things." You crouched behind her, looping the silk around her wrists. Not too tight—you knew the difference between restraint and injury—but snug enough that she'd feel the pull every time she moved. "You said you wanted to be destroyed. Destruction requires surrender. You can't be in control and be ruined at the same time."

"I know." Her voice was quieter now. The bravado was still there, but something else was bleeding through. Something that sounded almost like relief. "I know. That's the point."

You tied the knot. Tested it with two fingers. "Too tight?"

"No."

"Good."

You stood and walked around to face her. From this angle, with her wrists bound behind her back and her knees pressed into the carpet, she looked smaller than before. More vulnerable. The nation's sweetheart, stripped of her armor, kneeling naked in a hotel suite with her pulse visible in her throat.

"Open your mouth."

Ga Young's lips parted. Her tongue was pink, wet, waiting. You took hold of your cock—fully hard now, thick and veined, the head already slick with the first bead of precum—and guided it toward her waiting mouth.

"Wider."

She stretched her jaw. The corners of her lips went taut. You pressed the head against her tongue, and she made a sound—something between a hum and a whimper—as the taste of you filled her mouth.

"Good girl. Now take it. All of it."

You pushed forward.

The first few inches slid in easily. Her tongue moved beneath your shaft—uncertain at first, then finding its rhythm, tracing the ridge of the head, the sensitive spot just beneath. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked. The suction was strong, practiced, the muscle memory of a woman who'd done this before even if it had been years.

Then you pushed deeper.

The head of your cock hit the back of her throat, and Ga Young gagged. The sound was wet and sudden—a choked, spluttering cough that made her whole body convulse. Her bound wrists strained against the silk. Her eyes watered. A thick string of saliva dripped from the corner of her mouth and landed on her chest.

"Don't fight it. Relax your throat."

She tried. You could feel her trying—the way her muscles fluttered around your shaft, the way she forced herself to breathe through her nose. But the gag reflex was strong, and when you pushed another inch deeper, she convulsed again.

"Fuck—" The word came out muffled, garbled around your cock.

You pulled back. Let her gasp. A bridge of saliva connected your shaft to her bottom lip, stretching, then breaking.

"I can't—" She coughed again. "I can't take it all. It's too thick—"

"You can." You grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back. Her throat was exposed now—a long, pale column, the skin delicate and unmarked. "You said you wanted to be ruined. Ruined means taking cock down your throat until you can't breathe. Ruined means gagging and choking and still pushing deeper. Do you understand?"

Ga Young's eyes met yours. They were wet now, the first tears clinging to her lashes. But behind them, something was blazing. Something that looked almost like joy.

"Yes."

"Then open your mouth."

She did. You pushed inside again, and this time you didn't stop. Your cock slid past her tongue, past the soft palate, into the tight grip of her throat. Ga Young's whole body seized. A guttural, choking sound vibrated through your shaft. Her bound hands clawed at the air behind her back. Her throat muscles clamped down around you—spasming, fighting, then slowly, gradually, yielding.

"There you go. Take it. Take all of it."

Your hips met her face. Your cock was buried to the hilt in her throat, and Ga Young's nose was pressed against your pubic bone. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. Could only gag and choke and let the tears stream down her cheeks while you held her there, impaled on your length.

You held the position for a count of five. Then ten. Her face was turning red. Her body was writhing—not fighting, not trying to escape, but writhing with the sheer overwhelming sensation of being so completely filled.

You pulled back.

Ga Young gasped. The inhale was ragged and desperate, followed by a coughing fit that made her whole body shake. Saliva dripped from her chin. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks blotchy, her carefully arranged hair a tangled mess.

"More," she rasped. "Give me more."

You slapped her.

The crack of your palm against her cheek echoed through the suite. Ga Young's head snapped to the side. A red mark bloomed on her pale skin—the shape of your hand, stark and undeniable.

"Did I tell you to speak?"

She shook her head. The defiance was still there, but it was muted now—submerged beneath something deeper. Something that looked almost like peace.

"Then don't speak. Your mouth has one purpose right now. Do you understand?"

She nodded. Her cheek was still red. The tears had multiplied, tracking mascara-less lines down her face.

"Good. Now show me you understand."

She opened her mouth. Leaned forward. Took your cock between her lips with a hunger that bordered on worship. This time, when you pushed into her throat, she didn't gag. She swallowed around you—a deliberate, rhythmic clenching that traveled from her throat to the base of your shaft. The sensation was electric. Your vision swam.

"That's it. That's my good little throat-whore."

She moaned. The vibration traveled through her throat and into your cock, and the pleasure was so intense that your hips bucked involuntarily. You grabbed her head with both hands—fingers tangled in her hair, thumbs pressed against her temples—and began to fuck her face in earnest.

The rhythm was brutal. Deep, driving strokes that bottomed out against the back of her throat with every thrust. The wet sounds were obscene—squelching, choking, gagging, the slap of your balls against her chin. Ga Young's bound hands clenched and unclenched behind her back. Her body swayed with the force of your thrusts. Her eyes were squeezed shut, tears streaming freely, but she never pulled away. Never tapped out. Never gave any signal that she wanted this to stop.

"You love this. You love being used like a toy. Tell me you love it."

She couldn't speak—not with your cock buried in her throat—but she moaned again. The sound was desperate. Affirmative. Broken.

"Then take it. Take every inch. I'm going to come down your throat, and you're going to swallow every drop. Do you understand?"

Another moan. Higher-pitched. Almost frantic.

You fucked her throat faster. The tension was building—a coiling pressure at the base of your spine that spread outward, downward, gathering force with every stroke. Ga Young's throat muscles were fluttering around you now, spasming in rhythm with her muffled moans. Her body was trembling. Her bound hands had gone limp behind her back, all the fight drained out of her.

"I'm close—fuck, I'm close—"

You slammed into her throat one last time and held there. Buried to the hilt. Her nose crushed against your pelvis. Her throat working desperately around your shaft, trying to swallow, trying to breathe, trying to do everything at once.

The orgasm hit you like a freight train.

The first pulse of cum shot directly down her throat—thick, hot, copious. You felt her swallow reflexively, the muscles of her esophagus contracting around your shaft. The second pulse followed immediately, and the third, and the fourth, each one painting her throat white with your seed. You kept your grip on her head, holding her in place, making sure she couldn't pull away until every last drop was drained.

"Swallow. All of it."

She did. You felt her throat constrict again and again, gulping down your cum with an eagerness that bordered on desperation. When you finally pulled back, a thick string of saliva and semen connected your cock to her bottom lip. Ga Young's mouth hung open. Her tongue was coated white. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, staring at something only she could see.

She swallowed once more. Licked her lips. The taste of you was still on her tongue, and she savored it—closing her eyes, letting out a small, satisfied hum.

"Thank you," she whispered.

The words were hoarse. Fucked-raw. Barely audible. But the gratitude in them was real.

"We're not done."

Ga Young's eyes opened. The smirk was back—smaller now, more fragile, but still there. "I know."

You untied her wrists. The silk sash left faint red marks on her skin—nothing that would bruise, nothing that would last, but enough to remind her tomorrow of what had happened tonight. She rubbed her wrists absently. Then she looked up at you, and the question in her eyes was clear: What now?

"Against the wall."

She rose. Her legs were unsteady—the long minutes of kneeling had left her knees red, her thighs trembling. She crossed to the floor-to-ceiling window and pressed her palms against the glass. The city lights glittered below, indifferent to the scene unfolding above them. Her reflection stared back at her—naked, disheveled, marked.

"Spread your legs."

She did. The position opened her completely—the long line of her spine, the curve of her ass, the dark cleft between her cheeks. Her cunt was visible from this angle, the lips swollen and glistening. She was wet. Had been wet since the moment you'd pushed into her throat, probably. Maybe since the moment you'd walked through the door.

You stepped behind her. Your left hand found her throat—not squeezing, not yet, just resting there, a reminder of who was in control. Your right hand slid down her back, over the curve of her ass, between her cheeks. You spread her open, exposing the tight pink knot of her asshole, the darker, wetter flesh of her cunt below.

"Look at you. Moon Ga Young. The nation's sweetheart. Bent over against a hotel window with her cunt dripping and her throat full of cum. What would your fans think?"

"I don't care." Her voice was raw, almost defiant. "I don't care what they think. I don't care what anyone thinks. Just fuck me. Please. Fuck me like you mean it."

You tightened your grip on her throat. Not enough to cut off air—just enough to make her feel the pressure. Just enough to remind her that you could.

"Beg."

"Please." The word came out strangled. "Please fuck me. I've been waiting two years. Two years of empty beds and empty phone calls and pretending I'm fine when I'm dying inside. Please. I need this. I need you. I need your cock inside me. I need to feel something real. Please—"

You thrust into her cunt in one brutal motion.

Ga Young screamed.

The sound was raw and animal—nothing like the polished, controlled voice she used in interviews. This was a scream torn from somewhere deep inside her, a scream that had been building for two years and finally found its release. Her cunt was tight—tighter than you'd expected, the walls clenching around your shaft with a force that made your breath catch. She was soaked, though, and the slick heat of her made the brutal entry possible.

"Oh fuck—oh fuck—you're so deep—"

You didn't give her time to adjust. You pulled back and slammed forward again, harder than before. The impact made her palms squeak against the glass. Her breasts pressed against the window, leaving smears of sweat on the pristine surface. Your left hand stayed on her throat, your right hand gripping her hip, and you fucked her with a rhythm that was punishing.

"This is what you wanted. This is what you begged for. To be fucked like an animal. To be used like a toy. To be ruined."

"Yes—yes—harder—"

You gave her harder. The wet sounds of her cunt filled the suite—squelching, slapping, the rhythmic thud of your hips meeting her ass. You could see her reflection in the window—her mouth open, her eyes half-closed, her cheeks flushed and tear-streaked. The idol image was gone. Completely obliterated. What was left was just a woman, raw and desperate, taking cock like she'd been starving for it.

You tightened your grip on her throat. Squeezed. Not enough to cut off her air entirely, but enough to make her lightheaded. Enough to make the edges of her vision go dark. Ga Young's eyes rolled back. Her mouth opened wider. A strangled sound escaped her—half moan, half gasp.

"That's it. Feel that? Feel how deep I am? Feel how full you are? This is what you needed. Not the fame. Not the money. Not the perfect husband who never touches you. This. Just this. Just a cock in your cunt and someone who knows how to use it."

"YES—YES—THIS IS—"

You released her throat. She gasped—a huge, ragged inhale that made her whole body shudder. Then you grabbed her hips with both hands and fucked her even harder. The pace was brutal now—piston-like, relentless, each thrust driving her against the window with a force that made the glass vibrate. Her ass rippled with every impact. Her breasts bounced. Her reflection stared back at her with wild eyes and a slack mouth, and she looked at herself like she didn't recognize what she was seeing.

"Look at yourself. Look at what you've become. You're not an actress right now. You're not a wife. You're just a wet hole. A set of holes. A body that exists to be fucked. Do you see her?"

"I see her—" Ga Young's voice was broken, sobbing. "I see her—I see myself—"

"And what do you see?"

"A whore." The word came out on a sob. "A desperate, dripping whore who's been neglected for two years and finally has a cock inside her. I see a whore. I see a whore. I see—"

You felt her cunt seize around you. The orgasm was sudden and violent—a convulsive, full-body spasm that made her back arch and her legs give out. You caught her before she collapsed, pinning her against the window with your body, and kept fucking her through it. The clenching of her walls was rhythmic, almost painful in its intensity, milking your shaft from base to tip.

"That's it—that's it—come on my cock—come while you're watching yourself—"

"I'm coming—I'm coming—oh god, I'm—"

She squirted. The fluid gushed around your cock, soaking your thighs, splashing against the window, dripping down the glass in long, obscene rivulets. Ga Young's scream was wordless, primal, a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than her throat. Her body convulsed in your arms. Her cunt pulsed and fluttered around your shaft, and the sensation was so intense that you felt your own orgasm building—a tightening pressure at the base of your spine.

But you weren't done.

You pulled out of her. Ga Young whimpered at the emptiness. Her cunt gaped for a moment, then clenched around nothing, gushing another pulse of fluid onto the carpet. You turned her around—roughly, hands on her shoulders, spinning her like a doll—and pushed her back against the window. Her shoulder blades hit the glass. Her eyes were wild, unfocused, still hazy from the orgasm.

"Hold onto me."

Her arms wrapped around your neck. Her legs wrapped around your waist. You gripped her thighs and lifted her, positioning her cunt above your cock, and thrust inside her in one smooth motion.

Ga Young's head fell back against the glass. "Oh ffffuuuuck—"

"You wanted to be ruined. I'm not finished ruining you."

You fucked her against the window. The position was different—deeper, somehow, the angle letting you hit spots inside her that you hadn't reached before. Ga Young's moans were continuous now, a stream of broken syllables and guttural sounds that didn't belong to any language. Her nails dug into your shoulders. Her heels pressed into the small of your back. Her cunt was a mess—slick and swollen and pulsing, still gushing intermittently with the aftershocks of her orgasm.

"Harder—please—harder—"

You slammed into her. The window rattled. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered that there were probably people in the building across the street, people with binoculars, people who might be watching. Let them watch. Let them see what Moon Ga Young looked like when she was being fucked properly. Let them see the nation's sweetheart with her legs wrapped around a stranger, her cunt dripping down his thighs, her mouth open in a scream that had no end.

"Look at me."

She forced her eyes to focus. They were glassy, tear-filled, but they met yours.

"You're going to come again. You're going to come on this cock while I'm choking you. And you're going to watch yourself in the reflection while you do it. Do you understand?"

"Yes—yes—"

Your left hand found her throat again. Squeezed. Harder this time. Ga Young's face began to flush. Her lips parted. Her eyes rolled back. But she didn't tap out. Didn't signal. Didn't do anything except moan—a thin, wheezing sound that vibrated against your palm.

"That's it. Let go. Let yourself fall."

You fucked her harder. The rhythm was punishing—deep, driving strokes that bottomed out against her cervix with every thrust. Your right hand found her clit, the swollen bundle of nerves slick and hard under your fingertip. You pressed down. Circled. Ga Young's body convulsed.

Her orgasm hit like an explosion.

This one was different from the first—quieter, deeper, more devastating. Her cunt clamped down on your cock with a force that almost hurt. Her whole body went rigid, every muscle locked, every breath held. Then the release came, and it came with a flood. Her cunt gushed around your shaft—not just wetness this time, but a clear, copious fluid that sprayed against your thighs and soaked the carpet beneath you.

"Fuuuuuuuck—"

Her voice broke on the word. Her body went limp. Completely limp. She collapsed against you, her head falling onto your shoulder, her arms sliding from your neck. Her cunt was still pulsing weakly around your cock—little flutters of sensation that traveled up your shaft.

You released her throat. She gasped—a huge, ragged inhale—and then she started to laugh.

It wasn't a happy laugh. It wasn't bitter, either. It was the laugh of a woman who'd been holding something inside for years and had finally, finally let it out. The laugh turned into sobs, and the sobs turned into silence, and through all of it you held her against the window, your cock still buried inside her, your hands gentle on her back.

"Thank you," she whispered again. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

She kept saying it. Over and over. Like a prayer. Like a confession. Like the only words she had left.

You carried her to the bed. Laid her down on the white sheets. Her body was marked—red impressions of your fingers on her throat, faint bruises already forming on her hips, her cunt swollen and gaping and still leaking onto the mattress. She looked up at you with eyes that were clearer than they'd been all night.

"Stay," she said. "Please. Just until I fall asleep."

You climbed into the bed beside her. Pulled the sheets over both of you. Ga Young curled against your chest, her face pressed into the hollow of your throat, her breath warm on your skin.

"I haven't felt this alive in years," she murmured. "I haven't felt anything in years."

"Feel it now."

She did. Her breathing slowed. Her body relaxed. The tension that had been coiled in her muscles since the moment you'd walked through the door finally, fully released.

Outside the window, the city glittered on, indifferent and eternal. Inside the suite, Moon Ga Young closed her eyes, and for the first time in two years, she slept without dreaming of being somewhere else.

The morning light through the Signiel's floor-to-ceiling windows was the color of honey. It pooled on the white sheets, caught the edge of the champagne flute still sitting on the coffee table, painted Ga Young's bare shoulder in shades of gold.

She was still asleep.

Her breathing was slow and even, her face half-buried in the pillow, her dark hair fanned across the cotton like spilled ink. The marks from last night were already fading—the faint impressions on her throat, the bruises on her hips. In sleep, she looked younger. Softer. The sharp, sardonic edge that had defined her when you'd walked through the door had melted away, replaced by something unguarded.

You slid out of bed carefully. The sheets whispered against your skin. Ga Young stirred but didn't wake—just shifted, her hand reaching out to the empty space where you'd been, her fingers curling around nothing.

You dressed in silence. Shirt. Pants. Belt. The routine was automatic, muscle memory from a dozen similar mornings. The suite was quiet except for the distant hum of the HVAC system and the soft shush of traffic eighty floors below. Your shoes were by the sofa where you'd kicked them off. You bent to pick them up.

"Where are you going?"

The voice was sleep-roughened but still unmistakably hers—that smoky, noir-film cadence that made everything sound like a secret. You turned.

Ga Young was sitting up in bed. The sheet had fallen to her waist. Her hair was a tangled mess, her eyes still puffy from sleep and last night's tears. She looked nothing like the polished actress from the dramas. She looked like a woman who'd been thoroughly fucked and had slept better than she had in years.

"Home," you said. "You were asleep. I didn't want to wake you."

She laughed. The sound was low and warm and entirely unselfconscious. "Nuh uh." She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, crossing the room toward you with the sheet still trailing behind her like a train. "I'm still your client. The weekend, remember? You're not going anywhere."

She reached you and wrapped her arms around your waist from behind. Her cheek pressed against your spine. Her bare breasts flattened against your back, and the warmth of her body seeped through your shirt. She smelled like sex and sleep and the faint floral remnants of whatever expensive soap the Signiel stocked in its bathrooms.

"Ga Young—"

"Shh." Her arms tightened. "You're not leaving. Not yet. Not until I say so."

The suite door clicked open.

You heard it before you saw it—the soft sound of the electronic lock disengaging, followed by the whoosh of the door swinging on its hinges. Two voices drifted in from the hallway, mid-laugh, the kind of easy, familiar laughter that came from years of friendship.

"—and then he said, 'That's not a prop, that's my actual—'" The voice cut off.

Karina stood in the doorway.

Wonyoung was right behind her.

They were both carrying shopping bags—the discreet, expensive kind that came from boutiques in Cheongdam-dong, the logos embossed in subtle gold foil. They were both wearing black outerwear—Karina in a long trench coat, Wonyoung in a cropped leather jacket—and they were both staring at you with expressions that shifted from surprise to recognition to something else entirely.

Something hungrier.

"Unnie!" Ga Young's voice was delighted. She released you and stepped around, completely unbothered by her nudity, the sheet slipping from her shoulders and pooling on the floor. "You're early. I thought you weren't coming until noon."

Karina's eyes flicked from you to Ga Young and back again. A slow smile spread across her face. "We wanted to surprise you." She stepped into the suite, and Wonyoung followed, closing the door behind her. "But it looks like you're the one with the surprise."

"Wait." You looked at Ga Young. Then at Karina. Then at Wonyoung. "You three know each other?"

"We're best friends." Wonyoung's voice was light, almost teasing. She set her shopping bag down on the console table by the door. "We've been best friends for years. Since trainee days. Did you really think it was a coincidence that we all ended up calling the same agency?"

"We talk," Karina said. She was still smiling, but there was something sharper beneath it—a blade hidden in silk. "We talk about everything. The husbands. The loneliness. The emptiness." She paused. "The men we hire to make us feel alive again."

Ga Young had retrieved her robe from the floor—the champagne-colored silk, still wrinkled from last night—and was tying it loosely around her waist. "When I heard that Karina unnie had found someone who actually made her come, I had to see for myself. And then Wonyoungie called me the next morning, practically glowing, and I knew." She turned to you, her eyes bright. "I knew I had to book you. And I knew I had to make it a weekend."

"A weekend?"

