#longfic

The ropes around your wrists are replaced with a silk marriage tie, and you are dethroned and wed again overnight. The new King John smiles like he's pleased with your choice, and toasts you and your- husband.

Huge and quiet, only nodding and repeating his wedding vows when prompted, he stays tied to you through the wedding feast. He lifts food to your lips, though it tastes like ash in your mouth, and his teeth nip at your fingers when you do the same. Where else will those teeth mar you? You'd seen this man behead five of the royal guard alone, ripping apart the knights meant to protect you and your former husband- what sort of cruelty will come to you, the living symbol of the crown he helped depose?

The crowd, rough and full of more of King John's men than your own previous court, cheer and call out when your husband stands, hauling you with him by the silk still wrapped around your wrist, and you shudder. You didn't want to die, but you're scared. You have had enough nights with your former king to know the bed is a place of pain or discomfort at best, hands fisted in the blankets as you endured.

What worse things will you endure now?

Your husband motions you forward. "Show me where your rooms are," he says, and you walk silently ahead of him. You've been allowed to keep the same rooms as before, at least for now. Maybe you'll move elsewhere.

When the door closes there is no one else with you, not even a maid- most fled, and the smart ones are back with the new king's men, being charming and sweet to keep their own heads attached.

Your hands shake as you pull at the laces of your gown. You couldn't tie it well without a maid before the feast, and it's loose already, fabric pooling around your hips, your ankles, and you're too scared to scream when huge, rough hands close around your waist.

"Easy, little wife," your lord husband murmurs. His hands are warm, burning hot against your skin through the thin shift. "Last piece. Let me see you." Your shift follows your dress, down over your shoulders and only briefly held up by his hands, before joining the rest of your finery on the floor.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, the only sound except breathing and the low flames in the hearth. Your husband's hands scrape up your ribs, callused and strong, fingers brutally thick, and you whimper and bite through your lip when he cups your breasts.

"Shh," he soothes, and squeezes, gently, as chapped lips touch your ear. "You're alright. Breathe with me," and the huge chest at your back expands, releases, drawing you into his rhythm as his hands squeeze and caress your breasts in time, only gently, no pinching or groping. Your lip stings. You're shaking in terror and breathing in time with a man still wearing the silk wedding tie around his wrist, the same hands that killed guards you knew stroking your skin. There's a glazed disconnect creeping over you, a curtain of snow falling between you and the world, and you shuffle obediently back as your husband takes you to the bed. You wait as he arranges pillows and furs, building a nest of soft bedding, the firelight catching on his pale hair, the curve of a scar, his eyes as he turns to look at you.

He doesn't lie you down, or bend you over; instead you're brought to sit in his lap, your back still against his chest, and your legs spread apart over his thighs. He's still dressed, you think numbly, and then his hands leave your breasts and move down, curving over your belly and below, fingers spreading across your thighs as his thumbs reach where you're soft and sensitive, and he-

Oh, it-

His lips finds your ear again and suck, gently, as his hands move so carefully over your flesh it aches, touches so sweet you shake even harder than you had in fear, the pleasure of his hands warming you, burning through the snow covering your mind until you gasp and moan, suddenly alive again, hips rocking to meet where his fingers have spread you open, one of them carefully crooked inside, you're wet, so slick and throbbing, what is this- how is he- you feel so achingly empty and yet full on his finger, your body grasping at him in a way you never felt, not in all the nights pierced by your king-

"There you are, so beautiful, so fucking- come on, come back to me, mine now, my wife, all mine," your husband growls, and his teeth catch the shell of your ear, his body flexing against yours as your thighs quiver. "Feel that? Feel so good on just my finger. Can't wait to get that hot cunny on my cock." His hand between your thighs presses harder, cupping you, the finger in your body rubbing something inside that makes you writhe against him. You're moaning, high pants and whines that slip out before you realize it. The other hand rises up, finds your breast and plucks at your nipple before gently holding your throat- fear nearly closes you off again, but instead of a choking squeeze he only turns your face, lifts your chin to make you look at him.

His eyes are dark in the dying embers, his scars and skin mottled with a flush. "Look at me. Keep your eyes on me," he says, and his hand is so strong and hard in and against your body, you're straining and gasping, moaning loudly, wet and aching and you need it, you need something, you can't keep up this pulsing hot pressure, it's going to break something in you- and then your husband shifts his hand and all the burning heat rolls outward, a wet bloom between your thighs that you can hear, slick squelches and your own gasping cries as you shatter apart with your eyes locked to his.

He crashes his mouth into yours, swallowing the sounds, even as his finger curls and pumps harder into you, making you whine, shuddering. Too much, it was too much even before and now it makes your belly cramp, but even as you squirm, hips jolting, your husband releases you- and oh, the way he smiles, bringing his hand up to his face as you watch, eyes enormous in shock as he licks his finger clean.

You curl panting into the pillows as your husband deposits you off his lap and stands, still shaking with whatever he did to you. All your muscles are trembling, and the soft silks and furs feel luxurious, soothingly cool against your sweating skin. It's like all the pressure and heat melted and sank into you, became pleasure, overwhelming and wild, a taste of something strange and unknown.

Your thighs ache, your belly too, and between your thighs all the soft and delicate flesh is throbbing, slick and hot, like a bruise. You gently draw a finger down between your legs, and bite again at your bloody lip as you touch a firmer bump of flesh that makes your body clench tight. It all only aches, no sharp pains, and your fingertip is damp as well when you lift it away- cloudy fluids that smell heavy, rich, something that makes your cheeks flush.

Your husband laughs a little, and you startle, staring at him. He's crossed over with scars, pockmarks of old disease and healed wounds, his face only the least of it. It's amazing he has all his fingers, you think, and then you realize the heavy organ between his legs and the size of it, and the fear crawls back up your throat.

He's thick, broad from base to tip, so heavy it hangs down over his sack. There's a damp smear at the tip as well. The touch of his hand has left you so sensitive your own exploring finger made you flinch, how painful will this beast of a man be when he puts that whole thing in you?

Your husband beckons, and you crawl over the bed to the edge, kneeling up. You're shaking again, and worse when he frowns. "Just got you relaxed," he says, cups your chin. "The old king did fuck you, right? He actually used his cock on you?"

Your mouth opens and closes. You dart your eyes down, back up, and get a nod of encouragement. "Yes. I was a dutiful wife, I accepted my husband to bed when summoned." He frowns even deeper, and you hasten to add, "I won't fight you, I promise, I will be a good wife-"

You're shushed with a finger to your lips. Your husband is scowling. "Fucked you but you didn't even know what I was doing when you peaked. Fuckin' waste of a king, doing fuck all with a lady like you." You gape at him, what does he mean peaked? Was that the- the touches he gave you, the pleasure, the bursting dam?

You're caught staring, unsure, already biting at your lip again when your husband bends to kiss you, tongue licking at the sharp, stinging pain, and you're herded back into the pillows again. He seems intent on covering you, first with his mouth and then his hands, gently prodding and licking, touching you in so many strange places- your ears, your throat, and when his lips meet the pounding pulse there you moan, heat blooming through you again. He repeats the motion, tongue stroking hot and wet, and you find yourself reaching up to trail your fingers through his hair. It's surprisingly soft, short pale waves against your skin, and he seems to like it- he rumbles low in his chest, and sucks at you harder, so you do it again, and find that you like it- the way his eyes close, how his body arches and settles more firmly against you.

Then his lips drift lower, over the curve of your breast and to the nipple, and you gasp out a little shriek, sparks flaring in your skin. Oh, oh this is- this is like his hand between your thighs, sensitive and hot, a gentle ache growing in your breast and belly together, and your husband moans, soft and sweet, as he fits more of your flesh into his mouth and sucks.

Your nipple is tight and throbbing, more pleasure flowing through your veins and growing where your thighs have spread around your husband's body. You can't catch your breath, watching as his lips purse and tug, and there's the gentlest touch of his teeth and you- oh the ache and you know what's coming, worse to know what's coming, the burning need and the damp heat building again.

He keeps sucking, licking wetly over your breast before taking your nipple again, over and over as you pant, hips squirming, trying to get pressure where you're so sensitive it nearly hurts. You can't do it, not with your thighs apart and your husband bracing himself above you, but when he switches to the other nipple and tugs it between his teeth you wail.

"Please," you beg, though you don't know what you're pleading for, "please, my lord, I can't- please-"

He hums around your breast, and a broad hand slips between your thighs, cupping you gently. His finger breaches you again, a gentle stretch, but still you crave more. You want him to touch you like he had been, where he'd moved the digit in and out so torturously, found secret places that made you shake and break apart, the peak of pleasure. "My lord-"

Your husband releases your nipple, and blows on it, something you could never imagine but makes your body throb. "Hm, you want more, wife? Want this again?" His finger curls and tugs at you from the inside, and you gasp out a desperate yes. "Say my name."

You gape at him over your heaving chest as he kisses his way down your body, licking into your navel, another surprising place of sparks and heat. "My- my lord husband-" you gasp, and then shudder as his hand shifts, his shoulders as broad as a curtain wall pushing your thighs apart. His mouth is right against those delicate places.

"Say it and I'll give you another peak, and get you ready to take me. I know you know it. Said it for our wedding vows." He looks up at you, only the barest light left to curve over his cheek, the rest of his face thrown into shadow between your thighs. "Come on. Smart girl to keep your head attached, smart enough to remember. Say my name." He blows again, and there's a spike in the ache in your belly, a quivering going up and down your legs. "Say it. Say my name so I can fuck you so good you'll forget your own, say my name," and your mouth drops open on a moan as his tongue licks hot and wet from your entrance up to the straining, tight-wound point above it.

"Si- oh, oh, my- Simon!"

You gasp a breath and lose it immediately as his mouth sinks down, sucks and licks like at your breast but more, so much more, slick and hot and his twisting, wriggling tongue finding every fold and hidden place, curling up and around, you can't breathe, his finger curls and is joined by another- your body pulses, straining, hands in his hair to keep him there because the worst thing in the world would be if he stopped. You need Simon to stay between your thighs and keep drawing the pleasure out of you, drinking from an endless well, and the fire bursts into stars behind your eyes as your husband flings you over another peak.

And he doesn't stop, still tonguing at you, moaning against you, and you're so swollen and sensitive you can feel it, the vibrations crawling up his chest and into your belly. You pound your fists at his shoulders, moaning, begging, hips writhing as he pins you, takes what he wants, and abruptly all your fighting bursts out of you with a wet gush you can hear him swallowing.

You gasp weakly as he finally withdraws, his lips and chin dripping, your arms and legs weakly splayed over him. Your cheeks are damp. Everything is limp and shivering, even your teeth chatter, as the sudden end of the unceasing pleasure makes your skin prickle, hot and somehow still cold, fingertips tingling.

Then Simon sits up, and bends your thighs up, knees to your chest, and his- his cock- it presses to your entrance, as broad and unyielding as the man behind it, and your breath is all punched out as your husband takes you in a single smooth movement.

Your mouth moves weakly, lungs frozen, thighs and belly as tight as before, against the huge intrusion forcing its way inside.

He's too big, too big, you can't breathe around it, and you're going to rip in half-

Simon bends and kisses you, sucks at your bottom lip, making it sting again, and you feel the sweat on his brow and the strain in his muscles as he holds still, as he groans and buries his cock inside you and waits, gives you time to remember to breathe, and you're suddenly crying again, tears streaming past your temples and into your hair, because this huge terrifying man has given you pleasure and comfort and is- being good to you, in a way your former king and husband never even thought of.

You pet his hair again with trembling fingers, breathing around the ache, feeling the way your body is so slick that all the small, involuntary twitches of his hips makes him move smoothly in you, how the swollen folds have parted around his cock and now cling to him, taking him, claimed by your husband with the silk wedding tie still looped around his wrist.

You grasp the end, and as he pants and moans, as your body shivers, you clumsily wrap it around your wrist again, holding the end tightly, keeping it in place. "I'm ready, Simon," you breathe out, and he presses another kiss to your lips and draws his hips back and away, and then inside again, deep and heavy blows that force the air from your lungs in sharp moans.

Every roll of his hips drags his cock in and out, and the pleasure returns, deeper inside; one and two fingers had felt so good but this is so much more, too much for your body, but somehow you keep taking more of it every time. Simon is panting, every clench or squeeze of your entrance around him drawing another soft sound from his lips, and you crave more. He gave you so much, and now you want to give him that pleasure, not as a means to an end but to enjoy it, to drink your name off his lips.

"My wife," he murmurs, and his hips snap against yours harder, faster. "Gonna be so good to you. Put you on my cock every night and wake you up with my mouth in the morning. Give you all the babes that limp-dicked king couldn't. Fuck, you feel so good, so fucking tight, this little cunny." His hand cups your breast again, rubs your nipple, and you moan around a pulsing clench that makes you feel every inch of his cock. "Does it feel good, wife? Tell me you like getting your tight cunny fucked."

You bite your lip, Simon's thumb tugging it out of your teeth. "I- I like-" You can't say it aloud. You didn't even know that word before tonight, didn't know that a soft touch could bring pleasure undreamed of. "I can't! Simon, I can't!"

He chuckles, a low rasp that makes you throb. "Oh, don't cry, there's time. I'll fuck you every night until you can, and again after." Simon shifts, spreading his knees, and your legs are pulled up against his shoulder, you're nearly bent in half, and now at every stroke his cock pounds you so deep you start to think again he'll rip you apart, but oh what an exquisite torture it would be. There are no words left in you, even if he'd ordered you to speak, just the ever-tightening pressure and heat in your belly as you moan, wail, as your head thrashes against the pleasure being forced upon you.

Your- cunny- throbs, aches, clinging tightly around Simon's cock as it pulls out and splitting around it as he pushes in, and the delicate bump at the top is smacked over and over against his hips, each touch another spark to the tinder. You pull at his hair again with the hand holding the wedding tie, bringing his face to yours, so he can cup your cheek as you cling to him. His lips rub against yours, a sloppy kiss too wild and feverish to be more deliberate, and you feel the straining muscles of your legs burn.

"One more, wife," he groans, "one more to make it take," and the hand holding your legs drops abruptly- your thighs part- his hand squirms between your legs to the slick hot flesh where you're parting around his cock- oh- oh- the dam bursts-

You cry out against his mouth, sobbing, as his cock breaks you apart and his thumb on your flesh rubs and rubs and you burn up, you fall apart, you scream around his tongue in your mouth as your exhausted, worn out muscles all clench together, cunny hot and wet and throbbing, pulsing with your heartbeat, as your husband groans against you and a new slick flood joins the hazy, wet mess between your bodies.

You gasp limply as Simon takes your mouth, letting him suck and lick at you, as his hips press tight to yours, like he's trying to stay as deep inside as possible. He's shaking as well, his thighs jumping against yours, his heart pounding, and you weakly grasp his hand when his fingers twine into yours around the wedding tie.

He stays there, barely keeping his full weight off you so you aren't crushed, for so long your eyes start to drag closed. It's only when your hips shift and you whimper, sensitive and sore, that he eases away.

There's so much leaking out of you, your body over-full, and you whine and try to hide your face when he parts your thighs and looks, clearly delighted with it. A thumb pushing his seed back inside makes you quiver. "Easy, wife. Just making sure it stays in." He pets at you, stroking the soft folds and hair, like soothing an animal. "Did so good, love." He tugs your hand away to kiss you again. "My love. My wife."

Simon kisses you as he finally allows your thighs to close, stroking your hips where they ache, and you're drawn into his chest, cuddled close. A long and terrifying day, a night that broke apart everything you thought you knew about the marriage bed- you're falling asleep even as the blankets are pulled up, soft covers tugged around your bodies. You can't fight it off, not now that your body is finally able to rest.

"Simon," you murmur, lips pressed to a scar that snakes across his chest, "Simon, my husband." The world outside of the bed has vanished into shadow.

His lips press to the top of your head, hand cradling your belly. "Oh, wife, thank you. A whole new life for us is just starting."

The accusation in her voice was undercut by the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

“I -” My voice came out rougher than intended. “I wasn’t watching, I just -”

“You were TOTALLY watching!” But she was smiling now. That trademark Yuna confidence - the same one that had millions of people glued to their screens watching her fancams, begging for more - was flooding back in, replacing the flustered panic from seconds ago. Except this time, it wasn’t filtered through a phone screen. It was right here, soaking wet and naked and absolutely lethal.

She stood up fully - all legs and wet skin and that ridiculously expensive bikini barely containing anything. Up close, her body was even more insane. Long, toned legs that seemed to go on forever. A tiny waist flaring into surprisingly full hips. Her small tits pushed against the bikini top, nipples clearly visible through the thin black fabric. The sash clung to her curves, somehow emphasizing everything.

“Oh my god, you perv,” she said, taking a step closer. Water droplets rolled down her neck, disappearing between her breasts. “How long were you standing there?”

“Yuna -”

“No no no, I’m genuinely curious.” Another step. I could smell the ocean salt on her skin, mixed with something warmer. Muskier. “Because if you JUST got here, okay, whatever. But if you were like... watching me for a while...”

She was close now. Close enough that I could see the goosebumps on her arms despite the heat, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath.

“...then that’s kind of insane, right? That’s like, criminally horny behavior. Watching your girlfriend’s maknae finger herself and getting hard about it?”

“She’s not my -” I started, but the words caught in my throat.

Yuna rolled those humongous puppy eyes.

“I should go -” I tried to cover myself with the towel, stammering. “I’m just heading to - Yeji locked me out of the bathroom because she needs to get to her Pilates class and -”

“You should,” she agreed, but she was still advancing. “Unnie would literally kill you. Like, actual murder. Girlfriend or not.”

Her eyes dropped to the tent in my towel again. Lingered.

“But also...” Her voice dropped, playful and dangerous. “You’re still here.”

She took one more step, close enough now that if I reached out, I could touch her.

“Tell me something, oppa.” She tilted her head, and something in her expression shifted - that sly, foxy calculation I’d seen on stage a hundred times. “When you heard me just now... getting myself off...” Her voice dropped lower, more suggestive. “Did it turn you on?”

She gestured at her body - the wet bikini, the long legs, everything on display.

“You’re telling me you never had your hand wrapped around -”

Her fingers reached out, lightning quick, and brushed against the tent in my towel.

The touch - even through fabric - sent a jolt through me. My body betrayed me completely. My cock jerked hard against the towel, and the movement was enough to loosen the tuck I’d made at my waist.

The towel fell.

It dropped to the tiles with a wet slap, and suddenly I was standing there completely exposed - my cock springing up, thick and still glazed with the mixture of mine and Yeji’s cum, evidence of our morning devotion painted across every inch.

Yuna’s breath caught audibly. Her eyes went wide as saucers, pupils blown so dark they swallowed the brown, her gaze locked onto my cock like a predator spotting prey.

I watched her throat work as she swallowed. Hard.

She took an unconscious step closer, and I saw the exact moment her brain registered what she was seeing - not just size, but evidence. The glossy sheen wasn’t sweat. Her eyes traced the dried streaks along my shaft, the way it caught the sunlight, still fresh enough to glisten.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, tinged with genuine shock.

Her cheeks and ears flushed a deep crimson that spread down her neck - stark contrast to her earlier confidence, the physical evidence of genuine fluster battling with rapidly mounting arousal. The blush deepened as her eyes traced every detail, her breath quickening.

Her hand moved to her own throat, fingers pressing there like she was imagining it. Then lower, absently grazing her collarbone. Her nipples visibly hardened further through the thin bikini fabric, betraying how quickly embarrassment was losing ground to hunger.

“Unnie never mentioned you were packing like that.” A pause, her eyes widening further as another realization hit. “Actually, she basically never mentions you at all.”

The way she said it made it sound like Yeji had been hoarding something valuable. Something Yuna suddenly wanted to taste.

Something flickered across her face - too quick to fully name. Hurt? Curiosity? The faintest shadow of why would she hide this from me?

But it vanished as fast as it appeared, replaced by that calculating look I’d seen her use on stage when she knew the camera was on her. Her tongue swept across her bottom lip.

Her expression shifted as understanding dawned. “Wait. THAT’S why she keeps you around.” A breathless laugh, but there was an edge to it now - something competitive, almost vindictive. “You’re not her boyfriend - you must be her dick appointment. Her personal premium subscription.”

I saw her eyes trace every detail - the thick shaft, the prominent veins, the way the head glistened with dried cum. Her pupils dilated even further, her breath quickened, and I watched in real-time as arousal replaced everything else.

The sound of the front door slamming echoed across the villa, followed by a car engine starting. Yeji’s manager, picking her up for class. We were alone now. Completely, utterly alone.

And that’s when I saw it - the exact moment an intrusive thought crossed Yuna’s mind. Her expression shifted from shocked to calculating, a sly, foxy grin spreading across her face.

“So...” She looked up from my cock to meet my eyes. “You’re walking around with THAT, and you got hard looking at me.” Her tone was mocking, teasing, but laced with raw desire. “And here I thought unnie was hiding some like, casual situationship or whatever. But no wonder she keeps coming back to you when half the industry’s in her DMs. Like, I GET it now.”

She took a step toward me, barefoot, her hips swaying, every inch the sultry, seductive siren that had driven countless men to their knees. The defensive panic had completely evaporated, replaced by something more familiar. That Yuna confidence in full force.

The wet bikini clung to every curve - all legs and wet skin and that ridiculously expensive three-piece barely containing anything. The chain straps glinted in the sunlight. Her nipples were hard as diamonds, poking through the thin fabric.

“You’ve jerked off to me before, right? Like, actually stroked this cock -” She gestured at it with zero shame, “ - thinking about fucking me?” She tilted her head, eyes glinting with something between amusement and hunger. “Come on, oppa. Be honest. All those fancams with millions of views? The ones where I’m doing body rolls in that tiny skirt, or when I’m on the floor with my legs spread?”

She ran her hands down her own body - over her tits, her waist, her hips - putting herself on display.

“Because like... a LOT of guys have wanted to know what that looks like up close.” Her smile turned wicked. “Backup dancers, producers, fans who got lucky. They all watched me on stage and then got to find out if I’m as good off it.” She bit her lip. “And I am, by the way. I’m really, really good.”

She took another step closer, voice dropping.

“So I’m just wondering if you ever thought about it. If you ever watched me perform and imagined what I’d look like under you? What I’d sound like moaning your name?” Her eyes flickered with something vulnerable beneath the bravado. “What it’d feel like to shove this fat cock inside me and make me scream?”

A pause. Her confidence wavered just slightly.

“Because I need to know if I’ve been in your head at all. If you wanted me even a little bit.” Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “Tell me I’m not the only one who’s been thinking about this.”

“Yuna, I -” I tried to protest, but my voice cracked.

She laughed, a sultry, knowing sound. “Don’t even fake innocence. Your dick is literally snitching on you.” Her eyes never left my cock, which was now fully erect, standing at attention despite having just painted Yeji with three loads just minutes ago.

“You know what’s actually insane? I’ve been SO worked up all morning - literally climbing the walls - and then I finally get a moment to myself by the pool and you CATCH me.” She pouted theatrically, but her eyes remained sharp. Calculating. “And then I come back here and hear you two going at it like you’re filming for OnlyFans. Like, I’m happy for unnie, truly, but oh my GOD.”

She was advancing on me now, each step deliberate, her body language screaming dominance despite her earlier vulnerability when I’d caught her. Water droplets still clung to her skin, rolling down her neck, her collarbone, disappearing between her breasts. I could smell the ocean salt mixed with something warmer. Muskier. Her arousal.

“There I am, walking around with this needy pussy -” She touched herself briefly through the bikini bottoms, almost absently. “ - nobody to help me out. Meanwhile unnie’s upstairs getting her brains fucked out. Kind of unfair, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s only fair,” she continued, her voice a sultry whisper as she invaded my space, so close I could feel the heat radiating off her body, “that I get to try unnie’s favorite toy. Just for a bit. What do you think?”

“Yuna, we shouldn’t -” I took a step back, my mind screaming loyalty to Yeji even as my cock throbbed with need. “Yeji and I - we have a thing, and I don’t -”

“Oh, come on,” Yuna interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Unnie goes through guys like they’re limited edition. Have you SEEN her Kakao? Her Instagram DMs? She probably hooked up with someone at that industry party last week.” She licked her lips. “Besides... look at you. You’re already rock hard for me. Your body’s already made the choice.”

Before I could protest further, she closed the distance. Her hand came up to cup my face, soft and warm, and she leaned in, her lips crashing against mine in a deep, hungry French kiss. Her tongue invaded my mouth, aggressive and demanding, tasting faintly of salt and something sweet.

She pressed her body against mine, and I felt my cock, still slick with cum, pressing into the damp fabric of her bikini bottoms. The pressure made her gasp into my mouth, and then - fuck - my cock slipped through the gap between her thighs, emerging at the other end beneath her tight, perfect ass.

Her thighs clamped around my shaft, soft yet firm, squeezing me as she ground forward. I could feel her lips through the soaked fabric, her heat radiating against my cock. Her small, perky tits pressed against my chest, and I could see the streak of her own pussy juice glistening across her cleavage, mixing with the seawater and sweat.

Her other hand reached down, wrapping around the base of my cock where it protruded from between her thighs, her fingers slick and sure.

“Yuna -” I gasped, breaking the kiss, trying to take a step back to create distance, to think, to -

But I didn’t realize I’d backed all the way to the edge of the pool.

My foot found nothing but air, and I felt myself falling backward, arms windmilling.

Everything slowed - that horrible drawn-out moment where you realize you’ve fucked up but momentum’s already decided your fate.

Just as I began to tip backward, Yuna’s hand closed fully around the base of my cock, her grip instinctive. The sudden backward motion lifted my cock upward, and because her hand was locked on and my shaft was sandwiched between her thighs, the upward force literally lifted her off the ground.

Her eyes went wide, a yelp of surprise escaping her lips as her feet left the terrace. The sudden pressure on her pussy lips through the bikini, combined with being yanked forward, made her gasp and moan simultaneously. Her other hand, which had been on my face, shot to the back of my neck for balance, her nails digging in.

We fell together, a tangle of limbs and lust, hitting the pool with a massive splash that sent water cascading over the edge. The pool chair she’d been sitting on earlier teetered dangerously, saved only by Yuna’s foot catching it mid-fall and kicking it back.

We plunged beneath the surface, the cool water a shocking contrast to the heat of our bodies. I felt her bikini top come loose, her hand still gripping my cock, our bodies intertwined in the churning water.

Chapter 3: Submerged in Sin Underwater and under pressure. Desire that drowns reason.

We surfaced from the pool, water cascading off our bodies, and I was still disoriented - from the fall, from the shock, from the sheer insanity of the situation. But Yuna wasn’t disoriented at all. She was on me in a flash, her wet body pressing against mine, her lips crashing onto my mouth with desperate hunger. My cock, still rock-hard despite everything, poked against her pubic bone beneath the surface, and she moaned into the kiss, grinding against it.

“Mmm,” she hummed against my lips. “I love how that feels.”

“Yuna - wait -” I tried to break away, tried to summon some semblance of loyalty to Yeji, but Yuna just smiled against my mouth, her eyes glinting with mischief.

She pressed a single finger to my lips, silencing me. Her expression said trust me.

Then she disappeared beneath the water like a mermaid diving for treasure.

And oh god, the treasure she found.

This is really happening. I’m letting Yeji’s maknae suck my dick in a pool while Yeji’s at Pilates. My life choices are -

I felt her lips - warm, wet, impossibly soft - envelop the head of my cock, and every coherent thought evacuated my brain. Her mouth was heaven. She started slow, her tongue swirling around the sensitive tip, lapping up the remnants of my earlier cum and Yeji’s juices like it was her favorite husik. Then she took me deeper, her lips forming a perfect seal as she slid down my shaft inch by glorious inch.

The sensation was indescribable. Sure, Yeji gave head sometimes - she’d practiced it obsessively during our trainee days, treating it like vocal training: methodical, perfecting breath control, studying technique with Type-A precision. But it was functional, clinical even - exercises that happened to help both her throat control and my stress relief, not something she did for pleasure. And she’d made it abundantly clear over the years that she much preferred being on the receiving end, demanding her pussy be worshipped rather than the other way around. I’d never minded. With Yeji, I got everything else - the vulnerability she showed no one, the way she’d grip my hand after, the soft confession in her sleep-roughened voice. But that wasn’t something I could think about right now. Not with Yuna’s tongue doing... that.

Because Yuna was a fucking artist. Her tongue did things I didn’t know were possible, flicking along the underside of my shaft, tracing the prominent vein, then flattening to massage the entire length as she bobbed up and down. She hollowed her cheeks, creating suction that made my knees weak, and then she’d relax, letting me slide deeper into her throat without a hint of gagging.

My hands shot to her head beneath the water, fingers tangling in her soaked hair, and I couldn’t help but buck my hips forward. She took it all, adjusting her angle to let me fuck her mouth, her hands gripping my thighs for balance.

She surfaced after what felt like an eternity, gasping for air, her face breaking through the water in an image that would be burned into my brain forever: lips swollen and glistening, eyes half-lidded with lust, water streaming down her flushed cheeks. Somewhere in the rational part of my brain that was still functioning, I registered that this was Yuna - the girl who called Yeji ‘unnie,’ who’d probably heard us through the walls, who was looking at me right now like I was prey she’d been hunting. That should have scared me. Instead - she looked like a fucking siren, and I was completely under her spell.

