#pi cheolin

“Have you thought about my proposal?” Woozi asked, leaning forward with that familiar mix of persistence and confidence. He was the only person in the company who could speak to Cheolin this casually.

Cheolin raised an eyebrow, swirling the black coffee in his cup. “Ah… I don’t know. Isn’t it too risky? We’re an agency that doesn’t represent young people. Managing a young, female solo artist… I’m not entirely convinced.”

Woozi let out a short laugh, tapping the portfolio on the table. “You say that every time I bring something new to the table. Come on, hyung. The industry is shifting. If we don’t adapt, we’ll become irrelevant. I already have a name, she has something fresh. Real talent. Her voice is unique, really unique, and her stage presence—” He kissed his fingers dramatically. “Chef’s kiss.”

Cheolin flipped open the folder again, keeping his expression neutral. The headshot stared back at him. Those wide, bright eyes. That faint, almost shy smile that didn’t match the body in the training photos. He closed it after only a few seconds.

“She’s twenty-two,” he said flatly.Woozi tilted his head.

“And? We’ve handled rookies before.”“Not female. Not this young. Our brand is maturity, experience, reliability. If we debut her and she crashes, the press will tear us apart. ‘Desperate agency chasing trends,’ ‘Exploiting a young girl,’ all that noise.”

Cheolin leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “We don’t need that kind of risk right now.”Woozi studied him for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly in that perceptive way that always made Cheolin feel exposed. They had been friends for nearly twenty years—Woozi was one of the few people who could push back without fear.

“That’s why you should oversee her personally. You’ve built this company from nothing. No one has better instincts than you. Besides…” He leaned in, lowering his voice like they were sharing a secret, even though they were alone. “You really need to get Chunsunie outta your head.”

Cheolin exhaled slowly through his nose and set his cup down with a soft click. “Even if I was… interested, which I’m not saying I am, it would be completely inappropriate. She’s half my age, Woozi. I’m her potential CEO, not some dirty old man looking for a toy.”

Woozi let out a dry laugh. “You’re not a dirty old man. You’re a 52-year-old man who’s been punishing himself for a failed engagement that was never going to work anyway. She's is young, yes. But she’s also an adult.”

Cheolin rubbed his temple, feeling the weight of every year. “You’re really pushing this.”“Because I care about both the company and you, you stubborn bastard.” Woozi slid the full training evaluation across the table. “Look at the numbers again. Vocal range is excellent. Dance ability is top tier. Work ethic is off the charts. She’s polite, quick to learn,”

Cheolin stared at the closed portfolio but didn’t open it this time. His thumb pressed hard against the edge of the folder.Woozi softened his tone. “Oversee her yourself. Not as some creepy mentor fantasy — as the best CEO in the industry. Guide her career properly. And if something… happens between you two later, well… that’s between two consenting adults. Just don’t let fear and that old Chunsunie wound make you miss out on something good for the company. Or for you.”

Cheolin stayed quiet for a long moment, eyes distant. Finally, he spoke, almost to himself.“…Set up a private showcase. Tomorrow night. Studio 3.”Woozi’s face broke into a satisfied grin. “Already done. 9 PM.”Cheolin shot him a sharp glare. “You were that sure?”“I know you better than you know yourself sometimes.”

Woozi stood up and gathered his things. “Try not to intimidate her too much. And hyung?”“What?”Woozi paused at the door, smirking. “Try smiling once in a while. You might scare the poor girl off looking like you want to eat her alive and fire her at the same time.”“Get out of my office,” Cheolin muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.Once the door closed, Cheolin leaned back in his chair and opened the portfolio again. Her headshot smiled up at him innocently.He let out a long, tired breath and muttered under his breath:“What the hell am I doing…”

The next evening, Studio 3 was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioning and the occasional creak of chairs.

Pi Cheolin arrived early, ten minutes before nine, because punctuality was habit and because he didn’t want to give the impression that he was making any special effort. He’d changed into a plain black button-down and dark jeans—nothing flashy as usual. Woozi was already there, leaning against the console with his arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself.

At exactly 9:02, the door opened and you stepped in.“CEO-nim. Thank you for making time,” you said, voice clear but not overly bright. “I’ll do my best.”

He gave a single nod. “No need for a full production. Just sing what you prepared. Two songs, then we’ll talk.”You didn’t smile nervously or chatter. You simply said, “Understood,” and moved into the recording space.

When you finished, the last note faded into the dead air of the studio. You lowered the mic slightly and waited.Woozi glanced sideways at Cheolin, eyebrows raised in a silent "well" Cheolin stood up and walked into the live room.

The door clicked shut behind him. Up close, he could see the faint sheen of sweat at your hairline and the way you were forcing your breathing to stay even.“Not bad,” he said. His voice was lower, calmer than you  expected. “Sit.”You took the chair across from him. Cheolin remained standing for a moment, hands in his pockets, then lowered himself into the seat. “I’m not going to lie to you,” he continued. “Our agency doesn’t usually take on soloists your age. Our roster is older, more established. The optics of signing someone young and female right now are… complicated.”You nodded once, listening.“But talent is talent,” he added. “And you have it. The question is whether you have the discipline to survive the way we work here. No shortcuts. No social media stunts. No scandals. If you debut under us, you’ll be carrying the weight of every headline that says we’re chasing trends.”He paused, watching your reaction.

You didn’t rush to reassure him. Instead you said, “I didn’t come here looking for easy. I came because I want to be good. Really good. And I think your company knows how to build that without burning people out.”Cheolin leaned back slightly, arms resting on the chair.

“You’ve done your research.”“I have.”Another beat of quiet.“I’ll think about it,” he said finally. “We’ll run a few more sessions. Vocal analysis, dance evaluation under fatigue, media training basics. If you’re still standing after that, we’ll talk contracts.”He stood up. You rose with him.As you turned to gather your things, Cheolin spoke again, quieter this time.

“And kid—stop calling me CEO-nim in private if we end up working together. It makes me feel older than I already am.”You glanced back, a small, genuine half-smile breaking through for the first time.“Noted… Cheolin-ssi.”He didn’t correct you. Just gave a short nod and watched you leave the studio.

Woozi appeared beside him a moment later, hands in his pockets, smug as hell.“Still think it’s too risky, hyung?”Cheolin exhaled through his nose and rubbed the back of his neck.“Shut up.” “Haha, told yaaa!” Cheolin scoffed “Don't make me regret this Jihoon-ah”

“You know, I remember when you joined that company and you were telling me about him, you said he was charismatic, flashy, etc... He wasn't any of that crap.Why did you lie to me like that? I almost shit myself when I saw the look you he was giving me.” Jihoon laughed at your confession, then served you both another shot of soju.

“That man used to be like that, I swear, but people change. Cheolin went through a difficult divorce. The woman he married had been his girlfriend since he lived in Sebong-ri. It was a very dark time for him, and I suppose it still is. He hasn't dated anyone, and he hasn't stopped wearing black since his marriage ended. And do you know how long they lasted? Half a year.” Your eyes widened, and you let out a low whistle, “Wow, no wonder.”

You took the shot Jihoon poured, the soju burning a clean line down your throat. The small table in the quiet pojangmacha was sticky with condensation rings, and the late-night humidity clung to your skin. You set the empty glass down with a soft clack.

You leaned your chin on your hand, staring at the flickering neon sign outside. “He still agreed to the extra sessions, though. I thought for sure he’d say no.”

“Because he’s not stupid,” Jihoon said, pointing a piece of squid at you. “Your voice is special. That lower register you hit in the bridge? Not many girls your age can do that without sounding forced. It's great that you worked with me before the audition; you have the best coach by your side.”

You felt a small flutter in your stomach that had nothing to do with the soju. You pushed it down immediately. And just laughed, drinking another shot.

The next two weeks blurred into a punishing but exhilarating rhythm that pushed you to your limits and beyond.