"Senior Park didn't tell you?" Karina's trench coat was already unbelted. She shrugged it off her shoulders, and it slid to the floor in a whisper of black fabric. Beneath it, she was wearing lingerie—not the practical black lace from your first encounter, but something deliberately chosen. A deep burgundy set, the color of aged wine, the bra cupping her breasts in a way that made them look fuller, the panties high-cut and sheer. "This booking is for all three of us. The whole weekend. Friday to Sunday."

Wonyoung was unzipping her leather jacket. Her movements were slower than Karina's, more deliberate, but no less confident. The jacket came off, and beneath it was a pale lavender set—the color soft against her skin, the fabric delicate, almost bridal. The contrast between the innocent lingerie and the knowing look in her eyes was intentional. You could see it in the way she tilted her head, the way she watched you watching her.

"Three clients," she said. "Three women who need to be reminded what it feels like to be touched." She stepped closer. "Three women who've been talking about you for weeks."

On the coffee table, you noticed for the first time a folded piece of paper. It was propped against the champagne bottle, your name written on the front in Senior Park's precise, old-fashioned handwriting. You crossed to it and picked it up.

Your client for this weekend is the three of them. They've been planning this for a month. Don't disappoint them. — SP

You swallowed.

The sound was audible in the quiet suite. Ga Young heard it and laughed—that same low, warm laugh from before. "Nervous? The man who made me come twice against a window is nervous?"

"Not nervous." You folded the note and tucked it into your pocket. "Just… recalibrating."

"Recalibrate faster." Karina had crossed the room to stand beside Ga Young. The two of them together were a study in contrasts—Karina's burgundy against Ga Young's champagne, the idol's sharp, aggressive beauty against the actress's delicate, knowing allure. "We've been waiting a long time for this. All three of us. We've been planning it ever since Wonyoungie called me the morning after your session."

"I didn't just call her." Wonyoung had moved to your other side, bracketing you between the three of them. Her lavender lingerie made her skin look luminous, the pale tea-colored nipples visible through the sheer fabric. "I told her everything. Everything you did. Everything you said. Every way you made me feel." Her voice dropped, became something softer, more intimate. "And she told me what you did with her. And then Ga Young unnie said she wanted to find out for herself, and we decided—why not all three of us? Why not a weekend?"

"Because none of us has ever had this." Ga Young's hand found your shoulder. Her fingers traced the line of your collarbone through your shirt. "None of us has ever had a man who knew what he was doing. Who cared about making us feel good. Who looked at us like we were women instead of objects." She paused. "We wanted to share you. Just for a weekend. Just to remember what it feels like."

"To be alive," Karina said.

"To be wanted," Wonyoung added.

"To be fucked properly," Ga Young finished.

The three of them were close now. Close enough that you could smell them—Karina's perfume, something floral and expensive; Wonyoung's shampoo, jasmine and vanilla; Ga Young's skin, still warm from sleep, still carrying the faint musk of last night's sex. They were looking at you with the same expression. The same hunger. The same desperate, aching need that you'd seen in each of them individually but never all at once.

"Take off your shirt," Karina said.

The command was soft but firm. The same voice she'd used when she'd first welcomed you to her mansion, but stripped of the nervousness now. This was a woman who'd spent three weeks waiting for this moment. This was a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.

You unbuttoned your shirt. Slowly. Deliberately. The three of them watched every movement—the slide of each button through its hole, the parting of the fabric, the reveal of your chest. When you shrugged the shirt off your shoulders, Wonyoung made a small sound—a quiet, involuntary hum of appreciation.

"His body is different in the daylight," she murmured. "I couldn't see it properly last time. It was dark. I was…" She swallowed. "I was distracted."

"You were crying," Ga Young said. Not unkindly. Just matter-of-fact. "You told me you cried."

"I did. I cried a lot." Wonyoung's eyes met yours. "But I also came. Twice. The first real orgasms of my life."

"Mine too." Karina's voice was quieter now. "The first real ones. The only real ones."

Ga Young's hand slid from your shoulder to your chest. Her palm was warm against your skin. "And I came twice last night. The first time I've ever come with a partner. The first time I've ever come without faking it." Her fingers traced the line of your pectoral, down to your abdomen. "So you see, we have a lot to thank you for. And a lot more we want to experience."

"Together," Karina said.

"Together," Wonyoung echoed.

The word hung in the air between you. Together. Three women who'd spent years being neglected, being ignored, being treated like accessories to their husbands' careers. Three women who'd found each other in the loneliness and decided to do something about it. Three women who were looking at you now with the same expression—expectant, hungry, alive.

"Are you going to be able to handle all three of us?" Ga Young's voice was teasing, but there was a genuine question beneath the playfulness. "We're not going to be gentle with you. We've been planning this for a month. We have… ideas."

"Three days," Karina said. "Three women. One man." She stepped closer, close enough that her breasts—still encased in that burgundy lace—brushed against your arm. "Think you can keep up?"

"Senior Park seemed to think so." You looked at the note still folded in your pocket. "He wouldn't have booked me if he didn't."

"Senior Park is a smart man." Wonyoung had moved behind you. Her hands found your shoulders, her fingers pressing into the muscle, kneading gently. "He told us you were the best. He told us you could handle anything. He told us you wouldn't break."

"I won't break."

"Good." Ga Young's hand was still on your chest, her thumb tracing idle circles over your sternum. "Because we're not going to break you. We're going to use you. All three of us. However we want. Whenever we want. For the whole weekend." She looked up at you, and her eyes were dark and serious despite the smile playing at the corner of her lips. "Is that understood?"

"Understood."

"Good boy." She patted your chest and stepped back. "Then let's get started. The bedroom's big enough for all four of us. I checked."

She turned and walked toward the bedroom, the champagne robe trailing behind her like a whisper. Karina followed, her hips swaying with that dancer's grace she'd never lost despite years away from the stage. Wonyoung released your shoulders and moved around you, her lavender lingerie pale against the gray walls of the suite, and when she reached the bedroom doorway, she looked back over her shoulder.

"Are you coming?"

The question was simple. The answer was simpler.

You followed them into the bedroom.

The bed was still rumpled from the night before—the sheets twisted, the pillows scattered, the faint impressions of Ga Young's body still visible on the mattress. The morning light was stronger here, flooding through the windows, making everything look clean and bright and new. The three women arranged themselves on the bed with the ease of long practice—Ga Young in the center, propped against the headboard; Karina on her left, sitting cross-legged with her burgundy lingerie stark against the white sheets; Wonyoung on her right, her long legs stretched out in front of her, her lavender set a soft contrast to the sharper colors around her.

They looked at you. Waiting.

"Clothes off," Ga Young said. "All of them. We want to see what we're working with."

You unbuckled your belt. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Three pairs of eyes tracked the movement of your hands—the slide of leather through the buckle, the pop of the button, the hiss of the zipper. Your pants fell to the floor. Your boxers followed.

Your cock was already half-hard. Responding to the attention, the anticipation, the sheer overwhelming presence of three beautiful women watching you undress. Ga Young's eyes flicked down, then up again. The corner of her mouth twitched.

"He's bigger than I remembered," Karina murmured.

"He's thicker than I remembered," Wonyoung added.

"And he knows how to use it." Ga Young's voice was satisfied. "He used it in my throat last night. And in my cunt. And against the window." She gestured at the glass, still faintly smeared from where her body had pressed against it. "I left a mark."

"So did I." Wonyoung's voice was soft, almost wistful. "At my penthouse. On the sheets. I haven't washed them yet. I keep thinking I should, but I can't bring myself to do it."

"I know what you mean." Karina's eyes met yours. "I still have the sheets from my first time with him. They're in the back of my closet. Joon-ho never goes in there. He never goes anywhere in that house except his study and his bedroom." She paused. "He has his own bedroom. We've always had separate bedrooms. He said it was better for his sleep."

"Seok-joong has his own apartment." Wonyoung's voice was flat. "He lives there with his current girlfriend. A trainee. She's nineteen."

"My husband has his own continent." Ga Young's laugh was bitter. "He's been to Seoul for six weeks in two years. Six weeks. He's probably slept with half of Manhattan in that time."

The three of them were quiet for a moment. The morning light poured through the windows, and the city glittered below, and the three women on the bed were looking at each other with an expression that was part grief and part fury and part something else—something that looked almost like hope.

Then Ga Young shook her head. "No. No more talking about husbands. That's not what this weekend is for." She looked at you, and the fire was back in her eyes. "This weekend is for us. For pleasure. For release. For everything we've been denied." She patted the mattress beside her. "Come here. It's time to earn your paycheck."

You climbed onto the bed.

The mattress dipped beneath your weight. The three women shifted to accommodate you—Ga Young making room in the center, Karina and Wonyoung flanking her on either side. You ended up face-to-face with Ga Young, close enough to see the faint lines around her eyes, the small scar on her chin from some childhood accident, the way her pupils were already dilating with anticipation.

"Kiss me," she said. "Kiss me, and then kiss them. We've been waiting. We've all been waiting."

You kissed her.

It was different from last night's kisses. Last night had been about dominance—the rough press of lips, the battle for control, the assertion of power. This kiss was slower. More deliberate. A kiss of greeting rather than conquest. Ga Young's lips parted beneath yours, and her tongue met yours with a soft, exploratory touch. She tasted like sleep and champagne and something indefinably her.

When you pulled back, she was smiling. "Now Karina."

You turned. Karina was watching you with dark eyes, her burgundy lingerie stretched tight across her breasts, her breathing already uneven. She didn't wait for you to lean in. She closed the distance herself, her hands coming up to frame your face, her kiss hungry and urgent and full of three weeks of waiting.

"It's been too long," she whispered against your mouth. "Three weeks. Three weeks of thinking about you. Three weeks of touching myself and pretending it was your hands."

"And now?"

"Now I don't have to pretend." She kissed you again—quick and fierce—then pulled back. "Wonyoung's turn."

Wonyoung was the shyest of the three. She'd been hesitant last night, tentative in the penthouse, uncertain about what she was allowed to do. But now she leaned in with more confidence, her lips brushing yours with a gentleness that was almost teasing. Her hand found your chest, her palm flat against your sternum, feeling your heartbeat.

"I've been thinking about you too," she murmured. "Every night. Every morning. I've been thinking about what you did to me. What you made me feel." She kissed you again—longer this time, deeper. "I want to feel it again. All of it. Everything."

"You will."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

She smiled. The expression transformed her face—made her look younger, lighter, more like the idol she'd been before the marriage and the neglect and the loneliness. "Good. Then let's get started. Ga Young unnie's been waiting the longest. She should get the first turn."

"Agreed." Karina was already shifting on the bed, repositioning herself to give Ga Young more room. "We've got three days. We can take our time."

Seoul never actually got dark like this; it just gave up and went grey. But out here, past the resort, where the black lava rock dropped off into the ocean, the darkness wiped the horizon clean. Overhead, the Milky Way painted a violent smear of white across pitch black. For once, something actually looked better in reality than it had on the curated Instagram accounts Karina had exhaustively scrolled through when booking the trip, looking less like a postcard and more like a direct act of God.

Yesterday morning, when Yeji jumped into her DMs with paragraphs about Chaeryeong’s desperate need for an American beach fire and Lia’s promise of zero light pollution, Karina had read the texts flat on her back. Mostly because her body was still thoroughly wrecked from what Yeji and Minho had done to her the night before. She’d been too busy tracing a ring of faint, finger-shaped bruises on her left breast to care about roasting marshmallows.

But sitting in the sand now, freezing in the coastal wind while the Pacific crashed somewhere in the dark, she had to admit Lia was, in fact, totally right. The stars kept multiplying every time Karina looked up, white and shameless over the water, and her neck started to ache before she made herself look away. Annoyingly, inconveniently, she wanted to pray about it.

By the time the sun fully dropped behind the water, ITZY had essentially relocated their Seoul dormitory and dropped it directly onto the beach. They’d claimed their patch of sand long enough for their belongings to scatter into that comfortable chaos they somehow lived in every day without falling apart. On the sand sat a cracked-open cooler bleeding condensation onto a discarded million-won hoodie, half-kicked-off slides sinking near the driftwood, and Lia’s phone tripod jammed into the dirt to record the impending disaster unfolding by the unlit fire.

Karina watched as her own members wasted no time getting comfortable.

Over on the main blanket, Winter had already fished out the honey butter chips meant for later and declared them chips for right now, hugging the bag to her chest while Ningning and Giselle successfully stole bites anytime Winter looked away. Winter had her knees tucked up inside a Doraemon blanket and her cheeks puffed full of chips, chewing with solemn focus. With Winter, snacks always demanded discipline and respect.

Yeji sat off to the side with one knee drawn up to her chin, silently watching Minho fail, while Yuna tucked her legs under herself and accepted a chip from Ningning, holding it suspended in the air for a long time before finally taking a bite.

Karina glanced over and watched as the boys struggled with fond cynicism. Delegating the fire to them had been an unspoken group consensus, the sort of primitive task men were supposed to handle when they weren’t busy being horny and useless. Although right now, they were just being useless.

Out by the driftwood, Sunwoo was trapped in a miserable loop of polite intervention. He kept taking an eager half-step forward with his mouth open to help, then immediately second-guessing himself and shoving his hands violently back into his pockets out of sheer politeness. It was agonizing to watch.

Down in the sand, Minho crouched beside a questionable pyramid of sticks, repeatedly striking a lighter into the sea breeze while Minjun nodded along as if the effort looked promising.

“You look like a sad YouTuber,” Giselle called from the blanket, clutching a bottle of soju. “Like ‘Man survives one day without wifi’.”

“It’s called airflow,” Minho said, shielding the tiny spark with his palm.

“More like arson cosplay,” Lia chimed in, tapping her screen to take a video.

Minjun nudged a stick with his toe. “No, because if we just -”

“Not like that,” Sunwoo finally interjected.

Ningning popped up on her knees, chewing a stolen honey butter chip. “Wait, I know this! You put the tiny ones under the big ones.”

Winter, still bundled in the blanket, lifted one hand like a student answering in class. “Maybe the small sticks are babies. They need protection.”

Giselle stared at her. “Minjeong-ya, we’re burning them.”

Winter’s face folded into immediate distress. “Unnie, then why did you call it kindling? That sounds gentle.”

Ningning patted the top of her head while still observing Minho’s collapsing stick pyramid with unfettered amusement. “Don’t worry, unnie. They’re brave babies.”

“Oh.” Winter accepted this at once and shoved another chip into her mouth.

When Minho brought the lighter too close to his thumb again, Yeji inhaled sharply enough to be heard over the surf. She folded her arms immediately, squaring her jaw, and Karina watched the tension lock into Yeji’s shoulders.

Giselle sighed loudly over the rim of her cup. “Dude, just use lighter fluid. You’re not winning any prizes for doing things the hard way.”

“I know how to do it naturally.” Minho adjusted the smallest sticks with two careful fingers.

“Dude,” Giselle scoffed, staring at him. “The natural part is fucking failing right now.”

He clicked the lighter again, caught empty air, clicked it once more, and singed his knuckle with a sharp hiss, shaking his hand out fast.

Before he could try again, Sunwoo stepped in, nudged two bits of driftwood apart, crouched, and lit one twist of paper. The kindling finally caught and sent a bright flame crawling up through the center of the pile.

As the wood popped and caught, Chaeryeong clapped loudly, then tucked both hands under her chin in a tiny victory pose.

“See? This is why I brought him,” she beamed, claiming total victory for a fire she hadn’t touched. “You’re all very welcome.”

Sunwoo gave her an appreciative glance across the rising heat.

Chaeryeong smiled sweetly, ambled over, and snuggled into his side. “You looked cold doing all that.”

Orange light spilled across the blankets, catching Winter’s cheek when she turned to ask Ningning for her charger, and flashing off Lia’s rings as she lowered her phone. Karina sat back on her hands, digging her fingers into the cool sand, letting the fire warm her knees.

***

Phone flashlights swept the beach path, throwing long, distorted shadows down the sand dunes before Ryujin’s voice even reached them.

“I told you, this is the right one. Why would I kidnap you to the wrong fire?”

“Bro, what the fuck are you being so mysterious for then?!” Another voice cut loudly over the crashing surf. “You literally dragged me past three empty beaches!”

LE SSERAFIM’s Yunjin emerged from the dark path wearing an oversized flannel peeling off a tight brown crop top and black denim cutoffs so frayed they put the ‘short’ in shorts. Karina watched her from the sand, her aesthetic eye taking in the unapologetic power of Yunjin’s build. Legs for days, thighs with actual power to them, and good bones under all that muscle, the whole package looking like it had told standard idol thinness to fuck off the New York way. She’d always enjoyed casually swatting Winter’s ass onstage, but this was on another planet.

While the rest of the circle clutched maekju and soju bottles, or in Winter’s case - juice boxes, Yunjin bounced on the balls of her feet, carelessly swinging a massive iced americano. Stopping right where the firelight thinned out, she took in the sprawled blankets, the half-buried coolers, the dark stretch of ocean beyond, and finally lifted her cup in approval.

“Damn, okay.” Yunjin laughed. “Fuck. This is kinda cute.”

Ryujin ambled in right behind her wearing a sleeveless hoodie over torn denim shorts and sandals, both hands shoved in her pockets like she owned the fucking place. She’d clearly forgotten to turn off her phone’s flashlight, leaving one side of her hoodie glowing a bright, oblivious white from the inside out. Seeing her, Karina let out a slow, quiet breath into the sea breeze.

“JENNIFER!”

Ningning kicked her blanket off in a flurry of limbs. Chaeryeong shrieked loudly enough to make Minho flinch, nearly flinging her drink into the sand as both hands flew up.

“Wait, is that - “ Yuna scrambled up, dropping her phone in the sand.

Giselle raised her bottle. “Oh my gosh. Jennifer Huh.”

Yunjin swung her iced americano back in a lazy, sarcastic toast. “Aeri Uchinaga. Still drinking on a Tuesday.”

“It’s a vacation Tuesday, so technically it doesn’t -”

Giselle didn’t even get to finish her retort before Yunjin’s attention snapped past the firelight, her face breaking into a delighted beam as she spotted Ningning and Winter. “MY DORMIES!”

Ningning scrambled past the snacks, grabbing Winter by the hood to drag her into the fray.

“Wait, no -,” Winter protested, refusing to pull her hands out of the chip bag. She got crushed into the three-way hug anyway, letting out a startled, high-pitched yelp before abandoning the chip bag and squeezing Yunjin back tightly.

Yunjin practically bounced on her heels, managing to keep her massive iced americano perfectly level with impressive wrist control. She pulled back just far enough to grab Winter by both shoulders. “MINJEONG, YOU GOT HOT! THE WORLD IS YOUR OYSTER, BESTIE,” she screamed, loud enough that Winter’s bangs literally blew back from the force of it.

“You got louder,” Winter gasped, blinking rapidly.

“Y’all are gorgeous, I’m tight,” Yunjin was cracking with sudden sentimentality. “I missed you guys so much!”

Yeji stayed seated, resting her chin on her knee, staring at the three-way hug. “Where are your members, Yunjin? You didn’t leave them unattended near open water, did you?”

Yunjin straightened so fast her iced americano sloshed against the lid. “Bro, don’t even. They’re dead to me. Deadass. They’re at that samgyupsal place down in Seogwipo.”

“That place is so good.” Winter nodded earnestly from inside the throng of overexcited female energy.

“Told you to go.” Ningning stole another chip.

“I sent you the Naver pin,” Giselle called over the fire.

“Okay, I GET IT.” Yunjin locked her fingers around her plastic cup. “I got spammed by the three of you about pork belly, alright?! But I’m literally on my vegetarian comeback-prep bullshit right now! Chewing on leaves! Surviving on water and vibes!”

Yeji spoke from across the fire. “Right, isn’t your comeback at the end of the month?”

“Literally the thirtieth! This is our pre-release getaway, and shit’s CRAZY right now. Actually crazy.” Yunjin rattled the ice in her cup hard enough to underline every word. “Anyway, I had to bounce because they went feral in the restaurant while I had to breathe fumes.”

“Tragic,” Ryujin muttered, dropping onto the sand beside Lia.