The sun beat down on us, turning the pool water into liquid diamonds. I could hear nothing but her breathing, the gentle lap of water against tiles, and the distant crash of ocean waves.

“Where -” I gasped, barely able to form words. “Where the fuck did you learn to do that?”

She grinned, catching her breath, water droplets falling from her chin. “What, that?” A teasing glint in her eyes. “You liked it?”

“That’s - that’s not an answer -”

But before I could press further, she dove back under.

This time, she took me even deeper, her nose pressing against my pelvis as she deepthroated me with ease. Her tongue worked magic, and I felt her hum around my shaft, the vibrations sending shockwaves through my body. She came up for air again, that same devastatingly hot expression on her face - mascara slightly smudged, lips swollen, chest heaving - and then went back down, establishing a rhythm: submerge, suck, surface, repeat.

Each time she came up, I got a glimpse of pure debauchery: her small, perky tits now fully exposed, the bikini top lost somewhere in the pool, nipples hard as diamonds, water droplets catching the sunlight, her face a mask of focused pleasure.

“Seriously,” I managed when she surfaced again. “Where did you -”

“Oh my god, so needy.” She licked her lips, grinning. “Fine, I’ll give you my origin story. But you have to earn the rest.” Then she dove back under.

I gave in. Completely, utterly gave in. I started thrusting my hips to meet her mouth, fucking her face beneath the water, and I felt my fourth orgasm of the day building - a deep, primal heat coiling in my balls.

Yuna felt it too. She resurfaced one more time, pulling off my cock with an obscene pop, and her eyes sparkled with sadistic glee.

“Nuh-uh,” she said, pulling back with that wicked grin. “You don’t get to cum yet.” She wrapped her hand around my shaft, squeezing. “I need to hear you say it first. That you want me. That you’ve been thinking about fucking me.” Her eyes gleamed. “Beg a little. It’s hot.”

Of course she wanted me to beg. Because that’s what this was really about, wasn’t it? Not just getting off - she could’ve done that with any of the industry contacts she’d casually mentioned. This was about making me choose her over Yeji, even if just for a moment. Making me admit it out loud.

“Yuna -” I groaned, my cock twitching desperately in her grip.

She silenced me by jamming my shaft between her thighs again, squeezing them together. The pressure was exquisite, and she started grinding backward and forward, her pussy lips dragging along the top of my cock. Then, with one hand, she reached down and untied her bikini bottoms. The sash that had been clinging to her torso floated to the surface, and she pulled the bottoms out from behind with a smooth jerk.

The sensation of the fabric slipping out, dragging roughly between my cock and her pussy, was almost too much. And then - suddenly - I felt her bare lips on my shaft, hot and slick, no barrier between us.

“Fuck - Yuna -” I tried to protest, but she stuffed the soaked bikini bottoms into my mouth, silencing me just like I’d done to Yeji earlier.

“Shh,” she whispered, grinning. “Your turn.”

She wrapped one arm around my neck for balance, and with her other hand, she guided mine to her bare breast. My palm cupped the soft, perky flesh - small but perfectly formed, high and proud, with a hard, sensitive nipple that pebbled under my touch. My instincts took over, and I squeezed, kneaded, pinched, drawing soft gasps and moans from her lips.

All the while, she kept grinding, her hand on my cock ensuring it stayed between her thighs, pressing against her lips but never quite slipping inside. It was torture. Pure, exquisite torture. I felt the tip catch on her entrance with every thrust, so close I could feel her heat, her wetness, but she wouldn’t let me in.

The midday heat made everything feel surreal - her wet skin sliding against mine, the chlorine smell mixing with her arousal, the way the water refracted light across her body in dancing patterns.

I should have stopped her. Should have pulled away, found that shower, called Yeji and confessed everything. Instead, I stood there in the pool while Yeji’s dongsaeng gave me her sexual resume, each revelation simultaneously making me harder and making me a worse person. The math wasn’t mathing, but my dick had stopped caring about logic somewhere around the third underwater deepthroat.

“You wanna know where I learned that?” she asked breathlessly, grinding against me. “Okay so - mmm, fuck - first world tour, right? There was this Australian backup dancer and he had this ACCENT -”

She paused, adjusting the angle so my cock pressed directly against her clit, and shuddered.

“Oh god, right there - anyway, he was insanely hot and I basically dragged him into the tour bus bathroom after the Sydney show and was like, teach me everything.”

She demonstrated by opening her mouth, miming deepthroating. “Just let him fuck my throat over and over until I figured out the breathing thing. The angles. All of it. It was like a masterclass except way sluttier and I literally couldn’t talk the next day.”

She giggled breathlessly. “Worth it though.”

I groaned around the fabric in my mouth, my hips bucking involuntarily.

“Then there was this producer in LA - ahh, fuck -” Her voice hitched as I pinched her nipple. “He was like, old as hell but actually knew what he was doing? He taught me the humming trick. You know, vibrations and shit.” She grinned wickedly. “Made him cum in like two minutes and he looked at me like I was a wizard. I felt SO powerful.”

She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear. “And then in New York, during our US leg -” She giggled, the sound breathless and dirty. “Found this cute fan, pulled him backstage, and basically used him as practice. Over and over. I love it, you know? The control. The way a guy’s whole body goes stiff when you take him deep. The way he looks at you after like you just blew his mind and his dick.”

Every time she sensed I was about to cum - my body tensing, my muffled groans growing louder - she’d suddenly stop or slow down, blue-balling me with expert precision. I lost count of how many times she did it. She was torturing me. And the worst part? I could see it in her eyes every time she stopped - that flash of satisfaction, like she was conducting an experiment and I was giving her exactly the data she wanted. How far could she push Yeji’s ‘secret boyfriend’ before he broke? Turns out: pretty fucking far. My balls felt like they were about to explode, swollen and aching, pressure building to catastrophic levels. My eyes widened in desperation, and whatever thin thread of self-control I’d been clinging to - the part that remembered Yeji, loyalty, consequences - snapped completely. I stopped being a person who made choices and became pure need.

I roughly grabbed her hips, my grip bruising, and started thrusting hard, surprising her. Her eyes went wide.

“Oh - fuck, okay, someone’s -” she gasped, but I was beyond words.

The bikini bottoms fell out of my mouth as I gasped, “Yuna - I can’t - I’m gonna -”

She felt it too, the moment my body gave up all pretense of control. In one fluid motion, she slipped beneath the water, her mouth enveloping my cock just as I exploded.

I came hard. Harder than I’d ever come in my life. It felt like my entire soul was being sucked out through my cock, rope after thick rope of cum shooting into her waiting mouth. I saw stars, actual fucking stars, my vision whiting out as my orgasm ripped through me. I was vaguely aware of my hands gripping the edge of the pool for balance, my legs shaking, my voice echoing across the villa in a guttural roar.

When she finally surfaced, she was an image of pure debauchery. Her hair was plastered to her face, her lips swollen and red, and she opened her mouth to show me the pool of my cum resting on her tongue. It was obscene, filthy, and the hottest thing I’d ever seen. She let it slowly drip from her mouth onto her chest, the white mixing with the water and trickling down between her tits, before she closed her mouth and swallowed, her throat bobbing as she took every drop.

“Holy shit,” I gasped, thoroughly impressed, aroused, and completely drained. “That was... fuck.”

The post-nut clarity hit like a freight train. What the fuck had I just done? I’d let Yuna - Yeji’s groupmate, her dongsaeng, someone who lived in the same villa - suck me off in broad daylight. And the worst part? I’d loved every second. That realization should have sent me running.

“I need to... I should probably go take that shower now.”

But Yuna wasn’t done. Not even close. She swam closer, her eyes dark with hunger, her body still trembling with pent-up need.

“Shower?” She laughed, low and dangerous. “We’re not even close to done, Minho.” Her hand found my cock again, already starting to stir despite having just exploded. “I didn’t cum yet. And I’m literally dying to have my brains fucked out.”

She pressed against me, her bare pussy rubbing against my thigh. “So no. You’re not going anywhere.”

I should have said no. Should have drawn a line, preserved whatever microscopic scrap of loyalty I had left. But her hand was already wrapped around my cock, and my body was already responding, and the truth I didn’t want to admit was that she was right. We weren’t done. Not even close. And I was going to let this happen. Again.

Chapter 4: The Tides That Turn Consequences arrive wearing a Maknae’s face.

I tried to act like I’d had enough - like I was some kind of gentleman who knew when to walk away. But the truth? There was nothing I wanted more than to jam my cock into Yuna’s burning pussy and fuck her until we both passed out or the sun went down, whichever came first. Hell, maybe both would happen simultaneously. My body was already making that decision for me, my cock twitching back to life despite having just blown what felt like my entire genetic lineage into her mouth.

I started to push away from her, tried to muster some semblance of self-control, but my feral urges snapped me back like a rubber band. I lunged forward, roughly grabbing her by that perfect, tight ass, making her squeal in surprise as I lifted her naked body onto the edge of the pool. Water splashed everywhere, cascading over the tiles as I positioned her exactly where I wanted her.

Another line crossed. Another point of no return. At this rate, there wouldn’t be anything left to salvage when Yeji came back.

“Minho - wait, what are you -”

But she didn’t finish the sentence because she realized exactly what I was doing. I was eye level with her pussy, and for the first time, I got to really study it.

Yuna’s pussy was a work of art - completely different from Yeji’s. Where Yeji’s was a neat, bikini-trimmed mound with full, meaty lips that gripped like a vise, Yuna’s was bare, smooth as silk, with delicate, pale pink lips that were slightly swollen from arousal. Her inner lips were small and tucked in, a shy little slit that barely peeked out. But what really caught my attention was how wet she was - not just damp, but absolutely dripping, her arousal glistening on her thighs, mixing with the pool water. Her clit was a small, prominent pearl, already engorged and begging for attention.

She caught me staring and slowly, deliberately, widened her legs, an invitation and a challenge all at once.

“Like what you see?” she teased, her voice breathy. “I mean, you’re just... staring. Kind of creepy but also kind of hot?”

I didn’t answer. I just pressed my nose against her mound, inhaling her scent - clean, slightly sweet, with an underlying musk that made my mouth water. Then I dove in.

The first lick was exploratory, my tongue dragging slowly from her entrance to her clit, and the taste hit me like a drug. Yuna tasted different from Yeji too - less earthy, more delicate, almost honey-sweet with a hint of salt from the ocean. Her pussy was softer, more yielding, and as I licked deeper, I felt her walls flutter against my tongue.

Yeji had taught me well. Years of being her personal pussy-worshiper had turned me into a fucking expert. I started with broad, flat strokes, licking up every drop of her arousal, then focused on her clit, flicking it with the tip of my tongue in quick, rhythmic bursts. She gasped, her hips jerking forward, and I grinned against her pussy.

I switched tactics, sucking her clit into my mouth and rolling it gently between my lips while my fingers found her entrance. I slid two inside, curling them upward to find that spongy spot on her front wall, and when I hit it, Yuna screamed.

“Oh my god - fuck -” Her voice pitched high. “Minho - where did you -”

She couldn’t finish the thought because I was relentless. I added a third finger, stretching her open while my tongue traced figure-eights around her clit. I alternated between sucking, licking, and gentle nibbling, each technique pulling different sounds from her throat - gasps, moans, sharp inhales. Her pussy was clenching around my fingers, so wet that I could hear the obscene squelching sounds every time I thrust.

“Holy shit -” she gasped, her legs trembling. “I’ve literally never - ohh fuck - been eaten out this good before!” Her hand flew to my hair. “Like, where the fuck did you learn to do this? Did you watch tutorials or something? Because this is - ahh - insane!”

I didn’t answer. I was too busy finger-fucking her while my mouth worked her clit, and honestly, I was too proud of myself to stop and gloat. Some pathetic part of me needed to prove I was better than every Australian dancer, every LA producer, every backstage groupie she’d casually mentioned. Like winning this competition would somehow make the betrayal worth it. I felt like I was one-upping every guy she’d ever been with, and the thought made my cock rock-hard again, precum leaking into the pool.

Yuna’s screams echoed through the villa, bouncing off the walls. She threw her head back, one hand tangling in my hair and shoving my face harder against her mound, the other supporting her leaned-back torso on the paved stones. She was desperately trying to get my tongue deeper, her hips rocking against my face in frantic, unconscious thrusts.

“Oh god, oh fuck, oh -” She was babbling now, words spilling out between moans. “This is gonna trend on my body’s personal Twitter because I’m - fuck - I’m gonna cum so hard -”

Her thighs clamped around my head like a vice.

“Holy shit - I’m literally - fuck, I can’t -” The words dissolved into a scream, as if it wasn’t already painfully obvious what was happening.

Her entire body tensed, her legs locking around my head, and then she shattered. Her pussy clamped down on my fingers in rhythmic pulses, her back arching off the pool edge, her scream reaching a pitch that could probably shatter glass. And then she squirted - a gush of clear, warm fluid spraying across my face, drenching me as her orgasm ripped through her.

I kept going, riding out her climax, my tongue and fingers coaxing every last spasm from her trembling body. Her legs shook violently, her toes curled so hard they probably cramped, and her eyes rolled back in her head as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. Her stomach muscles contracted visibly, her small tits bouncing with each convulsion, and she let out these broken, breathless sobs that were somehow the hottest sounds I’d ever heard.

When it finally subsided, she collapsed back onto the stones, panting, her chest heaving, her entire body glistening with sweat and water. Her pussy was still twitching, aftershocks rolling through her.

“That’s -” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. “That’s never happened before. The squirting thing. Like, never.” She propped herself up slightly, looking down at me with wide eyes. “I’ve seen it in porn but I thought it was fake? Or like, only certain girls can do it?” She laughed breathlessly. “What the fuck. Seriously, where did you learn that?”

I smirked, wiping her juices off my face with the back of my hand. “You’re not the only one with tricks.”

She stared at me, the infamous siren who could conquer any man, reduced to a quivering, breathless wreck. I felt the tides turning, a dominating urge surging through me. I grabbed her by the neck - not hard, but firm - and pulled her toward me, my mouth brushing against her neck. She shuddered, a soft moan escaping her lips.

“Fuck,” she whimpered. “That’s - oh, that’s my spot -”

“You like that?” I whispered against her ear, my breath hot on her skin. “Want to know my secret?”

“Yes -” she breathed, her hand moving between her legs, furiously rubbing her still-pulsating clit. “Tell me.”

“Yeji,” I murmured, my teeth grazing her earlobe. “She taught me everything. How to worship pussy like it’s a religion. How to make a woman scream my name.” I licked up her neck slowly. “Every trick, every technique - years of practice. All from her.”

And there it was - weaponizing the most intimate parts of my relationship with Yeji to make her dongsaeng cum harder. Using years of trust and vulnerability as foreplay. I’d officially hit rock bottom, and apparently rock bottom had a sub-basement.

Yuna moaned, her fingers working faster as she imagined it - me and Yeji, tangled together, her teaching me, training me. “Fuck, that’s -” Her breathing quickened. “That’s so hot. Unnie’s been keeping you as her personal - ahh - secret weapon this whole time.”

Her juices mixed with the puddle of water beneath her, and I could tell she was about to cum again just from the mental image and her own fingers.

But my moment of dominance didn’t last long. Yuna recovered faster than I expected, that confident, seductive grin returning to her face even as her legs still trembled.

Of course she did. Because that’s who Yuna was - the girl who could get facefucked into a squirting orgasm and be back in control sixty seconds later. I’d been an idiot to think I’d actually gained the upper hand. She’d just let me borrow it for a minute.

“Okay, okay,” she said, pushing me away gently, her voice still breathy but gaining strength. “Your mouth game is literally S-tier. Like, hall of fame level.” She bit her lip, eyeing my erection. “But I need to know what you can do with that big boy now.”

She slipped back into the water, turning her back to me, her perfect ass pressing against my rock-hard cock. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes dark with hunger, that siren look creeping back.

“Come on, Minho,” she beckoned, arching her back and pushing her ass higher, the curve of her spine absolutely sinful. “Drive me crazy. Make me lose my mind. Show me why unnie keeps you locked down like limited edition merch.”

She reached back, her hand wrapping around my shaft, stroking slowly. “Prove to me why Yeji’s so obsessed with this cock that she won’t let anyone else near it.”

Her grip tightened slightly. “But like, don’t get cocky yet.” That wicked grin widened. “I’ve had a LOT of dick, oppa. All those industry boys, that one time with three guys from the company after MAMA - which was insane by the way.” She positioned my tip against her entrance, just barely touching. “You’ve got some serious competition. Better make it memorable.”

Chapter 5: The Siren’s Surrender Poolside chaos. When want becomes need becomes ruin.

I positioned myself behind Yuna, my cock throbbing with desperate need as I pressed the tip against her entrance. The heat radiating from her pussy was intoxicating. I could feel her lips beginning to part around my head, yielding to the pressure -

But then she reached between her legs, grabbed my cock with a firm grip, and yanked it downward.

The sudden movement threw me completely off balance. I fell forward, my cock sliding along the outside of her pussy instead of inside, and my pelvis collided with her ass with a resounding CLAP that echoed across the terrace. Water flew everywhere, splashing against the pool tiles and her back.

“Nu-uh,” she said with a breathy laugh, looking back at me over her shoulder. That siren look was back in her eyes. “Not yet.”

“Yuna -” I groaned, trying to angle my hips, but her hand was still wrapped around my shaft, keeping me exactly where she wanted me - which was anywhere but inside her.

“You haven’t begged yet,” she said, arching her back even more, that playful edge in her voice. The curve of her spine was sinful, her ass pushing higher, presenting herself while simultaneously denying me. “Come on, oppa. Tell me what you want.”

“You know what I want -”

“Yeah, but I wanna HEAR it.” Her grip tightened, stroking once slowly. “Say you want to fuck me. That you want to shove this thick cock inside me.” Her grin widened. “Use your words.”

She squeezed for emphasis, making me hiss through my teeth.

“Because like... do you actually want this?” Her voice dropped, more intimate now. “Want to know what all those other guys felt?” A pause. “Because if you don’t say it, you’re literally gonna be the only one who didn’t get to fuck me. How sad would that be?”

It was psychological warfare, and she was winning. I pulled back, trying to angle my cock up, to slip past her defenses, but she adjusted her grip instantly, keeping me on the edge of madness. I wrapped one arm around her waist for leverage, my other hand cupping her breast, squeezing hard, trying to distract her or overpower her coordination.

She just moaned, arching even more. “Mmm, that’s nice. But you’re still not inside me.”

“Come on, Minho.” Her free hand found mine on her breast, guiding me to pinch her nipple. “Just admit it. You’ve thought about this, right? About me?”

I tried to thrust forward. She adjusted her angle, my cock sliding along her lips but not in.

“All those times you watched our performances,” she continued, slightly breathless now from her own teasing. “Did you ever imagine this? Me bent over for you?”

“Yuna - fuck -”

“What about when you were with unnie?” Her voice got quieter, more dangerous. “Did you ever close your eyes and think about me instead? When you came inside her, did you ever picture my face?”

The mention of Yeji hit like cold water, but it mixed with the building desperation in my body. The image she was painting - forbidden, wrong, and exactly what some dark part of me had fantasized about.

“Yes!” The word exploded out of me, echoing across the villa. “Yes, okay? I’ve thought about you!” My hips bucked involuntarily. “Every time I saw you on stage, every time you walked around in those shorts that showed everything - I wanted you! I wanted to fuck you! Now please -”

The moment I said it, her hand released my cock.

I lunged forward and speared into her pussy with the force of a man possessed, burying myself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. It felt like I could split mountains with that momentum.

“FUCK!” Yuna screamed, her voice cracking, breaking on the word as I filled her completely.

Her pussy was different from Yeji’s - where Yeji was a calculated vice grip that squeezed every inch with almost intimidating precision, Yuna was softer, wetter, more yielding but still incredibly tight. Her walls fluttered around me, adjusting to my size, and the heat was overwhelming. She was slick with arousal, making every movement smooth and effortless, but the sensation was no less intense. If Yeji’s pussy was a weapon designed to dominate, Yuna’s was a sensual trap, designed to lure you in and never let go.

I pulled back slowly, feeling every ridge and fold, then slammed back in. Yuna gasped, her back arching further. I established a relentless rhythm, my hips pistoning as I fucked her standing doggy-style in the pool. Water sloshed around us with each thrust, splashing over the edge, the sound mixing with skin slapping against skin and Yuna’s increasingly desperate moans.

The sun had shifted higher now, turning the terrace into an oven. Sweat mixed with pool water, making our bodies slide together with each thrust. The smell of chlorine and sex hung heavy in the air.

“Oh god -” she gasped, her hands gripping the pool edge for stability. “Yes - fuck - just like that -”

I grabbed her hips harder, pulling her back to meet my thrusts. Each impact sent ripples through her ass, the perfect bounce that I couldn’t tear my eyes away from.

“Harder -” she breathed, then louder: “Harder!”

I obliged, increasing the force, the pace. The pool water churned around us.

“Oh my god -” She was talking between moans now, her voice high and broken. “I can’t - this is -” A sharp gasp as I hit something deep. “Okay the last time I got fucked this good was - ahh - Sydney maybe? That dancer?”

She tried to look back at me, her face flushed. “But like - fuck - he wasn’t this big - you’re literally - ahh - ruining me for everyone else -”

“Fuck’s sake, Yuna,” I grunted, the question coming out more aggressive than I intended. “How many guys have you fucked?”

“I - oh god -” She tried to think, but I didn’t slow down. “Like - ahh - ninety? Maybe a hundred?” Her voice pitched higher as I hit a particularly deep angle. “I literally stopped counting after North America because it got too complicated -”

“A hundred?” Something primal surged in me. I slammed into her harder, making her yelp. “And I’m better than all of them?”

“Yes -” It came out as a whimper. “Fuck yes - you’re - oh my god - you’re so much better - you’re ruining me -”

She was trying to sound confident, trying to maintain that seductress persona, but every word was broken by gasps and moans. Her body was betraying her, submitting to me in a way I could tell she wasn’t used to.

I fucked her for what felt like an eternity, my stamina somehow holding despite this being my fifth round of the day. The angle was perfect, letting me go deep, hitting spots that made her legs tremble and her voice break into these high, desperate sounds.

Finally, she reached back, her hand finding my hip, stopping me mid-thrust.

“Wait -” she panted, her whole body heaving. “I need - change positions -”

She pushed forward, and my cock slipped out of her pussy with an obscene pop. A large bubble of trapped air followed, surfacing with a wet burst that would’ve been funny if we weren’t both so far gone. Our mixed fluids leaked into the pool, cloudy ribbons swirling in the clear water.

Yuna pulled herself out of the pool, water streaming off her lithe body, cascading down those impossibly long legs. Chlorine and sex hung thick in the air. She climbed onto the lounge chair with feline grace, then laid back, her legs spreading wide in invitation.

She looked like a goddess sprawled on that lounge chair - tan skin glistening, legs spread wide, chest heaving. The contrast of her delicate features and the absolute debauchery of her expression was intoxicating.

I got another perfect view of her pussy - swollen, pink, gaping slightly from my fucking. Her lips were puffy, glistening with arousal, and below it, her tight, puckered asshole remained untouched, a forbidden promise for another time.

“Come here,” she breathed, one hand trailing down her stomach to spread herself open for me. “I want to feel you deeper.”

I followed her like a man possessed, water dripping from my body as I positioned myself over her. I squatted down, angling my cock - thoroughly coated with her juices - toward her entrance.

Before I could thrust, her impossibly long legs wrapped around my hips and pulled, forcing me inside in one slick, smooth motion. She gasped, her eyes going wide, and I groaned as the new angle let me sink even deeper than before.

“Oh fuck,” she whimpered. “That’s - you’re so deep -”

I didn’t waste time. I started moving, building back to that punishing rhythm, and Yuna’s hands flew to my shoulders, pulling me down. Her lips found mine in a deep, desperate kiss. Our tongues tangled, our moans muffled as I fucked her with everything I had.

Her legs squeezed around my torso, her heels digging into my lower back, urging me deeper with each thrust. The lounge chair creaked beneath us, protesting the abuse.

“Mmph -” she gasped against my lips, breaking the kiss just long enough to speak. “Yes - fuck - yes -”

Her hand slipped between our bodies, fingers finding her clit and rubbing frantically. The added stimulation made her pussy clench around me, fluttering, and I groaned.

I grabbed her waist with both hands, my grip tight enough to leave marks. The sensation drove her wild. Her entire body arched off the chair like she was possessed, her small tits pressing against my chest, her nails raking down my back hard enough to sting.

“Don’t stop -” she whimpered. “Please don’t stop - I’m so close -”

I could feel my own orgasm building, slow but inevitable. The fifth of the day, and somehow still powerful, that heat coiling in my balls. I broke the kiss, gasping, “Yuna - I’m - I’m gonna -”

“Wait!” Her eyes flew open, wide and commanding. She pushed against my chest with surprising strength, forcing me to pull back.

I stumbled, my cock slipping out, slick and throbbing and angry at being denied. I stared at her in confusion, chest heaving.

She sat up, a wicked grin spreading across her flushed face. Her hair was a mess, her lips swollen from kissing, her whole body glistening with sweat and pool water.

“Okay - my turn,” she breathed, voice rough with arousal. “You earned it.” She was already moving, that wicked grin spreading. “Let me - fuck - let me show you why guys literally can’t shut up about this.”

Chapter 6: The Siren’s Satisfaction Marathon riding. Exhaustion wearing the face of desire.

I collapsed back onto the lounge chair, my chest heaving, every muscle in my body screaming from exhaustion. Five orgasms. I’d already blown five loads today, and somehow this insatiable siren wanted more.

Yuna stood over me, water still dripping from her hair, that wicked grin on her face. She looked like a goddess backlit by the afternoon sun - all long legs and wet skin, her small tits perfect and perky, her pussy still glistening and swollen from the pounding I’d just given her.

“Your turn to just lay there,” she purred, climbing onto the chair. “I wanna feel you from this angle.”

As she turned around to straddle me reverse cowgirl, I took the opportunity to cheekily slap her ass. The sound echoed across the terrace, a sharp crack that seemed to hang in the humid air, and her ass jiggled from the impact in a way that was absolutely mesmerizing.

It was plumper than Yeji’s, I couldn’t help but notice. Where Yeji was an athletic freak of nature - her body sculpted from marble and countless hours of dance practice, abs that could grate cheese and an ass that was pure, toned muscle like a weapon forged in a gym - Yuna was slimmer overall but blessed with godly hips and an ass that had just enough give to be perfect. Perfect for grabbing, perfect for slapping, perfect for watching bounce.

“What?” she asked, looking back at me over her shoulder with a coy smile as she positioned herself over my lap. Her hair fell across one eye, still dripping with pool water.

“Your ass,” I said, not even trying to hide my appreciation. My hands found her hips automatically. “I’m obsessed with it. The way it bounces, the way it feels...” I squeezed for emphasis. “I could watch it all day.”

She bit her lip, feigning shyness but clearly pleased. “You’re not the first guy to say that while fucking me, you know.” Then her expression shifted to that wicked grin. “But you’re probably the fastest I’ve ever let inside me. Like, most guys have to work for it. Wine and dine, or at least buy me coffee.” She glanced back at my cock, still hard despite everything. “You should be proud. Badge of honor or whatever.”

As she spoke, she reached down between her legs, her fingers wrapping around my shaft. Without missing a beat in her monologue, she guided me to her entrance and sank down in one smooth, practiced motion. Her pussy swallowed me whole, still slick and hot from our previous round.

“Fuck,” I groaned, my head falling back against the chair. My hands gripped her waist tighter.

She moaned softly - just a little hum of satisfaction - and started rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles, getting comfortable, adjusting to the angle.

Then she glanced back at me, that teasing smirk playing on her lips.

“No wonder Yeji was screaming like that earlier,” she said breathlessly, already starting to move. There was something in her voice - a mix of jealousy and satisfaction, like she’d just confirmed a suspicion she’d been harboring. “You really know how to wreck a pussy.”

Before I could respond, she started riding in earnest. Her hair dripped water onto my chest, cold droplets contrasting with the heat of our bodies. Her hair dripped water onto my chest, cold droplets contrasting with the heat of our bodies. From this angle, I had a perfect view - her spine curving down to that perfect ass bouncing on my lap, water droplets catching sunlight on her skin. The wet skin-on-skin contact made every movement slicker, smoother, but somehow more intense.

The wet skin-on-skin contact made every movement slicker, smoother, but somehow more intense. Each time she rolled her hips, there was this slick, obscene sound, and I could feel every ridge and fold of her pussy as she moved.

“So,” she started, lifting herself up and dropping back down, establishing a rhythm. “I don’t usually fuck idols. Like Yeji does.”

“No?” I managed, my voice strained. She was moving faster now, really bouncing, and it was torture.

“Nah.” She bounced harder, her ass slapping against my thighs. “Male idols are so full of themselves. They think they’re God’s gift just because they have fangirls screaming their names.” She rolled her hips in a particularly devastating way. “But most of them? Terrible in bed. Like, genuinely bad.”