Mornings were dedicated to vocal training under Producer Woo—none other than Woozi himself. The same easygoing friend who had laughed with you over soju became an entirely different person behind the studio glass. He turned into an "asshole", brutally precise, he tore apart every note, every breath, every emotional choice you made. “Again,” he would say flatly, even after you’d already run the section ten times. Your throat grew raw, your patience thinner, and there were moments you genuinely hated him, friend or not. Yet no matter how much you wanted to kill him, you couldn’t deny the results. Under his strict guidance, your voice was sharpening into something cleaner.

Afternoons belonged to dance evaluations with Hoshi —a self-proclaimed Tiger of the company— This man was a force of nature,explosive and seemingly tireless. While your legs trembled and sweat poured down your back after endless repetitions, Hoshi moved like he had unlimited energy, never once showing fatigue. “Come on! You think the audience will feel sorry for you?” he’d yell, clapping his hands sharply to keep the rhythm. He demanded perfection in every angle, every snap of the wrist, every foot placement, pushing you through choreography even when your muscles screamed for mercy. His stamina was almost inhuman, and he expected the same from you. By the end of each session, you were drenched, sore, and barely standing—yet strangely addicted to the fire he lit in you.

Evenings were reserved for the quiet intensity of media training with Jun. The Chinese trainer had an elegant composure that made him look like he belonged on a fashion runway rather than in a practice room. Unlike Hoshi’s loud energy or Woozi’s cutting directness, Jun’s style was calm, measured, and deeply intimidating.

He studied every micro-expression with surgical precision. A slight frown, an overly eager smile, a nervous shift of your gaze—nothing slipped past him. “You'd get canceled for this,” he would note softly, marking it down before launching into another long, deliberately exhausting mock interview. The sessions were mentally draining, filled with repetitive scenarios designed to test your patience and composure under pressure. “The camera sees everything,” he often reminded you. “Master boredom. Master fatigue. Or the public will master you.”

By the time you finally crawled into bed each night, every muscle ached, your mind felt fried, and your voice was hoarse. But beneath the exhaustion, you could feel yourself transforming—growing tougher, more refined, and more confident with each brutal day.

One Thursday night. The clock had already passed 11 PM. You’d run the same song four times under increasingly difficult conditions—after fifty push-ups, after holding a plank for three minutes, after learning brand-new choreography on the spot. Your shirt clung to your back, and strands of hair stuck to your neck.

Cheolin stood in the live room this time, leaning against the wall with his sleeves rolled up. The top two buttons of his black shirt were undone from the heat. For once, he wasn’t wearing a jacket.

“Again,” he said quietly.You caught your breath. “With the new ad-lib at the end?”

He gave a single nod.

You closed your eyes, found the emotion you’d been digging for all night, and sang. When you finished Cheolin didn’t speak right away. He walked over, picked up a clean towel from the stack, and handed it to you without a word. His fingers brushed yours for half a second.

“You’re improving,” he said. His voice was low. “But you’re still holding back in the chorus. Like you’re afraid of taking up too much space.”

You wiped your face, heart still hammering. “I don’t want to come across as… too much. Especially here.”

He studied you for a long moment. The studio lights cast sharp shadows under his cheekbones, making him look both exhausted and unfairly handsome.

“This industry will try to make you smaller in a hundred different ways,” he finally said. “My job is to make sure that doesn’t happen. Not while you’re under my roof.” He paused. “If you sign with us.”

Your pulse spiked. “Are you saying…?”

“I’m saying we’ll draw up the contract next week. But understand this—” His eyes locked onto yours, dark and serious. “I’m not an easy boss by any means, yes, We're not such a strict company, but that doesn't mean I don't strive for perfection in my artists. I really expect perfection. I expect loyalty. And I expect you to tell me when I’m being an unreasonable bastard, because I will be sometimes.”

A small, tired smile tugged at your lips. “Noted...”

He cleared his throat and stepped back. “Go home. Get some rest. And stop letting Jihoon drag you out for soju on weeknights. I can smell it on you.”

Your eyes widened. “I- We only had l-like two or three shots-”“I know my friend,” he muttered, already turning toward the door.

You watched him leave, the door clicking shut with finality. Only then did you let out the breath you’d been holding.

The contract signing was scheduled for a quiet Tuesday morning, nothing ceremonial. No press, just you, Pi Cheolin, Woozi, and a single lawyer who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

You arrived five minutes early. Cheolin was already at the head of the long conference table, reading through the final draft even though he’d probably memorized it.

He glanced up when you entered, gave a short nod, and gestured to the seat across from him.“Morning,” he greeted you. “Morning… Cheolin-ssi.”

Woozi, leaning against the windowsill with a coffee, smirked but wisely kept his mouth shut.The lawyer slid the papers over. Ten pages of carefully worded clauses. You’d read the draft twice the night before, but seeing it now, with your name typed at the bottom, still felt surreal.

Cheolin watched you as you scanned the final version.“Any last questions?” he asked.You hesitated, then met his eyes. “Just one. The clause about personal relationships… it says I have to disclose anything that could affect the company image. Does that include… dating?”

Woozi suddenly found the view outside very interesting.

“It does. But I’m not asking you to live like a nun. Just don’t be stupid about it. No trainees, no competitors, no married men, and definitely no posting blurry couple photos on Instagram. If it gets serious, you tell me first. I’d rather manage the narrative than clean up a scandal.”His tone was purely professional.

You signed.He signed after you. When he slid the copy back to you.

“Congratulations,” he said. “Welcome to my roster. Try not to make me regret it.”The corner of your mouth lifted. “I’ll do my best, boss.”Woozi clapped once. “Finally. Now the real work begins.”

Several months had passed since the signing of the contract, you already had a debut album on the way, a concept, an image, and you had been teased to the public.

You were in the company gym, it was around 11 pm and you had just finished your daily workout. To end the day, you decided to work out instead of jogging.

You decided to do one last set of squads, you had your headphones on at full volume, so you didn't realize that someone was watching you.

“pervert.” Pi Cheolin almost had a heart attack when he heard his friend's voice behind him. “Fuck you! I'm not a pervert” He straightened up and turned to face him. “Yeah, right, and the sky is green. You son of a bitch, Lee chan.” Cheolin gulped at the use of his full government name. Woozi laughed at him and shoved a paper in his face. Cheolin raised an eyebrow and read out loud the content written on the paper. “Immediate change of vocal coach-” He immediately tried to "clear his throat" “Oh my god, how could this have happened, hahaha”Cheolin let out the most fake laugh he could master.

Woozi doubled over laughing, clutching the paper like it was the funniest contract clause he’d ever written. “Immediate change of vocal coach due to… personal conflict of interest? Riiiight, Could this little "personal conflict" be due to you wanting to be glued to her ass?” Cheolin's eyes widened and he shook his head “The fuck you talking about!? Stop saying nonsense!” “Hyung, you’re not even subtle anymore. You’ve been staring at her ass for the last ten minutes.”

Cheolin snatched the paper, scanning it quickly before crumpling it in his fist. “You’re enjoying this way too much. I was checking her form. Posture. That’s part of evaluation.”

“Yeah? And the way your eyes were glued to her when she dropped into that squat was purely professional assessment, right? I am having a true blast watching this happen before my eyes!” Woozi wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still grinning like a shit-eating fox. “Lee Chan-ah. Lee. Chan. You’re down bad.”

Cheolin shot him a murderous glare but couldn’t quite deny it fast enough. Woozi snorted when Cheolin looked back, and saw you make another squat “ Oh! Oh! Just look at that!” Cheolin's head snapped back at him, “Oh my god, your jaw was literally slack. I thought you were about to start drooling.” Cheolin exhaled sharply through his nose, a rare crack in his usual composure. He turned fully away from the gym door this time, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s not… I’m not—” He stopped, because they both knew whatever excuse he was about to give was bullshit. “Look. You’ve been wound tighter than a femboy twink since she signed, you need to loose that hole of yours. Either do something about it or stop staring before she notices and thinks her CEO is a creep.”

“I’m not going to "do something,"” Cheolin said quietly, dangerously. “She’s twenty-two. I’m her boss. End of discussion.”

“Consenting adults,” Woozi coughed Conveniently, reminding him, echoing their earlier conversation.

