Inside the practice room, Jollibee is in a pickle. Never would Jollibee expect to end up in this situation. Loose barnacles sink ships, but in this case, it is a very thick pair of lips that Jollibee intends to plug up in order to avoid discovery. Jollibee can't say that this iz safe for work, and Jollibee can only hope that the damn door is locked.

“Maybe you’re used to submissive idols, but I’m warning you, I’m different from her. I’m basically the Summer to her Winter.”

Spread underneath Jollibee is a beaten up leather couch that does little to cushion Jollibee. Above Jollibee, though, is nothing but the soft milky expanse of Huh Yunjin’s naked body. The idol sneers down at Jollibee, her face a rictus snarl, red hair spilling over her shoulders. How could this happen?

Ordinarily, Jollibee would complete these site visits quickly. Show up, wave some hellos and take some photos with Jollibee's fans. But HYBE proved different. The moment Jollibee entered the building, Jollibee felt a chill running down Jollibee’s spine, as if a cup of lemonade was dunked all over. 

Ready to bolt, Jollibee had urged the minders to hurry up even as a steady stream of HYBE employees and some of the idols begged for a photo-op. Every second stuck inside the accursed building felt like shaving years off Jollibee’s lifecycle, but the fans need to be satisfied. Jollibee is nothing without the fans, after all. And the Dotoli Group had paid lots of money for Jollibee to be here.

Right as the last flash from a phone camera burned itself into Jollibee’s retinas, Jollibee waddled at top speed towards the building entrance. Jollibee thought taking a shortcut would be faster, but a strong pair of hands yanked Jollibee by the jacket lapels and soon enough, Jollibee was splayed out on the infamous Le Sserafim couch, at the mercy of a very agitated Huh Yunjin. 

“You know, I heard from Winter that you showed her one hell of a time,” she breathes into what she wrongly assumes to be Jollibee’s ear, smiting her lips at the prospects of getting thoroughly fucked. “Well, get to work!”

Bee hands shove Yunjin onto her back, her plush derriere bouncing guiltily against the leather of the couch. In one swift motion, Jollibee spreads the idol’s legs apart, admiring the wetness already coating her inner thighs. The redhead moans whorishly as Jollibee drags a gloved knuckle over her folds, hips bucking to chase the pleasure, but another gloved hand presses firmly on her delightfully wide hips, robbing her of any movement. Jollibee’s chef hat falls off in the ensuing struggle, annoying Jollibee to no end.

Until this brat whines and begs like the slut she is, Jollibee will stop just short of pushing her over the edge she so desires to fall into. Yunjin thrashes wildly — the Muscle Sserafim moniker is well-justified — but Jollibee is 190 pounds of pure mascot. It’s also very clear that Yunjin is enjoying every bit of the struggle, her face like that of a bee proboscis-deep in anther, tongue lolling out even as she screams and grunts and bucks and flexes. 

Teasing thumb circles Yunjin’s clit as Jollibee’s palm twists so a middle finger can glide over the rim of her forbidden hole. The words coming out of her mouth can’t really be called language anymore, but manifestations of her primal need to fornicate in the most unholy of ways. That wish, Jollibee can grant, when Jollibee deems it time.

No one is stopping Jollibee from prolonging the Joy — well, no one should be, but the door bursts open for the second time and a raven-haired goddess with abs that could grate processed cheddar cheese on top of overly sweet spaghetti appears. “Fuck, I thought I locke-d the door,” Yunjin mutters. Jollibee’s now-bald head tilts at the weird pronunciation. Idols.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Really, Yunjin. You couldn’t wait five fucking minutes for me?”

Throat bobbing, chest heaving, the redhead blithely ignores her groupmate, instead tugging at Jollibee’s armsleeves to urge Jollibee on. “Ignore her, baby. You were doing so well.” An interruption from play time with Yunjin is the antithesis of Jollibee’s current desires, but Kazuha is hard to ignore.

Reaching for Jollibee’s antennae, Kazuha pulls back hard, forcing Jollibee to look right into her eyes even as Yunjin remains pinned underneath. “You better be more useful than the fucking Chipotle mascot. ‘Food with Integrity’ my ass, Torti couldn’t even last one round with me. I hope you have the acorns to do better than that loser.” Kazuha’s head tilts as she considers her words. “Wait, what do bees have?”