“Feral,” Yunjin repeated, gesturing wildly with her free hand. “Chaewon-unnie defected from leadership the moment she got off the plane. She thinks she’s five again or some shit. Giggling and making the staff take four hundred photos of her by the ocean all fucking day -”

Yuna lifted her head from the blanket, her voice devoid of its usual bounce. “Wait. Yunjin-unnie... did you seriously just, like, abandon Eunchae? Why would you do that to me?”

“Zuha has her,” Yunjin clarified, taking a massive, rattling drag of her iced americano. “Actually, knowing Zuha, Manchae’s probably drowning in a koi pond right now while Zuha maintains unbroken eye contact with some local gym bro’s biceps at the next table.”

Lia blinked slowly across the fire, taking an impossibly tiny sip of her drink. “So you did abandon them and decided to follow Ryujin into the dark instead. Valid choice.”

“Ryujin straight-up kidnapped me! We literally just landed! I’m trying to live, yo!” Yunjin threw her free hand in the air, spinning to address the circle. “Wait, how long have you guys been here? What did I miss?”

Yuna crossed her arms and collapsed back onto her blanket, sounding instantly miserable. “Literally everything. Like, you actually missed BLACKPINK at the pop-up concert. Just like me. Which is fine! I’m completely fine! My life is just a tragedy, it’s totally fine.”

“Wait, BLACKPINK was here?!” Yunjin exclaimed, ignoring her woes. “You deadass?!?”

Karina hugged her knees, laughing at the sheer volume of the intrusion. “Yeah, a few nights ago. We’ve been here almost four days. Leaving tomorrow morning.”

“We’ve got three more,” Yeji added, evidently unbothered by all the screaming.

“No way, you guys are leaving?” Yunjin stared at Karina, then whipped around to glare at Giselle. “Are you kidding? I just got here!”

Before Yunjin could demand answers, Ningning grabbed her by the wrist. “Unnie, come here. No, here. Sit here. Wait, why are you drinking coffee?”

“At night,” Lia pointed out, looking directly at the iced cup. “On a beach.”

“Yeah, and?” Yunjin challenged. “Digestion is a sacred process, okay? Some of us didn’t eat the meat and need energy! Gotta keep the fire in the belly going, you know!”

“You texted me at 2 AM asking if the resort had room service bagels.” Giselle watched her over the fire.

Yunjin whipped around, clutching her americano to her chest. “See? This is what I mean. Aggressively West Coast. Smug on contact.”

Giselle smirked. “And you came in shouting. So New York of you.”

“I AM from New York! You went to an international school in Tokyo! You’re the opposite of a California girl, Aeri!”

Ningning looked back and forth between them, utterly delighted by the chaos. Winter leaned close to her, tugging on the hem of Ningning’s sundress twice in a tiny, urgent rhythm, her brow furrowing in concern.

“Are they fighting?”

“No,” Ningning corrected, patting Winter’s knee with solemn authority. “They’re bonding.”

***

Yunjin dropped onto the edge of the blanket, while Ryujin landed beside her with a quiet thud, and within seconds they’d taken over the group dynamic. Yunjin loudly interrogated everybody about their drink choices, yelled at Sunwoo for laughing at her coffee, demanded to know who failed to start the fire, and claimed immediate territory over the disputed honey butter chips. She reached across the blanket to steal one, pausing just as her hand hovered over the bag, her eyes dropping immediately to the movement beside it.

Minho had just blindly passed Yeji a fresh can of Pepsi - one of the new IVE Summer Festa promos with Wonyoung’s face dominating the aluminum. Yeji took it silently, cracked it open with her thumb, tipped it against her knee, and kept listening to whatever Chaeryeong was saying.

Yunjin’s hand froze over the chips. She pulled it back, squinting at Minho over the rim of her iced americano.

“Wait,” Yunjin said, squinting aggressively through the firelight. “Who the fuck are you?”

Minho just blinked at the plastic cup aimed at his nose. “I’m Minho. Yunjin, right?”

“Yeah, but why do I know your face?” She kept squinting at him, the ice rattling as she studied him. “You look SO familiar. Are you staff?”

“I helped run the boards when you tracked Fearless,” Minho answered, giving her a polite little nod.

Yunjin’s eyes went wide. “Oh shit! Studio monitor guy! Yeah!” Yunjin brightened on the spot, then squinted harder like that only made the situation worse. “Wait. So what are you doing on a dark beach with ITZY?”

“He’s a friend,” Yeji answered, fast enough to trip over the words.

Minho let out a slow, visible exhale. “I’m Yeji’s friend.”

“From when we were trainees,” Yeji added, layering on a desperate, aggressive casualness that only made it worse.

Sitting in the sand, Karina closed her eyes. Slowly, with profound spiritual exhaustion, she tilted her head back and made direct, metaphorical eye contact with God.

When she finally brought her gaze back down to earth, Ryujin was staring at the sky like she’d found enlightenment, Chaeryeong had both hands pressed to her temples, and Giselle was taking the slowest drink Karina had ever witnessed. Around the blanket, the same verdict passed from face to face: terrible lie.

Yunjin’s hand froze over the chips. The americano dropped to her lap, forgotten for one precarious second. “Wait. Wait, wait.”

She looked at Ryujin, then at Yeji and Minho, then back to the group, dropping into a conspiratorial whisper that cleanly overpowered the Pacific Ocean. “Are they together?”

The only sound was the snapping wood. Yeji blinked, Minho stared at the sand, and Karina wondered if anyone else was praying for divine intervention or just her.

Chaeryeong scrambled onto her knees so fast the blanket hitched under half the circle. “THANK you! Finally. Okay, because if you watch the way he hands her things, it’s very - I mean, SO not casual. And yesterday morning he rescued her eggs, which unfortunately you weren’t there for, which sounds normal until you understand she was in his shirt, glued to his arm, and then at breakfast her hand kept ending up in places that were very much not friend-coded -”

“Chaeryeong,” Sunwoo interrupted mildly.

“- and there’s a look he does when she’s ignoring him which is textbook drama male lead, except he’s also carrying coolers and fixing drinks which means he’s already full-blown husband-coded -”

“Baby.”

“I have NOTES! Wait, baby, give me my PHONE -”

Chaeryeong stopped mid-reach. She lowered her hands and turned to look at the one person on the blanket who wasn’t looking at her.

“Wait!” Chaeryeong tucked one hand against her mouth. “Ryujin-unnie -”

Ryujin slouched further back on her elbows and stared at the flames. “Nope.”

“Nope?” Chaeryeong echoed.

“No trial by bonfire.” Ryujin crushed an empty chip bag into a tight ball and tossed it toward the cooler. “If Yeji wants to be weird about her trainee friend with nice forearms, she can be weird in peace.”

“I’m not being weird,” Yeji said instantly.

Ryujin let her head tip sideways. “You introduced him like a hostage statement.”

Yeji’s mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

“Yeddeong,” Ryujin muttered, turning back to the fire. “Fix your face.”

Yeji stared at her for too long, then looked down at her Pepsi.

Chaeryeong froze.

Yesterday morning, Ryujin had seen Yeji holding onto Minho-oppa in the kitchen and walked out before anyone finished breakfast. Clean plate, dishes dumped in the sink, posture stiff enough to instantly launch a side plot in Chaeryeong’s head.

Then that massive living room fight later that night never actually made sense anyway. Ryujin had tried to make Yeji rate Minho like some cheap hookup the way they always used to, called him a golden retriever, and pushed until Yeji pulled rank just to shut it down. Then she had lost her mind over it, backing Yeji into a corner to force her to admit he was her boyfriend. But Chaeryeong knew Ryujin didn’t even do boyfriends. She hadn’t been jealous over the guy. She seemed more devastated that Yeji refused to play their old game anymore.

There was a massive hole in the plot. Whoever wrote their scripts was taking the whole ‘show, not tell’ thing a little TOO far. Because right now, Chaeryeong could really use a lot of telling.

Instead, Yeji was sitting in the firelight with that same soft mouth, and Ryujin just... stayed.

Chaeryeong sank back onto the blanket and blinked. “I missed an episode.”

Yunjin dragged her iced americano closer to her chest like she needed it for protection. “Girl, I missed the whole season.”

Ningning let out a scandalised shriek, and Winter made a soft ‘ohhhhh‘ of comprehension despite grasping almost none of the actual context. The noise bounced around the circle, everyone talking over each other. In the blur, Karina caught Yuna laughing. The sound hit a note too sharp. Her mouth was thrown wide, but her eyes were already darting away before anyone could meet them.

Through the chaos, Yeji finally looked away from the fire. She shifted her gaze down the sand to find Minho. He was already watching her. He let out a slow, visible exhale, his shoulders dropping in resignation.

Ningning chose that moment to poke the fire with a driftwood twig. The end caught at once, flaring violently. She pulled it out and held the tiny torch up in triumph.

“See? You just have to be aggressive with it.”

“You’re waving it too close to the chips!” Winter shrieked, hugging the bag tight against her chest. “If the chips burn, we’ve got nothing!”

“The chips are safe, unnie, calm down.” Ningning never shied away from any opportunity to be a menace.

The circle shifted after that, the group relaxing their postures as drinks changed hands and people readjusted their spots. Someone mentioned their flight time for tomorrow, prompting Giselle to groan loudly into the sleeve of her sweater. Winter asked the group for the fourth time where her charger had gone, openly accusing the beach itself of theft. Over by the driftwood, Sunwoo and Minjun fell into an easy, low-voiced conversation with Minho. Chaeryeong successfully stole Sunwoo’s sleeve again, pulling it over her knees, while Lia leaned back to snap a photo of Winter digging for a snack right as Yeji lunged across the blanket to rescue a tipping beer can.

***

Karina watched Yuna from across the fire.

ITZY's maknae sat bracketed by Ningning and Giselle, staring straight through the flames. She had drowned herself in an oversized hoodie pulled past her hips, the sleeves bunched tight over her knuckles, gray sweatpants swallowing the legs she usually treated like a public service. Yuna lived in crop tops, bikini bottoms, and whatever gave her legs the most mileage. Tonight she was a ghost in thick cotton.

Her phone lay blank in the sand. Every few minutes, she picked it up, stared at the black reflection, and dropped it back into the dirt like it’d been poisoned. Between checks, she tipped soju into her mouth in sharp, impatient sips, forcing the liquid down her throat like she was trying to erase the taste of something else.

Karina pushed up from her blanket and crossed to Yeji. “Your maknae’s unusually quiet,” she said, dropping down beside her friend.

“Yeah.” Yeji tracked Karina’s gaze. “She’s been off since yesterday. Told me she had a beach hookup while we were out the day before, and that it went bad.” Yeji dragged a thumbnail along the rim of her Pepsi can. Condensation wept down the aluminum, running straight through Jang Wonyoung’s printed summer-festa smile. “She shut down when I asked for details, but I saw the bruise on her chest. Right here.” Yeji tapped high on her own breast. “A dark one. She tried to hide it from me. I think whoever she brought back hurt her, and she’s too embarrassed to admit it.”

Karina watched Yuna force a wide, loud smile at whatever Ningning was saying. The muscles around her mouth worked hard, but her face sank right back into a flat stare the second Ningning looked away.

“You want me to talk to her?” Karina offered.

Yeji exhaled, her shoulders sinking. “Would you? I tried again this morning, and she just ran away. Better if it comes from someone else.”

Karina stood and navigated the minefield of blankets and kicked-off sandals, before stopping at Yuna’s shoulder. The girl was dissecting the label on her soju bottle, peeling the paper back in thin, violent strips.

Karina folded her legs and sat, pressing her shoulder against Yuna’s. The ocean wind whipped sand over their shoes. Yuna stiffened. Her thumbnail locked against a scrap of paper.

“Unnie,” Yuna chirped, pitching her voice high and loud. “What’s up?”

A massive, practiced smile snapped onto her face. It looked like hard work.

Karina let out a slow breath, slumping her shoulders to tip her head sideways and drop her cheek heavy against Yuna’s shoulder. Yuna’s breath hitched at the sudden contact, but Karina just stayed there, pressing in until the muscles holding up Yuna’s fake smile started to shake, twitching at the corners before her whole face dropped.

Yuna’s hands dropped back to the bottle, shredding the remaining label into a pile of green confetti.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to perform for me,” Karina murmured into her sleeve.

Yuna’s jaw clicked shut. She stared at the scraped glass of her bottle, her thumb pinned against the sticky glue residue.

“I’m fine, really,” Yuna said.

Karina leaned sideways, sealing the gap between their arms. Behind them, Giselle shrieked over whatever Yunjin had just claimed. The fire popped, throwing hot sap onto the sand.

Yuna dragged in a hitched, uneven breath. She bit the inside of her cheek until the skin went white. Her spine bowed inward, collapsing her tall frame, and she dropped the glass bottle into the dirt.

“I’m not -” Yuna whispered. “I’m not fine.”

Karina shifted deeper into the sand, letting her arm stay heavy against Yuna’s to block the wind.

“Keep the reason,” Karina said. “Just sit here with me.”

Yuna blinked. Thick, glassy wetness gathered along her lower lashes. She swallowed a hard knot in her throat and snapped her gaze back to the wood smoke.

“Does it get easier?” Yuna asked, the words scraping her throat. “Feeling like you... totally wrecked everything?”

Karina watched the orange sparks spiral upward into the black. “Eventually. Once you admit you’re the one who actually got cut on the glass.”

Yuna took that in with a slow nod. She pulled her knees to her chest, caging her sweatpant-covered shins with both arms, and dropped her forehead onto the soft cotton over her knees. Karina kept her shoulder pressed into Yuna’s arm while the fire burned down. They stayed side by side in the dirt, letting Yunjin’s screaming and the crashing surf handle the noise.

***

“I’ve made a decision,” Chaeryeong announced, dropping Sunwoo’s sleeve and projecting clearly over the crashing surf. “I need an actual s’more. Properly roasted.”

“Seconded!” Ningning agreed immediately from across the fire.

Winter froze, her hand buried deep in the massive canvas snack tote sitting by her knees. Her eyes went round above her puffed cheeks. She peered down into its depths and started digging, both hands tossing a box of Pepero and a stray pack of gummies onto the sand in a frantic scramble.

She stopped. She looked up at Karina, blinking sheepishly.

“Ummm. Unnie -”

Everyone looked over.

Winter pulled a crumpled, completely empty plastic bag out of the tote and held it up by the corner.

“There’s no more marshmallows...”

“How many did she eat?” Giselle asked, already knowing the answer.

“It’s not my fault,” Winter protested, clutching the empty wrapper. “You guys stole all my sour candy the other night!”

“I was helping you,” Giselle said nonchalantly, licking chip dust off her thumb. “You were hoarding. Besides, someone needs to go get more s’mores.”

“And chips,” Ningning added, casually chewing on the last piece she’d snuck from the bag.

Winter shot a cutting side-eye at Giselle across the fire.

Ningning loudly took Winter’s side, arguing that honey butter chips were a cultural imperative, while Chaeryeong betrayed that side at once purely because she wanted her s’mores fantasy to be perfect. Karina got to her feet while the argument was still rising into the night air.

“I’ll go.”

Winter brightened instantly, tugging on the hem of Karina’s dress. “Honey butter chips, unnie. Please. Only the yellow ones.”

Yuna looked up from the sand.

Karina dusted off her shorts and scooped up the empty canvas shopping tote by the straps. “Yuna-ya, come help me carry stuff, will you? We’ll take the golf cart.”

Yuna blinked, startled by the direct order, but nodded quickly and scrambled up. Karina caught her hand mid-step, lacing their fingers together with a firm grip and pulling her forward. Yuna’s shoulders hitched at the sudden contact, her hand staying stiff until she finally forced her knuckles to relax against Karina’s palm.

Ducking her chin into her hoodie, she let herself be towed up the dark beach path toward the road, leaving Yeji watching their retreat until the dunes swallowed them.

***

[YUNA’S POV]

At the top of the dune, the golf cart coughed to life on the second try. Yuna climbed into the passenger seat and tucked her knees up to her chest, the baggy gray sweatpants bunching around her ankles while the narrow road out past the resort ran dark beside the water, the cart’s single working headlight throwing a shaky, pathetic yellow path through the night.

Normally, she lived for this midnight aesthetic. Riding shotgun in the dark with her hair whipping around should’ve given immense main character energy, but tonight her brain refused to enjoy the fun part. The Levitating soundtrack from two days ago when she’d walked down to the beach thinking she was hot shit? Yeah, that was dead. Now it was just the same bruising facts spinning on loop until she wanted to unzip her own skin and climb out, leaving those perfectly manicured nails behind.

“You’ve been quiet all night,” Karina said over the rattle of the engine, keeping her eyes on the road.

“I’m fine,” Yuna shot back on pure instinct, hating how the lie came out coated in that automatic idol-trained gloss she saved for Cosmopolitan. Great, even her denial sounded media-trained. She bit her lip and stared at the dark tangerine trees whipping past while Karina kept driving in silence, giving Yuna way too much time to obsess over the glowing green numbers on the dashboard clock.

Minutes later, the GS25 sliding doors parted in a blast of freezing AC and offensive lighting. Yuna caught her reflection in the door glass and actively flinched. The overhead fluorescents were violently anti-woman, blowing out her features until she just looked exhausted and pore-heavy. The whole store was just dead-silent aisles of ramen and lighting totally optimized to ruin your self-esteem.

Karina stepped through the automatic doors a second later, the entry sensor chiming loudly in the empty store. She caught Yuna rigidly staring at the glass and immediately let her gaze slide past her to the aisles, offering the easiest out possible. “I’ll go hunt down the marshmallows,” Karina quipped, cutting right through the hum of the freezers. She nodded toward the back wall. “You grab the rest.”

They split up, leaving Yuna to speed-walk down the chip aisle, desperate to grab the honey butter chips and make this whole mini-trip strictly about sodium because carbs were safe and junk food didn’t judge you for hooking up with your leader’s terrifyingly competent non-boyfriend. Just a normal midnight snack run. Very casual. SO fine.

Blue Pepsi cans sat stacked in clean rows behind the glass, each label turned forward for the 2024 summer promo - IVE Summer Festa. The same one Yeji had been holding back on the beach. Wonyoung smiled from the aluminum at eye level, glossy and too perfect under the fridge light, her printed face repeating down the shelf until the whole fucking display looked like a fan account with a beverage license.

Yuna stopped with one hand on the door handle.

The dark bedroom came back in phone light and twisted sheets. The article she’d already read twice. The comments scrolling under her thumb while her body lay there refusing to cooperate.

Face and body-wise, she and Jang Wonyoung are the top two.

Her fingers slipped through the gap before she decided to move. She touched the can with Wonyoung’s face on it, one fingertip resting against the printed cheek.

“Nice to look at...” she whispered.

“Yuna-ya,” Karina called from the next aisle. “Did you find it?”

Yuna snatched her hand back so fast the cans clinked together. She grabbed the nearest box of plain crackers off the shelf and hugged it to her oversized hoodie.

The Wonyoung can kept smiling at her from behind the glass. Yuna grabbed two cold cans of maekju from the next row and pinned them against the crackers.

“Yep!” She answered, trying to force some bouncy, maknae-line charm into the suggestion that fell flat against the hum of the freezers. “Found crackers. Very chips-adjacent. Honestly, genius.”

She tracked down Karina leaning one shoulder against the freezer glass with her thumb glowing over her phone screen.

“Wait, what if we just - like - give Minjeong-unnie these?” Yuna asked, holding up the crackers.

It was a photo of Karina at twenty in a sheer purple stage outfit, face rounder but expression blank, that porcelain-doll stare she’d perfected in rehearsal rooms, scrubbing out every trace of the actual human until only the weaponized avatar remained.

Yuna frowned as a weird spike of annoyance hit her. “Jimin-unnie. Who is that?”

Karina’s thumb twitched like she was going to snap the phone against her thigh, but she stopped and left it face-up under the harsh store lights.

“Me. When I was twenty. Black Mamba era, the year I debuted.”

Yuna stared at the screen. “Unnie, you look so...” She couldn’t find the right word. ‘Empty’ didn’t cover the sheer amount of effort it took to look that devoid of life. “...CG.”