“How - how would you know?” I gasped as she picked up speed.

“Because I tried! Obviously.” She laughed breathlessly. “But nobody tells them they suck because they’re idols, you know? Too precious. So they just keep thinking they’re amazing when really they just -” She demonstrated with a few rough, graceless bounces. “ - pump away like that with zero technique.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, even through the pleasure. “So what, you - ah, fuck - you avoid them?”

“I hunt better prey.” She leaned back, changing the angle so I hit deeper, and we both groaned. “Guys who actually get how lucky they are, you know? Staff members, backup dancers, random hot guys I meet at clubs.” She was riding me harder now, really moving. “Because those guys? They actually try to make it good. They worship you like you’re doing them a favor.”

Her words were punctuated by moans and gasps as she rode me, her small tits bouncing with each movement. Water droplets flew from her hair, catching the sunlight.

My hands slid from her waist to her ass, grabbing, squeezing, trying to guide her movements but mostly just holding on. “You’re really good at this,” I groaned without thinking.

“At what?” She grinned down at me, knowing exactly what I meant.

“This. Riding. You’re - fuck - you’re incredible.”

“Yeah?” Her grin widened, something competitive flashing in her eyes. “You should feel lucky then. Most guys don’t get this far.” She bounced harder, as if to prove her point. “Actually, the last guy who got me this worked up was - mmm - Tuesday night? Wednesday morning? Right after our comeback stage.”

“Yeah?” I groaned.

“Yeah. He was cute. Quiet type.” She adjusted her angle, taking me deeper, and we both gasped. “Got him alone in one of the tech rooms and just - fuck - he went down on me for SO long. Like, I actually had to check my phone at one point to see if we had enough time before load-out.”

“Dedicated,” I managed.

“Right?” She was bouncing faster now, really riding me, chasing something. “Super eager. But his dick was like -” She made a so-so gesture with her hand while still moving. “Average? Maybe slightly above? Nothing like this.” She emphasized her point by dropping down hard, taking me to the hilt, and I groaned.

My orgasm was building rapidly. “Despite five previous loads, despite my wrecked body, despite my body being absolutely wrecked, she was riding me like it was a competition and she was determined to win. The way her pussy squeezed me, the visual of her ass bouncing, the sound of her voice mixing dirty stories with casual conversation - it was too much.

“Yuna -” I warned, my fingers digging into her hips. “I’m gonna -”

But she either didn’t hear me or didn’t care. She just kept riding, kept talking, her rhythm never breaking.

“Oh, and that dancer in LA -” She was breathless now, words coming out between gasps. “During our US leg - he had stamina but zero rhythm. Just - ahh - kept going and going but it was like - mmm - like fucking a metronome -”

I couldn’t hold back. My sixth orgasm of the day exploded out of me with a force that shocked even me. I bucked up involuntarily, burying myself as deep as possible as I pumped what felt like an impossible amount of cum deep into her pussy. I could feel it squirting out around my cock, our bodies too tightly pressed for it all to stay inside.

“Fuck!” I roared, every muscle in my body tensing, stars exploding behind my eyelids.

But Yuna just pressed a hand firmly against my chest, forcing me back down into the chair, and kept riding. She didn’t even pause. Didn’t even acknowledge it.

“ - and I literally had to fake it because he wasn’t getting me there -” she continued, as if I hadn’t just filled her with cum. “Which was so annoying because I was SO close but he just - ugh -”

The overstimulation was immediate and intense. My cock was hypersensitive, every movement of her pussy sending shockwaves through my body that bordered on painful. But she didn’t stop. She kept riding, kept talking, her rhythm never faltering even as my cum leaked out of her with each bounce.

“Then there was this producer guy - older, whatever -” She rolled her eyes even as she moved. “Came in like two minutes and acted like he did something impressive. Men are so -”

Her words cut off as she glanced down, finally noticing the absolute mess between us - cum coating both our thighs, dripping onto the chair, leaking out of her with each movement.

She looked back up at me, still riding, and asked almost conversationally, “Wait. Did you cum inside me?”

“Yes -” I gasped. “Yuna - please - I can’t -”

“Oh.” She said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. She processed this for a moment, still moving. Then shrugged. “Well, I’m not done yet, so...”

Then her talking shifted focus, and somehow this was worse.

“Unnie must really love this cock,” she said, her voice taking on a teasing edge as she rode me. “I bet she rode you just like this morning, huh? Did she bounce on it like this?” She demonstrated with a particularly hard drop that made me groan in agony-pleasure. “Did she take it this deep?”

“Yuna -”

“I bet her pussy isn’t as wet as mine though.” She was getting breathless now, chasing her own orgasm. “I bet she doesn’t get this sloppy. Wait, does she?”

All I could do was hold onto her waist for dear life, my fingers probably leaving bruises, as she used my oversensitive cock to get herself off. Her movements became more erratic, more desperate, her breath coming in short gasps.

“Fuck -” she whimpered. “Fuck, I’m - I’m gonna -”

And then she came. Hard.

Her entire body went rigid, her back arching like a bow, her pussy clamping down on my abused cock with industrial-grade suction - the kind Yeji bragged her Dyson had. She screamed - actually screamed -”Fuck - yes - Minho!” - her voice echoing off the villa walls.

Her orgasm seemed to last forever. Her walls spasmed around me in rhythmic pulses, her thighs shaking violently, her hands clawing at my chest hard enough to leave marks. Wave after wave crashed through her, her whole body trembling, and I watched in awe as this confident, cocky siren completely fell apart on top of me.

Spoiled brat always gets what she wants, I thought to myself.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she eased up. Her movements slowed to a gentle rock, then a stop. We were both panting, covered in sweat and pool water and cum. She lifted herself slowly, carefully, and my cock slipped out with a wet, obscene squelch.

We both looked down at the aftermath. My cock was glistening with our mixed fluids, still twitching slightly. Her pussy was absolutely wrecked - swollen, red, gaping slightly - with thick ropes of my cum leaking out and dripping onto my stomach in heavy globs.

Impulsively, without thinking, I reached down. I dipped my fingers into the cream pooling at her entrance, gathering some on my fingertips, and brought them to her lips.

She locked eyes with me - those dark, intense eyes - and slowly, sensually, licked my fingers clean. Her tongue swirled around each digit, lapping up every drop of our combined fluids while maintaining that intense eye contact.

In that moment, something passed between us. Not love - we weren’t delusional - but something. A deep, unspoken understanding. A connection forged through the most intense, raw, animalistic fucking either of us had experienced in a long time. We were both naked, breathless, absolutely destroyed, covered in each other’s fluids, and for a brief moment, time stood still.

The world was quiet except for our breathing.

And then we heard it.

The villa door banging open. Then slamming shut.

“YO!” Ryujin’s voice boomed through the house, loud and unmistakable, echoing off the walls. “ANYONE HOME?”

Yuna and I froze instantly.

Our eyes locked, going wide with panic. We were still in the exact same position - her straddling me on the lounge chair, cum leaking from her pussy, my hands on her hips, both of us completely naked and covered in evidence.

The exact same position I’d found her in when I first caught her masturbating on this very chair.

Intro | Masterlist | Series Index Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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Author’s Note

That wraps the Yuna and Minho pool scene!

Fun fact: the original plan was to stop the whole story right here. This was just going to be a standalone smut one-shot (sun, chlorine, and reckless horniness). In fact, this stretch of the story was originally concieved as private gooning material without an actual plot in mind. Yuna gets her victory lap, Minho survives six rounds, the lounge chair barely holds together, and we fade to black.

But then I had this intrusive thought:

"Okay... but what if they got caught?"

Everything kind of spiraled out of control from there. Because if anyone was going to walk in at the absolute worst possible moment - kicking the door open and yelling "YO!" with zero shame - it had to be Ryujin, right? The whole vibe changes once she shows up, because the jealousy and the actual group dynamics suddenly matter, and Minho stops being just a convenient POV camera and turns into an actual guy trapped in the middle of their mess. A notoriously bratty dom just barged in, meaning Yuna isn't the only threat on the terrace anymore.

The rest of the saga basically grew wildly out of this one interruption. The rivalries, the feelings hiding under all the smut, the weirdly specific histories each girl gets - it all starts right here just because Ryujin couldn't be assed to knock.

So if this feels like a natural ending point, it technically is (or was). But it's also where the actual plot starts.

Thanks for surviving Yuna's first act of terrorism - I hope you enjoyed the unhinged, chlorine-soaked mess!

“We would like to inform you about the status of ITZY member Lia’s health and her future activities…”

“…we decided that Lia will not participate in scheduled activities starting from today and will take a break for the time being to focus on her treatment.”

It was a simple statement of facts “Lia is going on Hiatus until further notice” there was no drama in the wording. That made it worse. Because for everyone outside the group, it was news. But for ITZY, it was a rupture, for Yeji, Ryujin, Chaeryeong, and Yuna— they were as clueless as to Lia’s condition as MIDZY was.

Yeji reads it a second time, and then a third time. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand, but because she did. She is the leader, but the title suddenly feels meaningless when she realizes she had been kept in the dark too. Yet despite the feeling of betrayal running in her blood at that moment, there was only one question that kept running on repeat within the confines of her mind: “How long was Lia carrying this alone?”

It wasn’t even hours after the announcement and inside the dorm— the dynamic shifts immediately. No one said anything related to the topic out loud, the members were already affected by the sudden news, and everyone was already walking on eggshells.

Ryujin wasn’t loud or subtle about it. She started to withdraw emotionally, distant in ways that feel intentional. Chaeryeong became more careful with her words, she was already fragile from her own internal conflicts and with becoming informed of Lia’s hiatus— as if the slightest mistake might shatter whatever fragile balance remained. Yuna kept a façade. She talked more than usual, as if believing that overcompensating would make up for Lia’s absence or would bring her back sooner, but that only felt like a noise filling in empty space. Words that believe they were hiding a pain with loudness instead. Yeji just stops sleeping, questioning herself as the leader her group deserves to have. Running back anything in her mind to what she could’ve missed that would have hinted to the pain Lia hid from everyone else.

The comeback cycle does not stop. The industry demands continuation even as if nothing has changed. The managers were hesitant on the day to announce to them about the upcoming comeback, and its name was bitterly ironic— BORN TO BE. As if the company was hinting that the group was about to be reborn as four. Every schedule felt heavier the passing day. Every rehearsal slightly longer. Evert crack within the members slightly more noticeable.

Every crack within the members became slightly more noticeable. Not all at once— that would have been easier to confront. It happened in smaller ways. A missed laugh here, a delayed response there. A water bottle left untouched after rehearsal because no one remembered who it belonged to anymore. The practice room became the first place where Lia’s absence stopped being an announcement and started becoming a shape. One empty space in the formation, adjusted by the choreographer with professional efficiency, as if rearranging bodies could make the loss feel smaller.

“Again, from the second verse,” the choreographer called.

No one complained. Ryujin wiped the sweat from her neck and returned to position without a word. Chaeryeong nodded too quickly, already apologizing under her breath before she had even made a mistake. Yuna smiled at the mirror, bright and practiced, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Yeji stood at the center.

“Music.” The track started again. They moved like professionals because that was what they were— Sharp. Clean. Controlled. Four bodies forcing themselves to fill a space that used to belong to five. For the first few counts, it almost worked. Then Chaeryeong’s foot landed half a beat late. She caught herself immediately. “Sorry.” No one blamed her. That made her look even more ashamed. “It’s fine,” Yeji said quickly. Too quickly. “Again.” The choreographer glanced at the clock. “You’ve been at this for hours. Take five first.”

“I’m okay,” Yeji answered, she didn’t ask the others.

Ryujin looked at her through the mirror, expression unreadable. For a second, it looked like she wanted to say something. Instead, she turned away and reached for her towel. Yuna clapped once, too loudly. “We’re almost there! It’s fine, right? We just need to clean it a little more.”

Her voice bounced against the walls and came back thinner. Chaeryeong only nodded.

The music played again. And again. And again. By the time the staff finally called the rehearsal over, the room smelled of sweat, floor cleaner, and exhaustion. The kind of exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fix because sleep was no longer the problem. One by one, they packed their things. Yuna was still talking as she zipped her bag, asking if anyone wanted convenience store snacks, if they should order food, if they should maybe watch something funny back at the dorm. She kept offering pieces of normal life like she was handing out bandages.

No one really answered. Chaeryeong smiled anyway, small and tired “Maybe later.” Ryujin slung her bag over one shoulder “I’m going ahead”. She didn’t wait for anyone to respond. The door closed behind her. For a moment, the room was quiet. Then Yeji walked back to the center of the floor. Chaeryeong noticed first “Unnie?” Yeji didn’t even look back to Chaeryeong “I’ll just run it once more". Yuna’s smile faltered. “But we’re done". Yeji faced the mirror “I know, just one more.” No one believed her. But no one stopped her either. That became the pattern, not because they didn’t care. Because everyone was too tired to know what caring was supposed to look like anymore.

The dorm was quieter now than it had ever been before, it wasn’t a peaceful silence either. The television stayed on most nights without anyone truly watching it. Variety shows played into empty space while half-finished drinks gathered on the table beside unopened delivery containers that had long gone cold. The members moved around each other carefully, like people afraid of making too much noise in a room already filled with tension. It became normal to hear footsteps at three in the morning. Sometimes it was Chaeryeong walking into the kitchen for water she barely drank before returning to her room. Sometimes it was Ryujin sitting alone on the couch in the dark with her phone face-down beside her, not scrolling, not sleeping either. Yuna filled silence whenever she could, but even she slowly started running out of things to say. And Yeji— she stopped pretending she slept at all.

At first, it was subtle enough to hide behind makeup and schedules. Dark circles covered by stylists who were paid to make exhaustion invisible. Energy drinks appearing more frequently beside practice notes. Longer moments staring blankly at mirrors before someone called her name and she snapped back into herself. But exhaustion always collects interest eventually.

One night after rehearsal, Yuna fell asleep sitting upright against the side of the couch, head tilted awkwardly with her phone still in her hand. The television cast pale blue light across the dorm while rain tapped quietly against the windows outside. Chaeryeong had already gone to bed. Ryujin emerged from the hallway with damp hair and an oversized shirt hanging loosely over her frame. She slowed when she saw Yuna asleep. Then she noticed Yeji who was still awake. Still sitting at the dining table, papers spread out in front of her. Schedule sheets, notes, performance breakdowns, handwritten reminders layered over company printouts until it all blurred together into meaningless clutter.

Ryujin leaned against the wall. “You’re still doing that?”

Yeji didn’t look up immediately. “Mm.”

RY: It’s two in the morning.

YJ: We have recording tomorrow.

RY: We always have something tomorrow.

Yeji finally glanced up, tired eyes meeting Ryujin’s for only a second before dropping back to the papers. “I know.” Ryujin observed her leader— that was becoming normal too. Not arguments. Not concern spoken aloud. Just observation. The kind people did when they noticed something getting worse but didn’t know where to place their hands without accidentally breaking it further.

“You missed dinner again,” Ryujin said eventually. “I ate earlier" Yeji said unconvincingly. Ryujin socffed at her “You’re a terrible liar.” That almost earned a smile. Almost. Yeji rubbed her eyes instead. “Why are you awake?” Ryujin shrugged lightly. “Couldn’t sleep.” Neither of them acknowledged how often that answer had started appearing lately. Rain continued tapping softly against the glass. For a while, neither spoke. Then Ryujin walked closer to the table, gaze drifting across the papers scattered there.

“You reorganized the rehearsal schedule?”

“The spacing was off,” Yeji muttered.

Ryujin frowned slightly. “You know that’s the staff’s job, right?”

“If I can make things easier for everyone, then why not?”

The answer came too fast. Too automatic.

Ryujin’s eyes lingered on her longer this time. There it is, she thought. That isn't leadership anymore, it was compensation. Yeji was trying to carry everything now. The performances. The atmosphere. The morale. The silence. Lia’s absence. The pressure of making sure four people still looked complete under stage lights designed for five. And the frightening part was how naturally she was accepting it. Ryujin pulled out the chair beside her and sat down without asking. Yeji blinked. “What are you doing?” Ryujin just sat there looking at her phone.

“Keeping you company.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.” Another silence settled between them.

A silience that showed tiredness no one wanted to say outloud. The kind built between people too exhausted to perform normality anymore.

Ryujin leaned back slightly, arms folded loosely across her chest. “You know none of us blame you, right?” Yeji’s hand stopped moving.

Only for a second— then she continued reorganizing papers that no longer needed reorganizing. “I know,” she said softly. But Ryujin could tell from the way her shoulders tightened that she didn’t believe it at all.

After that, the days started losing their shape. Morning schedules bled into evening rehearsals. Airport terminals became more familiar than the dorm itself. Staff voices, countdowns, makeup touch-ups, stage cues— everything eventually merged together into one endless routine of movement and noise. The comeback preparations consumed them completely. At some point, meals stopped becoming something shared. Food turned into half-finished containers left around the dorm table for whoever remembered they were hungry first. Energy drinks appeared more frequently than water bottles. Sleep became something negotiated between schedules instead of something naturally expected at the end of the day. And somehow, despite everything— BORN TO BE was successful.

That was the strange part. The stages trended online. The performances were praised. Fans admired how stable they looked despite continuing as four. Articles called them resilient. Strong. Professional. Yeji started quietly hating those words. Because strong people were expected to continue. Strong people didn’t get to stop. The practice room mirrors reflected the proof of that every night.

Sometimes Yuna still tried to hold the atmosphere together. Small jokes thrown into rehearsals. Dramatic reactions exaggerated just enough to make the others laugh for a few seconds. Sometimes she would intentionally mess up choreography near Chaeryeong just to hear her complain and smile at the same time. But even Yuna’s energy started fading around the edges eventually. The louder she became, the easier it was to notice how exhausted she really looked afterward.

Ryujin changed more subtly.She stopped joking during rehearsals as much. Stopped teasing staff members between takes. Stopped reaching for conversation unless someone else started it first. Instead, she observed.

Yeji staying behind after rehearsals. She even rereads schedules during van rides. Yeji would answer questions before managers could. She started apologizing for things that weren’t her fault. The frightening part was how natural it all started looking.

Even Chaeryeong adapted to it eventually. Her apologies became automatic. “Sorry" would slip out of her constantly now. Sorry for mistakes. Sorry for delays. Sorry for being tired. Sorry for forgetting things. One night Ryujin counted seven apologies in less than ten minutes before silently giving up halfway through. No one pointed it out anymore.

The schedules only became worse after promotions began. Interviews blurred together into identical rooms and repeated questions. Hotel hallways all started looking the same. Some nights the members fell asleep still wearing partial stage makeup because nobody had enough energy left to finish removing it properly. And through all of it, Yeji continued moving forward like someone terrified of what would happen if she slowed down even once.

The world tour started not long after— despite all four of them not wanting to tour without Lia, but it was the company's choice. That was when the isolation truly settled in. Airports, security escorts, fans screaming loud enough to shake the walls outside terminals. Then silence again the moment hotel doors closed behind them. Different country, a different room. But the same exhaustion. The members spent more time together than almost anyone else in their lives yet somehow began feeling further apart emotionally with each passing month.

Conversations became shorter. Everyone started saying “I’m okay” too quickly. There were nights where the only sounds inside hotel rooms were television noise and the humming of air conditioning units running too cold. One evening somewhere halfway through the tour, Yuna fell asleep during hair and makeup while staff members quietly continued working around her. Nobody laughed. Not because it wasn’t endearing. Because everyone else looked one bad day away from doing the same thing.

Another time, Chaeryeong burst into tears in the middle of rehearsal after forgetting choreography she had already practiced dozens of times. The crying itself seemed to scare her more than the mistake did. “I’m sorry,” she kept repeating through uneven breaths. “I know it already, I don’t know why I can’t—”

Yeji hugged her immediately. Too immediately. Like it was instinctually her responsibility as the leader instead of as a friend. Like if she held everyone together tightly enough, maybe nothing else would fall apart.

Ryujin watched from the side of the room, jaw tightening slightly. Because even then— even exhausted, even emotionally drowning herself Yeji still only knew how to become stronger for everyone else first.

The tour continued anyway. That became the answer to everything eventually. Fatigue, homesickness, and silence. The answer was always the same: Keep moving.

Country after country blurred together until the members stopped remembering where certain memories came from. Hotel ceilings changed shapes but never atmosphere. Waiting rooms stayed cold no matter what city they were in. Staff members rotated in shifts while ITZY continued existing in the strange in-between state of constantly being seen and never truly perceived.

The performances remained good. That was the unsettling part of it— maybe even better than before. There was a desperation hidden inside them now that audiences mistook for passion. Every movement sharper. Every stage heavier. Every expression carrying an intensity that translated beautifully under lights and cameras while slowly hollowing them out behind the scenes. People praised their professionalism constantly.

Yeji learned to smile every time she heard it. Somewhere during the middle stretch of the tour, Ryujin stopped trying to convince Yeji to rest. Not because she stopped caring. Because she realized Yeji no longer knew how. Instead, she started staying nearby. Sometimes beside her during flights while Yeji reorganized schedules she had no responsibility handling herself. Sometimes sitting silently in rehearsal rooms long after staff members left. Sometimes awake at four in the morning in hotel kitchens where neither of them touched the food sitting between them. No dramatic conversations ever happened. That somehow made it sadder.

Chaeryeong became more emotionally careful over time. She watched everyone closely now before speaking, as if constantly measuring the emotional temperature of every room she entered. The more exhausted everyone became, the more she shrank herself instinctively trying not to become another problem someone else needed to carry.

Yuna noticed it too. So, she compensated harder. Louder reactions. Brighter smiles. More touching. More attempts at pulling everyone together during meals and backstage downtime. Sometimes she would drag the members into group selfies nobody really had energy for anymore just because she missed how things used to feel. Most of those pictures still ended up online. Fans called them cute. None of the members had the heart to say those moments usually ended in silence seconds later.

Then eventually— Lia came back. There was no dramatic reunion. No tears the moment the door opened. No emotional release powerful enough to undo over a year of accumulated exhaustion. Just hesitation and carefulness. The strange awkwardness of people trying desperately to return to a version of themselves that no longer existed in quite the same way anymore.

The first rehearsal as five again felt unfamiliar. Not wrong. Just unfamiliar. Everyone kept looking at Lia like they were trying to reassure themselves she was actually there. Lia noticed the changes immediately. Yeji smiling too quickly whenever someone asked if she was okay. Chaeryeong apologizing before speaking. Yuna filling every silence before it could fully settle. Ryujin watching everyone constantly while pretending she wasn’t. And beneath all of it— exhaustion. Not temporary exhaustion. The kind that settled deep enough into people that they started mistaking survival for normalcy.

Lia carried guilt for it almost instantly. Not because anyone blamed her. That was the problem— nobody blamed her at all. Which somehow made her feel worse. The group slowly adjusted again after her return. Interviews became easier as five. Formations looked complete again. Fans celebrated the feeling of wholeness returning to ITZY after months of uncertainty.

Then GOLD happened, the first comeback as five— and publicly, everything finally looked fixed. The performances were stable again. The group chemistry looked natural during promotions. Variety appearances felt lighter. Smiles came easier on camera now that Lia was back beside them. To everyone outside the group, ITZY looked recovered. That illusion became dangerously convincing. Because even the members themselves slowly started believing it sometimes.

Until the cameras turned off and schedules ended. Until the dorm lights dimmed and exhaustion settled back into their bodies like something permanent waiting patiently for morning to come again.

Yeji got worse quietly. Not visibly enough for headlines. Not dramatically enough for intervention. Just small things. Skipping meals more often. Falling asleep sitting upright. Longer silences. Forgetting conversations midway through them. One night Lia found her asleep at the dining table with schedule papers still clutched loosely in her hand. Another time Yuna realized Yeji had been wearing the same ring on the wrong finger for nearly three days without noticing. Ryujin started looking at her with poorly hidden concern now. Even Chaeryeong noticed. But inside ITZY, concern had long since evolved into adaptation. Everyone saw the damage and nobody knew what to do with it anymore.

With the volatility that had long been noticed but never truly addressed beginning to surface more openly between the five of them, someone else eventually started noticing too. Not management. Not staff members. Someone who understood the difference between temporary exhaustion and the kind that settled into people slowly enough for them to stop recognizing it themselves.

(Jihyo's POV): I had seen this before, not in the exact same shape. But close enough, it was the close enough to the time where my own group imploded within itself to threaten the very existence of TWICE, my TWICE. The first time I truly noticed it was during a music show waiting room sometime during GOLD promotions. ITZY was laughing about something Yuna said when she passed by the open door with one of the managers beside her.

At first glance, everything looked normal. That was the problem. Years in the industry had taught me how to recognize when idols became too good at pretending. Yeji smiled through conversations half a second too late now. Ryujin kept scanning the room whenever silence settled for too long. Chaeryeong looked like she apologized with her eyes before words even reached her mouth. Lia had the careful attentiveness of someone trying to make up for an absence nobody blamed her for. And Yuna— Yuna looked exhausted in the way only people trying the hardest to appear energetic usually did.

I didn’t say anything that day, I couldn’t but after that, I started paying attention. Small things became difficult to ignore once she noticed them.

Yeji falling asleep during downtime between recordings.

Ryujin lingering nearby afterward instead of waking her immediately.

Chaeryeong quietly checking everyone else’s mood before speaking during group interviews.

The way the members looked relieved whenever schedules ended early, not because they were lazy, but because they genuinely seemed unable to process another hour being added onto the day.

It reminded me too much of something I recognized. The dangerous stage of exhaustion where functioning became so normal that nobody realized how badly things had deteriorated anymore. And once I recognized it— I couldn’t stop seeing it. At first, I was going to tackle it alone. But there was only little I could do by myself. But I remembered I had someone with me. Perhaps I could talk to John with my concerns, technically this is part of the job description of our managerial boyfriend.

(John's POV): It was the night before MISAMO left for Japan again. HAUTE COUTURE promotions overseas always shifted the atmosphere slightly within the dorms. Different schedules. Different pacing. Different forms of chaos. For once, it also meant the rest of us would finally have room to breathe again after months of nonstop movement. At least, that had been my plan before Sana decided otherwise.

“You’re thinking too much again” her voice came muffled against my neck while she remained comfortably tangled against me beneath the sheets, both of our bodies completely free from any form of clothing and she unconcerned with the fact that I was still trying to organize schedules on my phone moments earlier.

J: I’m literally doing my job. SN: You stopped looking at your phone ten minutes ago. J: …That’s not the point. SN: It kind of is.

I felt her smile against my skin before she shifted closer purely to annoy me further. Typical. The room itself was dim outside the soft lamp near the bedside table. Comfortable silence settled naturally between us in the way it only could after years of familiarity. Sana always had a strange ability to pull people out of their own heads whether they wanted her to or not. Usually against their will.

J: You’re going to Japan tomorrow SN: Mhm. J: And instead of sleeping— SN: I wanted attention. J: That sounds like a “you” problem. SN: It became your problem when you started dating me. J: Fair point.

“Now be a good boy for me” Sana’s mood changed like clockwork, it was as simple as flipping a switch. She gave me a quick peck on the lips before going down to my neck, then giving my chest a few bite marks “Something to remember me by when I’m in Japan” her giggled showed more of a territorial side than clingy. I decided to meet her halfway— directly flipping her over to have me be the one on top this time. “Let’s make every second count then” I whispered in her ear as the tip of my already erect cock was rubbing the around the folds of her already wet entrance, to which Sana stared at me showing that she didn’t need to say anything to let me know what she wanted.

She cooed in pleasure the moment she felt me enter her. I took my time to make sure she felt me inch by inch. Though I didn’t give her time to settle into anything. The moment I was full length inside her I pulled out leaving only the tip left inside, and before Sana could say anything in protest— I slammed my entire length going back inside in an instant. This gave Sana a jolt of extreme pleasure enough that for a very split moment it cause her to black out before instantly regaining consciousness. She was very used to me making love to her gently and her very sexual nature wasn’t opposed to it, but she loved it more when I was extra rough with her and since she was going to leave for a while I wanted to make sure to give a little extra treatment the way she likes it.

The change of pace was enough to make Sana reach her the near of her climax faster than normal, and I was still sensitive from earlier which worked in my favor— almost. The feeling of Sana’s walls hugging around my shaft as the tip kissed the entranced to her cervix was stimulation to much for me, it led me to finish first the feeling of pleasure overwhelming me to a point where I stopped moving as globs of my cum flooded Sana’s insides. The feeling of her insides being filled to the brim with my seed was enough to push her to orgasm as well, her insides contracted simultaneously around my already sensitive cock prolonging the rush of pleasure both of us felt.

I slowly pulled out of her and the cum started to escape out of her pussy “Oh wow, if we keep this up I might actually get knocked up, oppa” she looked at me with awe while rubbing her abs. “Dear God, Sana. It’s not like I’m against it, but we all know what’s going to happen to me if that does.” I laughed while falling on the bed with her right next to me “Either PD-nim is going to personally murder you, the rest of the members, or the wave of angry fans” Sana giggled as she slowly led her mouth to my already soft member as she tried to spring it back to life.