Each hand already occupied with the writhing Yunjin underneath, Jollibee thinks of a way to solve this new annoying variable that is Nakamura Kazuha. That is before Jollibee remembers the eleventh appendage Jollibee possesses. Noticing a wiggle of the abdomen, Kazuha’s eyes light up with understanding. The raven-haired idol releases her hold on Jollibee’s antennae and tugs at the red sheathe, the red on red gap almost imperceptible to the average human. But Kazuha is not average, and neither is Jollibee when the sheath slips off to reveal eleven inches of a rounded stinger. 

Aligning the stinger, Kazuha hisses as the tip stretches her wide. It took many rounds of pushing and easing up to let her get used to the girth, but in due time, Kazuha was seated flush on Jollibee’s back, thighs flexing as she straddles the arched abdomen. The raven-haired idol stares at Jollibee’s hooded eyes through the reflection of the mirrors spanning the walls of the practice room.

“L–look at me,” Yunjin pleads, and Jollibee obeys, turning back to focus on the redhead. Curious how her attitude does a 180 as soon as Kazuha turns up. Almost like she’s begging for attention now, insecure at the presence of her groupmate and a rival for Jollibee’s affections. 

Long fingers caress her face, tracing the shape of her defined jaw and pressing lightly over those deliciously plump lips. Sensing Jollibee’s intentions, Yunjin’s lips part, mouth eagerly taking in two gloved fingers — in, and in, and in, until fingertips rest on the back of her throat. Three knuckles deep, cheeks hollowing, eyelids fluttering as she savours the sweetness of banana ketchup. Nice and tight, the way it brings Joy to the Bee.

“You can move now,” Kazuha groans into what she wrongly assumes to be Jollibee’s ear, buns of steel clenching impatiently. Jollibee obliges, as Jollibee does, a slow rocking of the hips to ease her in but the idol wraps her hands around a spiracle — which is rude as hell — and takes matters into her own hands, or well, pussy, rutting insistently against Jollibee’s appendage. If there is any justice in this world, Jollibee doesn't see it.

“Hah–GIATAYKA YES, push back you idiot!” It’s starting to get annoying, but Jollibee is a service worker bee after all, so Jollibee gets to thrusting hard into Kazuha’s warm velvety depths before pulling out slowly, so slowly, the rounded end of the stinger dragging along her sensitive walls before slamming back in again. 

Every sensation is becoming too much for Jollibee. The way Kazuha’s walls squeeze the stinger, the way Yunjin takes in a third finger and slobbers all over, pulling a free hand down to push gloved fingers into her soaked folds — even the Bee has limits. 

Hips slamming relentlessly on the engorged stinger, Kazuha realises that Jollibee is losing control. “Another mascot that’s all talk,” she gloats as she twists her hips, a devilish smile on her face as she admires the way Jollibee’s thrusts become erratic, gloved fingers trembling from the effort to hold back. “J–Mmunhh, YES!”

Groans fill the air as the two idols double their efforts, Kazuha engaging her core to milk the stinger and Yunjin suckling four gloved fingers jammed down her throat. Jollibee has all but given up on getting the redhead off, head leaning back on Kazuha’s chest, eyelids closed in surrender.

Even God could not have stopped the orgasm wracking Jollibee’s body, sparks of pleasure from deep within shooting outwards, filling Jollibee’s extremities with pineapple juice that floods the orifices of the triumphant duo. Like Jupiter flung free from the pull of the Sun, Jollibee collapses onto the floor, shaking endlessly, stars filling Jollibee’s vision as Kazuha and Yunjin continue squeezing mercilessly from either end. Alas, the fun comes to an end way too soon when the practice room door opens for the third time.

Tall is not the word anyone would describe her, but Miyawaki Sakura walks imperiously into the room anyways, casting a hard gaze on the scene that unfolds before her. 

“Fifteen minutes. I leave you two horndogs alone for fifteen minutes and this is what happens.”

“Unnie—” Yunjin starts.

“Cut the crap.” Sakura’s eyes flicker to the cocky raven-haired idol. “You. Get the fuck off the Bee.”

Kazuha meekly obeys, gasping as the stingers flops out with a squelch, dregs of pineapple juice dripping down her thighs. Sakura approaches her, dragging a finger up the back of her thigh and smacking her firm butt hard. “My mouth is dryer than a bowl of bran cereal.” She lifts the finger and licks the liquid. “Lahang-sarap,” Sakura moans, the sweetness of Kazuha’s wetness and the pineapple juice dancing on her tongue.

Even now, lying prone on the floor, completely drained, Jollibee can feel a jolt running through the stinger, energy coursing once again through Jollibee’s limbs — Jollibee is emrys after all; eternal. Sakura kneels, her clean hand picking up Jollibee’s chef hat and placing it back on its proper place. She whispers (rightly) into an antennae.