“I was trying so hard, you’ve got no idea,” Karina cut in, bereft of her usual smoky polish. “I thought that was everything I wanted... if I could just get that sexy look right, then I’d be happy.”

“Always thought that was the goal, you know? To train my face out of the picture until there was nothing left but the brand. I thought if I just became the perfect blank slate for SM, then people couldn’t hurt the real me.”

Yuna lowered the crackers onto the top of the freezer case, the cardboard hitting the glass with a quiet, hollow tap. Why did Karina look so vacant under all that pretty, and why did that vacancy look so horribly familiar? That was supposed to be the dream version - twenty, pretty, famous, wanted. So why did the girl in the photo look like a completely empty shell?

Karina dragged her thumb across the glass to reveal a waiting room selfie featuring heavily styled hair. “Music Bank. I think I’d been awake forty straight hours at that point. Somebody told me to fix my face right before they took this.”

She swiped again, bringing up a bulletproof smile flashing beneath Seoul streetlights. “Dispatch. Didn’t even know they were following me.” She stared at the phone. “Saw it online the next day and that’s when I realized... my face just does that now. Smiles before I even know someone’s there.”

Yuna stared hard through the glass at the girl in the picture while her own brain traitorously fired off a rapid highlight reel of her own broadcast habits. The chin tilt. The breathy laugh. The hip angle that said hot but not desperate. The pout that tested well with male fans but didn’t alienate female ones. She’d practiced all of it until her face knew the drill better than she did, and suddenly, the daily grind of being the visual felt less like a flex and more like a burden.

Karina locked the phone, shutting down the screen. "You can get very, very good at being what people think they want."

Yuna’s posture caved inward, her face flushing so hot that wearing that massive hoodie and sweats suddenly felt like the most honest choice she’d made all week. She swallowed, the movement catching awkwardly in her throat.

“Does it help?” Yuna asked timidly.

Karina laughed once under her breath. “It helps them, until they’ve taken everything they can and you don’t even remember your name anymore.”

The freezer’s hum buzzed loudly in Yuna’s ears as she reached for the crackers again, her fingers hovering over the box before gripping the cardboard and pulling it tight against her ribs.

Up at the front of the store, a NewJeans track trickled through the cheap ceiling speakers. The sad one, of course, because even after two days unhinged idol disaster, the universe never relented with its impeccable sense of comedic timing. It was the one with the girl filming the girls like they were her actual friends, then boom - surprise, bestie - your emotional support idols were a coping mechanism with great styling. Parasocial damage, director’s cut. Yuna knew the lore because nobody survived fourth gen without studying every competitor’s cinematic universe like it was the CSAT. Though, hearing that song over the ramen aisle while she was having a face-and-body crisis in a GS25 felt weirdly personal.

They carried their items up to the counter, dumping marshmallows, cracker boxes, chocolate, and Yuna’s two beers onto the counter. Yuna slapped two Melonas on top because the freezer glass had given her the shakes.

Behind the counter, the cashier kept his eyes glued to his lap. A guy in his late twenties rotting in a rumpled uniform vest, he locked his thousand-yard stare on his phone, mashing his thumbs through some mobile game.

She draped herself over the counter, leaning forward to deploy her best, most desperate variety-show pout to get his attention. “Sir. SIR?? Do you have honey butter chips too?”

Her reflection stared back from the black acrylic security screen bolted to the counter, locking Yuna in place. She’d instinctively snapped into that broadcast-approved pout, rolling her shoulder forward and widening her eyes for a guy who clearly wasn’t giving a shit about her. The cringe hit her muscles before her brain caught up. She abandoned the posture instantly, shrinking her spine down against the counter and yanking her hoodie strings tight to hide her blazing cheeks.

Karina took a step back.

“Honey butter?” he droned, as he blindly dragged the marshmallows across the scanner. “A young lady came in the other night and cleared out the whole shelf.”

“Sold out?” Yuna gripped the edge of the counter, her cute act dissolving into actual horror.

“You heard me.” The cashier hauled his gaze over his phone, squinting at the two of them under the buzzing lights. His eyes passed from Karina’s face to Yuna’s and back again. “Actually, she looked a lot like Winter from aespa. Are you two -”

“Nice of you to think that,” Karina cut him off, flashing a hollow smile. “But no.”

He shrugged, dragging the crackers across the scanner and dropping his eyes right back to his screen. “Whatever. You girls all look the same with the plastic surgery you get on the mainland anyway.”

Yuna dropped her forehead against the edge of the counter, breaking into a messy laugh. A copy-paste job sitting on the same mainland shelf. Karina called it thirty seconds ago and here was the universe proving her right in real time. Yuna slapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking. If she let the laugh stop, she was going to have to exist in a world where some random GS25 guy reduced her entire life to a joke. Karina’s face softened, the diamond edge melting off and leaving the cashier standing there holding a box of crackers like a malfunctioning NPC.

***

The drive back was slower.

Karina tore open one of the Melonas and passed it to Yuna before unwrapping her own, steering the cart with her knees while she peeled back the paper. The wind dropped to a steady push off the water, rattling the plastic bag between their knees while the cart’s single working headlight threw its sad yellow cone over the asphalt.

Yuna bit into the green ice, neon syrup running down to the corner of her mouth. She didn’t notice until Karina pulled a tissue from her pocket and handed it over while keeping her eyes on the road. Yuna took it and scrubbed at her face, the sticky residue smearing before it came clean.

Karina kept one hand on the wheel. Yuna held the Melona wrapper in her fist, green syrup drying sticky on her thumb, and stared at the dark tangerine groves passing on the left.

The cashier’s voice was still in her ears. You girls all look the same.

Same shelf, same idol face under a fluorescent tube. Yuna wanted to be mad about it. Instead, she kept hearing her own laugh from the store, too loud and too sharp. She’d bully herself for if it ever aired on a variety show.

“Boys are fun, aren’t they?” Karina said, her eyes on the road.

Yuna’s head snapped sideways. Karina kept her eyes on the road, mouth flat, dark hair whipping across her jaw.

“Yeah,” Yuna said, and the answer came out in the bright broadcast tone she’d used on every variety show since debut, breathy and cute with the vocal fry that tested well. She bit the inside of her cheek the second it left her mouth. Great. Even this had a rehearsal room stink on it.

“Fun,” Yuna repeated, quieter, trying to mean it this time. “Like - yeah.”

Karina glanced over. “What fun?”

The pool flashed back. Yeji’s cum still glossy on his cock the second the towel hit the tile, and Yuna’s brain locking onto it like an exclusive drop unnie had been gatekeeping. That’s why she keeps him around. Her personal premium subscription. She’d thought if she could just get him to beg for her instead - if she could make him pick her, even for thirty seconds going feral underwater in the deep end - she’d unlock the cheat code that made Yeji-unnie untouchable. She’d climbed out of that pool confident she’d secured the ultimate flex. But the thing unnie actually had with him didn’t live in his cock or his cum or getting chosen; it was the part Yuna couldn’t just serve face and fuck her way into. The way he held unnie’s face like she was a literal human being and not a 4K fancam. When she’d overheard him telling her “they’re perfect” through the wall after she’d complained about her tits being small.

“People thinking I’m hot,” Yuna finally said. “That’s the fun part. Knowing they want me.”

She’d never said it that plainly before. It sounded worse out loud than it did in her head, which was REALLY saying something because it hadn’t sounded great in her head either.

Karina nodded once, watching the road. “I used to think that too.”

“Used to?”

“Mhm.” Karina shifted the cart around a curve, the headlight sweeping across a low stone wall. “Being wanted was the best feeling I knew. For a long time.”

Yuna turned the sticky Melona wrapper between her fingers, pressing the green residue into thin lines on her skin. “So what happened?”

“I got everything I wanted.” Karina rubbed the back of her neck, her fingers digging under her dark hair. “But they only wanted Karina from the magazines. The girl who skips carbs and finds the right smile for every room.”

Karina let out a short, dry laugh. “Three nights ago. After the BLACKPINK set. Ryujin wanted to run through some Yonsei frat boys she found in the mosh pit. Dragged me along for bait.”

Yuna’s head snapped around, completely forgetting the sticky Melona wrapper. “Wait. FIVE? Unnie. You didn’t.”

“I tried.” Karina slouched forward, bracing her forearm against the steering wheel. “I literally stripped naked on their shitty leather couch, spread my legs wide open so they had a perfect view, and waited. You know what they did?”

Yuna didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

“They fucking gawked.” Karina shook her head, an ugly smile twisting her mouth. “Stood there with their jaws slacked, drooling over my tits like I was a hallucination.”

Yuna swallowed, the sweet taste of the Melona suddenly completely gone.

“I was lying there wet and desperate for someone to just fuck me hard like a normal girl,” Karina said. She steered the cart around a pothole with the heel of her hand. “Which - you know what I mean. We’re young. We’re allowed to just want good sex.”

Yuna nodded once, scraping her sticky thumb against the soft cotton over her knee. She definitely knew what she meant.

“Except half of them busted the second they pushed inside,” Karina snorted. “The rest just used me like a human fleshlight. Hammering away without giving a single shit if I actually got off.” She glanced over, her eyes catching the dashboard light. “They didn’t want me, Yuna-ya. They just wanted to stick their useless dicks in the poster so they could brag about unlocking a trophy.”

The cart rattled over an uneven patch and Yuna grabbed the oh-shit bar, her sweatpants brushing against the plastic bag.

“And the thing is,” Karina continued, “you can give them that forever. Skin, performance, the girl they showed up for. You can keep handing it out, and they’ll keep taking it, and everyone keeps calling it love.”

Yuna’s throat went dry.

“Until one day you want one single thing for yourself,” Karina finished, “and they tell you it’s a betrayal.”

The wind filled the cart. Tangerine groves blurred past. Yuna opened her mouth, then closed it again.

She thought about her own Instagram, the comments she scrolled through at 2 AM calling her the hottest fourth-gen idol alive, the DMs from industry guys opening with compliments about her waist and closing with hotel names, the fancam numbers she tracked like a stock portfolio. She’d treated all of it like proof she mattered. Karina had collected the prize and ended up writing an apology for having a life.

Yuna swallowed.

The question had been poking at her since before Jeju, since the group chat, since the BLACKPINK tickets Ryujin gave to Karina because Karina was still apparently a mess three months after a relationship that lasted five weeks. But also because Yuna was too busy fucking some random guy to return Ryujin’s calls, and later ranted about it to herself on the beach like the entitled brat she was.

“Jimin-unnie. What actually happened with him?” She asked quietly.

Karina didn’t flinch. She kept her eyes on the road and her hand steady on the wheel.

“We met in Milan,” she said carefully. “At the Prada show. He was smart and handsome, and he looked at me like I was real.” She took the cart around a bend in the road. “Rare enough that I thought it meant something.”

“Did it?”

“For about a month.” Karina adjusted her grip on the wheel. “We went on walks late at night near his apartment. He’d buy me iced coffee from the GS25 near his building, and we’d talk about dumb things, like what dramas were good and whether cats or dogs were better. Normal things.”

She went quiet long enough that Yuna thought she was done.

“Then Dispatch got it,” Karina said. “And everything became content.”

Yuna looked down at the Melona wrapper in her fist. Content. The same word she used for her Instagram grid. The same word her manager used when reviewing her fancam numbers.

“They sent a truck to my company,” Karina sighed. “With a billboard on it. Asking if I didn’t feel loved enough by my fans. Asking why I’d betrayed them.”

Yuna’s hand froze on the Melona wrapper.

“I wrote an apology,” Karina continued, her shoulders dipping as the cart rolled over cracked asphalt. “On paper. By hand. Posted it to Instagram. I told fourteen million people I was sorry for having a boyfriend.” She took the next curve. “He told his agency he wanted to focus on his drama. That was it for him. Clean exit.”

He went back to work. She wrote sorry by hand and posted it where everyone could zoom in. Same relationship, same breakup, different cost.

“Five weeks, Yuna-ya,” Karina said. “We were public for five weeks. I apologized for longer than I dated him.”

Yuna remembered her own rant from the beach, the bitter little monologue she’d delivered to her shadow about Karina moping over a guy she’d barely been with and costing Yuna her BLACKPINK tickets. Her toes curled against the cart floor.

“I had every version of what you think you want,” Karina said, her fingers tightening once on the wheel. “The face. The fame. The beautiful man. The feeling of being chosen.” The road bent left and Karina followed it. “And I still couldn’t tell you the last time any of them knew who was actually in the room with them.”

“The sex was easy. They wanted it, I gave it, everyone left happy.” Karina adjusted her grip on the wheel. “Took me a while to realize they weren’t fucking me. They were fucking the girl from the magazine. I was just the one who had to show up for it.”

Yuna sat still with green Melona syrup on her thumb and the plastic bag crinkling against her sweatpants. Karina kept her hand steady on the wheel while the dark road unspooled ahead of them.

She’d thought Karina was weak for hurting that long over something that short. Now the timing made sense. Five weeks of having someone see her, then the industry stole it away with a press release, and Karina was still walking around with the handprint.

The worst part was that Minho had wanted her. Her body made that impossible to deny, which was the whole reason she’d treated it like a win. But even then, between every wet little victory lap her brain had turned into content, his eyes kept cutting back toward the bedroom like Yeji had a hand on him from afar.

“Unnie,” Yuna said, very quietly.

“Mm?”

“I was such a bitch about the BLACKPINK tickets.”

Karina let out one breath through her nose.

“I did wonder why Head Blink wasn’t there,” she said, and one corner of her mouth lifted wryly. “You don’t seem like someone who misses BLACKPINK by accident.”

Yuna pressed her sticky thumb harder into the vinyl seat. Yeah. Funny story. Hilarious, actually. Five stars. No notes. She kept all of that inside her mouth and stared at the headlight shaking over the road.

They drove the rest of the way in the dark, the resort lights growing brighter through the trees. Yuna pressed her sticky thumb against the vinyl seat and watched Karina in the passing headlights of an oncoming car.

Karina looked beautiful, because of course she did. The annoying part was that Yuna could see the dark smudges under her eyes now too, and they made the beautiful harder to lie about.

Yuna thought she might want to learn that too. Eventually. Not tonight. Tonight she just had to carry a bag of marshmallows back to a bonfire and figure out how to fix the thing she broke without cutting herself again.

The resort gate opened. The headlights found the beach path.

“You good?” Karina asked.

Yuna wiped the green syrup off her thumb with the napkin Karina had given her earlier.

“Yeah,” she said. “Better.”

They rolled back into the firelight moments later, the plastic shopping bag resting loudly against Yuna’s sweatpants as she climbed out. Winter spotted the marshmallows from the blankets and let out a high squeal while brandishing a wooden skewer, prompting Ningning to snatch the bag from Yuna with both hands and instantly assign jobs nobody had requested.

Yeji looked up from the fire the second Karina stepped back into the circle, and when their eyes met across the sand, Karina gave a small nod that Yeji reciprocated.

Before Yuna even sat down, Ningning shoved a half-assembled s’more directly into her hand, declaring she looked like she needed chocolate before going straight back to nearly setting another marshmallow actively on fire. Karina lowered herself back onto the sand where Ningning immediately slumped against her shoulder as if she’d never left. Across the roaring fire, Ryujin threw her head back, laughing loudly at something Yunjin had just said while Yuna looked down at the chocolate melting into the cracker in her hand, letting the noise of the beach wash over her.

***

[MINHO’S POV]

By the time the second round of marshmallows got underway, the fire had burned down into that nice, competent middle stage, impressive enough to validate the effort and dangerous enough to keep Ningning interested. Sunwoo and Minjun were on the other side, half committed to a long story about a manager in Osaka who’d somehow locked himself in a hotel bathroom, while I stood behind Yeji with my thumbs pressed into the tight muscles at the base of her neck.

Finding her took no effort anymore.

She had her chin tipped forward, one knee drawn up, both hands wrapped loosely around a Pepsi can while I worked my fingers over her shoulders. Moving firelight caught the sharp edge of her cheekbone and the bridge of her nose, then slid away. Every now and then she’d smile at something Chaeryeong or Lia said, and my fingers stopped against her hoodie until I remembered to move them.

I kept swallowing the same thought over and over.

I almost lost all of this.

Yuna came out of the dark with a cold beer in each hand, and Minjun stopped talking mid-sentence.

She crossed the last stretch of sand with her eyes down, oversized hoodie swallowing her hands, gray sweatpants dragging low over her heels. I thought she was coming to give Yeji the drink until she stepped around Yeji’s shoulder, set both cans carefully in the sand by my foot, wrapped her arms around my middle, and pressed her face into the front of my zip hoodie hard enough for one rough breath to catch against the zipper.

My hands stayed useless in the cold air while everyone watched.

Yeji looked up first, her head turning beneath my arm. Her eyebrows pulled together, confused, then her face softened when Yuna’s fingers clenched in my jacket.

“Yuna-ya?” she asked. “What happened?”

Yuna shook her head once against me and turned her face until her mouth brushed my ear.

“I thought being wanted meant I was worth something,” she whispered. Her fingers tightened once in my jacket. “You saw me anyway. So stop feeling bad for being decent to me. Yeji-unnie chose you, so... don’t make her regret being brave.”

I shut my eyes. For days, I’d been carrying that pool like evidence against myself, replaying it every time I looked at Yeji or Yuna went quiet until my jaw hurt.

Yuna stood there in her huge hoodie, crying into my jacket, and told me to stop.

I lowered one hand to the back of her head, keeping my palm light and my body still, close enough to comfort her and careful enough for Yeji to see exactly what I meant.

“You’re worth plenty.” I said quietly, keeping my hand still against her hair. “You don’t have to prove it like that.”

Her shoulders hitched once, and Yeji was on her feet before anyone else moved. She stepped close, one hand landing on Yuna’s back, her attention narrowing the way it did when one of her members came offstage pale and pretending not to be hurt.

“Yuna.” Yeji’s hand moved once between Yuna’s shoulder blades. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

Yuna lifted her face from my jacket. Her lashes were wet, cheeks blotchy, nose pink from the wind, and when she tried to smile, her mouth shook out of it.

“I messed up.” Yuna rubbed her sleeve under her nose and looked at the sand between Yeji’s feet. “And Minho-oppa helped me after. That’s all. He was... he was nice to me when I didn’t really deserve nice.”

Yeji looked at me, and I held still until her shoulders dropped. She nodded once, then pulled Yuna out of my arms and straight into hers.

Yuna went with a choked little sound, folding into Yeji so fast my hand was left hanging there. Yeji wrapped both arms around her and tucked her chin against Yuna’s temple, rocking once in the sand.

“You’re our maknae. You always deserve nice,” Yeji murmured, rubbing the back of Yuna’s hoodie with her thumb.

Karina sat near the blankets with her drink held loose between both hands, watching Yuna over the rim. When Yuna finally peeled herself off Yeji and wiped both cheeks with her sleeves, Karina gave her a small nod of approval, and Yuna’s eyes immediately found the ground again.

Yuna’s mouth trembled before she bent, picked up one of the maekju she’d brought, and pressed it into my hand.

“For you.” Yuna cleared her throat, grabbed the other bottle, and shoved it toward Yeji. “And for unnie. Because apparently I’m mature now.”

“Apparently,” Yeji said, taking it.

Minjun waited until Yuna had shuffled back toward the blankets and collapsed between Karina and Ningning before leaning over.

“Did I miss a whole redemption arc?”

I cracked open the maekju Yuna had given me. The hiss cut clean through the fire crackle.

“Yeah,” I said, watching Yeji turn the can once in her hands before she looked back at Yuna. “You really did.”

***

Behind us, Yunjin and Giselle had sought each other out again and were currently deep into their third or fourth argument of the night. Except this one had drastically pivoted to anime. Ryujin had made the fatal mistake of trying to contribute and was already looking for a way out.

“Gojo Satoru is the best character ever written in any medium,” Yunjin announced, projecting her voice over the fire. “I will die on this hill and I’ll look hot doing it.”

“He’s a thirst trap with a backstory.” Giselle tucked her hands deeper into her oversized sleeves.

Yunjin slapped her thigh in outrage. “Okay, a thirst trap can also be a genius! Why does it have to be one or the other with you, it’s exhausting.”

“Shinji Ikari. Better written. It’s not close.”