Then there was a knock on the door, and before I could tell whoever was on the other side to wait, they already opened the it "Aishh— I feel like we already did this before" as Jihyo looked at the sight of me in the bed. Sana was covered underneath the sheets not stopping despite being caught, her head kept bobbing without the slightest care of being caught. She was about to leave for a while— being seen by someone from the other eight whom she shared me was not Sana's concern.

"I'm borrowing John for a bit after you, there's something I need to talk to him about" Jihyo said in a serious tone as she told Sana who still didn't stop, her only confirmation was her hand leaving the sheets forming the okay hand sign.

Jihyo only stared at the two of us for a moment longer before rubbing tiredly at her forehead. “You know, normal couples would at least pretend to be embarrassed.” Sana finally resurfaced just enough to grin lazily at her. “That sounds judgmental.”

JH: That’s because it is. SN: It’s not my fault he’s cute. JH: You literally say that about all nine of us. SN: And I mean it every single time.

Jihyo sighed deeply, though the corner of her mouth still twitched upward slightly despite herself. The atmosphere inside the room remained warm in the familiar way it always became whenever the members naturally drifted around each other. Comfortable. Chaotic. Intimate without effort. It reminded me how different things felt now compared to years ago. Which was why the expression lingering behind Jihyo’s eyes stood out almost immediately. Sana noticed it too. Her teasing softened first. “…Something happened?” Jihyo hesitated. And that alone was enough to tell me this wasn’t casual concern. The room grew quieter afterward.

Sana slowly sat up properly beneath the sheets this time, finally giving Jihyo her full attention while I reached over to mute the television still playing softly in the background. For a few seconds, only silence remained. Then Jihyo finally spoke. “It’s ITZY.” That got my attention immediately. Not because the topic itself was surprising. Because of the way she said it. Carefully. Like she had already spent weeks trying to convince herself she was overthinking it before finally deciding she wasn’t. Jihyo moved further into the room before sitting near the edge of the bed, arms folding loosely across herself. “I think something’s wrong with them.” Sana frowned slightly. “Wrong how?” Jihyo exhaled quietly. “I don’t know if I can explain it properly. They’re functioning too well.” Neither of us interrupted her. Because we understood exactly what she meant. “They remind me too much of us back then,” she admitted softly. “Not publicly. Privately.”

The warmth inside the room dimmed slightly after that. I leaned back against the headboard slowly while listening as Jihyo explained everything she had been noticing for months now. Yeji pushing herself too hard. Ryujin watching everyone constantly. Chaeryeong growing smaller emotionally. Yuna overcompensating. Lia carrying guilt nobody blamed her for. And beneath all of it— exhaustion that had stopped looking temporary a long time ago. By the time Jihyo finished talking, Sana’s expression had completely lost its earlier playfulness.

“…That bad?” she asked quietly. Jihyo nodded once. I stayed silent longer than either of them liked. Because the truth was— I had noticed pieces of it too. Not enough to fully understand the situation from a distance, but enough to recognize the pattern forming underneath everything Jihyo described. And patterns like that rarely resolved cleanly on their own. “That kind of exhaustion changes people,” I said eventually. Jihyo looked at me carefully. “I know.” I added “And if nobody steps in early enough, they normalize it” which Jihyo shared my concern “That’s what I’m scared of.” The room fell quiet again.

Sana shifted closer beside me instinctively, her hand resting lightly against my arm while she listened. I already knew where the conversation was heading before Jihyo asked the question. “Can we help them?” I exhaled slowly through my nose. Not because I didn’t want to. Because I understood exactly how complicated the answer was. Emotional dependency inside this industry was dangerous. Lines blurred too easily when people spent too long isolated from normality. Support became attachment before anyone realized it was happening. And once that happened— things stopped being simple. Jihyo knew that too. Which was why she looked nervous asking me in the first place. For a long while, none of us spoke.

Then eventually, I ran a hand down my face before reaching toward the bedside table for my phone. “I know the right guy,” I muttered quietly. Jihyo’s posture straightened slightly. “He’s good at reading people. Better than anyone I know, honestly.” I glanced down at the dark screen in my hand for a moment before continuing. “But whether he agrees to this or not is completely up to him.” Sana tilted her head slightly. “That friend of yours?” I only nodded while reaching for my phone. “The psychology major who psychoanalyzed you in ten minutes?” Sana tilted her head in curiosity, “He was right about me, unfortunately.” That almost earned a small laugh from Jihyo. Almost.

I unlocked my phone slowly. “Even if he says yes,” I said carefully, “this doesn’t magically fix anything. And if this goes wrong—” “I know,” Jihyo interrupted softly. No optimism. No naïve expectations.

That made this harder somehow. I stared at the contact for another second before finally pressing call. The line rang once. Twice. Then:

“John?” a calm voice answered from the other side. I closed my eyes briefly “…Hey, Ben.”

(Ben's POV): I frowned slightly at my phone before leaning back deeper into the couch. “You usually only call this late when somebody’s either dying or pregnant” A muffled snort immediately echoed somewhere on his side of the call. Female. Sounded like Sana— Interesting. “Good evening to you too, jackass” John muttered dryly. “You didn’t deny either possibility” I commented only for John to annoyingly reply with “Because neither possibility should’ve been your first assumption.”

B: That sounds like denial. J: You sound unemployed. B: I technically am unemployed. J: You own SEVEN businesses. B: Own. Having passive income is not employment— I refuse to disrespect actual workers like that.

That earned another laugh somewhere near him, that voice definitely belongs to Sana. I rubbed tiredly at my face while sitting up properly this time, abandoning my PC on the table. The clock on the wall already pushed dangerously close to midnight which usually meant one of two things whenever John called. Either something genuinely serious happened, or one of the girls did something catastrophically stupid. Both were equally possible.

B: So, who’s dying? J: No one. B: Did you get one the members pregnant? J: What the hell? Again. No. B: Financial crime? Extortion? J: Can you be serious for five minutes?

I had my fun with John, I dropped my playful tone “Depends. Are you asking as my best friend or as whatever the hell your job title actually is nowadays?” Silence. That was enough for my expression to slowly flatten. Ah. So this actually WAS serious. I stood from the couch afterward and walked toward the kitchen automatically, phone tucked between my shoulder and ear while grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “What happened?” The joking disappeared from my voice completely. John noticed immediately too. “It’s not about TWICE.” That narrowed possibilities slightly. “But?”

A quieter exhale answered first. Then— “It’s ITZY.” I stayed silent. Not because I didn’t know who they were. Because I knew exactly enough about them for those two words to already sound exhausting. A young group. Heavy schedules. Leadership pressure. Public resilience. And JYPE announced recently that one of their members went on hiatus. That was an emotionally dangerous combination. I twisted the bottle cap open slowly. “What about them?” Another pause. Careful this time. John choosing words. That interested me more than the situation itself initially. Because John wasn’t someone easily intimidated by emotional complexity anymore. Which meant whatever this was— he considered it delicate.

“I think they’ve been surviving too long without realizing how bad things got.” And there it was. Not scandal. Not behavioral collapse. It was a burnout, the ugly kind too. I leaned silently against the kitchen counter afterward while processing that answer. Then eventually “…And you’re calling me because?” Another silence. “Jihyo noticed first.” Very interesting. Because if Jihyo was concerned enough to involve John— then this wasn’t ordinary exhaustion anymore. “When are you free?” John finally asked. I glanced toward the clock hanging above the kitchen entrance. 12:47 AM.

B: You do realize normal people discuss emotional crises before midnight, right? J: You were awake anyway. B: That’s not the point. J: You answered on the second ring. B: You know that if you called me even if I was in the middle of a car race I would still pick up. But… that’s also not the point.

A quieter laugh echoed somewhere near him again. “Fine. When do you want to meet?” John asked for tomorrow afternoon. “That sounds less like a request and more like kidnapping.” I told him “You’ll survive.” John ignored that completely. Typical. “The NDA’s already prepared.” That earned a short laugh out of me immediately. “Jesus Christ. You people are serious.” John still was serious, “We have to be.” There it was again. That carefulness. I rolled the cold water bottle lightly against my forehead while thinking. Young group. Hiatus instability. Solo pressure. Emotional suppression. Yeah. I could already see where this probably went wrong psychologically. “Alright, send me the location.” I muttered eventually. “Get some sleep first” I frowned slightly. “You can’t even see me.” John’s voice softened slightly afterward though “But I know you,” the atmosphere settled again naturally. “Tomorrow. Two in the afternoon.” The line disconnected not long after that.

I stayed leaning silently against the kitchen counter for a while afterward, phone still loosely in my hand while the apartment settled back into silence around me. Then eventually I glanced toward the laptop abandoned on the couch. Defeat screen still open. Unbelievable. I made a mental note to never play ranked past midnight again.

The café John picked the following afternoon looked exactly like the kind of place wealthy people pretended wasn’t expensive. Minimalist interior. Quiet lighting. Private enough to discourage attention without looking intentionally exclusive. The type of place celebrities used when they wanted to convince themselves they were still having normal conversations. John and Jihyo were already seated when I arrived. And immediately— John frowned.

J: You look like shit. B: Good afternoon to you too. J: No, seriously. You look exhausted.

I slid into the chair across from them before pulling my cap off loosely. “I stayed up too late.” John was looking at me again, that frown in face growing “Doing?” I stared at him flatly “…Making terrible life choices.” he narrowed his eyes at me “That narrows it down to everything.” I ignored him completely and reached for the glass of water already sitting nearby instead. “Some psychopath kept queueing into my ranked matches all night.” John looked mildly interested “And I lost. Repeatedly.” He finally broke into a smile “Huh, sounds like a skill issue.” That pinched a nerve in my pride.

Jihyo quietly laughed into her drink while I rubbed tiredly at my forehead. “The worst part is the IGN sounded pretentious too.” John raised an eyebrow. “What was it?” I tried recalling it properly. “Something elegant sounding.” I frowned slightly. “PenguinNoona? SilverPenguin? Something rich-person coded.” The silence afterward lasted exactly one second too long. Then suddenly John started laughing. Not normal laughing either. The genuinely disrespectful kind. Jihyo blinked between both of us immediately. “What?” I narrowed my eyes “…Why are you laughing?” John leaned back in his chair, still grinning. “Because that was Mina.” I blinked once “No it wasn’t.” Then again until John affirmed what I denied “It absolutely was.” Jihyo’s expression immediately shifted from confusion to visible amusement. “Wait,” she said while trying not to laugh herself now, “you spent all night getting destroyed by Mina?”

“She was reading my rotations before I even committed to them”. John muttered “That’s somehow worse since you challenged her first apparently.” I had no other play except to keep on making more excuses “I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS HER.” That only made John laugh harder, that jackass. I rubbed tiredly at my face while Jihyo laughed softly into her drink now too “…Tell her I want a rematch.” He held up his phone “You already said that six times last night apparently”. I stared at him blankly, that definitely was my IGN, and she even sent him screenshots? Unbelievable.

The atmosphere loosened naturally after that more familiar. Which honestly made what came next feel slightly stranger by comparison once the conversation gradually settled again. Jihyo’s eyes drifted briefly toward my wrist while I reached for the water again. Small movement that was easy to miss. But observant people always noticed expensive things eventually. Especially people surrounded by luxury branding professionally. The glance lingered only half a second longer before she looked away thoughtfully. John noticed too. “You’re still wearing that?” he asked casually. I glanced down at the watch. “It tells time”. He was visibly stressed “That’s not what I asked”. I raised my arms “Hey, it was free.” Jihyo looked up in the middle of sipping her drink “…Free?” I pointed to my watch “It was a gift.” John looked genuinely offended now. “You cannot call a limited allocation Patek Philippe ‘free.’ That’s not how reality works.”

“I didn’t pay for it” which was the basis of something being considered a gift. “That’s somehow worse.” Jihyo stared at the watch once more quietly before finally looking toward John “You did mention he was rich but… How rich is he exactly?” I immediately pointed at him. “Don’t answer that”. John ignored me completely. “Last I checked was a few years ago?” he muttered casually, “and by that time he was already wealthier than any of us.” then after a beat— “Barring Mina. That woman’s terrifyingly wealthy that it’s now even funny at this point.” Jihyo admitted immediately, “That’s fair.” I sighed deeply into my water. John continued anyway because apparently betrayal built character “After I lost the NewJeans job, he actually offered me one of his businesses so I could get back on my feet.” Jihyo blinked. “…One of?” John was waving his hand as he continued “I said no.” I muttered back “Because you’re dramatic”. He look back at me as if I was a crazy person “Because you were talking about handing me an entire company for FREE. Besides, I don’t like feeling like a charity case.” I shrugged lightly. “And I respected that.”

The conversation settled quietly for a moment afterward. Not awkward. Just thoughtful. Jihyo’s expression changed slightly then. Not impressed. Understanding. The puzzle pieces clicking together for her. To why I didn’t seem particularly concerned about industry politics. Why I moved carefully around obligation. Why agreeing to this meeting despite not needing anything professionally mattered more than it normally would. She’s an interesting woman. Finally, John leaned back slightly before gesturing toward the folder sitting on the table.

“So,” he said, “we should probably explain why we’re actually here before Ben decides this entire conversation was a mistake.” I glanced toward the folder sitting on the table. It was clean, organized and it had that expensive paper too “Please tell me that’s not the—” both of them answered at the same time “— it’s the NDA”.  I leaned back slowly afterward. “…You know, most normal people buy someone dinner before legally binding them into psychological warfare.”

“That’s HR’s job,” John muttered “I hate that you said that with confidence.” Jihyo laughed softly under her breath while sliding the folder closer toward me. The atmosphere loosened slightly again after that. Not fully relaxed, but enough. That was good. People usually spoke more honestly once rooms stopped feeling interrogative. I opened the folder afterward, flipping through the pages casually while half-listening to the quiet jazz drifting somewhere deeper inside the café. Standard confidentiality clauses first. Entertainment privacy. Internal operational discretion. Then— there it was “This is broader than entertainment confidentiality.” Neither answered immediately. Which honestly answered enough already. I glanced up from the papers quietly. Not scandal. Not criminality. Emotional complexity. “You two are acting like you’re hiring me to negotiate a hostage situation.”

“Some days that industry feels close enough,” Jihyo muttered dryly. Fair. I skimmed through the rest carefully. Nothing unreasonable. Strict. But understandable. Honestly, if anything, the wording felt protective more than threatening. That interested me. I signed the final page anyway. Not impulsively. Consciously. That mattered. Once the folder slid back across the table toward them, the atmosphere shifted almost immediately afterward. Less guarded now. “So,” I finally said while folding my arms loosely, “what exactly am I walking into?” Jihyo looked toward John briefly before answering. “Burnout.”

Simple answer. Honest and incomplete, I stayed quiet. People usually filled silence when they wanted understanding badly enough. Sure enough, John continued. “Yeji adapted by over-functioning after Lia’s hiatus,” he said calmly. “The others adapted around her. And after enough time passed, everyone stopped recognizing how unhealthy it became.” Yeah. I’d seen versions of that before. Not identical. But familiar enough to leave a bad taste in my mouth anyway. “She’s preparing for a solo debut now,” Jihyo added quietly. “Which means the pressure’s only getting worse.” I nodded once slowly. That tracked psychologically. Group exhaustion could still distribute emotional burden. Solo work couldn’t. Especially not for leaders— especially not for someone already carrying too much by default.

I leaned back slightly deeper into the chair afterward while processing everything carefully. Then finally— “And the company agreed to let an outsider manage this?” That earned the faintest humorless smile from John “Jihyo asked.” So there it is, that explained the authority issue immediately. Not unlimited power. But enough institutional trust to override resistance. Dangerous amount of responsibility to hand somebody. Especially someone like me. “I’m assuming there’s a reason you’re not just assigning another internal manager.” Jihyo answered immediately “There is. He needs to understand emotional pressure without treating them like liabilities,” she continued quietly. “And he needs to care more about Yeji’s wellbeing than maintaining schedules perfectly.” That narrowed things down significantly. Most companies protect the schedule and very few said “protect the person”. I was interested in the scenario “And you think I fit that?” as I took a sip of my coffee. “I think John trusts you enough to call you.” That answer landed heavier than she probably intended.

I glanced briefly toward John afterward. He looked annoyingly calm about the entire thing.

Typical. “You’re making this sound more serious every five minutes,” I muttered. “That’s because it is serious,” John answered this time. No humor, just honesty. The atmosphere quieted slightly again afterward. Outside the café windows, the city kept moving normally, meanwhile inside this conversation, two people were essentially telling me an idol group had been quietly falling apart in slow motion long enough for veterans to finally notice. Emotionally dangerous. I rested my fingers lightly against the untouched coffee cup in front of me.

“What does Yeji know?” I asked them bluntly. “Not much yet,” Jihyo admitted. “Only that we’re trying to arrange additional support for the solo.” I was intrigued with the lack of protest “She agreed to that?” John answered quietly “Well she didn’t really argue,” that bothered me immediately. Not because agreement was bad. Because exhausted people stopped resisting help once they got too tired to fight properly. And something about the way both of them described her made me increasingly certain Yeji had already crossed into that territory a while ago. Interesting and concerning, I exhaled quietly afterward before finally asking the question both of them were obviously waiting for. “And what exactly do you want from me?” Another brief silence settled over the table. Then Jihyo answered carefully. “Help her breathe again.”

…Ahhh. That was worse somehow. The words settled strangely in my chest afterward. There was no desperation in Jihyo’s voice. No exaggerated pleading or emotional manipulation, just exhaustion. The kind that only came from watching people deteriorate slowly enough for everyone around them to normalize it. I leaned back deeper into the chair afterward while thinking quietly. Outside the café windows, the world kept on moving— but inside this table, meanwhile, two people were essentially asking me to emotionally stabilize a group leader before her first solo debut pushed her into complete collapse.

Dangerous responsibility. Especially considering the amount of authority they were apparently prepared to hand me. “And the company’s genuinely allowing this?” I asked eventually. Jihyo nodded once. “Officially, you’re being brought in as temporary personal management support for Yeji’s solo activities.” I repeated that word she said that piqued my interest, “Temporary” I repeated “For now.” Interesting wording. “And unofficially?” I asked calmly. John immediately rubbed tiredly at his forehead beside her. “There it is,” he muttered. “There WHAT is?” that man really knew how to press my buttons “The part where your psychology degree becomes annoying.”

“That sounds like projection” I said “It is projection” he admitted. Fair enough.

I rested my elbow lightly against the table afterward while studying both of them carefully “You two keep talking around something.” Neither denied it. So not scandal then. Intentional secrecy. Finally, John sighed quietly beside me “There are… emotional dynamics within our situation that aren’t exactly conventional.” That was the first genuinely direct thing either of them had said all afternoon. I stayed quiet and let him continue. “Nothing illegal,” he added immediately. “That’s really comforting, best buddy. I’m listening.” John glanced briefly toward Jihyo first, an unspoken request for permission “The girls rely on me emotionally more than most people would probably consider professionally appropriate.”

That was not a full answer. But enough of one. I leaned back slightly afterward while processing the implication quietly. Not because it surprised me. Honestly? I’d already suspected something adjacent to it the moment confidentiality expanded beyond standard entertainment protection. “And you’re telling me this because?” Jihyo answered in John’s behalf “Because if you agree to this,” Jihyo answered carefully, “there’s a chance Yeji might eventually rely on you similarly. Romantically, sexually, and emotionally.” That distinction mattered. Even if all three of us understood those lines rarely stayed clean forever inside emotionally isolated environments like theirs. I glanced briefly toward John again afterward “…How bad are your boundaries exactly?” “Better than they sound.” John was no longer planning on hiding it. “That is not a reassuring answer, best buddy.” I grinned at him. “It’s the truthful one, and will you stop calling me that?”

I stayed quiet for a few more seconds afterward while turning the situation over mentally. Emotionally exhausted idols. High-pressure environment. Isolation. Dependency. Trust structures forming around the few people allowed close enough to consistently see them as human beings. Psychologically speaking, none of this was actually shocking. Dangerous? Absolutely. Unusual? Not really. Which honestly might’ve been the worst part.

Finally, I exhaled quietly through my nose “For the record,” I muttered while reaching for my coffee again, “sleeping with Yeji is not secretly part of my career development plan.” Jihyo nearly choked on her drink immediately. Meanwhile John just closed his eyes slowly like he regretted inviting me already. “What?” I asked flatly. “You cannot say things like that with a straight face.” “I’m clarifying expectations professionally.” “That is NOT professional phrasing.” “Would you prefer a PowerPoint presentation?”

Jihyo was openly laughing into her hand now while John looked spiritually exhausted beside her. Good. That probably meant the atmosphere needed it. Eventually, though, the humor settled naturally again. And once it did, I noticed something important almost immediately. Neither of them actually looked worried about me crossing lines intentionally. Interesting. That meant this conversation wasn’t about predatory concern. It was about emotional gravity. Much more complicated. I rested my gaze briefly against the city skyline outside before eventually speaking again. “I’ll do the job,” I said calmly. “And I’ll do it properly.” The atmosphere shifted subtly afterward. Not relief exactly. Then I added “But if I think this situation is genuinely becoming psychologically dangerous for her, I’m pulling her back regardless of schedules.” John nodded immediately “Fair.” That told me more about him than the entire partial confession earlier honestly did. Because people abusing emotional dependency usually became defensive once limitations entered the conversation. John didn’t. Which meant despite however messy the situation actually was— he genuinely believed he was helping them survive.

Complicated. But genuine. The conversation settled quietly after that. Schedules. Logistics. Formalities. Nothing emotionally explosive, which honestly made me trust them slightly more. No manipulation. No emotional recruitment. No savior complex. Just concern. By the time the meeting finally started winding down, the late afternoon sunlight outside had already begun fading gold against the café windows. I stood first. Jihyo followed shortly after while John stayed seated another moment finishing the last of his coffee. As I rolled the sleeve of my hoodie back down loosely, I noticed Jihyo’s eyes briefly catch against the tattoo wrapping partially beneath my wrist near the watch, a curious gaze. Most people expected wealthy men to look cleaner than me. Less ink, lack of carelessness, less visibly damaged. Interesting thing about appearances, people trusted polished images too easily. Unfortunately for everyone involved, I stopped looking polished years ago.

The watch probably didn’t help either. And neither did the ring resting against my finger. Minimalist. Dark emerald stone. Understated enough that most people missed it completely. But people surrounded by luxury long enough eventually learned how to identify quiet money instinctively. I noticed the exact second Jihyo recognized it too. A tiny pause “…Wait,” she said slowly. Her attention lowered briefly toward the ring again “That’s Graff.” I glanced down absentmindedly “Unfortunately so”. John immediately sighed beside her “You wore THAT here? ARE YOU INSANE?!” I looked at the ring “It’s jewelry, not a nuclear weapon.”

“That ring literally requires financial screening before purchase, it’s probably worth more than this entire café” Jihyo blinked once. “…Wait seriously?” John pointed it out “Made-to-order line,” John’s voice tired “You can’t even request one unless they already know you can easily afford it.” “That sounds discriminatory,” I answered calmly. “That’s because rich people are terrifying, and specifically you are insane.” That was a fair observation. Jihyo stared at the ring another second longer before finally looking back toward me again. Not impressed or intimidated, the puzzle pieces clicking together.

Why industry politics didn’t particularly impress me. Why leverage didn’t seem to matter much to me. Why agreeing to something this emotionally complicated despite not needing anything professionally mattered more than it normally would. Eventually John stood too before glancing toward me once more. “So?” I slid both hands casually into my pockets afterward.

“You’re lucky I’m curious.” “That sounds concerning.” “It should.”

Jihyo laughed softly under her breath while shaking her head “Thank you, Ben.” That one sounded genuine enough to make refusing later significantly more difficult. Park Jihyo is a dangerous woman too, apparently.

The drive back toward the company building was quieter than expected. The late afternoon traffic crawled slowly through Seoul while soft music played somewhere low through the speakers of the car. Beside him, Jihyo rested her chin lightly against her hand while staring out the window. “You know,” he muttered eventually while stopping at another red light, “you could’ve warned me before telling Ben you thought I was sleeping with somebody.” Jihyo laughed softly beside him. “I didn’t say that.”

“You absolutely implied it.” “I implied emotional dependency.” “That sounds worse somehow.” Jihyo’s amusement faded slightly afterward though, something quieter settling into her expression instead. “…Do you think he’ll actually help?” John’s fingers tapped lightly once against the steering wheel before answering. “Yes.” No hesitation. “You trust him that much?”

“I trust him to leave if he thinks the situation’s unhealthy.” John glanced briefly toward her afterward. “Which is exactly why I trust him around them.” That answer quieted the car again. Outside the windows, the city kept moving normally. Inside it, meanwhile, the atmosphere shifted back toward concern naturally once Ben’s presence disappeared from the conversation. Eventually Jihyo exhaled softly. “We should talk to Yeji tomorrow.” John nodded once immediately “She’ll try to downplay it.” Jihyo agreed “I know. She’ll also think this is her fault somehow.” That earned the faintest tired smile out of him. Leader instincts, unfortunately predictable.

It happened on Dahyun’s day— which unfortunately meant Jihyo technically had to negotiate for John first. Dahyun had been comfortably laying across the dorm couch earlier that evening with John half-trapped beneath her while some movie played in the background neither of them were actually paying attention to. The moment Jihyo explained she needed to borrow him tomorrow for something related to ITZY, “So let me get this straight, you’re taking my boyfriend during my rotation” Dahyun immediately narrowed her eyes in suspicion “… to have him meet with some other woman?” Dahyun said feigning a reaction as if what Jihyo was asking was absolutely monstrous. “It’s work related. And this is Yeji we’re talking about— not some random woman” she pointed out. “That somehow sounds more criminal.” Dahyun told her while tightening her grip on John’s chest, John already looked exhausted before the conversation even properly started “Dahyun.” he was also trying to convince her by patting her head. “No, no.” Dahyun waved him off dramatically before looking back toward Jihyo instead. “You may borrow him temporarily under one condition.” Jihyo already knew that tone, more importantly— Dahyun knew the cards were in her favor “…What condition?” Jihyo asked carefully. Dangerous, more importantly— Dahyun knew the cards were in her favor “…What condition?” Jihyo asked carefully. Dahyun hummed thoughtfully while still laying comfortably across John like she physically intended to prevent him from leaving the couch—then slowly “The next time he’s on my rotation, nobody interrupts us.” John muttered tiredly beneath her “That’s already the rule.” Dahyun tightened her arms around him slightly afterward “No. I mean NOBODY interrupts us.” A dangerous emphasis. Jihyo immediately narrowed her eyes in suspicion “…What exactly are you planning?” Dahyun gasped dramatically “You think so lowly of me.”

“It means,” Dahyun continued proudly, “I want twenty-four uninterrupted hours where nobody steals him because they suddenly ‘miss him emotionally’ or because Sana decides she wants attention or because Jeongyeon unnie gets jealous halfway through the day.” From somewhere deeper inside the dorm, Jeongyeon yelled immediately “I HEARD THAT.” Dahyun yelled back “GOOD.” John looked exhausted instantly “…Why are you all like this?” Jeongyeon answered from the other room “Because you enabled it!” That was valid, I spoil all of them in their own way. Jihyo was already laughing softly into her hand now while Dahyun continued like a lawyer finalizing contract terms “I want breakfast together” she raised one finger, “Lunch together,” another finger “Dinner together,” another “And if anyone tries emotionally manipulating their way into my day, I reserve the right to become annoying about it for an entire next month.”

“That sounds threatening,” John muttered. “It IS threatening.” Jihyo shook her head while still laughing quietly “Fair enough. You treat your relationship like custody negotiations.” Dahyun looked back at John, “That’s because sharing requires organization.” Dahyun looked genuinely proud afterward though. Then finally she loosened her grip around John slightly before giving him a kiss and pointing toward Jihyo. “Approved. But you owe me too” Dahyun was looking at John’s concerned face “…What kind of owe?” Dahyun smiled immediately. “I want you to be rough, make me scream so hard no one gets to sleep that night” John closed his eyes slowly “That’s somehow worse”. And just like that, the negotiation ended.

The following afternoon, Jihyo and John found Yeji between rehearsal breaks. The practice room was quieter than usual, though the silence felt more like exhaustion than peace. Backup dancers rested near the mirrored walls while staff members quietly reorganized equipment nearby. Yeji herself sat off toward the corner with a tablet resting against her lap, eyes fixed on schedules even during downtime. Jihyo noticed immediately that Yeji still hadn’t really learned how to stop working even while technically resting.

Yeji looked up once they approached before immediately straightening slightly. “Oh— hello Jihyo unnie, and John Manager-nim.” There it was again. Automatic composure. “You busy?” Jihyo asked gently. Yeji glanced briefly toward the tablet before shaking her head. “Not really.” John and Jihyo exchanged the briefest glance. That was a lie, a small one though “Can we steal you to talk for a bit?” Jihyo asked. Yeji hesitated only briefly before nodding.

The conversation itself happened inside one of the smaller meeting rooms deeper inside the building. Quiet. Private. Neutral enough not to immediately feel intimidating. Yeji sat across from them while loosely holding onto an unopened bottled drink the entire time. Not nervous exactly, but she was guarded. Jihyo spoke first “We’re arranging additional personal management support for your solo preparations.” Yeji blinked once “…Additional management?” John clarified calmly “Temporary though. Mostly for workload management, schedule restructuring, and helping you navigate solo activities.” Yeji nodded slowly at first, though the hesitation still lingered afterward.