Woozi’s voice dropped, the teasing fading into something more serious. “She's a consenting adult, twenty-two, not eighteen, not nineteen, twenty-two, under contract, and looking at you like you hung the moon and the stars when you give her the smallest crumb of praise.”

Cheolin exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know. Fuck, I know.” His voice was rough. “That’s why I’m trying to stay away. You know, I think she sees me more as a kind of "father figure." Besides that, I'm not going to risk my career over a scandal— just imagine the headlines!”

Woozi let out a low, disbelieving chuckle.“Father figure?” He repeated the words like they tasted ridiculous. “Hyung, are you fucking blind? That girl doesn’t look at you like you’re her dad. She looks at you like she wants you to bend her over the mixing board and ruin her vocal cords for an entirely different reason.”

Cheolin’s jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “Watch your mouth.”“No, you watch yours. Or better yet—watch hers when she says your name. ‘Cheolin-ssi~” Woozi imitated your voice in a breathy, exaggerated way that made Cheolin’s ears turn red. “She’s not calling you that because she wants paternal advice. She’s calling you that because she’s trying to be respectful while probably wanting you to rile her against the console.”Cheolin turned away sharply, “You’re disgusting.”

“Oh my god, are you getting hard!?” Jihoon burst out laughing, "So old men like you still get boners?” He kept on laughing his ass off.

You pulled your headphones down around your neck, breathing hard, and reached for your water bottle. That’s when you noticed the two men outside the gym, trough the slight crack of the open door. Woozi was laughing like an idiot. Pi Cheolin looked… tense.

You wiped your face with a towel and walked over, pushing open the door.

“Everyting alright?” you asked, a tired but playful lilt in your voice. “Should I be worried Jihoon is laughing so damn hard?” Woozi immediately made himself scarce. “Oh would you look at the time. I have… things. Important producer things. Bye.” He practically sprinted out.

Then he exhaled through his nose and looked away toward the rain-streaked window.“Go home,” he said, voice rougher now. “Before I start sounding like a bitter old man giving unwanted advice.”

You smiled faintly,“Cheolin-ssi.”He looked at you.“For what it’s worth… I like the man you are now. Even when you’re scary.”

You slipped out before he could respond, heart beating faster than it had any right to.Behind you, in the empty hallway, Pi Cheolin stood still for a long moment, a tired hand rubbing over his face as he muttered to the quiet room

“…This is going to be trouble.”

Cheolin stood motionless in the hallway long after the door clicked shut behind you. He let out a slow, controlled breath and pressed two fingers against the bridge of his nose.

“Trouble,” he repeated under his breath. “That’s the fucking understatement of the decade.”

His body was still betraying him. The image of you in those tight leggings, thighs flexing with every squat, the way your tank top had ridden up… He cursed quietly and adjusted himself, irritated at how easily his body reacted these days. At fifty-two, he thought that kind of mindless hunger belonged in the past. Apparently not.

You were warming up your voice in the dedicated room, waiting for Woozi to walk through the door.

What a surprise it was to see none other than Pi Cheolin

Pi Cheolin stood in the doorway, one hand still on the handle like he was debating whether to step fully inside or retreat. He was dressed in his usual black—button-down sleeves rolled to his forearms, the top button undone, and he was wearing... A hat, and some sunglasses... Who wears sunglasses indoors!?You thought to yourself.

“I'm gonna be your new vocal coach, keep warming up, you're doing a cover of my hit song” “God of light music?” “Mhm”

You continued your warm-up, and about 10 minutes later, they finally moved on to rehearsing the song. Your voice wasn't like Seokmin's, and you struggled to reach his notes, which was starting to frustrate Cheolin.

“Again, "Stop singing with your throat for God's sake! You have to sing with your diaphragm, damn it!" Her expression looked like his anger was hanging by a thread.

You tried again, your voice broke again mid-verse, and that made him snap.

He threw the papers he was holding to one side, stood behind you, and pressed hard on your diaphragm.

You tried again, but the note fractured halfway through, unsupported and thin. Cheolin inhaled and exhaled, calming down properly.“Stop. You’re still singing from your throat. Use your diaphragm properly.”

He stepped in closer without warning, positioning himself directly behind you. His chest brushed your back as his right hand settled firmly against your lower abdomen, just beneath your ribs. The pressure was strong and deliberate, guiding your breathing. His left hand rested lightly on your shoulder to keep your posture aligned. The sudden closeness made the studio feel ten degrees warmer—his body heat, the faint scent of his cologne, the low timbre of his voice right beside your ear.

“Again. Breathe here. Expand against my hand. Don’t lift your shoulders.”

You nodded, trying to focus. The position felt slightly off after yesterday's long ass session—your legs were still shaky and your balance unsteady. You shifted your hips in a small, subtle wiggle, trying to find a more stable stance and settle his hand more comfortably against your core.

That small movement pressed your backside firmly back against the front of his body.

Cheolin went rigid.

The soft curve of your ass ground against him for a single, devastating second. Heat surged through him instantly, blood rushing south so fast it left him dizzy. His cock twitched and began to harden against the fabric of his slacks, thickening rapidly from the accidental contact. Shame hit him like ice water, but it did nothing to stop the heavy, aching throb that followed.

You felt him tense behind you—his hand tightening slightly on your abdomen—but you didn’t register anything more than that. You assumed he was just correcting your posture more firmly.“Cheolin-ssi…?” you started, uncertain.

“Enough.” His voice came out rough, almost strained. He yanked his hand away as if your skin had burned him and took two sharp steps back. “Session’s over.”

You turned, blinking in confusion. His face was unreadable, jaw clenched tight, but his ears were flushed red.

“Go find Hoshi,” he said curtly, already turning toward the door. “Tell him I sent you for endurance work. Don’t waste time.”

Before you could say anything else, he was gone—striding out without a backward glance.

Pi Cheolin didn’t stop moving until he reached his private executive bathroom on the top floor. He locked the door with a sharp click, heart pounding in his ears.

“Fuck… fuck,” he muttered, bracing one hand on the marble counter.

The image wouldn’t leave him: the way your ass had pressed back against him, soft and warm even through layers of clothing. His cock was fully hard now, straining painfully against his slacks. At fifty-two, he hated how quickly his body had betrayed him.

He exhaled shakily and unzipped, freeing his erection. It was flushed dark and heavy in his hand, already leaking at the tip. He wrapped his fingers around the thick length and gave one slow, firm stroke from base to head, hissing at the relief.

Leaning forward, forehead pressed against the cool mirror, he started stroking in earnest—long, tight pulls, thumb swiping over the sensitive head on every upstroke. His breath fogged the glass. He kept replaying that moment in the vocal room: your little wiggle, the perfect press of your body against his cock, the way you’d said his name so politely while he was losing control behind you.

“Shit…” he groaned under his breath.

He tightened his grip, pumping faster, hips jerking forward into his fist. The wet, rhythmic sound of skin on skin filled the small bathroom. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He imagined what it would feel like if he’d gripped your hips instead, if he’d ground against you properly, if you’d pushed back on purpose—

A low, broken sound escaped his throat. His balls tightened, thighs trembling. He stroked harder, almost punishing, chasing the release he desperately needed.

It hit him hard. He came with a choked grunt, thick ropes of cum spilling over his fist and onto the sink as his cock pulsed again and again. The orgasm dragged on, wave after wave, leaving his legs weak and his vision spotted.

When it finally subsided, Cheolin stood there panting, staring at his reflection—flushed, disheveled, eyes dark with lingering want and fresh guilt.

He cleaned up mechanically, splashing cold water on his face afterward. The shame settled heavy in his chest.

This couldn’t happen again. He wouldn’t let it.

But even as he straightened his clothes and fixed his expression into its usual stoic mask, he already knew the lie was getting harder to believe.

Woozi was leaning against the wall right outside the bathroom, arms crossed, wearing the smuggest grin Cheolin had ever seen. His eyes flicked down pointedly to Cheolin’s slightly disheveled shirt and the faint flush still visible on his neck.

“Hmm, you know, for a fifty-two year old man, you last like a teenager jacking off for the first time,” Woozi said, voice dripping with amusement.