Yunjin stared at her in pure horror. “I don’t care about better written, I care about iconic. Shinji is iconic at having one breakdown in a robot.”

“That’s still writing.”

“Crying in a giant robot isn’t automatic literature, Aeri.”

Ryujin leaned in between them, committed and doomed. “Okay but Zoro would clap both of these guys, so -”

Both of them turned on her with lethal synchronization.

“How much have you actually seen?” Giselle asked.

Ryujin hesitated, sensing the trap. “Like... the first three arcs?”

Yunjin dramatically clutched her own chest. “That’s the trailer, babe.”

“You haven’t watched One Piece, you waved at it from across the room.” Giselle waved a hand to dismiss her.

Ryujin looked betrayed.

From the main blanket, Winter leaned toward Ningning again, holding her half-burnt marshmallow upright like a tiny ruined microphone. “Are they still bonding?”

“Yep.” Ningning nodded solemnly, critically examining the charcoal side of her marshmallow. “Still bonding.”

***

That was how the rest of the night went. People pairing off, arguing, and drifting back again. Chaeryeong kept stealing bites directly from Sunwoo’s s’more, claiming it was strictly quality control. Lia snapped photos across the fire, timing them for when people stopped posing. Karina laughed with her head bent, one hand over her mouth, while Yunjin switched seamlessly into English to complain. Yeji leaned close to Ryujin for a quick, quiet exchange that ended with Ryujin rolling her eyes dramatically but handing over her drink anyway.

Then Winter’s phone lit up and rang loudly from the sand, and she practically scrambled over Ningning to grab it, knees slipping in the blanket and one socked foot kicking free.

She looked at the screen, her face splitting into an instant grin. “Wait. Wait, everybody. Say hi.”

She answered the FaceTime already smiling, aiming the camera out at the fire.

“HI!” the entire beach circle yelled in unison, hands waving at the lens.

A deep voice rumbled a laugh through the phone speaker. A massive dog shoved its face briefly into the frame underneath a tattooed hand, prompting Winter to shriek in sheer delight and clap both hands over her mouth, trapping the phone between her palms for one dangerous second.

“Unnie.” Ningning rescued the bottom edge before the screen tipped toward the sand.

“Puppy,” Winter whispered back, reverent and useless as an explanation.

Within seconds, she turned the phone right back around to hoard the screen to herself, tucking her chin down and curling around it. Giselle let Winter burrow against her shoulder and lazily patted her hair, keeping her drink steady.

Yeji had drifted back to my side at some point during the call, settling into the sand close enough that her shoulder brushed my knee. I tipped my chin toward Winter, who was curled around the phone whispering at the screen.

“That dog’s huge,” I said.

“Mhm.”

“And that hand had a lot of ink on it.”

Yeji took a slow sip of her maekju. “He’s a sunbae.” She tucked her chin against her knee, the smallest curl at the corner of her mouth. “Friend of ours. He’s good to her.”

“That’s all I get?”

“That’s all anyone gets.” She bumped her shoulder against my thigh gently. “That’s how she keeps it.”

***

The fire started to burn low, the orange flames retreating back into the wood. I pulled the collar of my jacket up against the ocean chill as somebody tossed another thick piece of driftwood into the center. Propped back on one hand in the sand, I just sat and watched everybody find comfortable, tangled shapes around each other to block the wind. aespa had tucked in a little closer together, apparently bracing for their flight out tomorrow. ITZY sprawled across their blankets like they’d owned this beach for a week.

Yunjin had fully abandoned her flannel jacket, sprawling back on her elbows in the sand, and was currently delivering a loud, tipsy state-of-the-union address on the Seoul dating pool.

“I opened Tinder before the plane even got to the gate,” Yunjin announced, waving her phone at the fire. “Mapo-gu is a fucking wasteland. I needed to see if the island roster was carrying.”

“Is it that bad?” Chaeryeong asked, leaning forward over her knees.

“It’s bleak, bro,” Yunjin ranted, letting her head drop back. Her throat caught the firelight. “Do you know what comeback prep does to a bitch? I’ve been doing six hours of choreo a day on iced americanos and spite. I even fully shaved for this trip. Do you know how exhausting that is on two hours of sleep? I’m down so astronomically bad I could walk into the ocean. PLEASE get me a guy who can rail me so hard I forget my own name.”

Ryujin laughed into her beer can. “Girl, just hook up with one of your backup dancers like a normal person.”

“HUH-larious. But nah.” Yunjin slashed a hand through the air. “They get weird. The second you try to choke them with your thighs, they panic about HR. You open your legs for some Gangnam industry fuckboy and half the time he’s trying to network mid-stroke or asking about Spotify streams. I don’t want a fan, I want a menace. I want some dude who can actually fold me like a lawn chair and shut me the fuck up.”

Beside me, Yeji let out a soft snort of agreement, taking a slow sip of her drink.

“I thought a Jeju local might actually have some stamina,” Yunjin sighed, scrolling aggressively with her thumb. “Fishermen. Surfers. Dudes who don’t own a twelve-step skincare routine and can actually rearrange my guts. Give me calluses or give me death.”

"Or crypto bros," Yuna muttered darkly from inside her hoodie.

On the other blanket, Ningning stopped chewing on the end of her wooden skewer. She turned her head, very slowly, and stared dead at Giselle.

Winter caught the look. Her head snapped toward Giselle too, her eyes widening.

Giselle took a maddeningly slow sip of her drink, the ice clinking loudly in the plastic cup. She lowered it, maintaining a completely blank expression as her members zeroed in on her.

Yunjin sat up fast, sensing blood in the water. “Wait, why are you all looking at her?”

Giselle adjusted the heavy blanket over her legs. “I commit vibes.”

“Aeri.” Yunjin started. “AERI. Did you get your back blown out while I was stuck in a recording studio?”

Lia put her phone face down in the sand and crossed her arms. Even Karina went still, attention snapping in.

Giselle picked a piece of lint off her sleeve, looking thoroughly unbothered by the sudden interrogation. “Dude, if it helps your thesis, he wasn’t local. He’s a cinematographer I knew from high school. Lives in Gangnam. So your Seoul facts are off.”

“That’s a full confession,” Yunjin gasped, already way too invested. “Spill. Right now.”

Winter paused mid-chew, looking between them with wide, sincere eyes. "Wait, so how did your networking go, unnie? You never told us."

The fire popped sharply, throwing a sudden burst of bright orange sparks up into the dark space between us.

I looked across it.

Yeji was already watching me. She raised one eyebrow, her chin still propped on her knee, and waited me out. I broke eye contact first, conceding the point, and I caught the corner of her mouth twitching up into a smirk right before I faced the water.

Across the circle, Giselle took one last long drink and finally started.

“So we were at that really hyped samgyupsal place in Seogwipo, right?” she began, channeling that thoroughly pseudo-West Coast energy. “And that place was so smoky I couldn’t see a fucking thing. Anyway, we were meeting this cinematographer guy I knew from high school...”

Intro | Masterlist | Series Index Previous Chapter | Interlude (Chapter 23.5) | Next Chapter ――――――――――――――――――

Author’s Note

I know this chapter is a little heavier than the title suggests, but I hope it was worth the wait. Honestly, this was probably my least favorite chapter to work on - not because it didn’t matter, but because the subject matter is dark and philosophically complex in a way that’s far from the smut and romance I actually enjoy writing most. But alongside “Nobody Like You,” this might be the most emotionally deep chapter in the series. This story wouldn’t be complete without it, and I think it stands on its own.

If you’ve made it this far into the series, there’s a good chance you’re not just here for the smut anymore. One of the unintended consequences of using bodies to tell emotional truth is that you inevitably hit the philosophical questions underneath - specifically, what it actually costs to live in that body professionally.

I wanted to explore that parasocial damage in a way that felt real and personal. Karina’s history was the best way to close off Yuna’s arc, because Yuna had to learn that being desired as a product isn’t the same thing as being seen as a person.

This chapter is heavily based on the themes from NewJeans’ “Ditto,” which, deep down, is about how parasocial love is a one-way mirror. The idol performs and gives so much of themselves, but gets nothing real back. The fan loves and supports unconditionally, but never actually connects with the person, and both end up alone.

It’s also why Karina’s line about forgetting your name is a direct nod to Spirited Away. Just like Yubaba steals Chihiro’s real name to bind her to the bathhouse, the idol industry demands the human (“Jimin”) give up her identity to the persona (“Karina”). They exist just to serve the masses, trapped in the performance until they forget who they really are.

Rather than leaving you with another long-ass note this time, I’ll assign some homework. I think this video is a really interesting deep dive on the MV that thematically inspired this chapter and the core of Yuna and Karina’s arcs. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

You glanced back at the box. Inside, resting on faded velvet, sat a tangle of red wire twisted into an abstract shape. It looked like something a child might make in art class. Cheap. Nonsense.

"How much?"

"For you? Five dollars. It wants to go home with you."

Right. Sure it did. You pulled out a crumpled five-dollar bill anyway, partly to end the conversation and partly because something about the wire's chaotic loops kept drawing your eye. The transaction took seconds. The shopkeeper pressed the box into your hand with fingers that felt surprisingly warm and dry.

"Twist it clockwise," she instructed. "Speak your wish. Let go."

"Uh-huh." You pocketed the box without looking at her again.

Outside, the afternoon sun felt too bright after the shop's dim interior. You squinted against it, checking your phone. Still forty minutes until your next class. Enough time to grab coffee, maybe find a quiet spot in the library.

Enough time to be alone with your thoughts.

Which was never a good thing, lately.

The harassment had started your first semester. You'd transferred in mid-year, a scholarship student who didn't know anyone, and Yuna had spotted you like a hawk spots a rabbit in an open field.

She was beautiful, you'd give her that. Tall and elegant with dark hair that fell past her shoulders in a sleek sheet, her eyes slightly narrowed in perpetual judgment. She moved like someone who knew exactly how much space she deserved to occupy. Her friend Kazuha was shorter, round-faced and deceptively sweet-looking, with a dancer's compact body and a smile that fooled people until she opened her mouth. And Winter—Minjeong, though everyone called her Winter—completed their trio with her pale coloring and sharp tongue, her slim figure always dressed in the latest trends.

They'd made your life miserable for two semesters now.

Little things, mostly. At first. Knocking your books off tables in the cafeteria. "Accidentally" spilling drinks on your notes. Whispering comments just loud enough for you to hear as you passed.

Then it had escalated.

Yuna had found out where you lived—somehow—and started leaving notes in your mailbox. Not threats, exactly. Just observations. Saw you at the coffee shop today. You looked pathetic. That blue shirt makes you look like a corpse. Why do you even bother coming to campus?

Kazuha had hacked your social media accounts, or at least figured out your passwords. She'd post embarrassing things and then delete them before you could prove anything. Comments on other people's posts that made you sound desperate, creepy, lonely. Which you were, but that wasn't the point.

Winter was the worst, though. She liked to get in your face. Literally. Cornering you between classes, pressing close enough that you could smell her expensive perfume, her voice dropping to a whisper as she dissected every flaw she perceived. Your posture. Your clothes. The way you talked. The way you didn't talk, which was apparently worse.

"Everyone pretends to like you," she'd told you just last week, her lips close enough to brush your ear. "But nobody actually does. We're all just waiting for you to disappear."

You'd gone home that night and stared at the ceiling for three hours.

Depression had become a familiar weight. Not the dramatic kind they showed in movies, where people couldn't get out of bed or stopped eating entirely. More like a constant low-level fog that made everything feel like wading through waist-deep water. You went to class. You studied. You existed.

But you couldn't remember the last time you'd felt something resembling joy.

The library was mostly empty when you found a table in the back corner. You pulled out the wooden box, turning it over in your hands.

The Wishing Wire.

What a stupid name. What a stupid thing.

You opened the lid. The red wire gleamed under the fluorescent lights, its twists and loops forming no recognizable pattern. Just chaos, frozen in copper and coating.

"Twist it clockwise," the shopkeeper had said.

You did. The wire was warm from your pocket, and it turned more smoothly than you expected, the loops shifting under your fingers like they wanted to be rearranged.

"Speak your wish."

"This is ridiculous," you said aloud, to the empty library. "This is just a toy."

But your hands kept twisting, and your mouth kept moving.

"I wish they'd stop." You swallowed. "I wish Yuna and Kazuha and Winter would just leave me alone. Stop the bullying. Stop the comments. Stop the notes and the looks and the whispers."

The wire shifted under your fingers.

"And if this actually works, which it doesn't…" You laughed, the sound hollow in your throat. "Make them fall for me instead. Make them obsessed with me the way they're obsessed with making my life hell."

You let go of the wire.

Nothing happened.

"Right," you said, closing the box. "Because it's just a toy."

You shoved it back in your pocket and opened your textbook, but the words swam in front of your eyes. After ten minutes, you gave up and headed to class, the wire heavy in your jacket like a secret.

That night, you dreamed.

Not of the bullies, for once. Not of the endless parade of small humiliations that usually populated your sleeping hours.

Instead, you dreamed of red wire, twisting and untwisting in an infinite loop. It wrapped around your wrists, your ankles, your throat—not choking, just present. When you opened your mouth in the dream, words came out that you hadn't chosen.

I wish. I wish. I wish.

You woke with a gasp, your alarm blaring, the wooden box somehow clutched in your hand even though you didn't remember taking it out of your jacket.

Morning came too fast.

You showered, dressed, ate breakfast without tasting it. The routine was automatic. Wake up. Survive. Repeat.

Campus was busy when you arrived, students crisscrossing the quad in the anxious shuffle of midterms season. You kept your head down, navigating toward the arts building where your first class waited.

Halfway there, you saw them.

Yuna stood by the fountain, her dark hair catching the morning light. Kazuha perched on the low wall beside her, legs crossed, face bright with laughter at something Winter had said. Winter herself stood with her arms crossed, her pale hair pulled back, her expression sharp even in profile.

Your stomach clenched.

This was the part where you'd normally turn around, find another route, accept the extra five minutes of walking to avoid their notice. But today, for reasons you couldn't explain, your feet kept moving forward.

They hadn't seen you yet. Yuna's gaze was fixed on something across the quad. Kazuha was examining her nails. Winter was—

Winter was looking right at you.

Her eyes widened.

Your whole body tensed, bracing for the cutting remark, the mocking smile, the signal to her friends that fresh prey had arrived.

But Winter's face did something strange.

Her sharp expression softened. Her lips parted. A flush crept up her neck, visible even from this distance, and she actually swayed on her feet like she'd momentarily forgotten how to stand.

"Guys," she said. You heard it from twenty feet away. Her voice was wrong somehow—breathless, shaky, nothing like the ice-edged tone she usually wielded. "Guys, look."

Yuna and Kazuha turned.

And their reaction was even stranger.

Yuna's perfect composure cracked. Her hand flew to her chest like she'd been struck, and her eyes went so wide you could see the whites all the way around the iris. Kazuha literally hopped off the wall, her dancer's grace momentarily abandoned, her sweet face transforming into something you couldn't read.

Then they were moving.

All three of them, walking fast, then jogging, then practically sprinting across the quad toward you.

People stared. You stared. Your feet were rooted to the pavement, your brain churning through possible explanations for what was happening. This was a prank, had to be. Some new form of public humiliation you hadn't experienced yet. They'd get close, then laugh, then reveal the joke, and you'd have to find a way to keep breathing through the shame.

Yuna reached you first.

She didn't insult you.

She threw her arms around your neck and buried her face against your chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"I found you," she breathed against your shirt. "Oh my god, I found you."

Kazuha slammed into you from the left, her arms wrapping around your waist, her cheek pressing into your shoulder blade. She was shorter than you'd realized, or maybe she was slouching, making herself small against your body.

"We've been looking for you everywhere," Kazuha said, her voice thick. "Every single day. We didn't know your face but we knew you were out there somewhere and we couldn't find you and it was killing us."

Winter completed the triangle, pressing in from the right, her slim body flush against your side. Her hand found yours and squeezed so hard your bones ground together.

"Don't let go," she whispered. "Please, please don't make us let go."

You stood frozen in the middle of campus, three women clinging to you like you were the last lifeboat on a sinking ship, and absolutely no idea what was happening.

The quad had gone quiet. Students had stopped walking. Professors had paused mid-conversation. Everyone was staring at the spectacle of the campus's most feared trio wrapped around the nobody they'd spent two semesters tormenting.

"Um," you managed.

Yuna pulled back just enough to look at your face. Her eyes were wet. Actual tears, tracking down her perfect cheeks, ruining her perfect makeup.

"There you are," she said, and smiled so brightly it hurt to look at. "I love you. I love you so much it feels like dying. I've loved you since the moment the world changed and I didn't even know your name yet but I knew I'd die without you."

"What," you said.

Kazuha laughed against your shoulder, the sound trembling and strange. "She's being dramatic, but she's not wrong. We all feel it. This pull. This need. We tried to fight it yesterday but it just got stronger and stronger until we couldn't think about anything except finding you."

Winter hadn't moved. Her grip on your hand hadn't loosened. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible.

"We were so horrible to you. I know we were. I remember every single thing we did and said and I want to carve out my own tongue for the words that came out of it." She finally looked up, and her pale eyes were red-rimmed, desperate, completely alien on her usually composed face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please let us be better. Please give us a chance to worship you the way you deserve."

Your brain was short-circuiting. The Wishing Wire. The stupid, impossible, ridiculous wish you'd made as a joke in an empty library.

No. No way. That wasn't real. Magic wasn't real.

But Yuna's tears were wetting your shirt. Kazuha's heartbeat was thudding against your back. Winter's hand was trembling in yours.

Something had changed.

And you had absolutely no idea what you were going to do about it.

The library had been your refuge for two semesters. A place to hide between classes, to breathe without looking over your shoulder, to exist in the marginal spaces where Yuna and Kazuha and Winter rarely bothered to venture.

Now it was a trap.

They'd followed you. Of course they had. The moment you'd tried to extract yourself from their tangled embrace on the quad, stammering something about needing to study, Yuna had seized your wrist with a grip that brooked no argument.

"We'll help you study," she'd said, and something in her dark eyes had glittered with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

Kazuha had nodded eagerly, bouncing on her heels. "We can be very quiet. We promise. Right, Winter?"

Winter hadn't promised anything. She'd simply moved close enough that her shoulder brushed yours, her pale gaze fixed on your face like you were the only thing worth seeing in the entire world.

So now you sat at your usual table in the back corner, three former bullies arranged around you like beautiful, terrifying bookends, and you had absolutely no idea how this had become your life.

"Just breathe," you muttered to yourself.

Yuna heard. Her head tilted, dark hair sliding over her shoulder. "Are you not breathing? Do you need us to help you breathe? We could—"

"No," you said quickly. "No, I'm fine. Just. This is weird."

"It's perfect," Kazuha corrected. She'd pulled her chair so close that her knee pressed against your thigh under the table, and every few minutes she'd shift in a way that made the contact electric. "This is exactly where we're supposed to be. I can feel it. Like the whole universe finally clicked into place."

Winter hadn't spoken since they'd cornered you against the bookshelves. She'd just watched, her pale coloring almost ghostly in the library's fluorescent lighting, her sharp tongue apparently stunned into silence by whatever force had rewritten reality overnight.

Your phone buzzed. You glanced down.

Unknown number: We can see you.

Your head snapped up. All three women were staring at you.

"My number's in your phone now," Yuna said calmly. "And Kazuha's. And Winter's. We put them in while you were sleeping last night. We had someone watching your apartment to make sure you were safe."

"You what."

"We needed to be able to reach you," Kazuha said, like this was perfectly reasonable. "What if something happened to you? What if you got hurt or sick or sad and we weren't there to fix it? We couldn't let that happen."

Your chest felt tight. "That's. That's called stalking."

"It's called devotion," Yuna corrected. She reached across the table and took your hand, her fingers lacing through yours with a possessiveness that made your pulse jump. "There's a difference."

Was there? You weren't sure anymore.

Winter finally moved. She rose from her chair without a word and walked to the end of the stacks, disappearing around the corner. You watched her go, torn between relief and a strange, nagging worry.

"Where's she going?"