“Is it… because I’m struggling?” Straight to the point “No,” Jihyo answered gently. “Because solo promotions are different from group activities.” John nodded once beside her. “In a group, pressure gets distributed naturally. Solo schedules don’t work like that.” Yeji lowered her eyes briefly toward the bottle in her hands afterward. “I can handle it.” There it is again. Not “I’m okay.” Just “I can endure it.”

Jihyo leaned slightly forward afterward. “We know you can,” she said softly. “And that’s not the issue.” Silence settled briefly across the room. Yeji didn’t argue again after that. Eventually she glanced back toward John instead “…Who is it?” “A friend of mine, his name is Sung Benjamin” that immediately earned the faintest uncertainty across her expression. Reasonable reaction, John noticed it too “He’s qualified,” he added calmly. Yeji looked mildly embarrassed immediately afterward “I didn’t say he wasn’t.” “You were thinking it.” “…Maybe a little.”

That was a good reaction, a tiny bit of personality surfacing beneath the exhaustion. A human response. Not leader one. Jihyo smiled faintly while John continued “A few years ago there was an idol whose career was basically collapsing after a severe mental breakdown.” He paused briefly afterward. “Ben was one of the people responsible for helping them recover.” Yeji’s expression shifted slightly. Everyone in the industry knew stories like that. Some idols disappeared quietly and never fully came back afterward.

“He never took public credit for it,” Jihyo added softly. “Most people don’t even know he was involved.” That seemed to catch Yeji’s attention more than the actual achievement itself. “He’s not there to control you,” Jihyo continued carefully. “His job is to prioritize your well-being and make sure this doesn’t destroy you.” The room quieted briefly again afterward “…Okay.” No enthusiasm, not resistant either. Just tired honesty. Honestly, that probably worried Jihyo more than if Yeji had argued.

The company building felt quieter than expected when I arrived the next afternoon. A disciplined environment. People moved quickly, conversations stayed low, schedules existed five minutes ahead of wherever everybody currently stood. Entertainment companies always felt like that to me— entire buildings functioning on controlled exhaustion while pretending it was passion instead. One of the staff members assigned to guide me through the building glanced toward me every few seconds while walking. I don’t think it was recognition. Not familiarity either. My guess is probably trying to figure out whether I was important, connected, or somebody dangerous to accidentally disrespect. The tattoos usually complicated that process for people. Good— I preferred it that way.

“You’ll be meeting with Yeji-ssi inside,” the staff member explained carefully once we reached one of the upper floors. “The rehearsal break should still have around twenty minutes left.” Twenty minutes. Not enough rest for a day of rehearsals. The practice room doors were partially open when we arrived. Music echoed faintly inside while dancers stretched near the mirrored walls and staff members reorganized equipment nearby. And immediately— there she is.

Yeji sat near the corner of the room with a tablet balanced against one knee while speaking quietly with one of the choreographers. Even from a distance, I noticed the exhaustion almost instantly. Not because she looked weak. Because she looked functional. That distinction mattered. People expected burnout to look dramatic. It rarely did. Most of the time it just looked like someone becoming increasingly efficient at surviving themselves. It was interesting… and concerning too.

The staff member quietly excused himself afterward, leaving me standing near the entrance while Yeji finally noticed the movement near the doorway. Her eyes landed on me briefly. Then narrowed slightly in recognition. Not recognition of me specifically it was a recognition of “Oh. That’s probably him.” That was professional instinct.

I raised one hand casually in greeting “Hi.” The response came a second later than normal. Not rude. Tired “…Hi.” her voice calmer than I expected. Yeji stood shortly afterward while the choreographer beside her quietly excused himself, leaving the two of us awkwardly existing near the edge of the practice room for a few seconds.

“You’re Benjamin-ssi?” “There’s a horrifying possibility John forgot to warn you about me, but yes.” That earned the faintest blink out of her “Just call me Ben, formalities aren’t really my thing. At least she still reacted to humor.

“I’m Yeji.” “I don’t think there’s anyone in this building that doesn’t know you, Yeji. But it’s a pleasure to official meet you.” That finally earned the smallest hint of amusement at the corner of her mouth before it disappeared almost immediately afterward. There were still tiny flashes of personality beneath exhaustion— those mattered more than people realized.

I glanced briefly around the practice room afterward. Empty water bottles. Schedules. Music paused mid-track. Dancers resting against mirrored walls. Nobody in this room looked fully rested. But Yeji somehow still looked the most tired. “You just finished rehearsal?” I asked casually “We’re still in the middle of it.” Well… even worse than what I had in mind. I nodded slowly afterward while mentally recalculating the schedule standards they were probably operating under. Unpleasant numbers already forming. Yeji stayed quiet for a moment before eventually speaking again. “John said you’d be helping with the solo.”

“Allegedly.” That earned another small reaction from her. “You don’t sound very confident.” “I’m confident,” I answered calmly. “I just think the word ‘helping’ creates unrealistic expectations.” That actually made her pause. Not offended but thinking. It was good sign. I leaned lightly against the wall afterward while studying her expression carefully. Guarded. Polite. Holding herself together very intentionally. And underneath all of that— tired enough that even standing still looked like effort. Jihyo wasn’t overreacting. Not even slightly.

Eventually Yeji glanced toward the practice room floor again before speaking more quietly. “Did… they tell you about me?” Interesting wording. Not “the situation”, but “Me”.

I answered carefully “They told me enough.” Yeji nodded once slowly afterward. Then after a brief pause “…And you still agreed?” There it is. That one mattered. Not professionally, but emotionally. She is an interesting girl. I stayed quiet for a second before eventually answering honestly. “Curiosity mostly.” That seemed to surprise her slightly “Curiosity?”

“I wanted to see if John was exaggerating.” “…Was he?”

I glanced around the practice room once more. The schedules. The atmosphere. Her exhaustion. Then eventually back toward her again “No,” I answered calmly. “If anything, he undersold it.” The room quieted briefly after that. Not awkward. Just honest. And for the first time since I arrived, Yeji stopped looking like she was trying to perform normalcy perfectly.

The first thing I learned about idol rehearsal schedules was that everybody lied about breaks. A “ten minute break” somehow became reviewing choreography, checking recordings, answering staff questions, adjusting wardrobe fittings, discussing camera positioning, or practicing transitions. Which meant nobody was actually resting. An intriguing and horrible system. I stayed mostly quiet during the first few days. I observed, listened, and watched patterns. That part mattered more than people realized because burnout didn’t usually expose itself through dramatic collapse first. It exposed itself through normalization— and unfortunately, Yeji had normalized an alarming amount already.

“You skipped lunch” the words left my mouth casually while she remained crouched near the practice room monitor reviewing another playback recording. Without even looking up “I’ll eat later.” It wasn’t denial but more of delaying which was functionally worse. I leaned lightly against the mirrored wall afterward while glancing toward the untouched food container sitting beside her “Define later” I asked invasively. “After rehearsal.”

“You’ve said that twice already” that finally earned a small pause out of her before she looked up toward me properly. She knew that she caught “I’m busy” I still pointed to the food container with her name “Unfortunately true”. Yeji looked back down toward the monitor afterward like that settled the conversation. “You’re running on caffeine and muscle memory right now”. That earned the faintest crease between her brows immediately “…I’m fine.” I stayed quiet for a second afterward before speaking again. “You know people usually become defensive when they already know something’s unhealthy, right?” That finally made her fully look up at me “I’m not being defensive” with a tone that was ironically more defensive than angry. “Uh huh” I let her hear that while looking unconvinced “…I’m not” she tries to assure me.  “Still counts if you say it twice”.

That clearly irritated her slightly. Good. Not because upsetting her mattered. But because frustration meant she was reacting honestly instead of professionally. Much more useful. Yeji finally set the tablet down beside her afterward. “You’ve been here three days.” I pointed back at her “Correct”. And with furrowed brows “And somehow you already think you understand how this works?” There it was— a comment not out of ego, but a sense of responsibility and it was an important difference. I straightened slightly from the wall afterward. “No,” I answered calmly. “I think you’ve been functioning like this long enough that everybody around you stopped questioning it.” The room quieted immediately after that. Not dramatic silence. Just uncomfortable honesty. Yeji folded her arms loosely afterward. “This is normal during comeback preparation.” I pointed out that “Normal and healthy aren’t interchangeable concepts.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” There was no hostility in her voice, just exhaustion. And underneath it— something dangerously close to guilt. I studied her quietly for another second before eventually asking “When’s the last time you slept properly?” Yeji answered too quickly “I sleep”. Not what I asked “There’s a difference between unconsciousness and rest”. That visibly frustrated her now. A tiny reaction, but a real one nonetheless. That was good. “People are depending on me right now,” she answered quietly afterward “I don’t really have the luxury of slowing down.” The real problem was starting to show itself, it was not perfectionism— but obligation. I nodded slowly afterward “That explains the behavior”. Yeji blinked once “…Behavior?”

“Overworking. Skipping meals. Monitoring everybody else before yourself.” I gestured lightly toward the practice room around us. “You’re treating self-destruction like responsibility”. That one landed. Immediately. Her expression shifted before she could fully stop it. For a second I genuinely thought she might argue again. “…You talk like a psychologist” she said looking away instead. “I paid an irresponsible amount of money to become one.” That finally pulled the faintest unwilling reaction out of her again. Small. But there.

I pushed off the wall afterward before casually picking up the untouched food container beside her and holding it out “Eat”. Yeji stared at me for a second “Are you always this pushy?” before taking the container from my hands. “No,” I answered honestly. “Usually people rest before I need to become annoying” I pointed out. “That sounds threatening” she told me. “It’s a promise.” That earned an actual visible exhale out of her this time. Not quite laughter. Closer to disbelief. But honestly? It was probably the first emotionally genuine reaction she’d had all afternoon. I would consider that progress.

The strange thing about exhaustion was how quickly people built personalities around it. By the second week, I started noticing patterns that had nothing to do with choreography anymore. Yeji automatically checked everybody else’s condition before acknowledging her own. She apologized whenever staff members adjusted schedules around her. She thanked people for things that should’ve been expected. And somehow— she still looked mildly uncomfortable anytime I forced her to sit down for longer than five consecutive minutes. It’s starting to be concerning. “You’re staring again” her voice pulled me out of thought while we sat near one of the side rehearsal rooms waiting for a delayed recording setup to finish “I’m observing” she squinted her eyes at me “That sounds creepier somehow”

“That’s because psychology as a profession is fundamentally invasive.” Yeji looked down briefly afterward, unsuccessfully hiding the faint reaction at the corner of her mouth. It is much easier to make her smile when she forgot she was supposed to act composed. The room settled quietly afterward. Staff members moved back and forth through the hallway outside while somebody farther down the corridor tested audio loud enough to echo faintly through the walls. It was just me and Yeji at the edge of the practice room then she suddenly broke the silence “…You really think I’m that bad?” The question didn’t defensive this time. I leaned back slightly in the chair afterward before answering carefully. “I think you got used to functioning exhausted.” Yeji lowered her eyes toward the bottled drink resting between her hands “That’s normal here”.

“See, that sentence specifically is the problem.” That earned the faintest crease between her brows again. “You keep talking like I’m doing something wrong.” A hint of guilt in her voice. I stayed quiet for a second before eventually shaking my head. “I don’t think you’re doing anything wrong,” I glanced briefly toward the hallway outside afterward, “Honest opinion? I believe you adapted to survive an environment that rewards self-destruction”. The room quieted again afterward. Yeji didn’t respond immediately this time. Instead she sat there silently turning the unopened drink slowly between her hands while thinking. People became quieter once conversations started reaching places they usually avoided, so this was another good sign. Eventually she exhaled softly “…You sound like you hate this industry, do you?” Interesting question. “I think this industry confuses endurance with worth.” That made her look at me properly again. Not because the statement shocked her. Because it sounded familiar.

I continued before she could disappear back into her own head again “That doesn’t mean I think idols are weak for enduring it,” I added calmly “I just think people stop questioning unhealthy things once enough talented people survive them”. Yeji stayed quiet afterward. Thinking again “…John talks similarly sometimes”. That was the first time I’ve been compared with John and that answer honestly explained more than she probably realized “TWICE sunbaenim”. The words left her mouth casually. Then immediately afterward, Yeji looked mildly caught off guard that she said it aloud at all. I leaned back slightly deeper into the chair afterward. “He was around during a pretty ugly part of my life”. Yeji didn’t pry— another interesting thing about her. Most people became more curious once they sensed damage in somebody else. Yeji instead looked almost careful around it. Like she understood boundaries too well. “…And you trust him too?” she asked quietly.

I laughed softly once under my breath “Unfortunately for me— I trust him with my life.” That finally earned another small reaction out of her. Tiny moments of ease were becoming more frequent now. Not comfort yet just a rhythm and that mattered. Outside the hallway, somebody called for Yeji a few moments later to prepare for the next recording setup. The moment her name was called, her posture immediately shifted again. Straightened. Focused. Ready. And that happened too fast, it was more dangerous behavior I got to see.

Yeji stood quickly afterward before instinctively reaching for the tablet and schedule folder beside her at the same time. Then paused. Because I was already holding one of them “…You don’t need to carry that”. I looked at her before calmly answering “You also don’t need to carry everything yourself”. That immediately earned a look from her. Not irritation or gratitude, it was something more complicated. Like she didn’t fully know what to do with somebody noticing things she normally handled automatically.

The next week became progressively worse in ways most people probably wouldn’t have noticed. Unfortunately for everyone involved, noticing things was apparently my job now. Schedules tightened. Rehearsals ran longer. Sleep became negotiable. And somewhere in the middle of all that, Yeji slowly started looking less like somebody preparing for a solo debut and more like somebody trying to outrun exhaustion through sheer momentum alone. It was a very common strategy, and an extremely risky one at that.  The problem with highly functional people was that they usually collapsed privately first. Which meant by the time everyone else noticed— things were already bad.

I started restructuring what I could quietly. Longer transition gaps between rehearsals. Mandatory meal windows disguised as schedule adjustments. Reducing unnecessary media overlap. Pushing less urgent recordings later whenever possible. Small changes. But Yeji noticed every single one immediately. Of course she did. “You moved the dance review again” the accusation came the moment she stepped into the hallway outside one of the rehearsal rooms late that evening.  I glanced up from the schedule tablet in my hands “I optimized it”. She pointed out my decision “You delayed it” it took a second for me to correct her “Those are emotionally different statements”. She looked serious this time “That doesn’t answer my question. Why?” she sounded more awake when frustrated.

I looked at Yeji in her eyes, I wasn’t going to back down on this “You slept four hours.” She didn’t see what was wrong with that, “It’s plenty enough” she said.  “The hell it is,” I answered neutrally “That’s barely survival”. Yeji folded her arms loosely afterward “We don’t have enough time right now to prioritize comfort”. Interesting wording, comfort— not health. “You think sleep is a luxury,” I observed quietly “I think this debut matters.” I could tell from that response that she wasn’t afraid of failure, It was the fear of disappointing people.

The hallway quieted briefly afterward while staff members moved around farther down the corridor preparing equipment for the next setup. Yeji looked exhausted. But more than that— she looked frustrated that exhaustion was becoming visible at all. “You’re treating yourself like a deadline instead of a person again,” I said eventually. That immediately made her expression tighten slightly. Not because the statement offended her, my words landed too accurately. “You make it sound simple” she told me. “It’s not simple” I disagreed with that observation. “Then stop talking like it is.” There it is. First genuine emotional pushback. Honestly, it was overdue too. I stayed quiet for a second afterward before answering more carefully. “I don’t think taking care of yourself is simple,” I said calmly. “I think you’ve spent so long believing your value comes from enduring things that resting now feels irresponsible.”

The silence afterward felt heavier. Not dramatic. Just honest enough to become uncomfortable. Yeji looked away first “…People are counting on me,” she muttered quietly. “And you think collapsing helps them?” I pointed that out. “That’s not what I said” she tried to argue. “No,” I agreed softly. “But it’s where this ends if you keep going like this.” That one landed harder. Immediately because for the first time since I met her, Yeji didn’t have a response ready. Just tired silence. Then eventually somebody farther down the hallway called her name again Schedule continuing. Yeji exhaled softly afterward before pushing herself away from the wall “…I have to go.”

“I know” she took maybe two steps before stopping unexpectedly. Then without fully turning back “…You’re really annoying, you know that?” she wasn’t mad or dismissive. And honesty I smiled faintly afterward “I’ve been told worse”. That finally earned the smallest breath of laughter out of her before she disappeared farther down the hallway again and that worried me more than the arguments did. Because people didn’t start letting somebody disrupt their coping mechanisms unless exhaustion was finally beginning to outweigh resistance.

After that, something subtle changed between them. Not closeness or comfort. Just familiarity settling into places where resistance used to exist. Yeji still argued occasionally whenever Ben rearranged parts of her schedule, but the arguments started sounding less like rejection and more like somebody frustrated that another person kept noticing things she was trying very hard to ignore. Unfortunately for her, Ben was professionally difficult to discourage “You moved the recording review again.” I didn’t even look at her since that was a sentence I’ve heard too many times, “You say that like I committed tax fraud.”

She sounded serious this time, “You’re delaying it.” “No, I optimized it.” “That’s still delaying it.” “Emotionally different.”

Yeji sighed tiredly afterward while pinching lightly at the bridge of her nose. I noticed another thing too during those days. Yeji’s exhaustion no longer looked sharp. Earlier on, she burned brightly— tense, overfocused, constantly moving like momentum alone kept her upright. Now? Everything about her started looking quieter. And somehow that worried him more. People expected burnout to look explosive. Most of the time it actually looked like somebody slowly disappearing inside their own routines. The first moment that genuinely unsettled him happened during choreography rehearsals late one evening.

One of the dancers missed a formation transition badly enough for the music to stop mid-run. Normally, Yeji would’ve immediately stepped in to help correct positioning before staff members even asked. This time she just stood there silently for a second too long while staring toward the mirrored wall. Barely noticeable for people, but enough for me. The choreographer repeated the correction afterward and Yeji apologized immediately despite the mistake not even being hers. Still carrying responsibility for things beyond her control. But slower now. Like even guilt was becoming exhausting. I didn’t say anything about it immediately, I just started to observe her more carefully afterward.

And the more I watched, the more something about her behavior started feeling wrong in a way exhaustion alone couldn’t fully explain anymore. Because Yeji wasn’t just tired now. She was starting to detach from things she normally cared about instinctively. That part worried me the most. I didn’t mention it immediately. Mostly because I was still trying to figure out whether I was overanalyzing things or not. Occupational hazard. Psychology teaches you very quickly that there’s a dangerous difference between observing patterns and projecting fears onto them.  And I’d made enough mistakes in my life already to know I wasn’t immune to the latter.

But the feeling stayed. Something about Yeji had changed. Not externally enough for most people to notice. She still rehearsed. Still smiled when cameras appeared. Still thanked staff members politely. Still carried herself like a dependable leader. But now it all felt… quieter. Like she was performing responsibility from memory instead of conviction. That thought sat badly with me for the rest of the week. The final rehearsal stretch before the solo debut became brutal even by industry standards. Everybody looked exhausted. Yeji somehow looked both exhausted and emotionally absent at the same time. That combination started to raise alarms in my head. I started catching smaller things afterward. She stopped checking playback monitors as obsessively. Stopped correcting tiny choreography inconsistencies immediately. Stopped rereading schedules during every spare moment. At first glance, somebody probably would’ve called that improvement. I didn’t. Because none of it felt like relief. It felt like withdrawal. And that scared me more than any of her overworking ever did. One night after rehearsals ended, I found myself walking through one of the quieter hallways near the upper practice rooms while answering emails on my phone. The building had mostly emptied out already. Only a few staff members still moved between floors. Then I noticed one of the rehearsal room doors partially open. Music wasn’t playing inside. I glanced up briefly while passing by— and stopped walking immediately afterward.

Yeji sat alone near the mirrored wall with her knees loosely pulled closer toward herself while staring blankly at the dark practice room floor. No tablet. No schedules. No reviewing choreography… Just silence. Something unpleasant settled heavily in my chest immediately afterward. Because suddenly every small behavioral shift from the past week connected all at once in my head. Shit, how did I miss that?

I stayed near the doorway for a second longer than normal before finally speaking “You know sitting alone in dark rehearsal rooms is usually how horror movies start, right?” The response came slowly. Not startled. Just delayed “…You’d survive the movie.” that was her reaction? Not a “Hi” or “You scared me”. Just quiet acknowledgment that I existed there beside her. I stepped inside carefully afterward before closing the door behind me halfway. Not trapped. Just quieter. Yeji still hadn’t moved much. Didn’t look embarrassed either. That worried me immediately. I lowered myself down beside the mirrored wall a short distance away afterward, giving her space.

For a while neither of us spoke. The silence didn’t feel awkward. Just heavy. Then eventually “…Do you ever wonder if people can just run out of wanting things?” She sounded like she was drowning in hopelessness. For the first time since taking this job, I genuinely felt uncertain about whether I was equipped to handle what came next.

I stayed quiet for a second too long afterward. Not because I didn’t hear her. Because I was trying very carefully not to answer that question carelessly. People said dangerous things quietly long before they ever acted on them loudly. And something about the way Yeji asked that didn’t feel hypothetical at all. Eventually I leaned my head lightly back against the mirrored wall behind me before answering honestly “Yeah, I do. All the time actually”. Yeji didn’t look surprised by the answer “I think people get exhausted enough that eventually wanting things starts feeling heavier than giving them up” I continued.  The room stayed silent afterward. The faint hum of the building’s ventilation somewhere above us. Yeji lowered her eyes toward the floor again “…That sounds depressing.”

“It’s psychology.” I shrugged lightly. “We market depression professionally”. That finally earned the faintest breath of amusement out of her. Small and weak, but real enough that I kept talking afterward “The important part is that exhaustion lies to people”. Yeji stayed quiet while listening. “It starts convincing you that permanent decisions are rational solutions to temporary emotional states.” that one landed immediately. I could tell. Not because she reacted dramatically. Because she went still— dangerously still. I kept my voice calm afterward despite the unpleasant realization slowly settling heavier in my chest “You’ve been thinking about leaving, haven’t you.” Not a question, I have fears that she was this far and this had just confirmed my fears.

Silence stretched between us immediately afterward. Long enough that a part of me almost wished I was horrendously wrong this time. Yeji eventually broke the silence “…I don’t know if I can keep doing this.” That was conventionally worse than just wanting to quit. Because she sounded guilty about reaching the thought. I exhaled slowly through my nose afterward while trying very carefully not to mishandle what this conversation was actually becoming. This wasn’t burnout anymore. This was somebody emotionally detaching from their own future. Very dangerous territory, dangerous enough that the wrong sequence of words would fuck everything up.

“You don’t need to decide your entire life tonight” Yeji laughed softly once under her breath afterward. No amusement in it “That’s easy for you to say”. There was no hostility in those words— just tired enough that hope itself probably sounded unrealistic right now. “I’m serious.” I looked toward her properly afterward. “You’re exhausted, overworked, emotionally isolated, and carrying enough pressure to distort your judgment.”

“You make me sound unstable” those words were wrong, she isn’t unstable— she was just pushed near her breaking point, and that was a far breaking point. “I think you’ve been strong for too long without resting properly” I paused briefly “Those aren’t the same thing.” That quieted her immediately again. This was an important distinction. Because the last thing she needed right now was to feel broken on top of exhausted. Yeji pulled her knees slightly closer afterward while staring down toward the floor “…Everybody keeps depending on me.” That was the obligation shackled to her. Always obligation. “And somewhere along the way,” she continued quietly, “I think I stopped knowing if I still wanted any of this for myself.”

That one hurt to hear. Not because it sounded dramatic. Because it sounded honest. It was that moment I suddenly understood why Jihyo sounded so worried back at the café. Because this wasn’t somebody collapsing loudly. This was somebody quietly preparing themselves to disappear from a life they no longer believed they were surviving correctly. I rubbed lightly at my forehead afterward before speaking again “Can I say something potentially annoying?” That earned the faintest glance toward me “…You usually do anyway, why ask permission now?”. Good a tiny reaction like that meant that she’s still there, Yeji wasn’t far gone.

“I think you’ve spent so long treating yourself like a responsibility that you forgot you’re also a person” the silence afterward felt heavier than anything else we’d said all night. Yeji looked away first. And for the first time since I met her, she genuinely looked close to crying.

That scared me more than if she actually cried immediately. Because people like Yeji didn’t usually break all at once. They held everything together for so long that by the time emotion finally surfaced, it usually meant they were already dangerously close to their limit. She kept looking away from me like maintaining eye contact would make the conversation too real somehow “…I don’t know how to stop”. That sounded like an exhaustion so deeply integrated into her identity that she genuinely no longer understood what existing outside of it looked like.

I answered carefully “You don’t have to figure that out tonight.” Yeji laughed softly again beneath her breath. Still tired. Still hollow. “But tomorrow still happens.” That one landed harder than she probably intended— because she was right. Schedules still existed. The debut is still happening. Expectations still existed. That was the ugly truth, part of what made this industry so psychologically dangerous was how little space it gave people to fall apart safely. I stayed quiet for a second afterward before speaking again.

“Okay.” I nodded once slowly. “Then don’t think about next month. Or next year. Or whether you stay in the industry forever.” Yeji finally looked toward me properly again “Then what am I supposed to think about?” I pointed at the clock “Tonight, for starters.” That quieted her immediately. I continued before she could spiral back into her own head again “You don’t need to decide your entire future while emotionally exhausted.”

“That sounds irresponsible” her instinctive belief that suffering somehow produced better decisions. “No,” I answered calmly “What’s irresponsible is making permanent decisions while psychologically cornered”. The room went silent again afterward. But this time the silence felt different. Less detached and more fragile. Yeji lowered her eyes slowly afterward before finally admitting something quieter than everything else she’d said so far “I’m scared that if I stop even for a second, everything will fall apart.”

That was her real fear. Not failure. Not criticism. Collapse. And she was dangerously near the edge of collapsing too.  I leaned my head lightly back against the mirrored wall again afterward before answering honestly “You know what the worst part is?”. Yeji blinked once tiredly “What?” I looked towards Yeji “You actually believe the people around you only deserve the version of you that’s suffering correctly”. That one hit immediately. I saw it happen in real time. Her expression tightened slightly before she looked away again too quickly and suddenly, I understood something else too. Yeji didn’t just feel responsible for people. She felt that she was easily replaceable. Like the moment she stopped functioning perfectly, somebody better deserved her place instead.

That kind of thinking destroyed people slowly. I rubbed lightly at my jaw afterward while trying very carefully to choose my next words correctly. Because honestly? I still wasn’t fully confident I had the right words, I just knew the wrong words and that I should avoid those. “I’m going to tell you something professionally irresponsible now”. That finally earned the faintest confused reaction out of her “…That sounds concerning.” I laughed a bit “It probably is.” I looked toward her properly afterward. “I don’t think you actually want to leave”. The room quieted instantly. Not because she disagreed. Because she needed to hear the rest.

“I think you want the pain to stop,” I continued softly “And right now your brain is trying to convince you those are the same thing.” Yeji stared at the floor silently afterward. Then very quietly “What if it never stops?” That was the moment I realized this had already gone far beyond anything I could safely handle through professionalism alone. The room stayed silent for a while after Yeji asked that question and I didn’t answer immediately, because honestly— I didn’t have an immediate answer. People liked imagining psychology experts as individuals who always knew the right thing to say during emotional collapse. In reality, most of the job was quietly hoping your words reached someone before their hopelessness did. Because false reassurance would’ve insulted her intelligence. Eventually I exhaled quietly through my nose before answering honestly “Then we adapt”. Yeji blinked slightly. Not the answer she expected “You say that like it’s simple.”

“It’s not simple.” I shook my head lightly afterward. “But neither is convincing yourself you need to disappear just because you’re exhausted.” that quieted her again. I leaned my arms loosely over my knees afterward while looking toward the dark practice room floor ahead of us. “You know the biggest lie high-functioning people tell themselves?” Yeji looked toward me quietly. “That needing rest means they failed” her expression shifted immediately. “I don’t think you actually want to quit” I carried on talking, “I think you’re emotionally cornered enough that you started treating self-removal like responsibility.” The room stayed completely still afterward, the exhaustion finally being spoken out loud instead of performed through professionalism.

Yeji lowered her eyes slowly “…I hate how accurately you read people”. I sighed lightly. “Trust me, it’s significantly less fun from this side.” That finally earned another small breath of laughter out of her. It was a fragile laugh, but better. Then eventually she spoke again “What if I disappoint everyone?”

There it was again— the fear of failing others. Always others. I answered carefully. “You’ve attached your worth to how much suffering you can endure for people.” I glanced toward her briefly afterward. “That’s not leadership. That’s self-destruction with a good marketing team”. That one made her laugh properly. Real enough that it echoed faintly through the otherwise empty practice room. That sound alone relieved something in my chest I didn’t realize had been tightening for the past hour. Yeji rubbed lightly at her eyes afterward before exhaling slowly “You really are annoying.”