Cheolin nearly had a heart attack. He slammed the bathroom door behind him harder than necessary.

“You son of a bitch!” he hissed, voice low but venomous. “All you do is torment me. Were you waiting out here the whole time?”

Woozi shrugged, completely unbothered. “I came to drop off the revised tracklist. Then I heard the most pathetic little grunt through the door. Had to stay for the show. Respectfully.”

Cheolin rubbed a hand down his face, wishing he could disappear. “I hate you. I actually hate you.”“No, you don’t. You love me. I’m the only one who tells you the truth.” Woozi pushed off the wall and stepped closer, lowering his voice even though they were alone on the executive floor. “So. How bad was it? Did you even make it to the sink or did you ruin your slacks like a desperate schoolboy?”

Cheolin shot him a murderous glare and started walking toward his office. Woozi followed like an annoying shadow.

“I’m serious, Jihoon,” Cheolin said once the office door was closed. “This stops now. I’m not doing this. She’s twenty-two. I’m her goddamn CEO. One accidental… moment doesn’t change anything.”

Woozi dropped into the chair across from Cheolin’s desk, spinning a pen between his fingers. “Accidental moment. Sure. And you ran up here to jerk off in your bathroom because you’re just that professional, right?” He tilted his head. “Hyung. I’m surprised you didn’t come the second her ass touched you.”

Cheolin sat heavily in his chair and glared at the ceiling. His body still felt loose and sensitive from the orgasm, which only made him more irritated. “It’s been years since I’ve… been with anyone. That’s all it is. Biology.”

“Bullshit,” Woozi said cheerfully. “You’ve had opportunities. You just never wanted anyone. Until her.”

Silence stretched between them.

Cheolin’s jaw clenched. The memory of your body pressed against his flashed through his mind again, and he felt a faint twitch of renewed interest. He shut it down immediately.“I dismissed her to Hoshi,” he muttered. “I can’t coach her vocals anymore. Conflict of interest. You’re taking her back full time.”

Woozi raised an eyebrow. “You really think avoiding her is going to fix this? You’re just going to keep staring at her in the gym, jerking off in your office bathroom every time she wears leggings, and slowly lose your mind?”

Pi Cheolin didn’t answer.

Woozi sighed, the teasing fading from his tone. “Let me remind you for the nth time, you’re both adults. Just… be careful. Oh! And remember to use condoms, I'm too young to be an uncle.”

“Get out of my office, Jihoon-ah.”

Woozi stood up with a small smirk. “Fine. But try not to jerk off again before lunch. You’re too old for that much cardio.”

“Get. Out.”

Once the door clicked shut, Cheolin leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The silence in his office felt heavier than usual.  

He couldn’t keep doing this. Not the staring. Not the private sessions. Definitely not the bathroom incidents.

For the next few days, he kept his distance. He buried himself in meetings, paperwork, and the upcoming comeback schedules of his established artists.

He reviewed your training reports through Woozi and Hoshi instead of watching in person. When he did pass you in the hallway, he gave short nods and kept walking, jaw tight, eyes anywhere but on your legs or the way your sweat-dampened shirt clung to your body.

It worked. For about four days.

Thursday evening, just past 9 PM.

You were in the main practice room alone, reviewing the final choreography for your title track. The mirrors reflected your tired but determined expression as you ran the bridge section again, hips rolling into the sharp isolations Hoshi had drilled into you for weeks.

The door opened.

Cheolin stepped in, expecting the room to be empty. He’d come down to check the updated lighting cues for the stage mock-up, not realizing you’d stayed late.

You didn’t notice him at first, too focused on the music pulsing through the speakers.

The cropped hoodie you wore had ridden up, exposing a strip of smooth skin above your waistband with every hip pop.

Cheolin stood frozen near the door, one hand still on the handle.

You executed the final move—a slow body roll downward followed by a sharp snap back up—and caught his reflection in the mirror.

You startled, pulling your earphones out quickly.

“Cheolin-ssi,” you breathed, surprised but not unhappy. A small smile tugged at your lips. “I thought everyone had gone home already.”

He cleared his throat, forcing his gaze up to your face. “I was just checking the stage specs. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

You reached for your water bottle, still catching your breath. “It’s fine. I was about to call it a night anyway.” You took a long sip, then wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. “How does it look? Be honest.”

He found himself stepping further into the room.“You’ve improved a lot,” he admitted, voice low. Your cheeks warmed at the praise. “Hoshi-sunbaenim said the same thing yesterday. I’ve been practicing as much as I can.”

Cheolin’s eyes flicked down for half a second—against his will—watching the way your chest still rose and fell from exertion. He looked away sharply.

“Good,” he said curtly. “Keep that energy on stage. Don’t let the nerves make you small again.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. He seemed… off. Tenser than usual. The way he was standing, shoulders rigid, hands shoved deep in his pockets like he was physically restraining himself.

“Is everything okay?” you asked carefully. “You’ve been kind of distant since the vocal session last week. Did I do something wrong?”

The question hit him hard

Cheolin forced a neutral expression. “No. You’re doing well. I’ve just been busy. And… it’s better if Woozi handles your vocals from now on. I've got a packed schedule.”

You nodded slowly, though something in his tone made you unsure. “I understand.” An awkward silence stretched between you.

You bent down to pick up your towel from the floor, and Cheolin turned away entirely, pretending to examine the mirrored wall like it was the most fascinating thing in the building.

When you straightened up, you caught the back of his neck and ears were noticeably red.“I’ll head out first then,” you said softly. “Thank you for checking in, Cheolin-ssi. Goodnight.”

As you walked past him toward the door, your arm brushed lightly against his. Just the faintest contact. Cheolin’s hand twitched at his side.

“Goodnight,” he replied, voice rough.

The door closed behind you.He stayed in the empty practice room for another ten minutes, staring at his own reflection, breathing through the fresh wave of heat pooling low in his stomach.

“Get a fucking grip, Lee chan,” he muttered to himself.

Three weeks had passed since that incident. The recordings for your debut album were just around the corner.

And every damn night, his mind replayed that moment in the vocal room. The soft press of your ass. The little wiggle. The way you’d said his name so politely while his body had reacted like a starving man.

By Friday, he was irritable and short with everyone. Even his secretary asked if he needed a doctor.

Woozi, of course, was thriving.“You look like you haven’t slept since 2018,” Woozi said, dropping into the chair in Cheolin’s office uninvited. He was eating convenience store ice cream straight from the tub with a spoon. “Let me guess. You’re still doing the noble avoidance thing?”

Cheolin didn’t look up from his screen. “It’s called working, something you should do by the way.”“Bullshit. You look constipated. She asked me yesterday why you’re avoiding her. I almost told her the truth—that you jerked off in the executive bathroom because her ass brushed against your sad, neglected dick.”

Cheolin’s head snapped up. “You. did. not.”

Woozi grinned around his spoon. “Relax. I told her you’re just stressed about her debut. But hyung… this is getting ridiculous. You’re not protecting her. You’re torturing yourself. And honestly, it’s starting to affect your face. You’re scaring the interns again.”

Cheolin rubbed his temples. “She’s twenty-two.”“And you’re fifty-two, not dead. She’s legal. So stop acting like you’re grooming her. You’re not. You’re just a man who finally wants someone after years of punishing himself.”

The day before the official recording sessions for your debut album, the studio floor was eerily quiet.

Woozi had called in “sick” that morning. His text had been suspiciously short and cheerful: Food poisoning. Don’t make a mess on my recording studio^^. Fighting~

Cheolin knew better. That little shit had planned this.

It was just the two of you now. You in the recording booth, Cheolin on the other side of the glass in the control room, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The red “Recording” light wasn’t even on yet. You were simply running the title track one last time, trying to loosen your voice after a full day of rehearsals.

You’d already gone through the song twice. Each take was technically clean, but Cheolin kept stopping you.

“Again,” he said through the talkback, voice low and controlled. “You’re still squeezing the high notes. Relax your throat.”

You nodded, adjusting the headphones. The booth felt smaller than usual with only his eyes on you. You rolled your shoulders, took a slow breath, and started the verse again.