Kazuha shrugged. "She does that. Wanders off sometimes when she's feeling too much. Winter's not good with feelings. She prefers to hide behind being cruel." A pause. "She's sorry about that, you know. About all of it. We all are. We just don't know how to say it properly yet."

Yuna's thumb traced circles on the back of your hand. The sensation was distracting, warm, sending little sparks up your arm. "Let us show you instead. Let us prove we can be different."

Before you could ask what she meant, Winter returned.

She was carrying something. A book—one of the ones you'd been assigned for your literature class, a thick hardcover that you'd been dreading reading all semester.

She set it on the table and opened it to a marked page.

"I read it," she said quietly. "Last night. After we found you. I read the whole thing so I could talk to you about it. So I could understand something that matters to you."

You stared at the book. Then at her.

"You read four hundred pages in one night?"

"I couldn't sleep." Winter's pale eyes met yours, and there was something raw there, something stripped of all her usual sharp edges. "Every time I closed my eyes, I saw your face. I kept thinking about how many hours I'd wasted making you feel small when I could have been learning how to make you feel seen instead."

Your throat felt thick. This was impossible. All of it. But Winter was standing in front of you with dark circles under her eyes and a desperately earnest expression, and Yuna's hand was warm in yours, and Kazuha was pressing closer against your side, and—

"We're sorry," Kazuha said. She took your other hand, the one Yuna wasn't holding, and pressed it to her chest so you could feel her heartbeat. It was racing. "We're so sorry. We were horrible. We were monsters. And we know we can't undo what we did, but please. Please let us try to be better."

Yuna stood. She moved around the table with a fluid grace that reminded you why everyone on campus was half-terrified of her, half-entranced. She stopped directly in front of you, close enough that her dark hair fell forward and brushed your shoulders.

"I need to show you something," she said. "May I?"

You nodded, because what else could you do?

She leaned in and pressed her lips to your forehead.

The kiss was soft, lingering, warm. Her lips stayed against your skin for a long moment, and you could feel her breathing, feel the slight tremble in her frame that suggested she was holding back something much more intense.

"Thank you for existing," she whispered against your skin. "Thank you for letting us find you."

Then she pulled back, and her eyes were wet again, and you realized you'd never seen Yuna cry before today. Hadn't thought she was capable of it.

Your resistance cracked.

"Okay," you said. "Okay. I don't understand this. I don't understand any of this. But okay."

Kazuha made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, and threw her arms around your neck from the side. Yuna bent and kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then the spot just below your ear that made your breath catch.

Winter watched with those pale, hungry eyes. But she didn't move to join. Instead, she stepped back, giving the three of you space, and you realized with a start that she was waiting for permission.

"Winter," you said. Her name felt strange in your mouth. "Come here."

She did. Instantly. She crossed the small distance between you and dropped to her knees beside your chair, her head bowing forward until her forehead rested against your thigh.

"Thank you," she breathed. "Thank you thank you thank you."

You weren't sure what she was thanking you for. But her breath was warm through your jeans, and her shoulders were shaking, and you found your hand moving to stroke her pale hair without conscious thought.

The library was silent around you. Empty shelves looming, dust motes floating in stale air. A hidden corner of the world where nothing made sense and everything had changed.

"We should go somewhere else," Yuna said eventually. Her voice had gone low, husky. "Somewhere private. Where we can properly apologize."

You swallowed. "Apologize how?"

Kazuha giggled. The sound was different from her usual mocking laughter—sweeter, more genuine, with an edge of nervousness that you'd never heard from her before.

"We have ideas," she said. "So many ideas. We've been planning since yesterday. Since the moment we realized what you mean to us."

"Which is everything," Winter added against your leg. "You mean everything. We'd do anything for you. Anything at all."

All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.

Yuna's apartment was nicer than anywhere you'd ever lived. Top floor of a building you couldn't have afforded to enter, let alone rent. Dark wood floors and white walls and windows that looked out over the city skyline.

You barely had time to take any of it in.

The moment the door closed behind you, all three women were on you. Not attacking—never attacking, not anymore—but surrounding, pressing close, hands and lips and warm breath.

"Let us," Yuna murmured against your throat. "Please. Let us show you."

You nodded. You'd been nodding a lot today.

They walked you backward through the apartment, six hands guiding you, until your legs hit the edge of a large bed. You sat down hard, suddenly grateful for the surface, and they stood over you in a loose semicircle.

"We talked about this," Kazuha said. She was already pulling her shirt over her head, revealing a simple black bralette underneath. Her body was compact and athletic, all smooth lines and dancer's muscles, and she caught you looking and smiled. "We're going to take turns apologizing. Properly. The way you deserve."

Winter moved first. She stepped forward and bent to kiss you—really kiss you, not the chaste presses from earlier. Her lips parted against yours, her tongue seeking entrance, and you opened for her with a groan you couldn't hold back.

She tasted like coffee. Like desperation. Like something sweet hiding underneath all that sharp exterior.

When she pulled back, her lipstick was smeared. So was your mouth. You could feel the waxy residue on your lips, the evidence of her painted against your skin.

"Next," she whispered, and stepped aside.

Kazuha didn't kiss your mouth. She knelt in front of you and pressed her lips to your stomach, pushing your shirt up to reach bare skin. Her mouth was hot, trailing a line from your navel upward, and each kiss came with words pressed into your flesh.

"Sorry." Kiss. "For the notes." Kiss. "Sorry." Kiss. "For the comments." Kiss. "Sorry for every single time I made you feel like nothing."

Her hands slid around to your back, holding you in place while she worshipped your torso with her mouth. Every apology was a brand, a promise, a prayer.

Yuna watched with those dark, hungry eyes. She'd removed her own shirt at some point, revealing a lacy bra that made your mouth go dry. Her breasts were full and perfect, practically spilling over the cups, and she caught you staring and smiled.

"Like what you see?"

"Yes."

The word came out without thought. Honest. Raw.

Her smile widened. "Good. I want you to like it. I want you to like everything about us. I want to make you feel so good you forget we were ever cruel."

She moved to the bed and climbed onto it, positioning herself beside you. Her hand found yours and guided it to her chest, pressing your palm against the lace-covered swell of her breast.

She was warm. Soft. Her heartbeat thudded against your palm, rapid and strong.

"Squeeze," she said. "Please. I need to feel your hands on me."

You obeyed. Her breath caught, her back arching, and a soft moan escaped her lips.

"Ohhh, that's. Yes. Just like that."

Her nipple hardened under the lace, pressing against your fingers. You rubbed your thumb over it experimentally, and her moan grew louder.

"Harder. Please. I can take it."

You pinched. Her whole body shuddered.

"Fuck. Fuck, your hands feel so good. I've imagined this since yesterday. Since the moment I saw you. I've been going crazy wanting your touch."

Kazuha had worked her way up to your chest now, her mouth leaving damp trails across your skin. Winter had rejoined the group, her pale fingers working at the buttons of your shirt, helping Kazuha push the fabric aside.

And then all three of them were touching you. Six hands on your bare skin, mapping every inch they could reach.

"This body," Kazuha breathed. "We tormented this beautiful body. We should be punished for that."

"Later," Yuna said, her voice ragged as you continued to knead her breast. "Punishment later. Worship now."

Winter leaned in and kissed your neck, her tongue tracing the line of your pulse. Her hands slid down your sides, hooking into the waistband of your jeans but not going further. Not yet.

"Tell us what you want," she whispered against your throat. "Anything. We'll give you anything."

"I don't. I don't know."

It was true. Your brain was short-circuiting, overwhelmed by sensation and confusion and the impossible reality of three women who'd spent months making your life hell now dedicating themselves to your pleasure.

"Then we'll figure it out," Yuna said. She pulled your hand from her chest and pressed it to her lips, kissing each of your fingers. "We have time. We have forever, if you'll let us."

Kazuha looked up from where she'd been pressing kisses to your ribs. Her round face was flushed, her eyes bright.

"Stay the night. All three of us. Let us spend hours making you feel good. Let us apologize until our mouths are sore."

Your breath caught at the image. Hours. Three women. All focused on you.

"I shouldn't."

"Shouldn't doesn't mean don't want to," Winter murmured. "We can see it in your face. You want this. You want us."

She wasn't wrong.

"Then stay," Yuna said. She leaned in and kissed you, deep and hungry, her tongue sliding against yours. When she pulled back, she was panting. "Stay and let us prove we can be what you need."

The room was warm, filled with the scent of three different perfumes mingling together, and you realized with a jolt that you were lying on Yuna's bed with three women pressed against you, and your shirt was somewhere on the floor, and Winter's hands were still hooked in your waistband, and—

"Wait."

They froze. All three of them, instantly, like you'd hit a switch.

"Too fast?" Yuna asked. Her voice was careful, controlled, with an undercurrent of desperation that suggested stopping was physically painful for her.

"A little."

Winter's hands withdrew from your waistband. Kazuha sat back on her heels, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths. Her black bralette was askew, one strap slipping down her shoulder, and her round face was flushed pink. She looked like she'd been running.

Maybe she had been. Running toward something she couldn't name until yesterday.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want," she said. Her voice was softer than you'd ever heard it. Gone was the mocking edge, the cruel giggle that had haunted your nightmares for months. "We just want to be close to you. However you'll let us."

Winter had pulled away too, kneeling beside the bed with her hands in her lap. Her pale hair fell forward, hiding her expression, but you could see the tension in her shoulders. The effort it took her to stay still.

Yuna was another story. She hadn't moved from her position beside you on the bed. Her dark eyes stayed fixed on your face, cataloging every micro-expression, every flicker of uncertainty. Reading you like a book she'd memorized.

"I can feel your pulse," she murmured. Her fingers were still wrapped around your wrist from when she'd kissed them earlier. "It's racing. You're scared."

"Yes."

"Of us?"

You considered the question. Really considered it, instead of just reacting.

"I don't know," you admitted. "Maybe. It's all happening so fast."

Yuna nodded slowly. "We can slow down. We will slow down. But I need you to understand something first." She lifted your wrist to her lips again and pressed a kiss against the thin skin over your veins. "This isn't a trick. This isn't some elaborate game we're playing to hurt you later. This is real. Whatever happened yesterday, whatever changed inside us—it's permanent. We're not going to wake up tomorrow and go back to the way things were."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I can't imagine it." Her dark eyes held yours. "I can't imagine ever wanting to hurt you again. The very thought makes me feel sick. Like something's clawing at my insides, trying to get out. I've spent the last eighteen hours wanting to crawl out of my own skin every time I remembered something cruel I said to you. Every insult. Every laugh at your expense." Her voice cracked slightly. "I don't know how to make you believe me. But I'll spend the rest of my life trying if you let me."

The room was quiet for a long moment. Outside, you could hear traffic. The distant sound of a siren. Normal city noises that felt surreal after everything that had happened today.

"Okay," you said again. It seemed to be the only word you could manage.

Winter lifted her head. Her pale eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Does that mean… you forgive us?"

Did it? You weren't sure forgiveness worked that way—instant and complete, granted in a borrowed apartment by a man who'd been ready to drop out of school just two days ago. But something had shifted in your chest. A wall you'd built brick by brick over months of torment, crumbling under the weight of three women who looked at you like you were the sun and they were drowning without your light.

"I don't know about forgiveness," you said carefully. "But I believe you. I think I believe that you've changed. And I want…" You swallowed. "I want to see where this goes."

Kazuha let out a shaky breath. Her hand found yours and squeezed. "That's enough. That's more than enough. We'll earn the rest. I promise."

All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.

Winter shifted on her knees, moving closer to the bed. Her pale coloring looked almost ethereal in the soft light of Yuna's bedroom, and her sharp features had lost their usual hard edge. She looked vulnerable in a way you'd never seen before.

"Can I show you something?" she asked. "Something I've wanted to do since yesterday?"

You nodded.

She reached for your hand and placed it on her chest, right over her heart. You could feel it pounding beneath your palm—rapid, desperate, like a bird trapped in a cage.

"This is what you do to me," she whispered. "Every time I look at you. Every time you speak. I feel like I can't breathe. Like my heart might explode." She covered your hand with hers, pressing it harder against her chest. "I spent so long trying to make you feel small because I was terrified of how big you made me feel. And now I just want…"

"What?"

"To be small for you." Her voice dropped even lower. "To let you have all the power. To give you everything I have and take whatever you want to give back."

The confession hung in the air between you. Raw. Honest. Stripped of all her usual defenses.

Kazuha had moved too, positioning herself on your other side. Her compact body pressed against your arm, her breath warm against your shoulder.

"We talked about this," she said. "The three of us. All last night. We took turns sharing what we were feeling and all of it kept coming back to the same thing." She kissed your shoulder through your shirt. "We want to belong to you. Completely. However that looks. Whatever that means."

Yuna's hand slid up your arm, tracing the line of your bicep. "But only if you want us. Only if this is something you choose. We won't force anything on you ever again. We're done taking. Now we only want to give."

Your head was spinning. The situation was impossible—three women who'd made your life a living nightmare now offering themselves to you like penance. Like prayer.

And the worst part? You wanted it. You wanted them. The attraction had always been there, buried under layers of hurt and resentment. They were beautiful. All three of them, in different ways. You'd have to be blind not to see it.

"I'm going to kiss you now," Yuna said. It wasn't a question, exactly, but there was space in the statement for you to say no. To stop this before it went any further.

You didn't say no.

Her lips met yours with a desperation that stole your breath. This wasn't like the earlier kisses—gentle, tentative, exploratory. This was hunger given form. Her tongue swept into your mouth, claiming, devouring, and you felt yourself falling backward onto the bed as she followed you down.

"Mmmm," she moaned against your lips. "I've wanted this. Fuck. I've wanted this since the moment I saw you yesterday and everything changed."

She broke the kiss to trail her mouth down your jaw, your neck, the hollow of your throat. Her hands worked at the remaining buttons of your shirt, pushing the fabric aside to expose your chest to the cool air of the apartment.

"So beautiful," she breathed against your skin. "How did we never see how beautiful you were?"

Kazuha had stood up from the bed, and now she was removing her bralette with quick, efficient movements. Her breasts were small and pert, with dusky nipples already peaked in the cool air. She caught you looking and smiled—a real smile, not her usual mocking smirk.

"Like what you see?" She crawled back onto the bed, settling on your other side. "You can touch. I want you to touch. I want your hands everywhere."

Winter hadn't moved from her position on the floor. But now she rose gracefully and began unbuttoning her own shirt, revealing pale skin and a delicate lavender bra underneath. Her movements were slower than Kazuha's—deliberate, almost ritualistic. Like she was unwrapping a gift.

"I want to try something," Winter said. "Something I've been thinking about since yesterday. Will you let me?"

"What?"

Instead of answering, she sank to her knees again—this time between your legs. Her pale fingers found the button of your jeans, and she looked up at you with wide, hungry eyes.

"Can I?" she asked. "I want to show you how sorry I am. I want to worship you the way you deserve."

Your throat was dry. "Yes."

She made quick work of your button and zipper, tugging your jeans down your hips with trembling hands. When she'd gotten them off entirely—leaving you in just your boxer briefs on Yuna's silk sheets—she sat back on her heels and just looked at you.

"I spent so long making you feel worthless," she said quietly. "I want to spend the rest of my life making you feel like a god."

Then she leaned forward and pressed her lips against your length through the thin cotton of your boxers.

The sensation made you gasp. Her mouth was warm, even through the fabric, and you could feel her breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. She kissed her way up your shaft, leaving damp patches on the cotton, before hooking her fingers in your waistband and pulling down.

Your cock sprang free, already hard and aching. Winter's eyes went wide.

"Oh," she breathed. "You're…" She swallowed. "You're perfect."

All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.

Yuna and Kazuha had been watching, their own hands wandering over each other's bodies in absent, distracted patterns. Now they both made sounds of appreciation, pressing closer to get a better view.

"He's gorgeous," Kazuha said. Her hand slid down her own stomach, disappearing between her thighs. "Winter, make him feel good. Show him what your mouth can do when you're not using it to hurt people."

Winter flinched slightly at the reminder of her cruelty, but she didn't argue. Instead, she leaned forward and ran her tongue in a long, slow stripe from the base of your cock to the tip.

The pleasure was immediate and intense. You groaned, your hands fisting in the sheets beneath you.

"Ohhhh, fuck," you gasped.

She swirled her tongue around the head, teasing, tasting. Her pale eyes stayed fixed on your face, watching every reaction, cataloging every gasp and twitch. She was learning you. Memorizing what made you feel good.

"You taste so good," she murmured against your flesh. "I've been imagining this. Dreaming about it. I woke up this morning with my fingers between my legs and your name on my lips."

Then she took you into her mouth.

The wet heat was overwhelming. She sank down slowly, inch by inch, her throat relaxing to accommodate your length. Her hand wrapped around the base, stroking what she couldn't fit, while her other hand cupped your balls gently.

"Winter, fuck," you groaned. Your hips twitched upward without your permission, and she made a small sound of surprise that vibrated through your cock.

She pulled back briefly, a string of saliva connecting her lips to your shaft. "Don't hold back. Use me however you want. This is for you."

Then she dove back in with renewed enthusiasm.

Yuna had grown tired of watching. She straddled your thigh, grinding her core against your leg while her mouth found your neck. You could feel the heat of her even through her jeans, the dampness that had already soaked through the denim.

"I'm so wet," she panted against your throat. "Watching her suck you… it's making me insane. I can feel myself dripping." She ground harder against your leg, chasing friction. "I want you inside me so badly. I want to feel you split me open."

Kazuha had positioned herself on your other side, but instead of grinding against you, she'd taken your hand and pressed it between her thighs. Her sex was bare—she must have removed her pants at some point—and soaking wet.

"Feel what you do to me," she whispered. Her hips rolled against your palm, smearing her arousal across your fingers. "I've never been this wet for anyone. Never wanted anyone this much. You're all I can think about."

Your brain was short-circuiting. Three women. Three beautiful, terrifying, formerly cruel women, all touching you, all wanting you, all desperate to make you feel good. It was too much. It wasn't enough.

Winter was working your cock with increasing urgency now, her head bobbing in a steady rhythm. Her moans vibrated through your flesh, and the sounds she made were obscene—wet and hungry and desperate.

"Mmmmph," she moaned around your shaft. "Mmm, you feel so good in my mouth. So hard. So perfect."

She pulled back with a gasp, saliva and precum stringing between her lips and your cock. Her hand replaced her mouth, stroking you rapidly while she caught her breath.

"I need you to know," she panted, "that I've never done this for anyone. Never wanted to. But for you…" She leaned forward and kissed the tip reverently. "For you, I'd stay on my knees forever."

Then she took you deep again, and this time she didn't stop. Her throat worked around your length as she swallowed you down, and you could feel yourself getting close. The pressure was building at the base of your spine, your balls tightening with the need for release.

"I'm going to—" you started to warn her.

She didn't pull back. If anything, she doubled down, her hand pumping what she couldn't fit while her mouth worked the rest with desperate enthusiasm. Her eyes stayed locked on yours, giving you permission, begging you to let go.

"Fuck, Winter, I'm—" The orgasm crashed through you like a wave. Your hips jerked upward, driving yourself deeper into her throat as you came. She swallowed around you, taking everything you gave her, and when you finally stilled, she pulled back slowly and pressed a kiss to your softening cock.

"Thank you," she breathed. "Thank you for letting me. Thank you for trusting me."

All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.

Yuna had stopped grinding against your leg to watch Winter finish you off. Now her dark eyes were blazing with need.

"My turn," she said. It wasn't a question.

But Kazuha made a noise of protest. "You went first yesterday. You got to hold his hand first. I want a turn."

"You can have the next one," Yuna promised. "I just need… I need him inside me. I need to feel him. I've been going crazy."

Winter had moved to the side, her pale cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from use. But she didn't look satisfied—she looked hungry for more.

"We can share," she said quietly. "We talked about this. We're a unit now. His harem. His to command. We don't have to compete."

The word "harem" sent a jolt through your spent body. You weren't sure if you were ready for another round yet, but your cock twitched at the thought.

Yuna considered this for a moment. Then she nodded slowly. "You're right. We share. That's the deal. That's what we agreed."