“There it is,” I smiled in relief “That’s the version of you I’ve been waiting to hear again.” That immediately made her pause. The room quieted again afterward, it was softer this time— less hopeless. Yeji stared toward the floor silently for a few seconds longer before eventually asking “You really think I can still do this?” A careful question yet still a dangerous one too. Because this wasn’t asking if the debut would succeed but asking if she was still capable of her role without self-imploding. I answered honestly “I think you’re exhausted enough that you stopped recognizing yourself properly.” Yeji listened quietly. “And I think making permanent decisions from that emotional state would be unfair to yourself”.  Another silence settled afterward then finally she added “I don’t want to disappear.”

That was when I saw the real Yeji. Not Yeji the leader or Yeji the idol— Just Yeji. And that was probably the first moment since taking this job that I genuinely believed she was going to survive this properly. The relief that followed that realization hit harder than expected. Because suddenly I became a little too aware that this situation had already stopped feeling professionally distant to me a while ago. Yeji turned toward me slightly afterward. Still tired and fragile, but present again. And for a few seconds neither of us spoke. We just sat there quietly in the dim practice room while the city outside the building kept moving completely unaware that somebody inside had just barely talked themselves back from disappearing emotionally.

“Thank you” it were simple words. Honest ones too. I nodded once lightly afterward “You don’t need to thank me for staying”. The moment the sentence left my mouth, I saw the shift happen. It was tiny, barely visible. Because suddenly Yeji looked at me differently. Not as a manager or a nosy-pain-in-the-ass psychology major or just somebody temporarily hired to help her survive the recent schedules— just someone she emotionally found herself reaching toward instinctively. The timing was dangerous too. Honestly? I probably should’ve looked away first.

Instead, Yeji moved before I fully processed the expression on her face. Small movement. Careful movement. Like she was still uncertain even while choosing it. Then suddenly— warmth against my lips. Brief and soft. Hesitant enough that it almost felt like a question instead of a kiss, and somehow that made it hit infinitely harder. For a second neither of us moved afterward. Not because the kiss shocked me. Because my brain was trying very hard to decide whether responding to it would immediately make me a terrible person professionally. Occupationally inconvenient timing.

Yeji pulled back first. Not far. Just enough that I could finally properly see the expression on her face. And honestly? That destroyed any possibility of misunderstanding what just happened. She didn’t look impulsive. She didn’t look emotionally unstable. There wasn’t even a look of embarrassment. Just terrified of being rejected for choosing something selfish for once. Shit… a dangerous realization. A VERY DANGEROUS realization hit me “You probably shouldn’t have done that,” I said quietly, not harsh— just honest. Yeji lowered her eyes immediately afterward “…I know”. No defensiveness, no regret either. That was an important difference.

The silence stretched between us again for a few seconds before I finally rubbed lightly at my forehead and exhaled quietly through my nose. Because unfortunately, professionalism became significantly harder to maintain once somebody looked at you like you were the first place they emotionally felt safe landing in months. Terrible design flaw in humanity honestly, and one that I wasn’t immune to either. “You’re emotionally exhausted,” I continued carefully. “And I need you to understand that I’m taking that seriously.” Yeji nodded once slowly “I know.”

“That kiss can’t become something you use because you’re falling apart.” that one hurt her slightly. I saw it immediately. Not because she thought I was rejecting her. Because she thought I misunderstood her. Yeji looked toward the floor quietly for a second before finally answering “I didn’t do it because I’m breaking.” her voice stayed soft the entire time. “But?” she hesitated briefly afterward “…I did it because you stayed.” That one nearly destroyed my remaining professionalism on impact. Because suddenly every moment from the past few weeks rearranged itself differently in my head.

The arguments. The resistance. The exhaustion. The trust. The gradual honesty. None of it had been impulsive. This girl had been consciously choosing emotional proximity little by little the entire time. I looked away briefly afterward while trying unsuccessfully to reorganize my thoughts into something psychologically responsible. That didn’t work. Unfortunate. “You’re making this difficult for me.” That finally earned the faintest tired breath of amusement out of her “…Sorry.”

“There’s the apologizing again” that actually made her smile slightly. And somehow the sight of it after the past few days hit significantly harder than it should have. Concerning to me more than to Yeji. I stayed quiet for another second afterward before finally speaking more honestly than I probably should’ve “I’m trying very hard not to become somebody who takes advantage of emotionally vulnerable people”. Yeji’s expression softened immediately afterward. Not offended. It was understanding “You’re not”. Another dangerous answer. Especially because part of me wanted very badly to believe her immediately. I leaned my head lightly back against the mirrored wall afterward while staring toward the ceiling for a second “This is usually the part where I make terrible life decisions.”

“That sounds oddly specific” a giggle escaped her. “You’d be horrified how common emotionally compromised attachment is in this field, even for people like me who don’t professionally practice.” That earned another quiet laugh out of her. Much better sound now. She sounded more alive again. That realization alone probably should’ve warned me how emotionally involved I already was becoming. Yeji shifted slightly closer afterward. Not enough to touch. Just enough that the distance between us no longer felt accidental “…Do you regret it?” Carefully questioned. It wasn’t her asking me if I like her or if what she did was wrong— it was her subtly asking if I liked that it happened.

I answered honestly “…No” despite the professional choice was to lie— the word left my mouth much easier than professionalism probably would’ve preferred. And judging from the way Yeji’s shoulders relaxed slightly afterward— it mattered more to her than she intended to show.

The strange thing afterward was that nothing became dramatically different overnight. That probably reassured me more than anything else could’ve. Because if Yeji suddenly became emotionally impulsive after that conversation, I would’ve immediately known the kiss came from emotional instability instead of clarity. But she didn’t. The next few days still looked exhausting. Still chaotic. Still overloaded with rehearsals, fittings, recording reviews, and endless adjustments leading into the debut. The difference was subtler than that. Yeji started feeling present again. Not constantly. Not perfectly. But enough. Enough that I started catching small moments I hadn’t seen before. Like actual irritation instead of exhausted compliance “You moved the rehearsal review again”. I glanced up from the schedule tablet calmly. “Correct.”

“You’re abusing authority.” “No, I’m exercising competence.” “That sounds narcissistic.” “That sounds like somebody who slept five hours instead of three.” “You’re impossible.” Yeji narrowed her eyes immediately afterward while I continued walking down the hallway beside her completely unbothered “And yet your blood pressure’s improving. Curious.”. Yeji walked up close to my face “That’s not funny.” I just looked at her without a sense of shame “It’s a little funny, you have to admit that”. The fact she rolled her eyes instead of shutting down emotionally afterward mattered significantly more than she realized. Small behavioral recovery, but real. That became enough for me to start breathing easier too.

Despite the positive changes it felt dangerous on my end. Because somewhere along the way, I stopped measuring her condition professionally and started measuring it personally instead. I noticed when she smiled more naturally. When she ate without being reminded. When she stopped rereading schedules obsessively during downtime. When she started talking to staff members casually again instead of mechanically. And the worst part? She noticed me noticing. That became a problem almost immediately.

“You’re staring again.” “I’m observing.” “You say that like it’s legally distinct.” “It IS legally distinct.”

Yeji laughed quietly beneath her breath afterward while adjusting the oversized hoodie hanging loosely over her rehearsal clothes. That sound still affected me more than it should’ve. Occupationally inconvenient. Very inconvenient.

The solo preparations became more intense the closer debut approached. But strangely enough— the atmosphere around Yeji stopped feeling like slow emotional collapse and started feeling like pressure again. Still difficult and unhealthy pressure. But no longer hopeless. That distinction mattered a lot. One evening after rehearsal review, I found her sitting cross-legged near the edge of the practice room floor while reviewing camera positioning notes. Normal enough. Except this time, she actually looked focused instead of emotionally detached. Progress.

I lowered myself beside her afterward while handing over the protein drink she forgot sitting near the mirrors twenty minutes earlier “You keep leaving these everywhere”. Yeji accepted it quietly before glancing sideways toward me “…You remember small things annoyingly well.”

“Psychological profiling.” “That’s not how profiling works.” “You don’t know that.” “I literally Googled it after meeting you.”

That genuinely caught me off guard enough to laugh once “You researched me?” Yeji looked mildly embarrassed immediately afterward “…That sounded worse out loud.” I couldn’t hold back my grin to the admission of guilt “Ohh it’s significantly worse”. Yeji was flustered “I was curious.”

The room settled quieter afterward. Not awkward. Just softer now. That softness between us was becoming harder to ignore every day. Because nothing dramatic kept happening between us after the kiss. No stolen make-out sessions. No reckless emotional escalation. No relationship-defining conversations. Just consistency. Me staying. Her letting me. And somehow that became infinitely more intimate than impulsiveness ever would’ve been. One night closer to the debut showcase, the company finally cleared rehearsals earlier than expected after one of the production teams ran behind schedule. Miracle-level event honestly. The dancers left first. Then staff members. Then eventually the practice rooms emptied one by one until only scattered voices remained farther down the hallway.

Yeji sat near the edge of the stage platform afterward while loosely stretching one leg absentmindedly. Tired. But not hollow anymore. I leaned lightly against the mirrored wall nearby while reviewing tomorrow’s schedule from my phone.

“Your first live showcase interview starts at ten.” “That’s cruel of them.” “You’ll survive.” “Debatable.”

I glanced up briefly afterward “You nervous?” That made her pause. Not because she didn’t know the answer. Because she was actually thinking about it honestly now “…A little.” That was a healthy answer. Before she would’ve said that she was fine, now it was different. “You know,” I muttered while locking my phone afterward, “normal people usually celebrate before major life events”. Yeji looked toward me curiously “Celebrate how?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged lightly. “Food. Alcohol. Property damage. Irreversible consequences and whatnot.” “Wow… that escalated quickly.” “I believe in emotional range.”

That finally earned another real laugh out of her. God. There it is again. That feeling in my chest was becoming a genuine issue now. The fact that I could even recognize the difference between her real laughter and the polite versions she used around cameras now probably said enough about how emotionally involved I was becoming. Occupationally? It was catastrophic. Yeji eventually shook her head softly afterward while standing from the floor and stretching lightly. “You sound like somebody banned from multiple establishments.” “Allegedly.” “That’s not denial.” “It’s legally safer than honesty.” “Here I thought you’d just buy the establishment to unban yourself.” “I thought I told John to keep that a secret.”

Another laugh. Smaller this time. The practice room slowly settled quiet around us afterward while both of us began gathering scattered notes and water bottles left behind from rehearsals. That normalcy almost affected me more than the emotionally intense moments did. Because two weeks ago, this room felt like the emotional equivalent of a sinking ship. Now? Yeji looked tired, overwhelmed occasionally— but alive again. That mattered a lot.

She eventually slung her bag over one shoulder afterward before glancing toward me again “…You’ll be there tomorrow, right?” Interesting question. She wasn’t asking if I’ll be managing tomorrow, which I would still be doing. It was just asking if I would be there— if I wanted to be there. This girl started to ask the dangerous questions. I answered anyway.

“Unfortunately you’re professionally stuck with me for the foreseeable future.” “That sounds threatening.” “It’s meant to be reassuring.”

Yeji smiled faintly beneath her breath afterward while walking beside me toward the hallway outside the practice room. The company building had mostly quieted down now. Only scattered staff members still moved through the upper floors preparing final showcase logistics. Tomorrow suddenly felt very close. That realization probably should’ve made me more nervous professionally than it did emotionally. Because now the debut no longer felt like another project or management assignment. Now it felt personal.

The elevator ride downward afterward stayed mostly quiet. At one point Yeji leaned lightly back against the wall beside the elevator buttons while staring ahead absentmindedly. Then quietly “…I’m still nervous” a healthier reaction. Before? She would’ve swallowed the feeling entirely. I glanced sideways toward her “That’s good”. That earned an immediate confused look. “You WANT me nervous?” I shook my head lightly. “I want you honest.” That quieted her again “…What if I mess up tomorrow?” I answered without hesitation this time “Then you’ll survive messing up tomorrow.” Yeji blinked once. Not because the answer comforted her. Because it reframed the fear entirely. “I think people around you accidentally made perfection sound fatal,” I continued calmly. “It isn’t.”

The elevator doors opened a second later toward the lower parking levels. Neither of us moved immediately. Then finally Yeji exhaled softly through her nose before stepping forward first “You really are annoyingly good at this”. If only she knew how uncertain I actually felt most of the time.

The next day disappeared into controlled chaos almost immediately. Hair styling. Wardrobe adjustments. Stage blocking. Last-minute technical corrections. Staff members moving through hallways at speeds that probably violated workplace safety regulations. Standard debut atmosphere honestly. But somewhere in the middle of all that noise, Yeji stayed surprisingly steady. Still nervous. Still overthinking occasionally. But no longer drowning in it.

That difference mattered more than flawless execution ever could. I caught smaller signs throughout the day too. She actually ate during breaks instead of pretending coffee counted as nutrition. Stopped apologizing every five minutes whenever minor delays happened. Even argued with one of the stylists over an accessory choice at one point. Excellent psychological recovery indicator honestly. Nothing says emotional stabilization quite like reclaiming the ability to become mildly difficult again. The showcase itself passed almost too quickly afterward.

One second we were still backstage reviewing final timings. Then suddenly lights, music, the deafening screams of the crowd. Performance mode. Truthfully watching Yeji walk onto that stage felt strangely different from every rehearsal leading up to it. Because this time she didn’t look like somebody desperately trying to survive expectations anymore. She looked like herself again. Confident. Sharp. Alive. The performance ended to overwhelming noise shortly afterward, I wouldn’t except less from the crowd’s reaction— I actually liked the title track, myself. But I wasn’t going to tell that to Yeji anytime soon. Then the staff members started rushing again. Applause. Adrenaline. Everybody speaking too loudly because emotional regulation apparently disappeared backstage after successful events. More standard industry behavior honestly. The moment Yeji fully stepped backstage again, the rest of ITZY immediately swarmed her.

Ryujin almost tackled her into a hug. Yuna looked one emotional sentence away from crying. Chaeryeong kept repeating “You were insane” like she still hadn’t fully processed the stage properly. And Lia— mostly just looked relieved.

That one probably hit Yeji hardest. I stayed farther back near the hallway entrance afterward while giving them space naturally. Professional distance. Mostly.

Then eventually Yuna suddenly pointed toward me mid-conversation. “WAIT— you’re the psychology guy”. Great, just great, that title somehow sounded significantly more suspicious than my actual job. Ryujin looked between me and Yeji immediately afterward “…You hired him secretly?”

“That sounds illegal when you phrase it like that,” Yeji muttered tiredly. “I mean technically Jihyo unnie introduced us,” I added calmly. “That somehow sounds MORE suspicious,” Ryujin answered immediately.

Ryujin was an interesting one, sharper than she lets off too. Chaeryeong looked toward Yeji afterward before quietly asking “You’ve been with him this whole preparation?” Yeji hesitated briefly. Then nodded once. The atmosphere shifted slightly after that— subtle but noticeable. Because suddenly the members weren’t just looking at some temporary manager the company recommended, now they were looking at somebody who had been beside Yeji through the worst parts of the solo preparation they themselves only partially witnessed from the outside.

Lia understood first. I saw it happen almost immediately in her expression. Recognition, not in how Yeji looked at me or the way I secretly struggled to stay professional about Yeji, but the recognition of Yeji’s burnout. Honestly a dangerous thing to recognize in another person. “Thank you” Lia said quietly afterward. Simple yet heavy words. And somehow that affected me more than the louder reactions did. Because unlike the others— Lia understood exactly how ugly emotional exhaustion could become once somebody normalized surviving through it too long. I answered carefully “She did most of the work herself”. Yeji looked away immediately afterward in embarrassment— that didn’t help me look innocent at all despite me being actually innocent in all of this.

“Okay but professionally speaking, the vibe here feels suspiciously emotionally healthy” Yuna suddenly pointed dramatically between the two of us. “That’s because you’re used to dysfunction,” Ryujin answered instantly. “THAT SOUNDED TARGETED” Yuna yelled “Because it is” Ryujin retorted in amusement.

The backstage room immediately dissolved into overlapping noise afterward while Yuna fake-argued and Ryujin looked entirely too pleased with herself. For the first time since this whole situation started— the atmosphere around Yeji no longer felt fragile anymore. It just felt alive.

Later that night, after the official congratulations, staff photos, and endless “you did well” comments finally died down, Yeji found me near the parking entrance. “You said normal people celebrate.” I looked up from my phone. “I also mentioned property damage.” She grabbed me by the arm “Food and alcohol first”. Feeling like I declining her would be a death sentence “Responsible escalation, that’s good.” she smiled, tired but real. “Come with me?” There it was again. Choosing. I should’ve said no. Instead, twenty minutes later, we were tucked inside a quiet private booth at a small restaurant where the owner clearly knew better than to ask questions. Yeji ordered more food than she could realistically finish and one drink she kept pretending affected her more than it did.

“You’re a terrible actress,” I said. “I’m lightheaded” she blinked too innocently. “You’ve had half a glass.” “Emotionally, it was strong.” “That’s not how alcohol works.” “It is tonight.”

She laughed into her sleeve, and honestly, that sound probably ruined the last usable piece of my professionalism. After dinner, she leaned closer across the table, eyes clearer than she wanted me to believe. “When this is over tomorrow…” she paused, then corrected herself softly, “No. It is over now.” I stayed quiet. Her fingers tightened around the edge of her sleeve. “Can I choose something selfish again?” the room seemed to narrow around the question. Because I understood “Yeji”.

“I’m not falling apart tonight,” she said quietly. “I’m not asking because I need saving.” That mattered more than she knew “I know” I could only mutter acknowledgement “Then don’t treat me like I don’t know what I want”. For a second, I didn’t answer. Then I exhaled, defeated by the one thing I could never argue against properly. A conscious choice “…Okay.” Her smile came slowly. Soft. Relieved. Certain. And when she reached for my hand under the table, I let her.

By the time they left the restaurant, Seoul had already settled into the quieter side of the night. The streets weren’t empty— just calmer now. Yeji walked beside me with her hands tucked halfway into the sleeves of her oversized hoodie while the cold air carried the leftover exhaustion of the day out of both of us little by little. For the first time since this entire situation began, neither of us was talking about anything work related— just about normal and pointless things. She complained about one of the stage outfits. I informed her professionally that fashion was an organized crime syndicate. She laughed hard enough at that to nearly miss a step off the curb afterward. Somewhere during the drive back, the emotional atmosphere between us shifted again. Like both of us understood something irreversible had already happened emotionally and neither person particularly wanted to pretend otherwise anymore.

When we finally reached her residence building, I parked the car but didn’t immediately move to unbuckle my seatbelt. Neither did she. The city lights outside reflected softly across the windshield while silence settled between us again. Just aware. Yeji eventually leaned her head lightly back against the seat before exhaling quietly “…I really did almost quit.” an honest sentence. I looked toward her carefully afterward.

“I know.” “And somehow that feels unreal now.” “That’s usually how surviving emotional collapse feels afterward.” she smiled faintly beneath her breath “You make everything sound psychological.” “That’s because unfortunately I am psychological.” “That sounded medically concerning.” “It probably is.”

Another laugh. Smaller this time. Sleepier. Then eventually the silence returned again. But this time neither of us seemed interested in escaping it. Yeji slowly turned toward me afterward. No uncertainty, not emotionally spiraling. Just plain clarity that never yielded. That probably affected me more than alcohol had to. Because this wasn’t exhaustion choosing closeness, not desperation, or emotional dependency clawing for comfort— this was simply her choosing. “…You’re thinking too hard,” she said quietly. “Can’t help it, occupational hazard” I exhaled softly through my nose afterward before finally admitting “I’m trying very hard to be responsible right now.” Yeji’s expression softened immediately “…You’ve been responsible this entire time” This was especially because she sounded so certain about it.

She shifted slightly closer afterward. Slow enough to stop if I wanted her to. I didn’t, the moment I realized that— I already knew professionalism had lost this fight a long time ago. Yeji’s fingers lightly curled against my hand first. Then her shoulder against mine “…Ben” that careful tone again, the one that was going to psychologically destroy me someday “Yeah?” Her eyes met mine quietly in the dim lighting inside the car. A warmth that showed no hesitation or second thoughts. She pressed her pressed her lips softly on mine, and this time I gave up on resisting and hiding behind that professional hurdle because I knew I would just be lying to the both of us. The silence afterward didn’t feel uncertain anymore. It felt inevitable. Yeji slowly pulled back just enough for both of us to breathe properly again, though judging from the way her fingers still lingered lightly against my hand, neither of us was particularly interested in creating real distance anymore “…Come upstairs.”

I should’ve probably still thought harder about it. Instead, I reached for the door handle first. That alone made Yeji laugh quietly beneath her breath while following beside me out of the car. The night air felt colder now or maybe that was just the adrenaline finally catching up. Neither of us spoke much while walking toward the entrance of her residence building. Not because there was tension. Because there was a lack of it along with the lack of uncertainty— just two people very aware of each other now. The elevator ride upward felt significantly smaller than before. Yeji stood beside me quietly with her hands partially hidden inside the sleeves of her hoodie again while the dim lighting reflected softly against the mirrored walls around us.

“You’re thinking again.” I glanced sideways toward her. “You say that like it’s a disease.” she smiled “I’m beginning to think it is.” I mirrored her grin “That’s medically offensive to psychologists everywhere” another smile. God those were becoming genuinely dangerous to my self-control. The elevator doors opened a second later toward her floor. Then suddenly we were walking down the quieter hallway toward her unit while Seoul’s city lights glowed faintly through the larger windows farther behind us. Yeji slowed slightly once she reached the door. Keys in hand then a pause while unlocking it. Something about the normalcy of that moment broke the last surviving piece of restraint I still had left.

Maybe it was the realization that she chose this— she chose me, or maybe I was simply tired of pretending I didn’t want her back just as badly anymore. Probably both. Yeji barely got the door unlocked before I reached for her first. The moment she turned toward me again, I kissed her properly this time. No hesitation. None of that careful emotional distance. Just accumulated restraint finally giving out all at once.

She made the softest surprised sound against my lips before immediately kissing me back just as hard, one hand instinctively catching against my jacket while the other still struggled half-successfully with the door handle behind her. The door finally opened behind her a second later, but neither of us immediately cared enough to separate first as we walked into the hall. My leg slowly kicked the door closed shut and her hand reached around my body to lock it back in place.

Neither of us stopped kissing long enough to breathe properly— I lifted her up against the narrow walls of her home, she proceeded to wrap her legs around me for stability as her both of her hands reached for my face before finally letting go the kiss. She took a moment to watch my face as I met her gaze as in return “Wow, what… happened to… all that… restraint?” she said in between her panting. I laughed softly beneath my breath afterward while keeping her pinned lightly against the wall, one hand still firm against her waist as if letting go now would somehow be physically impossible.

“Honestly?” I muttered while brushing another slower kiss against the corner of her mouth. “I think you psychologically wore it down over time.” Yeji laughed breathlessly at that, though it immediately dissolved into breathless sounds when I kissed her again before she could properly recover. “That sounds irresponsible for a psychologist” as she slowly took off her the jacket that hid the frames of her body, leaving her sleeveless top to expose the skin of her neck and collarbone. “It probably violates every professional guideline to ever exist.” I told her as I drew my face closer to her. “That should concern me more.” “It really should.” And yet neither of us sounded particularly interested in stopping anymore. This time my mouth the crevice of her collar, she started cooing when I led my tongue all the way to the side of her neck.

I didn't let her go. I carried her from the wall all the way to her room, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her waist while my tongue traced the sensitive line of her jaw. The air in the small entryway felt thick, charged with a static that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up. Every breath she took was a jagged, uneven thing, echoing the frantic rhythm of my own heart. I shifted my weight, sliding one hand from her waist to the hem of her sleeveless top. I didn't ask. I didn't have to. The way she arched her back, pressing her chest into me, was the only answer I needed. I pulled the fabric over her head in one fluid motion, tossing it blindly into the hall.

She stood there in the dim light, her skin glowing like polished pearl. Her breasts were small, firm, with nipples already peaked and hard, straining against the cool air. I took a moment, just a second, to map her. I let my eyes travel from the delicate slope of her shoulders down to the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips. She was lean, a dancer's body, all hidden strength and supple grace. Yeji reached for the buttons of my shirt, her fingers trembling. She fumbled with the second one, a small huff of frustration escaping her lips. "Let me," I whispered.

I stripped out of my clothes with a haste that bordered on desperation, my eyes never leaving hers. When my pants hit the floor, my cock sprang free, fully erect and pulsing with a heavy, aching need.

Yeji stopped. Her gaze dropped, her eyes widening as she stared at me. She didn't move for a long moment, her breath hitching in her throat. Slowly, as if drawn by a magnet, she reached out. Her fingers were cool as they wrapped around the base of my shaft. She didn't know how to grip it—her hold was loose, tentative, her thumb brushing awkwardly against the underside. "Ben," she breathed, her voice a fragile thread. "Yeah?" She slid her hand up, her palm grazing the velvet heat of my glans. She let out a soft, shaky exhale, her eyes flickering back up to mine.

"I didn't expect... this." "Too much?"

She shook her head quickly, though her brow furrowed with a flicker of genuine concern. She tightened her grip slightly, trying to encompass the girth, but her fingers didn't even come close to meeting on the other side. "It's just... you're so large. I think... this is the largest I've ever seen.” I felt a surge of possessive heat hit my gut. I stepped closer, the tip of my cock brushing against her thigh.

"Does it scare you?" "No," she whispered, her gaze intensifying. "Not with you. I want it. I want all of it."

I didn't waste another second. I scooped her up, her legs locking around my waist instinctively, and carried her toward the bedroom. I dropped her onto the mattress, the springs creaking under the sudden weight. I hovered over her, my body a heavy shadow against her light. I spent the next twenty minutes mapping every inch of her. I wanted her skin memorized. I kissed the hollow of her throat, the valley between her breasts, and the soft skin of her stomach. I moved lower, my tongue tracing the line of her hip before diving between her thighs.

Yeji gasped, her hips jerking upward as I found her. She was already drenched, her pussy dripping a thick, sweet musk that filled my senses. I used my tongue to part her lips, tasting the salt and the heat. I focused on her clit, circling it with a precision that had her clawing at the sheets, her head tossing from side to side.

"Ben, please," she whimpered, her voice breaking. "I can't... I don't know what's happening." "Just feel it, Yeji. Don't think. Just feel."

I moved back up, positioning myself between her legs. I reached down, guiding the head of my cock to her entrance. She was tight—terrifyingly tight—and as I pushed in, I felt her muscles stretch and protest. I stopped, letting her adjust, my breath hot against her ear.

"You okay?" "Yes," she gasped, her eyes squeezed shut. "Just... keep going. Please."

I pushed deeper, my cock started to feel like a slow invasion within Yeji. I felt the friction of her walls hugging me, the heat of her internal muscles clamping down on my shaft. A wet, squelching sound filled the quiet of the room as I slid fully home, my pelvis slamming against her with a heavy thud.

Yeji let out a strangled cry, her eyes snapping open. She looked shocked, her chest heaving. "You're... you're actually all the way in," she whispered, her voice sounding distant. "Every inch," I reached in to give her a kiss.

I started to move. I kept it slow at first, pulling back until only the tip remained before slamming back in. The sound of our bodies colliding—a rhythmic, fleshy slapping—became the only thing in the world. I watched her face, the way her eyebrows knit together, the way her lips parted in a silent plea. I increased the pace, the friction building into a searing heat. I could feel her getting wetter, the lubrication making every thrust a sliding, shlicking mess. I shifted my angle, driving my cock upward to grind against her G-spot.

Yeji's reaction was instantaneous. Her back arched, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her nails were definitely going to leave some marks later.

"Something is... something is happening," she cried out, her voice rising in pitch. "Ben, I feel... it's too much!" "Ride it, Yeji. Give in to it."

I didn't stop. I hammered into her, my movements becoming primal and uncoordinated. I could feel her insides beginning to quiver. Then, it happened.

Yeji's entire body stiffened. Her internal walls suddenly contracted, squeezing my shaft in a series of violent, rhythmic pulses. A loud, guttural moan tore from her throat, her eyes rolling back as her first-ever orgasm ripped through her.

For me, it was electric. The sensation of her clenching around me was an overwhelming pressure, a vacuum that pulled me deeper into her. The feeling of her climaxing while I was still buried inside her pushed me over the edge. I let out a soft moan, my muscles locking as I surged forward one last time, burying myself as deep as possible.

I felt the hot, thick jets of my cum flooding her, filling her to the brim. I stayed there, pinned to her, our hearts hammering in unison, the only sound the heavy, ragged breathing of two people who had just discovered a new language. Yeji lay limp beneath me, her eyes slowly fluttering open. She looked dazed, a small, bewildered smile on her lips.

"What... was that?" she whispered. "That," I panted, kissing her forehead, "was an orgasm, Yeji."

She let out a soft, breathless laugh, her hand coming up to rest on my chest. "I didn't know... I didn't know it could feel like that. I feel like I just woke up for the first time in my life."