Halfway through the pre-chorus, your voice cracked slightly on the transition.

Cheolin exhaled sharply and pressed the button. “Come out here.”

You stepped out of the booth, wiping a thin layer of sweat from your neck. He was leaning against the mixing console, sleeves rolled up, the top two buttons of his black shirt undone. The tension in his jaw was visible from across the room.

“Cheolin-ssi… I’m sorry, I’m a little nervous about tomorrow,” you admitted.

He didn’t answer right away. His dark eyes dragged slowly down your frame — the loose cropped hoodie, the tight short leggings, the way your chest still rose and fell from singing — before snapping back to your face.

“You’re not nervous about the song,” he finally said. “You’re nervous because I’m here instead of Jihoon.”

You didn’t deny it.

He pushed off the console and walked toward you, stopping just close enough that you could smell his cologne and the faint trace of coffee on his breath. “You’ve been practicing for weeks. Your voice is ready. So why the fuck are you tightening up the moment I’m in the room?”

Your back met the edge of the booth door. “Because you’ve barely looked at me for three weeks. And now you’re staring like you want to, I don't know? Eat me alive again or something.”

Cheolin’s breath hitched. A muscle jumped in his cheek.

“I- I'm really done, you've got me fucked up, leave before I loose all my decency,” he warned. You looked up at him, pulse hammering. “Or what?”

The last thread of his restraint snapped.

He grabbed your chin, tilting your face up, and kissed you hard. You moaned softly into his mouth, hands fisting in his shirt. He walked you backward into the recording booth without breaking the kiss, kicking the door shut behind him.

Inside the small, soundproof space, the air felt even thicker. He pressed you against the wall, one thigh sliding between yours as his mouth moved to your neck.

“Three fucking weeks,” he growled against your skin. “Trying to be professional. Trying not to think about how soft you felt against me.”

Your hand slid down his chest, palm brushing over the obvious bulge straining against his slacks. He hissed.

“Cheolin…” you whispered, voice already breathy.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark. “It's either Cheol, or Boss for you. Now get the fuck down on your knees.”

The command sent heat rushing through you. You sank down without hesitation, fingers working open his belt and zipper.

When you freed him,you didn't expected what you saw, his cock was already fully hard, thick and heavy in your hand, the head flushed dark and glistening, he had some pubic hair, nothing too messy, made he look even manlier.

Cheolin let out a shaky exhale, one hand bracing against the wall while the other slid into your hair.

“You wanted to open your chords properly?” His voice was low, almost dangerous. “Then open your throat for me.”

You leaned in, licking a slow stripe along the underside before taking him into your mouth. He groaned deeply, hips twitching forward as the wet heat enveloped him. You worked him steadily, relaxing your jaw, taking him deeper with each bob of your head.

“Fuck… that’s it,” he muttered, fingers tightening in your hair. “Just like that. Relax your throat.”

You pushed further, breathing through your nose until your lips met the base and the head pressed against the back of your throat. Your eyes watered slightly, but you held there, swallowing around him.

Cheolin’s head fell back, a raw sound escaping him. “Shit… good girl.”

He let you set the pace for a moment before his control slipped. His hips started moving, shallow thrusts at first, then deeper, fucking into your mouth with growing urgency. The wet, obscene sounds filled the small booth — muffled gags, heavy breathing, the occasional choked moan from you that made his cock twitch against your tongue.

“Look at me,” he ordered hoarsely.

Your teary eyes met his as he slid deeper, holding himself there for a few seconds each time, opening your throat with every thrust. Saliva dripped down your chin. His thumb brushed it away almost tenderly, even as he rocked deeper.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he rasped, voice strained. “Walking around here looking like that… calling me Cheolin-ssi while I’m losing my fucking mind…”

His rhythm grew rougher, hips snapping forward as he chased his release. You gripped his thighs, taking everything he gave you, throat contracting around him.

“I’m close—” he warned, trying to pull back, but you grabbed his hips and pulled him deeper instead.

With a broken groan, Cheolin came hard down your throat, pulsing against your tongue as thick ropes spilled into you. You swallowed around him, milking every drop until his legs trembled and he had to brace himself against the wall.

He stayed buried in your mouth for a long moment, breathing hard, before slowly pulling out. A thin string of saliva connected your swollen lips to the head of his cock.

Cheolin stared down at you, thumb tracing your bottom lip, something inside him snapped. All this time, neglecting himself, telling himself this was absolutely wrong, turned on him. Seeing himself "corrupt" such a young soul excited him too much. “Aigooo~ such a pretty slut aren't ya? C'mere I'm gonna fuck you in the proper place.”

He pulled you up gently but firmly, his thumb still brushing your wet lower lip. His eyes were locked in yours. “Please, tell... Tell me to stop right now, shove me against the wall, and make me lose my job.” You just looked at him with your pretty, round eyes, and opened your little mouth, sticking out your tongue.

“Spit on my mouth Daepyo-nim”

“Dirty girl,” he said letting out a breathless laugh. “You like this? You've wanting this, hmm?”And without warning, he slapped you, then grabbed your chin with one hand, digging his pretty fingers into your cheeks. Making you open your mouth once more, You stuck out your tongue instinctively, and Cheolin finally spat directly in your tongue.

The elevator ride up to the executive floor felt endless. Cheolin kept his grip firm on your wrist, thumb pressed against your pulse point like he needed to feel how fast your heart was racing. The mirrored walls reflected the two of you—his tall, imposing frame in black. He didn’t speak. Neither did you. The only sound was the low hum of the elevator and your own uneven breathing.

The moment the doors slid open on the top floor, he pulled you out, walking fast enough that you had to hurry to keep up. His private office was at the end of the hall. The moment the heavy door shut behind you, he locked it with a decisive click.

Cheolin turned, and in one smooth motion pushed you against the wide mahogany desk. Papers scattered. A pen holder clattered to the floor. He didn’t care. “Last chance,” he rasped, caging you in with both hands on the desk. His voice was rough, almost angry with how much he wanted this. “Tell me to stop. Call me a disgusting old man and walk out. I’ll still debut you. I’ll still take care of your career. Just… fuck—say it now.”

You looked up at him, lips parted, eyes glassy with want. Instead of answering with words, you reached down and boldly palmed the thick bulge still straining in his slacks, squeezing lightly. “So big...”

Cheolin’s breath stuttered. Something feral flashed across his face.

“Brat.”

He spun you around fast, bending you over the desk so your chest pressed against the cool wood. His large hand pushed between your shoulder blades, keeping you down as the other yanked your tight leggings and panties down in one rough tug, exposing you to the cool air of the office.

“Fuck,” he groaned at the sight. His palm smoothed over the curve of your ass before he gave it a sharp slap. The sound cracked through the quiet room. You gasped, hips twitching back instinctively.

He dropped to his knees behind you without warning. Strong hands spread your thighs wider, and then his mouth was on you—hot, greedy, no teasing. His tongue dragged through your folds, licking broad and messy, groaning at the taste of you like a man starved. When he sucked your clit into his mouth, your knees buckled.

“Cheolin-ssi—!” you cried out, fingers scrabbling against the desk.

He pulled back just enough to growl, “I told you. It’s Cheol or Boss when my tongue is in your cunt.” Then he dove back in, fucking his tongue into you, nose pressed against you as he ate you out with filthy, wet sounds. His nose, which used to touch your perineum, was replaced by his tongue, giving long licks from your ass to your clit. “F-fuck...Daepyo-nim- ahh-!”

Your moans grew louder, shameless. He added two thick fingers, curling them perfectly, stroking that spot inside you until your thighs shook and you came hard, gushing against his tongue with a broken sob of his name.

He rose behind you, pressing the thick, heavy outline of his clothed cock against your dripping pussy. The heat of him made you clench around nothing. “I’ve been hard for weeks thinking about this,” he growled against your ear, chest flush to your back as he rolled his hips, dragging that fat bulge between your soaked folds. “Thinking about how fucking tight you’d be. How wrong it is that a dirty little 22-year-old trainee is making a man my age throb like this.”