She climbed off your thigh and began removing her jeans, revealing long legs and a lacy thong that was visibly soaked with her arousal. Her body was incredible—toned and elegant, with full breasts that spilled over her bra and curves in all the right places.

"Kazuha," she said, "you wanted his hands. Take them. Winter, you can have his mouth. I'll ride him when he's ready."

The three women rearranged themselves around you with military efficiency. Kazuha took position by your right side, guiding your hand back between her thighs. Winter climbed up the bed and straddled your chest, facing you, her pale sex inches from your face. And Yuna settled between your legs, her mouth closing over your softening cock to bring you back to full hardness.

The sensation of three women pleasuring you—and themselves—simultaneously was overwhelming. Your brain couldn't process all the inputs: Kazuha's wet heat against your fingers, Winter's hands braced on your chest as she positioned herself, Yuna's talented mouth working you back to attention.

"Touch me," Kazuha pleaded, rolling her hips against your palm. "Inside. Please. I need your fingers inside me."

You obeyed, sliding two fingers into her slick channel. She was tight, impossibly wet, and she clenched around you with a moan.

"Ohhhh, yes. Just like that. Fuck." Her head fell back, her hips moving in a steady rhythm. "Your fingers feel so good. So much better than my own. I've been touching myself all night thinking about you and it wasn't enough, it was never enough—"

Winter had lowered herself to your mouth, and the taste of her filled your senses. She was sweeter than you expected, with a hint of musk that made your cock twitch in Yuna's mouth. You ran your tongue through her folds, finding her clit and circling it with the tip.

"Oh!" Winter cried out. Her thighs trembled on either side of your head. "Oh, fuck, your tongue, yes, right there, please don't stop—"

You wrapped your arms around her thighs, holding her in place while you feasted on her. Your fingers continued their rhythm inside Kazuha, and you could feel both women getting closer, their moans harmonizing in the quiet room.

Yuna had succeeded in her mission—your cock was hard again, aching for release. She pulled back and looked up at you with dark, hungry eyes.

"I need you inside me," she said. "Now. Please. I can't wait anymore."

Winter reluctantly lifted herself from your face, and Kazuha whimpered as you withdrew your fingers. But neither protested as Yuna positioned herself above you and sank down onto your length in one smooth motion.

The sensation of her enveloping you was indescribable. She was tight and wet and so hot you thought you might burn alive. Her back arched as she took you to the hilt, a moan tearing from her throat.

"Ohhhhh fuck, you feel so good. You're so big. You're stretching me so perfectly—"

She began to move, rolling her hips in a slow rhythm that drove you crazy. Her hands braced on your chest for leverage, her dark hair falling around her face like a curtain.

Kazuha had moved to sit beside you, her own hand between her legs, watching Yuna ride you with desperate hunger. Winter had positioned herself on your other side, one hand pinching her nipples while the other worked her clit.

"Tell us you're ours," Yuna panted, her hips speeding up. "Tell us you'll keep us. Tell us we belong to you."

The words tumbled out before you could stop them. "You're mine. All three of you. You belong to me."

The effect was instantaneous. Yuna's whole body shuddered, her rhythm faltering. "Say it again. Please."

"You're mine. You belong to me. I'm going to keep you."

She came with a scream, her walls clenching around your cock like a vice. The sensation pushed you over the edge too, and you spilled inside her with a groan of your own.

Kazuha and Winter had worked themselves to the edge watching, and they followed moments later, crying out in tandem as pleasure crashed through them.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was heavy breathing.

Then Yuna collapsed forward onto your chest, her dark hair spreading across your skin like ink.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for choosing us. We're going to spend the rest of our lives making you happy. I promise."

The other two curled against your sides, their bodies warm and soft. And for the first time in months—maybe years—you felt something like peace.

Whatever came next, you'd face it together.

However deep down. You still have a feeling. That something is not right. This whole thing is not right. Their love was not right. As you caresses Winter's head, You began to wonder. If all of this. Is just a dream come true. Or is it a Nightmare waiting to happen.

You woke slowly, consciousness returning in fragments. A warm, wet heat surrounded your cock. Your hips jerked instinctively, and a low groan escaped your throat before you were fully awake.

"Mmmm, he's waking up," Kazuha's voice came from somewhere to your left. Giggling. "We almost got him there."

Your eyes fluttered open. Morning light filtered through curtains you didn't recognize, and for a disorienting moment, you had no idea where you were. Then sensation crashed back—the warmth, the wetness, the soft weight of bodies pressed against yours.

Winter's head was between your legs, her pale hair spilled across your thighs like moonlight on water. Her mouth worked your shaft with desperate devotion, tongue swirling around the head before she took you deep. Her cheeks hollowed, and the suction made your vision blur.

"Ohhh, fuck," you breathed.

Yuna lay on your other side, her dark head resting on your chest, watching Winter work with possessive satisfaction. Her elegant fingers traced patterns across your stomach, nails dragging lightly across your skin.

"Good morning," she purred without looking up. "Did you sleep well? We tried not to wake you too many times during the night."

"During the—" You stopped. Tried to process. "How many times?"

"Four," Kazuha answered proudly. She was curled against your side, her compact body warm and soft. Her round face held a deceptively innocent smile. "You came in your sleep. It was so hot. We couldn't help ourselves."

"We had to have you," Winter pulled back just enough to speak, her pale eyes feverish. A string of saliva connected her swollen lips to your cock. "Every time you got hard, we needed to take care of you. It would be cruel not to."

This wasn't right. None of this was right.

Yesterday's memories crashed over you—the library, the confessions, the sex. The way they'd looked at you like you were the only thing keeping them alive. The desperation in every touch, every word. And underneath it all, that gnawing certainty that something was profoundly, terrifyingly wrong.

You tried to sit up. Three sets of hands immediately pressed against your chest, pushing you back down.

"Stay," Yuna said softly. Her dark eyes held yours. "Let us take care of you. We need to take care of you."

"No." The word came out hoarse. "We need to talk. This has to stop."

The effect was immediate and devastating.

Winter's face crumbled like you'd slapped her. Her pale skin went even whiter, her eyes going wide with genuine terror. She released your cock like it burned her, scrambling backward on the bed.

"Stop?" Her voice cracked. "You want us to stop? We can't—we can't. You don't understand, I can't exist without you now. I've tried to imagine it, tried to picture going back to how things were, and there's nothing there. Just emptiness. Just—"

"Shh." Yuna sat up, but her composure had cracked too. Her perfectly composed features were twisted with panic. "He doesn't mean it. He's just confused."

"I'm not confused." Your voice hardened. "I don't know what happened yesterday, but people don't just change overnight. This isn't normal. None of this is normal."

Kazuha had gone very still beside you. Her round face had lost its sweetness, replaced by something colder. More calculating.

"You're right," she said quietly. "It's not normal. We know it's not normal. We can feel how wrong it is, how our thoughts aren't our own anymore. But here's the thing—we don't care."

She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"I spent months making your life hell because it made me feel powerful. I liked watching you suffer. And now the thought of hurting you makes me physically ill. I can't do it. I literally cannot make myself be cruel to you anymore. My brain won't let me." Her smile was brittle. "So you can talk about normalcy all you want. But we're never going back. We can't. And we won't let you go."

"This is insane."

"Probably," Yuna agreed. Her breathing had steadied, but her hands trembled slightly. "But it's real. This is our reality now. You're our reality. And we're going to spend every moment proving that to you."

Winter had moved to the foot of the bed, her slender body curled into itself. She looked small. Fragile. Nothing like the sharp-tongued woman who'd terrorized you for months.

"Please," she whispered. "Please don't send us away. I know we don't deserve you. I know we've been horrible. But we'll do anything—anything—to make you happy. Just tell us what you want. Whatever it is. We'll do it."

The desperation in her voice made your chest tighten. This wasn't manipulation, wasn't performance. She genuinely believed every word.

And that was somehow worse.

"I need space," you said carefully. "Time to think. This is moving too fast."

Yuna exchanged glances with the others. Something unspoken passed between them—some decision made in the silence.

"No," she said softly.

"What?"

"We can't give you space." Her dark eyes held yours with unwavering intensity. "Every moment apart from you feels like dying. I'm not being dramatic. I mean it literally. My chest hurts. My head spins. I can't breathe properly when you're not near me."

"That sounds like a medical problem."

"It's a you problem," Kazuha corrected. "You're the only thing that makes it stop."

Before you could respond, Yuna moved. She reached beneath the pillow and produced something that glinted in the morning light—soft silk scarves, deep red, the color matching the wire that had started all this.

"We talked about this last night," she said calmly. "After you fell asleep. We knew you might try to pull away."

"You planned this?"

"We planned for every possibility." She nodded to Kazuha, who took your right wrist. Winter emerged from her huddle to take your left.

"Wait—"

"We're going to make you feel so good that you won't want to leave," Yuna continued, her voice steady and reasonable. "We're going to worship every inch of you until your brain melts and you understand that you belong with us. That we belong to you."

You tried to resist, but their grip was surprisingly strong. Three women working in concert, coordinated with the precision of a military operation.

"Hold him," Yuna commanded.

Kazuha threw her leg over your chest, pinning your torso. Her bare sex pressed against your stomach, and you could feel how wet she already was. She leaned forward, using her dancer's flexibility to press her forehead against yours.

"Don't fight," she whispered. "We'll make it so good. We'll make you forget everything except us."

All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.

The scarf wound around your right wrist—silk, smooth, tight enough to hold but not enough to hurt. Kazuha guided your arm up, tying it to the bedframe with practiced efficiency. Winter followed suit on your left, her fingers trembling but determined.

"Stop," you said again. But even you could hear how weak it sounded.

"We can't," Winter answered. Her pale eyes were wet with tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But we can't."

Yuna finished securing both wrists, then moved down the bed. She produced two more scarves from somewhere—how many had they prepared?—and began binding your ankles.

"You're going to thank us," she predicted. "Once it's over. Once you understand."

"This is kidnapping."

"It's devotion." She looked up at you, and her dark eyes held no irony. "We're devoted to you. Completely. Totally. The way nuns are devoted to God. The way martyrs are devoted to their faith. You're our religion now."

Your ankles secured, you were spread eagle on Yuna's bed, completely at their mercy. And despite everything—the wrongness, the panic clawing at the edges of your mind—your cock was already hard again.

Yuna noticed. Of course she did.

"See?" She smiled. "Part of you knows exactly what you need."

She climbed onto the bed, positioning herself between your legs. Her dark hair fell forward, creating a curtain around your cock as she leaned down.

"Let us prove ourselves to you," she murmured. Her tongue traced a line from base to tip. "Let us show you what devotion means."

Then she took you into her mouth, and thought became impossible.

The wet heat was overwhelming. She worked you with skill that spoke of practice—though you knew she'd never done this before yesterday. It was as if the wish had given them knowledge along with obsession. Her throat relaxed as she took you deep, her tongue swirling patterns that made your back arch.

"Ohhhh, fuck—" The moan tore from your throat.

Kazuha had moved to your side, her compact body pressing against you. Her mouth found your nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive skin before her tongue soothed the sting.

"You taste so good," she murmured against your chest. "I've been imagining this all night. The way your skin feels under my tongue. The sounds you make."

Winter had recovered from her panic, her natural sharpness returning. She climbed to your other side, her pale fingers wrapping around the base of your cock where Yuna's mouth couldn't reach.

"Let us drain you," she whispered. Her thumb pressed against the sensitive spot beneath the head. "We're going to take everything you have. Every drop. Until you can't think anymore. Until you can't remember why you wanted to leave."

Yuna pulled back with a wet pop. "Winter, share."

The pale woman obeyed instantly, moving down to join Yuna between your legs. Their faces pressed together, cheek to cheek, both of them looking up at you with hunger that bordered on madness.

They kissed each other—a deep, messy kiss with your cock inches away. Their tongues tangled, sharing the taste of you. Then they pulled apart and both turned to your shaft.

"Oh fuck—" The sight alone nearly made you come.

They worked in tandem—Yuna on one side, Winter on the other, their tongues tracing parallel paths up your length. When they reached the tip, their mouths met in another kiss, your cock between them.

"MMMMMMM," Winter moaned, the vibration traveling through your flesh.

"So hard," Yuna murmured. "So perfect. You were made for us."

Kazuha had climbed higher, straddling your chest again. Her wet sex pressed against your sternum as she leaned forward.

"I need you to touch me," she said. "Even tied like this. Figure out how."

She positioned herself so your chin could reach her core if you strained upward. The scent of her filled your nostrils—musky, sweet, desperate.

"Please," she begged. "I've been wet since last night. I need to feel your tongue on me. Please, please, please—"

You gave in. There was no point in resisting—not when every nerve ending screamed for release, not when your body had already surrendered.

Your tongue found her folds, and she screamed.

"AHHHHH! Oh god, oh fuck, yes, yes, YES—"

Her hips bucked against your face, grinding desperately. Her slick smeared across your chin and cheeks as she rode your tongue.

"More," she demanded. "Inside. Put your tongue inside me—"

You obeyed. Stiffened your tongue and pushed into her channel, feeling her clench around you.

"FUCK! Fuck fuck fuck—"

Below, Yuna and Winter had split duties—Yuna swallowing your cock while Winter's mouth worked your balls. The dual sensation was devastating. Wet heat surrounded your shaft while Winter's tongue traced the seam of your sac, then lower, teasing the sensitive skin behind.

"You're close," Yuna observed, pulling back briefly. "We can feel it."

"Let us have it," Winter added, her pale eyes feverish. "Give us everything."

All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.

Yuna sank down again, taking you to the root. Her throat constricted around your head as she swallowed. Winter's mouth closed around one of your balls, sucking gently.

Kazuha was grinding against your face with increasing desperation.

"I'm going to—" she gasped. "Your tongue is so deep, it's so deep—"

You felt her thighs begin to tremble against your head. Her whole body tensed.

"I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm—AHHHHHH!"

She gushed against your chin, her release coating your face in hot slick. The taste of her flooded your mouth—sweeter than you expected, with an edge of salt.

The sight and sensation pushed you over the edge.

Your hips strained against the bindings as you came, spurting into Yuna's throat. She swallowed convulsively, taking every drop, her dark eyes rolling back with pleasure.

"MMMMMMM!" Her moan vibrated through your cock, prolonging your orgasm.

When you finally stilled, she pulled back slowly, licking her lips.

"Delicious," she breathed. "You taste like belonging."

Winter had released your balls and was looking at Yuna with hungry envy.

"Share," she demanded.

Yuna turned and kissed her, and you watched them pass your cum between their mouths. Their tongues tangled, sharing the taste of you, both of them moaning into the kiss.

"Again," Kazuha said from above. She hadn't moved from your face. "I need more. I'm still so wet—"

But you were spent. Your cock softened against your thigh, exhausted.

The three women exchanged glances.

"We'll get him ready again," Yuna said calmly. "We have all day. All week. However long it takes."

"We're going to milk you dry," Winter added, her sharp features softened with satisfied greed. "Every drop you have belongs to us."

They descended on you again—three mouths, six hands, working in concert to bring you back to hardness. Despite your exhaustion, despite the alarm bells screaming in the back of your mind, you felt yourself responding.

This was wrong. All of this was wrong.

But as Yuna's mouth found your cock again, as Kazuha's slick pressed against your lips, as Winter's nails dragged down your chest, you couldn't remember why.

You lost track of time. Could have been minutes, could have been hours. The three women worked you with tireless devotion, bringing you to the edge and backing off just enough to keep you hard without tipping over. They seemed to know your body better than you did—every sensitive spot, every trigger point, exactly how much pressure you could take before breaking.

Yuna's mouth was a revelation. She'd taken to sucking your cock like she'd been born for it, her elegant features stretched around your girth as she worked you with single-minded focus. Her dark hair fell across your thighs, the strands catching on your sweat-slick skin. Every few minutes she'd pull back to let Kazuha or Winter take over, but her eyes never left your face.

"We've been talking," Yuna said during one such rotation, her voice calm and conversational despite the obscene situation. Her hand continued stroking you where her mouth had been, keeping you on edge. "The three of us. While you were sleeping."

"Mmmph—" Winter's response was muffled by your cock, her pale head bobbing in your lap. She'd gotten startlingly good at deep-throating, her earlier gag reflex seemingly erased by sheer determination.

Kazuha lay curled against your side, her compact body warm and soft. She'd already come on your face twice, her slick drying on your chin and cheeks, but she showed no sign of being satisfied. Her fingers traced lazy patterns across your chest, nails dragging lightly through the hair there.

"We've come to a decision," Yuna continued. She met your eyes, and something in her gaze made your stomach clench—something beyond obsession, beyond devotion. Something absolute. "We want you to understand how serious we are. How permanent this is."

Winter pulled off your cock with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting her swollen lips to your head. "We want you to make us pregnant."

The words hung in the air. For a moment, even the sounds of breathing seemed to stop.

"What?"

"You heard me." Winter's pale eyes held yours with unnerving intensity. "We want your children. All three of us. We want to carry your babies, to be tied to you forever. To wake up every day with a piece of you growing inside us."

Your mind reeled. This was insane. This was beyond insane. Yesterday these women had been your tormentors, and now they wanted—

"You can't be serious."

"We've never been more serious about anything," Yuna said softly. She released your cock and climbed onto the bed, positioning herself above you. Her dark hair curtained around her face as she looked down at you with something that might have been love if love could be weaponized. "We discussed it all night. We want this. We need this. To show you how committed we are. To make sure you can never send us away."

"Because if we have your children," Kazuha added from beside you, her sweet voice carrying an edge of steel, "you'll have to keep us. You'll have to take care of us. We'll be bound together for the rest of our lives."

The scarves around your wrists and ankles suddenly felt tighter. You pulled against them instinctively, but they held firm.

"This is crazy. You can't just—"

"We can." Yuna lowered herself until her sex pressed against your shaft, her slick smearing across your length. She was soaked—had been since this started, maybe since yesterday. The heat of her was nearly unbearable. "We already stopped taking our birth control. We've been off it for weeks, actually. We were planning this even before—"

She stopped herself, a flicker of confusion crossing her elegant features. "Even before what? I can't remember why we started planning it. Just that we needed to. Needed to be yours completely."

The wish. The stupid, joking wish you'd made with that wire. You'd asked for them to fall for you, but this—this was something else entirely. This was obsession weaponized, desire twisted into something desperate and all-consuming.

"I don't want this," you said, but even you could hear how weak it sounded. Your cock was achingly hard between Yuna's wet folds, your body betraying every protest your mind tried to make.

"Yes you do." Yuna began to move, sliding her slick channel along your shaft without taking you inside. The friction was maddening. "Your body knows what it wants. What it needs. And we need it too—so badly it hurts. Every moment we're not filled with you, not claimed by you, it feels like we're dying."

"Please," Kazuha whispered against your ear. Her hand slid down your stomach to join Yuna's at your cock, both women touching you at once. "Please let us have this. Let us prove ourselves. We'll be such good mothers. We'll raise your children together, love them together, worship you together for the rest of our lives."

Winter had moved to kneel beside Yuna, her pale body a stark contrast to the other woman's darker coloring. Her sharp features were softened with something like reverence.

"We've been such terrible people," she said quietly. "We hurt you for months, made your life miserable, and we can never make up for that. But we can give you this. We can give you children, a family, a harem devoted solely to your pleasure. We can spend the rest of our lives serving you, loving you, being whatever you need us to be."

Her hand joined the others on your cock, three sets of fingers working you together.

"Just give us this one thing," she begged. "Give us your children. Let us be yours forever."

Yuna shifted her hips, and suddenly your cock was positioned at her entrance. The heat of her was incredible—wet and grasping, her body begging for yours.

"Say yes," she breathed. "Tell us you want this too. Tell us we can have your babies."

Your mouth opened. Closed. You wanted to say no, to tell them this was insane, that you couldn't possibly—

"Yesssss," you hissed as Yuna sank down onto your cock.

The sensation was overwhelming. She was tight, tighter than you expected, her channel gripping you like she'd been made for this exact purpose. Her back arched as she took you to the root, a keening moan tearing from her throat.

"OH GOD—oh fuck, you're so deep, you're so deep—"

She stayed there for a moment, impaled on your cock, her whole body trembling. Then she began to move.