I rolled off her, pulling her into my arms. We lay there in the aftermath, the smell of sex and sweat clinging to the sheets. But as the minutes passed, the silence didn't feel like an end. It felt like a bridge. I looked down at her, seeing the flush still lingering on her cheeks, the way her eyes looked wider, clearer. The desire returned, not as a frantic need, but as a slow, simmering hunger. I shifted, my cock already stirring again, reacting to the proximity of her warmth. "Round two?" I murmured. Yeji didn't answer with words. She simply flipped over, presenting her backside to me, her hips tilted up in an invitation that made my blood boil.

I didn't waste time with foreplay this time, she was already wet again— I guess the thought of going another round was enough to flip a switch. I knelt behind her, my hands gripping her hips, pulling her toward the edge of the bed. I rubbed dick around the folds of her pussy, lubricating the head of my cock before sliding back into her from behind.

The angle was different, deeper. I felt the tip of my shaft kiss the entrance of her cervix, and Yeji let out a sharp, high-pitched gasp. "Oh god," she whimpered, her face pressed into the pillow. "That's... that's even deeper." "You like it?" I asked, my voice a low rasp. "Yes... please, Ben... more… no one has ever… reached that far." she was trying to speak in between her moans.

I began to move, my thrusts becoming more vigorous, more aggressive. I wasn't being gentle anymore. I wanted her to feel every bit of the size she had been worried about. I drove into her with a rhythmic intensity, the sound of my skin slapping against her skin echoing in the room. The friction was intense, the squelching sounds of our interaction becoming louder as we both became drenched in sweat. I reached around, my fingers finding her clit, rubbing it in sync with every thrust.

Yeji was losing it. She was sobbing now, not from pain, but from a sensory overload that was stripping away every last bit of her composure.

"I'm going again!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the apartment. "I can feel it! Ben, please don't stop!"

I didn't. I pushed her harder, my movements becoming a blur of heat and friction. I felt her build up again, the tension in her legs shaking, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. Then, the wave hit her. It wasn't just one orgasm this time. It was a cascade. Her internals clamped down on me in a series of prolonged, rolling contractions. I felt her body shudder beneath me, her voice dissolving into a series of incoherent whimpers as she experienced multiple, overlapping peaks of pleasure.

The sensation was intoxicating. Having her unravel beneath me, feeling her body completely surrender to the pleasure I was providing, sent me spiraling. I felt my own climax building, a pressure in my loins that felt like it was about to explode. I let out a choked sound, my grip tightening on her hips as I delivered a final, powerful thrust. I felt my cock pulse violently inside her, sending another massive load of cum deep into her womb. I groaned, my forehead resting against her back, my entire body vibrating with the force of the release.

We collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and damp skin. I pulled her back against my chest, my arm draped over her waist. The room was silent again, save for the sound of our breathing. Yeji turned her head, looking at me with eyes that were soft, exhausted, and entirely content. "I think," she whispered, her voice sounding raw, "that I might actually be able to sleep tonight." I chuckled, kissing the back of her neck. "Mission accomplished."

She shifted, snuggling closer into my warmth, her hand finding mine and interlocking our fingers. For the first time in years, the weight of the world—the schedules, the expectations, the crushing pressure of leadership—felt light. It felt irrelevant.

"Ben?" "Yeah?" "Don't ever leave me alone in a dark rehearsal room again." I smiled, closing my eyes. "Deal."

Morning arrived significantly softer than either of us expected. There was a lack of emotional panic, regret, or awkward distance. Just quiet. Yeji stood barefoot in her kitchen wearing one of her oversized shirts while scrolling through fan reactions on her phone with visible concentration the same way I was working on my doctoral thesis when I was still getting my master’s degree. That piqued my interest “Okay this one’s lying,” she muttered while reading another comment. I glanced up briefly from the coffee I was making “Which one?”

“‘Yeji looked calm and relaxed on stage.’” She looked toward me suspiciously. “I was fighting for my life internally.” She let out a laugh. God, the domestic normalcy of this morning was affecting me significantly more than the sex itself had. Which honestly felt medically concerning. Yeji eventually walked closer afterward before silently leaning against my side while continuing to scroll through her phone letting the moment soak in before looking back at me “…We should probably talk to them.”

I already knew who she meant immediately. Jihyo. John. God, I wish we could skip John. The atmosphere softened slightly afterward. The both of us understood the same thing now without needing to say it aloud first. Last night changed something permanently— professionally and emotionally and neither of us regretted it. I handed Yeji her coffee afterward before answering honestly. “We crossed a line we can’t really uncross anymore”. Yeji nodded once quietly. “…Yeah” I didn’t sense any fear or second thoughts in her voice “…Are you okay with that?” A careful question, an important one to boot. I looked toward her properly afterward “I think I stopped pretending this was professionally salvageable somewhere around the second time you kissed me.” That immediately made her laugh quietly into the rim of the coffee mug she was holding. Then eventually she lowered the mug slightly again “…Good.”

It was a simple answer full of certainty. But certain enough that something in my chest settled instead of tightening afterward. A dangerous development for me honestly. A little while later, I was sitting beside her on the couch while absentmindedly scrolling through my phone when Yeji suddenly shifted closer again. I glanced toward her briefly before realizing she was staring directly at my shoulder with visible concentration.

“…What?” “You have a lot of tattoos.” as she was looking around me, observing every detail of my body. “That sounds judgmental.” “It’s observational.” Yeji tried to sound like me. “That’s just judgment with better marketing.”

Yeji laughed softly before setting her phone aside completely now. Her fingers lightly brushed against the ink near my shoulder almost absentmindedly. The contact nearly short-circuited my nervous system significantly more than expected. “This one looks older,” she murmured quietly while tracing one of the darker faded lines near my collarbone. “It is.”

“What’s it supposed to be?” “You say that like you don’t recognize a snake.” “It looked philosophical.” “It’s literally just a snake.” “That somehow feels disappointing.”

I let out a quieter laugh afterward while Yeji continued studying the tattoos scattered across my arms and shoulders with visible curiosity now. The fact she looked this interested in something as mundane as my tattoos was affecting me more emotionally than it reasonably should’ve. Then suddenly her expression shifted slightly “…Wait”. Her eyes narrowed briefly toward my shoulder “…Are those scratch marks?” I blinked once. Then immediately looked down. Ah. Right. Yeji followed the realization almost instantly before covering her mouth while trying unsuccessfully not to laugh.

“Oh my god.” “That feels slightly accusatory.” “You look like you survived a wildlife attack.” “In my defense, somebody became significantly less emotionally stable after midnight.” “That sounds like deflection.” “That sounds like accountability avoidance from YOU.”

Yeji immediately folded into laughter again while I rubbed lightly at my forehead in defeat. Watching her laugh this freely after everything she went through emotionally over the past several months was beginning to affect me in ways I was not psychologically prepared for. Then eventually her eyes shifted downward again. “…You’re surprisingly fit.” I looked toward her slowly afterward.

“That sounded more offended than complimentary.” “I just didn’t expect it.” “What exactly did you think psychologists looked like physically?” “I don’t know.” She tried unsuccessfully not to smile again. “Slightly weaker.” “That’s devastating.” “It’s true.” “I carried you against a wall yesterday.” “That sentence sounds significantly more threatening in daylight.” “Fair.”

Yeji laughed softly again before eventually leaning more comfortably against my side afterward. Then quietly

“…I still can’t believe you have this many tattoos.” I glanced down briefly toward the ink across my arms before shrugging lightly again “Grad school was psychologically difficult.” “That explains absolutely nothing.” “It explains enough.”

Another smaller silence settled comfortably afterward. Then eventually I looked toward her again before speaking casually. “If you want, I can always add a portrait tattoo of you somewhere.” Yeji stared at me for exactly two seconds “…What?”

“I’m committed to emotionally terrible decision-making now.” “That is NOT a normal thing to say after sleeping with someone.” “I think it would add professionalism to the workplace.” “You’re insane.” “Clinically functional.” “That’s debatable.”

I laughed softly afterward while Yeji shook her head in disbelief beside me, though the faint redness lingering across her face betrayed her significantly. Then eventually she leaned lightly against my shoulder again afterward while still smiling quietly to herself. A little while later, Yeji sat beside me on the couch while the phone rang through speaker mode. John answered first “…Hello children.” I immediately narrowed my eyes “You’re trying to sound emotionally intelligent again” it was too early for John to give me a headache “I’ve evolved psychologically” I could feel the smug from the phone “The hell you have”.

Yeji immediately folded into laughter beside me. Terrible start already. Then somewhere farther away from the call “John stop making things weird,” Jihyo’s voice cut in immediately “I’m helping”. I rubbed lightly at my forehead afterward “…How do nine people emotionally survive you?” That quickly blew a hole in his whole act “That sounded targeted,” John muttered. Yeji was still laughing quietly beside me by the time Jihyo finally spoke again “…Do you two want to meet later?” There it was, a calm tone— too calm. Yeah,” Yeji answered first this time, her voice quieter afterward. “We should probably talk properly”. A brief silence followed “…Okay,” Jihyo answered simply. “Come by later this afternoon”. That somehow made the entire thing feel significantly more serious.

The drive later that afternoon felt strangely calmer than it probably should’ve. Maybe because the difficult part had already happened last night or maybe because neither of us was particularly interested in pretending this was some catastrophic mistake that needed undoing. Yeji sat beside me scrolling idly through her phone while soft music played quietly through the speakers. At one point she looked over briefly “You’re thinking again” I gave her a look at her as the stoplight was still red “That accusation has become emotionally abusive” she instantly retorted “Well you’re making it easy” that was fair. I kept my glance toward her “Nervous?” Yeji considered the question honestly “…A little”. By the time we arrived, John was already waiting near the café entrance wearing sunglasses despite being indoors like somebody trying very hard to look mysterious and failing catastrophically.

“Oh good, the emotional support golden retriever is here” I muttered while stepping out of the car “That’s hurtful”. I waved him off “It wasn’t inaccurate, that’s what matters”. John looked deeply offended for almost three seconds before immediately shaking Yeji’s hand “Congratulations by the way. You killed it yesterday” Yeji smiled softly afterward “…Thanks”. Then John turned toward me dramatically afterward “And you, you look suspiciously emotionally fulfilled.” I immediately pointed toward him “See? THIS is why you can’t pretend to sound like me. You overcommit to the bit emotionally”. Yeji laughed quietly beside me while John looked personally attacked. Before he could retaliate, the café door opened behind him, and there she was. Jihyo stepped outside holding a folder beneath one arm while looking significantly calmer than everybody else present. Which honestly felt threatening somehow.

“Why are you holding paperwork?” I asked immediately. Jihyo glanced down briefly toward the folder “…Preparation.” that answer garnered a horrified expression from me “That answer psychologically upset me, the one with a Master’s Degree in Psychology— that should account for something”. John immediately pointed toward her. “SEE? I TOLD YOU.” Jihyo showed visible confusion for a while “Told me WHAT exactly?” Neither of them answered.

We eventually settled into one of the quieter private rooms farther inside the café afterward. The atmosphere wasn’t hostile. Serious, yes. But not condemning. Yeji sat beside me while Jihyo calmly placed the folder onto the table between us. Then finally “I’m going to ask one question first,” Jihyo said quietly “Was last night emotionally impulsive?” a direct question. I answered first “No”. Yeji nodded immediately afterward beside me “No regrets either”. Jihyo watched both of us silently for a second longer afterward. Assessing. Leader mode, then finally— she exhaled softly through her nose before leaning back slightly in her chair “Okay”.

That was it. no explosion. No dramatic lecture. No accusation… Just okay. Yet that somehow felt heavier than anger would’ve. John, meanwhile, looked between all three of us like somebody trying very hard not to interrupt emotionally important adult conversation with stupidity. Predictably unsuccessful. “So,” he muttered carefully, “are we all pretending this isn’t horrifyingly predictable in hindsight?”

“John,” Jihyo warned immediately without even looking at him. “I’m contributing emotionally.” I didn’t even look at him “You’re making it worse emotionally, for me at least.” “That’s subjective.” “It’s really not.” Yeji nearly laughed beside me while I rubbed lightly at my forehead. Strangely enough the fact that this somehow already felt less like damage control and more like some sort of relationship ecosystem maintenance, and it was deeply concerning. Jihyo eventually opened the folder afterward before sliding two documents calmly across the table toward Yeji and me.

NDAs. Of course they were. I stared at them for a few seconds before slowly looking back up at her “You had these prepared already?” Jihyo took a sip from her drink first. Calm. Composed. Terrifying “I prepared them after realizing emotional attachment between managers and idols was probably inevitable eventually.” then simultaneously “That should not be a normal sentence,” I said. “SEE?” John pointed aggressively toward me. “I SAID THAT TOO.” Jihyo ignored both of us professionally. Psychologically she was a horrifying woman honestly. Yeji picked up the NDA quietly beside me afterward while scanning through it briefly. Then paused “…Wait.” even I felt the danger in that word. Jihyo blinked once “What?”

Yeji looked between Jihyo, John, and then back toward the paperwork and I physically watched the realization happen in real time “…Hold on” Yeji narrowed her eyes slightly afterward. “John isn’t just sleeping with one of the TWICE members, is he?” That made Jihyo choked violently on her drink. I folded forward laughing almost instantly while John looked like his soul briefly exited his body. “Oh my GOD,” I wheezed while trying unsuccessfully to recover. “SHE FIGURED IT OUT IMMEDIATELY.” John muttered in genuine horror “That was FAST”. Yeji blinked once slowly afterward while looking increasingly alarmed “Wait seriously?” Jihyo was still coughing and John looked ready to fake his own death. And genuinely I hadn’t laughed this hard in years.

“You people are INSANE,” I finally managed through laughter while wiping briefly at my eyes. “I thought this was like… one emotionally complicated relationship.” John pointed toward me immediately. “In my defense—” I didn’t even let him finish that statement “You have NO defense.” John continued regardless “Actually I have several.” that somehow made it worse. Yeji looked between everyone again like she’d accidentally walked into the middle of an emotionally unstable cult and her reaction was completely valid. Eventually Jihyo recovered enough to speak again “…To be fair,” she muttered weakly afterward, “it didn’t exactly happen the way you think it did.”

“That sentence also should not be normal,” I answered immediately. John leaned back dramatically in his chair afterward. “You adjust eventually.” hearing that is the opposite of reassuring. Yeji was still visibly trying to process the scale of what she apparently just uncovered. Then quietly “…Wait. ALL of them?” John closed his eyes in defeat. Jihyo covered her face. And I completely lost composure again. “I cannot BELIEVE this is a real conversation I’m having right now,” I managed through laughter while John looked spiritually exhausted across the table. “In my defense—”

“You need to stop starting sentences like that,” Jihyo interrupted immediately. “It implies there’s a defense,” I added “You’re dating an entire nationally beloved girl group.” trying to compose myself “That sounds worse when YOU say it.”

“Because I’m emotionally framing it correctly.” Yeji looked genuinely stunned beside me. Not judgmental. Just deeply, profoundly confused “…How does that even work?” John immediately pointed toward Jihyo. “Leadership?” Jihyo answered while covering her eyes briefly “That is NOT the answer, JOHN.”

“It’s a little the answer,” he muttered. Interesting ecosystem honestly also very concerning too. Yeji slowly leaned back in her chair afterward while still processing everything. Then suddenly, another realization. Her eyes shifted slowly toward Jihyo “…You already knew this was probably going to happen with me and Ben?” Silence— even that question caught me off guard. Jihyo stayed calm for exactly three seconds too long “…I suspected emotional overlap was possible.” I answered immediately “That sounded PREPARED”.  Jihyo finally sighed softly afterward before resting her chin against one hand “You both spent months emotionally depending on each other during an extremely vulnerable period”.

“Okay but hearing it phrased clinically somehow made it worse,” John muttered. Jihyo ignored him professionally, what a terrifying woman. Then she looked toward me properly afterward “You stabilized her emotionally without isolating her from herself”. The room quieted slightly after that, less comedic now. More honest. “She didn’t become dependent on you,” Jihyo continued calmly “She became herself again around you”. That sentence hit harder than expected. Because somewhere deep down, I think part of me was still worried about that exact thing. Yeji looked toward me quietly afterward too. Warmly. Then Jihyo continued like she hadn’t just emotionally sniped me across the table.

“So no,” she finished calmly. “I wasn’t surprised this crossed into something personal eventually”. I leaned back slowly afterward while staring at the ceiling briefly “…That should not be an emotionally healthy intuition.” John pointed immediately. “SEE?”

“Stop validating each other,” Jihyo muttered tiredly. “No,” me and John answered instantly. Yeji laughed quietly beside me before eventually setting the NDA back onto the table again. Then softly “…I want Ben to officially manage ITZY.” The room stilled again afterward.

Yeji continued carefully. “I know what happened between us changes things.” She glanced briefly toward me first before continuing. “But I also know the others are struggling too.” that was Yeji’s leader instinct, and she was right on the bat. Even now. “I don’t want to go back to pretending everybody’s fine when they’re clearly not.” That quieted the table completely afterward. “You realize what that probably means long term, right?” Jihyo asked gently. Yeji nodded once slowly “…Yeah.” No hesitation. Then finally she glanced sideways toward me again before adding “And honestly? I already accepted that this might happen naturally with the others too eventually.”

I blinked once slowly “…I’m sorry WHAT?” Yeji blinked once afterward like she didn’t fully understand why that answer shocked me so much. “What?”

“You accepted that possibility WAY too calmly.” “Because I already thought about it.” “That sentence emotionally terrified me.” John immediately pointed toward Yeji across the table “See? That’s exactly how this starts.” “You are the LAST person qualified to say that,” I answered instantly. “Fair.”

A disturbingly self-aware ecosystem. Yeji looked toward me quietly afterward before speaking again “I’m not saying it has to happen.” She paused briefly. “I’m saying… I know how you are.” Dangerous statement especially because she sounded completely sincere. “You care deeply,” she continued softly. “And they’re important to me too.” Even now, she wasn’t viewing this possessively, true mark of a real leader. She was thinking about everybody else first too. I leaned back slowly afterward while rubbing lightly at my jaw “…You’re all emotionally abnormal.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” John muttered. “I’m at least aware I’m psychologically concerning.” “That somehow doesn’t help.”

Jihyo finally sighed softly before reaching for another document inside the folder. The fact she had MORE paperwork ready nearly made me leave on principle alone. “There’s also the updated management transfer proposal,” she said calmly. I stared at her “…You already prepared THAT too?” Jihyo blinked once. “You think slowly for someone with a Master’s Degree in Psychology.” I was beat from all angles, “I take it back. You’re the scariest person here.”

“Correct,” John answered immediately. Yeji looked visibly relieved afterward though as Jihyo slid the paperwork toward us. “The company already trusts your judgment after the solo debut,” Jihyo continued calmly. “Officially, the recommendation is expanded emotional and schedule management support for ITZY as a whole.” Emotionally dangerous wording. Professionally brilliant wording too. I skimmed briefly through the proposal afterward before immediately stopping at one section “This compensation package is ridiculous.” John snorted instantly “THAT’S the part bothering you?”

Yeji leaned slightly closer beside me afterward while trying to peek at the paperwork. “Wait, how much is—” “It’s not important.” “That means it’s horrifying,” John answered immediately. I set the paperwork back onto the table afterward. “Honestly, I don’t need the money.” The room quieted slightly. “That is NOT a normal sentence,” Jihyo said. “See?” John pointed aggressively toward me. “THIS is what I’ve been trying to explain.” I ignored him “What I DO need,” I continued calmly, “is a company-issued vehicle.” That finally shifted the atmosphere slightly back toward seriousness. “Security concerns?” Jihyo asked immediately. “Exactly.” I nodded once. “Using my personal car long-term around idol schedules is risky. You of all people know how some of those nutjob fans eventually identify patterns.” The room quieted again afterward. Because unfortunately? That concern was realistic.

“I’d rather not have somebody tracing ITZY’s movements through my license plate eventually.” Yeji looked toward me quietly after that. Warmly. Jihyo nodded slowly afterward. “That’s fair. We can arrange that.” Then Yeji tilted her head slightly. “Hold on, Ben.” she looked toward me carefully afterward. “Looking back your car actually IS expensive if you think it would be that easy to trace back, isn’t it?” I immediately narrowed my eyes toward John before he even opened his mouth. “You stay out of this.” “I didn’t even SAY anything yet.” “You looked financially enthusiastic.” “That’s profiling.”

Yeji laughed quietly beside me afterward. “But seriously,” she continued, “the brand wasn’t Korean. I didn’t recognize it.” John immediately folded his arms. “Oh it’s expensive-expensive.” This bloody traitor. “It’s custom-built too,” he added helpfully. “John” that didn’t make him stop. “What?” John looked immediately defensive. “What? I’m contributing context.”

“You’re contributing financial slander.” “That thing probably costs more than my apartment.” “That’s statistically possible.”

Silence. Then immediately “What?” Yeji stared at me now. Jihyo slowly lowered her drink afterward. And honestly? I could physically feel this conversation becoming more psychologically irritating by the second. “It’s just a car.”

“That is ABSOLUTELY not how rich people say ‘just a car,’” John answered immediately. Yeji narrowed her eyes slightly afterward. “Are you actually rich-rich?” I immediately leaned back in my chair. “We are not doing this conversation.”

“That means yes,” Yeji answered immediately. “Psychologically invasive behavior.” John added helpfully “Deflection”. I turned back at him “You traitorous asshole.” Jihyo looked mildly entertained now too. Concerning development. Then eventually Yeji glanced between me and John again “…Okay but how rich are we talking exactly?” I pointed toward John immediately “If he answers this incorrectly, I’m revoking his friendship privileges.”

“You can’t revoke those.” “Watch me.” John looked entirely too entertained now. “Well…” He leaned back slightly afterward. “You know how Mina is terrifyingly wealthy, right?” Yeji blinked once slowly. “How wealthy are we talking?” John and Jihyo exchanged a look first. That made the answer significantly worse already. Then eventually John sighed dramatically “Mina could probably buy JYPE herself if she genuinely wanted to.” Silence. Yeji stared. I rubbed lightly at my forehead. And somehow the fact nobody denied it probably answered enough already. “That should not be normal,” I muttered. “You’re not allowed to say that anymore,” John answered immediately.

Then Yeji slowly looked back toward me “Okay then, what about YOU?” Oh no. Absolutely not. I immediately stood up slightly from my chair “I’m leaving.” John answered instantly. “You signed paperwork already, you legally can’t.” Jihyo finally rubbed lightly at her temple afterward. “Sit down, Ben.” This was emotional abuse, but I sat back down anyway. “Theoretically” John began carefully while visibly trying not to laugh already, “if Ben liquidated and pooled most of his CURRENT resources together—”

“John.” “—he could probably buy enough shares to own majority control of JYPE. Something around 80 to 85% of the shares. I did the math already.” The silence was broken by singular “…What.” from Yeji who looked genuinely horrified now. I immediately pointed toward John again. “This is why rich people don’t tell people things.”

“That wasn’t even the weird part.” “There’s a WEIRDER PART?” John looked deeply entertained now. “He gets richer accidentally.” “That is not a real sentence,” Jihyo muttered. “It IS,” John continued. “I swear this man wakes up wealthier every six months without trying.” “That sounds villainous,” Yeji answered immediately. “I invest intelligently,” I defended calmly. “You bought a company once because you were annoyed at their customer service.” “That was strategically justified.” “That was psychotic.”

Jihyo covered her face briefly afterward while Yeji stared at me like she was reassessing every interaction we’d ever had. Then eventually Yeji looked toward me again. Much quieter this time “…You genuinely didn’t need this job financially, did you?” The room softened slightly afterward. I answered honestly “No.” Yeji watched me carefully afterward “Then why take it?” Honestly, answering that felt easier now than it probably ever had before “Because of the people mattered” a simple answer yet a true one too. The room stayed quiet afterward for a second longer than before.

“That was disgustingly sincere.” John immediately ruined the emotional atmosphere “Oh shut up.” “No seriously that sounded emotionally cinematic.” “Coming from the man who practiced confession lines in front of a mirror for three hours.”

Silence. Complete silence “YOU DID WHAT?” Yeji nearly folded forward laughing. John looked like his soul physically left his body. “You PROMISED never to bring that up again.” “Hey you made fun of my sincerity first, best buddy.” “That was DIFFERENT.” “It absolutely was not.” Jihyo was laughing hard enough now that she physically had to lower her head into one hand while Yeji looked seconds away from crying from laughter beside me. Watching John die internally across the table healed something inside me spiritually. “It gets WORSE,” I continued calmly while John looked ready to leap across the table and strangle me.

“BEN.” “He kept rejecting his own confession lines out loud because he thought he sounded manipulative.”

Yeji actually covered her face laughing now “No way.” John was red all over “I was trying to sound sincere!” I couldn’t hold a straight face anymore, “You sounded like somebody negotiating a hostage release emotionally.” Jihyo was openly crying laughing now while John looked deeply betrayed by everyone present. Then suddenly Yeji glanced sideways toward me again. The from the look of her terrified something in me. “…Benjie.”

Oh hell no. I immediately narrowed my eyes toward her “Nope.” Yeji looked entirely too pleased with herself now “Benjie.” John folded forward instantly laughing. “OH that’s sticking permanently.” My face was buried deep in my hand “I will leave.” John didn’t waste the chance to clap back “Remember, you legally can’t” John answered immediately. This traitorous golden retriever of a man. Yeji looked openly delighted now too— I guess I’ll let this slide for now. “…You look like a Benjie.” never mind, I take that back. “That sentence psychologically harmed me, Yeji.”

Jihyo finally wiped briefly beneath one eye afterward while still recovering from laughter. And somewhere between emotional collapse, NDAs, psychological intervention, accidental relationship ecosystems, billionaire allegations and John’s public humiliation. The atmosphere at the table stopped feeling heavy entirely. It just felt alive. Which might’ve been the healthiest thing about all of this.

By the time the four of us finally left the café, the sun had already started dipping lower across Seoul’s skyline. The conversation somehow never fully recovered afterward. Not professionally at least. John was still emotionally damaged from the mirror-confession incident. Jihyo looked one inconvenience away from revoking everybody’s speaking privileges permanently. And Yeji still looked entirely too pleased with herself every time she quietly muttered “Benjie”. This has got to be a psychological war crime somewhere.

John eventually stopped near his car first before trying say another smug thing I cut him off “Say one more thing and they’ll never find your body” I told him gave him a death glare. But this was cut short from what I could tell was Yeji muttering out her new favorite word “…Benjie.” I closed my eyes slowly “Yeji, I’ll admit I’m more than happy with you calling me that. But not in front of John, please?” this warranted more hysterical laughter from John.  Yeji looked genuinely delighted beside me while John nearly collapsed laughing against his car. Jihyo looked exhausted. Reasonable reaction honestly. Then eventually she glanced toward both of us properly afterward. And for the first time since this entire conversation started— her expression softened fully. “…Take care of each other,” Jihyo said quietly. Those were simple words. But heavy enough that neither Yeji nor I joked afterward. “We will,” Yeji answered softly beside me. The certainty in her voice affected me more than expected.

A few minutes later, the city lights blurred quietly outside the windows while I drove us back through the slower evening traffic. This time neither of us spoke much. Not because things were awkward. Because they weren’t anymore. Yeji eventually leaned slightly closer against my shoulder while absentmindedly scrolling through messages on her phone again. Then suddenly “Ryujin wants to meet you properly.” Well, there was the beginning of my downfall “What does ‘properly’ mean in this context?” “She added a shark emoji.” “That clarified absolutely nothing.” “It probably shouldn’t.” I sighed softly afterward while Yeji laughed quietly beside me again. For the first time in a very long time— the future no longer sounded exhausting anymore.

you told yourself that you weren’t going to act crazy. he never asked you to be his girlfriend, it was never like that, so fine. you aren’t going to act like the jealousy isn’t real, but you’re unabashedly prideful. you told yourself as soon as you saw it that he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing you be upset about it. sealed your feelings off as much as you possibly could.

he’s been blocked for a total of five days. in that short time you’ve received the works from him– calls from text now numbers, texts from yuji’s phone. yuta dm’ing you on instagram over and over trying to provide an alibi like you’re some kind of idiot. chill on him, y/n, that wasn’t even him!

this is the second phone call yuji’s tried to hold with you today about reaching out to megumi. he claims he’s just bored and wants to talk to you, but somehow the conversation always leads back to the same thing. you’re much too occupied with legos to care.

“i’m not defending him, you know.” yuji tries to reason, punctuated by a fuck! fucking dickhead, he snuck me. “but!” he begins again, “he didn’t know she was gonna post that. she knows you guys are fucking with eachother, you know? girls are like that.”

“don’t need you to tell me what girls are like. and i don’t care.”

you really don’t need him to tell you. this is the obvious consequence of getting too close to someone like megumi. someone who tends to be the object of everyone’s lust for good reason– all mysterious, withholding, attractive– of course this happened. you let him come over and play house with you and then he’s off to get attention from someone else. it’s not even his fault, you want to say. it’s your own fault.

yuji scoffs. as in he’s not going to debate with you about whether or not you care when he knows you do. “anyway, i think he likes you. you know? likes you. i think you know he likes you, actually. he just… he’s megumi.”

“whatever that means.”