You whimpered, pushing back greedily.

Cheolin chuckled low and dark, then stepped back just enough to shove his slacks and boxers down. His cock sprang free—long, thick, and heavy, the veiny shaft curving slightly upward, the fat head leaking for the second time. He gave himself one slow stroke, clearly proud of the impressive length and girth even at fifty-two.

“Eyes on it, baby,” he ordered. “This is what you did to me. Look how hard your CEO’s cock is for a girl young enough to be his daughter.” He rubbed the swollen head up and down your slick pussy, coating himself in your juices before pressing against your entrance.

“Beg for it.”

“Please, mmm, Cheol… Daepyo-nim… fuck me, fuck me so so hard pleasepleaseplease!” you moaned, voice shaking with need.

That was all he needed. He pushed in—slow but relentless—watching with dark satisfaction as your tight cunt stretched obscenely around his thick length. Inch after inch disappeared inside you until his heavy balls pressed against your clit and his pelvis kissed your ass. “Fuuuuck,” he groaned, savoring the way your walls fluttered and squeezed. “So goddamn tight. Your little pussy is swallowing every inch like it was made for me.” He stayed buried deep for a moment, letting you feel all of him. “Most men my age can’t even get half this hard. But me? I’m still fucking hung and I can ruin you for hours, and I'm doing so, I'm gonna ruin you, You'll never want to fuck boys your age again, you'll only think about me, about how my cock fills you completely.”

Then he started moving.

He fucked you like a man proving a point—deep, powerful strokes that made the heavy desk slam against the wall. The wet, filthy sound of his thick cock plunging into your soaked cunt echoed obscenely in the office. Every thrust forced a broken moan out of you. “Listen to that sloppy pussy,” he grunted, one hand fisting your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “Soaking my balls already. You love getting split open by old man cock, don’t you?”

“Yes—yes, fuck—!” you cried, tears of pleasure leaking from your eyes. Cheolin laughed breathlessly, sweat already beading on his forehead, but his pace never faltered. He was showing off—long, punishing strokes that pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, making sure you felt every thick inch.

“Such a pretty pussy, good little girl.” he growled, reaching around to slap your clit lightly. “I’ve got stamina you’ve never even dreamed of, baby. I can fuck this tight cunt all night and still cum buckets. You’re gonna feel me for fucking days.”

He suddenly pulled out, spun you around, and lifted you onto the desk like you weighed nothing. Your back hit the wood, legs spread wide as he stepped between them and drove back inside in one brutal thrust. “Fuck—Cheol!” you screamed, nails digging into his shoulders. “That’s right. Say my name while I wreck you,” he snarled, pounding into you harder. His shirt was still half-buttoned, sweat making the fabric cling to his chest. The wet slap of his heavy balls against your ass filled the room with every thrust. “Look down. Watch how deep I’m going. See how your tiny pussy takes all this cock.”

You obeyed, whimpering at the obscene sight of his thick, glistening length disappearing inside you over and over. He leaned down, biting your neck hard enough to mark you, then growled against your ear, “I’m going to fill you up until my cum is leaking down your thighs tomorrow while you’re recording. Every time you sit down, you’ll remember whose cock ruined this pussy.”

His thumb found your clit again, rubbing fast and rough. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train—walls clamping down around his cock as you gushed around him, sobbing his name. “Mhgg...Ahhh, fu-fuuck, ah!... Ch-cheol.. ngh!”

Cheolin groaned loudly, fucking you through it without slowing. “Good girl—milk my cock. That’s it… fuck, you’re squeezing me so good.”

His thrusts grew erratic but still powerful. With a deep, animalistic groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy, pulse after pulse as his cock throbbed inside you. He kept grinding deep, pushing his load as far as it would go, like he wanted to claim every inch of you.

Even after he finished, he stayed buried inside, panting against your neck, his cock still half-hard and twitching.

“Still hard,” he muttered with a dark, satisfied chuckle, giving one lazy thrust that made you whimper. “Told you. At my age I still fuck better than boys your age ever could.”

He finally pulled out slowly, watching with filthy pride as a thick glob of his cum leaked from your ruined hole and dripped onto the desk.

Cheolin ran two fingers through the mess, pushed them back inside you, and leaned down to kiss you messily, tongue invading your mouth.

“You’re gonna take another load, baby,” Cheolin growled, voice thick with lust. He scooped two fingers through the creamy mess leaking from your pussy and pushed it back inside, stirring slowly. “Look how full you are already…”

He pulled you off the desk, legs still shaking, and spun you toward the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the glittering Seoul night skyline. Your palms pressed against the cool glass as he kicked your feet apart.

“Cheol—Daepyo-nim…” you breathed, heart racing at the exposed feeling.

“Geureom, bwa. (That’s right, look.)” He pressed his chest to your back, lining up his still-hard cock and thrusting in deep from behind in one smooth stroke. “Nae jageun trainee-ga changmun ape seo jappyeoissneun geol (My little trainee getting fucked right against the window). Anyone with binoculars could see what a greedy slut you are for your CEO.”

The city lights sparkled below while he fucked you hard and fast, hips snapping powerfully. Every deep thrust made your breasts press against the glass. His long, thick cock hit new angles that made your eyes roll back.

“Fuck—Cheol!” you moaned loudly.

He reached around to rub your clit, biting down on your shoulder. “Neo jinjja jjolttakhae (You’re so fucking tight). Even after I filled you once, this pussy still sucks me in like it wants more.”

After a few minutes he pulled out, breathing heavily but clearly energized. He sat on the large leather couch and pulled you on top, straddling him.

“Ride me,” he ordered, voice rough. “Show me how badly you’ve wanted this old man’s cock.”You sank down onto his length with a broken moan, the new position letting you feel every inch even more intensely. Cheolin groaned deeply, hands gripping your ass as you started bouncing.

“Eung… geureoke (Yeah… just like that),” he praised, eyes locked on where you two were joined. “Look at you bouncing on my cock like a good little whore. Neo neomu yeppeo (You look so fucking pretty) taking all of me.”

He thrust up to meet you, hands guiding your hips faster. Sweat glistened on his chest. At fifty-two he was still rock hard, stamina impressive as he fucked you from below with powerful strokes that made you cry out.

Suddenly he flipped you onto your back on the couch, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder and folding you in half. The new angle made him reach impossibly deep.

“Fuck—too deep—! Too much!” you sobbed in pleasure.

“Neomu gipi? (Too deep?)” He smirked, sweat dripping from his jaw as he pounded into you mercilessly. “You can take it. This cock is ruining you for anyone else, isn’t it? After tonight, no boy your age will ever be enough.”

He leaned down, kissing you messily, tongues tangling as the sound of skin slapping wetly filled the office. Then he pulled out again, manhandling you onto all fours on the couch.

“Ass up,” he commanded. He slapped your ass hard, watching it jiggle before slamming back inside. His grip on your hips was bruising as he railed you, long powerful strokes that made your eyes water.

“Joha? (Feels good?)” he growled, one hand fisting your hair. “Tell me whose pussy this is now.”

“Yours—Cheol—yours!” you cried.

His pace grew feral. He reached under you to rub your clit again, pushing you toward another shattering orgasm. When you came hard, clenching and gushing around him, he groaned loudly.

“Geurae, nae geo (Yes, that’s it, mine),” he rasped. “Milk my cock just like that.”With a few final brutal thrusts, Cheolin buried himself to the hilt and came for the second time, flooding your already full pussy with thick, hot ropes of cum. He kept grinding deep, savoring every pulse, making sure you took everything.

Even after coming twice, his cock was still semi-hard inside you. He stayed buried deep, chest pressed to your back, breathing heavily against your neck.

“Still hard…” he chuckled darkly, giving one lazy thrust that made you whimper. “I told you, baby. At my age I can still fuck better and longer than any boy you’ve ever known. And I’m giving you one more round.”

Cheolin stayed buried deep inside you for a long moment. His chest heaved against your back, sweat-slick skin pressed together as he caught his breath. Slowly, he pulled out with a wet sound, watching another thick glob of his cum drip from your ruined pussy onto the couch.