Her hips rolled in slow waves, drawing you out almost completely before sinking back down. Each movement made her cry out—soft desperate sounds that spoke of pleasure almost too intense to bear. Her dark hair swayed with the motion, brushing against her shoulders, her back, your thighs.

"Fuck, you feel so good inside me," she gasped. Her hands pressed against your chest for balance, nails digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks. "So thick, so perfect, like you were made to fit inside me—"

Kazuha had moved to straddle your face again, her wet sex hovering inches from your mouth. The scent of her was intoxicating—musky and sweet, the taste of her previous orgasms still coating your chin.

"Please," she begged. "I need your tongue again. I need to come while you fill Yuna. Please, please—"

You gave in. What else could you do? Your tongue found her folds, and she screamed.

"AHHHHH! Oh fuck, right there, your tongue is so good, so good—"

She ground against your face with the same rhythm Yuna used on your cock, their movements synchronized in some unspoken harmony. Below you could feel your orgasm building—pressure at the base of your spine, heat pooling in your gut.

"I'm close," Yuna warned. Her movements had become erratic, desperate. "You're going to come inside me. You're going to fill me with your cum, make me pregnant, claim me forever—"

"Oh god—" Your voice was muffled by Kazuha's sex, but the words escaped anyway.

"YES, say it! Promise me! Promise you'll fill me—"

"I'll fill you," you heard yourself say. "I'll give you everything—"

"AHHHHH!" Yuna threw her head back and screamed. Her whole body seized around you, her channel clenching in rhythmic pulses that pushed you over the edge.

You came harder than you ever had in your life. Spurt after spurt of cum erupted into her, filling her, marking her. She ground down onto you, taking every drop, her body milking yours with desperate intensity.

"Yes, yes, YES! I can feel it, I can feel you coming inside me, so hot, so much—give me all of it, give me your baby—"

All parties involved in this narrative are adults acting freely, consensually, and with mutual enjoyment.

The orgasm seemed to last forever. When it finally ended, Yuna collapsed forward onto your chest, her dark hair spilling across your skin. You could feel her heart hammering against your ribs, feel her body still trembling with aftershocks.

"Perfect," she murmured against your neck. "That was perfect. I can feel your cum inside me, so warm, so right…"

Kazuha had pulled back from your face, her own orgasm apparently forgotten in the intensity of the moment. She looked at Yuna with something like envy.

"My turn," she said. "You promised. You said you'd give us all your children."

"Give him a minute," Yuna protested without lifting her head. "He needs to recover."

"He doesn't need anything except us," Winter interrupted. She'd been watching the whole scene with hungry eyes, one hand between her own legs, fingering herself in steady rhythm. "Look at him—he's already getting hard again."

She was right. Despite the orgasm that had just wrung you out, despite the exhaustion pulling at your limbs, your cock was stiffening inside Yuna's warmth. The wish, or whatever power that wire had given you, wouldn't let you stop.

Yuna felt it too. She lifted her head to look at you, dark eyes wide with wonder.

"You are perfect," she breathed. "Everything we always needed."

She lifted herself off you with obvious reluctance, your cum already starting to leak from her well-fucked hole. The sight of it—white and thick, dripping down her thighs—made something primitive stir in your chest.

"Kazuha's turn," Yuna said, moving to kneel beside the bed. "But first, we need to make sure he's ready."

She gestured to Winter, who immediately understood. The pale woman moved between your legs, her mouth descending on your cock before you could protest. She licked you clean—tasting Yuna's slick, your cum, the mingled flavors of your combined pleasure.

"So good," she murmured against your shaft. "You taste like ownership. Like belonging."

Kazuha had positioned herself above you now, her compact body hovering over your freshly cleaned cock. Her round face held an expression of desperate anticipation.

"I've never done this before," she admitted softly. "Not before yesterday, I mean. I was saving myself for—for something. Someone. I didn't know it was you until—"

She shook her head, confusion flickering across her features.

"Until suddenly it was all I could think about. Being yours. Being filled by you. Carrying your child." She lowered herself until your cock pressed against her entrance. "Make me yours. Please. I need it so badly."

She sank down onto you with a sharp cry.

"OH—oh fuck, you're so big—"

She was tighter than Yuna, her body gripping you like a vice. She stayed still for a moment, adjusting to the sensation of being filled, her face a mask of concentration.

"Move," you commanded, and the word surprised you. Something had shifted—some acceptance of this new reality, this strange power you held over them.

Kazuha's eyes flew open at your command, round face lighting up with joy.

"Yes—whatever you want, anything you want—"

She began to move, her hips working in a different rhythm than Yuna's. Where Yuna had been smooth and undulating, Kazuha was enthusiastic and eager, bouncing on your cock with almost frantic energy.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—you feel incredible, so deep, hitting places I didn't know existed—"

Yuna and Winter had moved to either side of you, both women watching Kazuha ride you with possessive satisfaction. Winter's hand found your face, turning your head toward her.

"Kiss me," she demanded. "While you fill her, kiss me—"

Her mouth found yours, and she kissed you with desperate intensity. Her tongue invaded your mouth, tangling with yours, tasting and claiming. When she pulled back, her pale lips were swollen and red.

"Next time," she whispered against your mouth. "You're going to fill me next. You're going to pump me so full of cum that I'll be dripping for days."

Kazuha's movements had grown more erratic, her breath coming in sharp gasps.

"I'm close—I'm so close—your cock is hitting my spot every time, it's too much, too good—"

"Come for me," you ordered, and she shattered.

"AHHHHHHH! OH GOD, OH FUCK, I'M COMING, I'M COMING ON YOUR COCK—"

Her channel clenched around you in rhythmic pulses, and the sensation pushed you over the edge again. You came inside her with a groan, filling her with your second load of the morning.

"YES! I can feel it, I can feel you coming, filling me up, giving me your baby—THANK YOU, thank you, thank you—"

She collapsed forward onto your chest, her compact body shaking with aftershocks. You could feel her tears against your skin—tears of pleasure, of relief, of something that might have been joy.

"Two down," Yuna observed from beside you. Her voice was calm, but her dark eyes blazed with intensity. "One to go."

Winter had already taken position, her pale body replacing Kazuha's above you. But instead of sinking down onto your cock, she turned around, presenting her back to you.

"I want you to see," she explained. "I want you to watch your cock disappear inside me. I want you to see your cum dripping out when you're done."

She lowered herself onto you with a moan, her tight channel gripping your oversensitive cock.

"OH—oh fuck, you're still so hard, how are you still so hard—"

The sight was obscene and intoxicating—your darkened shaft disappearing into her pale body, her round cheeks bouncing with each movement. Yuna and Kazuha had recovered enough to move beside her, both women running their hands across Winter's body as she rode you.

"So beautiful," Kazuha murmured. "Taking him so well. Being such a good harem-sister."

"Our turn to help," Yuna added. She reached between Winter's legs, her elegant fingers finding the other woman's clit.

Winter screamed.

"AHHHHH! Oh god, Yuna, what are you—OH FUCK—"

"Making sure you come hard enough to catch his seed," Yuna explained calmly. Her fingers worked Winter's clit in tight circles. "We need you convulsing around him, pulling his cum deep into your womb."

Winter's movements became frantic, her body chasing the pleasure Yuna provided. Each bounce on your cock drove you deeper, her channel gripping you like she was trying to pull you inside permanently.

"More," she begged. "Please, I need—I need—"

Kazuha leaned in and took one of Winter's pale nipples into her mouth, sucking hard. Winter's back arched, and a wail tore from her throat.

"I'M COMING—I'M COMING—FILL ME, PLEASE, FILL ME WITH YOUR CUM—"

You came for the third time, your body somehow finding more to give her. The orgasm was almost painful in its intensity, your cock pulsing inside her as you pumped her full.

"YES! I can feel it, so hot, so much—mark me, claim me, make me yours forever—"

She collapsed backward, your cock slipping from her body with an obscene wet sound. Your cum immediately began leaking from her stretched hole, dripping onto your stomach.

All three women lay around you now, breathing hard, their bodies slick with sweat and other fluids. The room smelled like sex—musk and salt and something sweeter underneath.

"Perfect," Yuna murmured. She pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "That was perfect."

"Now we wait," Kazuha added, her voice dreamy with satisfaction. "Wait to see if it takes. And if not—"

"We'll keep trying," Winter finished. She'd already begun cleaning you with her mouth, licking up the combined fluids from your stomach. "Every day. As many times as it takes. Until all three of us are round with your children."

She looked up at you, pale eyes feverish with devotion.

"You're never getting rid of us now. We're yours forever."

“Oh, it’s that café that’s been trending online,” you say, typing the name into your phone.

“Have you been there?” Hyewon asks, leaning back into her seat.

“No. I’ve just been seeing it around lately. Heard it’s nice with a rooftop view.”

“Ah, I see,” she murmurs as you shift the car into drive and pull onto the road, the low hum of the engine settling into the silence. You catch a glance in the rearview mirror, brief and accidental, your eyes meeting before either of you can help it, and just as quickly, both of you look away. The silence lingers a second too long, and as if to break it, she speaks again. “Is this a company SUV?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Does this car have some kind of reinforcement, like bulletproof panels and all that? Or is that just in movies?”

You let out a small chuckle and turn the corner. “We do have some. This one just has reinforced windows and darker tint.”

“Oh, I see.” Hyewon nods, glancing around the car before looking back out the window as buildings pass. “What’s the craziest thing you’ve dealt with as a bodyguard?”

You take a moment to think while she waits. “Probably the number of fights but they’re more like scuffles. They end quickly. After a while, it all starts to feel kind of meaningless.”

She laughs softly, her gaze drifting to your arm resting on the steering wheel. “You’ve got some humor in you.”

It wasn’t really a joke, but you let it pass, a quiet breath of a laugh leaving you anyway. “Thank you.”

“Also… isn’t the weather nice today?”

“It is,” you say, easing off the gas as the light turns red in front of you.

——

At the shop, it isn’t crowded, just a handful of college students hunched over laptops. As you approach the kiosk with Hyewon, she starts ordering quietly while your attention drifts, scanning the room, each table, each face, anyone who might look twice, anyone who might recognize her.

“Is that Hyewon?” the worker at the register whispers to a coworker. You catch it anyway. A few people in line glance over.

“People are starting to notice you, Hyewon,” you whisper to her. “Are you in the mood to greet fans?”

“Of course,” she smiles, swiping through the screen without hesitation.

“May you remind me of the safe words I gave you?” you ask. “Standard procedure.”

“Where’s my manager?” she replies, glancing at you with a teasing smile.

“Okay, just checking.”

For now, at least, people keep their distance, the way they usually do on a slow Tuesday.

“Do you want anything?” she asks, turning to you.

You shake your head. “No, thank you.”

“Are you sure? You should get something. The desserts here look really good.”

“Thanks, but I’m okay.”

She glances at you, a little more insistent this time. “I know you’re working, but at least get something. An Americano or whatever. It’s my treat. I don't want to feel bad."

You hesitate for a second, then give in. “Alright. A small Americano. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She taps it in and pulls out her card.

Before she can pay, you step in a little closer, just enough to block the view of any clear angle from the cameras around. It’s instinct, automatic. She notices how you did it quietly without a word.

“What a bodyguard,” Hyewon thinks, a small, private smile lingering as the order goes through. The receipt prints with a soft whir, and she tears it off, glancing at the number. “Twenty-six.”

She steps aside to wait, and you fall in just behind her, close enough without crowding. The room settles again, low voices, the clink of cups. Then someone stands. You notice it immediately. A girl approaches, stopping a few feet away, careful, almost hesitant. You take her in without staring, quick and automatic. College student, maybe. Glasses, beige jacket, nothing out of place. No tension in her shoulders, no rush in her steps.

“Hi… can I take a quick picture with you, Hyewon?” she asks.

Hyewon glances back at you, just for a second after you give her a small nod.

The girl smiles and steps closer, the moment passing easily, a phone lifted, a quick picture taken, nothing more.

“Number twenty-six!”

Hyewon thanks the fan before stepping away, heading to the counter to pick up the tray.

“Want me to carry that?” you ask.

“No, it’s okay. I’ve got it.”

“Alright.”

You follow a step behind as she heads up the stairs, your attention split between her and the space ahead. The rooftop door swings open, and the air changes immediately, cooler, easier to breathe. You take a quick look around before she reaches a corner table and sets the tray down. You take the seat beside her without thinking and turn towards the door.

She pauses, then glances at you. “I think you’re supposed to face the other way.”

“I don’t sit with my back to a door.”

“Oh.” It comes out quieter this time from Hyewon. She doesn’t say anything else, just settles into her seat, a small pause lingering as she takes that in. From the outside, you know how it looks. A little out of place or funny, maybe even rigid. On any other day, it might feel unnecessary. But not today.

“Here’s your Americano, Oppa,” she murmurs, hoping what she just called you flew over your head. Which it did, surprisingly, out of everything.

“Thank you,” you say and reach for your coffee from her hand.

“I’m guessing you’re counting how many people are up here.”

“Yeah. Ten people. This place will likely get busy in two hours since people will be on break.”

You’re not even looking at her, your attention is set somewhere past her shoulder, on the door, the edges of the rooftop, anywhere but her. Still, you can feel it, the way her gaze lingers a second too long, studying you without trying to hide it.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

Turning to her, your eyes meet each other, “No.”

“Liar,” she giggles, covering her mouth, though the curiosity doesn’t leave her expression. She tears off a small piece of her strawberry muffin, bringing it to her lips as she watches you.

You take a sip of your coffee, letting the moment stretch just enough. “What makes you think I’m lying?”

She hums softly, chewing, taking her time before answering. “Hmm… maybe I’ll take that back.” She swallows, brushing a crumb from her thumb. A small smile forms as she tilts her head slightly. “Then what kind of woman are you into?”

You glance away for a brief second, like the answer isn’t something you keep ready. “Someone who knows how to be kind,” you say. “Not nice all the time. Just kind.” You pause, almost reconsidering whether to add more, then do anyway. “But it usually falls apart if she has a pretty smile.”

“Ah,” Hyewon leans in just a touch, her smile widening, not shy anymore but teasingly. “So you’re a sucker for a pretty smile?” She holds it there a second longer than necessary, like she knows exactly what she’s doing, like she wants you to notice.

You hesitate, enough to give it away without hiding any thoughts. “Yeah. You could say that.”

She lets the smile linger for a second, then looks down at her muffin like nothing happened. The moment shifts, quiet but not the same anymore.

“That’s cute,” Hyewon says. You glance at her as she takes another bite, brushing a few crumbs from her lips without thinking. She looks out over the rooftop for a moment, and you let your gaze linger a second too long before looking away, lifting your coffee to your lips. “Do you… usually talk this much?” she asks, turning back to you. “We didn’t talk much earlier. When I was shopping.”

“Your manager isn’t here to keep you company.”

“Then… am I talking too much?” she asks with a shy laugh.

You shake your head. “No. You’re fine.”

“Oppa,” she murmurs.

You catch it a second later, but don’t react much and only think that she’s just getting comfortable with you, “Hmm?”

“Want a taste?” she asks, holding out her muffin.

“No, but thanks for offering.”

“Are you sure? I have an extra fork.”

You shake your head again, lifting your coffee. “I’m sure.”

“Hmm, okay,” Hyewon says, drawing the muffin back towards herself. She takes another bite, slow, like she isn’t in any rush, and when your eyes meet again, she holds it for a second longer than before, a faint smile still there before she finally looks away.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just timing. Two people looking in the same direction at the same second. But your body doesn’t buy it. It lingers a second too long, reads into it more than it should. Hyewon doesn’t look away. Her smile stays instead of passing through. You try to shrink it into coincidence, something easy to ignore, but you’re already paying closer attention than you should be. You’ve noticed the signs before, and you’re trying not to let this turn into something you’ll actually act on.

Hyewon’s not smiling at you just because. She’s flirting with you.

——

After the coffee shop, you walk with Hyewon into her apartment building. She presses the elevator button and glances down at the shopping bags in your hands. “I’m surprised you’re not asking why I spent so much today,” she says.

“I don’t bother to,” you reply, a faint smile touching your lips.

The elevator opens and you gesture her in first. She steps inside, close enough for you to catch the faint trace of her perfume as you follow in. She presses her floor and the doors close. The air shifts, quieter and closer. Hyewon looks down and adjusts her grip on her phone while you keep your gaze forward, both of your reflections blurred together in the polished metal doors.

There’s something sitting beneath it. Something neither of you has said out loud. You don’t follow it too far. Still, the thought lingers longer than it should. You notice it anyway. The way she doesn’t quite relax. The way the silence doesn’t feel empty. Her eyes have been saying enough all day.

“Oppa,” she murmurs, softer this time as she looks up at you.

“Yes?”

She hesitates, and you can see it before she speaks. “I know your job is done once I’m inside, but… would you like to stay for a bit?”

You’re thinking as she glances at you, then looks forward before the elevator comes to a complete stop and opens. There’s hesitation in your thoughts, because for whatever reason, everything seemed to align too well.

“I can stay for a bit,” you say with a quiet chuckle.

She steps out when the doors open, and you follow behind. Your thoughts don’t settle between her and yourself, questions you don’t quite let form. Your gaze drifts at her for a second, lower than it should, before you catch it and pull it back up on how her hair sways with each step. Hyewon stops at her door and keys in the code. The lock clicks. She glances at you over her shoulder, a small smile waiting there as the door opens. “Come in.”

You pause for half a second, then step forward.

Neither of you says anything more. You don’t need to.

“Uh, sorry, it’s a bit messy,” she says shyly as you step inside.

“It doesn’t look messy at all,” you assure her while slipping your shoes off beside hers.

“Come sit,” Hyewon murmurs before quickly moving towards the living room, straightening a few things that honestly didn’t need fixing. You follow after her and sit at the end of the couch, quietly taking in the unfamiliar space around you.

“Seems cozy,” you comment.

She turns around at that and suddenly remembers the shopping bags still hanging from your hands. A shy laugh slips out as she brushes her hair back and reaches for them. “Thank you. I’ll put these in my room. Be right back.”

The apartment grows strangely quiet once she disappears into her bedroom. You hear the soft rustle of bags being set down before she comes back out a moment later and sits near you, not too close, but not far either. Your eyes meet for a brief second before both of you look away like it never happened.

“Can I hang my coat somewhere?” you ask, standing as you slip off your trench coat.

“Oh, here.” She gets up quickly and takes it from your hands. “I’ll hang it for you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says softly. Her fingers brush against yours for only a moment before she walks to the closet by the front door. You glance over without meaning to, watching her hang the coat up before she casually pulls her sweater over her head, leaving only the light blue shirt underneath.

The room feels quieter after that. Not uncomfortable. Just aware of what’s happening. Your intuition is already pulling at you. Every glance lingers just enough to say what neither of you wants to say first.

When Hyewon walks back over, she brushes her hair behind her ear again before sitting beside you, closer this time. Not enough to touch, but close enough that you notice the warmth of her beside you. You catch the nervous habit immediately and decide to ease some of it before she disappears too far into her own thoughts.

“Light blue looks good on you, Hyewon,” you say with a gentle smile.

“Oh.” A soft laugh slips out of her as she looks down for a second. “Thanks.” Her eyes drift over you before she adds, quieter this time, “Your shoulders look broader without the coat.”

You let out a faint chuckle, “Is it that noticeable?”

The second the words leave her mouth, she looks like she wants to take them back. Or maybe not take them back, just hide the fact she noticed in the first place. “Uh… a little.”

Hyewon’s blushing, and you took notice. The way she avoids your eyes for a second too long. And somehow that feels more intimate than if she had looked at you directly.

“May I see your hands?” you ask softly, turning towards her.

You already know you’re crossing into something dangerous. Maybe she knows it too, but it hangs there between you anyway, heavy in the silence. Hyewon hesitates for only a second before lifting her legs onto the couch and turning fully towards you. She offers her hands shyly, slowly, like she’s giving away more than she should. You take them gently, your fingers wrapping around her wrists as your thumbs brush against her skin. Her pulse gives itself away almost immediately beneath your touch. Slowly, you guide her hands upward until they rest against your shoulders. Her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, hesitant at first, then holding on a little tighter.