“it means he’s been single since i met him. when we were thirteen. he’s never even tried to have an actual girlfriend– hey–!”

there’s signs of a struggle on yuji’s end of the call, and then: hello?

megumi doesn’t sound like he hasn’t slept in days or anything. doesn’t sound stressed or frantic, just sounds like himself. your mouth opens, and you force it shut. you hang up.

-

someone is banging on your door at two in the morning like the police. you don’t move to answer it, trying to stay in your spot on the couch because you’re pretty sure it’s him. that hunch is confirmed when the knocks move over to the window, the sound of his voice saying bro come on, this is stupid, i know you’re awake.

you roll your eyes, pausing the shitty movie on the tv so you can shuffle toward the door. it’s your third night in a row being up this late, wallowing, and the sleep debt that you owe is starting to sink into your bones. he wants to come in, plead his case and then get sent away this badly? sure. whatever.

he seems surprised when you open the door and just.. step aside so he can enter. whatever speech he had planned is released into nothing, morphs into a look of confusion.

“megumi, it’s late.” you say quietly, hand clutching the knob of the door. “decide whether you’re gonna come in or not.”

you don’t sit beside him on the couch. you lean up against the wall across the room instead, next to the tv. you pull your blanket around yourself more, a protective shield against him, head cocked to the side in wait. after all, he’s the one who showed up. he doesn’t get to sit in silence and wait for you to lay all your cards out in front of him.

“i didn’t fuck her.” is how he starts, with the most important information first. “i pulled up to sell to her and .. i was going to. but i didn’t.”

“awesome.” you say, but you sound more disinterested than you do relieved. on the inside though, your heartbeat slows down just a bit. “thanks for telling me. can you go home now?”

“no.” he shakes his head. his leg is bouncing a little nervously, and he leans back into the couch cushions for comfort. “i didn’t know she snuck the fucking .. picture. she wanted everyone to know i was there, obviously.”

“well, yeah. and you were there. actually, how come you’re not there now?”

megumi pauses, avoids your eyes when he says “you’re… not my girlfriend. i didn’t think-”

“that it was wrong. i know. it wasn’t wrong, megs, you’re a free agent.”

he winces at that, like you said something incorrect. like it wasn’t his own words that were slowly breaking you apart, you’re not my girlfriend. as if you don’t know that.

your blood feels like it’s running hot inside of you. “you would have hated if i did something like that. hated it. it would be me begging you to talk to me right now. even though you’re not my boyfriend.”

“i know. but… still. i didn’t fuck her and-”

he gets interrupted by your laugh, the way you lean over slightly like he just told you a joke. “you’re fucking with my head right now.”

cue his slow, careful exhale and hesitant speech like he’s talking to a child. “i’m not trying to—”

“i don’t fucking care if you’re trying to or not. you are.”

“what do you want me to do? you want me to block her? i already did that.”

“did you want to block her?”

“i want you to stop being upset. i don’t care about keeping a random girl’s number.”

“you cared enough to try and fuck her, though. couldn’t even just sell your weed and go the fuck home.”

he doesn’t respond. you’re genuinely tickled by that, giggling to yourself again. “right.”

megumi stands carefully, slow steps to close the space between you. you don’t move from where you’re leaning, trying to keep your voice firm. “go home, okay? i don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

megumi just says no, gets closer and closer– and what the hell is the matter with you? why aren’t you trying to make a break for the kitchen, for your bedroom, why aren’t you moving?

he’s so close now that your chests are almost pressed together, his hand hovering at your side. like he’ll get electrocuted if he touches you without pausing first.

when he does touch you, you don’t have a clear view of his eyes anymore. it’s all wet and blurry, fat tears heavy in your vision and bound to fall the next time you blink. you push him, and he doesn’t budge. stands solid in his place and just lets you fight, head dipping down to nose against your shoulder. “j-just go home–” you beg, chest tight with embarrassment at how close you are to his ear, every one of your little hiccup sobs perfectly audible. “go home– fucking go home, just leave me alone.”

the palm of his hand smooths its way up, up your side and your chest so he can cup your face. “you’re fucking with my head.”

“y-you’re such a lying ass–”

“m’not lying. everything is you, you, you.”

you’re overwhelmed, and he won’t stop talking, won’t stop tracing his lips along the side of your neck and bothering the skin there. “always. need to see you, need to fuck you, need to make a million by tomorrow so i can give you everything you want, i want you. s’that what you wanted to hear me say?”

his thumb comes up to wipe the tears off of one side of your face, body pressing heavier against yours like he’s trying to conjoin with you. you shake your head.

“not if you’re lying to me.”

he doesn’t reassure you, at least not in the way a regular person would. you don’t even have the air to gasp when he steps back and throws you over his shoulder, makes his way to your bedroom in the dark.

“f-fucking put me down. i said go home!”

he’s gentle when he lays you down on your back, brings the zipper of his jacket down with one hand and shrugs it off. he hovers over you and waits. gives you just enough space to get from under him. what the hell is the matter with you? you don’t.

he rewards you with a knowing smile. “yeah, i missed you too.”

you watch him push your shirt up with parted lips, trembling under the drag of your shorts coming down and off of your legs. “not wearing panties”, he comments, shoots a look at you. “were you expecting someone?”

you cut your eyes at him, say maybe i was.

he shakes his head at you, laughing. “you’re lying through your fucking teeth.”

you open your mouth to argue, but it turns into ah, a rebuttal trapped in the shock of feeling his tongue run up your folds once. he lets a hand rest warmly on top of your stomach, sinks his tongue into you slowly and then brings his mouth up so he can take your clit into his mouth.

your hips shift up against the sensation, chases it, hand instinctively embeds itself into strands of his hair.

he rolls his tongue in a way that forces a keen out of your mouth, fingers digging soft little pressure indents into the skin of your tummy. you can feel how he’s moaning and panting through his motions, head bobbing ever so slightly so he can use his whole tongue– cover the whole surface area.

you make a betrayed sound when he pulls his mouth off of you, decides to pepper kisses along your inner thigh instead. “it really pissed her off.”

you squint down at him. “what did?”

“when i wouldn’t fuck her.”

you exhale through your nose, “why are you even thinking about her right now?”

through kisses to your thighs, your stomach, your clit, he expounds further. “i’m not really thinking about her. it was just funny. always so funny when bitches beg for attention that i just give you, free of charge.”

“you gave her what she wanted, anyway. it was a nice photo.”

“it was a sneak photo.” he corrects, “she’s desperate. shouldn't've linked her at all, i know that already.”

you’re mad all over again. sure, it feels good now to hear him imply you’re special to him, that he’s choosing you. but you were here, in your apartment that night. he drove in the opposite direction and tried to choose someone else. how does that make sense?

you shimmy up the bed and out of his grasp, pressing your back against the headboard.

“you really shouldn’t have. so why?”

megumi sits up, sighing. “i’m… used to doing whatever i want, y/n, this is the longest i’ve gone without…”

he watches the tears well up in your eyes and decides to detour to another sentence.

“we didn’t.. do anything. she- we tried, i was going to, and i couldn’t. so i sold her the weed i promised her and went home.”

you don’t really know how to respond and luckily he doesn’t want an answer. he just wants it to sit somewhere inside you, for future rationalization. when he reaches for you again, it’s unsurprising to your subconscious that you don't resist it.

“i miss you.” he insists, voice laced thinly with pleading. if you weren’t listening to his every word, it could have even gone over your head. your head tips back when you feel his fingers searching for your clit, rubbing circles gently around it. “missed her, too.”

“i’m mad at you.” you strain, breath hitching.

“yeah.” he agrees, but his finger sinks into you easily, much assisted by all the slick pooling up at your entrance. “she’s not, though.”

the intrusion is gone almost as soon as it comes, and you have to suppress the whine that threatens to reveal itself. you watch him lift his shirt over his head and toss it, how he lets the clothes covering his bottom half fly onto the floor right along with them. from where he sits up on his knees in front of you, his cock is hard and leaking against his stomach.

“got bigger since the last time i saw it.” you mention, and you’re being half serious, watching how the head of it pulses a blush red.

“shut up,” he laughs. “been saving it for you. almost a week is a long time.”

“s’your fault.”

he nods, pulls you by your hips so you can lay on your back again. “it is.”

it’s bliss. the hot, familiar stretch of him, the way he always makes you so wet and slick that he can get himself inside without much resistance. one push past that first ring of tension and he’s filling you, his mouth falling open in a heavy breath. your back threatens to arch off of the bed, legs coming to wrap around him.

he takes your chin into the space between his index finger and his thumb, finally, connects your lips in a kiss. it’s not until you feel it, his mouth moving against yours, that it hits you that it’s the first time he’s kissed you all night. in days. almost a week really is a long time.

“gumi-” you plead against his mouth, but he doesn’t give you space to say much else, keeps dragging his cock along the wetness of your insides and doesn’t let up on the kiss for a second. your attempt to pull away is futile, his long fingers coming to claim the base of your throat. holding you there so he can lick into your mouth.

“missed hearing you call me that, too,” he breathes, hips speeding up until you can hear the squelch of your cunt from the friction. the pressure inside of you is building up fast, like adding wood to a fire.

he’s not content with just the staccato of your moans, though he should be, all things considered. “you’re being quiet,” he tuts, hooks an arm under your legs one at a time so you can move them to hang over his shoulders. your cunt squeezes around him, the deeper angle frying something in your brain.

you’re not actually being quiet. you’re being so loud that it’s going to be embarrassing to see any of your neighbors in the parking lot tomorrow. but you know what he means, that he needs to hear you speak.

it’s not the right time for any flowery language. your nails scratch down the skin of his back roughly and you hear him hiss above you.

“d-don’t ever– do that to me again.” you whine, “don’t– you’re mine—“

“i am?” he asks, stupid smile on his face indicating that he’s pushing ur buttons on purpose. it’s like he can’t help himself. “c’mon, tell me. this your dick?”

the gravelly sound of his voice makes you tighten up again, and if you can hear the way you’re gushing around him, then so can he. he puts more pressure behind his thrusts, low noises falling from his lips.

his gaze pours into yours, wants an answer. you have one.

yes, yes— m-mine, it’s mine— you’re mine.

“mhmm..” he encourages, “can’t give it up to anyone, can i?”

he has to stop himself from laughing a little at how serious you are, even in this position, when you say no.

he leans down to kiss you again, sucks your bottom lip into his mouth.

“i won’t, i promise. m’so sorry, baby. i’m sorry.”

“it’s—fuck—”

there’s some part of you that is hesitating on telling him it’s okay. the length of his dick breaks through the metaphysical wall, head bullying the spongy spot deep inside you so good that he forces it out. “i-it’s okay– it’s–”

“mm? you forgive me, beautiful?”

the words leave you, eyes squeezed shut because the weight of his stare is too much for you. all that’s left is the same syllables in a desperate kind repetition, mhm, mh-m..

you want to scream when he pulls out, nails digging into his bicep in a ditch effort to get him to put it back in.

“relax,” he says, watches your body twitch with need. “turn around and arch up.”

your body moves slowly as it wobbles into its position, head resting on the pillow and ass on full display for him. you cry out pathetically when he lands a smack down on your ass, hips pushing back against the head of his dick becasue it’s right there, you can feel it, all he has to do is just–

“y-you’re being mean..” you complain, and the irritation builds when you hear his chuckle behind you, fingers gripping at the meat of your ass.

he sheathes himself inside you wordlessly, one full thrust that brings his hips flush against your ass. you bury your face into the pillow to muffle the noise. he lets you do it, though normally he wouldn’t. even over the plap, plap, plap of your bodies meeting, the sound of him hammering his way into your sobbing cunt over and over, he can still hear you loud and clear.

“getting my dick all wet,” he muses, catches your wrist when you throw your hand behind you so he can use it to pull you back. “missed this pussy so much.”

there’s drool soaking into your pillowcase, the fabric sticking wetly to your cheek, and your legs are going numb just slightly. he pulls your head up by your hair after a few more thrusts, uses the proximity to your ear to whisper to you, soft and so casual:

“y’gonna let me nut in you this time? hm?”

and your response is immediate, well, once you can push through the brain fog. “please.”

please, gumi– please, pleasepleaseplease–

you get what you want. he thrusts once, twice, nestles himself all the way in and fills you up with a groan.

your legs give out under you, belly pressed to the bed now and he just follows you. keeps his pace the same as it always was, pushing through his overstimulation as his hand comes under you to find your clit.

“c’mon, i got you.” he mumbles, presses a kiss to your shoulder. cold drops of sweat from his hair are soothing the skin at the back of your neck. “not gonna stop til’ you give it to me, you know that.”

your eyes roll back for their final time, broken noise from your throat ringing in the air when you cum. you think your ears might be ringing, or maybe that part is just a figment of your imagination, but your whole body feels like it’s vibrating with sound. he slows his hips into a grind so you can ride it out all the way to the edge. doesn’t stop until your body stills under him, like he promised.

-

“i want to go to the cat cafe tomorrow.” you mumble against his neck, eyes closed peacefully and legs tangled with his own. it’s so hot in the room that you guys have pushed the comforter all the way off the bed, skin taking in the cool air coming from your open window.

megumi snorts, fingers ghosting over the exposed skin of your shoulder. “i thought you were asleep.”

“i’m not.”

“clearly. i have to do some driving tomorrow.”

“can i come?”

you feel his nod. “yeah, of course you can come.”

“and then can we go to the cat cafe? they do walk ins.”

he pauses to think, trying to make a quick calculation about how long tomorrow could actually take. he has to deliver all the way to bumblefuck where inumaki lives, and then he’ll have to re-up across town once he eventually makes it back, and then–

“you hate me.” you pout, but you nuzzle closer to him anyway.

“yeah, totally.” he jokes. his expression lost to the dark, but you can hear the grin.

“we can go.” he affirms. “i’ll be done in time.”

.

.

next day edit: click for next part hehe its already here

“Y-Yeah, I’m not one of the higher ranked ones so..” You trail off, finishing up so you can end the conversation. “Thanks for letting me clean up.” He nods and smiles.

“Well, alright. You gave me a good time. Hope you figure out whatever’s going on.” You thank him and he waves you off, presumably too tuckered out to get out of bed. It was a good time for you too, helping you with letting out energy. See? You were right. Everything about Shanks was just because you were pent up.

You step onto the ship, now that you’re here you don’t feel sleepy anymore. What if they come and jump you and letting you go was a test? However.. nothing bad happens. Monster comes out and when it sees you it walks you to the storage room, then leaves once you’re inside. That’s it. Seems like taking note of when you came back was just another part of its night watch, too. You lay in bed, too nervous to fall asleep. What if you wake up on a plank? Or get no food? Or you step onto the deck and suddenly you’re looking at your own body while your head leaves your neck? It’s keeping you awake and you eventually get up to get water.

Walking back from your quick drink you hear something, following it. It doesn’t sound like anything bad, anyway; it’s actually fairly quiet. You caught it only due to how silent the night is. You stand in front of Shanks’s room, it’s coming from inside. You aren’t going to do something crazy like put your ear to the door so you reasonably stand there to see if you can hear it from outside. A moment passes until you hear it, a person moaning. Your face goes hot. Awkward! You quickly make it back to your room and tuck inside your futon. Of course he would bring someone back to the ship, he’s a handsome man and has that rugged charm that could seduce more people to count. Still, something starts to corrode your heart; why do you feel like this? It’s like you caught him cheating on you, which is insanely hypocritical considering you yourself just came back from a one night stand. A dark thought festers in your mind.

‘..I should’ve stayed a little longer, I wonder what his moans would’ve sounded like.’ Your brain starts to wander, but you’re not really horny anymore. Instead you imagine your hands on his body, then going to sleep next to him and waking up to him like that person likely would. What you’re feeling must just be envy that he can sleep afterwards but you can’t, since you had to come back even if you wanted to keep sleeping; or if you wanted to do it through the night. Will he do it through the night? You grip the blanket subconsciously, this isn’t your problem. This isn’t a situation you should worry about.

_______________

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you wake up. It’s dark in the storage room as always since there’s no windows, even the light in this room isn’t very good. Apparently they’ve been meaning to fix it but keep putting it off. What a coincidence since the exact same thing was back at your base. Maybe this is a sign.

‘How many pirates does it take to screw in a lightbulb?’ You joke sleepily to yourself, sitting up. No punchline. The sleep you got wasn’t as energizing as your brain would’ve liked.

You step outside with caution, also heading into the kitchen with caution.

..No one is here.

You start to panic, why is no one here? Are they hungover or did they leave you here? What if they left to have you starve as a lesson?

“H–Hello?” You call out, then jump when you spot Monster. It makes monkey sounds, obviously, and you nervously nod. ‘This thing isn’t going to rip me apart, right? It hasn't happened so far but I’ve only seen it with the others and yesterday night.’ You worry, but it tilts its head at you before stepping forward.

“Monster!” Bonk Punch walks in, then clutches his head like his own yell hurts. “You’re scaring him.” It steps back and jumps onto the pirate’s shoulder. You sigh in relief.

…

Awkward.

“You’re looking like you're waiting for me to lunge at you. I’m not doing anything. We let you go with that guy, you’re not in trouble.” He says and you relax a bit. “I thought you might’ve gotten kicked out when Monster said you got back early but it looks like you didn’t.” He taps his neck and you touch yours. Shoot, you must have a hickey.

“I wasn’t paying attention..” You mumble. You usually cover them for work but you don’t have anything to cover it with here.

“It’s fine~ Means you got lucky, right?” He walks over and grabs a huge glass of water, chugging it down before slamming it on the table with a sigh of relief. “I’m only up early because I have to navigate the ship. The moment I get it on course I’m leaving it to someone else to keep watch.” He suddenly looks at you. “Hey, you aren’t hung over.”

“No, I’m not.” He hums at your answer. “Almost everyone will be hung over, and Monster wants to sleep, so you keep watch on the ship.” Your mouth gapes.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, if I wake up and it’s off course then you’ll be in trouble.” His gaze sharpens and you nod quickly. Figures. “Alright, we’re heading to bed right after.” He and the monkey finally leave and you let out a long breath.

“I was gonna use this chance to sleep in..” No sleeping in for you unfortunately. Shanks is hung over too, likely. Your heart stings when you remember what you heard last night and you shake your head. You’re at most friends, you need to calm down. Still, your mind keeps going back to him. You have some time before the navigator has the course ready, you should do something nice.

You head to the infirmary, digging through the place for pain meds, putting them near a large glass of water once you’re back at the kitchen. The cook probably wakes up earlier so you got some for him too. You’ve got a lot of toast to make.

One by one you toast bread, they have a smaller version of the same toaster in the Marine kitchen that can batch toast. It took a while for you to figure it out, especially since it doesn’t actually look like it’s used often, but once it gets going there isn’t much for you to do. Once you feel there’s enough for a man the size of that cook you turn it off. This isn’t because you hold deep affection for Shanks, that is unpatriotic, but you’ll make his toast individually on the pan. You’re starting to stress a bit about it, what if he notices it’s different and points out your care? No, he doesn’t seem like the type to do that. As the toast is sizzling you take a deep breath. You’re worrying over nothing.

…

THE NAVIGATION!

You messed up, you messed up. You run outside and quickly check only to find your fear. You’ve gone off course. Not by much but it’s noticeable.

Badump Badump

You’re sweating, maybe the punishment will just be something small like push-ups. You get the ship back on course and head into the kitchen to see the ship’s cook about to eat the toast you left on the pan.

“No!” You run over, stopping in front of him. He freezes. “The last two pieces are for Shanks.” You quickly say and he puts them down. You go pale when you realize you yelled.

“You made these?” He asks and you slowly nod.

“Yeah, sorry. I figured you wake up earlier than the others to cook so I made some for you too, but- uh- the last two are for Shanks. He’s your captain, so..” He looks down at the toast he was about to eat. The rest had blueberry jam, but these don’t have anything. You’re quickly coating on a chocolate spread instead. He thought it was because you got tired.

“Oh. Alright.” He puts a cover over the toast once you’re done and goes to prepping ingredients. You didn’t get scolded or hit for yelling.

“...Am I still getting food?” You ask cautiously.

“Huh? Why wouldn’t you?” He questions back and you pause.

“Because I— nevermind.” You don’t need to push it. The cook looks back for a moment but goes back to his task.

“Captain wakes up later than you think when he’s hungover, you should make his toast later.”

“oh.” Oops. He’ll get stale toast.

…

“I have to get back to watching the path, bye.” With that, the conversation is done. You go back out to do your given job.

________

When Bonk Punch woke up he didn’t get mad at you, he said it wasn’t off by enough to make a huge difference; though his leniency is partially attributed to his ability to sleep in. You ate a snack Lucky Roux made and when Shanks came inside he ate the stale toast like it was the tastiest thing ever. Nothing is showing that you’re in trouble.

“Pain meds too? Lucky you godse-”

“Not me.” He motions to you with his head and the captain looks at you.

“(N/n) you godsend.” He holds your hand while speaking.

“I-It’s alright. I messed up and let it go stale, anyway.” He’s close!

“Couldn’t even tell.” He states with a smile. There’s chocolate on his lips. His eyes glance to your neck and his grip on your hand loosens.

“Ah, sorry.” You suddenly feel the need to apologize.

“Nothing to say sorry for.” He feels less excited than before.

“..Okay.” You gently hold his hand back. “I used your spread for the toast, since you don’t like blueberry. Or is it that you loved blueberry? I just remembered that you had a strong opinion about it-”

“I hate it.” His eyes are slightly wide, he lets go of your hand. “You remembered.” You nod and he smiles, turning away. “Okay, let’s eat!”

“I haven’t served yet.” Lucky Roux points out and he flinches.

_____________

You and Shanks sit on the front deck. You’re wearing a different outfit that can cover the hickey better.

“You changed.” Shanks starts.

“People kept pointing out the hickey.” You reply.

“Right.”

…

“You brought someone back too, right? I came back in the middle of the night and heard them in your room.”

“Huh!?” He jolts. “Y-Yeah, I did.” It’s like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

…

The conversation that used to come easily for you both has turned awkward.

“I—have to go help with something.” Shanks stands up and leaves. You’re used to being the one leaving so it catches you off guard. He didn’t even wait for you to say bye.

(Shanks’s POV)

Shanks stops at the pillar of the crow’s nest, then lets out a big sigh and sinks onto the ground on his butt.

“Ugh.” Once he’s on the ground he feels a bit better. He was getting tipsy yesterday and ended up getting someone to sleep with despite having no plans to. Then again, he was planning not to so he could hang out with you; but he wasn’t paying attention and you looked scared so you ended up going with some other guy. ‘This is my fault.’ His self blaming nature is kicking in again, accountability turns to negativity. ‘I told myself I’d use this chance to get him to be more comfortable with the crew and I left him alone. It’s fair he went with someone else.’ A moment passes. ‘Why am I this upset?’ Sure he would be upset that he didn’t get to be with you but his crew vouched for you, so they're warming up to you, and you did something fun for yourself that was risky. He should be happy.. but he’s not. He wasn’t happy when his crew let you go, he wasn’t happy when you went home with someone else, and he wasn’t happy seeing you with a hickey. He wasn’t even all that happy talking to you, or that you knew he also got someone, instead of talking about how it went like he would the others. Is it because you aren’t one of his crewmates? Because you’re a marine? He’s acting like you cheated on him and he cheated on you back, as if you two were together. As if he.. had a crush on you.

…

As if he had…

“Huh?” His eyes go wide. Was he.. jealous? Hurt? That you went with someone else? That you slept with someone else? He leans back and stares up into the sky. “I have a crush on a marine soldier.” He mumbles to himself in disbelief, his heart quickening. This isn’t from relief, this isn’t from happiness. “No.” He’s scared. ‘No no no, this can’t be happening.’ His head falls into his hand and he curls up. ‘Not now, why now!?’ It’s only about time for everything to start, to play his role. This will not be happening now. ‘I need to get him off this ship. As soon as possible.’ He needs you off, away, back at that marine base. ‘But.. what will happen to him?’ What about the plan that he has?’ He grips onto his hair hard enough to sting. He can deal with this, it’s clearly in early stages and only because of the longing for unimportance. A superficial crush. Once the plan is finished you will leave, you will forget him, and you will keep your job; the job that will keep you away from him. He needs you to keep that job at all costs, this plan needs to continue, and he will make this work as he always has. Your face flashes into his mind and he pushes it away forcefully. He can deal with this. He has to.

______________________

(Your POV)

Shanks has become distant. You can tell. He talks with you and jokes with you but it’s different now no matter the facade he keeps putting up. You started thinking that you’re overreacting and being prideful assuming that you can figure out the mind of someone you met so recently but you couldn’t shake it off. It’s different. The walls that felt open are up. He doesn’t try to touch you, he doesn’t try to pry into your life, he doesn’t get into anecdotes of his past, he doesn’t even randomly pop in when you’re doing chores. It’s starting to drive you crazy.

“Come into my life, put me on your ship, talk to me, pry into me, then suddenly you’re all distant. What did I even do!?” You curse while angrily picking up trash. He’s been acting distant ever since you left at that bar, what are you supposed to do about that!? Is he mad you left? Was it really a test? Did you fail his test and now you’re just another number to him again? You notice your hands starting to shake. “I-I just.. thought..” You were starting to feel a little important. Someone was talking to you about life, someone so.. large in the world. It was making you feel like something. He came and lifted you up like you weren’t just another piece of fodder and now he’s just as suddenly lost interest. “Was he cruel all along?” He tricked you. He knew you would rely on him and took the chance to play with a “lesser” for fun.

“Mariney?” You look to the side and see Maddie. Right, her! If he tricked you into thinking you were something then there’s a chance he never had intention to help her either! You open your mouth to speak, then close it. How are you supposed to break that news? She was so scared of the pirates deep down and now that she’s starting to trust them you break the news that it was all a lie? That it really is hopeless, and you won’t be able to do a thing to protect her. “Mister?” She walks over to you, getting scared at your obvious emotional state. Ignorance.. ignorance is bliss. If it comes to that then you’ll do as best as you can to help her, and if you fail…

You’d rather it be quick enough she wouldn’t even know. So her last moments will be the way she is now, the audacious little girl who believes she’ll grow up to be strong.

“I’m okay.” You pat her on the head gently. “It’s okay. I got a little panicked earlier when I saw a spider, that’s it.” Her expression lightens.

“That’s it?” She seems to have bought it. “You could’ve just called for me. I’m really good at squishing them.” It’s not like you can let them free into nature in the middle of the ocean. The moment you leave an island they can become an invasive species to another one as well.

“You’d do a lot better if you helped me clean.” She jolts and starts to sneakily leave.

“Ummm.. I’m only good with spiders. Bye!” She skitters off. Once she’s gone you look at the ground with a heavy heart. This ship has become cold once again.

Gasp! Season end.. is this a cliffhanger? Anyway things don't go happy go lucky like you'd like them to. I'd expected angst, but i guess it got out of hand.. I have polls so that you guys can decide how i go about this. It may not seem like much of a choice but it matters, trust me. I also have a poll for what i should work on so check that out. So maybe 3 or 4 polls? If you're reading this immediately then wait a bit for me to post them, then I'll link them below.

Tag list: @abarosoap, @eater-of-sand, @yuurivalr, @aruaruaru, @rorawrnoa-zoro, @sasahzs, @psychictamsy

Poll 1

Poll 2

Poll 3

Poll 4

Poll for what i work on

notes: hey everyone. this fic has quite possibly taken over my life. it took a fuckton of planning, writing time, and actual dedicaiton. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO KNOW SHIT ABOUT STAR WARS TO READ THIS FIC!!! Everything is explained in depth via the reader' s backstory through her pov and through research and dialogue in Dick's pov. This fic is not everyone's cup of tea, and that's okay! I love all of you so much <3

TO MY MOOTS: Since I believe most or all of my moots are fic-adjacent, I have tagged you all on the masterlist and will be tagging you in the chapters as well! If you would like to be removed from the taglist, let me know and I can take you off.

AS FOR MY NOT MOOTS: if you would like to be ADDED to the taglist I can put you on there!

warnings: violence, gore, death, torture, swearing, manipulation, no use of y/n, shitty people in general, probably xenophobia (not by reader or any MC), non-canon material (duh), probably too much foreshadowing, scars, throat injuries, chronic pain/injuries

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Worldbuilding Notes (to be updated as the series progresses)

Spotify Link

part i - A Senator's Son and a Jedi's Daughter

5.7k || April 7

tracks 1-6

part ii - Greed's Council

5.9k || April 11

tracks 7-12

part iii - Atychiphobia

6.4k || April 18

tracks 13-18

part iv - The Parliament

5.9k || April 21

tracks 19-24

part v - Silence as Aggression

[wc] ||

tracks 25-30

part vi - Sacrificial Monsters

[wc] ||

tracks 31-36

part vii - Angel of Death

[wc] ||

tracks 37-42

part viii - North's Face

[wc] ||

tracks 43-48

part ix - The Art of Subtlety

[wc] ||

tracks 49-54

part x - Red Horizon

[wc] ||

tracks 55-60

part xi - The Pen and the Sword

[wc] ||

tracks 61-66

part xii - Soldier Hymn

[wc] ||

tracks 67-72

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thank you for reading!! if i missed any tags please let me know!!!

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i do not own Star Wars or DC Comics