But he wasn’t fully soft yet.

His heavy cock rested against your ass, still warm and thick, glistening with your combined fluids. He gripped your hips, breathing hot against your neck, and rubbed the slick head between your cheeks, teasing the tight ring of muscle there.

“Just a little more…” he murmured, voice hoarse and hungry. “Let me have this too. I’ll go slow—"

You tensed immediately, heart jumping.

“No,” you said firmly, reaching back to push his hip away. “Not that. Not tonight, Cheol.”

Cheolin froze the second the word left your mouth. The lust haze in his eyes cleared almost instantly. He pulled back like he’d been burned, his hands leaving your body completely.

“Fuck… I’m sorry,” he breathed, voice rough with regret. He ran a hand down his face, eyes wide with sudden shame. “I got carried away. I wasn’t thinking. I’m really sorry, baby.”

He quickly pulled his slacks back up, tucking himself away even though he was still half-hard. Then he reached for you gently, no longer demanding. His large hands were careful as he helped you sit up on the couch, pulling your cropped hoodie back down and wiping some of the mess from your thighs with his own discarded handkerchief.

“Come here,” he whispered.

He sat back against the couch and tugged you into his lap, this time cradling you sideways against his chest. One strong arm wrapped around your waist, the other gently stroking your hair. His heartbeat was still fast under your cheek, but his touch had completely changed — protective, almost reverent.

“I shouldn’t have pushed,” he murmured against the top of your head, pressing a soft kiss there. “Not when you’ve already given me so much. I lost control… again.” His voice dropped lower, laced with guilt. “You’re twenty-two. I’m your CEO. And I just fucked you like an animal on my desk, on the window, on this couch… I- I'm really sorry.”

You felt him swallow hard.

He tilted your chin up gently so he could look at you. His dark eyes were softer now, tired but warm. The usual stern mask was completely gone.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip with surprising tenderness. “Did I hurt you anywhere?”

You shook your head, still a little dazed. He let out a long, shaky breath of relief and pulled you closer, wrapping both arms around you fully. “You just gave me the best fuck of my life” you managed to say, and you felt him chuckle as his hand rubbed slow, soothing circles on your back as you curled into him.

For several long minutes, the only sounds were your breathing and the faint hum of the city outside the window. Cheolin held you like something precious, pressing occasional soft kisses to your temple, your forehead, the corner of your eye.Eventually, he cupped your face with both hands and looked at you for a long moment. Then he leaned in and kissed you — not the hungry, claiming way from before, but slow, deep, and achingly tender. His lips moved gently against yours, savoring, apologizing, cherishing. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered, a tired but genuine smile tugging at his lips. “But right now… I don’t regret any of it, you make me, feel young again... I only regret almost crossing that last line.”

He kissed you once more, softer this time, then tucked your head under his chin again, holding you close as the adrenaline slowly faded.

“Stay here for a while,” he murmured into your hair. “Just let me hold you. And, we'll see what comes after.”

“Wow, this room smells like fucking sex” woozi sat on the leather couch of Pi Cheolin's office. And he just rolled his eyes, “What do you want?”

Woozi was already comfortably spread across the leather couch, looking far too pleased with himself. Cheolin sat at his desk, regretting every life choice that led him to this moment.

“Hyung,” Woozi started, grinning like a gremlin, “be honest. How many Viagra pills did it take to wake up that fossilized dick of yours? Did you need the whole blue pack or just half? At 52, I bet it took her a solid twenty minutes of sucking just to get you half-mast. Poor girl probably thought she was doing CPR on your cock.”

Cheolin’s eye twitched. “Jihoon.”

“I’m just worried about you!” Woozi continued dramatically. “All that thrusting at your age… did you pull a muscle? Need me to call a physiotherapist? Or maybe some tiger balm for your lower back after all that ‘impressive stamina’?”

Cheolin rubbed his temples. “I will fire you. Today.”

Woozi bounced on the couch a few times. “So this is the famous fuck couch? Nice. Respect.” He patted the cushion proudly. “You really came inside her? Legend! Though I’m surprised your old heart didn’t give out.”

He suddenly stood up, walked over to Cheolin, and turned around, pressing his ass right against Cheolin’s crotch. Then he had the audacity to wiggle it.

“C’mon Daepyo-nim~ Teach me your ancient thrusting techniques. Is this how you fucked her? Show me the old man magic—”

Cheolin snapped.

“You little shit—!” He shoved Woozi hard, sending him stumbling back onto the couch. In the next second, Cheolin was on top of him, hands wrapped around Woozi’s neck in a fake-strangle while Woozi laughed hysterically underneath him.

“I’m going to kill you. I’m actually going to kill you this time,” Cheolin growled, shaking him lightly while Woozi kept cackling.

Woozi wheezed between laughs, still being dramatic. “Harder, Daddy— I mean, Daepyo-nim! Choke me—! Ahhhh, ahhhhhh! Mmm, shit, I like this stuff.”

The office door opened.

You stood in the doorway, eyes wide at the sight of your scary CEO on top of Woozi on the cum-stained couch, hands around his neck, while Woozi looked way too happy about it.

A surprised laugh escaped you.

Both men froze. You leaned against the doorframe, biting your lip to contain your grin. “Wow… I don’t mind a third,” you said sweetly, tilting your head. “If you two are already warming up, I can join. Or just watch. Whatever you prefer.”

Woozi’s face lit up like Christmas. “See, hyung? She’s into it!”

Cheolin slowly released Woozi’s neck, looked straight at the ceiling, and muttered in pure defeat:

“…I should’ve stayed celibate.”

Yaaaay, you've reached the end! I really hope y'all enjoyed this haha, i put all my effort on this.

I really really hope you like this. Thanks for all your support, I'll continue to do my best!

I plan to first post a request I received, And then another fic

And lemme spoil the plot for my next fic.

How unlucky did you have to be for your two favorite exes, the ones you really wanted to get back with, to end up together? And without meaning to, they rub it in your face. But things take an unexpected turn when you find them in one of the classrooms after class hours.

Can y'all guess who are the protagonists of this fic? Haha, lmk in the comments!

Taglist!

Chan is staring at it, fed up with all of this shit. 

Across from him, a grill sizzles. Welcome to the celebration dinner, which is just Pi Cheolin’s way of saying: expensive news, cheap restaurant.

“WHY IS THERE A ₩2,000 EXTRA CHARGE FOR SIDE DISH REFILLS?!” Fe Dback yells, stabbing the poor receipt. “THIS IS GRANDSON FAVORITISM SPENDING!!”

Pi Cheolin calmly pours himself water from a metal kettle. “It is not favoritism, to me it is a wise investment.”

“INVESTMENT DOESN’T MEAN YOU BUY CHAN A SPECIAL HIGH END RICE BOWL THAT COSTS MORE THAN MY EXISTENCE—”

“It has value.”

Chan lowers his head onto the table, “please stop using me as a financial concept.” The dishes here are exceptionally cheap compared to any other small restaurant nearby, but cost isn’t the issue. It’s the fact that he’s spending everything on Chan while he himself is a stingy old man who rarely spends unless he absolutely has to, but he’s still spending on Chan without a second thought. He could’ve taken them somewhere better, but Chan doesn’t care. He’s always been spoiled by his grandfather, Pi Cheolin, anyway, and that’s exactly how they ended up here.

At the far end of the restaurant, things escalates vertically.

Jo Eulho is standing on a plastic stool, yelling, “this is EXACTLY how I performed at the National Singing Contest!” he announces proudly. He succeeded in the audition and even managed to win first place… somehow. “I ASCENDED— LIKE THIS— AND HIT THE HIGH NOTE—” The stool wobbles.

“GET DOWN BEFORE YOU BECOME A NEWS ARTICLE,” Cel Brity hisses as he scrambles to grab  his arm while simultaneously trying not to drop three plates of meat and dignity at once.

“I WILL NOT BE SILENCED BY FLOOR BASED AUTHORITY!” Jo Eulho declares.

“You are literally one centimeter away from becoming floor based authority.”

From Brity’s peripheral vision, he sees that the restaurant owner is slowly approaching with the expression of a man extremely disappointed. That’s when Brity knows he needs to drag Eulho down from the stool.

Chan turns his head toward the most peaceful corner of the table where, as always, two people have achieved enlightenment… through laziness.

Yoon Nieun and Jo Giyeok sit there calmly, existing at the absolute minimum requirement. A pair of chopsticks is placed between them while a grill plate sits untouched. With the look on their faces, Chan knows they are waiting strategically, again, waiting for someone to step on their bait.

Dback points an angry finger at both of them, “WHY ARE YOU TWO NOT HELPING?!”

Nieun replies without missing any syllable, “Lazy.” (Meaning: I am lazy and conserving my energy and have assigned all physical labor to others.)

Giyeok tags along, nodding, “Leave, yellow.” (Meaning: We will leave soon to take a yellow bus that needs walking to the bus stop and therefore cannot participate in active tasks now.)

“Hm,” Nieun nods as well. (Meaning: I totally agree with what he said.)

Dback just screams into the void at this point. He’s starting to feel like the only last functioning brain left at the table… other than Brity, probably, and it’s visibly frustrating him. “…You know what, it’s my fault, IT’S MY FAULT— I don’t even wanna understand whatever language this is anymore.”

Chan’s lips are parted, frozen in the middle of a disbelieving sigh as he tries to process the sheer lack of brain cells currently operating in the room.

He looks on from the side, the line of his jaw tight as he watches the absolute circus unfold across the table. The warm overhead lights catch the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead and the textured fringe of his dark hair, giving him the exhausted aura of a tired warrior who is trying to survive a battle only to realize he's trapped in a comedy sketch.

His eyes are fixed on the chaos in front with an unblinking focus with soul deep disappointment. There's no anger left in him anymore about everything that just happened this past week— only resignation. 

He looks absolutely drained, his eyelids drooping with fatigue that has absolutely nothing to do with the hour and everything to do with the people around him. “…I don’t understand how this became my life,” Chan says quietly in a tiring sigh. 

Pi Cheolin places meat on the grill with solemn care, “because you inherited it,” he added with a little excitement.

“That’s not how inheritance works, granddad ,” he sighs again with a slight annoyance and frustration in his tone.

Pi Cheolin tightens his lips before saying, “... but that is exactly how BOMG works.”

Chan decides not to reply, feeling a little guilty at the thought that he might’ve made his dear granddad sad by sounding like the spoiled brat Dback always claims he is. He knows that their relationship might not be the most socially traditional granddad-grandson relationship, and Pi Cheolin definitely goes over the top for him, but he also knows that just how much he’s loved as a grandson no matter how bratty or rude he gets; he never doubted how loved he is. Pi Cheolin has always been the same with him— never truly taking anything to heart when it comes to his beloved grandson.

Metal tongs clatter as Sungkwan is still arguing with Nieun and Giyeok (who already entered a state of passive existence and silence so advanced it borders on art). Eulho is still negotiating with gravity, while Brity has accepted his fate that he’s going down with Eulho when his pain finally snaps and chokes him.

Chan just sits there embarrassed, overwhelmed and most importantly, quiet, fiddling with his rice.

“There,” a piece of perfectly grilled meat is placed gently onto his rice bowl. Chan looks up to see Pi Cheolin holding the tongs. For once, his granddad  isn’t being too overwhelming for him. “You did not ask for any of this,” he says with that old man insightful smile, “But I’m glad you are still here.”

Chan doesn’t answer again… mainly because he can’t quite figure out what emotion is in his chest.

Pi Cheolin pushes the rice bowl slightly closer. “…Eat well,” he smiles. “My grandson.”

A second pass, then Chan gives a shy embarrassed smile anyway, “…you’re paying for this, right?”

Pi Cheolin immediately frowns, but still smiling as he takes a napkin from the table and stands up to go somewhere else, “of course not.”

Dback screams from across the table, “THIS IS WHY THE COMPANY IS LIKE THIS!!!”

“bird chirping noises,” Pi Cheolin makes Dback shut the fuck up.

“Thank you, granddad ,” Chan stands up, crossing the short distance to wrap his arms around the older man in a tight hug. He buries his face into the crook of his shoulder, pouring all his unsaid gratitude into the hold, “for everything.”

For a few long seconds, Pi Cheolin’s arms still hang at his sides without any reciprocation as his weathered frame freezes under the sudden PDA. He just stands there taking the warmth of the hug while his eyes stare blankly over Chan’s shoulder as if the just the sincerity of the gesture has caught him completely off guard, making him momentarily speechless.

Then, the spell breaks. Pi Cheolin takes out a soft gruff breath that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle. He now brings a heavy hand up, landing a series of solid comforting pats against Chan’s back. “Alright, alright, brat,” his voice a little hoarser than usual as he gives him one last squeeze before nudging him back, “don't make it weird.”

Chan giggles, as Pi Cheolin looks at him lovingly and smoothen a hand over his hair. 

Dback goes silent for once but still visibly offended by the existence of emotions but clearly going, awwwhhhh, internally, sitting back while saying, “gross,” but still not interrupting the moment.

Brity just goes, “wow,” as he claps in slow motion to comedic effect, while Eulho is unusually not singing anymore and reacts like he just saw a live performance of peak storytelling as he nods in impressed approval.

Nieun and Giyeok watch the exchange with an unreadable hum and a faintly adoring gaze, choosing silence over anything else again, while casually reaching for meat like nothing happened.

Pi Cheolin looks around to find them watching, so he tilts his sunglasses down just a bit to reveal his eyes as his posture straightens. He leans forward toward Chan as the corner of his mouth lifts into a playful smile. At the same time, he gives a quick wink as he maintains eye contact, “sarangui nunbit.”

“Oh my god,” Chan chuckles while everyone else can just just sigh or just go along with them.

“So you’ll never change,” a voice suddenly came from the entrance as everyone looks that way. Yoo Danja’s. “Why was I not invited?”

“Why are you being nosey in other people’s business?” Pi Cheolin retorts. On the side, Chan is enjoying the show for the irony; considering his granddad  is the one who appears in everyone’s business.

Yoo Danja sighs as if he has already made peace with ruining the atmosphere, pulls out a chair, and sits down.

The moment he sits, the mood is back to their normal again. Pi Cheolin doesn’t look surprised, but only mildly irritated as this is a recurring inconvenience he never agreed to. 

“Still acting like you didn’t ruin things with Chunsun?” Danja says.

Pi Cheolin doesn’t even bother to look up from the grill, “still acting like she chose you?” he replies flatly, grabbing Chan’s arm to make him sit down with him.

That earns a scoff. Danja leans back offended but not surprised, “she didn’t choose either of us. That’s the point you always ignore.”

Chan turns his head between them, caught between two men whose hearts were broken once upon a time. But it’s a very common topic between these two. “Why is this still a conversation?”

Dback groans into his hands, “NO. No, no, no. I refuse to be present for ancient relationship trauma at a BBQ.”

Brity quietly flips a piece of meat on his own and serves Eulho and himself, “you already know what to do. Just… don’t make eye contact and maybe it’ll pass.”

Eulho, however, is fully invested as always. He enjoys watching them argue over a woman who, back in their youth, couldn’t have cared less about either of them. “Fight, fight, fight!”

Nieun takes the newspaper off the table, “always.” (Meaning: It’s always Chunsun.)

“Again.” (Meaning: It’s Chunsun again.) Giyeok takes a mouthful of cold ramen and nods with Nieun.

As Danja’s voice slightly rises, he yells, “you act like you were the victim.”

Pi Cheolin finally looks at him as he touches his hat, “I was the one who had to explain your existence to her father.”

“That’s not even—” Danja starts.

“It is,” Pi Cheolin cuts in.

Chan sighs, very tired from this same conversation every time. “Can we not do this during dinner?”

Dback with his hands clasped, slumps down on a chair, “YES. THANK YOU. SOMEONE NORMAL.”

“No.” Pi Cheolin and Danja both together at the same time.

The table falls silent before Brity mutters, “I’m going to need more meat for this.”